This is an outtake from my main story Mortal Possession, detailing the plane ride between Isabelle and Simon. Thank you, to everyone reading Mortal Possession.


THIS STORY IS MORE THAN A YEAR OLD. To those of you who keep asking about the main story, (actually, I think it's the same person continuously) you can't find it. It doesn't exist anymore. Well, it probably does somewhere on my laptop hard-drive, but there is all of about 1% chance that it will see daylight again. It's terrible writing; so is this, actually. This is only around for sentimentality.

So, stop asking. You're not going to find it.


Isabelle was lying on the bed trying to read as the slight turbulence shook the plane. It was dark outside, and the only light came from the lamp beside the bed.

Isabelle was dressed in pyjamas—the only thing she wore in which the priority was comfort not fashion—and was under the covers of the bed. She was propped up on the pillows, and had just read the same line about twenty times, iPod earphones in her ears.

Sighing, frustrated, she put the book down. She simple couldn't concentrate. Her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on Simon.

Before he had come into her life, Isabelle was exactly what Alec had once called her: an ice queen. She was sarcastic, cutting, and constantly put boys down, often in a sweet voice to make it all the more nasty. She pitied and scorned the other girls, the ones who had found 'love'. She had a great time with boys, sure. They were conquests though, things to hunt and capture. And then she tossed them out in the cold. Sometimes literally.

But when Clary had brought that tall boy in the band tee-shirt to the Institute, that had began— so slowly that she didn't even realise it—to change.

She had treated him like the others at first, flirting with him, making him think that he had a chance. It was working perfectly, but she didn't get a chance to finish. And when he had been changed into a rat, she changed too. She...cared. She cared that he had been turned into a rat, beyond the consequences. She cared, for him.

She didn't know what the feeling was, and it scared her. So, she shoved it away, locking it up and throwing away the key. Figuratively speaking.

She also pushed away the object of her desire. In some way, the psudo-discovery of Jace and Clary being siblings was a blessing. It meant that she didn't have to see him anymore. That made things easier.

Then there was the time she had seen Simon, bloody and broken in Raphael's strong arms. That was the point she realised that she loved him. And she was tired of trying to deny it, tired of trying to push it away. She was absolutely terrified of this, this feeling, But she wanted to take a chance, even if she did get hurt. Because it was better to try and know how it worked out, then to not try at all and die wondering, wishing...

Maia. Isabelle frowned habitually. She didn't like the werewolf. She should have; Maia was a very likeable person. But she didn't, because Maia was after the same object as she was: Simon.

And then, in the darkest of the days, the time just after Max died, something amazing had happened. In the depths of depression, Simon had been there, and they had made love—she refused to think of it as simple sex. She had noticed that Simon hadn't told Clary about that, and she understood. Clary had been a very large fixation in Simon's life for a very long time. He really did love her. And that made Isabelle jealous.

She was glad that Jace was Clary's soulmate and all that; it meant that Simon would never be able to choose Clary.

Thinking of Simon now, compared to Simon almost four years ago, she could see how much he'd changed, but not. And she was glad. They were yin and yang; they balanced each other out. She loved him, and she was pretty sure he loved her. She had already made physical love with him; why shouldn't she say those three simple words?

The song on her iPod finished and the shuffle feature automatically loaded the next one. Chasing cars, by Snow Patrol.

"Ugh," she said, shutting the iPod off and dumping it unceremoniously onto the table next to her. Sick of the world, she shut off the light and lay there, eyes wide open.

Sighing, she rolled over, and closed her eyes, willing her brain to shut off. It wasn't easy, but finally she was almost asleep, in the twilight zone between consciousness and unconsciousness...

And someone knocked on the door.

Like most people who are woken from sleep, or almost sleep, she was irrationally angry.

"What?" she asked, annoyed.

"Can I come in?" asked Simon, as he poked his head through the door. Her anger evaporated instantly.


He closed the door behind him and sat on the bed.

They looked at each other, for a couple of minutes, the sudden awkwardness hanging between them.

"I have something—"

"I want to—"

They both fell silent, blushing.

"You go first," Simon said, smiling.

"Simon..." she said, suddenly unable to phrase exactly what she wanted to say. "I...well, it's you. It's just...Simon, since you came into my life, I've become different. I didn't even know I was different. And, at first, I didn't like it. But when you became a vampire, I realised..." She took a deep breath. "Simon, I love you."

"I know." The answer was so simple and fast, Isabelle was caught off guard.


"I know, and I love you too," he said, looking into her eyes. "I've known it probably since I've met you. Isabelle, I love you. Not the same as Clary, but maybe better. And I promise I will do everything I can to make this work. Okay?"

She stared at him for a moment, before crushing her lips to his, and winding her arms around his back. She could feel the cool radiating from his back, and she pulled him closer. He sighed into her mouth, and leaned back.

"You taste nice," he said, and it was blunt, she had to laugh. Once she was done, she pulled him in again by the shirt.

"I love you," she whispered to him.

He grinned at her. "I love you too."