nysalogs | ( CLOSED )

[She's such a brat. He steps inside and then nudges the door closed with his foot.]

Whatever you say.

[And then he crosses the room to deposit her, surprisingly gently, on the couch.]

Happy?

Whatever you say.

[ to inadvertently prove that's even more of a brat, she drops her voice a few octaves in obvious mimicry of his voice. being placed as softly on the couch as she is arguably isn't deserved, but it's appreciated, nevertheless. she settles into the arm of it, drawing her legs up to her chest. ]

I think I should be the one asking you that question. [ considering bellamy was the one making the fuss. ] Satisfied now?

Yep.

[He sits down beside her, settling against the back of the couch. He would make a comment about her mockery, but he's starting to clue into the fact that those sort of reactions just encourage her.]

I'm surprised you're sitting down.

I'm surprised you're sitting down.

[ evidently she doesn't need much encouragement to turn the tables on him. he'd offered to stay with her, regardless, and she isn't interpreting that as anything other than the truth — even if how much he wants to genuinely stay might be diminished by stretching her legs out across his lap. ]

Contrary to popular belief, I have other hobbies that don't always include running around and sneaking into places where I don't belong.

Do you?

[He asks it incredulously, but he's smiling over at her, and he doesn't shove her legs off or move away.]

That's news to me.

Very funny.

[ said in a way that states she doesn't think he's funny at all, eyes narrowing in his direction. as if to contradict that thought, her lips do quirk, lopsided in her subtle amusement. ]

My personal favorite is torturing you.

[ she doesn't expect that to be the slightest bit surprising to him, sounding unabashedly fond (and proud of it) all at once. her intent is more sincere when she leans over toward the coffee table to snatch up her sketchpad from the unorganized spread of books and toss it in his direction, filled with places and faces he may recognize — and some she knows he won't. ]

But I do have other tricks up my sleeve, believe it or not.

[He catches the sketchbook and glances up at her before settling it in his lap and beginning to flip through it. Bellamy pauses to study each page, though he doesn't recognize most of it. A sketch of a city street makes him stop, and he looks up at her again.]

Where's this?

[ she tilts herself closer to get a glimpse of the page when he stops and turns to her, aware it could be anyone or anything that's piqued interest. sometimes it's easy to forget how different every refugee is and where they come from; bellamy, in particular, is similar to jyn. neither of them scream space, and yet clary knows they've both encountered technology that would make her head spin. ]

Brooklyn, New York. I don't know if I did it much justice.

[ if she sounds nostalgic, almost wistful, it's because she is. nostalgic can't ensure she's gotten the details just right, nevertheless, especially when it's been some time since she's been home instead of starting anew in the new york institute. ]

Right behind my mom's loft. Definitely not the safest place to grow up, but it was ours.

[ the graffiti on the walls in the sketch should make that apparent, but clary can't ever say she was left wanting for much in the way of anything material, even so. ]

[It's strange. He knows of New York, of course. He's seen pictures and videos and heard stories, but now he's fairly certain it doesn't exist.]

What was it like?

[Polis is the biggest city he's ever set foot in, and he knows it's nothing compared to the cities that used to exist.]

Loud, mostly.

[ somehow, it doesn't sound like a critique coming from her mouth. if anything, it sounds charmed. clary fray wasn't meant for small suburbs and quiet places, after all. ]

The kind of place where you can lose yourself in a crowd or discover something completely new just by walking around for a few hours.

[ of course that's what it was like, before she'd known what had lurked in the seedy corners. it's as much a reminder of what had changed for her as it is a reminder of what's changed for her now that even looking at a real photograph of new york isn't an option. ]

We had restaurants and stores and theaters on every block, basically. I guess you could say there was a place for everyone somewhere in New York.

[He lets his finger run along the edge of the page, listening carefully as she talks.]

I've only seen it in pictures. There aren't any cities that size left.

[It's odd to think about. It's hard to feel sad about what Alie did, because conceptualizing that many people is almost impossible, but hearing Clary talk about it... It makes it more real somehow.]

If it helps, it doesn't technically exist for me anymore, either.

[ ... that doesn't help, she's certain, but knowing new york intimately doesn't change that it's history for her now. not in the same way it is for bellamy, no, and she can't even begin to fathom a world without cities or finding a home in space, but there's a point to be made: they're all refugees, displaced and misplaced, now. ]

You've seen Olympia now. [ that's optimistic, surely, but she's aiming for finding the good in two distinctly miserable situations. ] It might not be New York, and you could say it sort of feels like it belongs in a Lewis Carroll story instead of reality, but it's home.

[ for the both of them, whether they want it or not. ]

[Objectively, most people would say he's better off here. This planet isn't soaked in radiation. He isn't spending five years on an abandoned husk of a space station, waiting until it's safe enough to get back to the ground again. There's more food and clean water and people than he's ever seen in his life, but he has no proof the Orbiters aren't going to screw him over somehow, so he can't help but be on edge. For Clary, though, he's sure there's no ambiguity. There's no reason for her to consider any of this even partially lucky. He reaches over to squeeze her arm softly.]

I'm sorry, Clary. I know you don't want to be here.

[ her lips twitch upward, but it can't constitute as a smile when it's hollow, refusing to meet her eyes. it feels like she should make the attempt for bellamy's sake, even if she knows it doesn't matter whether she's openly vulnerable. she's dragged him through this entire day and it seemingly hasn't perturbed him aside from a few (more than a few, but who's really counting?) rolls of his eyes; in comparison, the dismal nature of her expression should be less of a nuisance. ]

I don't not want to be here.

[ would she prefer home to olympia? she can't say, and it doesn't feel right to choose. she loves izzy and simon as much as she cares for the friends she's made here, after all. it's an impossible choice to make in regards to preference. ]

I didn't have much going for me back home, anyway. [ her mother, jace, dot, elliot, valentine and johnathan and the family she might have had if circumstances were different — all of them are gone. she'd had izzy, simon, luke, but all of those sacrifices and slaughters have a way of taking their toll. ] It's just — I didn't think anything or anyone else could possibly be taken from me, and then I wind up here. Down the rabbit hole for the second time.

[ maybe she's bitter, but that still hasn't changed her perspective, somehow, even if that resentment bleeds through in moments like these. her hand settles over his at her arm as she tips her head back into the couch. ]

But I can't hate any of it. I wouldn't want to forget everyone I've met here, not even for the chance to go home.

[At first, he's not sure if he buys it. He certainly couldn't quantify going down to the ground the same way she's analyzing this, not after the hundreds of people dead and all the mistakes he's made, but he thinks he gets it. It's an insanely optimistic way of viewing things from his perspective, though he can't fault her for it. He doesn't say anything about the fact that she thought she couldn't lose anyone else. Bellamy has learned time and time again that there's always more to lose.]

Are you saying you like this place better?

I'm starting to think so.

[ as tempting as i don't know is as an answer, knowing it'll excuse her from saying anything further, it isn't the truth. she does know, to some extent; new york will always be home, but it's impossible not to prefer this when she there are faces she'd never thought she'd see again in those pods — and new faces she wouldn't have had the opportunity to know if not for the circumstances. ]

I don't have to hide who and what I am here. I'm not lying about it to avoid being called crazy, and I'm not missing out on opportunities just because my job makes it impossible to get close to anyone normal.

[ that feels just as important, if she's being honest with herself. it had taken eons to accept her role as a shadowhunter, and another eon for others to accept her. here, they seem to do it easily. her eyebrows knit, fingers squeezing around his hand as she tries to closely inspect his expression for an answer even before she asks the question she has in mind. ]

Do you not like this place better?

[He's about to respond to what she's saying when she turns the question around on him, and his brow furrows automatically. He's not sure how to answer. Actually, he's not sure he wants to answer, but she's being so open than anything but honesty seems unfair. Still, he hesitates.]

I don't know.

[There are people in those pods that he knows should be dead. Clarke is here, alive and well. He's spotted Jasper and Maya and Fox, a million people he felt he failed, safe. Sleeping. Without quite thinking about it, his hand squeezes hers back, and his voice is quiet when he finally replies.]

Seems too good to be true. Every time I thought things were safe before, something's gone wrong.

I know the feeling.

[ too good to be true. it'd been the same sinking in the pit of her stomach when iris had offered to bring her mother back, when clary had almost accept it in spite of knowing the consequences for dabbling in something so dark and selfish. having jocelyn fairchild return to the world would have been too good to be true, and she can't help but to think the same when she browses the rows of pods of those that had been needlessly taken from her. ]

I think something's already gone wrong. [ she smiles, and this time it's sincere, as subtle and as half-hearted as it is. chemical warfare is enough to disturb any sense of idyllic happiness. ] But it doesn't matter. There's a difference between being happy and being safe.

[ sometimes they're exclusive, sometimes they aren't. as foolish as she knows it is, she'd still pick happiness if they were. ]

[To tell the truth, chemical warfare is horrible, but it's par for the course for Bellamy. He's used to it, which he's starting to realize is an awful thing to admit to himself. Realistically, he's never felt safe in his life—not on the Ark, when he was constantly worried about Octavia being discovered, and certainly not on the ground. He's not sure if he's capable of slowing down or relaxing. He's never come close to it.]

Are you happy here?

I try to be.

[ trying to be happy isn't the same as being happy, but she's come close to it. the moments aren't far and few between, most significantly of all, even if they've been interrupted by chaos and periods of adjustment. that has to count for something.

she opens her mouth and then closes it almost immediately, rolling the words on her tongue before she admits to it, soft but genuine. ]

And I think I could be, even if it takes time.

[ patience isn't her forte, but for that? she can wait, and try, and strive toward it. ]

I hope you can be.

[It's just as quiet and just as sincere. The last time Bellamy focused on being happy was with Gina, and look how that turned out. It's not something he really tries for anymore, but he thinks Clary should.]

You deserve it.

[ maybe she can be. maybe she will be — or maybe she won't. happy still feels like a gift that's borderline impossible to achieve, inevitably ruined by the next war or the next tragedy, and clary knows better than anyone the wounds she carries — as unseen as they are — need time to heal before it can ever be hers for more than a handful of moments. still, she hopes just the same; without that, she thinks she might go insane.

it's a nice sentiment — a sweet one, at that. the gratitude gets stuck in her throat, but she smiles lightly and lets her thumb skip over the back of his knuckles, like that might express it without words. ]

Everyone deserves a chance at being happy. [ not just herself. she does believe that, idealistic as it is, despite the horrible things she's witnessed. ] What they do with that chance is a different story.

[Bellamy smiles just a little, the edge of something wry in it. Maybe he does deserve a chance at being happy, but he doesn't have time for it. Not back on the Ark, and not here.]

Have you always been this optimistic?

[ whether it's a joke or a genuine line of questioning, she has to pause to consider it. yes, on one hand, when everything had been simpler. no, on the other hand, when she'd been too overwhelmed by what she'd discovered — and the consequences of choices she'd had to make along the way — to feel even the least bit sane. ]

Not really. I think the general consensus would be more of a 'too stubborn to give up' thing. [ or even too strong to be anything but convinced she'd win, confront whatever she'd needed to without running. maybe it qualifies as optimistic, maybe it doesn't. ] I had to have someone teach me how to be optimistic.

Stubborn makes sense.

[It's quiet and teasing, but he gets it. He's sure most people would describe him the same way.]

So who taught you?

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