I have a lot of schoolwork over the next couple of weeks, so I worked like mad to get this written today. I hope you enjoy!

I wake up the next morning to find Thomas draped against my bedroom door, wearing nothing but a skimpy pair of red and green briefs. "Merry Christmas," he purrs, not noticing that I'm nearly wetting myself with fright.

"How the hell did you get in here?" I choke out as he wriggles his way under the blankets.

"Jimmied the lock," he says, sighing in contentment as he settles into the warmth.

"Jimmied the lock?"

"That's what I said." He slips his hand down my boxers, smiling when I groan in response. "I'm excellent with my hands."

After a vigorous welcome home, Thomas settles on the bed and plays with the puppy while I do some much needed tidying.

"How about Rusty?" he muses. He buries his face in the puppy's fur, waiting for me to answer. "Fido?" I shake my head and he sighs. "Flopsy? Mopsy? Cottontail?" His hand gestures get more elaborate with each suggestion, and by the end of his rant he looks like he's having some sort of seizure.

I look up from the floor, where I'm currently organizing my ties by color. "I am not naming my dog after bunnies from a kid's book."

"People name dogs after things they like," Thomas pouts. "You don't like anything."

"I like cooking."

"Oh, well, brilliant. Let's name the dog Spatula. Or perhaps he's more of a Blender?"

I pick up my tie rack and place it carefully in the closet, equidistant between my shirts and my pants. "I should have just made Emma name him. That would have solved this entire dilemma."

Thomas looks horrified. "You can't let somebody else name your dog!"

"Right, so you're trying to tell me you named Zola? That's got Théo written all over it."

"I happen to be a great Zola fan," Thomas argues. "You could say he changed my life."

"Or I could say you're full of shit." I flop down on the bed next to Thomas and the puppy totters up to lick my face. "Hey buddy," I coo, unable to help myself. He really is adorable. "You really need a name." He leans over and licks my nose, most likely in agreement.

"Let's head over to mine," Thomas says suddenly, interrupting my conversation with the dog. "A change of scenery might help."

I freeze, unsure of what to do. With the way Théo and I parted before Christmas and the position I found him in last night, I'm pretty sure I'm the last person he wants to see. I'm also not sure that I can face him without thinking about exactly how he looked on the sofa, flushed and sweaty and thrusting into Gareth's mouth.

"Théo's gone for the weekend," Thomas says, as if he can read my mind. Not for the first time, I wonder how much those two share. I've never told Thomas to keep what we do a secret, and it's not like we're overly subtle. Still, I wonder if he's told Théo we haven't actually fucked. "Won't be back until tomorrow night."

"Gone again? What's he doing this time?"

"Oh, you know," Thomas says, scooping the puppy up and putting him in his carrier. "Another gallery opening or something."

"A gallery opening? Over the Christmas holidays?"

Thomas runs his hands over the carrier, smoothing down the bits of stray fabric. "Maybe it's a concert. I don't know, Jay. I'm his roommate, not his bloody mother. I don't keep track of everything he does."

It's the first time in our friendship that Thomas has snapped at me, and it hurts. My irritation flares, and I'm irrationally angry with Théo, sure that this is his fault. He manages to invade my life, even when he's not around. "I know you're not, but I find it kind of hard to believe that he disappears every second weekend to mysterious "functions" that you're never invited to and know nothing about. Call me a skeptic, but I call bullshit."

"Of course you do." Thomas puts the puppy down on the bed with a sigh. "Because you don't trust anybody."

I can't believe that Thomas would throw that back in my face. What on earth could Théo be doing to make him so defensive? "Can you blame me? The one person I trusted in my life lied to me for months before crushing my heart."

Thomas cringes, as if my words are causing him actual pain. He reaches out to touch my cheek, but I shy away. He falls down on the bed, and looks up at me with a pained expression. "I've never given you a reason not to trust me."

While this is technically true, it's also not the point. Friendships are supposed to be about sharing, and I'm so frustrated with feeling like I only know half the story. "Well you've certainly never given me a reason to trust you either. You and Théo are both so fucking secretive. I barely know anything about you, and what I do know other people have told me! I don't even know how you met, for Christ's sake. You know everything about me, and I know nothing about you."

"That's not fair, Jay. It's not the same."

"How is it any different? What, because it's your lives, not mine? Your pain instead of mine?"

Thomas just sits there for a moment, as if puzzling out what to say. "It just is, Jay." He pauses again, and then speaks hesitantly, as if he can already predict my reaction. "It's complicated."

I take the dog out of her carrier and let him run out of the room, not wanting to frighten him. I already know that there's no way I'm going over to Théo's with Thomas. Not now, and maybe not ever again. "Oh, well if it's complicated. Why didn't you just say so? I would have totally understood."

"Théo's secrets are not mine to tell," Thomas says after a long pause. "And as for my own, I'd rather not get into them with someone who's going to stand there and make me feel like shit. I won't reward you for being a pushy asshole." He gets up slowly and walks to the door. "I'll give you a couple of days to calm down." He looks back. "Unless you feel like apologizing."

I turn away and look out the window at the sea. The waves are high today, crashing against the beach with undue force. I refuse to apologize for something that's not my fault; perhaps Thomas won't reward an asshole, but I won't submit to ultimatums. "I meant what I said."

Thomas closes the door gently on his way out.

It's not until he's gone that I fully understand how completely Thomas has infiltrated my life. I can't watch something ridiculous on tv without wanting to text him or go for a walk without wanting his company. He's managed to weasel his way into almost every facet of my life and I miss him more than I thought I would. Whatever compunctions Emma and Théo might have about our relationship, at least I know now that it isn't about sex. In a weird way, I think the only reason I can get off with Thomas is because our relationship isn't sexual.

I'm just not really sure how to apologize. I'm still upset about all the secrecy and the lying, and I'm not sure that I'll be able to stop myself from lashing out again when I do try to talk to him. Part of me wishes that he would just show up at the door and pretend like the whole thing never happened. I could take a page out of Alec's book and start lying to myself. It's never seemed like an option before, but I'm starting to see the appeal. I pick up a pebble from the beach and trying skipping it, but the waves suck it away quickly.

Westley – named after the same character in The Princess Bride, because of Thomas's advice of naming your pet after something you like – starts to bark, pulling me from my thoughts. I look up, only to find Théo storming down the beach, his stupid scarf flapping in the wind. I debate make a run for it, as juvenile as that is, but Westley – the treacherous beast – scampers off in his direction, tail wagging furiously.

Théo scoops up the dog without breaking stride, and places him carefully in the sand at my feet before getting up in my face. "What the hell did you do?" he demands.

I'm so shocked at his vehemence that I answer reflexively. "I didn't do anything."

"Bullshit!" In his rage, much like his drunkenness, Théo's accent is heightened. He sounds almost like a parody of an angry French man, and if I weren't so pissed I would probably laugh. "He's moping in his bed like someone's killed his dog, and he won't tell me why."

"And you automatically assume that it's my fault?"

Théo's glare is murderous. "He doesn't have anybody else; there's just me and you. So I know it was you."

"Oh, you know it was me, do you? Well maybe you should go back and double-check your facts, before you start storming the beach like a fucking crusader. I didn't do anything to Thomas except call him on his bullshit. I'm sick of being the only one out of the loop. If Thomas were really upset about this fight, then he'd come and actually talk to me. He'd actually give a little back, instead of refusing to tell me anything about his life."

Théo kicks at the sand, startling Westley enough that he cowers behind my legs. "You selfish little bastard," he hisses. "Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Did you ever stop to think that maybe Thomas doesn't talk about what happened before he came here because he doesn't like to think about it?" He barrels on, answering his own question before I have a chance. "Of course you don't. You're too busy wallowing in self-pity to realize that you're not the only one with problems."

I'm so angry that I could drag Théo out into the ocean and drown him. I'm actually glad he cut me off on the beach, because if he had followed me home, I couldn't be certain that I wouldn't have chucked a pot of boiling water in his stupid, smug face. "Oh this is rich. You're going to call me on selfishness? After what you pulled with Gareth the other night?"

For an instant Théo backs down. His face blanches and he's quite obviously thrown. "What happened with Gareth was none of your business," he says stiffly.

"I just think it's pathetic," I press, "taking advantage of a kid who clearly admires you just so you can prove that you can."

"I don't need to prove anything." The wind whips Théo's scarf in his face and he throws it from his shoulder in rage. Westley bounds after it, clamping it between his teeth. I hope he rips it to shreds. "I don't need your permission to fuck someone."

"No, but you could at least show a modicum of fucking decorum. You don't need to leave the door wide open for anyone to walk in."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Théo bites, "but there is such a thing as spontaneity. Just because you live life like a fucking robot doesn't mean the rest of us do."

I nearly howl in frustration. I am so tired of being constantly bullied about my views on sex. Even Thomas, though he means it good-naturedly, never leaves me alone. Emma has always mocked me for being puritanical, and now Théo has started in. "What I'm like in bed is none of your business," I say, spinning around him and walking toward the house.

"But what I'm like is your business?" He scoffs. "A hypocritical lawyer, what a surprise. I bet you're absolute shit, that's why this is pissing you off so much – you can't stand the thought of someone else getting something that you can't have."

I turn around to face Théo, my eyes burning with the pain of holding back tears of frustration. "Maybe you're right," I choke out. "Maybe that's why my fiancé took off with a stripper."

Théo throws his hands in the air, looking as frustrated as I feel. "You can't keep throwing that back in my face," he says. "Yes, it's horrible because it is and I would never pretend otherwise, but you act as if Alec was your entire life."

"Because he was!" My voice catches and my throat burns with the effort of shouting. "I spent my four years of undergrad trying to get into Harvard Law. Then once I got there, it was a constant fucking struggle to stay at the top. You say I've never had to deal with real problems, but I bet you've never had people steal books out of your locker and cut out the pages just so that they could rise above you in the class standings. The reason you become a cutthroat lawyer is that you don't have any choice. It's either fight or fucking perish, okay. I didn't have time for a personal life, and no – sue me – I didn't have the personality for casual sex. When I met Alec he became the first person that I had trusted, ever. He was the first everything for me. So don't chase after me and pretend like you know anything that I've been through. Maybe I'm not spontaneous and maybe I am uptight, but don't you ever tell me that my problems don't matter. Maybe Thomas has been through hell, and maybe the reason you keep disappearing every couple of weeks is a matter of life or death, but that does not negate what I've been through. That's not the way pain works, asshole."

Théo just stands there, dumbstruck. His face twists, his rage dissolving into pity. And well that, that is the last thing I want from him. "Don't you dare," I snarl, gathering Westley up in my arms, Théo's stupid scarf still trapped in his teeth. "I don't want your pity and I don't want your apologies. Just leave me the hell alone."

I don't turn around until I'm safely inside with the door locked. When I finally glance out the window I see that Théo is in the same position he was when I left, staring at the house with his hands in his pockets, not even bothering to move as the spray rises steadily higher.

I've just settled the dog into his kennel for a nap when the phone rings. It's in the next room and I ignore it, sure that it's either Théo or Thomas, neither of whom I want to speak with right now. It goes to voicemail and I start getting ingredients out of the fridge for homemade Reese's peanut butter cups; if I'm going to be miserable, then I may as well be stuffing my face while I'm doing it. The phone rings another two times while I'm making the cookies, prompting me to start swearing on an actual appliance and thus question my entire worldview.

I'm halfway through the dishes when it rings for the fourth time. I'm starting to crumble a little; if Thomas is this upset, then maybe I should pick up. It's only when it doesn't stop ringing that I think that something might be up. Whoever is on the other line lets it ring and ring and ring until voicemail eventually kicks in. A little panicked that something might be wrong with Emma and the baby, I hastily wipe my hands and sprint to the next room, swiping the phone from the table with shaking hands. When it starts ringing again I nearly drop it on the floor.

It's Alec.

I hesitate, but I know I can't ignore the call. He would never be this persistent over something trivial. A cold sense of foreboding spreads out in my chest, and I pray that nothing has happened to Isabelle, Jace, or Maryse. I've long given up hope that Alec will call to tell me he wants a second chance, so I know that something must be terribly wrong.

"Hello?" I can hear Alec's quick breath of relief that I've finally picked up.

"Jay." It's like his voice is a faucet and hearing it turns on a flood of memories that I have no control over. I know why Emma told me that we would never be able to be friends; there's a breaking point for love, and once you surpass that, you'll never be able to go back to the person you were before. Alec could never be anything less than what he was to me; my heart would never be able to accept it.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Kipling." Alec makes a small, pained noise in the back of his throat, and the urge to reach out and comfort him is almost painful. My own horror at hearing the news is subsidiary – I just want to make sure that Alec is all right.

"I'm sure it's nothing," I start, but he cuts me off.

"No, he's really sick." I hear a sniffle and my heart aches. "He needs to be put down, Jay, the vet told me today."

"Alec, I'm so sorry."

"Will you come say goodbye?" When I don't answer Alec sniffles again and I'm sure that if he asked me take Magnus and give him a surf lesson I would happily agree. "It's just that he's never really gotten over you leaving. He looked for you weeks when I came home, and I think it would really make him happy before – you know." His voice starts to shake and I can hear someone whispering quietly in the background. It's Magnus, I'm sure of it. He's the one who gets to comfort Alec now. My stomach twists and I walk toward the bathroom, just in case.

"Of course I'll come, Alec. I'm driving to the airport right now."

"You could take the Lightwood jet," Alec says.

"That won't be necessary." I've only been on the Lightwood jet a couple of times, but that was enough to create a couple of memories I certain don't want to relive. "There are flights going out all the time. I'll be there in the morning."

"Thanks, Jay."

"Anytime," I breathe. And then, after he's hung up, "I love you."

Time is of the essence, so I throw together a quick overnight bag and put Westley in his carrier. I throw my bag in my car on my way to Thomas's house. When I get there I don't bother knocking, and instead barge right in. Thomas and Théo are sitting at the table, eating together and locked in what appears to be heavy conversation.

Théo is facing me, and his eyes widen comically when he sees me burst through the door. "Jay," he says, his fork dropping to his plate with a clatter. Thomas spins around so fast that he almost falls off his chair, and jumps up to greet me.

"I don't have a lot of time," I say, shoving the carrier into his hands. "Please, will you take care of Westley for a few days for me?"

Thomas puts the carrier down on his chair and grabs my arms, holding them tightly. "Jay, what the hell is wrong? You look like you're having some kind of breakdown."

"It's Alec," I say. "He called and I need to go to New York."

Thomas moves his hands from my arms to my face, holding it steady. "Breathe, Princess. Now tell me why you need to go to New York."

"It's my dog, Kipling," I say. A wave of sadness settles over me as I speak the words I've been try to push away from my mind since Alec called. "He's being put down tomorrow and I have to go say goodbye."

"Oh, Jay." Thomas pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me tightly enough to cut off my air supply. I look up and see Théo rising from his chair. He pours up a glass of water and brings it over, handing it to me without a word.

"We'll drive you to the airport," he says as soon as my mouth is full and I can't argue. "It'll be quicker that way."

"You don't have – "

"We want to," Thomas insists, leaning over to brush his lips against my temple. "That's what friend do, Jay."

I take the last gulp of my water and nod my thanks. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get words out without losing it, and Thomas and Théo seem to understand.

"I'll drive," Théo says, grabbing my keys and sliding into his sandals. "If I can make it from Beaumont Hamel to Arras in twenty-one minutes during harvest season, I can get you to LAX in time to make a flight."

Not understanding a word of what that means, but willing to take the favor anyway, I wait for Thomas to settle Westley into a room where he can't get into trouble, and then pile in the car to begin the long trip to New York.

Even with the overnight flight, mad dash to my mother's apartment to get cleaned up and changed, and breakfast consisting only of half a muffin my mother's doorman gives me because he think I look pathetic, I still only make it to the vet's office with ten minutes to spare. Thankfully Alec hasn't arrived yet, so I have time to compose myself before I have to see him again. I pace around the parking lot, cursing myself for not bringing a warmer coat. January in Las Angeles can make a person forget about the biting wind and wet snow, but thirty seconds back on the east coast is all it takes to bring all those memories crashing down.

I've just started dancing on the spot when I see Alec's familiar truck pull in. Back when we first started dating, that truck was one of the reasons I fell in love with him; like Alec, it's entirely unpretentious and unexpected. I certainly couldn't believe that a Lightwood was driving one. It seemed impossible that the same family my mother mooned over and counted on for benefits and party fundraisers could have spawned the kind of guy who would drive around in a truck like that.

As he parks the truck and shuts off the engine, I start to shake. I feel acutely nauseous, and for the first time in my life, entirely unprepared. I'm thankful that I don't have my own car, because when I see Magnus step out of Alec's truck and walk to the driver's side to meet him, I'm sure that I would drive away and never look back. Over time I've tried to convince myself that there's nothing special about Magnus Bane – that he's stupid and inconsiderate and unattractive when he's not fully made up and cast under flattering lighting. But here, looking at him in his understated black jeans and form-fitting winter jacket, I know at least one of those is completely false. As I see him whisper something quietly in Alec's ear, squeezing gently on his shoulder, I get the sneaking suspicion that none of them are true.

Steeling myself for the inevitable blow of first contact, I make my way toward Alec's truck, holding my head high and schooling my features into the impartial expression I use in court. Magnus shifts a little closer to Alec's side as I approach, and they thread their fingers seamlessly. I pretend not to notice, and push away the sharp stab of pain that accompanies.

"Thank you for coming," Alec says as soon as we're close enough to talk. "I'm really happy you did."

"Well," I say briskly, wanting to keep this as no-nonsense as possible. "He's my dog too."

Magnus moves forward almost imperceptibly, but Alec brushes his hand up his sleeve and he settles back. I almost wish he would do something. My nerves are frayed, and Magnus looks about as sturdy as a house of cards. It wouldn't be good manners to hit your ex-fiancé's new boyfriend outside a veterinary clinic, but sometimes we have to make due with what life gives us.

"Someone came to pick Kipling up earlier today," Alec continues, his voice a little too fast and a little too high. "He can't really walk, so it would have been too hard to try to move him ourselves."

I just nod and Alec's voice trails off. We enter the building together, and Alec takes the lead, directing us to the back room that's used as an area for families to say goodbye. To my disappointment, but not really surprise, Magnus also follows him back. Swallowing my irritation, I stand off to the side as the three of us approach the final door. Magnus, unfortunately, is much more astute than I have previously given him credit for.

"I hope it doesn't bother you, James," he said quietly.

I know he's only trying to be polite, but my emotions are already on overdrive, and the last fucking thing I wanted today was for Magnus Bane to try to strike up a conversation. "You hope it doesn't bother me? No, Magnus, by all means. You already stole my fiancé, so by all means, take my dog too."

"Jay!" Alec sounds horrified, but Magnus just bristles, his green eyes flashing.

"You can't steal a person," he says lowly, obviously not wanting to cause a commotion.

"Magnus, please." Alec slips his hand into Magnus's again and then turns to me. "Jay, don't be upset. Magnus just wants to say goodbye; he loves Kipling too."

"Of course he does," I snap back viciously, "Kipling belonged to somebody else first."

Magnus moves forward, ready to say something back, but Alec gives him a strong tug and steps between us, looking livid. "Look," he says, "this is a horrible situation and most of it is my fault, but if you two don't shut the fuck up and get along for thirty seconds, then neither of you are coming in."

Even if I had wanted to argue, the sight of Alec losing his temper like that would have rendered me incapable. He really has changed since we broke up. I don't know if that makes it hurt more or less.

"Magnus, you come in with me first," Alec says firmly, as if daring either of us to argue. "You can say goodbye and then send Jay in."

The two of them disappear into the room together and I quietly try to resist the urge to punch a wall. The minutes tick by, and eventually Magnus exits the room with a red nose and blurry eyes. He breezes right past me without a second glance, and I open the door to step in.

When I approach the table, Kipling whines and shoves his giant muzzle into my hands. It's hard to reconcile this frail creature with the proud, strong dog I knew, and I feel the first tears starting to pool.

"He missed you so much," Alec says, having given up his own battle with tears.

Kipling licks my hand, whining softly until I lean down to press my cheek to his fur. I run my hand down his back, cringing when I feel his ribs so near the surface. Alec places his hand on top of mine and leans down as well. "I'm so sorry," he whispers into Kipling's fur, and I'm not entirely sure which one of us he's talking to.

"It's okay," I answer, knowing that it's probably both. "I'm here now."

Kipling whines again and my tears start to flow in earnest, staining his grey fur black. "Goodbye, buddy," I choke, wrapping my arms around his neck for one last hug. "I'm gonna miss you."

"I need a few more minutes with him," Alec says, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. "Do you think you'll still be out there when I'm done?"

"I doubt it."

Alec takes a step toward me. "Jay, I – "

I move back, unsure of what I'll do if Alec actually touches me. "Don't. Alec, I'm sorry but I don't want to hear it, whatever it is." I turn to walk toward the door. Just before I leave, I look back to find Alec doubled over into Kipling's side, and I can't stop the rush of emotion that overtakes me. "Alec, you're going be okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'll be okay."

"He'll take care of you?"

"Yeah, he will."

"Goodbye, Alec." The tears are still flowing freely, and I don't do anything to stop them.

"Bye Jay," he says softly. "Take care of yourself."

I manage to make it past Magnus Bane without losing it. I save that for the parking lot, where I hunker down behind a parked car and let go of everything I've been holding in for the past sixteen hours. When I've exhausted what energy I had left I call a cab and get him to bring me directly to the airport. I'll get my mother to send me my things, because I can't spend another second in New York City.

I spend the flight in a haze of grief, fatigue, and whiskey. It's still pitch black when the cab drops me at home, and it takes several tries to get the key in the door and get inside. I'm still wearing a winter jacket and two sweaters, and I can barely breathe for the heat.

I strip off layers as I walk, discarding clothes along the kitchen floor. Once I'm down to my boxers I grab a bottle of whisky from its place above the stove and pour up a couple of shots. Just as I'm tipping the second one back I hear footsteps creeping across the kitchen and turn to find Théo standing at my island.

"You left the door unlocked," he says, looking directly at my face. "I thought you might need some company."

"Its…five thirty-three," I slur, tipping back another shot. "Why the hell are you awake?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says. "I saw the cab, and well." He gestures at himself and then lets his arms fall to his sides.

"I don't think I'll be very good company," I say truthfully, ignoring the burn of the fourth shot. "I've had a trying couple of days."

Théo steps forward and grabs the bottle from my hand, pushing gently against my chest when I make a swipe for it. "I think you've had enough, Jay."

I place my hand over his, pinning it to my chest. His hands are so smooth; not at all like someone who grew up on a farm. They're also much smaller than mine. "I wasn't finished."

Théo gently pries his hand away and puts the bottle on the counter. "I think you should try to get some sleep," he says gently, herding me down the hallway.

I walk toward my room, nearly tripping on a dip in the floor along the way. Théo's arms shoot out to help me, but I don't actually fall. I turn sharply into my room, and he follows closely behind, his hand twitching reflexively toward his pocket.

"I hired Magnus Bane, you know," I say when I've settled into on top of the blankets. For some reason I feel like this is very important information.

"What?"

"The stripper. The one that Alec left me for. I hired him for Alec's twenty-fifth birthday."

"I'm sorry." He really does look sorry, perched awkwardly on the side of my bed.

"Don't be. I suppose it would have happened anyway. Apparently I didn't make him very happy. He seems better off without me."

"He didn't deserve you," Théo says fiercely, moving a little closer.

"That's not true at all." I think of how sad Alec was yesterday, how broken he sounded when saying goodbye. "He was so good." My voice falters and I can't remember what I was going to say, so I just press my face into my pillow, mumbling bits of utter nonsense under my breath.

"You're always taking care of things," Théo murmurs quietly, and I'm fairly sure that he doesn't intend for me to hear him. "But who takes care of you?"

"I don't need to be taken care of," I spit into the pillow. I've been taking care of myself for as long as I can remember, so I don't really know what Théo is talking about. I can't really give it proper thought though; my head is starting to feel hazy, and it's getting harder to keep my eyes open.

"Oh, Jay," Théo says, and his voice sounds very far away. "Everyone needs to be taken care of sometimes." I feel the soft fabric of my blanket being pulled up to my shoulders and I shiver, snuggling into the warmth. I hear Théo's footsteps as he walks over to the door, but by the time he leaves I'm already asleep.

Oh, Jay. I am pleased to report that things will get a little better from. Of course, I can't promise that they all won't fall to shit again soon (in fact, I can almost promise they will...)