seveninchmotto | Room 301, Monday Late Afternoon

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Room 301, Monday Late Afternoon

Well, Alec had crutches but was otherwise fine. Clary and Jace were okay too. Hodge was... gone, without a curse to keep him at the Institute. Clary's uncle person was a werewolf who'd gathered his pack to fight Valentine, but he'd still escaped, taking the Mortal Cup with him. Clary's mother was in a coma, but at least she was in a hospital now.

And Jace and Clary were Valentine's children.

Considering all this was information Isabelle had gained in the last twenty four hours, was it any wonder she had chosen to bail New York a little early in anticipation of her classes, and come back to Fandom? She needed to process. Her parents wouldn't be back in New York for a little while yet, but Jace could take care of Alec. (So could Magnus, who'd hinted as much after he'd spent the night sitting by her brother's side.)

So she was here, and flopped over on her bed.

[ooc: Open door/post! Blah blah references to City of Bones which is just about done now. (Five more books to go. Sigh.)]

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Isabelle was pushing her bra straps down her shoulders when she noticed the staring.

"What are you looking at?"

She knew. But seriously, it was just a bruise. It was normal, if you asked her.

"How hard did you get hit for there to still be bruising even after you healed yourself?" he asked, looking up at her. "This from when you coughed up blood?"

"I was hit by a nine foot tall Greater Demon," Isabelle pointed out to him, though not unkindly. His worry wasn't entirely unjustified and she knew it, and wasn't trying to start an argument. "Yesterday morning. Even for me, healing fully takes time, after that."

And at least her skin looked a lot better than a mundane's would have, a day after getting hit like that.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, stepping closer and touching a few fingertips against the bruising.

"Not if you don't poke at it." And she didn't think he'd do that. "See, it's much more healed than you would be, if you'd been struck down like that a little more than twenty four hours earlier."

"I'm just concerned," Flick said, taking his fingers back and looking momentarily abashed. "Sorry."

Isabelle shook her head. "Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

She just wasn't used to people being that concerned.

Nodding, Flick quietly went back to sliding his pants and shorts down his hips and legs. He stepped out of them and tossed them into a corner of the bathroom.

Isabelle didn't really know what to say, so she said nothing. She just slid her underwear off before stepping into the shower and getting the water running.

Flick was fine, really. He was just dealing with some very real concern and worry for someone he previously thought was pretty much invincible or close to it. It was eye opening.

He let her step into the shower and get situated before he made any further moves.

She didn't meet Greater Demons every day.

His waiting got him an expectant look. Although only after she'd gotten her hair wet.

"Sorry," Flick mumbled, stepping into the shower behind her and using a hand against the wall for support. He pulled the shower curtain closed.

"Words, words, words," Isabelle drawled. "You can make it up to me by washing my hair."

Which was actually a request. And not one she would've posed to just anyone.

"Okay," Flick told her, nodding and stepping closer to her. "Where's your shampoo? Pass it to me?"

Isabelle plucked her bottle of shampoo off the little shelf to hand back to him.

Was he even surprised it was something with a sweet scent?

He wasn't. Not at all. Flick took the bottle and squeeze some shampoo into his hand. He took a moment to smell it and then reached up and slowly started massaging it into her scalp.

His other hand soon joined in, working up a good lather while he made sure to keep everything gentle and thorough.

Isabelle closed her eyes and sighed, tilting her head back into his touch. It felt nice. It felt relaxing.

And that wasn't something she'd been feeling a whole lot of lately.

Flick focused on her scalp first before he moved down and got the hair that fell down her back and around her shoulders. He was quiet while he did it, letting her sighs encourage him on.

She had a lot of dark hair and he was going to make sure that all of her hair smelled good and she felt even more relaxed.

That was a good goal to have, and one that Isabelle could stand behind one hundred percent.

"I didn't have time for this thorough a wash at home," she murmured.

"Do you mean recently or you never have time?" he asked, washing the ends of her hair now before going back up to her scalp one last time.

Isabelle would have given him a look, but she was too buys enjoying herself. "In the last couple of days," she clarified. "You've met me. Never having the time would not be an option."

Because she had to look fabulous.

"Because you're a very popular girl," he murmured, thinking of a few things but not outright saying them. "I think I'm done."

Said outright or not, Isabelle had a retort ready. "Because I like looking my best for me."

Having nothing to do with being popular, although you could probably (easily) argue the popularity stemmed in part from how great she looked.

She went to rinse her hair udner the spray of the water.

"I know," he murmured, rinsing his own hands in some the spray that he caught with his hands before he just watched her get the shampoo out of her hair.

Isabelle took her time with it. She had a lot of hair, and he'd been very thorough with shampooing it up. Didn't take forever, though.

Eventually, her hair was free of shampoo and just plastered against her back and her shoulder while she wiped water from her face.

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