**I don't own the characters of The Mortal Instruments or plot line at all. I'm borrowing the characters and will return them safely. The story line of this fanfiction belongs to pluviophile 2013, and please do not recopy or take idea without asking.**

Author's Note: Hello there. I've come to the conclusion that I must write another story for this archive because this fandom simply rocks. I take fault for all mistakes or grammatical errors. I also happen to be super excited of this story, and I hope that you all like it.

I also 'updated' this story, re-editing this chapter a bit so it should sound a lot better. okay.


In the heart of Indiana, in a small house, sat a very sad girl. There was a strange look in her dull green eyes as she stared blankly; the light that used to be there was replaced with unresponsiveness. The spark just disappeared. All it took for her to fade away and recede into her shell was a doctor's appointment a year prior to this very day. Clary sat on her bed, staring gloomily at the opposite wall, her eyes unseeing. Sure, she saw the wall and the loud white color, but she wasn't really looking at it. Her whole world seemed to be crumbling to pieces. Jonathon was off in his room, and her mother was painting. Every one of her family members were tuned out from the rest of society, just lingering in their home quietly like a couple of field mice. It was like the Fairchild family just fell off the face of the earth. Clary blinked subconsciously before she sighed and lay on her bed, a look of utter defeat on her face. Her fingers carefully maneuvered to her small, skinny arm and lightly touched the dark spots on her skin. Clary looked away rapidly, squinting her eyes before squeezing them shut; maybe if she willed herself to disappear long enough she would. But the world is not a wish granting factory and that didn't happen.

It started with bruises. Her mother just about had a heart attack when her daughter woke up one day and she had dark splotches over her arms. They were completely noticeable due to the fact that her skin was a ghastly pale already, and the fact that she was wearing a tank top didn't help any. But Jocelyn had always been a worrier, after all, that was part of the job description when it came to being a mother, so Clary thought nothing of it. She and her brother Jonathon must've been rough housing too much. So she stopped exerting herself so hard when it came to physical activities. But the bruises continued to spread down her arms and that's when the worried Jocelyn finally took her daughter to the doctors. When the doctors announced that it was indeed leukemia that attacked Clary. The Fairchild family was stunned into silence.

The next months went by with utter dread, rushing Clary to and from the hospital as she battled with chemotherapy and having to puke out her guts every moment. But she carried on without a complaint, no matter how hard it seemed to get for her to carry on. Even when her hair began falling out, leaving her with a shiny bald head, Clary didn't utter a word of complaint; she kept quiet. She quickly receded into her own shell, choosing to stay away from her classmates and the rest of her friends. Her mother never pressured her decisions, and Jocelyn supported the fact that Clary wanted to be reclusive for the time being, home-schooling her. Clary depended on Jonathon to give her the latest scoop on what was going on at school since she chose not to go. Clary didn't regret her choice. Sure, she was bitterly sad at the fact that she wouldn't be able to see her friends on an everyday basis, but she didn't want them to see her in the current state she was. Clary knew she could die at any point, and she didn't want to hurt those around her. But honestly, like Jonathon always said, it didn't hurt to get some sun once in awhile…

.o.O.o.

"Rise and shine little sis!" the booming voice jolted Clary from her sleep, and the girl sat up, almost shooting out of bed from the terror that she felt in that moment. Everything was aggravatingly loud, and she hissed involuntarily as soon as the light flooded into her vision. Clary delved back to her bed, her mattress encompassing around her as she sank back into the pillows, throwing her blanket over her head in a feeble attempt to block out the sunshine.

"Go away Jonathon," Clary whined, her voice muffled by the covers. She needed sleep. Her doctor always said sleep fights cancer. Maybe if she told that to Jonathon, he would understand and leave her alone. "Sleep fights cancer!" she heard him laugh quietly to himself before Clary felt the blankets being yanked off her, and she shivered, clawing at them but Jonathon just laughed, his dark eyes nearly inches from hers.

"You've used that on me countless times, and I'm sorry, but it doesn't work anymore Clare-Bear." His happy voice plus the childhood nickname he gave her caused Clary to pop an eye open as she stared at Jonathon quietly, taking in the sight of her brother whom she always had a soft spot for.

There he stood, in all his glory, wearing a white, long-sleeved button down shirt and some dark black jeans. His pale blonde hair fell haphazardly into his dark eyes, and a wide smile was thrown onto his face as he helped his younger sister sit up in bed. Clary felt instantly dizzy, and the world suddenly began to spin. She debated falling back onto her bed, but then, she felt a gentle hand pressed against her back. Upon opening her eyes after a moment, she saw her brother's face in front of hers. His eyebrows were knit together in sincere concern, and his voice softened.

"Whoa, you alright?" he asked her, rubbing small circles on her back as his other hand entwined with hers. Clary squeezed her eyes shut, crinkling her nose as she managed to shake her head back and forth slightly. She was afraid if she talked or breathed through her mouth all her food would just come back up and spill onto her blankets. That would be the third time this week and it was only Tuesday. Jonathon didn't hesitate as he spoke up again, trying to calm his younger sister down. "It's okay… just take deep breaths." With Jonathon's words of reassurance, Clary was able to calm down a bit and get the world to stop moving from underneath her. She blinked and finally opened her eyes to stare at her brother who knelt in front of her, eyes wide.

She blinked, trying to take in everything. Before she had leukemia, Clary was able to asses where she was and what was going on astoundingly fast, but afterwards her mind seemed slow and sluggish, making her forget easily. Her strength was at its bare minimum as she blinked away her sleep. Her room was still her room with its loud, yellow walls and orange curtains. Everything seemed in order with the exception of a couple days' outfits lying haphazardly on the ground, strewn across the room carelessly. Sighing slightly, Clary let out a puff of air and turned back to her brother.

"I… I think I'm alright," Clary said after a moment, nodding her head as she forced a convincing smile onto her face. She winced; her mouth tasted liked dead, rotting corpses of rodents, but if Jonathon noticed, he didn't say anything. She could tell that her brother didn't buy a word of all the lies she was saying, but he didn't question her. He just nodded before patting her knee reassuringly before taking a couple strides across her room to grab her wheelchair.

"Do you want this today or do you think you're strong enough to walk?" Jonathon asked, beckoning to the wheelchair which Clary had 'affectionately' given the name Louie. She pinched the bridge of her nose momentarily, thinking it over. She only used her wheelchair when she was obnoxiously tired. She didn't particularly like using it, considering it showed a sign of weakness, but Clary just halfheartedly reached out for it. Jonathon took it as a sign as he wheeled it over to his sister. With Jonathon's help, she stood up then sat into the wheelchair comfortably. He kissed her forehead before swooping up her blankets as he made her bed, his hands nimbly dancing over the sheets as he tidied up her bed, even fluffing the pillows while he was at it.

"No, Jon, you don't have to do that," Clary protested, watching her brother. A pang of guilt shot through her as she watched him. She was so weak that she couldn't even make her bed. The thought of Jonathon always having to do something for her made her angry and Clary involuntarily clenched her hands into fists, mentally cursing herself and even God for putting leukemia in her path. Everyone always said that challenges made your stronger, but Clary was feeling more weak than ever. She could barely walk, and Jonathon was always the one picking up her fragile life as she continued to drop the pieces all over the ground. Gulping, Clary's green eyes followed Jonathon's actions as he picked up the dirty laundry and put it into the hamper. She could attend to it later when she was feeling stronger. He just continued doing what he was doing, a soft smile gracing his face.

"I know," her brother replied with a shrug. "But I want to." He wanted to. The thought momentarily eased Clary to know that she wasn't a burden on her family. Her mother constantly told her that it was no trouble- that she and Jon liked taking care of her. But besides work, Jocelyn spent all her time taking care of her daughter. And Jonathon was always either at soccer practice or doing homework, so he was more than exhausted when he came home.

"I want to Clary," Jonathon said again, his voice containing a firmer, reassuring tone. That shut Clary up as she watched her brother tidy her room in silence. Finally, after a couple moments, he came back over to her and wheeled her out into the kitchen, avoiding boxes that might harm her.

After a few months of chemotherapy, the doctor decided a wheelchair might be good for Clary, but it was hard, considering they had their two story house to deal with. So that's when Jocelyn immediately packed their bags and they moved to a small, one story house that definitely wasn't as grand as their previous luxury, but it would do. They still weren't unpacked completely yet (hence the boxes), but they weren't planning on going anywhere soon, so why bother having everything out? The smell of something burning filled Clary's nostrils, and she fought the urge to gag as they made their way to the kitchen, the odoriferous smell growing stronger.

"Hey mom," Jonathon said brightly to their mother who was madly trying to unburn breakfast if that was even possible. Jocelyn Fairchild was madly turning over the pancakes again, groaning loudly when both sides were a strange, black color. She ran a hand through her long, red curls and sighed, turning to see her two children. A small smile tweaked at the corners of her lips.

"Hi kids…" Jocelyn walked around the table to get to her children, first kissing Jonathon on the cheek and hugging him then stopping to look down at her daughter, eyes shining with so much emotion that it made Clary almost cry. "Hi baby girl," she smiled, leaning down to wrap her arms around her daughter's frail body. Clary returned the hug, and Jocelyn pulled back with a sigh, her hands resting on Clary's shoulders. Her lips went to her daughter's nose and lingered there for a quiet moment before she pulled away again, staring at Clary as if this was the last time she would ever see her. Clary mustered a smile to her mother, taking in her features. A pang of jealousy coursed through her as she looked at her mother's beautiful face. Jocelyn had such an elegance to her that she turned heads wherever she went, and her dark red hair was wavy and soft, drifting towards the middle of her back. Her beautiful hair. After a couple rounds of chemotherapy, Clary lost all hers, but for now, it was growing back slightly. She had a pageboy haircut now. She ran her hair subconsciously through her mother's curls, a pang of jealousy running through her.

"Pretty," she said simply. Jocelyn sighed, jerking back slightly. Her deep green eyes were mixed with sadness and anger, and she reached over to tenderly stroke Clary's short hair, making her daughter look at her.

"Clary, honey. I told you we can get you a wig. It would look just like your long hair but—"

"No, Mom, really. I'm fine," Clary insisted, automatically wheeling her wheelchair just a couple inches back, and her brother gasped, taking a few steps back to brace himself against the wall, clutching onto his now ran over toes. "Oh, geez. I'm sorry Jon!" Clary turned apologetically to her brother who just held up a hand to stop her, breathing out through his nose.

"I-It's fine Clary," he said, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily. Jonathon had a high tolerance for pain like Clary, but to have your toes squashed by a wheelchair on a daily basis was not the greatest experience in the world. A flash of guilt consumed Clary, and she quietly apologized again. Jocelyn looked nervously between her two children before she spoke up.

"I made pancakes."

"Not hungry." Their answers were simultaneous, and Jocelyn's face instantly fell, looking back over to the burnt pancakes.

"I'll have some a bit later Mom. Gotta take Clary outside for some fresh air," Jonathon said quickly, going over to his mom to give her a quick kiss before wheeling Clary outside, despite her protests. The sunlight hit her pale skin and she instinctively reached her hand up to block the sun.

"Too bright," she complained to herself, twisting her head around to stare at her brother who continued wheeling her down the street. He quirked her a small smile.

"It doesn't hurt to get some sunlight, Clare-Bear." They walked— well Jonathon walked— in silence, not saying anything but rather enjoying the other's presence. No words needed to be said. They were perfectly fine alone in their quiet, third space that they could appreciatively call their own. No one could come and intrude it but themselves.

"I know," Clary replied, her voice clipped. She toyed with the hem of her t-shirt before Jonathon made a quick loop with her wheelchair, making Clary almost fall out. A rush of panic and adrenaline swept through the girl, and she flailed her arms, trying not to fall. She let out a squeal as her brother turned her again sharply, and he just chuckled. "Jonathon!" she weakly swatted his arm. Clary's heart was beating ten to a dozen. She knew she probably shouldn't be rough-housing with her brother, but the feeling of sharp turns and thrill was just exhilarating. Clary liked it. She turned back to Jonathon, a warning look in her eyes. He grinned.

"You can do all sorts of tricks with this thing you lucky butt." He pouted, his lower lip slipping out from underneath his top. Clary bit back a sharp retort that she had in mind. If you like it so much, I'd gladly trade places with you... She struggled to control her terrible thoughts; Clary knew Jonathon was only trying to make her feel better, so she just smiled.

"Twirl me again?" she asked, looking up at her brother as she gave him a puppy dog look. He rolled his eyes, but a smile was drawn onto his face.

"Of course." And for the next ten minutes they twirled and laughed in the dim sunlight, basking in the warmth, and forgetting Clary was even sick in the first place.