The Tower

"I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run around in circles, it's a very, very mad world."- Gary Jules:"Mad World"

She woke up to the sound of pouring rain.

For a moment she just laid there, listening to the clicking off the ceiling fan and the harsh clatter of the drops on the roof, taking in the blue walls and the white ceiling and the ache in her neck from sleeping with her head propped up against the headboard. It took her a second to remember the events of the previous night and where she was and who she was with and that Max was dead and her mother was dead and she had just, for the first time in what seemed like forever, cried herself to sleep.

Alec inhaled sharply beside her in his sleep and she jumped slightly, startled. When she looked to him, she couldn’t help but giggle slightly. He had fallen asleep the same way she had-up against his headboard and over the course of the night, he had slid downward until his head was bent at what must have been a painfully awkward angle, with his chin touching his chest. There’s something different about Alec when he’s sleeping, she thinks. Something pure and unburdened, something that reminds her of innocent lost and maliciousness found. Alec used to be so different, before they started training, before Jace came. There used to be something open, something soft in his eyes.

But Shadowhunting changed (ruined) everything. One can only tolerate the sight of black blood spilling from a jagged, open wound for so long, for so many different cases. Isabelle remembers one fight, when they killed an ancient demon, a really crafty one, who managed to hold her human form until she died. The blood from her hole in her chest even glinted red in the light. Alec told Isabelle that he would never forget that moment when the light went out of her eyes, when the last few strands of whatever metaphysical life the demon help slipped out of her hellish fingers. It was one of the only times, he said, that he felt less like a Shadowhunter and more like a murderer.

Isabelle feels the same way. The only difference between Shadowhunting and murdering is who they kill. Jace doesn’t care; demons aren’t people, so he says. But Isabelle has this nightmare, this dream, where she kills a demon only to find out seconds later that she made a mistake in her calculations- it was actually a human and, without fail, she always wakes up screaming.

But she’d by lying if she didn’t say she enjoyed what she did. Shadowhunting was what she was born to do. It was her calling, her only calling. Isabelle didn’t have many natural abilities, but fighting was one of them. She loves being powerful, being skillful, being one of the only woman Shadowhunters. It makes her unique, special and there was nothing Isabelle Lightwood liked more than being special.

Alec shifted again, mumbling something and managing to get into an even more uncomfortable position. He was going to have quite the kink in his neck when he woke up the next morning if he didn’t straighten out. Getting up on her knees next to him, she slid her arm underneath his shoulder, pulling him up against her chest while she used the rest of her body weight to push him farther down the bed. Satisfied that he was straightened out enough, she slide her hand up to cradle his head as she set him back on the bed. It was times like these that she wondered what sort of mother she would be. She hated little children, couldn’t stand them at all. So whiny and needy and co-dependent. She could never have someone depending on her and only her for half their life. But then something like this would happen and that little, almost nonexistent well of compassion, of maternal instinct that was necessary to being a good mother would well up and spill over, flooding her insides and making her feel like she was light headed, almost faint.

She was backing off the bed, getting ready to head back to her own room when Alec’s hand grabbed her knee. She inhaled sharply, frightened for a second. He looked to her, bleary eyed and lethargic and mumbled out something, a word, a name.

“What?” she asked, leaning closer, her hands pressing against the covers.

“Mom? Mom, is that you?” he muttered, his eyes strained to search her face, to try and find the features of their mother, the ones Isabelle knew she possessed. She hadn’t known that such a little thing could make her lose it all over again.

Tears spilled over her lids, down her cheeks, burning like fire against her skin. She couldn’t even begin to think about all the feelings pounding against her head. Too much for her to handle. Grabbing for Alec’s hand on her knee, she gripped it as tight as should could. “Mom?” he asked again, still caught in sleep. Trying to answer him, all that came out were more sobs and she gasped to catch her breath.

“Shhhh.” It was the only comprehensible sound she could make. “Shhh. Go back to bed.” She pressed her palm to the side of his face, running her thumb along his cheek.

“Why are you crying?” She couldn’t tell if he knew it was her or not. To be honest, she didn’t really even care.

“It’s fine.” She lied, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. “Don’t worry.” He opens his mouth to say something, but seemed to decided against it, his eyelids fluttering as he drifted back into the fog of sleep

When he’s sleeping, Alec almost looks like he did when they were younger. Naive and serious and pretty. It’s enough to make her wish he slept forever, just to keep that look on his face. A smile tilts up at the corner of his mouth and she hopes he’s having a good dream.

A/N: Gotta admit, I like this chapter alot more then I liked the last one. Also, because I'm an attention whore: If you want to follow me on Twitter, I angst about my DE writer's block on there-- you can find the link to my page in the my profile. And there's usually updates approximating how long until I update this damn thing. The next chapter will be up in less then five months this time, I promise. Now only if The Little House was being as nice as this story is being....