Title: A Hearts Personal Wrecking Ball
Author: ClarissaMorgenstern
Summary: **CoG SPOILERS** J/C. That night, talking to Jace, at the Penhallows house in Alicante, when Jace says what he says to Clary. What if Jace ends up regretting everything he said to her for the rest of his life? What if Clary didn't come home that night? Does Sebastian have anything to do with this?
Category: The Mortal Instruments
FF Category Author: Cassandra Clare
Chapter: One
Author's Note: Mmm, 2:09AM in the morning. I'm actually not that tired because I am happy that I finally finished "Whisky, Wayland and Other Things Starting With 'W'" and posted it like last night! I am pretty proud of it…I suppose. Umm, I actually did rewrite the whole scene in Jace's bedroom straight from the book. If you have read City of Glass then you will know where it stops. :D
So anyway, this Fan-Fic is set in CoG. After Jace talks to Clary when he finds out about her being in Idris. Being the bastard that he sometimes is…he pretty much destroys Clary and she runs back to Amatis's. (remember; I did say SOMETIMES!) This came to me in a dream of mine – and I have to say, my dreams are the weirdest things known to human-kind but I woke up crying after this one.
A Hearts Personal Wrecking Ball
Chapter One
CPOV
"Jace," she said, and took a step toward him.
He backed away from her as if she were coated in something poisonous. "What," he said, "in the name of the Angel, Clary, are you doing here?"
Despite everything, the harshness of his tone hurt. "You could at least pretend you were glad to see me. Even a little bit."
"I'm not glad to see you," he said. Some of his color had come back, but the shadows under his eyes were still gray smudges against his skin. Clary waited for him to say something else, but he seemed content just to stare at her in undisguised horror. She noticed with a distracted clarity that he was wearing a black sweater that hung off this wrists as if he'd lost weight, and that the nails on his hands were bitten down to the quick. "Not even a little bit."
"This isn't you," she said. "I hate it when you act like this— "
"Oh, you hate it, do you? Well, I'd better stop doing it, then, hadn't I? I mean, you do everything I ask you to do."
"You had no right to do what you did!" She snapped at him, suddenly furious. "Lying to me like that. You had no right—"
"I had every right!" He shouted. She didn't think he'd ever shouted at her before. "I had every right, you stupid, stupid girl. I'm your brother and I—"
"And you what? You own me? You don't own me, whether you're my brother or not!"
The door behind Clary flew open. It was Alec, soberly dressed in a long, dark blue jacket, his black hair in disarray. He wore muddy boots and an incredulous expression on his usually calm face. "What in all possible dimensions is going on here?" he said, looking from Jace to Clary with amazement. "Are you two trying to kill each other?"
"Not at all," said Jace. As if by magic, Clary saw, it had all been wiped away: his rage and his panic, and he was icy calm again. "Clary was just leaving."
"Good," Alec said, "because I need to talk to you, Jace."
"Doesn't anyone in this house ever say, 'Hi, nice to see you' anymore?" Clary demanded of no one in particular.
It was much easier to guilt Alec than Isabelle. "It is good to see you, Clary," he said, "except of course for the fact that you're really not supposed to be here. Isabelle told me you got here on your own somehow and I'm impressed—"
"Could you not encourage her?" Jace inquired.
"But I really, really need to talk to Jace about something. Can you give us a few minutes?"
"I need to talk to him too," she said "About our mother—"
"I don't feel like talking," said Jace, "to either of you, as a matter of fact."
"Yes, you do," Alec said. "You really want to talk to me about this."
"I doubt that," Jace said. He had turned his gaze back to Clary. "You didn't come here alone, did you?" he said slowly, as if realizing that the situation was even worse that he'd thought. "Who came with you?"
There seemed to be no point in lying about it. "Luke," said Clary. "Luke came with me."
Jace blanched. "But Luke is a Downworlder. Do you know what the Clave does to unregistered Downworlders who come into the Glass City—who crosses the wards without permission? Coming to Idris is one thing, but entering Alicante? Without telling anyone?"
"No," Clary said, in a half whisper, "but I know what you're going to say—"
"That is you and Luke don't go back to New York immediately, you'll find out?"
For a moment Jace was silent, meeting her gaze with his own. The desperation in his expression shocked her. He was the one threatening her, after all, not the other way around.
"Jace," Alec said into te silence, a tinge of panic into his voice. "Haven't you wondered where I've been all day?"
"That's a new coat you're wearing," Jace said, without looking at his friend. "I figure you went shopping. Though why you're so eager to bother me about it, I have no idea."
"I didn't go shopping," Alec said furiously. "I went—"
The door opened again. In a flutter of white dress, Isabelle darted in, shutting the door behind her. She looked at Clary and shook her head. "I told you he'd freak out," she said. "Didn't I?"
"Ah, the 'I told you so,'" Jace said. "Always a classy move."
Clary looked at him with horror. "How can you joke?" she whispered. "You just threatened Luke. Luke, who likes you and trusts you. Because he's a Downworlder. What's wrong with you?"
Isabelle looked horrified. "Luke's here? Oh Clary—"
"He's not here," Clary said. "He left—this morning—and I don't know where he went. But I can certainly see now why he had to go." She could hardly bear to look at Jace. "Fine. You win. We should never have come. I should never have made that Portal—"
"Made a Portal?" Isabelle looked bewildered. "Clary, only warlocks can make a Portal. And there aren't very many of them. The only Portal here in Idris is in the Gard."
"Which is what I had to talk to you about," Alec hissed at Jace—who looked, Clary saw with surprise, even worse than he had before; he looked as if he were about to pass out. "About the errand I went on last night—the thing I had to deliver to the Gard—"
"Alec, stop. Stop," Jace said, and the harsh desperation in his voice cut the other boy off; Alec shut his mouth and stood staring at Jace, his lip caught between his teeth. But Jace didn't seem to see him; he was looking at Clary, and his eyes were hard as glass. Finally he spoke. "You're right," he said in a choked voice, as if he had to force out the words. "You should never have come. I know I told you it's because it isn't safe you here, but that wasn't true. The truth is that I don't want you here because you rash and thoughtless and you'll mess everything up. It's just how you are. You're not careful, Clary."
"Mess…everything…up?" Clary couldn't get enough air into her lungs for anything but a whisper.
"Oh, Jace," Isabelle said sadly, as if he were the one who was hurt. He didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on Clary.
"You always just race ahead without thinking," he said. "You know that, Clary. We'd never have ended up in the Dumort if it wasn't for you."
"And Simon would be dead! Doesn't that count for anything? Maybe it was rash but—"
His voice rose. "Maybe?"
"But it's not like every decision I've made was a bad one! You said, after what I did on the boat, you said I'd saved everyone's life—"
All the remaining color in Jace's face went. He said, with sudden and astounding viciousness, "Shut up, Clary, SHUT UP—"
"On the boat?" Alec's gaze danced between them, bewildered. "What about what happened on the boat? Jace—"
"I just told you that to keep you from whining!" Jace shouted, ignoring Alec, ignoring everything but Clary. She could feel the force of his sudden anger like a wave threatening to knock her off her feet. "You're a disaster for us, Clary! You're a mundane, you'll always be one, you'll never be a Shadow-hunter. You don't know how to think like we do, think about what's best for everyone—all you ever think about is yourself! But there's a war on now, or there will be, and I don't have the time or the inclination to follow around after you, trying to make sure you don't get one of us killed!"
She just stared at him. She couldn't think of a thing to say; he'd never spoken to her like this. She's never even imagined him speaking to her like this. However angry she'd managed to make him in the past, he'd never spoken to her as if he hated her before.
"Go home, Clary," he said. He sounded very tired, as if the effort of telling her how he really felt had drained him. "Go home."
All her plans evaporated—her half-formed hopes of rushing after Fell, saving her mother, even finding Luke—nothing mattered, no words came. She crossed to the door. Alec and Isabelle moved to let her pass. Neither of them would look at her; they looked away instead, their expressions shocked and embarrassed. Clary knew she probably ought to feel humiliated as well as angry, but she didn't. She just felt dead.
She turned at the door and looked back. Jace was staring after her. The light that streamed through the window behind him left his face in shadow; all she could see was the bright bits of sunshine that dusted his fair hair, like shards of broken glass.
"When you told me the first time that Valentine was your father, I didn't believe it," she said, "Not just because I didn't want it to be true, but because you weren't anything like him. I've never thought you were anything like him. But you are. You are."
She turned and closed the door behind her.
She decided, for once, that she would follow Jace's instructions. She would go back to New York. She would not return. Not for him; not for her mother; not for Isabelle, Alec, Luke, Max …anyone. Usually she would be disobedient to Jace and not do what he told her to—like staying in New York for one—but this time, she thought, he looked angry at her enough that she should just do what he wanted; no matter how much it hurt.
She ran down the large and exceedingly decorated hallways, skittered her way down the stairs—always watching her feet—and looked up only to quickly fiddle with the front door knob and fling the board of wood aside to flee from the Penhallows home. From Alicante; from Idris… from Jace.
"Clary? Clary! Wait, Clary, what's wrong? Where are you going?" She heard someone familiar call from behind her.
Sebastian. She recalled. Sebastian's question of "Clary, what's wrong?" seemed to burn right through her. It hurt her but, "Where are you going?" was a significantly different question to her—like complete opposites—because they both had a completely different answer. To any stander-by to the scene—if you asked them—would have thought that they meant pretty much the same thing. But to Clary and anyone who knew the truth, they were not even close to much the same thing.
Authors End Note: Hey! I hope that was alright. It took me 2 nights to write up that whole scene from CoG. Gah, but it was fun, I kind of taught myself some English and Grammar lessons in the midst as well! Review?
xoxo Claryy