Lawyers: I don't own TMI

Readers: I'm super happy that so many people want to read this story! And super surprised. Uhhhh, thanks for the reviews too! I sometimes forget to say thanks, but I really am thankful. I don't have any plans for Jace and Simon, seeing as they date Clary and Isabelle respectively in the novels, so... any ideas are welcome. Sorry for spelling mistakes, I do miss a lot of stuff myself, and I have no beta-reader.

Warnings: None for this chapter...

-Disobedience-

-Chapter Two-

"So, we 'try' this... relationship... attempt it.. and go from there?" Clary raises her eyebrows, fingers playing along the edge of her sketchbook in a struggle to remain calm. Clary had ruined many good sketching papers and books by playing with the edges, pulling and bending so they would fray. She swallows, dropping her hand as she looks up at Isabelle, who was inspecting her mug of water across the counter.

"When you put it like that, you make it sound dry and boring," Isabelle sighs, hand supporting her chin as she leans on the table. In that position, with her black hair pulled up into a ponytail, Clary swears Isabelle looks exactly like her mother. With the exception of the eyes, Izzy's were a deep brown.

"I'm sorry I suppose."

"Well, now you just sound sad. Don't think of this as something completely obligatory, it's not like I'm forcing you to a marriage contract with a knife at your throat," Isabelle replies sarcastically, still eyeing the mug that says 'World's Best Mother' on the side. Clary was nervous to invite her over, so Isabelle pretty much invited herself over. Clary was silently praying she would not request to see her room; paint and brushes and pens laying everywhere, discarded projects and new ones lacing her desk and dresser, her bedroom was in chaos. So far though, Isabelle had made no attempt to see her bedroom though.

"So what do we do?" Clary asks with a tilt of her head, and Isabelle shrugs.

"Anything you would like to do at first."

"Um, well, what do you want me to do?" Clary stares at Isabelle, forcing her eyes to stare into that dark, mysterious brown. It was hard to look at Isabelle without feeling some type of attraction. Even harder when those eyes were staring right back. Isabelle shrugs once again, tapping her manicured nails on the counter, expression calm. Like she did not have a care in the world, and did not notice what kind of affect she had on people around her. Confident, a demeanour that made Clary's heart ache with both envy and adoration.

"I want you to do lots of things."

"Oh... well, that's very descriptive," Clary says sarcastically, and Isabelle quirks up one eyebrow, the corner of her lips turning up. She sits up straighter, lowering her hands to the table as her gaze remains cool. Looking much more attentive and serious, she licks her lips before talking.

"How about I go home tonight, think about... us, if you can call it that. I draw up a list, requirements, then I hand them to you," Isabelle says, her bell-like voice ringing strongly. Clary swallows and nods quickly, red hair bouncing into her eyes. Flustered, unsure of whether this deal was really a good idea, Clary rushes to push her hair out of her eyes. Isabelle smiles again, in that dark and sexy way of hers. The kind of smile that made one think of a succubus from hell. Seductive, entrancing, and aimed right at Clary.

"You make it sound like 50 shades of grey," Clary mumbles out, blushing and looking to the side. Isabelle huffs, looking rather insulted.

"I would never resort to such low-life abuse. But, I will admit, any... problems with 'us', and I won't hesitate to drop you. I'm not going to sugar-coat it," Isabelle warns, and Clary looks back at her. "But, I would never hurt you. But, I do want to try something with you."

"Try," Clary says, smiling a bit and blushing. Try. Isabelle could try to win Clary over all she wants, but she already had. Isabelle nods, finally picking up the cup and taking a long sip, then setting the half-empty glass down. She stands, grabbing her expensive looking black hand bag with a gold strap off of the chair next to her, smoothing out her summer dress. A deep midnight blue with black bordering, and black sandals to match.

"Well, since we've sorted this out, I'll go now," Isabelle says, throwing her bag's strap over her shoulder. Clary nods, standing up and escorting her to the door. Admittedly, she could not help but check Isabelle out during the entire walk. She walked like a super model, confident and steady. Hips swaying. Hair swinging. It was a simple but entrancing walk. Clary feels as though they've arrived at the front door too early, and she regretfully opens it, standing aside with her head bowed. Isabelle walks over the threshold, turning around with her arms crossed over her chest. Clary looks up, blushing, remembering last night's kiss, wondering if Isabelle was expecting another kiss.

"Phone me tomorrow. Or earlier, if you're eager," Isabelle says, smiling. Clary expects her to wink, that tone was so playful. But Isabelle just turns around, walking down the apartment steps and out the door, leaving behind a scent of lavender perfume. Having no idea what to think about what just happened, Clary shuts the door, leaning on it, resting her forehead on the wood as she closes her eyes and thinks. Isabelle Lightwood. A model. A kid from a rich family. A seductress. My new weakness. Clary turns around, still leaning heavily on the door as she slides slowly to the floor, resisting the urge to kick her legs triumphantly. She had gotten through their fourth little meeting, and it had gone pretty damn smoothly. Still, it was taking Isabelle a rather long time to decide if she even wanted to date her. Relax, Clary, it's only been two days, Clary chastises herself. Smiling, she digs into her pocket for her phone, calling up Simon.

"Simon?"

"Clary? What's up?"

"I need to tell you something," Clary says, breathing in and out slowly. Where did she start? Probably the first time she met Isabelle.

Clary walks in Edom alone tonight, glancing around with a camera in hand. Though drawing and painting was her thing, she could not deny the feeling of a camera in her hand, catching every moment better then drawing from the mind, after all, certain things were just to full of life to be properly drawn out. So, she holds it in her hand, walking around and trying to feel normal given that there were other photographers everywhere, taking pictures of the models. Of course, the other ones taking pictures were mostly made up of professionals, and had years of experience, and were at least a little well known. In here, Clary was just some kid with a camera, gawking awkwardly and sticking out in the crowd with her paint covered overalls and plaid T-shirt tied around her waist.

Eyes scanning the room, she creeps over the floor, feeling self-conscious. There was not a drop of make up on her face, and she was nor prancing around in designer heels. At the same time though, she did not care. This was an opening, to allow certain up-an-coming art students a chance to get a feel of this kind of scene. To try meetings models, seeing basic sets. Seeing how other photographers did their thing.

In all honesty, the one thing that made Clary feel completely out of place was the yelling and calling of photographers, demanding attention from the models. They crowd around them, cameras up, flashes flickering, eyes darting to the next interesting thing. And then more yelling, more pleading for a good shot. Clary was just not like that, she was quiet, not anxiety-ridden but simply just not extroverted enough. Not out-going.

Five minutes she lasts.

Five minutes before the noises bother her, before the sparkles and glitter become nauseating and the flashing becomes dizzying and the thickness of the moving crowds were claustrophobic. A break was what Clary needs, some air, some time to figure out what the hell she was doing here in the first place.

Working her way through the people, she is pushed and shoved, and struggles to not lose her balance all the way to the back door. Bursting through it, she inhales some strong evening air and closes her eyes, the wind wiping over her face. A grin forms on her face. Still, confused as to what to do, she descends the steps and sits down, glancing around. Just a long empty back lane, some discarded garbage and old soggy cigarette butts, and a woman- oh. Another person. Wondering if she intruded on this person's alone time, she looks away and makes a plan to just get up an... walk away. Okay, maybe she was anxiety-ridden.

"You a newbie?"

"I'm sorry?" Clary looks back over her shoulder at the woman... not a woman. No, this person had to be around her age, seventeen, but the make up and clothes made her look older. Long sunflower-yellow dress, standing in stocked-feet with heels discarded aside, hair up in a fancy clip and a cigarette in one yellow-gloved hand; yes, a model. She looked like she had walked straight from the movie 'The Beauty and the Beast'. Hell, she even had soft and large brown eyes, but the hair was black instead of brown. But she was not a Belle... beautiful, yes, but Belle was soft-looking, and this girl was all steel, a real-life vampire.

"You a model? A newbie? I heard the newbies were wearing hipster stuff," the girl says as she nods her head before taking a long drag. Clary frowns, looking down at her clothes, then looking up and shaking her head. She turns her body, one hand holding the strap of the camera. Miss Steel-Belle sighs with exasperation, taking another drag and looking away. "Oh, a photographer."

Clary blinks at her, surprised to see the girl suddenly uninterested in her, and not only that but looking disappointed upon the discovery. Clary could not blame her, if she had people demanding pictures all day like inside, she'd dislike herself too. Shaking her head, Clary narrows her eyes, not with anger but curiosity.

"Are you a model?"

"No, I woke up with the intention of looking like a Disney princess," the girl replies sarcastically before looking back at Clary. "Do you not know who I am?"

"Uh... a model...?"

"Isabelle. Isabelle Lightwood," the girl replies, and Clary slowly processes the names, trying to connect the dots. Lightwood. There was a Lightwood firm here, in New York, that held the best lawyers of the State. Run by... Marie, or maybe it was Marene Lightwood. A lawyer from their Clary's mother's case, when the divorce happened long ago. Clary had not been born yet. Clary's father got her brother. All very simple and standard in today's life, but Clary can still remember Ms. Gray, the lawyer who worked for her mother, only because she came to visit every now and then. She had moved back to London though, for whatever reason was unknown, but Clary knew she had been one great lawyer.

"You related to, uh, Marlene Lightwood?" Clary tries carefully, and Isabelle laughs and takes another drag.

"It's Maryse. She's my mother."

"Oh... okay," Clary says with a nod, looking away. She nods to herself, sitting in awkward silence for a solid minute before deciding to do the whole running-with-your-tail-between-your-legs act, and she stands and turns back to the door.

"You're not going to ask for a picture?" Isabelle raises her eyebrows, and Clary looks at her before looking away, blushing madly.

"Should I?"

"Photographers usually do."

"Guess I'm not a photographer, then," Clary says resolutely, turning back to the door and opening it. "Good look with your... modelling. Uhm, Disney... Beauty... Beast modelling... bye."

"Beast modelling? Really Fray?" Simon bursts into laughter, and Clary groans and face-plants the table, that moment etched into her brain forever. She holds the phone close to her ear, squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath.

"Want to hear the rest or not?"

"Of course I do."

"Okay, so I was about to go inside."

"You're not going to have a smoke?" Isabelle asks quickly, forcing Clary to pause again with the door half open, noises and flashes sounding from inside. Clary shakes her head furiously, red curls dropping onto her face, and she reaches up to push them away. One foot inside, the other out, she looks away.

"I don't smoke."

"Then why were you out here?"

"The noises, flashes, crowds. Kind of annoying," Clary confesses, looking back at Isabelle. She nods slowly, taking a long drag before grinning. She shakes her head now, and some ink black strands fall out, but in a way that suits her, it looks eloquent rather than disfigured. Clary feels a pang of envy for the effortless beauty Isabelle possesses.

"You sure aren't a photographer."

"I told you."

"One day you'll be though," Isabelle says with a long sigh, nodding her head to the building, as though motioning to everyone else. "Maybe just as irritating."

"Maybe one day you'll just be another diva." The words fall out of Clary's mouth before she can think them through. Isabelle laughs though, smiling wide, eyes narrowing in a friendly challenge, like she was not insulted at all. Rather, like she was enjoying the whole pointless banter.

"Maybe I already am."

"Probably."

"Maybe I'm the biggest diva here," Isabelle says, jerking her head to the building before looking away again, to the brick wall on the other side of the alley. She takes one last drag before tossing the butt at a puddle, then she smiles softly to herself. Chuckles. Clary swallows, unsure of what to say now. The awkward silence has fallen again. Or so she thought. "That award should go to my brother, actually."

"You have a brother?"

"Oh, yes. Three. All of which are either older or younger."

"So, you're a middle child?" Clary ask slowly, not wanting to pry too much. Isabelle nods again, leaning over to move her heels in front of her.

"Yep. Only girl, middle child. My oldest brother doesn't do much, though my parents press him to do stuff, he's really indecisive, so I do not need to live up to his expectations. He doesn't care, he wants to move away. He's actually here, but I'm pretty sure that's just cause I'm certain one of the male models is sleeping with him... I should stop talking," Isabelle sighs deeply once she has her heels on. She stands straight, nodding to the door. "Going in?"

"Oh? Uh, no, I'm..." Clary stops looking, looking down the lane and trying to find an excuse to stay outside, and perhaps ditch the place once she is gone. "I'm... taking pictures of the lane. Nice scenery, you know."

"And you wouldn't want me to ruin your shots," Isabelle says with a dramatic sigh. Clary blushes and lowers her head before lifting it back up again, chin higher with whatever courage she was trying to muster.

"Want to be in them?"

"Me? Why, I'd never," Isabelle states, voice once again dramatic. She holds out her gloved hand, and Clary looks down at it before grabbing it and shaking it, thinking of how awkward it should be to shake hands when they've already been talking a bit, and she lets it go. Isabelle stares. "You aren't going to lead me?"

"Lead you?" Clary frowns with confusion.

"Yes, where do you want me." Isabelle waves a hand down the lane, and Clary looks around, finally getting it.

"Everywhere," Clary says automatically, then blushes. Again. This blushing thing was getting out of hand. "I mean, um, that wall, and just... do your thing."

Isabelle nods, walking to the wall and leaning on it with her back, arms behind her. Clary likes that one the most, and the next one where Isabelle is actually smiling, and the next when she is distracted by a cat down the lane, and her brown eyes are gazing at it. Effortlessly beautiful. More, on the steps, on the other wall, in the centre of the lane. In only seven minutes, Clary is happy. She holds her camera lovingly. Isabelle walks up to her, grinning widely.

"Done, are we?"

"Yeah, they're all really great," Clary says as she goes through the photos, a wide grin on her face. She glances up at the tall model, swallowing nervously as her happy face forms into an anxious expression. "Um, thanks."

"Great. We should do this again sometime," Isabelle says, pulling a pen tucked away in her bra. Which amazes Clary, she never would have guessed it was there, but she did have big boobs... not the point. The model grabs Clary's hand, writing a number on the back. "To use the words of one of my brothers, who gets around a lot, call me."

"Will do," Clary says quietly, staring at the black numbers.

"What's your name?"

"Clary. Well, Clary Fray. Well, it's Clarissa Morgenstern, but my parents are divorced, and my mom's was Fray... so I am Fray. Well, no, I ak Clary, but Fray-Clary. Ah..." Clary inhales a deep breath afterwards, and Isabelle raises her slender black eyebrows. A laugh escapes Clary, and she reaches up to run a hand through her hair, suddenly feeling a tangle near the very back. A tangle which was caused by the familiar feel of dried paint. She laughs nervously again, needing to get home. "It's just Clary."

"Okay. I'm Isabelle. Or Iz. Or Izzy." Isabelle turns, walking inside and holding the door open as she waits. "Are you coming?"

"No, I'm going home," Clary says, and Isabelle nods. She lifts a hand, waving slowly, and Clary waves back until she is walking away, hips swaying and legs moving elegantly, the view disappearing as the door reappears. Clary sighs again, tilting her head as she thinks about what just happened. And what the hell just happened?

"That's it?" Simon sounds surprised.

"No, we met once, then a date, then she came over today."

"Well, tell me the rest," Simon demands, and Clary laughs, just as the click of a lock turning can be heard. She looks at the kitchen doorway, sighing inwardly. Either it was Luke, or her mother. And, either way, she would need to stop talking about what happened. Because she was not ready to tell her mother that she may very well be a lesbian. Or bi. Or something, anything, whatever would explain the automatic and magnetic attraction to Isabelle. Now I just sound cheesy. Soon, I'll be painting hearts everywhere and demanding fluffy unicorns.

"What is this I hear about fluffy unicorns?" Luke walks in as Clary jumps in her chair, not realizing she had said that out loud.

"Ah, you know, things," Clary says, then she holds the phone closer to her ear "Simon, I need to go."

"Things," Luke says while crossing his arms, staring at her with an amused expression. He stands still while looking around, eyes moving slowly over the dirty dishes. One sigh later, and he is filling up the sink with bubbles, preparing to clean like the gentleman he was. Clary gets up soundlessly to help him after hanging up, deciding Simon can wait a while for the rest of the events, both if which were equally exciting. Well, the date might not have sounded like it, since it was just a movie, but the next photo shoot? That had been fun. Lost in her thoughts, Clary hums to herself happily, oblivious to the world, just trapped to her own mind. The one question though, one that had been bothering her from day one, was a question that had been weighing on her mind since day one. Prodding at her conscience, demanding an answer. Why did Isabelle Lightwood want her of all people? Clary needed an answer fast.