Edited as of 1/16/16.

A/N: Wow, I'm amazed at how popular this is already! Thank you, everyone! I really worked hard on this, and it feels amazing to see people appreciating my efforts. :)

And for anyone wondering how often I update, I try to write whenever I can (ideally I'd do a chapter a week), but sometimes life gets in the way.

Anyway, who's ready for the second chapter? :D This one covers Chapter 2, Secrets and Lies, of City of Bones but also parallels about half of Chapter 3, Shadowhunter. I'm trying to stick to the overall structure, though. Hope you all enjoy it!

2
FAULT

Jace looked strong and beautiful in the afternoon sun, the light glistening off of his bare, moderately sweaty torso as he ran and jumped around the court. And Clary could do nothing but watch, positively transfixed at the sight of his impressive musculature. After a particularly good play, he triumphantly strode over to where she was standing and wrapped his powerful arms around her, bowing his head to—

Disappointingly interrupting her daydream, Clary's cell phone started singing loudly in Paul McCartney's voice: "You say goodbye, and I say hello! Hello, hello—" So Simon was calling her. She groaned aloud, but put down her sketchbook and made to answer it anyway. "Hello?"

"Hey, Clary!" Why did Simon always have to call at the worst possible time? She'd been having such a delightful fantasy, spurred on by looking at her sketch of Jace for too long. "How's it going?"

"Fine, I guess," she said. "Just, you know, looking through my sketchbook and stuff." Simon didn't need to know about the daydream, and she was looking at her gorgeous sketch…

"That's nice. Do you have plans later? 'Cause I was wondering if you wanted to meet up at Perk 'n' Smirk. I need to make sure no one's beaten my pinball record." Perk 'n' Smirk Arcade 'n' Grill was a popular nerd destination located just down the street from SXU, and just so happened to be one of Clary and Simon's favorite places to unwind. And the food was decent, which made it even better for wasting away long afternoons between classes.

"Yeah, let's go. I have nothing better to do." Clary decided that obsessing over Jace like this wasn't healthy behavior, and that any distraction would be good for her. And yet, she couldn't stop thinking about him… "What time do you want to drop by?"

Simon actually had a car, unlike Clary, and generously drove her around pretty much whenever she needed it. "I can get there in fifteen minutes. Is that good for you?"

"Sure! I'll see you then." With one last longing peek at her sketch, Clary stood up from her perch on the red sofa and got ready to go, which involved coaxing her wild hair into braids and pulling on a pair of Oxford boots. She was absorbed in tying her shoelaces when she heard the familiar sound of her mother and Luke bustling through the front door.

Clary and her mother had lived in their cozy, third-floor apartment for as long as she could remember. And even though she was in college, she hadn't moved out yet, for both financial and sentimental reasons. The tall, somewhat austere building would seem an unlikely place to call home, but it certainly was for Clary. Jocelyn's tasteful yet quirky decorating really brightened up the place, and Clary couldn't think of anywhere she'd rather live.

Luke, her mother's closest friend, came over frequently to spend time with them and help them out with things. He and Jocelyn had been out all morning doing who-knows-what and were deep in conversation when they came in. Clary's curiosity getting the better of her, she decided to hang back in the hallway and listen to what they were saying before revealing her presence.

"—I don't know why he's come back or how he found me, but he keeps trying to get in touch," she heard her mother say, sounding frantic. Whoa, what? Clary thought, her interest definitely piqued. She carefully peered around the corner into the living room, and saw Jocelyn wringing her hands, her dark green eyes wide and fearful.

Luke, more stoic than Jocelyn, muttered back in his usual grumble, "Well, whatever he's doing here is obviously not good. Does he know about Clary?"

Clary stepped into the living room, figuring that was a good segue. "Does who know Clary?" she asked as nonchalantly as possible, even though she was dying to learn what exactly they were talking about.

Jocelyn blanched immediately and halted in place, which only heightened Clary's suspicions that something was up. "Nothing important, dear."

Clary highly doubted that. Her mother was normally as composed as anyone could be, somehow oozing sophistication wherever she went. It didn't matter if she was carrying heavy canvases or baking cookies in the kitchen: Jocelyn always lent everything an elegant touch. Even the way she moved was effortlessly graceful, like a former ballerina (Clary had always tried to copy that, to little avail). But all of her poise seemed to have deserted her now, because Jocelyn was practically quaking in her kitten heels. What could it be…?

"Uh-huh," Clary said disbelievingly, walking further into the living room and lowering herself into a plaid armchair. "Are you okay? You seem nervous."

"I'm fine. I just… didn't get enough sleep last night, is all," claimed her mother, not even making eye contact. Clary glanced at Luke, and saw that he was also avoiding looking at her.

She couldn't take it anymore. "What's going on, guys? Who were you talking about?"

Luke's expression darkened, still not visually acknowledging her. By now, he was pacing with both hands tucked into his jeans' pockets, sneakers squeaking slightly on the wood floor below with every step. "It's none of your concern, Clary."

"But you mentioned my name!" she protested. "I think I have a right to know why."

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence, during which she watched Jocelyn pick up her sketchbook, still open to the picture of Jace, on the red sofa. "What is this?" her mother wildly demanded, shaking the book for emphasis and looking even more worried, if that was possible.

Clary was thrown by her mother's reaction, but tried to play it cool. She started explaining, "It's just a sketch I drew yesterday. I saw some guys playing tennis, and—"

"Haven't I told you to avoid that sport?" Jocelyn's voice was as sharp as a sword, and Clary almost felt like it was physically piercing her. "I know I have. You have never been allowed to think about tennis, let alone hang around the players. What on earth were you thinking?"

Jocelyn had always had a violent aversion to tennis, which Clary attributed to her natural eccentricity, but this was all too strange. "I was just drawing, Mom. Stop overreacting!"

Her mother and Luke looked at each other, wordless communication passing between them, but Clary never found out what they would say next. There was a knock at the door, and she sprang up to answer it.

It was Simon, grinning obliviously. "Ready to go?"

She grabbed her messenger bag off a nearby side table and slung it on. "Absolutely." With one last questioning look at her mother and Luke, Clary firmly shut the door. Whatever was making them act so strange could wait, as far as she was concerned.

Down the hall, she saw her dowdy neighbor, Ms. Dorothy, talking to an extremely tall, Asian-looking man in a tailored, cobalt blue suit. As she and Simon walked by, her gaze met the stranger's, and he smiled suavely and winked. He looked like a movie star, so Clary found herself wondering how he knew Ms. Dorothy. The woman never seemed to leave her apartment, let alone have visitors…

"Come on," Simon said, tugging her along by their linked arms. "No time for ogling handsome businessmen. Perk 'n' Smirk awaits!"

With a hard clack, the puck skittered across the air hockey table, only to be bumped back by Simon. It zigzagged towards Clary's side, borne aloft by little jets of air, but she easily deflected it and sent it back towards him. "—and then she said that I'm not even allowed to think about tennis, because that's totally rational and everything."

"So, let me get this straight," Simon said, his brown eyes following the small plastic disc. With a muted grunt, he hit it back towards Clary, and then resumed speaking. "You met some tennis players yesterday, drew a picture of the most attractive one, and now your mom is freaking out because she believes tennis is a satanic ritual that causes global warming. Or something like that."

Clary gave the puck a particularly hard hit, and it zoomed straight across the table, easily entering Simon's goal slot. But she hardly registered the slight victory. "Apparently so. I have a right to be disturbed, don't you think? Not to mention that I heard her and Luke talking about me and some weird guy."

"In what way?"

All around them, young people—most of them dressed in some combination of witty T-shirts, baggy jeans, glasses, sneakers, and ironic accessories—were congregated around blaring game machines, occasionally shouting or making unpleasant shrieking noises. Even the air hockey table was whirring and beeping, with rhythmic clacks from their mallets. And behind it all was the hum of geek rock music from SXU's radio station. Such was the soundtrack of Perk 'n' Smirk.

"I don't know. Something to do with him finding Jocelyn, which is bad, and if he knew about me. They refused to tell me who they were talking about, of course."

"Hmm. Maybe your dad is finally coming into the picture."

"My dad?" Clary never knew who her father was, but had always suspected it was Luke. Why else would he hang around so much? Jocelyn, for her part, only ever told Clary that it wasn't Luke, and that her actual father didn't want to be in her life—but really, who else could he be? It wasn't like Jocelyn ever dated or even seemed interested in anyone. Not that Clary necessarily looked like Luke, but she was practically a clone of her mother, anyway. "I don't know…"

"I'm just sayin'. These things happen all the time." Distractedly, Simon pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Clary tried to sneak in a goal while he wasn't paying attention, but it didn't work. "Nice try, Fray. Unfortunately, your sneaky moves don't work on me."

"That isn't what you said last night," Clary retorted, grinning broadly. She was thankful for the subject change, as thinking about Jocelyn was only making her worry, and either way, she could never pass up an excuse to razz Simon.

"Yeah, ha-ha. Never mind that my mom is convinced we're dating. Whenever I call her, she asks how you're doing and tries to give me weird talks about safe sex and birth control."

"Then why don't you tell her the truth? Your mom doesn't strike me as a homophobe." In the middle of their sophomore year of high school, Simon had officially come out to Clary as gay. She had been mildly surprised, but was never bothered by it. It was just as much a natural part of him as his nearsightedness or the cowlick in the back of his hair. "And besides, she's going to find out eventually."

"Not if I have a say in it," Simon said darkly, hitting the puck back to her side. "What she doesn't know won't hurt her. But anyway, what were we talking about?"

"My mother's bizarre hatred of tennis."

Just then, one of Simon's back-up-friends, Kirk, ran up and stood next to the air hockey table. He had a crazed smile on his face, which couldn't mean anything good. "Simon!" he shouted, despite only being two feet away from him. "Eric just broke your pinball record!"

"What?" Simon yelled in a strangled-sounding voice, looking both shocked and murderous. "You're fucking kidding me. My score was unbeatable!"

"Apparently not, man," said Kirk.

Simon turned to Clary with an expression of fierce determination, which made her smile. "We'll finish this game later, Fray. I need to recapture my honor."

"You do that," she coached. "Go put Eric in his rightful place."

"I think I will!" Simon sniffed dramatically and slammed his mallet down on the air-emitting table, where it idly hovered around. "Are you going to watch?"

Clary thought about it, recalling the many times she had stood by as Simon played seemingly endless, repetitive games of pinball. Decidedly, she put down her plastic mallet as well. "I think I'll head home. I need to talk to my mom, anyway."

"Okay. Text you later?"

"Sounds like a plan to me. Now shoo. You have a record to beat." With a brief wave of farewell, Clary made her way out of the noisy arcade.

As was typical of late Sunday afternoons in October for the city of St. Xavier, the sky was drab and cloudy, and looked like it was threatening rain. Clary regretted not bringing a sweater, especially when a chilly gust of wind hit her in the face. Sighing, she steeled herself against the cold and began the short trek home, her messenger bag bumping against her hip with every step.

While she was walking down the deserted sidewalk, she started thinking about her mother. Jocelyn's behavior had always been somewhat eccentric, but the way she'd been acting recently just raised questions. Why was she so opposed to tennis in the first place? A reaction like that wasn't exactly normal. And who had she and Luke been talking about? Could Simon be right, that it was her absent father? But really, why tennis? It didn't seem like the likeliest sport to provoke irrational anger.

Then she found her thoughts drifting to Jace, with his magnificent display of athleticism the night before and how he had actually spoken to her, despite her awkwardness and overall lack of social skills. What could he possibly think of her? And he was so good-looking…

Instinctively, Clary turned her head to look at the street. A sleek black car was approaching and about to pass by, but before it could, she caught sight of the driver. Male, with blond curls and a classically handsome face—

"Jace!" Clary gasped, her hands immediately reaching up to adjust her messy braids. And it looked like he had seen her too, or at least had been glancing in her direction… What were the odds? But his car was driving by, so she figured that she would have to content herself with the short glimpse.

She realized that she felt acutely disappointed and paused, surprised at herself. As she looked down at the sidewalk, taking a moment to make sense of her thoughts, her peripheral vision registered that Jace's car was pulling over. "What?" she breathed, scarcely daring to believe her eyes. He was definitely parking. Clary was dazed, unable to do anything but watch. So when he opened his car door, got to his feet, and then looked directly at her, she felt dually glued to the concrete and as if she were soaring above the gray clouds.

Jace broke into a brilliant smile. "Clary! You are Clary, right?"