Welcome to my first Fanfiction. I've been reading FF (mostly TMI) for a few years now. This story has been in my brain for about a year and I finally am ready to write it. Just a few things: this is AU/AH, with Clace, some clabastian, Simon/Izzy, and Malec. I'll try to keep it as canon as possible, but there will be a few diverging plots. You'll see. Thanks for reading!
ALSO: I do not own any of the characters, only the illustrious Cassandra Clare owns them. I do, however, own this particular story, so please don't be lame and copy/paste it elsewhere. That stuff makes me salty.
August
Clarrisa Adele Fray, or Clary as she preferred to be called, stepped off of her flight into the bustling Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam. In just fifteen more hours, she would be home, in her own bed. She shifted her large messenger bag onto her right shoulder, strolling onto the walkway hoping to find a quiet place to relax and call her parents. She had really enjoyed her Summer semester in Italy, studying Renaissance Art and looked forward to starting her Senior year at NYU in just a few weeks. She hoped to quickly get through her next year of college, earning her degree in Art History, then move right on to get her Master's. She had everything carefully planned out, excited to start her internship at Tessa Gray's Gallery in January. Not stressful at all, Clary thought.
She looked forward to getting home to her apartment, then seeing her mom and dad. She had many stories to tell about her trip and especially wanted to show her mother her now bursting portfolio. She would, however, miss the independence and solitude traveling abroad had allowed her. Her parents had always kept her on a short leash. Her mother would worry about every little thing and scrutinize every person Clary brought into her life. Her Dad had been more flexible, but deferred to her mother on most issues. She barely dated in high school, as her mom had a serious fear of someone hurting Clary. She dated periodically in college, but kept most of her social life to herself to avoid mama-drama. Paranoia seemed to be the only flaw her mother possessed.
Her mother was the Jocelyn Fray-Garroway, a much sought after, celebrated artist in New York. Jocelyn insisted on keeping her personal life out of the public eye. This made marketing her work difficult, which made her agent and best friend, Tessa Gray have to work all the harder. But Jocelyn's work spoke for itself, garnering much critical acclaim in the New York art world. Clary was very proud of her mother and could only hope to be as successful in her own career. She even took her mother's maiden name as her own, an homage to the woman she admired; issues and all. She understood that Jocelyn's anxieties and overprotective nature stemmed from a very real fear. Her ex-husband.
Clary was well aware that her mom had a bad history with her first husband. All she knew was that he was a scary, possessive man that her mother left in Europe, fleeing to New York, and starting over. Luke Garroway, Clary's father, had helped her leave. Jocelyn divorced her ex from the United States and apparently never saw him again. Clary didn't even know his name or much else about her mother's past. At Clary's Sweet Sixteen party, after a few large glasses of wine, Jocelyn indicated that her greatest fear was him coming after Clary. Which Clary thought was weird because there were no ties between her and that horrible man. Her dad had abruptly changed the subject and it was forgotten, for the most part. It was obvious that Jocelyn's past was quite traumatizing and she didn't want to share anything about it with Clary. This was fine with Clary. She knew her mother's one, true love, would always be Luke. Jocelyn and Luke were married soon after her divorce, finding themselves pregnant with Clary rather quickly. They were a tight-knit family, loving and supporting each other unconditionally. Of course, it didn't hurt Jocelyn's sense of security that Luke was NYPD's Chief of Detectives. Having a badass policeman with connections in the family is never a bad thing, she thought to herself, Mom's psycho-ex would have to be certifiable to mess with Luke's beloved family.
Clary tried not to worry Jocelyn too much and often kept things from or outright lied to her tightly-wound mother to avoid drama. Yawning and feeling drained, Clary decided to stop thinking so much about her mom's issues, not wanting to have them become her own. It was a stress-inducing rabbit hole she hated to fall into, but often did. She rubbed her eyes. Coffee. She needed coffee. Now.
Clary made her way to a small café. It was nearly empty except for the barista at the front counter and a middle-aged man, dozing in a corner booth. She ordered an enormous black coffee from the counter, thanking the barista with a smile. The high heels of her black leather ankle boots clicked on the tiles as she removed her dark green blazer and straightened her black sleeveless dress. Her dress was a bit too form-fitting and uncomfortable for her taste. Can't wait to put on some sweats, when I get home, Clary thought. She sat in a comfortable black velvet chair, crossing her legs and stretching her feet upon the matching ottoman. All she wanted to do was sip her drink and people-watch. Reaching into her messenger bag, on the side table, careful not to bend her portfolio, she rifled through her belongings until finally locating her phone.
"Time to face the music.", Clary grumbled. Turning it on, six missed calls from her mom quickly filled her screen. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, "figures she would decide to freak out during my flight from Rome. I had to turn my phone off during the trip, mom." Without listening to the multiple messages, she quickly dialed her mother's number, laughing when the call went straight to voicemail. "Thank god. I'm so not in the mood for the third-degree." she sighed and waited for the message prompt.
"Hi Mom. Sorry I missed your calls." Clary spoke cheerfully, hoping that her voicemail would alleviate any irrational worries. Who was she kidding? Jocelyn Fray-Garroway, elusive famous artist and notorious helicopter mom would worry, no matter what the circumstances. "I'm in Amsterdam now and have about a three hour layover, then my flight leaves for New York. I miss you Mama and can't wait to see you and Dad. I'll call you as soon as I land, so no need to call me again. I'm just going to sketch and listen to music until my flight leaves. I love-" the voicemail cut-off, ending her call. She sighed then set her phone on the table next to her bag and picked up her mug. She hated feeling so annoyed with her mom, when she hadn't even seen her in person since May. She knew Jocelyn meant well. But Clary felt she could never be fully honest with her, for fear of triggering drama. Ugh. I'm doing it again. She chastised herself. Time to relax now.
Clary leaned back into the comfort of the chair, deeply inhaling the aroma of her coffee, sipping slowly. She gazed out into the growing crowd of morning travelers. She loved people-watching. It was a good way to find unique subjects to sketch. Across the walkway, at a newsstand, a man caught her eye. He was flanked by two large imposing men, one on each side. Obviously bodyguards, Clary thought, He must be someone important. Maybe a politician or something. Maybe a Super Villain… They were dressed similarly to each other in dark suits, with black gloves. How cliché. Both men had dark, short-cropped hair. The man barely acknowledged them as he perused the newsstand, picking up a thick newspaper.
Based on his style and demeanor, Clary guessed him to be in his late forties to early fifties like her dad. He was tall, dressed in expensive looking business attire in hues of charcoal. His short, shockingly white hair was brushed meticulously back. He wore black leather gloves, clutching an obsidian walking stick with a gleaming silver top. She could only see part of his face, but could not look away. He was definitely the most interesting person around. There was something that drew Clary to him, that she was practically gawking at him. Holy Lucius Malfoy, Batman! Damn, I wish Simon was here.
She had missed her best friend over the summer. He was her most favorite human since kindergarten and was the only person to tolerate her lifelong obsession with all things Harry Potter. He was kind, loving, her ride-or-die; and she was his. Simon Lewis was also one of the only people in Clary's life that Jocelyn trusted with her daughter. He was family, and her parents treated him as such. Clary knew that Jocelyn shipped them, always holding out that she and Si would get together. It would never happen, though. They tried to date in high school, after their moms pushed them. They even went to prom together, but it just wasn't right. Their friendship was too important to both of them. She couldn't wait to see him before he started back at Cornell again. He was majoring in Computer Science and planned to be a game designer. It was weird not going to the same college, but he wasn't too far from NYU and they still saw each other regularly. She picked up her phone, pretending to look at it and stealthily snapped a shot of the striking white-haired man, to show Simon later.
Switching her phone to selfie-mode, she looked at her image and pulled the two large black scrunchies from her hair, releasing it from the tightly wrapped bun at the nape of her neck. As if excited to be set free, her crazy mane of thick red curls bounced around her head and dropped heavily past her shoulders to her mid back. Clary ran her free hand through her hair, smoothing a few wayward curls behind her ears. I wish my hair was darker like Mom's, she thought. Jocelyn Fray was what one would call a classic beauty. Dad always said he fell in love with mom the first time he saw her, that her beauty was mesmerizing. At 5'7 with long, wavy dark red hair and a creamy pale complexion with bright green eyes, Clary never could understand how people thought they looked alike. Simon always called Clary Jocelyn's "mini me". Mini being the operative word. Clary was a measly 5'0 (maybe 5'1, yeah sometimes she rounded up, what of it?). Other than similar coloring and the same bright green eyes, Clary thought she looked like a child compared to her stunning, sophisticated mother. A very freckled child. Clary hoped her freckles would fade as she got older. Her mother's had. In high school, Simon once referred to her mom as a MILF, which after a thorough hair pulling slap-fest, he never dared speak of again.
With her napkin she wiped away a few mascara smudges under her eyes. "I guess this will have to do" she mumbled to herself. She shook her hair out and smiled, snapping a selfie. She popped her earbuds into her ears and put her Harry Potter soundtrack playlist on shuffle. Time to get in the zone, she thought. Drawing had always been a need Clary had to fulfill, almost meditative. Her mother had affectionately called it her itch, with drawing and painting her only way to scratch it. Clary loved that she and Jocelyn shared the same passion for art. Her mother was her first teacher of the craft, possibly her greatest.
She pulled her sketchbook and charcoal out of her bag to draw Mr. Mysterious Aryan Rich Guy. When she looked up she jumped, startled. The man was staring directly at her with a shocked look on his face. Oh shit, Clary thought, did he see me take his picture? I hope he's not pissed. His expression changed to scrutiny and he narrowed his eyes, tilting his head as he continued staring at her. It was as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Even spanning the twenty-something feet between them, she could see his eyes were dark and intense. He was very handsome, for an older man. Something about his expression made her feel vulnerable and small. He was intimidating as hell. Exuding power. Holding her gaze, he murmured something to the men at his sides. Both men turned to look at her and then looked away.
Embarrassed by his attention, she politely returned his smile then looked down at her sketchbook. She hated when her people-watching turned weird. Occupational hazard when you stare at strangers and secretly draw them, she thought. She flipped through the pages, trying to look busy. She quickly looked back up to see if the man was still staring at her, only to find that he was slowly walking towards her, his men remaining behind. Clary's heart started pounding and she held her breath. There was something off about this guy. What the hell is he doing? Crap!
She nearly screamed when her phone buzzed in her ears with an incoming call. Obi-Wan Kenobi flashed across the screen. She pulled her earbuds out and shakily put the phone to her ear. She took a deep breath, trying not to look shaken. The man smiled apologetically, nodding once at her and walked back to his associates at the newsstand. I'm such a paranoid dork! Thanks, Jocelyn. He probably just thought I was someone else. I really need to stop watching Lifetime movies, she thought to herself, giggling.
Clary answered her call, "Simon! I was just thinking about you!"
Simon laughed, "Yes! Were you touching yourself, Fray? What are you wearing?" His voice was low and breathy.
Glad for the comedic relief, only her bestie could provide, Clary rolled her eyes, making a gagging noise into the phone, "You betcha Si, I was picking my nose and, of course, I'm wearing your Mom's granny panties and flannel nightgown. Is that hot enough, you freaking perv?"
Clary giggled and looked around self-consciously, hoping she wasn't being too loud. The white-haired man and his two associates were nowhere to be seen. Good. Awkwardness averted, she thought. She flipped through her sketch pad to an empty page, doodling as Simon cleared his throat.
"Ew, thanks for the nightmares tonight, C." he replied dryly. "Anyway, I'm on my way over to your place to hang with Izzy and make sweet love to my lady. How sturdy is your desk? We'll both be at the airport to pick you up tomorrow. I'm tracking your flight info, so no need to text me…unless you want to send me a few nudies."
Clary laughed out loud, "You wish. I actually have a few lackluster junk pics your douche-bag roommate sent after my going away party in May. You should have an excellent time spanking it out. Maybe you could share them with Izzy before you two defile my apartment with your sexcapades tonight? Remember, my room is off limits. I don't want to have to do a full sage-smudging before sleeping in my own bed."
"Yes, Mistress." Simon groaned. "Alrighty then. I'm pulling up to your apartment now. I can't wait to see you tomorrow. Love you, Fray! Remember, don't talk to strangers or accept candy from handsome older dudes asking you to call them Daddy. I don't want to have to tell your mom you got trafficked. She's fucking terrifying."
"Got it. Thanks for the Stranger Danger PSA, Dad." Clary laughed. "Love you too, Si. See you both tomorrow." Ending the call, Clary's eyes welled with tears. She hadn't realized she missed her best friend so much. She dabbed them away with her napkin and took another sip of her coffee. Thankfully it was still warm enough to enjoy. She returned to her sketchbook, starting a new page. She began to sketch a rough outline of the white-haired man's form from memory, lightly humming to herself. She wished she could see his face up close, for better detail. Eventually, she stopped drawing, somewhat pleased with the progress of her picture.
Clary raised her eyes and saw that the white-haired man was, once again, standing at the newsstand, looking directly at her. He seemed to be debating something, when he put his phone to his ear, speaking and not moving from her line of vision. Clary looked over her right shoulder to see if there was another person he could be looking at. She was startled to see that one of the large men that flanked him earlier was sitting on a blue velvet couch, not ten feet behind her, reading a magazine. He had his feet up on the coffee table, sipping a cup of tea. He looked to be in his thirties, with very short black hair, sun-tanned and pock-marked skin. He raised his dark blue eyes to her and smirked. Pursing his lips and raising his right eyebrow, he winked at her. Clary was always envious of people that could raise a single eyebrow. It's a talent she never developed. She blushed and quickly turned back around in her chair. She heard him chuckle behind her. Great, now Captain Eyebrow thinks I'm interested in him. Not. She thought to herself. I wonder where his twin is hiding? As if she had asked her question out loud, she spotted the second linebacker-shaped man at the café's counter ordering a drink.
This man was slightly leaner than Captain Eyebrow, with thick, dark brown hair, and hazel eyes. Clary would have found him handsome if not for the lecherous look he gave her, scanning head-to-toe, his eyes lingering on her chest. He arched his left brow and grinned at her, with blinding white teeth. Seriously? Jerk. Clary glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest. He had a large mug in his gloved hand and walked to the front of the café, sitting alone in the booth by the entrance. Putting his phone to his ear, he spoke quietly to someone, flicking his eyes back to her. Okay. Enough of this testosterone crap. If I get snatched and trafficked, Simon will be so pissed.
Clary checked the time on her own phone. She had only been sitting in the café for about an hour. So, she had two more hours to kill before her flight left. She decided she didn't want to spend it getting eye-fucked by a couple cavemen. She stood up, smoothing the slim skirt of her dress down her legs and slipped her jacket back on. Clary took one of her black scrunchies, scooping her thick curls back into a loose ponytail. She heard a low whistle behind her from Captain Eyebrow. She pocketed her phone, packed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. She approached the counter, ignoring Mr. Crest White Strip Guy and asked the barista for a fresh coffee in a to-go cup. Clary hurried onto the walkway, to find another quiet place to wait for her flight. Hopefully creep-free.
Clary begrudgingly found the VIP lounge near her departure gate. She sighed. One of the perks of having a wealthy, over protective mom was she insisted on purchasing passes for such luxuries when booking Clary's trip. Elitist and snobby, she thought. Clary would prefer to have stayed in the café, but the two weirdos made her nervous. Growing up, dad had made sure she and her mom took self-defense courses, but Clary had never actually had to use her skills. She doubted she would really be able to fight-off such big dudes, if she had to. She preferred to avoid conflict when possible. "Geez Fray, paranoid much?" She laughed to herself, walking through the lounge entrance. Like mother, like daughter, Clary thought. Speaking of, I wonder why she hasn't called me back. Or Dad...
Checking in at the counter, Clary made her way to an isolated alcove with a large coffee table and soft, overstuffed chairs. There were a few travelers, mostly older people, scattered at different tables throughout the lounge. She plugged her phone in to charge and placed it face-up on the table. A waitress stopped by her table, asking if she would like to order a drink, which Clary politely declined. Removing her jacket and making herself comfortable, she put her earbuds back in and listened to ambient music. She retrieved her sketchbook and colored pencils, finding a Snickers bar in her bag. Smiling, she snacked, sipped coffee, and doodled. Heaven.
Clary looked up when she heard the lounge door open and murmuring voices at the check-in counter. The white-haired man and his two associates walked in and took seats at an alcove across the room from Clary. They didn't look her way, preoccupied with looking at their drink menus. Good. The man opened his newspaper, shaking it wide in front of him. Clary noticed it was The New York Times and wondered if they were all waiting for the same flight.
There was something Clary couldn't shake about this man. He looked striking and mysterious, dangerous even. She was inspired to sketch him again and began drawing, watching him through her lashes with her head down. Losing herself in her sketch, she drew for quite a while, before she noticed a shadow come over her table. She snapped her sketchbook shut before looking up, startled. It was him and he was standing right in front of her. Okay. I guess this is happening, Clary thought.
Clary blushed nervously and took her earbuds from her ears. "Can I, uh help you, sir?" She stammered, furrowing her brows, looking up at him. His dark brown eyes Black? gazed intently into her bright green eyes, drinking her in. Clary shifted nervously and plastered on a fake smile. It's like he thinks he knows me or something. I know I have never seen him. Ever, she thinks to herself.
"Excuse me, miss. I'm sorry to interrupt your work." He gestured to her sketchbook. "Have we met before? You seem so familiar." He asked with a mild accent. German? Swiss? Definitely not British…He smiled, removed his gloves and extended his right hand as if to shake hands.
"I, uh, don't think so…I" Clary stammered and nervously extended her right hand. The man drew her hand in a strong grip to his lips, lightly kissing its back, never breaking his intense eye contact. Clary's heart began pounding, chills erupting down her back. He slowly, reluctantly released her hand and stood up straight and tall, placing both hands tightly on the ball of his walking stick. He looked rather intimidating, standing over her, looking down at her face. Clary stared up at him in stunned silence. Who the hell is this guy and why is he so interested in me? God, is he trying to pick me up? She thought.
"Cat got your tongue?" He murmured, "My name is Valentine Morgenstern. And, my dear, who might you be?"