He sat on the little chair besides the hospital bed, his heavy head resting against the wall as he awaited his saviour to wake up, move, talk, anything at all that hinted she was okay. He didn't really understand why he was here, because he had never met the woman before, though it felt as if he had for decades

Her brown hair was messy, but still he thought she looked beautiful in the sunlight that came through the institute's windows. Her pale skin, even paler than his. Her head was resting to the side, her closest eyes looking at him. He cared for her, for some strange reason he felt as if it was his duty to sit here and look after her, even when everyone wanted him to do paperwork or get himself checked out.

He knew she was a warlock, and everyone told him they were pure evil, yet he couldn't help but be enchanted by her courage and her old voice, which was the first thing he heard when he had been revived earlier. That voice, sad and yet powerful, strong but also unsteady, had been stuck inside his head ever since.

There was this feeling of responsibility always nagging at him, so here he sat, while other people were working he was watching the woman who had saved his life. He rested his hands on his legs unsure what else to do. Maybe it was wrong of him to sit here, but his legs didn't feel like standing up. He had planted himself here, listening to his heart more than his head, something he had learned from Clary Fairchild.

He waited for her to wake up, going against everything he was told to do, because he was sick of being alone. Every one of his friends had someone to love, but they both weren't so lucky. So, instead of letting her sit here with no one, he was here, for her.

It was cold outside and given the facts that it was starting to snow again didn't really help. She was given nothing, no blanket, no spare clothes, because too much hunters here hated Downworlders, leaving them shivering in their beds. He was completely against that, but he couldn't change people's view in the short period he had been head of the New York Institute.

He took one of the blankets that he had taken from his own room, knowing that she would be granted none. He thought it to be almost disgusting to treat someone who saved a life this way. But right now, he didn't have any energy left to go against that.

Alec stood up, straightening his back as he did so. He groaned in frustration that she hadn't awoken yet but watched with almost a hint of jealousy at how peaceful she lay on the bed, before he put his blanket over her, trying to save her from the cold, because that was the only thing in his power that he could do to help her.

After a few more blankets and him checking on her breath and pulse, he sat back down again, a tired glance never leaving the warlock's face. She didn't make the slightest of sense to him. She had only been a replacement, and now she had risked her life for someone she didn't even know.

Most warlocks wouldn't have wanted to help the New York Institute out or replace someone. Most would've turned their backs, laughed when something went wrong. Though for some strange reason, she had come. She had walked in, confident, leading them into a mission they didn't realise could be so hard.

And when he was dying, other demon-blooded creatures wouldn't have saved him. He knew enough about warlocks. No one, not a single one, would risk casting such a dangerous spell. And if he were to believe the Institute's files, she was the strongest warlock ever. Meaning if she had trouble performing this magic, it was sure that no one else would've dared in her place.

She suddenly opened her eyes slowly and a bit unsure what she was going to find in her glance, but what she found was more than she expected. Two sky-blue eyes looked at her, surprise shining in them as bright as his perfect, white smile that he gave her.

Her emerald orbs blinked once more, before she hesitantly laid her hand against her forehead, as if trying to make sure no horns had grown out of it or that she wasn't having an enormous fever. She realised none of that happened and rested her weak arm on the blankets.

"Hey," she whispered to the one she saved, happy that he was okay and that her spell had worked. His confused yet happy glance stayed on her mind, as she tried to sit up. His strong hands tried to gently push her down, another loud groan escaping her lips as she grabbed her head.

"I think it's smart of you to lay down. You knocked your head against the floor, so you might have a slight concussion," he warned her, speaking from experience. He didn't have anything else he knew for sure about her wounds, because the doctors had refused to examine her she was left with whatever he thought had happened and others had told him.

"You look quite well for someone who was dying earlier," she joked, but even that hurt. Everything that required energy was too much, so she just lay still and hoped that he wouldn't start a whole conversation, though she honestly wanted nothing more than that, for once, something else than silence.

"What can I say, I had a great warlock who took care of me," he spoke a bit rushed and nervous. He wanted to talk to her about who she was and why she did what she did, but all he could get over his lips was small talk, and even that seemed to be a challenge.

A sudden sound erupted him from his thoughts, snapping him awake. His crystal eyes looked up from the woman to find a glittering man in front of him, worried brown eyes glancing at the wounded, being darkened by black eyeshadow and dark black hair, with shining pink highlights.

He came with a steady, fast paste to the shadowhunter and the lady, concern painted over his face. He was wearing a pink blouse in the same colour as his hair, black trousers that weren't as unusual as the rest of him and quite remarkable shoes.