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She knows she’s probably being ridiculous; but she doesn’t care. She can’t stop blaming herself for Max’s death, and because of that, she didn’t feel like she deserves to go to his funeral. So she skips it instead, and decides to mourn alone in her room.
She steals a glance at the white mourning dress she’d dropped on the floor, the fabric slipping from her fingers when she’d changed her mind about going. She’d actually put it on, which might be the worst part. She’d stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric over her hips, fixing her hair, doing everything she was supposed to do.
For a few minutes, she’d almost convinced herself she could do it.
She could walk downstairs and stand beside her family. She could put on a show and walk with them down to the fields; she could listen to everyone talk about Max as if he were already something that belonged to the past. Then she’d turned and caught a look at herself in the mirror and realized she couldn't breathe. So she’d taken it off, letting it fall in a heap, evidence of another thing she’d failed to do.
She’d much rather be alone and cry in peace, rather than around others. If there’s one thing Isabelle Lightwood hates, it’s crying in front of people. The night in the Accord’s Hall had been the only time she’d allowed it. Crying was messy, ugly. It made her feel hopeless, and she didn’t do anything helpless.
She could fight demons, walking into a room full of vampires and make them think twice about looking at her. She could put on a pair of heels and a dress and make everyone believe she had everything under control.
But she couldn’t stand there in front of her family and let them see how badly this had broken her. The night in the Accords Hall, when she’d seen Max’s lifeless body, had been the only time she’d allowed it. The only time she’d stopped caring about who saw.
She wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
So she sits on her bed, clutching the stupid toy shadowhunter she found in Max’s grip. She hates it, a part of her wishes she could just throw it across the room.
She hates the way the tiny thing fits so easily between her fingers, hates the chipped paint, the way it looks like something that should have been sitting on a shelf instead of clutched in her dead brother’s hand. She keeps thinking about that, about Max being afraid and having no comfort. About Max reaching out for someone and only having that tiny piece of plastic. He shouldn’t have needed to count on the toy. He should have had her. She’s his sister for god’s sake; she was supposed to be the one who kept him safe, the older sister who knew better, who was stronger. What good was any of that if she hadn’t been there when he actually needed her? But instead she had brushed away any of his concerns and sent him to bed.
I should have been there…her fingers tighten around the toy. I should have protected him.
There’s a knock at the door and she groans. She’s already chased Alec and Jace away; but apparently her brothers don’t learn.
She leans forward, fingers curling around the first shoe she can and she chucks it at the door. “Go away!” she shouts as the shoe makes contact with the wood.
“Isabelle, let me in,” a familiar voice says.
She scoffs because of course she knows his voice, he doesn’t need to say his name; but it’s such a Simon thing.
As much as she wants to open the door; because she does - even against her better judgment - she doesn’t want him to see her like this. He has seen her angry, he’s seen her dressed to kill; literally and otherwise. He’s seen her flirt, threaten, tease, and make an entire room turn to look at her.
He hasn’t seen this.
He hasn’t seen Isabelle Lightwood sitting on her bed with red rimmed eyes, holding her dead little brother’s toy like it might somehow bring him back. She doesn’t want to be that girl in front of anyone; but especially not Simon.
“I don’t want to talk to you and Clary. I don’t want to talk to anyone. Leave me alone, Simon.”
There’s a pause outside the door. “Clary’s not here,” Simon says eventually. “And I’m not going away until you talk to me.”
“Alec!” she yells. “Jace! Make him go away.”
There’s nothing but silence in response, she waits, listening for the sounds of her brother’s footsteps, of an argument as they drag Simon away. But nothing happens.
“They’re not here, Isabelle.” Simon calls through the door. “It’s just me.”
She clenches her jaw. “You’re alone?”
“I'm alone.”
It’s just Simon.
The words shouldn’t matter; but they do. Simon came here alone, knowing she might yell at him, throw something or refuse to open the door at all; but he came anyway.
She sighs as she rises from her bed, walks over to the door. She leans her forehead against it, bracing herself for just a moment before opening it, revealing the vampire on the other side. He looks about as uncomfortable as she feels.
“You can come in.” She wordlessly crosses the room and flops back on her bed. Her eyes track his movements, as he takes in her room. She smirks as he adverts his gaze when his eyes land on one of her discarded bras.. “A blushing vampire, who would have guessed,” she shakes her head, trying to bring her annoyance back to front. “So I let you in. What do you want?”
He stands there in silence for a few moments, as if he’s thinking through his words. “What happened with Max wasn’t your fault.”
She averts her gaze back to the toy in her hand, refusing to look at Simon. “Do you know what this is?” she asks, holding it up. “It was Jace’s. It was the only thing he had when he came from Idris. I think he made it himself; but he never said much about it. He used to take it everywhere when he was little, always in a pocket or whatever…”
She’s rambling now, but she can’t bring herself to stop. “ And then one day, I noticed Max carrying it around…Jace must have just given it to Max, I guess, when he got too old for it…Anyway, it was in Max’s hand when they found him. It was like he grabbed it to hold on to when Sebasitan - when he -” she cuts herself off when she hears her voice crack.
She sniffed. “I should have been there protecting him. I should have been there for him to hold on to, not some stupid little wooden toy.” she said that last part with all the force she could muster, before tossing it on the bed.
“You were unconscious,” Simon protests. “You nearly died, Izzy. There was nothing you could have done.”
In theory, she knows Simon’s right, knows Alec and Jace were right; but she couldn’t get herself to believe it. She couldn’t ease the guilt eating away at her. Besides, deflecting was easier.
“What do you know about it?” she demands, more harsh than she really intends. “Did you know that Max came to us the night he died and told us he’d seen someone climbing the demon's towers? I told him he was dreaming and sent him back to bed….It was probably Sebstian climbing the tower to take the wards down,” she pauses. “If I’d just listened, it wouldn’t have happened.”
“There’s no way you could have known,” Simon says, softly. “And about Sebastian - he wasn’t really the Penhallows’ cousin. He had everyone fouled.”
Isabelle blows out a breath. “Yeah, I know. I heard you.”
“You were eavesdropping?” Simon asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Up until the part where you said you were going to come and talk to me. Then I came back here. I didn’t feel like seeing you,” she glanced at him, titling her head, slightly amused. “I’ll give you this much, you’re persistent.”
“I couldn’t just leave you up here,” Simon says, eventually. “You can’t just hide away in your room forever, Izzy.”
Except I could.
She blows out a breath. Except, being alone mean she’s left with her thoughts; of Max, of Sebastian, the battle, that fucking toy solider.
A distraction may be what she desperately needs at the moment and Simon is very good at being distracting. He’s awkward and irritating and says the wrong thing approximately ninety percent of the time; but he’s Simon. He’s never gonna actually push her and he’s here…
She reaches for him before she can think better of it, fingers curling around his shirt.
“You know,” she finally says. “I could use a distraction.”
“Simon, where are we going?” she finally asks him.
They’d been walking around Idris for a while now, and with each passing moment, Isabelle grew more and more curious as to their destination. She was starting to regret agreeing to leave her room with him.
Maybe staying in bed, surrounded by the familiar walls of her room, would have been better. At least in there, she knows what to expect; pain and guilt, drawing in memories of Max. She knows how to deal with those - or at least how to avoid them.
Whatever Simon has planned? She’s quickly beginning to realize that she doesn’t know how to deal with that.
“It’s not much farther,” he replies. “I promise.”
She sighs, continuing to follow him. They have long left the cobblestone path and are now walking through the grass, away from the main part of the city. It takes Isabelle a moment to realize exactly where he’s taking her and she mentally kicks herself. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d peg it from the start.
She’s been to Idris a few times, knows the layout of the city and she knows Simon - she should have known this is where she was leading her.
Isabelle appreciates the gesture; but she doesn’t think she’s ready. Not now. Honestly, she’s not sure if she’ll ever be ready to visit this place. She’s not sure she’s ready to say goodbye yet; even though she doesn’t have a choice.
Simon continues to walk ahead; but she falls behind, eventually slowing to a stop.
It only takes Simon a few seconds to realize she’s not following him and slowly turns to face her. She pulls her gaze from his feet, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes are filled with nothing but concern.
“Isabelle –”
“Simon –”
They end up speaking at the same time. If it were any other situation, she might have laughed. He gestures for her to go ahead; because of course he does.
She takes another breath to steady herself. “I’m not sure I can do this Simon.”
She isn’t ready to say goodbye. She doesn’t even know if she wants to; because saying goodbye means admitting that Max is really gone, that he’s never gonna knock on her bedroom door again after a nightmare, ask her to get a book off a high shelf in the library, ramble on about whatever manga he’s currently reading.
And she isn’t ready to do that.
“You’re Isabelle Lightwood,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You can do anything you put your mind to.”
She almost rolls her eyes. “That’s not how this works.”
“Maybe not,” Simon responds with a shrug. “But you won’t know until you try.”
“I don’t deserve this,” she tries to protest. She doesn’t; because it’s her fault this happened… and nothing Simon says will change her mind.
“You deserve to have a proper goodbye with your brother,” Simon says. “You need this closure to move on, Izzy.”
“And then what?”
“Then you keep going,” Simon says, softly. He lets out a breath. “It was hard to even get out of bed after my dad died; but I still did it… Mostly because Rebecca wouldn’t let me lay around.”
Isabelle blinks.
“And then each day gets a little less heavy,” he continues. “You don’t forget him. You don’t stop missing him. But you learn how to carry it.”
Okay so maybe he’s right. She does need closure, does eventually need to move on. Or try to. But there’s still that small part of her that won’t allow it, a part that probably will never allow it.
“And I'll be here if you need me.”
“Okay,” she says, voice barely above a whisper.
She gives a small smile at that. His words being the push she needs to slowly close the distance between her and the entrance to the necropolis. She silently reaches for Simon as she passes him, pulling him along with her, gaining strength from him with each step she takes.
She’s never been one to lean on anyone, not even her brothers - not really. She’s never been one to show that she needs anyone; but right now, she doesn’t care. And she’s glad that it’s Simon here with her.
Isabelle braces herself as she passes through the gates, heading towards the newly added grave. She looks down at the tombstone, the words glaring up at her and swallows against the lump forming in her throat.
Maxwell Joseph Lightwood
August 1998 - September 2007
Loving brother and son
That’s it, a name, two dates and a few words. How could one person be reduced to so little?
She reaches out, running a hand over the marble, sniffling as she does so.
He shouldn’t have died like this.
He’ll never start his training, never get his first marks, his first stele. Nothing. It was all taken from him.
She’ll always miss him, her baby brother, gone too soon from this world.
She feels tears escaping the edge of her eyes and she quickly wipes them away with the back of her hand. An arm wraps around her shoulders and she finds herself leaning into Simon’s touch.
She may have been frightened at first, hesitant, but now she's glad she relented and allowed him to bring her here. “Maybe you were right,” she whispers. She needs this, and she wouldn’t have gotten it if it wasn’t for the persuasion of him.
Life is never going to be the same again; but one day, she’ll learn to live with this. Maybe stop blaming herself.
“Ave Atque Vale, Max,” she whispers into the night.