A/N: Chap two- let me know what you would like me to do with the point of view, and scenes you'd like to see! I have an obvious angle for this story, but I 100% want to write what you want to read.

Thank you for the positive feedback! Read, review, and enjoy.

Trigger warning for assault.

PS- Piano cover closest to the one I thought of was this one- watch?v=FEJgxHU-nRc

Chapter 2

…..

The next morning, Clary was early to rise; her heart was beating fast, fear gripping her like a tight fist, and she took a minute to get her breathing. The slow, even breaths of the two girls sleeping near her was a comfort and after a minute her breath was back. Turning to glance at the glaring red numbers on Izzy's clock, she noticed it was still dawn- only half six. Back in Washington, her mother would wake her early on a Saturday and the two of them would go for breakfast, watching the sun rise slowly into the wet sky, sharing pancakes and drinking hot coffee at the diner her mother worked at. They hadn't had breakfast together in a long time, and the memory made her heart clench again.

Deciding to firmly bury the nostalgic feeling she rolled over, dragging the blanket back up over her and deciding to settle in to lie in like a normal teenager, and for the next few hours she drifted in and out of dreamless sleep. That is until, at exactly nine o clock, a certain lanky teenager charged into Izzy's room, flipping on the lights and drawing open the blinds. Clary started awake, clutching her blanket, and Izzy and Maia let out a series of curses.

"Simon Lewis! What did I tell you about waking me up before noon?!" Isabelle screeched, and he just laughed and thrust a steaming cup of coffee into her hand. She grumbled an unintelligible reply, but sat up and started sipping. Clary laughed at that, and accepted the coffee that Simon had retrieved from Isabelle's desk. Clary had slept on the small couch in Izzy's room whilst Maia and Izzy shared the bed; Simon was now perched at Clary's feet, and the sound of sipping was interrupted by Maia's drowsy voice.

"What are you doing here so early, nerd?" She asked, taking a long sip of coffee. Simon grinned.

"Magnus gave me a lift when he dropped Alec back- I was sick of my parents trying to strangle each other." He said it jokingly, letting out a humourless chuckle after that, but the girls could tell their was something underneath it- and by the look Izzy was giving Clary, it must happen a lot.

"Well, I'm dropping Clary off later but we were just gonna chill." Izzy said, stretching her arms and cracking her neck. "Hey- if you run downstairs and grab the play station, we can play up here!" She suggested, and he grinned, leaping to his feet and jogging Clary, nearly making her spill hot coffee down herself.

"Hey!" She yelled indignantly whilst Izzy laughed. He ignored her and raced down the stairs, and Maia shouted after him.

"And bring any game but grand theft auto! Perv." She yelled.

Kicking the blanket off her Clary glanced out the window, thinking of the previous evening when Jace had all but attacked her. Obviously he wasn't lying at the bottom of the stairs, as Simon or Alec probably would have mentioned it, but the unsettling way he had been acting left her fearful of seeing him again. And also kind of mad.

Maia let out a yawn, and Clary took a long sip of coffee. It touched her that, although the two had only known each other a week, he had remembered that she liked her coffee black. She smiled, and Izzy shot her a look.

"What's that grin for?" She asked, and Clary sighed. She didn't want to distance herself anymore. She had been doing it all her life, and it was exhausting.

"I'm just really glad I came. I've had such a nice time." She said, and Izzy smiled.

"I'm glad you came too, I can already tell we're gonna be good friends." She replied. Clary looked back out of the window, noticing the sliver of yellow sun that broke through the grey sea of clouds.

"You know, back in Washington there was barely ever any sun." She said, and the other two girls shot each other a tentative look. "But early in the morning, if you watched the sun rise, everything would be bright for a minute. Not for long, but it was like the whole world reset itself."
She sighed wistfully, then looked down and blushed, covering her embarrassment by taking a huge sip of coffee.

"How long did you live in Washington?" Isabelle asked carefully, like a trainer approaching a skittish animal. Clary looked up, assessing the backlash of her opening up. Isabelle watched her wide, green eyes, almost like seeing cogs turning…

"About a year… we moved around a lot; but hopefully not anymore." She finished, then let out a slow breath. Just before anyone could go any further though, Simon burst back through the door, arms full of wires and games.

"Okay, who's going first!"

…

At around midday Alec and Magnus wandered into Isabelle's room to investigate the constant yelling, and found Simon and Maia violently insulting each other, clutching video game controller's, shouting curses at each other as Clary and Isabelle rolled on her bed in fits of laughter.

"Hey! No, no that is so cheating!" Simon yelled, whilst Maia cackled.

"Suck my ass Lewis, I'd like to see you beat me." She replied. Magnus let out a huge laugh and plonked himself down beside Clary (who held back her ingrained urge to flinch) and began telling her about the time that Maia and Simon had been kicked out of a video game store for swearing too aggressively.

…..

An hour and a half later Clary volunteered to help Alec grab drinks from the kitchen; she was still in her pyjamas and wasn't entirely sure on her opinion of Alec, but as they descended the stairs she was glad for someone's company. As they reached the bottom she let out a sigh of relief; Jace was no where to be seen. She followed Alec into his kitchen, and then she really felt out of her depth.

"So…" She began, and Alec looked up briefly from rummaging in the fridge. "How long have you and Magnus been together?" She blurted out, an anxiety causing the words to spill out. Alec blushed, a deep red spreading across his high cheek bones, and Clary immediately felt bad; she hated people butting into her private life.

"Oh god, sorry I just spat that out, ignore me I totally get that you-" Clary stuttered, but her rambling was cut off by Alec's laugh.

"Don't worry- honestly. I'm just not used to people asking such normal questions- I need to get used to it." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, and Clary smiled encouragingly. "We've been together about a year, but we've known each other since the beginning of high school." He said, slightly wistfully. Clary grinned, and Alec blushed again before turning to pull a series of cans from the fridge. He pushed an armful into Clary's arms and she laughed, taking them and turning to the door, walking out back to the stairs, staring at the floor so as not to drop the armful of soft drinks.

And then she bumped into Jace.

Clary gasped and jumped back, clutching at the cans to avoid dropping them. She looked down, avoiding his gaze, and pushed past him. He didn't apologise and, after Clary had sprinted up the stairs, her look over her shoulder showed that he was gone.

…

"Thank you so much Izzy! I'll see you on Monday." Clary waved at Isabelle as she exited the car and pulled her back onto her back. Isabelle waved cheerfully and Simon, who had accompanied Izzy for the ride, blew her a kiss.

Grinning Clary ran along her street, disappearing into her apartment building doors and ascending the stairs.

Isabelle and Simon watched her go from their sears in her car, and Isabelle sighed.

"I really like her Simon." She said, pulling into a parking space to turn around. Simon fiddled with the radio.

"I get what you mean- she's easy to talk to, calm." He replied. Isabelle nodded.

"Yeah, she's really calm. Like, quiet most of the time, calm. Except for yesterday in gym; Kaelie was a total ass for calling her out, but there was something about her reaction. Honestly me and Maia thought Kaelie had been right when Clary took off."

Simon looked thoughtfully out of his window.

"Smack me if I'm wrong, but there's something sad about her. Just, the way she acts sometimes, it's like she's trying to convince herself to take part in life." Simon said, and immediately regretted it. "That sounds mean.." He reconciled, but Izzy didn't look fazed.

"No, I've noticed that too. Maybe she just takes a while to warm up to people." Izzy continued. "I know Jace couldn't of helped; did I tell you what he did yesterday in the car?" She asked, and Simon shook his head. "Well I gave him a lift home because he was a dumbass and forgot Alec was going to Magnus', and while we were waiting for Clary to run into her house, he just went off on one how we shouldn't be friends with street kids." Simon's eyes widened at this. Izzy sucked her teeth angrily. "And he went on about how she's unstable or something. I told him to shut up, but Clary had made it back by then. I'm just glad he didn't say anything to her face again."

"What an asshole." Simon added, and then the two turned their attention back to the music, both sending silent angry thoughts at Jace.

…..

Clary wandered through her apartment, heart light, and flicked on the lights. No one was in, and the half drunk cup of coffee that sat on the counter told her that her mother had rushed off in the morning, hair flying and coat half on. She smiled at the thought, and dumped her bag down on the table as she headed to shower.

Their apartment was by no means large; you entered straight into the living room, where there was a small thread bare couch facing an unused tv; behind this was the kitchen which consisted of a worktop, a small dining table and four chairs. At the end of the living room there was a door- leading to her mother's bedroom, and a hallway that lead to Clary's bedroom, the bathroom, and a store cupboard. It was smaller than their apartment had been in Washington, but she liked it. It had heating, which three of their previous homes hadn't, and it was full of all her mother's old paintings which hung frameless on any walls that they would fit on.

Clary stripped off and climbed into the shower, scrubbing away the post-sleepover dirt and fatigue. She didn't have homework, as the small amount she was given they had done at Izzy's, and she wanted to relax before her mom got home.

Climbing out of the shower feeling refreshed and calm, Clary exited the bathroom and dressed quickly into jeans and a sweater, then opened her bedroom window as wide as it could go.

It was drizzling, and although the rain in New York wasn't quite as comforting as it should be, she liked the smell and the sounds; her bedroom overlooked the streets below, and she knew it wasn't the nicest neighbourhood, but high up and safe in her bedroom, she felt relaxed for the first time in a long time.

Pulling a sketchbook from under her bed, she settled down into her pillows and switched on the CD player that sat on the desk beside her bed. The only CD she had unpacked so far was a David Bowie one, and she let the nostalgic music fill the air around her as she began to draw, in a concentrated haze.

An hour later she threw the sketchbook away from her, heart beating fast, horrified at what she had drawn.

….

Her mother returned home at half eight in the evening, carrying a pizza and a large bag. Clary had been reading on the couch, and leapt up to help her mom; they deposited the stuff on the table and Jocelyn swept her daughter up into a hug.

"Clary, I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks! How are you, baby- did you have a nice week. Ooh, tell me all about your new friends."

Clary laughed into her mother's hair, hanging on for a moment, then letting go and pulling back.

"It was really good; I met the nicest girl called Isabelle- I slept over at her's last night, and she's friends with basically everyone." She laughed, and her mother's eyes shone.

"That's wonderful; look, I brought pizza! I got my first pay check today, so we splurge tonight and shop tomorrow so that you can stop living off cereal and orange juice." Her mom commented, and Clary blushed. Jocelyn felt a surge of guilt- it was her fault her daughter was so cautious, with money and in life, and if only she could protect her at all times. But she couldn't.

Clary decided to move the conversation on before either of them got upset, and moved to grab plates from the cupboards.

"What's in the bag?" She asked her mom, who had turned to discreetly wipe her eyes and was now pulling a box from the bag. Her mother grinned.

"Luke had an old DVD player he was going to throw out- I thought we could rehouse it and have a movie night!" She replied, and Clary grinned as her mom began pulling cables from the box and connecting the monster of a DVD player to their tv.

Clary couldn't help but laugh, and for a moment, the love she had for her mother was so overwhelming, she thought she would burst.

….

The next three weeks passed in a blur of excitement; Clary took on an art class at the school on Saturday's, as recommended by her art teacher. Isabelle had invited her over almost every day, and although she didn't always say yes, she had grown fond of the bubbly, black haired girl that was constantly fawning over Clary's hair, her eyes, her ability to draw- an ability she didn't realise was any good until her art class had gotten into the swing of things. She had hung out at Simon's a few times as well, and she liked him- he was easy to laugh at, and had no interest in asking Clary any questions, except if she thought that 'New Wave Zombie Massacre' was a good name for a band.

Clary had said no.

The fourth Monday of the semester, on her way to school, Clary had a skip in her step; her mom had gotten her up early and told her that Luke, her sort of boss, had offered Clary a job at a bookstore for an hour after school every day. The idea of even an extra hour with her mother made her grin and accept immediately, and getting out into the city a bit more was exciting.

Since they had been up so early, Clary was at school way before anyone else. She pushed her way through the front door and made her way toward the library; she expected that the only people in at the present time would be the office workers, and maybe the janitor, so when the soft sound of piano playing began to echo through the halls, she was shocked. And curious. Following the sound she took a turn down a hallway that she hadn't yet been down , but when the notes became clearer she realised she must be heading to a music room. And when she realised what the song was, she couldn't hold back the hot tears that spilled over her cheeks.

She hated crying. She hadn't cried in a long time- but she couldn't hold it back.

Space Oddity, a song she always skipped so as not to think about him. The tears kept flowing and she wiped at them angrily, following the noise blindly until she finally came to the source of the noise. A heavy door was in front of her, one propped open letting out the almost unbearable tune. Inside ,what Clary assumed was, the music room there was an amphitheatre of chairs, and around the edge of the 'stage' there was a series of instrument filled shelves. And at the centre was a grand piano.

The chorus built, sweet and sad and heart breakingly soulful, and all of a sudden, Clary wasn't at school anymore…

…."Jonathon!" Clary called, waking from a fitful sleep. The bears in her bed seemed ominous, and not even her night light could bring her comfort. Sliding out of bed Clary attempted to stop herself sucking her thumb, as her mother often told her not to, and headed out of her room into the one opposite. She didn't knock on the door- she knew her older brother wouldn't mind- and once inside she shut the door tight (if their father caught them out of bed, they would be in trouble).

Her brother's room was larger than her own, and Jonathon was in the corner, sat at his keyboard, playing a tune so low she could barely hear it. She trudged her way over to him, and when he heard her approaching her stopped playing and turned to pick her up, placing her on his knee. He was nine years older than her, fifteen to her six, and he was her hero. His hair was so blond it was almost white, and Clary liked to pick up her own and compare it to his.

Today there was a large, garish bruise across his face, marring one eye. Matching hers.

"My little Clary.." He whispered, hugging her carefully. "What are you doing up?" She shivered.

"I had a nightmare. About… about him…" She yawned loudly, and Jonathon stiffened up.

"I'm so sorry. I wish…" She clutched him tighter. "I swear, I'll kill him one day."

She let her eyes close, falling slowly into sleep. She patted his chest;

"Play the pretty space song, Jon. I like it…"

She heard him chuckle softly, and he shifted to play a one handed melody whilst she fell into a dreamless-

…. Clary was back in the hallway, hand clutching her heart; the music had stopped, and standing in front of her was none other than Jace.

"Jonathon." She blurted out, blinking hard whilst trying to catch her breath. A look crossed Jace's face, and his dark golden eyes, perpetually angry, were full of curiosity. He took a step toward her, looking as if he was about to speak. Clary took a step back, like an opposing magnet.

He opened her mouth, and at the thought of a confusingly aggressive comment from him Clary backed away, raising a silencing hand, and turned on her heel and sped back down the hallway, her legs carrying her in the direction of the library, putting her walls up high so that she wouldn't feel the pain threatening to kill her.

….

Everyone had noticed how quiet she was for the whole day, but no one commented out of consideration; Clary laughed half -heartedly at Izzy's jokes, she let Simon talk her ear off about a new video game, and she didn't think. By the end of the day the effort she had put in to hold herself together had exhausted her, and as she exited school at the end of the day, a brief wave to Isabelle and Maia, she felt dead on her feet.

She pulled her hood up, ignoring the chatter of the people leaving school around her, and began turning down streets blindly until she reached the small bookshop- 'Garroway's"- and walked down the side alley into the side door she had been instructed to enter through.

The shop wasn't large, but it smelled pleasantly of coffee and fresh books, and there was a back room filled with stacks of unshelved books, and a staff room with a coat rack and coffee machine and a leather couch.

She was hoping her mom would be training her; maybe she could pull her into a dark corner for a hug as soon as possible. But the moment she stepped through the door she was whisked into action by a woman called Amatis (Luke's older sister) and put to work loading boxes of books from the delivery truck to the back of the store. She barely saw her mother- only a brief wave whilst her mom was on the register, and Clary had been getting instructions from Luke.

All too soon it was time to leave; she wished she could stay, as the heavy lifting was a nice monotonous, but still hard, job that kept her mind occupied. Her mother would be staying another hour and a half, but after that Jocelyn would be heading out to her job at a late night diner. And Clary was alone once more, pulling on her coat, slinging her back pack onto her back and heading out into the street.

The book shop was around forty minutes from her home, and Clary wrapped her jacket around her tighter as a harsh wind began to whip at her face. It wasn't late, but the early autumn dusk was already falling and the skies around her was darkening rapidly.

An uncomfortable feeling ran down her spine, and Clary picked up the pace along the side walk. A car passed her, whipping more wind at her. She gasped, winded, but carried on down the street. She just wanted to be home. A glance behind her helped to ease her mind, seeing only a woman and her child and man looking at the ground as he walked, and she carried along the path that lead to home.

She crossed a street. She took a left, two rights. Then crossed again. She glanced over her shoulder a second time-

The same man, face obscured by a high collar, was walking along behind her. Was he following her.

A coursing hot flash of fear ripped through her, and on a whim Clary took a right turn she had only been down before once in broad daylight, attempting to cut off the distance between her and home.

She turned another right, picking up her pace. And before she knew it she was lost; one wrong turn while thinking about the best route to get her home quicker, and she was in an unfamiliar street. In front of her was a club, music pounding out the front despite the fact that it wasn't even five in the evening yet, and a series of empty houses. Striding past the night club she risked another glance over her shoulder.

The same guy, getting closer.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Clary took a sharp left, hoping it would take her back to the main road; no such luck. The alley was lined with garbage cans, and the thrum of the music loud. And the alley was a dead end.

Clary's stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot, and she stalled, face to face with a brick wall. Her eye's fluttered shut; she knew what came next.

A hand- large, sweaty and strong- wrapped itself around her mouth like a vine. She immediately tensed and her eyes shot open, and as another arm wrapped itself around her torso and lifted her like a sack of flour, she kicked out, screaming inside of his palm. He grunted, muttering something unintelligible, and he lifted her to push her against the wall, tearing the backpack from her back. Her face was pressed against brick and she began to shout into her palm, as loudly as she could, kicking and wriggling against him; this just spurred him on, and on a whim he removed his hand from her mouth to slide it into her jacket. She gasped in a deep breath, and immediately began to shriek, shaking her head violently to avoid his meaty hand grabbing her again. His hands were everywhere, and he was strong. In an attempt to shut her up he banged her head against the wall, hard, then scratched at her face. She felt blood trickle into her mouth. She spat it out.

"Get the hell off of me. Help! Somebody help me!" She screamed, choking back a sob for the second time that day. Why did stuff like this always happen to her? It's like she was a magnet for tragedy.

She thought of Jonathon's face, his fifteen year old's promise of protection. And she wished with every fibre of her being that she was dead instead. The thought of her brother, the loss of her brother, something she hadn't truly felt in a long time, made her go slack in her attackers arms. She let her scream die out, and the man dug his fingers further into her jacket, ripping at her top, the button of her jeans. She let herself go numb.

And then the pressure was gone. All of a sudden the sharp, the clawing, the heat of her attacker's clammy body was gone and Clary slipped to the floor, knees weak. The pounding in her ears was unbearable, but dissipating, and the smell of blood was nauseating.

Behind her there was shouting, grunting, moaning, and the sounds became clearer as her vision focused. She was staring at the sky, the nearly black sky, and the lights flickering above her made her want to vomit. Just as her eyes began to close, a face pushed it's way into her vision, leaning over her; a familiar face.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Jace muttered, running a hand through his hair. "It just had to be you, didn't it?"

With that comment the whole world came swimming into view and Clary rolled onto her side, avoiding his gaze and pressing her hands against the cool tarmac of the alley. He stooped low to help her up, but she shook away his hands.

"Please… just, give me a minute." She whispered, and he stood to his full height, arms folded as Clary pushed herself to her feet. There was a rip in her shirt bearing her midriff, and she pulled her jacket shut to cover herself.

Breathe.

Then she turned to Jace, looking up at him.

"Thank you." She said, as clearly as she could muster. But Jace wasn't fooled; he could hear the shake in her voice, see the glaze over her eyes. And then she turned to leave, briskly walking back out of the alley.

"Hang on a minute- where the hell do you think you're going?" Jace spat, catching up to Clary in two strides and moving to stand in front of her. They were only a few paces away from the man who had attacked Clary, who was lying unconscious on the floor. Clary stared at the man, a curious feeling crossing through her chest.

"What did you do to him?" She asked, and Jace's eyebrows knitted together.

"I beat the crap out of him." He said bluntly, a hard edge to his voice. She nodded, still not looking at him.

"I need to go home…" She began, and moved to push past him. He blocked her once again, a look of anger and disbelief on his face.

"No, you need to call the cops." He said, firmly planted in front of her. She looked up, attempting to see his eyes. He was so intimidating, but a lecture was the last thing that she needed.

"Jace, I understand that you hate me, and I get that you've got a chip on your shoulder or whatever, but I really just want to go home. Besides, if we call the cops, you'll get in trouble for hurting that guy." She said as calmly as she could. He let out a mirthless snort.

There was a fire in her voice, and for the first time since he could remember, Jace yielded.

"Follow me." He said blankly, and turned to exit the alley. For a moment Clary considered running, sprinting off in any direction her legs could carry her- but her chest hurt, and her head throbbed. And she was, after all, lost.

She followed him out of the alley, along the street and into a small parking alcove; she tried to catch up but his strides were too long and purposeful as he lead her to what she assumed was his car (it was a dark colour that she couldn't distinguish in the light, but she could tell it was expensive) . He opened the passenger door for her, and the over head lamp illuminated the car. Clary looked into it warily, and an unreadable expression crossed Jace's face.

"I don't hate you; I promise. I would never do anything to hurt you." His voice was still hard, still void of obvious emotions, but it was sincere. She nodded slowly, and climbed into the car.

Jace shut the door behind her, and stalked to the other side, leaning down and stepping into the driver's seat. But instead of switching on the ignition, as Clary expected, he leant over Clary's lap. She jumped back in her seat and closed her eyes. He backed up momentarily, holding his palms to her.

"I'm just going for the glove box, okay? Is that alright?" He asked slowly. Clary opened her eyes, nodding dumbly. He reached over her again and snapped open the glove box, pulling out a first aid kit. He pushed it shut, leant back up, then opened up the kit.

He pulled out some alcohol wipes, and looked at her questioningly.

"Can I…?" He said, pointing to her temple. She didn't know what he was talking about, but a surge of trust overwhelmed her, a craving for some form of comfort. So she nodded.

He leant toward her and pushed her hair away from her face (his hands were too warm), then pressed the wipe to her face.

Clary gasped in shock at the sting of pain, squeezing her eyes shut, but he kept wiping in steady motions. She didn't like pain-she doubted anyone did- but this was getting too much for one day.

"Distract me." She hissed through her teeth, and he scrunched his brows together, pulling out a fresh wipe and moving to cheekbone. She clutched at her hands, wringing them. "Please." She reiterated.

"How did you know my real name?" He asked slowly, wiping away at the apparent grazes on her face. It was Clary's turn to furrow her brow.

"What do you mean?" She asked. He moved away briefly, but his fingers were back a moment later with a similar pang of pain.

"Jonathon. When I came out of the music room this morning, you called me by my full name."

Clary went white and Jace noticed, stilling his movements. Of course he was called Jonathon.

"I… I didn't know." She murmured. "You just… that song you were playing… it reminded me of someone." She hissed again, and opened her eyes to see Jace opening an ointment bottle, a lank look on his face. "You're really good, by the way," She said carefully, hoping to steer the subject away from the danger zone.

He looked up and they locked eyes for a moment.

"Thank you." He smoothed the ointment onto her face, then placed over a band aid. Clary watched him, and for a moment she wanted to ask him why he was near the alley, what he was doing. Why he decided to throw himself in and help her. But she didn't.

"Okay." Jace said, closing the small kit and putting it back into the glove box. "I knew you wouldn't go to the hospital, and I won't bother asking how you ended up down here, but I think 've cleaned you up okay."

Clary nodded, grateful for the lack of intrusion. Her head was still pounding, and the shaking fear that still gripped her wasn't going away. As he stuck the keys into the ignition, he also leant over and flipped the sun visor down, revealing a mirror, before starting the engine and turning up the heat.

Clary stared transfixed at the face staring back at her.

"Damn it." She muttered. Jace shot her a sideways look. She sighed, flipping the visor back up. She looked down to her palms. "I've had enough bruises for a lifetime." She said under her breath.

Jace clicked his tongue and pulled on his seat belt, gesturing for her to do the same.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" He replied, eyes fixed on the road. Clary shrugged.

"Nothing. Look- are you okay taking me home? I get it's a hassle, and you obviously aren't comfortable in my neighbourhood…"

He scoffed, cutting her off.

"Of course I'll take you home. And, look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for acting like a douchebag, I'm sorry for pissing you off. And Jesus, I am so sorry for whatever happened on that Friday night." Clary stiffened in her seat, and Jace noticed. "I was drunk off my head, and everyone was going round school saying you were a cutter, and all I remember was needing to see you to make sure you weren't. I know its not my place, and you probably had something scathing to say. But for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Clary was shocked. Out of all the minuscule things she actually knew about Jace, she knew he was an ass. He avoided looking at her, and since that Friday he hadn't bothered to approach her, or taunt her. And an apology was not expected.

"I forgive you." She said simply, and went back to staring out of the window.

"That's it?" Jace replied. She turned to him, stomach churning.

"What's the point in being angry- I kind of owe you my life now anyway." She retorted, trying to read his ever stoic face, scanning his body language; his fists were white on the wheel.

"Don't… don't fucking say that, okay. That guy was a sicko, I wish I'd done more than bash his head in…" He said in a low voice. Clary's stomach turned again.

"The thought of him doing… I mean, doing something like that to anyone makes me… Did he, did he touch you?" He was spitting his words now.

"Jace…" Clary whispered, clutching her stomach.

"If it was anyone else, I would've done something- but Izzy!..." He continued in the same low voice.

"Jace." Clary said more urgently.

"She wouldn't forgive me if anything happened and I was near, especially to you…"

"Jace!" Clary shouted, and he stopped short, startled, shaking out of the reverie that had clutched him. He met her frantic gaze.

"Stop the car, Jace!" She wheezed.

Jace quickly pulled over and, the second they had stopped, Clary threw open her door.

And vomited across the sidewalk.

….

"Next time, call me." Isabelle was sitting on Clary's bed, Clary wrapped in a blanket beside her. After Clary had been sick there had been a cacophony of curses from Jace; he insisted in driving her home, walking her to her apartment whilst carrying her bag, then calling Isabelle to come over. He was currently sitting on Clary's couch, on the phone to the Alec. Isabelle had arrived in under ten minutes, and immediately she insisted Clary shower and put on her pyjama's before making her a hot cup of tea.

"Izzy…" She started.

"No- I get we aren't best friends yet, and I know that you get the heebie jeebies a lot and close up like a shellfish, but I care about you, okay? So call me. I could pick you up, or just talk to you while you walk. God knows I can talk enough for the both of us."

Clary laughed slightly at that, and bit her lip.

"Okay." She nodded, and Isabelle let out a sigh of relief.

"Good. I know you aren't the biggest fan of Jace either, but he'll help you if you need it. He's loyal like that."

Clary nodded again, looking at her hands. Isabelle took one in her own.

"Have you called your mom yet? Do you want me to?" She asked carefully. Clary shook her head frantically.

"No! No one tells my mom. Not one word, please- I can't have her worrying about me as well." Clary replied.

Isabelle looked shocked, but another wave of fear had gripped Clary.

"Jace! Jace, are you still here?" She moved to get up, and Isabelle stopped her. A moment later, Jace entered her room (and for once worrying about what her rich class mates would think about her shabby apartment didn't cross her mind) bringing with him his usual sense of hostility and stoic expression.

"Yes?" He asked. She looked him dead in the eye, unwavering in her determination.

"No one hears about this, okay? Not my mom, not the cops." She saw something flicker across her face. "Please, Jace. I'm begging."

He stared her down, then nodded. Clary breathed a sigh of relief, then looked to Isabelle.

"Okay, if that's what you want." Izzy responded, squeezing her hand. Then Jace spoke again.

"But what about that guy?" He said, too harshly. "You didn't call the cops, so now there's just some predator running around free to assault anyone he likes." He folded his arms across his chest, and Izzy squealed.

"Jace Herondale! You apologise right now."

"No." Clary said, something of a smile on her face. The siblings looked at each other strangely. Clary looked at her wall. "Have you ever been assaulted before?" She asked openly. Neither of the people in the room responded. "I have. And I've tried the whole 'go to the cops, tell the whole truth' thing, and it doesn't work. Ever. Not for me anyway. So, I'm sorry that I won't go to the cops. I truly believe you think it will help." She looked up, sadly. "But it won't. So let's just hope that he learned his lesson after you beat the crap out of him."

The pair in the room didn't know how to respond. Isabelle wrapped her arms around Clary, pulling her into a swift hug, but Clary was watching the blond boy over his sister's shoulder. There was something in the way he was looking at her now, something that made her uncomfortable.

"Okay -how about I cook! Yeah, that'll be fun, I'll cook you something comforting. Soup! I make a mean tomato and pumpkin soup." Isabelle chirped, attempting to lighten the mood.

"If by 'mean' you mean 'inedible'." Jace scoffed, turning to head out of the room. "I'll cook; I was already snooping through your cupboards already anyway…"

Isabelle pulled Clary to her feet, dragging her from the room, and Clary was glad for the company for once.

It was decided. If the world was going to keep throwing her curve balls, she would at least accept the advantages being thrown at her too. And right at this moment, the advantages were a raven haired beauty who wanted to discuss celebrities, and a senior who was far too hard to read. And that had to be okay by her.