Jace sat in the booth, a cup of coffee poised between his hands as if he were going to drink. He was exhausted, yet he couldn't be more awake. Jocelyn sat across from him, her long fingernails tapping relentlessly against the hard counter. Her hair; so much like Clary's, was twisted up in a messy bun, forgotten about after the long hours of waiting. Jace couldn't help but notice her emerald eyes, usually bright and full of life, looked dull, like a candle with no flame. She had miraculously aged in the past half a day, and Jace imagined he looked the same.

"Another round?" the blond waitress—Kaelie asked, eyeing Jocelyn's half empty mug. She shook her head, another flaming strand escaping the tight elastic that held it. "Are you sure? Third round is on the house?" Jocelyn ran her hand through her hair then scrubbed it over her long face.

"Damn it, I said no!" she half-yelled, the frustration evident in her voice. Kaelie stammered and apologized, but eventually left Jace and Jocelyn alone. Jace eyed Clary's mom warily. It had been twelve hours, and she hadn't said a peep to him. To Luke, yes, to the doctors, yes, to the love of Clary's life? No. Jace Lightwood remained off her list of people she wanted to talk to, but Jace understood why. It had been thirteen hours before...

"Jacey! Please, please, please, pleaseee take me with you!" Clary had nagged. Jace couldn't help but think how cute it was when she nagged. She was in fighting gear, much to his dismay, her red hair was tied back and each little curl was tucked behind her ears. Her eyes were pleading and Jace wanted so badly to give in—

"Fine, but stay with me, watch my six at all times, and yours, don't lose anymore seraph blades, steles, or any other useful weapons this time, please," he said, taking a step closer to her with each word. "And By the Angel, Clary, please be careful," he whispered. He took her soft face in his hands and kissed her lightly, trying not to deepen the kiss too much; they had somewhere to be. His hands ran through the length of her ponytail, and his fingers itched to pull the elastic out and tangle his hands in her hair, but he knew they had to go. He pulled away first, though Clary seemed just as reluctant to let go.

"Ready?" he asked. She nodded, slipping her hand into his as they exited his room and made their way to the Institute's elevator. Locking themselves in the tiny moving room caused both of them to once again latch onto each other. Jace knew it was not a good idea to get into this now, but Clary was just so intoxicating, and Jace couldn't keep his eyes off her, let alone his hands.

The elevator dinged and Jace pulled back just as Mayrse pulled open the gate. Jace knew his hair was tousled, and Clary's cheeks were flushed, but all Jace's adoptive mother did was give them a knowing smile and clicked the up button in the elevator once they were off.

Once outside, Jace stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying to fight to battles at once: The one against the bitter chill of winter, and the second, by far the most difficult, keeping his hands off the intoxicating redhead standing beside him on the curb. They hailed a cab, which Jace couldn't help but think of the time that Clary had expressed how she felt about Shadowhunters and cabs.

"You guys should have a demon hunting van," she had persisted, "You shouldn't have to drive around in a lame, old cab that smells like cigarettes and had barf stains on the backseat."

Jace took Clary's hand, figuring if they had the cabbie to watch over them, he could behave himself. He traced patterns on her palm and lines along her fingers until they arrived where Isabelle had texted Jace to meet.

It was a run-down apartment, door ripped off the hinges and black ichor stained on the grass. Jace knew all the cabbie would see was the way the apartment used to be.

"This place smells," Clary said holding her nose once out of the cab.

"Demons," Jace whispered, producing his buzzing Sensor. Along with it, his Seraph Blade, which he gestured Clary to do the same. They entered slowly, Clary behind Jace, a witchlight glowing softly from her palm. They crept silently through the worn down place, their shoes hardly making any noise on the wooden floorboards. Jace wondered absently where Isabelle was.

"Upstairs," Jace mouthed at Clary, who nodded. They climbed warily, careful on the rotting boards. Jace's mind immediately flashed to the time in the Hotel Dumort, though this time, he imagined the fight would be more in their favour.

At the top, the steps broke off, leaving a large cap between the next level and where they were standing. Jace knew without a doubt he could jump over it. He did, landing in a crouch.

"Clary, take my hands," he said. His hands stretched as far as he possibly dared until his hands clasped her small, freckled, cold ones. "I'm going to lift you over. Just jump up when I tell you," he instructed her. "Read, one, two, three, JUMP!" he yelled. She jumped as he swung her up and around, catapulting her expertly onto the top level. Clary was breathing hard when Jace stood up, brushing off his trousers and shaking out his hands. He hoped he didn't get splinters; they were a pain to get out and a problem no stele could solve.

"That was intense," Clary breathed, reaching to pull her seraph blade back out. Jace stepped in front of her as they continued down the narrow hallway to a wide foyer. It was much like the rest of the building; flowered wallpaper, wooden floors, burned out chandeliers. Clary ran her hand absently along the wall and pulled back with a finger full of dirt covering. She rubbed it on her black fighting gear and came to Jace's side.

"There's nothing here—" Clary broke off as a slithering thing jumped on her. Jace cried out for her and lunged for the slimy demon. Clary was screaming clawing and stabbing the demon with her seraph blade. Jace threw the demon to the ground and stabbed it right in the chest, watching as it dissolved. Clary was whimpering on the floor and softly cried out for Jace.

"Clary, gold still, I'm going to draw an iratze on you," he fumbled in his pockets and came up empty. He quickly reached for Clary's pockets, fumbling and scraping at fabric.

"Damn it, Clary, I told you not to lose your stele!" He cursed profusely and picked her up. He ran to the dilapidated staircase and leaped across the wide gap to the top of the stairs, all the while whispering to Clary.

"Keep your eyes open, keep looking at me, don't let go, Clary, hold on,"

...

Jace stared at the funny patterns on the table. If he blurred his eyes, it looked like a face, if he squinted, it looked like an odd sort of duck. But when he just stared at it, it was just a jumble of lines, and figuring out what other shapes he could find wasn't going to fix their problems.

"Jocelyn," Jace started, not meeting her eyes. He knew deep down inside of him that it was his fault. Clary was hardly trained. Jace hadn't known it would be a Greater Demon, hadn't known that the only person that could save her was halfway across the world. They had to rely on a mundane doctor, who knew about Shadowhunters, and claimed he had a special remedy that would filter all the demon poison out. Jace highly doubted it, but he was their only chance.

"Damn it, Jace!" Jocelyn screamed, tears filling her eyes, "This is your entire fault! I never wanted Clary to be a part of this world, and you brought her into it! And to bring her into a situation like that, untrained, not even knowing what was inside? I bet you didn't even read the full text from Isabelle before you went off and risked my daughter's life." It was true. Jace had read: 3429 Old St. Meet me there. But what they whole thing said was almost entirely different. 3249 Old St. Meet me there once Mom gets home and calls Magnus, and the Conclave, we're going to need some backup. The demon hadn't died once Jace had stabbed it; it just disappeared to another room, knowing that the damage had been done. Mayrse and the Conclave had gone later, found it and killed it, as much as you could kill a Greater Demon.

But after all that, Jace couldn't utter an explanation he could only mutter a soft apology and stick his head in his hands and will himself not to cry. He did this. It was his fault.

Just then Jocelyn's phone rang. Jace listened:

"Yes, this is Jocelyn," Jace couldn't hear from the other end, but he watched as Jocelyn's eyes widened and the color drained from her face. She dropped the phone, a soft mumble coming from the other end.

Jocelyn shot up from the table, grabbing Jace's sleeve and dragging him along behind her. Tears were streaming down her face. His heart plummeted; he knew it. It was all his fault. The only girl he loved. He could still see her eyes, filled with terror with the demon crushing her ribs, smashing her head to the wooden floor. That was his last sight of her, he would never see her again, that is alive.

Clary was dead. And it was Jace's fault.

This is just something that I've been thinking of writing for a while. I haven't been able to update Switched, and I'm sorry, but a lot has been going on in my life and the characters just aren't speaking to me the way they did before. I don't like the writing, the chapters are short and not well written and nothing ever adds up in the end. This summer, I will revise it, and hopefully start up again with a brand new chapter 1. I'll leave it up until then, but once July 1st comes around, it will be off. Thanks for reading this. It isn't a one shot, and I can't promise the updates will be frequent. But I will try my hardest to make the chapters longer and better and hopefully intense? Any ideas, just PM me. Luv you all

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