The Boy in Her Nightmares

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.

The eyes are the windows to the soul.

But they were also what was missing.

Sometimes, Clary thought she could handle it. In a way, it was her escape. Few would call it a gift, but to her mother, that was what it was. She had a gift. She had two, in fact, but they were opposites. One was her saving grace and the other was her personal hell.

Yet, there were times she looked forward to meeting him, if only to try and get his eyes right. The boy could be beautiful. He was beautiful, but in a way that sent a cold autumn wind down her body.

Clary situated herself in her bed for the second time that night. She eyed the now closed door before glancing to the window. The old dark wood had murky glass between its frames, but it was swinging wildly in the wind.

She stared down at her body. The lace was itchy. It was always itchy. With a heavy sigh, she exchanged her outfit for the large oversized t-shirt. It was the boy's shirt. In the beginning when it started, she stopped wearing it because she assumed he was angry she wore it. But as the years passed, he continued visiting. Once, he even seemed saddened to see the shirt discarded on her dresser. Since then, it was all she wore. The boy was still sad, but at least it wasn't her fault.

Clary ran her hands over her red hair, curled her legs to her chest as she lied on her side, and closed her emerald eyes.

She never knew how long it took for him to arrive. All of a sudden, Clay felt something. Something was watching her sleep. Something was so close she could sense its energy in the air around her. Something was here.

A hand was on her leg. She jolted awake, gasping for breath as she shot upright. Her eyes didn't have to search the room far. He always sat in the same spot.

Some would say his golden hair and pale skin made him a vision of light, of peace, of sanctuary. Once Clary drew him for her mother and doctors did they stop saying such a thing. When you saw him, you didn't forget him. The black clothing combined with a black glowing aura around his entire body. Beautiful, he was, but it was a dark beautiful. Terrifying in its own light. He was the kind of beautiful you associate with watching a bomb explode or a plane crash into a tall tower.

After so many visits, Clary shouldn't have been frightened of him. He never did anything. If he spoke, she couldn't ever remember his voice after. When she looked into his eyes, they were black. The color wasn't black. His eyes were missing, gone, stolen.

"Who stole your sight?" Clary whispered, reaching out to touch his face. He blinked despite not needing to moisten his non-existing eyes. He didn't answer.

The window slammed shut, causing Clary to jump. A voice rang out through the house. "Shut that damn window, Clarissa!"

Clary gasped. She didn't know her father was still awake. Before she could think, she was on her feet racing for the window. He couldn't come back into her room. If her father caught her with the boy, Clary didn't know if she could cope.

But the boy grabbed her hand. It was a light gesture, one she wasn't used to. His hands ghosted over her wrist like a feather. "You'll lock me in."

Clary stood in front of him curiously. "Where do you go when you leave?" Her ears perked, ready to memorize his voice. Though it was rarely used, Clary knew from previous times that, just like his eyes, she would probably never remember. The boy didn't answer, and that angered Clary. Her hands clenched into tiny fists. "What's your name?" Again, she was met with silence. The boy tilted his head as he watched her. His golden curls fell across his face, but he didn't notice. There were dark rings under his eyes that reminded her of the ones that made her own eyes seem sunken in.

"Everyone hates it when I call you 'the boy.'" Clary admitted. "If you don't tell me your name, I'm shutting the window."

He moved his head to the other side, studying Clary's deviant stance. "Jace Wayland."

Clary's heart sunk. It was such a perfect name. The boy looked like a Jace Wayland. He was grungy and rugged yet had some respect and class. She realized she now had the advantage here. "Why did you kill yourself?"

Jace frowned. He didn't answer. Clary explained. "It was when we lived in the alley. I was twelve. You looked much younger, but I remember you. When you came crashing down toward me, your eyes were full of such energy, such fight. I didn't understand why eyes so beautiful would want to die. Maybe that's why I can't remember what your eyes look like. I already saw them and now I don't get the pleasure of a second time."

Jace Wayland's scowl grew. "Are you sure I jumped?"

It was Clary's turn to grow confused. Now that the conversation was flowing, she no longer wanted the boy to disappear. This was the most she'd spoken to a person in days. She didn't care if he was the ghost that haunted her. It came to her benefit.

"Don't you remember dying?"

"I only remember you." Jace said. Clary sat beside him carefully. He was much taller than her, much older. She knew what older boys liked to do.

"Why don't you speak to me?" Clary asked. The wind battered her cheeks red.

"You've never needed to talk before. You needed something else."

Clary crossed her arms over her chest. "What do I need?"

Jace grew a crooked smirk. It was alarming since she couldn't see his eyes. They were blackened blurs, but the smile was anything than what she had expected. This was the smile of a glowingly handsome young man, not one of a dangerous, haunting ghost.

"A distraction."

Clary began to say something when suddenly her window started banging loudly. She jumped in alarm and ran for the window. When she turned back to the bed, Jace Wayland had disappeared.

For four years, instead of sleeping, Clary had been visited by the boy. And in one night, she'd both learned his name and felt the first pang of sadness as his sudden disappearance pulled at her heart. It was the first time she had wanted him to stay, to not leave her alone again.

He'd left early, though. And Clary didn't sleep. So for an hour, she stared at the window waiting for him to enter. He never did. Then, her brain started replaying scenes of the earlier events of the night.

And suddenly, his unexpected absence hurt Clary.

. . .

Clary stared out the window. Half of her expected to see the boy - Jace - climbing through the open window to sit on her bed. A giggle burst past her lips, causing her mother to look over at her in scorn. Clary didn't care. It was a funny thought. As if Jace Wayland the ghost would appear in broad daylight. It was a silly thought, one that deserved laughter.

"He spoke to me," Clary whispered as she sat in her seat. Jocelyn Morgenstern resembled Clary, more or less. She had harder lines, a more mature body. Her scowl was, therefore, more prominent, more noticeable.

"Who?"

"The boy." Clary said, eyeing the window again. "I know his name, now."

Jocelyn grimaced. She tried to not let Clary see it by covering it up with a slighted smile. "That's...wonderful dear."

Clary sighed. Pouting, she crossed her arms. "You used to call it a gift. Seeing the dead and all."

Jocelyn ran a hand distractedly through her hair. "That was when you were twelve and I though you had PTSD. Now it's simply...immature if a girl your age."

The words brushed off Clary as if her bouncy curls of red were her shields of blood-coated iron. She looked back to the window. "It's Jace Wayland..."

"Clarissa Morgenstern? Dr. Bane is ready for you now." A nurse by the front desk said as she peeked her head outside of the door. Clary smiled in delight and jumped to her feet. Jocelyn rose slowly, tiredly.

"I have to make your father lunch. I'll be back in an hour. You'll be fine, right?"

Clary nodded out of habit. A sinking feeling formed in her gut. Jocelyn always asked that question. She asked it before school. She asked it before doctor sessions. She asked it when she left to go to the store. She asked it before bed. Clary always said yes. She wondered what would happen if she didn't lie every time. She wondered if Jocelyn would even notice a deviation, let alone do something about it.

Clary liked Dr. Bane. He let her call him Magnus and his sofa was the nicest she'd lied in. He was waiting for he in his black chair without a smile on his face. She also liked that about him. He didn't give her a passive aggressive or neutral smile. He just was him. And she just was her. It worked.

"How's my favorite patient?" Magnus said invitingly. His catlike eyes had a hint of sparkles on the edges. As Clary kicked her feet up on the couch, she focused on the glitter.

"Me? I'm great! My new friend isn't doing so well, though," Clary said. Magnus' eyebrows rose expectantly. "Yes, I have friends."

"I believe that's a total of two, and you met Simon through my buddy system." Magnus reminded her in that uppity tone. She knew he meant well, and it didn't insult her when he said that. Clary rolled her eyes and laughed. Simon was the one friend she had. He came to Magnus to deal with his anxiety. While he had trouble making friends, Clary had trouble keeping them. They worked well together, but they didn't get to visit each other often. They went to different school. His high school had much more freedom with meaner teachers. Clary's teachers were the nicest, but she had to do exactly what they said and nothing less. The good thing was that she hardly had to do much learning with them.

"His name is Jace Wayland," Clary grinned. Her eyes roamed the office, searching each wall. With a sigh, she looked back to Magnus.

"What's wrong?"

"There are no windows. He won't be showing up," Clary said. She lied on her side as she faced Magnus. "I'm sure he'd love to meet you. He's sad a lot. You could help him."

Magnus crossed his leg over his other and tapped his pen in thought. "Clary, think hard for me. Do you remember the boy you saw fall from the building a couple years ago?"

Clary felt cold run through her. Images from that night flashed through her eyes. It was before her father found Jocelyn and Clary. It was before they had a home. The streets were always scary, but that night it was raining hard. Clary had been shivering there entire night. Then came the body. This time, she remembered it slightly differently than she had last night. There was a loud screaming echoing off the buildings. His eyes were so alight with light, but it was a scared light. He was angry and surprised.

"It wasn't a couple of years ago," she muttered. Her fingers found the hem of her shirt. They began twisting it. "It was three years and ten months ago."

Magnus nodded. "Did you ever hear his name?"

Clary paused, thinking. It was the one question she'd never heard the answer to. Not long after her mother and she gave their statements to the police, they ran. They ran for days, all the way out of the city. The next time Clary saw the news was months later when the media had forgotten her flying angel. "No. But I know it now. It was Jace Wayland. I told you I could see ghosts. I'm not imagining this."

Magnus jotted down notes in his book. "What else did you and Jace talk about last night?"

Clary smiled again. She liked talking about her new friend. "Not much. He had to go. The wind was waking my father." Clary shuddered at his name. Magnus picked up on it. He always did.

"Why don't you ever talk about your father?" he asked, leaning forward with interest. Clary leaned further back into the sofa, if it were possible.

"Don't you want to hear more about my friend?" He shook his head. Her smile dropped, and she shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

Magnus' pen tapped undyingly on his clipboard. "What did your father have to say about your new friend?"

Clary flinched at the mere idea of telling her father about Jace. She couldn't even imagine telling him that she could talk to the dead. His sharp, painful laughter already echoed in her ears. Her hands flung to cover her ears and she shook her head. The sounds didn't stop, but she kept it up.

"Clary?" Magnus' voice miffed from the sharp laughter. She lowered her hands slowly, unsure if his scorn and mockery and amusement at her curse would still be around. It had died out, thankfully. "Why did you do that?"

Clary sat up. She hugged at her chest and shook her head. "What do your father and you do for fun?"

Another memory flashed before her eyes, one from the very recent night. Clary closed her eyes tightly for a second longer than normal. She stared at Magnus' feet, not even trying to answer his question. Another one came, but she had to force herself not to listen. Clary didn't want to relive another moment she had shared with her father.

Not long after staring at her legs, the timer dinged. Her head shot up. "That was not fun," she sighed as the door opened. Jocelyn was standing there as she spoke on the phone. Her hand motioned for Clary to move it along. "Bye Mr. Bane."

"Clary-," he protested, but she was already out the door.

. . .

The door quivered as it shut. Clary wondered how he didn't worry about waking up her mother. It was so loud. Everything was so loud.

The wind was howling again tonight. She enjoyed the fresh breeze that came into her room. She tucked her legs under the cover and waited patiently for her dark angel to visit. When her eyes closed, it wasn't for long.

Jace didn't wake her. Clary was ready for him, though. The moment she felt the slightest shift of her bed, her eyes popped open. Jace was staring at her, watching. His eyes seemed to blur as she tried to read them. She decided they weren't black holes, but they just were a forgotten part of his memory.

"Hello."

Her voice was crisp and clear surrounded by such silence. Jace didn't respond with a nice greeting back, though.

"Why did you assume I killed myself?"

Clary frowned. Again, she remembered what she saw, but with Jace around, it wasn't as scary. It was like seeing it in a movie. "You looked like you were flying. My mom tried to fly once. It didn't work like yours did, though."

Jace let a breath of air escape his mouth. His elbows rested on his knees. Clary sat beside him as well. Her shirt rose over her knees and exposed a little bit of her black underwear. Jace looked at her. He grinned. "I can see your panties, Miss Clary," he said in a way that rhymed. Clary was surprised. Nobody had ever made her laugh when they commented on her clothing.

She giggled and let her legs fall over the side of the bed. "You keep getting older."

"So do you," Jace said in a light way that almost sounded like conversation. Clary jumped at that idea.

"Do you go to school?"

Jace shook his head. "I watch people. You mostly. Your life provides the most entertainment," Jace cringed as he said it, like that statement was a bit too harsh. Clary blinked. She didn't realize she had such a fun life. She felt honored.

"Why can't I see you? Why can't my friends see you?"

Jace frowned. "Friend." Everyone had to point that out. "They aren't special like you."

It sent her mind spinning. With bright eyes, she looked at him. "Do you want to kiss me?"

The question came from nowhere. The times she'd been 'kissed' were not happy memories. In fact, she had never gotten to ask a boy if he wanted to kiss her before. It was a nice turn of events. Jace ran a hand through Clary's red curls, untangling the knots as he went.

"You deserve better," was his response. He looked at the bed. "You should sleep. You never do."

She shrugged. "That's okay. I like being with you more." Jace's smile was tight, forced.

"I'll stay here until morning."

"Promise?"

"I always do," Jace reminded her. Clary's lip jutted out. He sighed and pushed her gently back to the pillows. "Promise."

He kept his word.

. . .

Clary stared out at the cars rushing past. They always went to fast in the school zone. It was probably because at her school, nobody was allowed outside the gates until after the bell rang. But Clary was one of the smartest students the junior class. She got let out five minutes early to watch the cars zoom past. It was for an art project. Dr. Bane got her started on drawing, and now she did it for her school year project.

The cars were a multitude of colors, all eventually blurring into one. A black, long car pulled up to the curve a minute before the young bell rang. As kids rushed into the gate yard parents walked to the entrance. There, a counselor checked off the kid and parent's last name to ensure the right kid went with the right adult.

A young girl around Clary's age got out of the car. She walked through the gate, as some would do if they arrived early, and sat beside Clary on the step. Clary looked at her.

"You're very pretty," she complimented the girl. Her dark black hair nearly reached her waist, and her eye make up made Clary want to stare with both awe and envy. The girl snorted.

"Thanks." She looked at Clary. "Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Shouldn't you?"

The girl shrugged. "My brother should get to see a happy face pick him up every once and a while."

Clary grinned. "You're right." She paused. "My name's Clary Morgenstern."

The girl's head whipped around faster than the cars whooshing by. Her dark, never ending eyes grew wide. "As in...Jonathan's brother?"

The way she said that sentence made Clary think she had done something to scare the girl. "That's me."

Isabelle looked her over once. Her eyes grew glossier as her hand went to her mouth. "You don't look...crazy." Clary frowned. Isabelle stammered, "I mean, you look like you should go to my school."

She shrugged, forgetting about her previous sentence. "My friend Simon goes to a regular school and he sees the same doctor as me. It's so unfair."

Isabelle nodded distantly, as if she'd just seen a ghost. She cleared her throat. The bell rang, and kids started rushing past the two girls only to be stopped by the gates. Ten minutes later and the upper school would let out. Then they'd really be in trouble. "Um...what's your friend's name?"

"Jace Wayland," she blurted out before thinking. Clary laughed. "Sorry. You meant Simon."

Isabelle's face had lost all color. "I did, but not anymore. Did you say 'Jace Wayland?' As in the kid who threw himself off a building four years ago?"

Clary huffed. She rolled her eyes. "That's what I said too! But Jace said he didn't kill himself. Boys."

Isabelle's breathing picked up. "What do you mean 'he says?'"

"He visits me at night. After four years of stealing my sleep, he's finally given me some conversation in return. He's so nice," Clary giggled. Isabelle's shoulder dropped. The spray of hope across her eyes left slowly, almost as if it didn't want to leave.

"Oh."

A boy around the age of eleven walked past the girls, but he turned around quickly. There was such a glum expression in his eyes. Clary knew eyes. She was an expert on them, she'd say. And his eyes were...missing. Not actually like Jace's were. This boy's eyes were just not whole.

A flicker of light lit them up momentarily at the sight of Isabelle. "Max!" Isabelle exclaimed excitedly with a little too much enthusiasm. Max didn't seem to mind. He smiled, and the smile hurt Clary's heart with hope pure it was.

"Izzy, I missed you!" He threw his arms around her waist, white-bandaged wrists crossing. Clary frowned. The bandages went all the way around his wrists for full coverage.

Isabelle peered down at Clary. Her eyes softened and she sat back down, pulled Max on her lap in the process. He didn't mind. "Clary, this is my little brother Max. Max knew Jace very well."

At the mention of Jace's name, Max's smile fell. His eyes turned back to the brooding storm that no child his age should ever hold. Clary didn't pick up on everything, but she understood when a person was hurting. Max was hurting. She decided not to throw her friendship with Jace in his face.

"Hello, Max!" Clary smiled. He nodded and looked at the cars going by at a much slower pace now that the yellow lights flashed. "How do you know Jace?"

Isabelle shifted. "Jace saved Max from bullies when we were younger. He...looked up to him."

The words came out of Iz's mouth with a bitter taste. Max didn't flinch. Clary pursed her lips. "I don't think he killed himself."

Max looked up. "I know he didn't." There was an angry defiant edge to his voice. His eyes hardened into stones, daring Clary to challenge him. Even Isabelle kept quiet. She looked to Clary and made the crazy sign by her own temple. Clary grimaced.

She didn't think he was crazy. She thought he was hiding something.

. . .

Clary was waiting for Jace that night. She went to bed and woke herself up, but he wasn't there. It took him a few minutes. In those minutes, she stared at her feet as they dangled over the bedside. Her mind drifted to Max. His smile made her smile and his eyes made her cry.

A hand on her arm made her emerald eyes shift up. It wasn't Jace, though. This time, it was her mother. The door was open, and Jocelyn had snuck in. Clary's eyes went wide and she scrambled to the back of her bed. If her mother were here, would Jace abandon her?

"Hello," Clary said cautiously.

Jocelyn's face seemed very frail in the moonlight. The wind had stopped howling for this full moon, but the air was just as eerie. "Magnus told me that your friend's name is Jace Wayland."

Clary nodded as she pulled the covers up to her chin. She didn't point out that Clary had told her mother this herself two days ago. Jocelyn sighed as she sat on the bed. Her eyes connected with the discarded lace outfit on the floor. "What's this?"

Clary lifted the blanket up to hide everything but her eyes. She didn't answer. Her heart was beating too fast.

"Clarissa, where did you get this?"

Shut up.

"Why do you have this?"

Shut up. Shut up.

"Why is there blood on it?"

Shut up, shut up, shut up!

Clary shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. She thrust the blanket over her head in a hurry. Jocelyn continued pestering her with questions.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Clary mumbled. Memories bounced around wildly in her head. That outfit had been used. She couldn't say why. She never had been allowed. If she did, even to her mom, she'd be as dead as Jace Wayland. Even if she told Jace... But the memories and pain and feelings and power displays were so much to lie about, so much to cover up.

"Shut up!" Clary shouted! She buried herself under the covers fully, and Jocelyn didn't say another word. Her hand rested on Clary's back as she rocked back and forth under the covers, trying to keep from sobbing uncontrollably.

"Ah..." Jocelyn didn't know what to say. In the end, she bid the sniffling Clary goodnight, kissed her head through the covers, and left. The onslaught of memories didn't stop, though. They continued mercilessly for what felt like hours. It was all she could do to hold her head between her knees and keep the sobs from waking her father.

When she felt the bed sag the next time, it was Jace. She could nearly taste his presence. He pulled back the cover slowly. When she looked at him, his face was as grim as her heart felt. Without a second thought, Clary climbed to him. She rested her head on his lap and wrapped her arms around his torso, staring at him as the tears dried on her cheeks in salty lines. He stared back down at her, saddened by her sadness.

"Why won't you play with me in the day?" Clary asked.

Jace ran a hand over her hair. "I'm there. You just don't see me."

Clary smiled softly. "Next time, speak to me?"

"Okay."

. . .

Clary sprinted out of school to reach Isabelle and Max before they got in their limo. She wasn't let out early. "Isabelle! Max! Maxxie!"

Their heads turned in surprise. An amused smile was splayed across Max's face. Isabelle stopped in her place and met Clary halfway, a warm yet hesitant smile on her lips. Clary took a deep breath when she reached them and bent down to Max.

"Would you like to talk to Jace?"

Max's eyes turned into a scowl. "That's not funny."

Clary shook her head in earnest. "I'm serious, Maxie. I talk to him all the time. He even promised to come to me during the day today, but not here. It's too crowded here."

Max frowned. His eyes squinted. "Why did you call me Maxie?"

Clary shrugged. "Jace calls you that."

Isabelle hissed, "How did you know that?"

Clary looked up at her and scoffed, hands on her hips. "Because I talk to him?"

Max looked from Isabelle to Clary. His eyes were wavering. "What's she talking about, Iz?"

Isabelle growled, eyes sharpening into diamonds. "Nothing. She's crazy, Max. Let's go."

Clary jumped to her feet. "Take that back!"

Isabelle shoved Max behind her body. Her muscles pulled tight, she squared off to Clary. "What? That's you're clinically insane? Why do you think you're here, huh?"

Clary balled her fists. Her throat hurt, like somebody was strangling her. "You're crazy!"

Isabelle sneered. "Stay away from Max."

She grabbed Max's hand and yanked him away. Clary supposed it must have been raining because her cheeks were wet. She looked up, but no rain was falling. She looked back at Max and Isabelle. Max looked over his shoulder before stepping into his limo. Clary saw one thing: his eyes.

They were swirling with curiosity.

A/N: So this is a random drabble I wrote a while back. I finally got around to finishing it. There is a second part to this, which I will post if I can get 15 reviews. What to say you may ask? I want to hear everything! I want to know what you think about Jace. Real, ghost, or figment of her imagination? What do you think about Clary? What's up with her? What's her story? Where do you see this ending? Tell me! FIFTEEN reviews for the second part! Anyone curious?

If you like this, I have more one-shots, but most are a bit more sexual than this. I also have some chapter stories completed and in progress about Clace.

Don't forget to review/favorite/follow pls!