Disclaimer: Do you feel Cassandra Clare watching you? I thought so. And the Cheeto people too.
Warning: This chapter contains more adult themes than the young or weak hearted should probably read (not to worry though, you'll see). So if you're younger than around 12 and older than around 70, steer clear.
Lital, you wanted a shout out, so here you go
Awakening
"What the hell happened?"
"Jace!"
The chorus of echoes followed Jace as he carried Clary through the thick muggy air and up the stone steps of the Institute. Alec and Isabelle had been waiting for him outside, and they stayed with him as he set Clary down on the soft carpet of the foyer floor. She had been jostled when he was running with her, and the wound at her neck was bleeding more freely now, covering the floor with ichor.
"Get Hodge." Jace said flatly.
"But Jace, you're covered in blood! What happened?"
"Get Hodge!" There was something in his voice then – panic. Isabelle scurried off to find Hodge, eyes wide.
"Jace," Alec said, voice pleading, "Tell me what happened. Please."
"Well let's see, I order of occurrence: the girl is a Shadowhunter, she killed a Ravener demon with her bare hands, and I ran with her bleeding, comatose body in my arms through the whole of Brooklyn. Oh, and the reason she's like this is because she wouldn't respond to my advances, so naturally I had to take a demon fang and spear her in the back of the head with it."
"No need to be sarcastic." Alec actually sounded a bit hurt, causing Jace to backpedal slightly.
"Alec," Jace said, the sarcasm in his voice replaced by mild patience. "I'm just tired. It's been a very long day. I'm sorry I snapped at you." And it had been a long day, Jace realized. It had been only that morning he had had a stand off with a traitorous warlock. That seemed not only years ago, but as if it had happened to someone else.
"It's ok, Jace, you don't have to explain," Alec said, voice gentle. "Do you want to tell me, or would you rather just tell Hodge?"
Crap, Jace groaned inwardly. Hodge hadn't approved of letting the girl leave their sight, how would he respond to her almost dying? The sight of Clary lying at his feet filled him with a sense of anxiety as he said, "I'd rather tell Hodge, even if that seems like walking into the seventh level of Hell at this point."
At this point Hodge himself hurried into the room, letting out a startled gasp when he saw the girl.
"To the Infirmary Jace, and what in the Angel's name were you thinking?"
Jace complied, clutching Clary close to his chest as he rose and followed Hodge from where he had stalked out of the room. The corridors of the Institute were cold as always, turning the cool sweat on the nape of Jace's neck to icy pinpricks. Having reached the infirmary, Jace stepped through the door, setting Clary on the bed nearest the door. Blood from her wound dripped slowly over Jace, covering his gear in fat, dark droplets.
Hodge came into the room then, bearing a tray of assorted steaming mixtures, gauze, and latex gloves. He set to work, Madame Fox assisting him, and after a few minutes of work on the girl seemed to realize he had an audience. Jace, Isabelle, and Alec were all standing in the sick room, watching intently.
"Get out." He said.
Isabelle looked to Jace to be insulted. "But you've never made us leave before! We always get to watch!" she whined.
"This girl is not family. Her clothes need to be torn off, they're covered in ichor. They are burning her skin. Get out."
"I for one," Jace drawled, "Agree with Isabelle. This may be a crucial point in our learning curriculum."
"You're a sick male Jace Wayland." Isabelle said, her voice tinged with amusement.
"Children," Hodge said, exasperated, "I need to help this girl. Please leave! And Jace, stay near – this day was fairly exciting; it has to go on record."
The moment they had all left the infirmary Isabelle and Alec stared at Jace. The stares made him uncomfortable, it was if they were seeing not their brother, but someone else entirely.
"I ask yet again," said Isabelle, "What the hell happened? And what are you going to tell Hodge?"
"I'm going to tell Hodge what happened, what else?" Jace said. "But I'm not going to tell him anything for as long as possible. Tonight I'm going out."
"But he told you to stay near," Alec said.
"The Pink Flamingo is only three blocks away. That's near. You want to join me Alec?"
"Uh, well… um, I'm – I'm not sure…I mean, I'm really tired, and everything-"
"Say no more, I realize cheap entertainment is beyond you dear brother. I realize grimly that you would never stoop to my level, and understand that beyond acceptance of that fact is the acceptance of myself. Iz, you in?"
"You're disgusting Jace," was all he got in response.
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The Pink Flamingo on a weekday night was disgusting as usual, but Jace was in no mood to be picky. He approached the pedestal where the scantily clad hostess stood, watching as she broke off from a conversation with a middle-aged warlock and turned towards him, smiling vibrantly.
"Jacey!" she called brightly, her bubble-gum tone piercing through the haze that had overcome him since leaving the Institute.
"Bebe!" Jace called back, "How's business?"
"Better with you here baby." She winked suggestively. "The usual?"
"You know me well gorgeous."
The music in the club was blaring from an unknown source, seeming to heighten Jace's senses as he waded his way through the dark room's sets of filthy tables after the hostess. The space was thickly veiled in some areas with dark cigarette smoke, and jeers echoed off of the raised stage in the center of the room as he skirted drunks and perverts all around. As she led him to a table in the back of the room, she pointed towards a low coffee colored couch, ordering, "Sit, I'll have a whiskey and basket of fries here in two shakes."
The food in question arrived seconds after she had left, and Jace dug in, ravenous. He hadn't eaten anything besides Isabelle's "oatmeal" that morning, and he had only scarfed down three bites of the disgusting concoction to spare Izzy's feelings. Jace sat back to watch the show, wanting nothing more than to get drunk and forget the days events.
Jace turned his attention towards the stage, but was disappointed. His gaze wasn't held rapt by the women on top of it tonight, as it usually was. All manner of dancer was present, from vampires to werewolves and witches, all showing off their meagerly dressed bodies, gyrating to the rhythm of the bass on poles rooted to the floor of the stage. Jace was wrapped up in his own thoughts, thinking through the haze of images that flashed through his mind; Clary, looking at him with a martyred expression in Pandemonium; Clary, shouting at him in the alleyway outside of the poetry club; Clary, lying bleeding on the floor of the Institute.
Jace pushed this last thought away with a grimace as a showgirl approached him, sauntering over from her place on the side of the stage. She drew near him, leaning down towards his ear as she whispered, "Come with me."
She left through a beaded doorway in the side of the room, disappearing through the cloud of smoke in her midst. Jace followed fluidly after her, feeling none of the usual anticipation. He found the showgirl shortly thereafter, leaning against a grimy wall near one of the backrooms. She smiled sultrily at him, showing teeth.
"My first condition," Jace intoned, leaning close to her, "is that you tell me what you are. I've had bad experiences in the past you see, one in particular involving a midget and a banana scarred me permanently."
She laughed. She was pretty, Jace realized, as she responded, "A werewolf," she said, grinning, "And this is free of charge." She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. He responded automatically, drawing her against him as she pulled hum through the nearest doorway and fell onto the dingy bed. She pulled off his shirt first, and then her own, keeping her lips in close contact with his skin. Yet even as she moved her mouth up and down his bare chest, something inside of him could not help but think this is wrong. Absolutely, completely wrong. Jace ignored the voice urging him to stop, and in retaliation brought the girl even closer to him, kissing her more deeply. She sighed, and her breath washed over his face, hot and moist. She downward, away from his mouth, and he couldn't take it anymore.
"Stop." He said, but she continued, unbuttoning his pants. "I said stop." Jace took her by the shoulders and lifted her off of himself, setting her on the bed. "And put your bra back on," Jace said, taking the article in question off the floor and handing it to her.
The werewolf girl looked at him with an expression that was both irritated and awestruck at the same time. "What's wrong?" she asked, clasping her lingerie.
"I'm just not in the mood, I'm sorry."
"I forgive you, maybe just because you're the best kisser I've encountered in my entire life," she said, somewhat breathless, "But I at least deserve an explanation for why you got my hopes up."
"I'm just… thinking about other things. I'm sorry."
"Ah, so you have a girlfriend."
"No."
She looked offended now, as if she couldn't form one good reason as to why he didn't want to have sex with her. "Then why?" But seeing the pained expression on his face, she seemed to reconsider. She was thoughtful as she said, "But there is someone else, isn't there? I can see it in your eyes."
"There's no one else. I'm just not in the mood."
"You're lying."
"What?" Jace said surprised. He hadn't expected a rebuff. "I'm not lying."
"Yes you are," the girl said unapologetically, "I can tell. You're either lying to me or lying to yourself. You pick." And with that she flounced out of the room.
Jace sat there for several moments, unmoving and unthinking. Her words rang in his ears like static; you're either lying to me or lying to yourself. But he wasn't lying to her, not really; he wasn't in the mood anymore. Could that really only leave one option? He thought of looking at himself in the mirror that morning, seeing the change in his eyes. He hadn't thought it was perceptible, but the werewolf girl had detected it. He really was changing, and the thought frightened him. He had been lying dormant for a long time, he knew, but Jace had had always assumed that it was permanent. That he couldn't change anymore than he already had. Jace had always thrown himself into the most dangerous situations, thinking that he had nothing to lose.
But now he did.
Jace realized it now, with perfect clarity.
He had feelings for the mundane girl, for Clary. It made sense, she had captivated him from the moment he had set eyes on her, running through his head; making herself impossible to forget. And then he had asked to go to find her alone, simply so he could be with her alone. Moreover, the sense of unexpectedness he had grown used to in Clary's presence was his perspective changing.
Unraveling his own thoughts was disconcerting, but at the same time it was a relief. Jace rose swiftly from the discolored bed, moving out of the dark room and into the club beyond. He spotted the werewolf girl, taunting a warlock in the corner. She spotted him, making eye contact as Jace mouthed, Thank You. She smiled, and then returned her attention towards her latest conquest.
Jace made his way through the dirty club and into the humid evening air outside. He felt different. Not in the strange way he had lately, but more like he had grown a foot overnight and had finally learned how to move. He knew himself again.
Jace walked to the Institute in the dark, earning stares from bystanders, and he realized he was still shirtless. Well, might as well flaunt it, Jace thought. He knew glamour protected his Marks, and those who could see them would ignore him anyways, so he strode down Broadway, moonlight glinting off his uncovered chest. He winked at tourists, strode past hot dog stands, and smiled innocently at everyone. Jace felt like himself again, confident and arrogant and proud of both. It felt good.
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He had never needed to talk to anyone before, about anything, so, lying in his room early the next morning it took Jace an extensive amount of time to decide if he should talk to Alec or not.
He eventually decided for it. What do I have to lose?
Jace rapped lightly on Alec's door, hoping his friend was up. He needn't have worried – a muffled groan came from behind the door, and Alec opened the door in his flannel pajama bottoms, his chest bare.
"I am not helping you clean up your vomit again Jacey dear."
Jace laughed, "I'm not even hung over Al, have some faith."
Alec looked at him suspiciously. "What do you mean you're not hung over? You're always hung over after you go to the Pink Flamingo. Well, hungover or otherwise inclined that is. And don't call me Al." A certain amount of resentment had crept into Alec's tone at this point.
"Well, Al," Jace said, grinning, 'If I seem to boast more than is becoming, my excuse if that is brag for humanity rather than myself.' "
"Don't quote Thoreau to me." Alec said, aggravated.
"I just wanted to talk, actually."
"No really. Why did you wake me up?"
"I told you. I want to talk."
"You never want to talk, no exceptions." Alec said skeptically, but he stepped aside and allowed Jace into the bedroom. The walls were familiarly covered in their dark brown wallpaper, and the room smelled of Alec; of soap and leather and cheetoes. Jace moved to the edge of the mattress and sat, saying, "Alec, I think I have feelings for someone."
Alec's eyes flew open, and he gave a startled gasp. "But-but...I suppose… Wait," he said, eyes narrowed, "Who is it?"
"Clary."
A pained expression came to Alec's face, though as to why Jace couldn't imagine. "The mundane. You. Have a crush. On a mundane?" Ah, so Alec was worried for him, was worried that he had made an error in judgment.
"She's not a mundane Alec, she's Nephilim. I put a glamour on her."
Alec let out a strangled sort of half-groan. "But I always thought- wait you did a glamour on her? You could have turned her Forsaken!"
Jace grinned wickedly. "I know."
"You know what?" Alec said, "Get out."
"What?"
"I said get out Jace Wayland." Alec snapped, pushing Jace towards the threshold. "Get out of my room; your total lack of respect for other people abhors me." And he slammed the door in Jace's face.
This is why I keep everything bottled up inside, Jace thought. Because when you try to talk to people, they act like you just tried to get them to unknowingly eat a moldy hot dog. Is it like this for everybody?
Jace decided to try Isabelle's room next, for lack of a better option. When he got to her room, however, he found it empty; Isabelle had no doubt slipped away to one of her night jaunts with the fairies in Central Park and hadn't returned yet. The only person left to try was Hodge, and that wasn't happening. He would do more than set upon Jace with questions about yesterday; if Jace asked him anything about women Hodge would probably direct him to a bookshelf, claiming the answer to be hidden in an ancient tome.
There is one person who will listen. And with that thought, Jace was setting off towards the infirmary. He was trepidatious; he wanted Clary to be well with a desire so prominent it frightened him.
But the passageways of the old church seemed inviting when Jace gently eased the door open, sliding it shut behind him with a faint click. He almost didn't dare look for her bed, but forced a glance in her direction after a moment of internal conflict.
Clary was still unconscious, lying in bed with a peaceful expression. Her hair fanned around her in a trail of coppery thread, and her mouth was open, her lips forming a soft "O" as she breathed quietly in and out.
Jace's heart leapt at the sight of her, then fell sharply. She was unconscious. She was unconscious because of him, because he hadn't gotten there in time. Guilt weighed down on him like an iron chain, holding him to the floor. And with the guilt came dawning realization. When she wakes up, if she wakes up, Jace thought bitterly, she won't have any idea how I feel about her. How does this work? He would have to get her to feel for him back, he thought. No matter how I've changed in the last few days, it's completely irrelevant if it's unrequited. She has no idea.
"Clary?" Jace whispered. "Clary I'm sorry." He sat gently on the edge of the bed, taking her hand in his own. It was cold and frail, and so Jace held it tighter, as if his touch could restore her warmth. Slowly Jace reached out his other hand and touched the back of her head, lifting it to reveal the bandage bound tightly to her neck. Inhaling sharply Jace averted his eyes, lowering her head back down to the pillow, but cupping her face lightly. She stirred at his touch, and Jace abruptly retracted his hand, waiting with baited breath until she was still. "Clary I'm so sorry I was late." He sighed.
She said something then – just a murmur in her induced sleep – but it sent Jace's heart soaring.
It was his name.
"Jace." She whispered again. He stared at her for several moments until she fell silent, heart pounding. Why would she have said my name? Unless… she's thinking of me right now, just as I think of her – all the time. He smiled, and it was a true smile, devoid of any sarcasm or bitterness.
Jace sat there in the dawn light of the infirmary, grinning with her hand in his for an immeasurable amount of time. It could have been hours or days, but when he finally released his grip on her and moved toward the door the light filtering in through the windows was stronger, the light of mid-morning, and he could faintly hear Isabelle screaming at Alec from the kitchen.
"Goodbye, Clary, I'll see you soon."
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When Jace got to the kitchen moments later Isabelle was threatening Alec, waving a dagger at his throat.
"You can't take it to heart, he had no idea-" She broke off as Jace entered the room, stared pointedly from boy to boy, then turned to a cutting board with a huff, grabbing a nearby apple and starting to viciously hack at it with her dagger.
"Morning guys."
"Morning Jace." trilled Isabelle. Alec turned his head studiously in the other direction.
"Still not speaking to me for no reason?"
"I have a reason."
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"None of your business."
"Iz. Talk some sense into your brother."
Isabelle looked disapprovingly at him. "I'm not getting involved."
"You seemed plenty involved before I walked in," Jace said, raising an eyebrow.
Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "I was simply sating some facts to Alec, which, incidentally, is all I could do now. So forget it. I've already tried to make one argument."
"Then I'm leaving." said Jace. "One person angry at me is enough. Plus now I don't have to see you torture apples into something you claim is edible."
"Fuck you, Jace."
"Give me a time and place, I'll be there." And with a wink, he left.
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Managing to duck Hodge, Jace visited Clary in the infirmary that night, and again the next morning. He always did it in secret, for reasons he couldn't explain to himself. Maybe he felt vulnerable; he didn't know. Both times when he went, he would sit of the edge of the bed, sometimes holding her hand, sometimes humming under his breath. Both times he checked her wound, and both times she murmured his name. Always his heart would at first soar, then falter, wondering if she was dreaming or having nightmares.
He went in the afternoon the day after his spat with Alec to visit her again, but heard voices from inside. He dropped to a crouch behind the door, listening intently.
"Is there anything Jace didn't tell you?" Isabelle's sarcasm was plain.
A slight cough. "This is the Institute right?" came a feeble voice that was undeniably Clary's. She's awake! Jace thought.
"Yes, this is the Infirmary," Isabelle said dryly, "Not that you haven't figured that out already."
A sudden gasp, then Isabelle's worried tone, "Are you okay?"
"My stomach," Clary moaned.
"Oh, I almost forgot, Hodge said to give you this when you woke up. You haven't eaten anything in three days, that's probably why you feel sick.
A light slurping noise. "What is this?"
"One of Hodge's tisanes, they always work. I'm Isabelle Lightwood by the way, I live here."
"I know your name." That's right, she was observant, Jace recalled. "I'm Clary, Clary Fray." she said. "Did Jace bring me here?"
A slight thrill went through him as he heard her say his name. She was conscious now, it counted for more.
"Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If he'd done it while my parents were here, he'd have gotten grounded for sure." Jace chuckled at what he imagined the expression on Maryse's face would have been.
A pause. "Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself." So Alec had shared his meager knowledge.
"I guess I did." She said timidly.
"But you're a mundie."
"Amazing isn't it?" At that Jace snickered so loudly that he had to back away from the door. He headed for the corridor and made a bee-line for the music room, and in stepping over the threshold, the smell of polished wood and brass greeted him like an old friend. He had always felt safe in the music room. His father had taught him to play the piano at a young age, and Jace had dabbled in composing ever since. He sat on the black, polished bench and set his hands upon the keys, remembering. The memories were new and old; his father showing him how to curve his hands around an apple for the proper hand positioning; Jace playing himself his first composed song, at age eight; Clary shouting at him in the alley; her face when she had whispered his name the night before. With these memories in hand, he began to play, creating a complex tune – inspired by Clary.
He had been playing for some time when he heard someone enter the room, quiet as a whisper. "Alec?" He said, hoping he had come to make amends. "Is that you?"
"It's not Alec." The voice said. "It's me, Clary." She stepped further into the room, and he saw her clearly. The wound at her neck was fully healed, the bandages removed, and she was fully alert; healthy. Jace's heart swelled, he hadn't done any lasting damage. She was fine. But at the same time he looked at her and felt undeniable joy, in the back of his mind he felt despair.
She has no idea.
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There, I hope you liked it, it took me long enough to write. Next chapter will go up soon. Reviews make me happy, no matter what's in them. You guys all rock, I got quite a lot of feedback after the last chapter, and it helped with this one a lot.
Good night Wisconsin! (Bonus points to anyone who knows where that's from )
Love, Kathy
