That time of year for new stories! I absolutely love this one, I started it a couple of months ago and I'm having so much fun. I hope you guys enjoy it as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.

Clarissa Fray pursed her lips together, rolling her shoulders and closing her eyes for a few beats. She could hear everything going on around her, right down to the guy who sat three desks over and had an annoying habit of grinding his teeth. That was just meant to be something people did at night, and yet she had to put up with this through the day. Then there was the girl in the office down the hall, one of the executives at the company, who had been having phone sex for the past ten minutes.

And it had been bad phone sex.

It had Clary cringing at her desk and wrinkling her nose.

Then there were the normal, intense mingling of smells that were filling the place—cheap perfume, expensive perfume, a range of different shampoo and conditioners, body odor—usually these were all things that Clary could drown out.

But it had been getting harder and harder lately.

For the past thirteen months and two days, to be exact.

Clary took in a deep breath and got up from her seat, walking toward the bathroom, her heels clipping on the tiled floors. There had been carpet when she had first started here, which had been good on the hearing, the shuffle and smack and slap of shoes and heels on the tiles frustrated her no end, sharp and grating on her eardrums, but then the downside of carpet was that so much got caught up in the strands, spillages from peoples coffee and plates as they walked over it, and what got dragged in on their shoes, and that irritated her nose.

The problems with working in a building with hundreds of other people.

Or...The problems when her wolf was constantly on edge, scratching at her insides, snapping over every frustrating move, whining inside her head.

She pushed open the bathroom door, and her eyes rolled at the sharp smell of disinfectant mixed together with the huge array of flowers on the vanity unit that was trying to mask that chemical smell. She went into the toilet stall farthest from the vanity—she liked the smell of flowers as much as the next girl, but there were far too many in this tiny room, and mingled together with the chemicals, it was bordering on nauseating.

If she had the actual capability of being sick, she'd be throwing up.

Clary sat down on the closed toilet lid, resting her elbows on her knees and then burying her head in her hands. She took in some deep breaths through her mouth, purposefully not through her nose, and tried to quiet her mind.

Tried to quiet her wolf.

It had been getting worse, a hell of a lot worse in the past few weeks.

She could feel her wolf scratching and crying out, she felt as though she was constantly on edge, the little hairs on her arms and the back of her neck were always sticking up and there was a pounding in the back of her head that sounded like what humans said headaches were. She couldn't sleep properly, her dreams were all weird and complex and there were dark shapes that moved out of the shadows and made it feel as though she was being consumed, and through the day she found it hard to concentrate and focus on her work, even though she loved what she did.

"Fuck," Clary hissed out, turning her nails inward so that they pressed into her head. She kept on pressing, harder and harder, until she felt a trickle of blood and then she sighed and stopped, pulling her hands away. There were drops of blood under each of the three middle nails on both hand and she pressed her lips together as she sighed again. She got up off the toilet seat, smoothing her hands down over the dark grey pencil skirt that she was wearing and unlocked the door of the stall. She walked over the sinks, putting some soap on her hands and washing them, the blood turning pink as it mingled together with the water and slid down the sink. She ran her fingers through her hair, shaking it out so that it wasn't so obvious where she had pressed her hands against, and she knew that the little crescent indents that she had made with her nails would already be healed.

When she got back to her desk, she didn't bother sitting down. She picked up her phone and her bag and continued walking, down the hallway toward the main receptionist desk and then to the elevators. After she pressed the button to go down, she dialed the contact that was listed as her top favourite in the her contacts.

"Clary?" Simon Lewis' voice filtered through.

"I need you. Now," she stated as the doors dinged open and she stepped inside.

"I can be at your apartment in twenty five."

Clary felt better.

Not great, but better.

"Thanks," she murmured as she sat up on her couch, swinging her legs off where they had been stretched out and putting them on the ground. She could feel the waves of magic still rolling over her skin, acting as a cover up, not an actual fix to her problem, and she closed her eyes and took in a few deep breaths.

"Here," Simon said quietly, picking up her shirt from where it had been tossed and passing it back to her. Clary took it and twisted the thin material around in her hands before tugging it over her head. "It's not going to keep working, Clary," he murmured and she sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. Her make up was nowhere near as perfect as it had been, smeared and smudged from the sweat that had built up throughout her session with Simon. The room was dimly lit, none of the lights turned on, and the only light was coming through the thin slats of the wooden blinds that Clary had mostly turned all the way shut.

"It's working for now," Clary muttered, even though she knew that he was right. She rubbed her hand over her temples and then over her eyes and when she pulled her hand away, she saw a smear of black and silver, from her eyeliner and eye shadow, which had begun melting off her face.

"Barely," Simon rolled his eyes and Clary narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. He didn't say anything else though, leaving the lounge and heading through the door beside her bookshelf that lead to the kitchen. She heard him open the fridge and rummage around, and then a cupboard. She tuned him out then, slumping back into the couch and laying her head back into the cushions. She felt sleepy, like she did whenever Simon finished with her, and she felt herself falling asleep, her mind finally feeling peaceful enough for her to get some rest. "Clary?" Simon was back at her side, gently shaking her shoulder and she opened her eyes. He was handing her a glass of water—iced water from the fridge, based on the condensation that had already gathered on the sides of the glass. She gave him a small smile, pulling herself into a upright position again and taking the glass, drinking from it, finishing almost the whole glass in one gulp. "Something's not right," he stated.

"I know," Clary agreed.

"No, not just...Not just since then," Simon said, shaking his head and frowning, looking out the large window behind the couch, through the slim gaps in the wooden slats. "Something else. Something recent."

"I know," Clary repeated and he gave her a sharp look.

"What is it?" He asked.

"That's the part I don't know," Clary drained the rest of the glass and leaned forward to put it down on the coffee table.

"Why didn't you tell me something was different?" Simon didn't look happy. And that sucked. Simon was her best friend, her closest ally, and he had this face like a puppy dog, and it was never nice to see a sad puppy dog. Clary sighed and moved to the edge of the couch, hanging her head forward, feeling her hair tumble down around her face, the roots a little damp from sweat and and she could feel some strands sticking to her forehead her cheeks, and she tugged at her shirt. She had only been wearing a bra, and it felt constricting under the shirt, and she honestly just wanted to strip down to nothing and run.

But she couldn't do that here, not in the middle of the city.

That had been part of the reason that she had come here in the first place.

"Has anyone different been around? Have you smelt anyone? Have you got into a fight recently?" Simon began rattling off questions, but Clary's mind had only just quieted, and she really didn't want to get into any of this now.

She just wanted to sleep.

"Si..." she began and Simon pressed his lips together in a thin line. He pushed up the glasses that were perched on his nose—she teased him about those glasses tirelessly, called them his hipster glasses, why did a warlock need glasses anyway?—and he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

"Okay," he agreed. "Okay, I'll leave it alone. But..." he glanced around her apartment, the small life that she had made for herself over the past few years, and his fingers twitched at his side. "Let me strengthen your wards before I go." Clary nodded, getting up off the couch and beginning to walk out of the room, trusting Simon in her space without her watching over him, and heading toward her bedroom. She didn't bother shutting her door as she got to the room, stripping out of her clothes, letting them puddle on the floor, not caring if Simon caught a glimpse of her because nudity was something that almost every werewolf just didn't give a shit about.

Then Clary fell onto her bed, face down on the pillow, and she was fast asleep, feeling the hum of Simon's magic around her.

When Clary woke up, it was night. It was dark outside. The blinds in her room were fully closed, so Simon must have come in. There was also a glass of water on the bedside table next to her, now room temperature as she reached out and picked it up, but Simon must have put it there before he had left. A small, appreciative smile graced her lips as she rolled over and reached out for the glass. Her mouth was dry, and she finished the whole thing before getting up. She didn't bother fully dressing, going over to drawers and taking out a pair of underwear and a silk, sleeping shirt—that she never really slept in, because she hated sleeping in many clothes—and then headed toward the kitchen. Her phone was on the bench in the kitchen, where she had dropped it when she had come home that afternoon, and she made a face when she saw the time.

Half past nine.

She had been asleep for nearly five hours.

She felt a hell of a lot better now, though.

Clary went the cupboard, opening it up and thinking about what she was going to have for dinner, when she froze.

She felt a hell of a lot better.

Like...Almost completely better.

That wasn't something that Simon's magic could do.

That wasn't something anyones magic could do.

No one...Except him.

Clary's breathing quickened, she felt her chest lifting and falling rapidly, and she spun around. She looked in the direction of the front door and then toward the windows and then back toward the short hall that lead to the front door.

He couldn't be here.

This was New York and he was on the outskirts of Los Angeles.

He wouldn't be here.

Clary closed her eyes, tipping her head back, clenching onto the edge of the bench behind as she tried to figure out exactly what was going.

Maybe she wasn't better. Maybe she had just gone back to however she had been before, a couple of weeks ago, when she wasn't feeling good, but she wasn't quiet as on edge as she was now. Maybe she was just back to being half as bad as she had been feeling for so fucking long now.

She had been...Off for a long time.

Since she was seventeen, actually.

But she had always been able to live with it. There had been things wrong with her and her life and her wolf from the time she had been born on this earth, and she had always gotten through it. She was strong and she was a fighter and had always managed to get through whatever shit life threw at her.

Thirteen months ago, though, she had taken a hit—her wolf had taken a hit—that she hadn't been able to bounce back from.

That hole inside her had grown, and the shadows that had been hovering over her for so long had started spreading. Her wolf was agitated and scratching and whining and she didn't feel strong or whole. She had always known that staying here, staying in the city, staying away was going to hurt, but up until thirteen months ago, when he had become complete, she hadn't realized just how much it was going to hurt.

She was older now, and she wasn't a scared and lonely seventeen year old, and she was comfortable and confident, she could look after herself and—

Clary's eyes flashed open and they were no longer their usual bright green colour, but a glittering beta gold.

He was here.

Clary gulped in breaths, her claws extending from her nail beds, harsh and digging into the wood of the bench, pressing tiny holes into the bench, and she shook her head, trying to get rid of the gold in her eyes. Her vision was blurred around the edges, and her wolf was rearing her head and then she felt this incredibly calming feeling stretch through her limbs, settling in her muscles, and there was this heavy slide in her mind, warm and comforting.

There was a sharp knock on the door and her head jerked, her wolf fucking howling inside her chest.

Clary knew who it was before she even opened the door.

She knew who it was before she even left her kitchen and came through to lounge and headed toward the front door.

She could feel it in her blood, she could feel it humming underneath her skin, and she took in a deep shaky breath before opening the door.

Jace Herondale was standing there, flanked by two other werewolves.

"It's time for you to come home, Clary," he told her, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Let me know what you guys think!