A/N: this is a one-shot, so please don't expect more chapters!


Luke wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck and quickened his pace. The snow flurrying around him was chilling his bones and he was looking forward to getting back to his apartment. He was in SoHo and had been asking the other downworlders for rumours of exiled shadowhunters. There were none. He was starting to think he would never find Jocelyn. New York had been a long shot anyway. Just because the exiled Lightwoods were here didn't mean she had followed them. Turning down a cobbled street - called Broome Street - he stopped to look in the window of a gallery. Jocelyn had always loved painting and had especially loved painting the beautiful view of Alicante. One picture caught his eye, then. It couldn't be. That painting was the exact view through the windows of the Fairchild manor. How would any mundane know that view? The sweeping lawns, the line of trees and in the distance, barely visible, the shining demon towers. Desperate to know who had painted this, he banged on the door, shouting at those within, until, belatedly, he noticed the sign that said they were closed until further notice. Examining the painting again, he noticed a signature. Jocelyn Fray. His heart sped up. Jocelyn. The artist's name was Jocelyn. That couldn't be a coincidence. He had never heard the name Fray before, but it had to be her, it was sensible to change her name, and she had always been sensible. Unless Valentine was involved, but then, even he had fallen under the spell of that monster. Rushing into the first café he came to, he asked for a phone book and when he received it, he tore through the pages feverishly, looking for a Fray.

Looking down at the scrap of paper, Luke swallowed. This was it. 509 Raven Street, East village. He looked up at the windows, wondering if she was behind one of them. Fifth floor, apartment number 23. He walked through the door, up the grimy, dim stairs and stopped in front of her apartment. He so hoped that it was hers. Too have his hopes – his heart – crushed again would have been torture. Gathering his courage he knocked on the door. A girl- about 4- opened the door; she had Jocelyn's red hair and her bright green, emerald eyes. And behind her, was Jocelyn, her face bringing back memories. They were happy memories of summers in Alicante and darker memories of blood and death, memories of the uprising. A memory of him trying to save her, of her crying over the bones of her dead child. And the hardest, of her leaving him in Paris.

To his surprise, a look of fright crossed her face. Pushing the child behind her she grabbed a blade she had hidden in a draw. Holding it in front of her she said:

"Why are you here? What do you want?" Luke stepped forward, and she pushed him to the wall and held the blade to his throat.

"Jocelyn." Luke said, his voice full of hurt. "Surely you won't kill me."

"Lucian?" she questioned.

"It's me" He said and she dropped the knife, and hugged him tightly. He knew at that moment, he would never let her leave him again. He would stay. And this time he knew that with her was where he belonged.

A/N: This is my first fanfic, so please review because I want to know if you liked it.