A warning to the people,
The good and the evil,
This is war.
30 Seconds to Mars – This is War
oOoOo
Clary's new house was smaller than what she was used to, but the Brownstone had a certain charm to it. The windows needed replacing and a crack in the foundations looked ominous, but it wasn't too bad. At least her bedroom wasn't bright neon pink like Jonathan's. He had instantly claimed the biggest room after their father without taking even a glance at it in advance.
"This place is a dump" Jonathan grumbled over his breakfast a week after they moved into the Brownstone. "Clary, paint my room."
"I don't know," Clary teased, sliding into her seat opposite her brother. The head of the table where their father usually sat was empty as he went over his briefcase again and again upstairs, making sure everything was in order for his first day of work. "Pink suits you Jon."
"There are hearts scrawled on the wall" Jonathan scowled, dropping his spoon into his empty bowl a little too hard, causing the China to clink loudly. "It's vile. Like your outfit today."
Clary's eyes narrowed and surveyed her brother's own clothes for their first day at school. "You look like Dobby the house elf" she told him matter-of-factly.
Jonathan picked up his spoon and proceeded to admire himself in the back of it, flashing his reflection a wink. Clary rolled her eyes and dropped them down to her breakfast.
Footsteps on the stairs alerted the pair to their father's arrival. While Jonathan didn't look up from his dregs of milk, Clary's gaze immediately found her father, face turning into a wide smile. "Good morning Father."
Valentine Morgenstern looked tired with dark shadows smudged beneath his eyes, and Clary knew from waking up numerous times in the night, her body refusing its new surroundings that he'd barely slept a wink. His bedroom light hadn't gone off the entire night. He sighed and took his seat at the table, suit so very out of place in the room that was still littered with unopened boxes.
"Wait a moment" Clary sighed sympathetically as he raised a hand to his neck where poked and prodded at his badly done tie. He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as his daughter climbed to her feet and adjusted it for him.
"Really rather glad my shoes are not lace-up ones this morning" he chuckled as she sat back down. "Took me a little while to realize why they felt so uncomfortable."
"On the wrong foot?" Clary guessed lightly and he gave her a small shrug that meant 'unfortunately' in Valentine Morgenstern speak.
"Now" he said, voice strong and ringing with authority in the way teachers voices did. "Are you both ready?"
Jonathan slumped back in his chair and folded his arms tight against his chest, dark eyes blazing in defiance. "This is ridiculous" he growled, glaring at his father. "I'm not going. I'm going to be nineteen next month, and you can't stop me from leaving."
Both Valentine and Clary ignored his words, Clary's heart missing a beat slightly at the thought of Jonathan leaving to join their mother in Iraq. He wasn't soldier material, too impulsive and headstrong. He would never come back from war if he left them. But then... he would, Clary thought grimly. He'd return nailed inside a box with a flag draping it. And that's if they can find all his body parts and... It was imaginable.
"Fine" Jonathan snapped, pushing himself roughly from the table. "Ignore me. Fuck you both."
Clary flinched as her father slammed his clenched fist down onto the table with a thump and rattle of cutlery, closing her eyes and sighing lightly while barely resisting the urge to shake her head; Jonathan was treading on eggshells made of thin ice.
Jonathan left the room, slamming the kitchen door for effect.
"He's not going, right?" Clary immediately asked her father. Valentine's broad shoulders sagged in defeat. "Jonathan is right; he'll be nineteen soon. When that happens, I will be powerless to stop him. It was hard enough stopping him when he turned eighteen..."
Clary scowled. "You have to do something. He won't last five minutes. Jonathan isn't a soldier. He's just a boy."
"Don't you think I know that, Clarissa?" Valentine told her quietly, eyes flickering to the wall where a framed photo of his wife hung in her army uniform, her hair burning like embers even in the low light steeping through the blinds. He missed her. She was the reason why Jonathan wanted to leave, he was sure.
"Ready for school?" Valentine asked now, his appetite vanishing. Clary grimaced. "Are you, Principle Morgenstern?"
He still couldn't get used to that name. "Yes" he told her, rising to his feet with a slight groan. Clary couldn't help but notice the new lines etched into his face that had never been there when his wife, her mother had been here. It was like he was withering away from the inside out, making him look so much older than he actually was.
"Principle Herondale has invited us over for lunch tonight" he now remembered, causing Clary to frown. "We're not taking Jonathan are we?"
"Unfortunately, he is a requirement. Tell him when you see him at school that he is to be ready for seven o'clock to meet the Herondale's."
Clary nodded, groaning internally – a polite dinner gathering with Jonathan in tow? Chaos. At least the Herondale's –the ones to get them such a beautiful house so near the school – lived opposite. There would be no need to rush around, get into a car and try to navigate their way out of Brooklyn.
That was, of course, if all three of them survived school.
oOoOo
Clary felt like an utter freak by the time lunch arrived. Students, having made the connection between her last name and their new principle's, avoided her like the plague. Both her and Jonathan.
"Whatever" Jonathan told his sister when she filled him in of the evening plans, his eyes never leaving his book the entire time. "Now go away and- hey!"
Clary had yanked the book from his hands, slamming it down onto the table. "Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern" she growled, pointing the book at his face like some weapon. "Stop being such a brat. Act your age."
"Then act yours" Jonathan snapped, rising to his feet and snatching his book back. "You're not our mother. You can't take care of this family yourself, so stop trying. You will never be anything like our mother, the-" he stopped dead as Clary slapped him straight across the face, tears of anger and grief burning in her eyes. "Fuck you" she whispered before turning tail and leaving the library, ignoring the stares of other students as they watched her go.
oOoOo
Jace was in a very bad mood.
"I don't want to meet these people. They can burn in hell."
"Jace!" his father scolded. "This family-"
Jace rolled his eyes and turned away from his father's disapproving eyes until only his back was facing him. It hurt but he didn't care. "I really couldn't give a shit. If I'm down there, you know what the conversation will be about."
"Jace-"
"'Oh, Mr. Herondale you poor soul!' 'Oh, I'm so very sorry for you.' 'You brave, brave soldier.' I don't want their fucking pity."
"JACE!" Stephen yelled, not caring what the neighbours thought of him. It shut him up, but didn't make him turn back around to face him. "They wouldn't even see with you sat at the table. Look – you've been up here for almost a month now. You need interaction."
"I'm afraid I have to decline. And I have interaction, thanks."
Stephen's eyes narrowed and he took a hold of his son's shoulder and turned him onto his back. "Your mother may be treating you like glass, but I know you, son; I'm not going to let you rot up here forever like her. And Facebook and email is not physical interaction. Hasn't that girlfriend of yours wanted to see you? Or have you been lying to her as to your whereabouts?"
Jace's expression hardened and he jerked his shoulder away, turning back onto his side instantly without another word.
"You're leaving this room tonight" Stephen warned him, strolling over to the door. "There is no way you can refuse. I will drag you from this room if I have to."
"Yeah, and injure me further." As if he could be injured further than he already had been.
"I know you Jace" Stephen said, tone softer than before. "You hate this solitary confinement. You hate not talking to people other than me and your mother. Tiny steps, son. These are good people coming tonight." He left without waiting for his son's reply, which was a good job, for he said nothing in return.
oOoOo
Clary spent the last class of the day sat in the toilets with her feet up on the closed lid, nothing but misery coursing through her.
All she wanted was her mother back from war.
It had been three years since Jocelyn Morgenstern left to join the armed forces. Not as a nurse, but as a fully fledged soldier. Clary had just turned fifteen. Apart from the emails she occasionally sent, Clary received no other contact from her mother. When she raised the subject in the house, her father would clam up and say nothing while Jonathan ranted and raved that he should be allowed to go out there and join in the fighting.
Her phone buzzed.
How is first day? -Simon
Clary was too miserable to even reply. She missed her best friend, her old school on the other side of Brooklyn. Why couldn't she have stayed there instead of moving to this... hellhole? The war wouldn't go on forever, would it?
When the final bell rang, Clary walked home instead of waiting for her father to finish and give her a lift. What was the point, really, when you lived only a block or two away?
Jonathan was already home when Clary returned. The rock music blaring from his bedroom could be heard as soon as she opened the front door. When she slammed it closed, hoping he'd notice she was back and turn it down, he turned it up instead.
Only when she had collapsed onto her bed did she message Simon back.
It was awful –Clary
Only when their father returned did Jonathan turn the music down, knowing very well what his father would do to his speakers – put his foot through them. It had happened before.
"How was your first day?" Valentine asked his daughter the moment she walked into the kitchen. Putting on her very best fake smile, she told him "it was fantastic." When he smiled in relief, Clary felt the guilt threaten to envelope her but quickly quashed it; he had done this for his family, nothing more, nothing less. Clary had long since realized that her father had no idea how to bring both her and Jonathan up on his own, much less how to deal with a rebellious son that wanted to run headlong into war and most likely get himself blown up on the first day in the field.
Clary noticed her father looked nervous; his face was as pale as his hair. He also kept fidgeting with his tie. She frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Mrs. Celine Herondale came to see me at the end of the day" he told her, fingers still picking at his tie. "She told me some, ah, disturbing facts as to why she gave up her post. What she told me I cannot repeat to you, but it certainly makes tonight more... intimidating. You are in no way to be rude to the Herondale's tonight, Clarissa. You or Jonathan. Especially not to their son."
Clary just stared, utterly and completely confused. "Why would I be rude?"
"They have had a very trying last few months."
She still had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but from the way he seemed unnerved, Clary knew he wasn't joking around. Valentine's eyes glanced upwards to the ceiling. "I think it best if Jonathan does not come tonight" he said quietly, at last leaving his tie alone.
"Why not?"
Valentine paused for a moment, visibly torn between explaining everything to his daughter and saying nothing at all. Eventually he groaned softly in defeat. "The Herondale's son has recently returned from war. Mrs. Herondale quit her post to care for him."
A shiver crept up Clary's spine. "Care for him?" she echoed. "What's wrong with him?"
He refused to tell her any more on the subject but to tell her to go upstairs and get ready.
oOoOo
Jace had seen his new neighbours numerous times already from his bedroom window. There were three of them; two had white-blond hair, a father and son. The other was a young woman with hair the colour of fire. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her as she'd helped carry furniture and boxes into the house on moving-in day; it shined and burned too bright to be ignored. It reminded him of the fires of war, the explosions and the screams. Then again, everything reminded Jace of that these days; when he was bought dinner all he could think about was the crap food he'd eaten for all those years; when he put on a fresh t-shirt or shirt, he would feel slight surprise that it wasn't his usual uniform. Before he had gone to war, he had been the most untidy person on the planet. Now? He constantly called for his mother to rearrange something if he felt it too messy.
It was strange being home. He couldn't get over it.
Many times had his friends tried to ring him, but he'd ignored every single call. Jace only talked to his girlfriend, and that was because of how their relationship had built up – through letters and care packages. They'd been together two years, yet he'd never kissed her because of the distance.
There was a new message.
Hey baby. How r u? –A
Jace stared at it for a long time, the sun setting over New York with the orange light reflecting off the glass. How was he supposed to respond to that?
I'm good. U? – J
I can't wait after all this time –A
Soon –J
He wasn't sure how soon. For one thing, he refused to leave the house. Point-blank refused. But... she loved him. Right? She wouldn't care what had happened to him.
A new flash of orange caught Jace's eye now. With a slight groan he leaned over to the curtains and pulled them aside; the fire-haired girl from over the road was taking out the trash. Jace sighed and let the curtains flutter back shut, closing his eyes gently as he cursed himself – his old self would kick him in the nuts. Kick them so hard he'd cry. And why? Because he was afraid. Because he hadn't left the house in well over a goddamn month. He couldn't hide forever.
"Mom!" Jace yelled in defeat. "What time is this stupid dinner?"
oOoOo
Jonathan didn't argue about being excluded from the dinner. He lay on his bed with his headphones on, raising his middle finger when Clary went in to tell him.
Maybe one day he'd grow up, she figured.
Clary couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her father out of a suit. Even tonight he was wearing one, albeit his black dinner jacket slung over his arm. It saddened her, for before her mother went to war, he never wore them. Back in those days, his hair had been wild and his face much less lined. She could even remember him wearing band t-shirts like Metallica and Led Zeppelin; he and her mother had frequently dropped her and Jonathan off at their grandmothers and gone to concerts.
Things had been so much easier back then. Now? It was like he'd aged twenty years in just three.
"Hopefully this doesn't run past ten" Valentine told her as he slammed the door shut behind them. "I'm exhausted. I need to sleep after the catastrophe of last night."
Clary's ankle length bright red dress made her feel over-the-top, but her father had assured her she looked perfect. But still she worried.
Her first impression of the Herondale household was that it looked exactly like their own from the outside, except for the fact they had numerous plants littering the front steps in various stages of growth. The bluebells were beautiful and Clary made a mental note to paint them in daylight that week before they withered away.
"Back straight" Valentine muttered to her as he rang the bell. Clary had barely enough time to straighten up before the door was opened and she was faced with the smile of a woman with long blonde hair that swept past her shoulders. "Mr. Morgenstern" she beamed when she saw him, her gaze flickering to the young woman next to him. "And you must be Clarissa. Your father has told me so much about you. But where is your son?" she frowned, peering over Clary's shoulder.
Valentine chuckled lightly. "Dear Celine, do call me Valentine. And Jonathan... I won't beat about the bush, he has been somewhat problematic. Meeting your son would... unbalance him."
"Ah" Celine sighed sadly, stepping aside. "I understand. Now, enough chitchat, do come in. I've just put dinner on, so if you go straight through to the dining room you'll find my husband, Stephen, and my son Jace. Do help yourself to drinks, they're on the table."
Clary couldn't believe this woman had been a principle of a High School. She was much too pretty and bubbly for that, right? Her dress was patterned with daisies and her heels high and black. When she bounced away, her father glanced down to her and raised a pale eyebrow. "Quite a character, isn't she?"
The inside of the house was a soft cream with a golden carpet. Clary wanted to take her shoes off and bury her toes into the soft fabric. Maybe when she was at the table, she would. Everything was neat, tidy and in her opinion, beautiful.
When they reached the dining room, it was the same again but with a long black table and matching chairs that screamed class. Stephen Herondale rose from his chair next to his son and smiled at the pair. "Welcome. It's nice to finally meet you."
A soft scoff behind the man drew Clary's attention. He looked older than her, Clary noticed straight away. Maybe in his early twenties. The young man resembled his father greatly with short wild honey-blond hair and build to his shoulders. Something in his face reminded Clary of Celine though, especially around the eyes. But where hers had been soft, these were hard and angry.
"Jace, yes?" Clary asked, reaching out a hand for him to take. Jace took one look at it and cocked a brow. "I'm not kissing it if that's what you're expecting, Princess."
Clary flushed. "Are you going to shake it or not?"
"No."
Behind her, she heard Stephen Herondale groan very quietly. Maybe Jonathan should have come, Clary thought bitterly as she retracted her hand and took the seat furthest away from the boy after greeting his father.
Jace didn't say anything else for a long time, choosing to eat his starter in silence, tugging the sleeve of his long-sleeved jumper down as often as possible. Clary swore she'd seen tattoos though. Why would he want to hide them? Maybe they were rude ones that he'd gotten while drunk.
Celine Herondale was a fantastic cook, Clary had to admit. Everything she made was wonderfully tasty.
It was only when the pudding of strawberry cheesecake was being assembled that Valentine tried once more to talk to Jace – his earlier attempts had been pointedly ignored, yet Clary noted that he hadn't seemed surprised. What did he know that she didn't?
"Where were you stationed?"
"Afghanistan, sir" Jace shrugged. "On the border between Nangahar and Kunar."
Clary didn't know what these names meant, but from the way her father groaned gently, it was obviously a bad place to be.
"I heard about your actions" he told the young man quietly. "Forgive me... I know this is a sensitive topic, but you're very brave. You should be very proud of yourself for what you did."
She saw Jace visibly stiffen, saw the way his scarred hands clenched into fists upon the table. "I'm not a hero" he snapped, turning his head away. "Shut your fucking mouth. You have no idea what you're talking about. My mother is a stupid bitch for quitting her job because of me."
"Jace!" his father scolded him. Clary's emerald eyes narrowed in disgust. "Wow. Your mother quit her job for you. To care for you and your gigantic attitude. I don't know what's supposed to be wrong with you, but if you talk to my father like that again, you can add broken nose to your list."
"Clarissa-!" her father yelled, horrified. "Apologize!"
"Fine. I'm sorry... I should have said 'smashed plate over your head' instead. Much more dramatic."
Jace smirked, ignoring their parent's words. "Unlike you, I have an excuse to be an asshole."
"Nothing is an excuse to be an ass" Clary told him matter-of-factly, rising to her feet before her father could yell for her to go home again. "And you, Jace Herondale, are an ass."
"Ah," Jace sighed gently, the smirk appearing once more. "You have such a fiery mouth. Do you kiss your mother and suck cocks with that?"
Clary's expression hardened. "I don't care if you saved puppies from a burning building; fuck you." She turned tail and stalked from the house, pausing just long enough to thank Celine for the dinner.
oOoOo
Jonathan was beside himself when Clary told him why she was home so early.
"So," he snorted from his perch on the kitchen table, "you called a war hero an asshole?"
"HA!" Clary exploded, pummelling her fist into the opposite palm. "Hero? My ass he is! He's a rude, perverted piece of shit."
Jonathan tittered, sliding down from his seat. "Damn. I should have come now. I've never seen you pissed at someone other than me." He winced slightly as the front door was slammed, letting out a low whistle. "Dad's back. Good luck little sis." He was gone from the room before Clary could even open her mouth to swear at him.
"What were you thinking?!" Valentine raged as he tossed the keys down where they slid into the washing up bowl with a splash. "Of all things, Clarissa! Why did you embarrass me like that?!"
Clary swelled up like a balloon. "He was rude to you, he was rude to me. He had it coming."
Valentine dragged a hand through his hair with a loud, exaggerated groan. "Clarissa," he told her in a measured tone. "That boy is a hero. He saved lives. He lost his leg while doing it as well. That is the reason he's not... cooperative right now. His mother warned me."
All she could do was stare in disbelief. "Jace Herondale lost-?"
"Yes" her father growled, fishing the keys from the washing-up bowl. "Constantly being in pain will make you an asshole at times. Tomorrow you're going to go over and... and apologize. God, I'm so embarrassed with you, Clarissa."
Clary still didn't see how losing a leg automatically gave him an excuse to be so foul and vulgar. "So is it all his leg that's..." she couldn't make herself say amputated. It sounded so strange. He'd looked so... normal.
"Just below the knee" he told her, sinking down into a chair next to the table. "This is partly my own fault – I should have warned you about Jace Herondale beforehand. His mother informed me he wasn't... adjusting well to life without his leg. Prone to outbursts of anger that he cannot control yet."
Clary felt a trickle of pity enter her train of thought; she couldn't imagine ever losing her leg. How could you adjust to that kind of life? Great. Now she felt regret.
"Fine" she told her father. "I'll go over and apologize tomorrow."
Valentine nodded. "Good. And for god's sake, be nice. The family have gone through hell. And show some pity for Jace."
Clary still couldn't see herself being civilized with Jace Herondale unless he was to her first.
oOoOo
A/N: Thank you so much for the support and interest. You guys blew me away. So... Yep, this is totally unlike anything I've ever wrote before as you can see. And you guys are going to love this, believe me. Next chapter will be up soon if people still want me to write more. Thank you!