It's been well over a year. Wowza. I really suck at keeping up with my stories now, I'm kind of growing away from Fanfiction. But i want to finish this for you guys. A lot of you have stuck this series out for FOUR FUCKING YEARS like idk how any of you are doing it or if you're all just new and binge read it all. But I'm sorry it's been dragged out so long! I'm trying to get this done for you guys, though, but I need time between school and everything. Thank you for sticking around and reading this, I hope youre all well 3

THANK YOU JMDEATON I'd literally be nowhere without you dude

I must say I'm never like this
I'll break it down so you don't miss
My point is that you got something
I've been hopin' and lookin' for a real long time
So I'm not gonna waste it

In between the heart and mind
So much lost in so little time
I know a word can be spoken
And then a world can be opened up
And faith reborn
And then we'll never waste it

I'm There, Hey Violet

Jon

I've been awake for hours, laying in bed. Just thinking. I know I should try to sleep, but I can't. It's not even the fact that I'm not tired, but it's just that there's entirely too much going on in my head. I'm worried for Clary. She acts so strong all the time, but I saw the way she let herself slip when she thought nobody was paying attention yesterday.

She's losing hope. The strongest person I know, is losing hope. She's tired, and scared. She's been held for weeks with no word from the outside world, and now that she's on the outside, she doesn't know what to do. She still has to go back today; it was Maryse's connection with the Consul, after all, that allowed Clary to be released for the night at all.

At dinner, she was politely quiet and calm. Too calm. Clary would usually be angry and irritated, but above all, she would be trying to find a solution to this problem. She would be spunky, and she would get shit done. I figured she'd be a little shaken up after being imprisoned for so long, but I thought she would at least do better with all of us around. Even with Jace at her side, she wasn't there. She was in her own mind, lost to us nearly the entire time. And maybe, even to herself.

That's what scared me the most. The lack of anything and the forced smiles were just a mask, and I know she's hurting underneath, she just doesn't want us to worry about her. Even in times like these, she's so selfless.

"Jonny!"

I jump a little bit and pull myself upright with my arms, my heart pounding at the suddenness of the door being slammed open. Isabelle stands there in the doorway in a short black slip that comes down to her mid-thigh, and a robe loosely tied around her waist, her long, jet black hair draped down her shoulders on either side of her face, holding two journals to her chest.

"Iz, what's wrong?" I ask, waving her in. She steps in and flips on the lights, making me wince at the sudden change. Her dark eyes are bright with knowledge as she climbs into the bed right beside me and settles against the headboard.

"I think I've found… something," she tells me, her voice bubbly and excited. "I'm not sure what to make of it, though, and I wanted you to have a look."

She leans in closer to me and sets the open journals on my lap, pointing a finger at each. In one, the first date is all the way back to December of 1997. However, in the other journal the entries start in February of 1998, but a chunk of pages from the beginning seem to be missing. Small jagged edges of the yellowed paper are all that remains.

"Who's is this?" I ask her, pointing to the one missing pages.

"It's my mom's. It starts a month before I was born," she grins excitedly.

"Okay?" I question, thoroughly confused. What does it matter?

"I know for a fact, that my parents were having problems the entire winter before I was born, but all of that is missing from here. That's weird because she seemed to keep fairly regular entries."

"Still not following, Iz," I sigh and glance over at the other book, the one I recognize from my own mother's handwriting. The very first entry is December 15th.

"Our moms were apparently good friends at some point, and it seems like they were really close. So... what if my mom told Jocelyn about whatever was going on with my dad and her? Do you think she would have written about it?" Isabelle asks, tapping her fingers on the leather book.

"Okay," I nod, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "I think that's a good start."

"I also have this theory," she tells me, her voice becomingserious. "It's not very solid, but these journals could help, I think."

"Let's hear it, then." I sit up a little bit more, watching as she runs her fingers over the torn pages of her mother's journal, hair falling into her face as she thinks.

"So, it doesn't make sense that my father has a problem with you and Clary, because he doesn't know you two, right?" She asks me, her focus still on the journal and her voice sounding far away. I hum in agreement because it's been something that has been bothering me a lot. This has felt more like a personal attack rather than an attempt to get to the truth, like Robert has claimed on occasion. "But what about our parents?"

"You think they had a falling out?" I ask her intrigued. She nods.

"Exactly. I think the fight my mom and dad had that winter, might have had something to do with your parents. Well, both of our parents."

"You're a genius, Isabelle," I grin at her and squeeze her hand with all the new possibilities racing between us.

"I just want to know what this is really all about. It's not fair to you, or Clary," she tells me with a shrug. She acts as if it's the most natural thing in the world to help us with this. It truly amazes me how much time and effort she's put into this whole thing. She's been knee deep in journals these past weeks and not once, has she given up or tried to walk away. I don't think I've ever thanked her for that.

"Jon?" She asks quietly, and I realize I've been staring at her. Her brown eyes are so soft and her parted lips full, watching me watch her with a small smirk.

"You've done so much to help Clary and I. Just… Thank you, Izzy. It means so much to me. To us," I tell her with a soft voice. My voice cracks a little and her resulting smile is absolutely brilliant. She grabs my hand and runs her thumb over the back of my knuckles.

"I know it does," she whispers. My heart stutters when she leans closer to me, her pink lips parted just a hair. I hold myself completely still as they press firmly against my cheek. Her nose brushes my cheekbone as she smiles against my cheek at my shock. I sigh inwardly as she pulls away, the warmth still on my cheek.

"Uh," I mutter and pick up the journal, flipping through it, trying to avoid embarrassment. "Let's start reading, then."

She smiles and looks down before she settles back in beside me with a journal of her own, and we get to work.

December 15th, 1997

Val has been acting odd lately. I'm unsure if it's the stress that leading the Circle has brought him, but it's noticeable in the way he acts at home. He's so jittery and quick to return to his study. I know that he is creating a reform to present to the Clave, and it's caused him to work late nights, but I worry. I worry that he's not taking care of himself, and the Angel knows that he won't let me take care of him; he says I must worry about Jonathan and prepare for our next hunt. I know it's just the stress causing his odd behavior and the growing space between him and our son.

I know that Jonathan feels the lack of connection in the way he gets so excited when they do spend time together. And it's not much time at all. Just the few minutes he spends at dinner, feeding Jonathan on his knee before he darts off again.

He'll be two in a few weeks, and I want to have a gathering with the family. Maryse has been helping me plan for it, but it seems that we can never get anything done between her Alexander and my Jonathan always getting themselves into something they shouldn't, not to mention the growing child in her stomach. She's only months from bringing her daughter into the world, and she still tries to find the time to help me. I pray that the Angel blesses her with another healthy child.

I can hear Jonathan crying from his nursery now, and I'm sure Val can too. I almost want to wait and see if he will respond, but I know he won't.

-Jocelyn

December 21st, 1997

Maryse and I have finally finished preparing for Jonathan's birthday celebration next month. We had to do most of it here; Maryse says her and Robert have been arguing often, and over the smallest of things. It's stressing her and sweet Alexander out, and I know that she doesn't need that, especially with the new life growing inside of her. I'll lend her and Alexander a place in my home any time she needs it, although I know Val frowns upon that.

He believes that marital arguments should be kept in the home, not shared with confidants. I think it's cathartic to share your troubles with your best friend. It's healthy. Angel knows I've shared a bit about Valentine's odd moods with Maryse.

Four nights out of seven he's not home at all and I don't know where the hell he goes. When I question him, he smiles and tells me it's Circle business and to not worry about it. I remember a time when he told me every little thing that occurred during Circle meetings, and their plans to help reform the Clave to what it should be. Now, I hear nothing. We're drifting farther and farther apart, and I find myself with Maryse more often than home, because I'd be home alone anyways. I hate this, but I don't know how to bring it up to him.

-Jocelyn

January 3rd, 1997

Valentine is getting out of hand now. He hasn't come out of that god forsaken study once today. It's Jonathan's birthday. I'm furious, and no matter how hard I bang on that door, he keeps telling me to go away. I can't deal with him today, Maryse will be here any minute, and the guests in a few short hours.

-Jocelyn

When I wake up, it's to my jaw being tickled by something soft. When I reach my hand up, to scratch, it's entangled in a mass of hair that's not mine. I slowly open my eyes and look down to see Isabelle curled in to my side, her head resting peacefully on my shoulder, and her messy hair resting all over my chest and neck. She breathes deeply with the journal left off to the side, her lips parted as she snores quietly. I don't think I've ever seen Isabelle look so unkempt, and that makes the moment even more perfect to me. I stay still for a few minutes, memorizing the way her soft breath feels on my chest and the way her lips curl just the smallest bit at the corners. In her sleep, she's even more perfect than awake; she's natural, and unguarded.

But as much as I'd like to, we can't stay holed up forever in this room together; Clary continues her trial today and I want to spend some time with her before then. I know she puts on a brave front, but she needs the support.

Then there's the journals, which I'm not sure if I'm ready to tell Clary about just yet. They could help, I just don't know how. And she already has a lot on her plate, so I don't need to add to it. Plus, I don't want to distract her from where her focus needs to be. And I sure don't want to get her hopes up either, or have her thinking that my attention is anywhere else but trying to help fix this mess Robert has landed her in.

I didn't get very far into the first journal. It wasn't that it wasn't interesting, it was just so weird reading what our mother wrote nearly two decades ago. I could feel the tension in her penmanship and words, and the tears wrinkling small little circles into the yellowed paper. She wasn't happy with Valentine, and I'm starting to wonder if there was ever a time where she was. If she was, it must have been way before my birth. Or at least it must've been before my earliest memories, because looking back all I can remember is pretend smiles and polite conversation. Never any substance, never any true joy.

I want to know if Isabelle found anything useful, or if she fell asleep too; it's nearly seven now and we should be getting up soon. Clary's trial is in a few hours. I tentatively run my hand over Isabelle's back to wake her up. She stretches and relaxes closer into my side, her arm coming around my waist. My heart hops when she smiles and turns her face upwards, finally opening her soft eyes to gaze at me. Yeah, I really wish we could stay here for a while longer.

"Iz?" I ask, my fingers running over the ends of her splayed hair; silky and straight underneath my fingertips.

"Hm?" She murmurs, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she sits up and rolls her neck in a circle. Her endlessly long legs peek out from under the thin throw blanket as she arranges herself in a cross-legged position, slip riding up her thigh. I can see the faint faded scars of past runes, past stories, past lives, curling up under the hem.

"Do you remember a time when your parents were happy? Like, truly happy," I ask, hedging around as I sit upright.

"I always thought they were happy," she shrugs and runs her fingers through her hair pulling out the snags. "But I guess I didn't really know any better when I was a kid. Obviously I know they're miserable now, but… I don't know. Maybe before I was born, before Max."

I think about that for a minute, formulating the words on my tongue before saying them. "I was thinking the same thing. About my parents, I mean. I remember my mom being genuinely excited for Clary, and I know she loved me, but I think the rest was…"

"A complete farce?" Isabelle sighs, her eyes matching mine.

"Yeah."

"It's weird isn't it? How these journals just completely ruined everything we thought we knew about our childhood?" She grins sardonically, her eyes sad.

"To be young and naïve again," I muse with a dramatic sigh, the mood shifting from something of a tense understanding to something softer.

"I'm glad you get it," she says grabbing my hand and twining her fingers between mine. "Your parents were exactly where mine were, emotionally at least."

"I guess you got off the hook on the murderous, backstabbing father bit," I squeeze her hand.

"Well, the vindictiveness is still there, but I'd rather not see if it escalates," she struggles to smile but her down-turned eyes say enough, and just like that the mood is gone.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, wishing this could all be over. For Clary and Jace, for Isabelle, for everyone that's gotten involved. "This is a drag."

"Let's go eat?" She asks hopefully, and I can tell that she doesn't want to talk about her father any longer. "Hopefully Clary's up so we can see her before she…"

She lets her sentence trail off, but she doesn't have to finish it for me to know what she was going to say. Before she has to leave again. Angel knows what'll happen today. Robert only has to seed reasonable doubt in the Clave for this entire thing to fall through, for Clary to be locked away or cast out into the mundane world. Stripped of her runes and the only life she has ever known.

"Yeah," I say softly and pull my hand from hers gently, the lack of warmth leaving me feeling oddly off kilter. "Let's go find her."