A/N: It's been almost two years since I finished Moments, and it's still my most popular fanfiction, which I'm eternally grateful of. But to be honest... when I re-read it, I cringe a little. Over the past few years I've matured a lot as a writer, and I wanted to see if I could make it better.

For old fans of this fic, I will keep the original story up and just replace chapters as I go. Edited chapters will have (EDITED) beside the titles.

For newcomers, this will be a series of 12 moments that led to Jace and Clary's relationship. If you have any feedback or questions, don't be afraid to leave them in a PM or a review.

Disclaimer: I do not own the amazing Mortal Instruments series, nor am I Cassandra Clare. I also do not own most of the dialogue, either.

Jace opened the door to the Java Jones and walked in, looking around carefully and scanning faces. It was easy to locate the redhead girl and her mundie friend, who sat at the far end of the small coffee shop, talking. He smiled smugly as he moved to sit on the couch behind them, feeling extremely satisfied with himself—really, it was almost too easy to spot her; it must have been her hair, that bright mop could be viewed from a mile away.

Jace took one more look around the shop, surveying everyone, scanning for abnormalities. He was glamoured anyway, but it would've been nice to do something productive. None of inhabitants of the little coffee shop seemed to be demons or known criminals, which was disappointing.

The only thing remotely interesting at all was the two mundies on stage—the first one, who was swaying on his feet beside the microphone, had the tips of his hair dyed a garish shade of pink. Jace choked back a snicker, thinking well, that's masculine. And it only got worse—the guy behind Pink Hair was beating mindlessly on some sort of drum and looked for all the world like he was high on faerie food.

Jace shook his head and tuned in to the redhead and the mundie's conversation, hoping in vain that it was much more interesting {spoiler alert: he was disappointed}.

"Don't look now, but that blond girl over there thinks you're cute," the redhead whispered, casting furtive looks at the girl in question, who was blonde and engrossed in some fashion magazine thing.

"The girl in the orange top?" The mundie responded, sounding bewildered.

Redhead nodded. "What makes you think so?" The mundie was still confused, apparently. Mundies. So dull.

Whatever Redhead was about to say was interrupted by a sharp burst of feedback from the microphone. She covered her ears as the boy with pink hair fought with it.

"Sorry about that, guys!" he yelled. "All right. I'm Eric, and this is my homeboy Matt on the drums. My first poem is called 'Untitled.'" Eric/Pink Hair screwed up his face as if he were in some sort of eternal torment, and wailed into the microphone, "come, my faux juggernaut, my nefarious loins! Slather every protuberance with arid zeal!"

The mundie in front of Jace slid down in his seat—the first wise decision he'd made thus far. "Please don't tell anyone I know him."

Redhead giggled into her palm. "Who uses the word 'loins'?"

"Eric," The mundie said grimly. Jace found himself agreeing with the mundie's attitude for the first time. "All his poems have loins in them."

"Turgid is my torment!" Pink Hair howled. "Agony swells within!"

"You bet it does," Redhead said. She slid down in her seat like the mundie beside her. "Anyway, about that girl who thinks you're cute."

"Never mind that for a second," the mundie interrupted. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Furious Mole is not a good name for a band," Redhead said quickly (and Jace rather agreed with her).

"Not that," The mundie replied, not even sounding the slightest bit irritated. Huh. "It's about what we were talking about before. About me not having a girlfriend."

Jace held back a snort as he realized where this conversation was heading. It looked like he might be wrong yet—the conversation could turn out to be interesting. "Oh." Redhead gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Oh, I don't know. Ask Jaida Jones out," she suggested. "She's nice, and she likes you."

"I don't want to ask Jaida Jones out."

"Why not?" Redhead snapped. "You don't like smart girls? Still seeking a rockin' bod?"

Jace held back a snort again. "Neither," said the agitated mundie, seemingly unconsciously ruffling a hand through his hair. "I don't want to ask her out because it wouldn't really be fair to her if I did..."

He trailed off as Redhead leaned forward. Jace knew the blond girl was doing the same. "Why not?"

"Because I like someone else," the mundie said.

"Okay," Redhead replied uncertainly. "You're not gay, are you?"

"If I were, I would dress better." (Jace agreed.)

"So, who is it, then?" Redhead demanded.

Maybe it was the wailing from the stage, but Jace was feeling a sort of pity for the mundie. Deciding that he'd seen enough, he coughed derisively to get Redhead's attention. Just as he'd planned, Redhead twisted around and saw him. Jace smirked at her tauntingly.

The mundie turned around as well, but Jace knew the mundie couldn't see him. "What is it?"

Redhead was still staring at him, so he raised a hand and waved, wiggling his fingers at her mockingly. Jace stood up and leisurely walked out the door, going over to lean against the alley wall. He started to fiddle with his Sensor out of boredom as he waited impatiently.

The redhead burst out of the coffee shop soon after, and Jace looked up at her. "Your friend's poetry is terrible," he told her.

Redhead blinked. "What?"

"I said his poetry was terrible. It sounds like he ate a dictionary and started vomiting up words at random."

"I don't care about Eric's poetry." The girl sounded furious. Hmm. It was easy to push her buttons. "I want to know why you're following me."

"Who said I was following you?"

"Nice try. And you were eavesdropping, too. Do you want to tell me what this is about, or should I just call the police?"

Jace almost laughed. "And tell them what?" he said disdainfully, cocking an eyebrow at her. "That invisible people are bothering you? Trust me, little girl, the police aren't going to arrest someone they can't see."

"I told you before, my name is not little girl," she said through her teeth. She really was easily angered. "It's Clary."

"I know," Jace answered. "Pretty name. Like the herb, clary sage. In the old days people thought eating the seeds would let you see the Fair Folk. Did you know that?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Of course she wouldn't. "You don't know much, do you?" he said softly. It wasn't really the mundanes' fault, he supposed, but still. They didn't know anything. "You seem to be a mundane like any other mundane, yet you can see me. It's a conundrum."

"What's a mundane?" Clary asked. She sounded confused again.

"Someone of the human world. Someone like you," Jace clarified, feeling a resigned kind of boredom. He supposed he would have to be the one to explain everything to her.

"But you're human," Clary said, still obviously bewildered. Jace wondered if all mundanes were this dumb.

"I am," he responded. "But I'm not like you." The words came out slightly resigned, as Jace didn't really give a damn if he believed her or not.

"You think you're better. That's why you were laughing at us."

"I was laughing at you because declarations of love amuse me, especially when unrequited," Jace retorted. "And because your Simon is one of the most mundane mundanes I've ever encountered. And because Hodge thought you might be dangerous, but if you are, you certainly don't know it."

"I'm dangerous?" Clary repeated, sounding astonished, backing away from him. "I saw you kill someone last night. I saw you drive a knife up under his ribs, and—" Clary cut off abruptly.

"I may be a killer," Jace responded, feeling annoyed at her accusation. She was making him out to be evil. "But I know what I am. Can you say the same?"

"I'm an ordinary human being, just like you said. Who's Hodge?"

"My tutor. And I wouldn't be so quick to brand myself as ordinary, if I were you." He leaned forward, trying not to look as interested as he was. "Let me see your right hand."

"My right hand?" Clary echoed, probably wondering what was so special about her right hand. Jace nodded slowly as if he was talking to a mentally ill person. "If I show you my hand, will you leave me alone?"

"Certainly," Jace lied, amusement clouding his voice (like he really would—for one, he would get in trouble, and for another…well, he wouldn't admit it out loud, but this girl sort of fascinated him).

Clary held out her right hand reluctantly, and Jace took it gently and turned it over. It was marked only by a dense cloud of freckles, but no Marks.

"Nothing." He was disappointed, more disappointed than he was about to show. He was Jace Lightwood, after all. He had a reputation to keep up. "You're not left-handed, are you?"

"No. Why?"

He released her hand, shrugging lazily. "Most Shadowhunter children get Marked on their right hands—or left, if they're left-handed like I am—when they're still young. It's a permanent rune that lends an extra skill with weapons." He showed her the back of his own left hand, knowing she probably couldn't see anything.

"I don't see anything," Clary said uncertainly, just like he'd thought.

"Let your mind relax," he recommended. "Wait for it to come to you. Like waiting for something to rise to the surface of water."

"You're crazy." But she relaxed anyways and gazed at his hand.

Suddenly, Clary looked startled, and Jace knew she'd seen it. She blinked, almost as if she thought she was seeing something that wasn't truly there. "A tattoo?"

He smiled in satisfaction and let his hand drop back to his side. "I thought you could do it. And it's not a tattoo, it's a Mark. They're runes, burned into our skin."

"They make you handle weapons better?" Clary sounded as if this was hard to believe.

"Different Marks do different things. Some are permanent, but the majority vanish when they've been used."

"That's why your arms aren't all inked up today?" she stated, her question not really a question. "Even when I concentrate?"

"That's exactly why," Jace answered, pleased that she was finally starting to understand. "I knew you had the Sight, at least." He glanced up at the darkening sky. "It's nearly full dark. We should go."

"We? I thought you were going to leave me alone."

"I lied," Jace said, not embarrassed in the least. "Hodge said I have to bring you to the Institute with me. He wants to talk to you."

"Why would he want to talk to me?"

"Because you know the truth now," Jace said, thinking this was fairly obvious and trying not to say 'duh'. "There hasn't been a mundane who knew about us for at least a hundred years."

"About us?" she repeated. "You mean people like you. People who believe in demons."

"People who kill them," Jace corrected her, trying not to sound too withering. This girl just wouldn't get it, did she? "We're called Shadowhunters. At least, that's what we call ourselves. The Downworlders have less complimentary names for us."

"Downworlders?"

"The Night Children. Warlocks. The fey. The magical folk of this dimension," Jace explained idly, wondering how much time it would take to explain everything to her.

Clary shook her head. "Don't stop there—I suppose there are also, what, vampires and werewolves and zombies?"

Jace ignored her sarcastic tone. "Of course there are," he told her smoothly, "although you mostly find zombies farther south, where the voudun priests are."

"What about mummies? Do they only hang around Egypt?"

"Don't be ridiculous. No one believes in mummies."

"They don't?"

"Of course not," Jace said, not wanting to explain all of this or deal with her sass. "Look, Hodge will explain all this to you when you see him."

Clary crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I don't want to see him?"

"That's your problem. You can come either willingly or unwillingly."

Clary looked astounded, backing away again. She really was short. It was hard not to notice how much of a midget she was. "Are you threatening to kidnap me?"

"If you want to look at it that way," Jace said, trying not to smile, "then yes."

Clary opened her mouth angrily, but was interrupted by the strident buzzing noise of her phone ringing.

"Go ahead and answer that if you like," Jace said, deciding to be generous.

The phone stopped ringing and then started up again, loud and insistent. Clary frowned, turning away from Jace and beginning to dig through her bag. She found the phone and raised it to her ear. "Mom?"

Whatever the response was, it made Clary alarmed. "It's all right, Mom. I'm fine. I'm on my way home—"

"No!" The voice barely reached Jace's ears, tinny and distorted not only by the bad connection. "Don't come home! Do you understand me, Clary? Don't you dare come home. Go to Simon's. Go straight to Simon's house and stay there until I can—" Some noise interrupted her, like the sound of something falling to the floor.

"Mom!" Clary yelled into the phone. "Mom, are you all right?"

The answering words were too faint for Jace to hear, but whatever they were was drowned out by a heavy crash like splintering wood.

"Who's found you? Mom, did you call the police? Did you—"

Clary was looking extremely terrified as Jace's mind spun. What was wrong? It was obvious that something was attacking her, but was it a demon, or a Downworlder? Was Clary's mom a Shadowhunter, or was this all mundane stuff?

"Mom!" Clary shrieked into the phone. "Mom, are you there?" She wretched the phone down from her ear, and glanced at the screen anxiously.

"Clary," Jace asked, feeling strangely concerned for her. (How odd.) "What's going on?"

Clary ignored him. She kept pounding upon a button on her phone feverishly, her hands shaking. He watched her with an almost clinical type of interest as she failed to redial and the phone slipped out of her hand and hit the pavement. It was cracked and dead when she bent down to retrieve it. She looked as if she was going to cry as she swore and threw the phone back onto the pavement.

"Stop that." Jace hauled her to her feet steadily, his hand gripping her wrist. "Has something happened?"

"Give me your phone," Clary demanded, grabbing Sensor out of his pocket. "I have to—"

"It's not a phone," Jace said, though he didn't try to get it back. Whoever this girl was, he knew she'd lash out at him and only end up hurting herself. "It's a Sensor. You won't be able to use it."

"But I need to call the police!"

"Tell me what happened first." She tried to pull her wrist back, but Jace held firm. "I can help you."

Clary turned livid, and she struck out at Jace's face, scratching her nails across his cheek. Jace jerked back in surprise and shock (he hadn't thought she would do that), and in that moment, she tore herself free and ran out into the street.

Jace sighed resignedly. Why did they always have to run? He thought, running a hand across his abused cheek. He knew that he had to protect Clary, not just for the Clave's reasons but for his own currently indistinguishable reasons as well. Shaking his head and turning on his heel, Jace followed after her into the darkness.

Feel free to drop me a review telling me what you liked or didn't like! Any type of feedback is good feedback.

~dontforget2live (aka Alex) :) x

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