Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Cassandra Clare is the awesome owner of these characters. I just put them in new circumstances.

A/N: Hope you like it. ;)


Foster homes weren't foreign to Clary. She was just new to foster homes without her brother.

She blew red curls away from her face and looked up. This was the right flat. She just couldn't believe how small it was. Most foster parents took in four kids at a time to get a large payment. It was always for a short time, of course, but they normally had a large apartment. This one was on the dirty side of Brooklyn - though if you asked her when she was ten she'd have told you all of Brooklyn was dirty. On one side of the stairs to the entrance of the building was a homeless man who looked like he wanted to bite her. On the other side was a man in a wife beater eyeing Clary like he wanted to eat her as well, in a much more perverted way.

Her social worker pressed a tight smile to her lips as she looked at Clary. They climbed their way to the third floor. The social worker's fist pounded into the door, breaking apart any essence of silence.

The knock resonated in Clary's ears. Her heart beat with it. One solid sound surrounded by nothingness. It was just the fluid swimming in her ears. In Brooklyn there was never nothingness. Honking cars and yelling men and women filled the air, yet she still felt it was just her and the door to her new home.

The walls of the hallway were brown, though she assumed they were originally white. This apartment was tucked in the last corner of the hall. The two other apartments were most likely larger. Her eyes roamed around until seeing the number on the door. 303.

She laughed dryly and rolled her eyes. 3 was a too common number to her now. Three people had been important in her life. Now there were zero. Clary didn't want to know what the next three meant. Maybe those same three people would come back to haunt her.

The social worker knocked again. Her fist attacked the door mercilessly, not caring of the consequences on the cheap metal. Clary snorted, "What did the door ever do to you, Big Bev?"

Big Bev was the nickname Jonathan had given their social worker. Big Bev's yellowish eyes rolled over slowly. The look she gave the girl could have made any other sixteen-year-old look away. Clary stared back, looking over her non-changing dark complexion.

Before she could give Clary a third speech on behaving herself, the door swung open. A beautiful woman with disheveled hair and searching eyes clutched the handle. Her eyes were worried until they registered on the two before her. Her blond hair was half curled and half a wavy mess. The dress she wore wasn't tied, and she wore mismatching heels.

"Come in, come in," she said in an overly cheery voice that grated at Clary's ears. When the woman looked at Clary, her smile widened and exposed perfect teeth. "I'm so sorry. My husband woke me up late today. I barely even got a hug from him before he was out the door, ready for work!"

Clary heard similar ramblings before. "You've got me. You no longer have to suck up to her. She's not nearly as intimidating as she thinks she is."

Waves of resentment radiated from Big Bev's aura. Clary could feel the distaste. It wasn't uncommon. She sighed and stepped around the woman, eyeing the apartment. "Clarissa, this is Celine Herondale. Mrs. Herondale, this is Clarissa Fray. If you'd both follow me into the kitchen, we can get these papers signed and I'll be on my way."

The door opened into the living room. A couch sat across from a small television. The rug didn't match the paintings on the wall, which were cheap, crappy ones at best that diverted the attention to them in a negative lighting. Across from the front door was an open doorway. Through that Clary saw the kitchen table. To the right of that was a bookcase with limited books and another open doorway, which she assumed also led to the kitchen. Immediately to Clary's right was a hallway.

It was small, but at least this one had air conditioning and windows looking out at the grungy streets.

The kitchen looked quite clean and well stocked. That was a relief. The last home she'd been in was moderately stocked. With her bother's stomach, though, that wasn't enough. Coldness seeped down her spine with the realization that she wouldn't have that problem here.

"Sign here, and here. Initial here. Clary, you can sign this, if you will," Big Bev's voice was falsely asking. Her scratchy tone tried to be cheery just so she could finally leave.

Clary knew this process well.

Soon, Big Bev hobbled out the door.

Celine turned to Clary with a bright, knowing smile. Clary frowned. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Giggles of sunshine escaped her lips. "I'm so excited to get to know you and Jace! Stephen and I were so happy to hear you agreed."

Just from those two sentences, she got all the information she needed on her new partial caretaker. Clary leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms defiantly over her dark red shirt. "First time is always so…" She breathed in to build the 'anticipation,' "exciting!" She mimicked her cheerful voice, and Sunshine's smile dropped. Clary almost felt bad, but then again, Sunshine could use a little thunderstorm in her life. "When's the Jace kid getting here?"

"Anytime today. Since you were the first here, you can pick out your room," Celine said, dialing back the pep, but only by one notch. She stood, and Clary followed uncertainly. Since when did she get her own room? The idea seemed impossible.

"When are the rest of the kids coming?" Clary asked, pulling her bag further up her shoulder. Celine led her down the hall. Two doors were on their left, one on their right, and one straight ahead.

"What others? It's just you and Jace," Celine faced her with another excited smile. Clary groaned internally at the motion. Confusion also flooded her senses, blinding her momentarily. Why would she only have two kids if there were two rooms? Most social workers allowed for two kids per room unless they were really shitty. "Left or right?"

Clary frowned. She seriously got to choose? Where was she, fairyland? "Uh…"

Celine stepped forward and held a hand to her mouth in a whispering motion. "The one on the right has its own bathtub." Clary's eyebrows shot to her hairline. Celine pushed open the door, knowing how hard that was to believe. "It was supposed to be the master suite with its own bathroom. Then our neighbors decided to buy their apartment and part of this one before we got to make our offer. It dropped our price so we didn't mind much. They never finished closing this off, though."

There were two beds in this one, but only one had sheets on it. The beds were on either corner of the left wall. The dressers were placed in across from the beds on the right wall. Between the dressers there was a little alcove. It had tile and a white elegant bathtub in it.

"Why aren't you and your husband in this one?" Clary asked.

"It's much too big for us. We are planning on eventually fostering more children, but not anytime soon. I think we'll like you and Jace." Celine giggled. The sound was, again, so light.

"We're still in Brooklyn right?"

"Yes," Celine laughed. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she mumbled and turned to her. "I guess I'll take this." She set her two suitcases down. Celine squealed, jumping up and down.

"This is so exciting!" The doorbell rang. A wave of relief went through Clary, though she didn't know why. "Come meet your brother." Clary reluctantly followed her back into the living room.

After knowing Celine for five minutes, she decided she would be a fine foster parent for her. Clary felt a little sad and slightly scared for Celine, though. Some foster kids come in and just tear nice people like her apart. Celine lived a cushioned life. She wondered why she did foster care.

Another round of squeals came from Celine when the door opened. Clary walked around. She was slightly curious of the boy named Jace. In her mind, he was a little boy around the age of eight with dark hair and a mischievous grin. He wouldn't be broken by the system like most kids. He'd steal her heart, no doubt, and he'd leave her pretty soon.

A tall, blonde, gorgeously hot teenager walked through the door. Clary had trouble swallowing how wrong she'd been. She had trouble swallowing in general. Jace was no boy. Jace was dressed in dark ripped jeans, a black shirt with a pendulum hanging from his neck, and a leather jacket. The black made a stark contrast to his light skin tone. His hair was the color of the sun, burning her eyes with its beautiful curls. He ran a hand to push it out of his face. His eyes matched his hair. They captured hers immediately. When he noticed, an impish smirk graced his lips. Clary had never seen something so breath taking before.

As Celine kissed up to the social worker despite the lack of a need to, Jace looked Clary up and down. His eyes lingered on every single part of her, running a line of fire from her head to her toes and back up. She felt the need to look away, to run away, but she knew it'd give him too much satisfaction.

Seeing that she wouldn't cave, Jace sent her a wink. Instantly, Clary groaned and looked away. Satisfaction be damned, he was a cocky ass. A cocky ass with a good ass, but a cocky one no less.

"May we sit somewhere?" The social worker interrupted Celine. She smiled whole-heartedly and motioned the two men into the kitchen. Clary followed. There were four chairs, perfectly placed around the table. She sat down across from Jace. He stared openly at her, a low smirk the only evidence of life on his face. His eyes were so dull despite their color. Clary itched to grab a lead pencil and a lone golden colored one. That was all she needed. It could capture everything about the boy in front of her. "Two kids. Two sexes. Two rooms. Right?"

"You're right alright," Celine agreed giddily. Clary rolled her eyes. Her last foster parent was the polar opposite of Celine. She showed no emotion. She hardly spoke. It was easy to forget it. It was harder to forget her husband, but at least she didn't give Clary a headache just looking at her.

Jace was still watching her. "You two both know the rules. Celine, you know the risks of having only two teenagers of the opposite sex together?"

Celine smiled. "I trust them. They're going to be good kids."

The social worker looked scared. Clary was scared by the amount of trust in her words. "Does your husband know the consequences if this ends badly, as well?" She nodded. "Okay. Sign here, here, and here…" Clary looked at Jace. He was watching her with annoyance. His eyes flickered to Celine briefly. Clary nodded in agreement. She had trouble stomaching her excitement as well.

When the social worker left, Celine checked her watch. "Stephen is coming back for lunch. Why don't we introduce ourselves before then? I'm Celine Herondale. My husband and I got married five years ago. I'm thirty-eight now. Umm, what else? I work as an interior designer. Don't judge our house off my skills, though. We haven't gotten around to redecorating."

Clary's eyes were as big as flying saucers. "Is she serious?" Jace narrowed his eyes at the woman before him. She giggled.

"I am. Tell me a little about yourself, Jace Wayland." Celine smiled warmly at him. He jumped back slightly at the warmth. Clary snickered silently.

Jace stared at Celine, trying to comprehend her question. Then he took his time with the answer. "Well what the fuck do you want me to say?"

Clary laughed out loud. Her hands flew to her mouth. Celine's smile didn't even waver. Her eyes softened. "Clary, would you like a turn?"

Clary felt a little bad after laughing at Jace's comment. He might have been a compelling specimen of a man, but that didn't mean she had to be rude. With a sigh, she stared at Celine. "Clary Fray. I've been in the system for five years. This is my seventh foster home."

Jace snorted. "Get into a bunch of fights?"

Clary's bones chilled. She remembered her many houses. Two of them got closed down while she was there for unfit living situations. Twice she and Jonathan had been separated. She remembered meeting up at their old house, which was now foreclosed. She'd stand there every Friday night until he showed up, rain or snow. They both had agreed to get into a fight so they'd have to be removed from the home. It was always risky. Once, Jonathan opted out of fighting for fear of being sent to juvenile detention. He'd had to runaway and get caught. Clary did have to give it to Big Bev. She did her damn best to place them together. Two houses were more upsetting, but the last one had almost been a full year. It'd been fine there. It was great, even when the fighting reached their ears.

"Made out with too many girls in the houses," Clary narrowed her eyes at him. Jace's smile grew, as if he knew she was lying. Clary crossed her arms over her chest. Celine gulped audibly.

"Clary, please don't lie in my house," she asked. Jace let out a snort and laughed lowly at her. She raised her eyebrow at him. It was his turn.

Shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Jace spoke like he'd rather be in hell. "Jace Wayland. This is my second foster home. Unlike you, I did get in trouble for making out with too many girls. And other stuff." He shrugged and looked at Celine. Celine looked slightly miffed. Clary's curiosity grew. She had trouble believing him this time, but Celine didn't say anything. Jace lifted his intense gaze from Celine and looked back at Clary. "What year are you?"

Clary was confused for a second. She hardly ever spoke about school to anyone these days. She hadn't thought about it, really. Considering she had to transfer, she wasn't too thrilled at starting over new. "Junior."

"Senior. Now doesn't that give me the seniority right of choosing the bedroom?" Jace pressed his elbows into the table. Clary didn't see that coming, and she had trouble thinking of a comeback.

"Jace, didn't your father raise you to be a gentleman?" Celine wiggled her eyebrows at him, making her first, and hopefully last, joke. Jace's entire frame stood still. His hunched shoulders tensed. His hands gripped together so hard she could see the outline of his biceps and triceps bulging. His dull eyes turned dark.

"No. He didn't." He shoved away from the table in a fiery heat. He was gone like the wind, and Celine was left staring openmouthed. Clary groaned.

"What…what did I say?" She asked.

Clary stood, rolling her eyes. "My bet would be that his dad hardly raised him at all." She walked away, following the trail of fire Jace left. He'd found his room. Clary knocked on the door. Jace didn't answer, but she entered anyways. He was on the fire escape. Clary could see the tenseness in his shoulders. She didn't have anything to say to him. Actually, the less she said the better. However, she walked out on the fire escape anyways. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. The street below them was even busier now with people. Kids frolicked in the street, some jumping rope, others wandering around staring at their phones. She wondered what they did all the time that demanded so much attention. "She meant well."

Jace snorted. "I don't care what she meant. She has no business near people like us." He stretched out, leaning further over the rail. For a moment, she worried he thought about jumping. Immediately, she dismissed the idea. He was brooding, but he had too much anger to want to jump, too much emotion.

Clary sighed loudly and pushed away from the rail. "I'm leaving here at seven thirty. I've been to this school before, I think. I'm not sure, but," Clary laughed nervously, which was very unlike her, "do you want me to wait on you?"

Jace laughed dryly. "Thanks, Red, but I can find my own way."

Clary felt the blood rush to her face. "What did you call me?"

Jace still didn't turn around. Clary leaned back over the rail, glaring at him with the passion of a Christian speaking to a group of Atheists. "I'm sorry. What did you just call me?"

Jace grinned wickedly at her. "You heard me."

He walked away with a small bounce in his step. Clary gritted her teeth. She counted in her head to ten, thinking of multiple ways to inflict ultimate pain on that arrogant bastard. Then, she stormed through his room. "You and I are going to have problems."

"Looking forward to it, shortcake."

Clary slammed the door on the way out. She nearly ran into Celine, who was in tears. She looked at Clary like she'd just killed a puppy. "I'm so dumb. I never meant-,"

Clary bit her lip, averting her gaze away. "No. You just didn't think. You shouldn't have to think about things like that." There was a silence before Clary continued with her question. "Why did you decide to foster?"

Celine opened her mouth to reply, but somebody called out from the living room, "Celine? Are they here?"

Celine took a deep breath and wiped the tears away. "Yes. Clary, why don't you meet Stephen while I get Jace?"

The kitchen was overtaken by a man in a fancy suit. He looked out of place in this Brooklyn suite. The blonde hair was stark. It drew her attention first. It was blonder than her brother. She took that back. Jonathan had an equally bleached blonde colored hair. She decided it was a platinum color.

Clary coughed awkwardly. He turned around slowly, a charming smile gracing his lips. "Clarissa, it's so great to meet you." He walked forward, arms at the ready. Clary shied away. She made it a personal rule of hers not to hug or come anywhere near her foster fathers. It 'sent the wrong message' to more than a few. He cleared his throat. "Stephen Herondale."

"Clary Fray," she said tightly and shook his hand. She'd been through this routine many times. She knew how this worked. They were abnormal foster parents, but she easily could comply with them as long as Stephen didn't end up like her fifth foster father. Thinking about it gave her chills.

Awkward silence encased them until Celine and Jace made their appearance. Jace stayed by the doorway, eyeing Stephen up. He did the same. It was an odd scene, two blondes battling it out. "You play any sports?"

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like the school pride type of guy?"

Stephen's lips lifted in approval. "No. You don't, but you are fit."

Jace shrugged. "It comes with the fighting, I suppose." Stephen nodded. He looked to Clary.

"I hope he gave you the bathtub room," he said. Clary blew out a breath of air. His icy tone with her had immediately changed to interested when Jace was near. Though she didn't feel his eyes scrounging over her body yet, she suspected what these signs meant. He was giving her the room for 'no reason.' She was glad she got it, but did she truly deserve it just because she had boobs?

"Yes," she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why do you care?"

Stephen picked up an apple and took a bite, gesturing to Jace with it. "We've been broken into twice from that window. If you can beat him in a fight, by all means, take whichever room you desire. If not, I'm more comfortable with Jace in there."

"What do you say, Red, wanna go at me?" Jace pushed off the wall, eyeing her up. Clary let out a shaky laugh, but only to Stephen's comment.

"I'd rather let him die than me, thank you," she said. "How did you get that through the social workers?"

Stephen reached down into the cabinet. He produced four metal bars. "I said we'd patch it up. Jace can help me on that when I get off work."

Jace nodded solemnly. Clary felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. The bars rested on the counter precariously. They would hardly be effective in keeping anyone out. She frowned. How would they put those in?

"Welding is a rare talent among men these days," Stephen laughed at her expression. Clary gritted her teeth. "I worked on cars when I was young. Now I'm an accountant." His voice dropped at that. The watch on his arm was flashy, silver. It beeped. "That's my cue. I'll see you three for dinner."

Dinner was awkward. They tried to make conversation with Clary and Jace. Jace was too busy stuffing his face with warm, home cooked food. Clary had watched Celine cook it from the living room, envy glowing a bright emerald in her matching colored eyes. She used to dream of cooking like that with her mother at her side. Now, she could only watch. Celine hummed as she stirred the mashed potatoes. It put Clary in a bad mood for dinner. She listened as Stephen retold his day and Celine hers. They led rather bland lives. Their life was a routine, a dependable, steady routine.


A/N: I'm not sure when to say it will get necessarily good. Heh. I'm not sure if this is even good. I think it is. I'm not sure. Believe it or not, this story was originally a one-shot based around the idea of hate sex. Well, I have many Clace one shots and one other complete story. If you don't like this, maybe you'll like those.

Okay, enough advertising. What did you guys think? Should I continue? If I do, you can expect the next chapter in four days. If I get 5 reviews, I'll make it 2-3 days. Please tell me your thoughts on where this could go. I love hearing feedback from you guys!

Feel beautiful ~ reader-chic-2