Why, hello there. This is my first Mortal Instruments fic. I recently read the series and I can't believe that I didn't find them sooner; they're amazing! And since I was pissed off with the fact that I had to wait like nine months until the next one, I decided it was time to write a fanfic. This was an idea I considered doing for Vampire Academy between Rose and Dimitri. I really wanted to do it, but when I heard the song "She Is The Sunlight" by Trading Yesterday last night after finishing City of Fallen Angels, I couldn't help myself, and thus, resulted in this.

So, with that being said, there are a few things I would like to say. One, I know that Jace's last name is really Herondale, but to me, he's always going to be a Wayland, because that's the name I first learned to love him with and therefor, he will always be Wayland to me. Gtfo. Two, this is an all human story, so things are obviously different - Jace is roughly 26 and Clary is roughly 25, and they will be out of character ... I'll try my hardest to make them like how they are in the books, but sometimes, that's just not possible. Three, while I have been in a situation similar to the one Clary was in, mine was verbal, not so much physical. I'm gathering information from my friend who has been in this situation, spending countless of hours obsessing over Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, and research. Four, I've been to New York City ... once. Like I said, I've done research - but that doesn't always turn out to be right, now does it? And lastly, this is a seven-shot. Or something like that. It's a short story, how about that? Hahaha.

Alright. I think I've addressed everything. Actually, I've probably missed a few things ... but whatever. I need to get to bed, considering I have an eight hour work day babysitting little brats at our yearly festival. At least I get paid for it... Sometimes, I really do hate my job. Haha.

Disclaimer: I, Ashleigh, swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth. The truth? I don't own the characters in The Moral Instruments Series. No, those sexy beasts belong to the lovely Cassandra Clare. I'm seriously just using her brilliant works of art and fucking around with them for my own amusement. I also do not own She Is The Sunlight by Trading Yesterday - hell, I'm not that creative. But you know what I do own? I own your soul. How do you like them apples? No copyright infringement is intended. All rights reserved. ©;

She Is The Sunlight
chasing down a daydream

If anything, it was too damn bright outside. Taking a drag of his cigarette, Jace Wayland paused as he looked around. Technically, it was against the law for him to be smoking on duty – but he didn't care. Above the rules, he had told himself many times. The ironic thing about the brightness was that it was the dead of night – maybe one, two in the morning. Didn't his training officer tell him that this was the prime time for crime?

Jace scoffed at that idea. That obviously wasn't the truth – he was sitting outside a small closed electronics store, just a couple of blocks away from Times Square. He could still hear the hustle and bustle that he so commonly heard as he patrolled his shifts. His golden eyes shifted back and forth, up and down the streets, completely bored. People passed him without a second glance; they was a good chance they thought he was an imposter and not the actual New York Police Department.

He had gotten that misconception before. The couple had been making some snide comments about how a real officer wouldn't be smoking on duty. That couple had stopped making snide comments after Jace flashed his badge. His face turned up into a small smirk as he thought about that couple – they had normally wandered around this area at this time of night, and since that night, he hadn't seen them. Way to scare them of, Wayland.

Jace let out a deep breath, a white puff of smoke going out with him. He had been smoking since he was nineteen, which was the legal age in New York. At first, it had been a stress reliever – and now, it was anything but that. What did he have to be stressed about at this point? Well, there was his job – being a New York City police officer was no easy task. Two hours ago, he had closed the scene on a brutal murder of a fifteen year old girl. He shuddered at the thought and took another drag of his cigarette.

Maybe it really was stress. Maybe this job was getting to him; he had been working on the force for at least four years now. This is not a job you take lightly, Wayland. This job will fuck with your mind – it will fuck with your personal life, too, so toss that out the window is what his training officer had told him on the first day. That was nothing more than the truth.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his patrol car and sighed – he would have to go back in that damn car eventually and wander around the city, fining taxi cab drivers for honking and arresting people for DUIs. It wasn't ideal for him; it lacked that certain adrenaline he got when he closed a crime scene or was in pursuit of a suspect.

The blonde haired officer stamped out his cigarette on the ground with his boot, making sure it was completely out. Once he was satisfied with the cigarette being fully put out, Jace decided it was time to make his way back to his patrol car and wander aimlessly through the streets of New York until he got a call. It was strangely quiet tonight – which, he knew, would instantly change tomorrow and he'd be running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

It was when he was wandering back to his patrol car when he saw a tuff of red. Instantly, his police officer instincts went through the roof – he was wary of this red presence. Red usually indicated blood. Slowly, he turned around, his left hand reaching towards his gun at his belt without a second thought. He titled his head to the side and squinted his eyes to get a better clue as to what that tuff of red was. His nerves were setting him on edge and he found himself bouncing on the balls of his feet as he moved forward, his steps quiet. He didn't want to startle it; that could lead to it running off, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He was halfway down the alley when he managed to make out what the shape was. It was a human figure and that tuff of red he had seen was the hair. It was long and slightly wavey, which give Jace the impression that the person was a female. He still kept his hand placed around the handle of his gun, just in case this person was dangerous … But the figure didn't appear to be moving. Instead, she was leaning up against the brick wall, muttering something under her breath.

Jace took another step and that's when he saw the pieces of paper scattered around the girl and a briefcase looking object next to her. Upon further investigation, Jace realized that the pieces of papers were actually sketches. They took his breath away; the artwork on the dirty street was incredible. Thousands of people stalked New York every day, showcasing their artwork … but there was something distinctive about this style that he hadn't seen before.

Then he heard the muffled sound and the sniffles coming from the woman. He knew that sound anywhere – it was the sound of a crying woman and he couldn't explain why his heart tugged at the thought of her crying. Her whole body was shaking from silent sobs and his hand dropped from his gun. At this point, the woman was not a threat.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The redhead stopped and Jace kneeled down next to her, concern all over his face. He fought the sudden urge to brush the wild strands of hair out of his face and scolded himself for thinking that. Why would he be thinking that about this girl? He didn't even know her damn name! The girl stopped abruptly and caught her breath. "Ma'am, my name is Officer Wayland. If you need any help, I would be more than happy to assist you."

She flinched away from him, her hair falling in front of her face, as if she was hiding something. Jace recognized that telltale sign right away; he had seen it countless of times on women who had been a victim of something - or maybe she was just really upset about spilling her artwork all over the streets of New York. Her body weight shifted from one side to the other against the wall and that's when he saw them- the bruises that covered her beautiful face.

His suspicions had been confirmed. His mouth fell into a little 'o' of horror and his stomach twisted with guilt. Jace Wayland may be an ass to woman, but no woman ever deserved to be treated the way that she had. The bruises were healing at some points, but some of them were fresh – that terrible blue and purple that indicated it had happened an hour or so ago. This time, he didn't stop his hand that reached out to brush her hair back.

The woman shuddered under his presence, but didn't say anything. Was it just him, or did she feel that unexplainable spark that just shot through his body? Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was making sure that this girl was safe. That urge to protect her was overwhelming and Jace leaned his left side against the wall to keep himself from falling over.

"Ma'am, I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help you. Can you tell me what happened?" She shook her head, her eyes – which he now saw were a bright green – looked at the artwork and Jace managed not to chuckle. He leaned over to one side, regaining his balance, and picked up the scattered artwork. There were only three pieces on the ground, but each one of them held something different in them.

One was the lake at Central Park, painted with charcoal. The second one was a couple walking in China Town, during a rainstorm – it was all black and white ink, expect for the red umbrella the woman was holding. And lastly, which Jace claimed his favourite one, was Times Square at night, painted in water colour. The woman's work – if this was her work – was absolutely exquisite. He placed them on top of each other and put them in the brief case like object.

"Thank you, Officer," she finally mumbled once he handed the case back to her. That was when Jace got a full front shot of her face, which revealed that the bruises were on one side of her face – the right one – and trailed down from her hairline to underneath her chin. The blonde officer had high reason to believe that those weren't the only bruises on her body. "I'm fine; my case just got caught in a gust of wind, that's all."

Jace tsked. "I'd believe you, but I've been patrolling this area for awhile. I know for a fact that there hasn't been a single breeze tonight." That was stupid move on his part – he was going to scare the lady away, when all he wanted to do was bring her closer. She turned her body away from him and Jace cursed mentally. "All I want to do is help you. I promise I won't hurt you, Miss …?"

This was always a delicate balance. She could run or she could tell him her name – and he was praying for the latter of those two possibilities. Instead, she took a deep breath, her expression betraying her. Jace recognized that expression easily – she was confused as to what she should do, and she was damn afraid of picking the wrong choice.

"Clary. Clary Fray," she finally said. She pressed herself up against the wall, instantly regretting telling the Officer Wayland her name. No, he's not going to hurt you. He just wants to help you, Clary told herself – but that constant fear never went away. That's what he told me… He promised that he'd stop, he'd promised that he wouldn't hurt me again… Her body racked with sobs again.

"Miss Fray," Jace brushed the hair out of her eyes again, and she jerked back, her eyes wide. She must have been in some distant place, Jace thought to himself. This was a sign he had seen before of battered woman. He knew that Clary would be having an inner battle with herself - if it was right or if it was wrong to allow herself to trust him. Clary scrambled to her feet, panting heavily by this point.

Her hands were shaking and she was scared out of her mind. Somewhere, deep down, she knew that this man wouldn't hurt her – but her mind wasn't processing that. All she wanted to do was run far away and never come back. Jace took a step forward and she took a step back, and he cursed. At hearing the vulgar word leave the Officer's mouth, Clary felt her legs turn into jelly and she slid to the ground. She started rocking back and forth, rambling incoherently underneath her breath.

Instantly, Jace was at her side. He didn't touch her this time – he kept a reasonable distance, learning from his mistakes. "Mi- Clary." Somehow, 'Miss Fray' didn't seem right. "I promise, I won't do anything to hurt you. I just want to help you." He spoke the truth – Clary could tell by the tone of his voice and the way that he presented himself. With shaky hands, she wiped the tears away from her cheek and the corner of her eyes.

"How about we go to the hospital? We can get you cleaned up and make sure that you're okay. After that, we can go to the station and talk," Jace asked with a wary voice. He couldn't force the woman to do anything – if she wanted to run, then he would have to let her go. The thought of the hospital and the station could easily set her off.

"Okay," Clary finally responded after a few moments of consideration. Emotions stirred in her heart as he held out his hand. She took it after another moment's consideration and was surprised at how warm his hand was, even though it was the middle of September and starting to get cold. He squeezed her hand in reassurance, and while the gesture normally would have set her off, this one didn't. It was soft and calm, nothing violent about it.

It was when Clary didn't move that Jace spoke again. "Clary, I promise that I'm not going to hurt you. I swear to it on my badge, my life, and my mother's grave." His tone was serious, lacking any of his normal sarcastic nature. That sarcastic nature he was so accustomed to wasn't going to help such a delicate woman as Clary Fray.

"You promise?" Clary asked before they moved, her voice timid and weak. She was surprised the words even left her mouth. Her green eyes trailed up to Jace, looking for emotion that would disprove his actions. Instead, she found a few familiar emotions she hadn't seen in awhile – concern, trust, and willingness.

"I promise."

I have to admit, this is kind of weird for me. I'm normally so paranoid about having long chapters ... but it's long enough and I just don't care right now. Lololol.

Review! Or someone gets a funeral scene. ):