Chapter Text
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any character nor plot line from the Mortal Instruments, Infernal Devices or any material in the Shadowhunter fictional universe. All intellectual property for these belong to, respectively, Cassandra Clare, Constantin Productions and the Free Form TV network, formally known as ABC Family. No profit from this work of speculative fanfiction was made nor ever intended to be made. Nor is this an attempt to infringe upon the rights/intellectual ownership of any of the aforementioned parties.
Raphael Santiago/Isabelle Lightwood/Simon Lewis Stories
Author's Notes: This is my particular fave OT3 from the Shadowhunters/Mortal Instruments universe. I'm a fan of Simon/Izzy, Simon/Raphael and Raphael/Izzy, then realized that an OT3 solved all my wondering about which of those pairings I liked that best. Now, it's easy to find fic for Simon/Izzy and Simon/Raphael, but difficult to find fic for Raph/Izzy/Simon and utterly impossible to find it for Raph/Izzy. Instead of waiting for others to write what I wanted to read, I decided, what the hell, I should write it myself. Some of these will be connected, most will be oneshots. I have no idea how much nor how often I'll write or update. Being a busy mother of 2 young children, I've realized that making such promises only leads to let down. So, hopefully, you will enjoy what I write for as long as I write it.
One: A Microscope in Her Hand
Izzy hunched over the microscope, yet another slide to look at, yet another dead end. She had been in the Institute's laboratory for days and was no closer. In fact she had been here for three days, barely sleeping and just wearily grazing at food. Something was making the werewolves sick, very sick. Some sort of designer disease was killing them. Every supernatural species had it's advantages and two of the werewolves' were healing and endurance. They could heal just about anything, given a good night's sleep. They could take an ungodly amount of physical punishment and keep going. Everyone else could hate it all they wanted to, and they did, but werewolves could take a beating that would kill the rest of them. Werewolves did not get sick. No other living being could say that with a straight face, even the fey got the sniffles.
So here she sat, no closer to an answer than when she was called in from a sound sleep three days ago. No hunch panned out, every lead a dead end. For her, this was personal, this could effect Luke Garroway. Luke was like the adoptive father they never knew they needed, but got regardless. He had helped Simon through his transition from mundane human to fledgling vampire, he had allied with the vampire clan chief Raphael for Simon, he had counseled Alec after he came out, having had his own personal dealings with the Clave's bigotry. He was the only father Clary had ever known and had had a hand in raising Simon as well, he had kept her foster brother Jace from suicidal actions more times than she could count and she knew that if she ever needed him, Luke would be there for her. The thought that he could get sick and die was not a reality she wished to be a part of. So she stayed and worked her eyes to their breaking point.
The slides had started to blur again, her eyes were so tired they were almost uncontrollably watering. Isabelle knew she wasn't helping, working in this condition, but she couldn't stop, so many people were depending on her to find the answer, hell at this point, any answer. But none was forthcoming.
“For tonight, you need to admit defeat.” Lydia Branwell leaned against the door to the lab with a determined look on her face.
“Go home, get some sleep, come back at this tomorrow afternoon with fresh eyes and a rested mind. At this point the answer could be staring you in the face and you wouldn't see it.” she continued.
Isabelle shook her head. “No, what if... Luke....” Her voice trailed off.
“Luke isn't sick, he's an alpha, he's stronger than the other wolves. His pack is the largest on the eastern seaboard, they, and he, will survive. But only if you rest. You are the best pathologist in the city, right now we need your mind more than we need your stubborn brawn to stay awake any longer.”
Isabelle made a few more protesting sounds and gripped her microscope in her hand.
Lydia smiled. “I should also mention that I am tired of fielding calls from Raphael and Simon. I told them to expect you, so go. It wouldn't do to see Simon fretting himself into the grave, again. Nor having Raphael look at me in that tone of voice his face has.”
Isabelle nodded and wearily put her experiments to bed as it were and staggered out of the lab. Lydia allowed her to portal to the Hotel Du Mort and once she stumbled to the stairs she sighed. They looked as step as a Mexican pyramid, but one by one she climbed them and shuffled through the halls till she got to the rooms she shared with Raphael and Simon.
“I'm home.” Her voice held no enthusiasm, it sounded dull. Dull was not a word anyone ever associated with Isabelle Lightwood.
Simon had been pacing and as soon as she opened the door, he blurred over to her. “Are you alright, you never came home. Have you even slept? You look awful. Not that you aren't pretty, but you look like you could keel over at any minute.” His nervous chatter was always his defense mechanism when he was worried out of his mind.
Isabelle waved his questions away and practically collapsed into him for a hug, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “I can't find the answer, I don't know what's making them sick.” Her voice wavered for a moment, almost as though she might cry.
Simon held onto her and ran the fingers of his left hand through her hair. “You'll find the answer, you're the smartest woman I've ever known. I know you'd have stayed there if you were capable of doing anything more right now. Luke and the pack have confidence in you, we all do. But you're mortal and even Shadowhunters need to rest.”
For all his nervous chatter, once someone truly needed Simon, he was rock solid, he was there. But he was still a mother hen, because as soon as Izzy's stomach let out a monstrous growl, he held her away from him at arms length. “Have you even eaten anything besides potato chips and coffee for the past three days?”
“Of course she hasn't, why do you think I've been in the kitchen? It certainly wasn't for either of us.” Raphael made his appearance, wiping his hands off on a dish towel. “I've made you some supper, nothing fancy, come.”
He took her hand and walked her to the kitchen, just as he was about to guide her to the table, he frowned. “Mi amor, you left your lab coat on. Let's take that off.” He slid it off her shoulders and handed it to Simon who hung it up. “Please tell me you portaled here, because it's 3am in New York, in January.”
“I did, though if Lydia hadn't made me, I probably would have wandered here on foot.” She looked at her plate, Raphael had made her huevos rancheros, her favorite. “Thank you, I wouldn't have thought to eat.”
Her stomach growled loudly again and both Raphael and Simon winced. As vampires there was always an edge of hunger to them, it was the defining aspect to their vampirism. A vampire was always hungry, but in time they learned to manage it, ignore it. In time they weren't always desperate for blood the way a fledgling was. But that hunger was still always there, on the back burner of their minds. It made them sympathetic to hunger in others, Izzy being hungry was something that made them deeply uncomfortable. When she asked about it, Raphael had told her that it was instinct with the added edge of all the training he got growing up in a Latino household that told him no man ever let his woman go hungry. Simon was far less eloquent about it, he just said that food was love when you were Jewish and left it at that.
The care they took with her hunger was the same care they took with each others. Raphael, honestly, didn't need that care. By now he was a master at controlling his impulses, he would have to be at the point of desiccation before he'd ravenously and indiscriminately feed. But Simon wasn't at that place yet so Raphael was always looking for the signs, the tightness of the eyes, the predatory stance for no reason. At his heart, Raphael was a provider and growing up poor meant that to him, providing meant food on the table for his family, no matter the form that food took or the method of consumption.
Once she started eating, Izzy finally realized how hungry she actually was and began inhaling the food. She didn't talk, she just ate. Raphael and Simon watched her with satisfaction while they drank some blood out of glasses; their version of a family supper. When she was done, she carefully put the plate in the dishwasher and sat back down.
“Thank you, it was delicious.”
“Do you want to talk now about what's eating you up inside?” Simon asked.
Isabelle put her head in her hands and once again, all her fears came out, as though a valve had been released. “What do we do if I can't fix this? The Clave is bringing in anyone who can help. Magnus is helping, we have the best vampire doctors in the city helping, even the fey are helping... they said it had something to do with how they both have the wild in them... whatever that means. But nothing has worked. What if nothing ever does... what if Luke...?”
Simon took Izzy's hands in his. “I've known Luke for a lot longer than you have, he helped raise me after my father took off, so the thought of him dying doesn't exactly do me any favors. He was the first one who helped me after I turned, I want him to live a long and healthy life. But I also know that someday I'm going to lose him, someday if he doesn't die in the line of duty or in battle, he will die of old age. I won't be happy, it will take me long years before I'm fully OK, but I will be. Now, I don't want to lose him today, tomorrow or anytime soon, but I do know if this disease gets him, he will fight it tooth and claw right to the grave... and so will you. If he dies, it will be because you did everything on earth and in heaven to save him. It won't be your fault, it will be the fault of whoever designed this disease. Not. You.”
Raphael leaned back in his chair and looked into his glass of wine before he spoke, and the tone was a bit begrudging. “I've known a lot of alphas in my time. I got to know more about the previous alpha of Luke's pack than I really wanted to. The old alpha was a hothead who never seemed to make the right decision when two choices were presented to him, it's like he couldn't help himself.”
Here Raphael grimaced like what he was about to say was physically painful. “I know both of you think that I'm polite to him these days because of what he means to everyone else in this bizarre extended family we have going on here, and that is part of it. But the other part is that I respect him, he's a good alpha, a good leader. He keeps his wolves in line better than the past five alphas of that pack and he cares for them at the same time. Trust me, those wolves haven't had it so good for a while. When you can take as much damage as werewolves can, people can get dependant on it, use them for cannon fodder. Luke never does. Plus he's smart and that makes negotiating with him easier than with any other wolf. I don't want him dead either, New York will be worse off for it. Don't either of you dare tell him I said any of that.”
Simon and Isabelle smiled fondly at Raphael, bemused at how hard he tried to maintain certain airs around them. The three of them talked for a little while longer, catching up with each other. Eventually though Izzy began to yawn so hard it looked like her face might split in two.
Simon pulled her up from her chair. “Alright you, time for bed. Lydia doesn't want to see you back at the Institute till you've eight hours of uninterrupted sleep.”
He gently led her to their bedroom and took her shoes off while Raphael turned down the bed. She collapsed into the down comforters with a sigh and before they could even ask her if she was comfortable, she was asleep.
When the morning dawned, Raphael and Simon joined her, this time placing her in the middle, a slot which rotated often with the three. Soon they too were asleep.
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At noon Izzy rocketed awake and sprang from the bed putting clothes on in a flurry. Simon and Raph woke up blearily and asked her what was going on. Izzy excitedly babbled extremely complicated science stuff at them that neither understood.
“This means I know what it is, I know how the disease was made and if I know how it was made, reverse engineering a cure is possible now!”
And with that she darted out off their rooms and they heard the door slam open and the sound of a portal whisking their girlfriend back to the Institute.
Simon looked at the floor. “Should we tell her that she's barefoot?”
“Nope.” Raphael replied. “She's portaling, Clary will give her some shoes there.”
“There she goes, marching off to battle... barefoot and with a microscope in her hands.” Simon said.
Raphael's reply was a bit muffled from the depths of his pillow. “It's not like her whip would have really done her any good... this time.”
Author's Note: Well, there you go. My first time writing this OT3, please leave a comment, I love hearing what people think. Thank you!