So this is going to be my first AU (Alternate Universe) fanfiction. I'm not sure if I'll be any good at it, but I got an idea so I'm going to try writing this and see how it goes.

Like with most AU fanfics, the characters will be OOC. I'm going to try to keep as close to themselves as I can while staying true to this story line. Seeing as they're all human, I can't make their character's exactly the same as they were in the Mortal Instruments series.

I have one request when it comes to reviewing: no flames. If you hate my story, fine. Rage about it to all your friends, but please keep all unkind comments to yourself. I never claimed to be one of the Cassandra Clare's of this world. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. I'll take anything that can make me a better writer.

Thank you for reading! Enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: I'm not Cassandra Clare. I don't own the Mortal Instruments series, and I think disclaimers are kind of ridiculous. I already said I'm a "fan" by being on "fanfiction" so aren't I saying that I didn't write this. It would be incredibly stupid to be a "fan" of your own work. Vain too. Honestly. Sorry for the rant. Keep reading…

Our favorite Mortal Instruments quote of the chapter:

"I don't want to grow up, I want to be an angst ridden teenager who can't confront his own inner demons and takes it out verbally on other people instead."

-Jace

oOo

Clary stares at the fluorescent lights set deep into the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. The ER has been unusually empty this evening. Two stitches, a mildly dehydrated woman and a sprained ankle had been the highlights of her night. The doctors who were usually always in the ER had wandered away, checking up on patients in a more interesting area of the hospital. She sighs softly laying her head in her hands and closes her eyes, resting them after a long uneventful shift. Her friend, Maia nudges her shoulder gently, getting her attention.

"Our shifts not over yet," Maia says with a light smile.

"But it will be in two hours and seventeen minutes," she responds without even glancing at a clock. Maia laughs in response.

"Bored?" she asks Clary.

"It's a slow day," Clary responds. Maia's eyes bug out at Clary's words. Clary chooses to ignore Maia, fully aware of the old hospital superstition that saying the words, slow day, will bring bad luck upon your ER.

"You did not just say that," Maia says her voice dropping. "You never say it's a slow day in an ER. Haven't you ever heard that? You just jinxed us!" Clary laughs and rolls her eyes.

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous. Give it ten minutes. I guarantee you, you won't be bored anymore." She shakes her head in disgust and walks away.

"Stop being so superstitious. Nobody's going too—" the front doors to the ER open, bringing with it the sound of bickering voices. Maia shoots her a look. "You got lucky this time," Clary says before Maia could utter a single word.

"Just don't do it again," Maia responds. "He's yours." Clary says a quick goodbye to Maia then turns her attention to the boys who just entered. Her eyes immediately widen at the sight of them. One of the boys is bleeding from his hand, rivulets of blood streaming down his arm. They contrast against his golden skin. His wild eyes are gold as well, along with his hair which hangs in a wild disarray around his face. He appears to have been sculpted out of gold, his muscle definition apparent even under his thin t-shirt. Clary's mind is wiped blank at the sight of the beautiful boy standing in the waiting room. She struggles to form a coherent thought and pulls her gaze away to look at his companion. The other boy appears to be his opposite. He has pale skin and a flash of black hair that almost manages to hide his bright blue eyes. As handsome as he is, he's nothing compared to the other boy.

"—and you're being completely ridiculous," says the golden boy.

"You're bleeding. From your hand. And it's not stopping."

"Yes, my hand. It's not like I have a gaping wound in my chest or severe brain trauma and am in a coma. Honestly, Alec, I can handle a bleeding hand. I don't know why I let you drag me here." Clary stands from her seat behind the desk and heads over to the boys. The golden boy looks at her, his eyes alight with irritation. He takes the cloth he has grasped over his hand off and shows his injury to her. "Can you tell my idiotic friend here that this I'm fine?" he asks. She gently grabs his hand, rotating it so she can better inspect it. It's covered with a scattering of cuts, some of the deeper ones oozing alarming amounts of blood. The cloth he holds in his other hand is soaked through with his blood.

"No. He was right to bring you here," Clary tells him.

"See!" the black haired boy, Alec, says triumphantly. The golden boy rolls his eyes and looks back at Clary.

"I need you to fill out some forms before we get started," Clary tells him. He hisses out a quiet sigh and motions for her to give them to him. She goes behind the desk and hands the forms to his friend. The blonde haired boy taps his foot quietly, his frustration seeping into the room.

"Here," Alec says, handing Clary the clipboard. She glances at it, quickly finding out that the boys name is Jonathan, just like her brother, she thinks. Clary ushers him into an examination room. Alec follows them, finding a seat in the corner of the room. Clary grabs a kit from the supply closet and starts working on his hand.

"How did this happen?" Clary asked him.

"Punched a window," he responds nonchalantly. Clary briefly stops her work to glance up at him in surprise, then continues disinfecting his hand.

"There's no glass in your cuts," she says.

"That's because he thinks he's a doctor and can handle it himself," Alec says, rolling his eyes. Jonathan shoots a glare at him.

"You may have done more damage to your hand," Clary says.

"I'm sure I didn't," he responds.

"How do you know?" she asks, instantly feeling annoyed that this hotheaded boy thinks he knows more than she does. He smiles cockily at her.

"I'm a junior EMT," he says. She glances at him again.

"Really?" she asks.

"No, I'm lying to you. That's my number one joy in life. Lying about my profession." Clary takes a deep, calming breath, and pushes down her urge to do more harm to him.

"What hospital do you work with?" she asks.

"This one." The cocky quality in his voice causes her anger to grow. She takes another breath, just like her therapist taught her. She's already been punished once for poor bedside manner, and doesn't wish to be punished again. Three sessions for anger management were a little too much for her. She doesn't understand how psychiatrists can call themselves doctors. Any idiot can ask how you feel about this or that.

"Lucky this is your left hand," Clary says, attempting to clear some tension in the room.

"Too bad I'm a lefty." The familiar fire of anger builds, flooding her with it. She shoots her gaze up to his.

"I'm going to stop talking to you now," she says in what people call her "scary calm" voice. "If I keep talking to you, you're going to make me want to hit you, which is a problem. You see, I like my job. I like my job very much and it would be a shame to lose it over a—" she searches her mind for a word strong enough to portray her feelings that's still tame enough for her to keep her job. "You're lucky I'm at work," she finishes, unable to find a suitable word. Jonathan just laughs and shakes his head.

"I'm pretty sure the word she was searching for is 'ass', Jace, but unlike you, she has self-control," Alec says. Clary's mind briefly lingers on Alec's words. He called her patient Jace. It must be a nickname, she thinks.

"Self-control is for cowards," Jace says.

"Self-control is for people who like having a job," Alec shoots back. "I can't think of a single reason why they'd allow you to be an EMT."

"Junior EMT."

"Who hopes to be a full EMT," Alec responds. The silence falls in the room again. She shoots Jace's hand with the numbing agent a little to forcefully, causing Jace to shoot her a glare.

"Can you be more careful with that thing?" he asks her. She turns to look at him, innocence shining in her eyes.

"I'm just numbing your hand so it won't hurt you when I stitch up your boo-boo," she responds.

"Boo-boo?" he asks.

"I didn't want to use any of those big, confusing words. I wanted to make sure you understood what I was saying. Is that a problem?" He rolls his eyes and sighs with annoyance.

"Hospitals will hire just about anyone, these days."

"They hired you, which, in my opinion, just shows their poor judgment." They're eyes, both pairs blazing with anger, meet. Alec's laugh echoes in the corner of the room.

"Find something funny?" Jace asks him.

"Just happy to find you being outwitted," he responds. Clary starts stitching Jace's hand, not waiting for the medicine to work it's full affects. She stitches the cuts together fiercely, no longer caring about the amount of pain he's in, a horrible thought for a nurse, she knows, but it wasn't like he didn't deserve it. Jace doesn't move at all. She would think he didn't feel the pain if it wasn't for the tension in his arm. She's astounded that he doesn't make some comment about her poor stitching skills or impatience. He simply stares at his hand, examining the small precise stitches she makes on his hand. She finishes and wraps his thirteen stitches with a cover of gauze.

"Thank you," he says brusquely then he stands in leaves.

"You're welcome," she responds, echoing his tone. He shoots her a half-smile and leaves. Alec follows after him, but hesitates at the doorway. He turns to look at her, his eyes holding an apology.

"Sorry about him. He's an ass, I know, but he's really a good guy and a good EMT."

"Thanks." She pauses and bites her lip, wanting to ask him a question but not sure how he'll take it. Finally she decides to go for it, never being one to let her curiosity go unanswered. "Can I ask you something?" He nods, skepticism playing in his bright eyes. "Why did he punch the window?" A line appears between his brows and his lips fall into a deep frown.

"He lost a patient today. A little girl." Her stomach twists with sympathy. "He blames himself. Like I said, he's a good guy." She swallows the lump in my throat, the one that's always present whenever she hears about the death of a child. Alec waves and leaves the room. After a few minutes, Clary follows after him. The ER is empty once again. Clary sits behind the desk and digs into her paperwork, trying to get the bighearted, cocky boy out of her head.

oOo

After their shift, Clary and Maia head to the bar a block away from the hospital. It's four in the morning and their both exhausted. The bar stays open twenty-four/seven and is a popular spot for hospital employees. Her best friend and roommate, Simon, works their as a bartender and she usually goes there after work to hang out with him. Maia and Clary enter the bar, empty except for a scattering of drunks. They sit at the empty bar and call for Simon. He heads over, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

"Sleeping at work? Very irresponsible, Simon," Clary says.

"Shut up. Everyone here is either passed out, drunk or dead." He pours Clary a Coke and Maia a Mountain Dew, knowing that neither of them are big fans of alcohol. Simon pours himself a drink and moves around the counter to sit next to them.

"How was work?" he asks them.

"Boring. Nothing happened," Maia says.

"Except for the douche," Clary says to Maia. She nods enthusiastically. Once Alec and Jace had gone, Clary had related the experience to Maia.

"Who?" Simon asks.

"This sexy hunk of a man showed up at the ER. Clary was all excited until she found out he was a major douche-bag, weren't you Clary?" Maia asks. Clary responds with an eye roll, sipping her drink. "How about you? Anything interesting happen?" Maia asks.

"Well…there was this group of women who showed up at around two for a bachelorette party. That was fun," Simon says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Pig," Clary says in response, shoving him in the shoulder. "Is Luke here?" Clary asks, thinking of her old family friend and the owner of the bar.

"He turned in early," Simon says. "So you remember the guy I told you about? Hodge?" Clary smiles, recalling Simon's colorful tales about Hodge, a crazy drunk who shows up at the bar almost every night.

"Yep." Simon launches into a tale involving Hodge stumbling into the bachelorette party and making sexual innuendos to the bride, which resulted in a loss of clothing (Hodge's) and spilled drinks (the brides, which "spilled" onto Hodge's head). Maia, Clary and Simon are laughing at the tale when the bell rings, signaling a customer. The three of them glance over, expecting to see either Luke or one of their hospital friends. Clary's stomach contracts as she sees who it is.

"Oh, it's you," Simon says. Clary glances at him, surprise on her face. Simon knows Jace? she wonders. Jace strides into the bar, a highly amused expression lighting his face.

"I see my favorite bartender is on duty tonight," he tells Simon. Jace seems completely oblivious to her and Maia and takes a seat at the opposite end of the bar. Simon slips behind the counter and fills a glass with beer. He places the glass in front of Jace, grabs a dishcloth and starts wiping the bar down. The obvious tightness in Simon's slight shoulders relay his obvious hatred. Jace turns and looks at Clary, his smile growing.

"And if it isn't my favorite nurse." Simon's eyes flash to Clary, who immediately blushes. She turns her angry eyes to Jace.

"Don't talk to me. I'm not on duty. You're not my patient. There is nothing to stop me from smacking that grin right off your face." He keeps smiling, amusement playing in his gold eyes.

"You're a fiery little redhead," he says. Clary grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. Alec's words pop into her head. How can such a total ass like Jace have feelings?

"You can punch him if you want," Maia whispers to her. A small smile spreads across Clary's lips and her grip on the counter lessens. She turns to face Jace.

"And you're an arrogant little douche-bag," she responds.

"Arrogant, yes. Douche-bag, definitely. But little?" he glances down, seemingly examining himself then looks at her, his eyes scoring across her body, the fire quickly finding its way through her. "Now, I think you're being a little hypocritical there." Clary shoves against the counter and stands, stomping over to him.

"You," she says, poking his chest with a shaking finger, "are the saddest excuse for a person that I've ever met." She turns and stalks away from him, slamming the door open. Maia rushes after her, quickly catching up. She walks beside to Clary, who's now beyond anger. The steady rhythm of her feet against concrete begins to calm her. The flush of anger leaves her cheeks as they reach the hospital garage where they keep their cars.

"I…I just can't believe him. I mean, honestly. How can a freaking EMT be such a major asshole?" Clary asks, venting her thoughts at Maia.

"I know it seems severely implausible, but we have to consider the possibility that he's actually good at his job. But that might be going a little far."

"A little far?"

"Okay. A lot far. But still. There really isn't any other reason. He—he could have relatives in the hospital who are pulling strings for him."

"Now that's possible. Some important doctor doesn't want their darling son to be a nobody and bring shame upon the good family name so they make sure he doesn't get fired. God, I hate him. I don't think I've hated someone this much this fast." Maia looks at her sideways. "Okay, I'll take it back. I hate easily, but that's not the point here. The point is he's horrible and we hate him and we're going to start a club centered around that hatred." Maia starts laughing and Clary quickly joins in, her anger forgotten.

They say their goodbyes as Clary reaches her car, a rusty black '96 Saab, Clary heads back to the apartment she and Simon share, a small rundown place that they've grown to love. She pushes the door open and immediately heads to the shower. She quickly strips out of her disgusting scrubs and jumps in, letting the warmth of the water flow over her. She scrubs furiously at her raw skin, working tirelessly to remove the layer of death that always seems to lie on her.

She finally gives up and turns the shower off. The steam in the air calms her and she becomes aware of the immense exhaustion that threatens to overcome her. She pulls on a pair of pajamas and brushes her teeth. Clary stumbles to her bed, the living room turning into a complicated maze, every object threatening to trip her up. She pushes open the door to her room and collapses onto the bed. She gives up the fight against her eyelids and lets them fall shut, quickly succumbing to a well deserved sleep.

So that's that. Jace is all ass-y. Clary's all spunk-tastic and I threw lovely Simon in their as a bartender (something I took great pleasure in writing about). I had to make Hodge all weird because he's Hodge and he's DEFINITELY not my favorite character. Sorry if I offended anyone with my psychiatry comment. I have several comments that I could write to follow that, but I don't want to offend my lovely readers 3