So I've written a one-shot for the Mortal Instruments before, and so I decided to fair my chances at writing a multi-chapter. City of Fallen Angels was brilliant, wasn't it? As to when this is set, somewhere in between the fourth and fifth books, due to the fact that I don't actually know what's going to happen yet. If, in the future, I begin to include parts from the other books, then, that's why. But it's not really got a time at the moment. I just know it's after CoFA.

As usual, I don't own any of the characters or storylines from the books, or the MI series, because the ever wonderful Cassandra Clare does. And thank God she does, because it wouldn't be half as good if I wrote it.

Rocky :)

xx

For the third consecutive day, Simon walked home in the sludge of silt covered sleet, the soles of his shoes saturated from the mush of ice attempting to cast them firmly in place. He guessed this was the downside of living in a busy city; the snow would only be real in more secluded parts.

The weirdest thing about the sudden snowfall was that no-one had predicted it. Sure, they'd had snow at odd times of year before, but this was freak, and there had been no previous signs from the searing heat they had had over the last week.

"Geez, it's cold," Jace complained from beside him, rubbing his arms in an attempt to heat them up.

"Maybe next time it snows you should wear a coat," suggested Simon, looking over at where Jace stood, tee-shirt stretching over his biceps. "Or would that be undignified, not flaunting as much flesh as possible?"

"When you've got the flesh to flaunt, why not flaunt it?" Jace said with a tidy wink.

"Then you can't complain about being cold, then, can you?" Simon sighed. "You should have bought a coat, like me." He shrugged his shoulders to indicate the Parker he had on.

"See, that I don't understand," Jace said, pinching the material of the jacket with a look of distaste. "You're a vampire. You don't get cold. Surely you should sacrifice your coat for your frozen friend."

"I see no friend," Simon answered with a look of mock confusion. Jace made a grab for the jacket, but Simon hopped out of his way. "Mate," he said with a look of faint amusement, "You don't want to get sevenfold-ed, do you?"

"At least it would be warm," snapped Jace, stomping ahead of Simon.

They turned into Luke's drive to see him standing outside, scraping ice off of his truck. He was bundled up, windcheater and thick gloves, wellingtons that were nowhere near as snazzy as Isabelle's Hunter boots covering warm looking pants.

"Yet another person well protected against the weather," gasped Simon. "And there was me thinking that only a fool like myself refused to 'flaunt it'."
"I said flaunt it if you had the flesh to flaunt," Jace reminded him. "Since you have none..."

Simon rolled his eyes and looked over at Luke, who was staring at them with a small frown. "Something up, Luke?"

"I was wondering if either of you tried to call me this morning, actually," he admitted, sweeping a broom over the windscreen to eradicate the dust-like snow left.

"If I'd wanted your attention, I'd have come round," Jace said with a shrug. "I'd have thrown something at your window or blasted your door down."

"Because that's Shadowhunter etiquette," Simon said sarcastically. "I didn't call you either, Luke. I have no credit to, anyway."

"That's weird," Luke said, rubbing his eyebrow. "The number was withheld. I thought maybe you were playing some joke on Clary, but then when I picked up the phone got dropped."

"Cold caller?" suggested Simon.

"Stalker?" Jace offered.

"No," Luke said with a frown. His expression cleared up and he shrugged. "Oh well. Maybe they got the wrong number, or were stoned."

"Or maybe they were both," Simon supplied. "Eric's tried to call his girlfriend and ended up with my number before, and he's always been like... hwazahh..." He put his arms out and let his eyes roll back into his head to symbolize that Eric stoned resembled some kind of rabid zombie.

Jace gave him a lingering gaze, before turning to Luke. "Clary in at all?"

"Inside." Luke jarred a thumb in a direction behind him. "But you might not want to go in there. Jocelyn's in a bad mood, and your face might just set her into overload."

"God forbid she should 'overload'," Jace said in a sardonic sort of voice, although Simon noticed that he didn't make any advances for the house.

When Luke showed no sign of movement either, he rolled his eyes. "I'll go and face the wrath of Jocelyn," he sighed. "I shall fetch your damsel in distress and then, and only then, I shall sit down and watch Eric's vlogs. Apparently they're hilarious. He could be the next Shane Dawson." Then again, they could be hilariously crap. In which case equally entertaining.

Simon maneuvered himself from the sludge onto Luke's freshly shoveled and salted path and traipsed up to the house.

He was greeted by Jocelyn's voice forming a long winded lecture about heat loss. "If you let in all the cold air then we'll have to turn the heating up, and if we have to turn the heating up then we'll have to pay more. And then, if we have to pay more, we won't be able to afford any of the nice stuff that we have, and we'll have to go and live in a hovel, Clarissa, and we don't want that, do we?"

Her head poked round the corner from the little kitchenette she had been busying herself in and she spotted Simon.

"Oh, hello, dear!" she said cheerfully, and flushed a little at her rant once she noticed that he had in fact closed the door. "I thought you were Clary."

Simon grinned politely at her, as she continued to tell him that her daughter was in fact in the living room watching anime ("and probably getting square eyes, she's been there so long!"). He smiled at her and wandered off to find Clary.

Sure enough, Clarissa was in the living room and miniature manga characters were indeed twirling around the screen of her television. She looked up upon his arrival with a slightly sour grin. "She lecturing again?" she asked him quietly. He nodded, and she rolled her eyes. "Get me out of here, Lewis."

Simon grinned. "Do you think Luke has a spare coat? Zorro out there is whining about the cold."


Luke had probably the most boring ringtone in the world, Maia thought as she slid over the counter and into his lounge, where the source of the dull low pitched rings came from. Come to think of it, it was a pretty boring phone too. It was a faded gray color that reminded her a little bit of vomit.

"Hello?" she said, answering it. "Luke's place."
There was heavy breathing on the other end, and Maia frowned. "Who is that?" she asked. "Are you okay? Do you need me to call someone?" Her frown grew when she received no answer. "Bat, is that you? Funny joke."

There was once again no answer, merely the heavy breathing. "Look," she snapped, "Whoever this is it's not funny and it's not scary either. Grow a pair and talk to me, or get a life. Decide quickly."

"Clarissa…" the voice said in a scratchy kind of sound.

Maia swept a braid out of her face. "No, this isn't Clary. Are you some kind of-"

But the phone line gave a beep to announce that it was disconnected, and she sighed, letting it drop back into the cradle.

She didn't have time for perverts or stalkers, and she certainly didn't have the time to take their messages.


"Pi r squared."

"What?"

"Pi r squared," repeated Clary. "It's the formula you need for the question. Come on Si, even I know that, and I failed the shape and number test in seventh grade."

"You remember that test?" Simon asked, a little incredulously. "Geez, and there was me thinking you actually had a life now."

"Look, you need to do pi r squared to get the area, and then you can answer the question," Clary told him impatiently. When she received another blank look, she snatched his homework and began to do it herself.

"You know," Jace said from the window where he was slouched, "this is hardly a romantic date."

"I'll try harder next time, sweetie," Simon told him dismissively. Jace smirked at him.

"We're almost done, Jace," Clary informed the boy in question as she scratched out several more of Simon's unnecessary workings. "Then we go out."

"Where to?"

"Pandemonium?" she suggested, closing Simon's exercise book and sliding it towards him.

Jace wrinkled his nose. "We always go there."

"When have we been there explicitly as a couple?" Clary questioned him.

"It's a familiar haunt," Jace defended himself. "It doesn't hold anything new or exciting." He pulled a brochure out of his pocket, and Clary peered at it. It was for some new Downworld café, and she had to admit, just from the elegance of the leaflet, it looked quite intriguing. "I got given this by a nymph outside Macy's. She said that if we go there and flash this, they'll give us a discount."

"Oh, how romantic," Simon sighed in a theatrical way from his bed. "If you wanted to buy her a bargain meal, you could have taken her to Maccy D's."

Jace didn't seem to process this comment. "So what about it? You want to check it out?"

"Sure," Clary shrugged. "Just let me get a drink and I'll…"

At that moment, Simon's ringtone, the sound of sirens screeching "GINGER ALERT" to which Clary rolled her eyes and muttered about discrimination, sounded. He flipped it open, and scrolled through the message, the other two watching him intently.

As soon as he snapped the cell shut and slipped it back in his pocket, they swooped in on him like gannets.

"Who was that?"

"Was it Maia?"

"Isabelle?"

"Luke?"

"Magnus?"

"It's Maia," Simon clarified, frowning. "Apparently some creep was calling after you, Clary."

"How does she know?" Clary asked, eyebrows narrowing.

"She still spends time at Luke's," shrugged Simon. He stood up. "Anyway, you two had best go out for your romantic discount meal." He grabbed his coat from the floor and slipped it on. "In the meantime, I'm off to play Mario with Jordan."

"Oh, how that sounded so like an innuendo."


"In my life," Jocelyn sang, as she reached up to stow a box full of paint-splattered brushes on the top shelf, "I loved you all." She smiled as the song ended on the radio, and waited for the next tune to hum out of the small silver box. She gave a smile when it was Bob Dylan.

Starting to sing along to Blowin' in the Wind, Jocelyn jumped from the chair she was stood on and pulled her hair out of its ponytail, when the phone rang.

"Clary?" she asked. "Where are you?"

There was no reply, merely some heavy breathing. Jocelyn's eyes narrowed. "Who's calling?"

The phone line cut dead.