~ Chapter Six ~
The Storm

When Jace was seven, his father walked in on him cheating on a test. He hadn't been paying much attention during his lessons at the time, nor had he been studying like he claimed he had. His father, having become suspicious, caught Jace off guard with a surprise exam, and Jace knew he had to do something. He didn't know nearly enough of the answers to the the questions—not that he was going to admit that. Especially not when he knew the type of punishment it would incur him. And so instead, he had waited for his father to leave the room and then ran over to the book shelf, hoping desperately to find the answers he needed.

His father walked in on him mid-page flip.

He had not been able to move much after that—not that his father cared. "It is not my fault that you chose to cheat, Jonathan." His father had said at the time. "So I will not have my time wasted simply because you were punished for your dishonesty." Jace was made to study and ignore the pain that the hard wooden chairs caused him every time he sat. And he was forced to train, enduring the belt sized lacerations that crossed his back as they seared and reopened with each movement.

Jace always made sure to study after that; and he never cheated on an exam again—the punishment far worse than it would have been had he just been honest.

But now, in this moment, Jace couldn't be more aware of the fact that he had apparently learned absolutely nothing from that lesson.

Except that this punishment . . .?

This was worse.

This was infinitely worse.

Jace would gladly take his fathers belt to every part of his body—every piece of flesh and bone—than to have Clary standing there looking at him.

And Dear God, what was she wearing?! His eyes damn near popped out of his head as he bit down hard enough on the inside of his cheek to draw blood. The black Shadowhunter gear—Where did you get Shadowhunter gear?!—tightly hugged the small curves that he knew she didn't think she had. She definitely had them. And the gear definitely accentuated those curves to what Jace would consider a heart-stopping degree—stop staring at her chest! But the gear also kept her sleek and deadly at the same time. He knew from experience how fluidly one could move inside it. How quickly he could move in it. Expelling his breath, Jace's gaze traveled back up her body and he groaned inwardly. Her curls were raining deliciously over her shoulders becoming the fiery waterfall he always preferred. Are you trying to kill me? She looked—he swallowed—she looked fierce and sexy and dangerous. She looked like a Shadowhunter. By the Angel, I can't do this. He could feel his body tensing up the longer he stared at her, heat spreading through his limbs.

And then he met her eyes.

He couldn't breathe. No, no, no. He could feel his lips part, and still, he couldn't drag in air; his lungs unable to move under his constricted chest. God hated him. That had to be it. God . . . the Angel . . . the entire heavenly fucking army . . . they all hated him.

It was like time slowed down for Jace, the moment that door slammed shut. Like he was watching from the outside of his body almost. There was Aline, flying out of his embrace; and him, whirling toward the door and seeing . . . Oh, God. Her wide emerald eyes were shattered, and he felt like he was the one holding the hammer that had destroyed them. She had seen them—by the Angel, she had seen them. That was when his breath had become restricted and an intense frenzied panic began blooming in the pit of his stomach. It made his skin crawl like he was covered in thousands upon thousands of ants. And he felt nauseous. What are you doing here?! Staring at the nightmare come to life in front of him, Jace was vaguely aware of the other girl crying out in surprise. She might have even spoken—he wasn't sure. He only had eyes for Clary right now. She's here . . . she's in Idris. She didn't stay in New York . . . she didn't listen. In the span of a second, he could feel himself spiraling downward—could feel his panic turning into anger. He wanted to scream at her. He wanted to grab her and demand to know what she was doing there. Didn't she know the trouble she would be in? And yet . . . he did nothing. He only just stood there, unable to move. Unable to breathe. And wishing more than anything that this was just a nightmare. That he would wake up and this wouldn't be real. Please, please, don't be real. He could beg all he wanted. It wouldn't change anything. This was real. She was real. The truth of it hit him like a diesel truck, but with a pain far worse than a body being physically broken.

Jace had always thought that looking at Clary was like taking the freshest, purist, air into his lungs—so why couldn't he breathe?

And if looking at her pained him so much, why couldn't he look away?

You know why.

Clary gave a shuttering breath and time sped back up.

With her mouth parted, her lower lip trembled and Jace clenched his fist. But her eyes—those Idris eyes—burned with anger and devastation and pain so real that Jace wished he could do something to take it away. Punish me, not her. Not her. And they burned with questions he couldn't possibly answer. They were the only eyes in the world that could make him want to drop to his knees and beg to be loved. To be held.

Digging his heels into the ground, Jace restrained himself, irritated that he even had to do so. His body shouldn't still be reacting to her like that, but it did. He knew it always would. And yet none of it mattered. He had done everything—everything—to keep her at home! To keep her safe! She couldn't be here. Not now. Not her. He had failed her, whether she knew it or not. Why. Why couldn't you stay? He still wanted to grab her and hug her but he wanted to push her away, too. He wanted to beg for forgiveness while screaming at her for coming. If the Clave found out she was here—shit. Jace blinked slowly. Shit, shit, shit. Did they already know? They had to know, didn't they? But Jace regrettably already knew the answer. If the Clave knew she was here, someone would have told him—Alec would have told him. It would be all this fucking city talked about—the daughter of Valentine showing up in Alicante. He had heard nothing. Which meant Clary was here illegally. His heart constricted painfully, the blood draining from his face at the thought. By the Angel, Clary, what have you done.

And then Jace heard Aline ask Clary who she was, and he gave a slight start. He had completely forgotten she was there. Well this can't get any more terrible, can it? Why not start the introductions. Jace felt anything but humor at the thought. There was only horror, panic, anger, despair, and guilt, all rolled up inside an extremely ill temperament. The worlds worst burrito. "Aline," Jace spoke with an icy calm that threatened to crack; never taking his off the redheaded girl that would be his undoing. "This is my sister, Clary."

"Oh. Oh. Sorry!" Aline said sheepishly, moving into Jace's line of sight as she approached Clary with her hand out. "What a way to meet you," she continued. "Hi, I'm Aline."

Biting the inside of his cheek, Jace watched as Clary's stared at the girl with a look of dread and dismay; her head shaking imperceptibly and her body recoiling. And then her wide tortured eyes met Jace's, ripping him apart with their honesty. I can't touch her, they screamed—damn near begged. And Jace's hands flew out of their own accord, catching Aline by the shoulders. He could feel Clary's gaze on him as he bent low to Aline's ear and his stomach twisted wretchedly. "I need to speak with her alone—can you give us a minute?" he whispered, thankful and genuinely surprised to hear that his voice was calmer than he felt. Aline stared at him with baffled eyes, but to Jace's relief, she didn't question it or Clary's behavior. Instead, she smiled and shrugged.

As she walked past Clary, Jace, who had meant to watch her go, was instantly pulled back into emerald orbs that demanded his attention. They were like magnets. A golden sunrise over an Idris meadow. But this time, there was a storm. In fact, the sound of the study door closing softly was the only reason Jace knew they were alone now. Nor was it lost on him that it was the first time they had been alone together since the train-wreck at the Institute when he had begged her to stay in New York. Much good that did. She was painful to look at and yet having not seen her these last few days . . . he also couldn't help but to stare greedily at her face. Neither of them spoke as they looked at each other. He missed her. He missed her more than he had any right to. And he could tell she was hurting—that he had hurt her. He also knew that there was nothing that he could do or say to ease her pain. And then he was panicking all over again, and the rage he felt from before quickly replaced his moment of longing. Why the fuck are you here? Why didn't you stay? Chomping down hard on his cheek, he began clenching and unclenching his fists again.

Clary, watching him with those eyes that made it hard to concentrate, took a step toward him. "Jace—"

No. Jace moved back away from her, his head giving a sharp jerk as his pulse spiked. He couldn't be near her. Not when he knew that he might have to break her more than he already had. Please, please, don't make me do that, Clary, he thought miserably. He would have to make her leave, somehow. She couldn't be here. Not her. Not with the Clave. They had already started treating him like shit—he would be damned if he would allow them to treat her the same. But then, if she was here illegally, he didn't know if he would be able to stop them. His mouth popped open in horror as the realization spread fearfully through him. If she had come here illegally like he suspected, they would have every right to arrest and take her. There would be nothing—absolutely fucking nothing—he would be able to do to stop them. He would have to do something. Not her.

Shaking his head slowly, his golden eyes burned into hers. Why didn't you just stay in New York, Clary? Why are . . . how did . . . "What," he finally got out, his voice as taught as stretched wire, "in the name of the Angel, Clary, are you doing here?" She winced at his words and a knife pierced his heart. But he didn't move to comfort her. He couldn't. No matter how much it physically and mentally pained him . . . he would have to endure it. Just like his father's punishments. Drawing back her shoulders, Clary stared at him pleadingly and he had to cross his arms to keep from reaching for her.

"You could at least pretend you were glad to see me," she whispered. "Even a little bit."

Was that a joke? Was this all some cosmic fucking joke? He wasn't glad to see her! There was a reason he didn't want her there! He wanted to protect her—needed to protect her. Didn't she realize that?! Didn't she know what she meant to him?! She was too important to him to lose! He couldn't lose her. Not her. She had to go back to New York. Now. Right now. He was panicking again. But this time, it wasn't just anger it would turn into. For once, Jace didn't bother to hide his emotions. He wanted Clary to see them. Because if she honestly thought that after everything he had done—all his sleepless night, the lies, the schemes—that he would be happy she had come anyway . . . how could she possibly, even for a second, think that? "I'm not glad to see you." The words came bluntly, his mind screaming as she stared at him like he had slapped her. Swallowing, he willed himself to continue—forced himself. And he hated himself for it, but—you're not safe here. He would happily endure her hatred and his self loathing if it meant keeping her safe. I don't want you here, he told himself over and over. I don't want you here. "Not even a little bit."

Clary crossed her arms angrily. "This isn't you. I hate it when you act like this—"

"Oh, you hate it, do you?" Jace cut her off incredulously. And then he threw his arms up with agitation. "Well, I'd better stop doing it then, hadn't I?" Because you would obliviously do the same for me. "I mean," he continued mockingly, "You do everything I ask you to do."

"You had no right to do what you did! Lying to me like that," she snapped, her eyes flashing as she took a step toward him, looking like a panther ready to strike in her gear. The challenging move both traitorously excited Jace while at the same time sending his temper flaring across his body like a wildfire. I didn't have a right to keep you safe?! To keep you away from the Clave—to keep them from torturing you?! I would rather die than give you to them, Clary, and yet you think— "You had no right—"

Jace lost it. "I had every right!" he screamed at her, ignoring the shock and nervous tension on her face. He already felt guilty enough. All the same, he took another step back toward the wall. He needed to put more space between them. Raking his fingers roughly through his hair, his shook his head. He knew that his face was distorted with his anger, but he couldn't help it. He was drowning in uncontrollable rage—rage toward their father, rage toward their mother, and rage toward Clary for not listening to him. For not doing this one thing for him. And he couldn't make it go away anymore than the he could get rid of the panic and horror and despair. "I had every right, you stupid, stupid girl." They would take her . . . they would take her and he would lose her. And I can't lose you. Not you. She had to leave; to go back to New York. Jace would rather Clary hate him forever but still be in his life, than to ever lose her to the Clave. "I am your brother, and I—"

"And you what?" she breathed, her eyes emerald infernos. "You own me?" The question caught him off guard and for a second, all he could do was stare. And backtrack. That's not what he had meant. That wasn't— "You don't own me." Her voice was deadly. I know! That's not— "Whether you're my brother or not—"

Clary spun around mid-sentence as the door behind her crashed open.

"What in all possible dimensions is going on here?" It was Alec, and he was staring with shocked disbelief at both Jace and Clary. "Are you two trying to kill each other?" Well, glad to see this day just keeps getting better and better. Alec was wearing his usual sweater and jeans ensemble and was sporting what might have been a new blue coat. It looked new anyway. Jace also noticed that his parabatai didn't seem the least bit surprised at all to see Clary standing there. Great, so who else knows she's here?

Instead of asking—because he really didn't want to know the answer to that—he used the distraction his brothers arrival afforded him to force his face to relax into a calm as delicate as an arctic blade. "Not at all," he said with slow boredom, and Clary's eyes darted to him incredulously. He stared back with indomitable coolness. "Clary was just leaving."

"Good," Alec said with a nod, shutting the door and stepping further into the room. "Because I need to talk to you, Jace." Of course you do. Clary, on the other hand, glared at Alec with betrayal, before throwing her hands up.

"Doesn't anyone in this house say, 'Hi, nice to see you," anymore?" She demanded of the ceiling, though Jace had the sneaking suspicion she was trying to guilt Alec. He rolled his eyes as Alec turned to look at her.

"It is good to see you, Clary," Jace's brother frowned, staring at her like he was surprised by her outburst. He probably was. Sucker. "Except, of course, for the fact that you're really not supposed to be here." Point one for Jace! "Isabelle told me you got here on your own somehow, and I'm impressed—"

Oh, for the love of the Angel, "Could you not encourage her?" Jace sighed with exasperation, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and forefinger. So Izzy knew she was here too? Thanks for keeping her out, Iz. I owe you big for that one. And then Jace thought idly about the signs and symptoms of a mental break down. Because he was pretty sure he was about to have one. Or already having one—not that anyone cared.

Alec, who was staring at Jace, shook his head slowly and turned back to Clary as if Jace hadn't spoken at all. "But I really, really need to talk to Jace about something," he implored with an edge to his tone. "Can you give us a few minutes?"

But Clary was unrelenting, crossing her arms and digging her feet in. "I need to talk to him, too," she snapped, refusing to back down as she turned back on Jace. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he stared back and forth between the two of them blankly. He was getting a headache just standing there, and he felt exhausted. He wished more than anything to be somewhere else. Hi, you've reached Jace. He doesn't want to talk to you right now, so please go away. He'll get back when he's feeling up to it. Yeah, if only that could really work.

Shaking the thought away, he focused on Alec, as it was much easier to be rude to his best friend than to the girl he loved. "I don't feel like talking," he said without kindness, though his brother had done nothing wrong. And then he cast a sidelong glance at Clary. "To either of you, as a matter of fact."

But Alec wasn't giving up either. "Yes, you do," he said pointedly as Clary's eyes narrowed. "You really want to talk to me about this."

"I doubt it." And then Jace's gaze traveled traitorously back down to the Shadowhunter gear that shaped Clary's body, lingering on the buckles and belt loops. They were empty, waiting for the weapons Jace knew fit into them snugly. How had she gotten here? The question was still bugging him. But maybe it was the wrong question. The real question was who—who had she come with? Jace's stomach sank with horror and panic and terror so deep that it seized his heart and dragged it down too. Please let me be wrong . . . please let me be . . . yet, he knew he wasn't. "You didn't come here alone, did you?" Clary didn't speak at first. She didn't have to. Jace could see it written on her face. No, no, no . . . Closing his eyes, he took a slow painful breath. "Who came with you?"

He knew the answer even before she spoke.

"Luke," she said begrudgingly and if Jace could have gone whiter, he was sure he would have. "Luke came with me."

"But Luke is a Downworlder." Tension corded Jace's voice. "Do you know what the Clave does to unregistered Downworlders who come into the City of Glass?" he admonished. "Who cross the wards without permission? Coming to Idris is one thing, but entering Alicante? Without telling anyone?"

"No," Clary said impatiently. "But I know what you're going to say—"

"That if you and Luke don't go back to New York immediately, you'll find out?" He regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. Regretted them the moment Clary staggered back away from him in shock. But he had to do something, didn't he? Because nothing else was working! She couldn't be here. Go home, Clary. Please, please, please, leave. I don't want to hurt you . . . the very thought of it kills me. But I can't lose you . . . I can't.

Clary shook her head, staring disbelieving daggers at Jace. He deserved it. He endured it, letting it slice him open. Please go home, Clary, he continued to beg silently. Biting the inside of his cheek, he watched as Clary's mouth worked it's way open, and he braced himself for what he knew must have been coming. But it was Alec who spoke.

"Jace," his parabatai pushed forward, trying to capture Jace's attention away from Clary. It didn't work. "Haven't you wondered where I've been all day?"

"That's a new coat you're wearing," Jace said flatly, without taking his eyes off the girl he loved more than life. "I figure you went shopping. Though why you're so eager to bother me about it, I have no idea."

"I didn't go shopping," Alec snapped irritably. "I went—"

The door flew open again, and it took everything for Jace not to throw his hands in the air and call it quits as Izzy came bounding in. Great, more audience members. Shutting the door behind her, she ignored Jace and Alec completely as her eyes fell somberly on Clary.

"I told you he'd freak out," she said, her dark locks bouncing as she shook her head. "Didn't I?"

"Ah, the 'I told you so,'" Jace said scornfully at Iz. "Always a classy move." Now go away.

But It wasn't Iz who responded. It was Clary. She had finally found her voice, and she was still staring wide eyed at Jace. "How can you joke?" she whispered with disbelief, blinking back tears that would crash over him if they broke free. His heart twisted painfully as he looked at her—forcing himself to meet her eyes. She was shaking her head as she stared at him, each bounce of her curls on her shoulders plunging him further and further beneath frigid waters. He never thought Clary would look at him like that. Not ever. "You just threatened Luke. Luke, who likes you and trusts you. Because he's a Downworlder." She hissed the word. Jace swallowed. Please just go. Go home where its safe. Please . . . "What's wrong with you?"

And with an aching so deep it burrowed into his bones, Jace could tell she meant it. She was looking at him like he was a stranger. He couldn't handle that . . . I can't . . . Jace stared at Clary. Not even when they first met, had she ever looked at him like that—like an unknown threat. She had always trusted him. Always. Her lips were beginning to tremble, her Idris eyes shimmering with unshed tears in the afternoon sunlight that streamed through the window. He wanted to reach for her—to stop her from looking at him like that. To tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness. Beg her to stay with him.

But Izzy was the first to speak. "Luke's here?" She was staring in unbridled horror at Clary. "Oh, Clary—"

And Clary rounded on her. "He's not here," she snapped defensively. "He left—this morning—and I don't know where he went." And then her eyes darted accusingly back to Jace. "But I can certainly see now why he had to go." Her words were venomous and Jace could feel the poison spreading painfully though his veins. He needed to stop her. To explain himself. But if he did . . . she would stay. But would it really be so bad if she stayed? He could protect her. Fuck! He hated not knowing what to do. He felt like there was a game of tug of war raging on in his head. He had tried so hard to keep her away, but she had come anyway. He should have known she would have come anyway.

So maybe . . .

"Fine," Clary said with a defeated tone when no one spoke. She was staring up at the ceiling again, blinking rapidly. Jace bit the inside of his cheek. If I stop her, she'll stay . . . I can stop all this right now. Please don't look at me like that . . . please. "You win. We should never have come. I should never have made that Portal—"

Jace became dizzy.

He felt like he was falling down a hole that he knew would end—knew would kill him—but just didn't know when.

A Portal? She made a fucking. . .

He couldn't breathe again; he couldn't get his lungs to draw in air. And he could hear the blood rushing painfully through his veins. You can create Portals now? He thought, praying that it wasn't true. Wishing someone would tell him that he had heard her wrong—that that wasn't how she had gotten here. Somewhere next to him someone spoke, sounding surprised. He thought it might have been Izzy. He couldn't tell. Either way, they weren't saying anything that made Jace feel any better.

Clary's emerald orbs met Jace's, her hair creating a hood around her face, and a he was suddenly jolted with fear. He could so easily see her in the Clave robes that they would no doubt make her wear. You can create Portals. This time the thought was loud and clear and undeniable. And if the Clave found out that not only had she come here illegally with Luke—a Downworlder—but that she had gotten here by creating an impossible, nonexistent Portal rune . . . No, no no. He couldn't ask her to stay. She had to leave.

She had to get out of Alicante now.

But he also knew that she wouldn't go. She hadn't gone yet. Not even with him threatening Luke like he had. She would go back to wherever Luke had taken her. But she wouldn't leave. I really, really wish you weren't so stubborn. There was only one way he knew would get her to leave, and he didn't want to do it. But you have to, he told himself grimly. He would have to make her go back to New York, and it would require making her hate him enough to want nothing to do with him. It would kill him, but she would be safe. You need to do this. You need to tell her. Next to him, Alec was hissing at Jace again—Tell her. Jace blinked, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood again—something about an errand and a package being delivered. Make her leave! Why are you just standing here?!

"Alec, stop." Jace snapped. His parabatai's hissing was beginning to sound like a flurry of bees buzzing in his head and it was making it hard to make sense of his words. Package—You have to do it—Errand—Do not let the Clave take her just because your terrified of the consequences—At Night . . . Jace stared at Alec, who was still wagging his jaw. Are you really bringing up Simon right now?! "Stop." Jace could hear how desperate he sounded this time. Apparently his brother could to, cause Alec sucked his breath in, cutting himself off.

DO IT.

Turning back to Clary, Jace turned his eyes hard . . . putting as much hate as he could behind his glare.

I am so sorry, Clary. I wish I didn't have to do this . . . God, I wish I didn't have to do this. But . . .

"You were right," he said, choking on the words that tasted like acid in his mouth. "You should never have come." He took a breath and it sent a fissure through his heart. "I know I told it's because it isn't safe for you here, but that wasn't true." She blanched and his heart splintered. "The truth is that I don't want you here because you're rash and thoughtless and you'll mess everything up. It's just how you are. You're not careful, Clary." Please go home. But she didn't go home. She didn't move at all as she stared wide eyed at him, her body frozen in place.

And then her chest began heaving roughly; her gaze shifting into that expression he already hated. The one that clearly said he was a stranger—a threat. But this time he shoved the guilt down as far as he could just as she spoke, repeating his words with choked force. "Mess . . . everything . . . up?" She whispered, looking like she had been hit. In the same moment, Isabelle moved forward with wide sad eyes.

"Oh, Jace." Izzy exhaled wretchedly. She had her hand to her mouth, looking at him with pity and he jerked his head sharply with annoyance. He had always hated pity, and he sure the fuck didn't deserve it right now.

He was being everything he knew Clary hated—saying things he knew would break her. But the worst part was knowing that she honestly thought he meant it, when he didn't. Not for her. It's about me, Clary. Everything I say . . . it's about me. And he thought of the first time he met her. How confused and excited and irritated he had felt at being snuck up on. I had to know you. He remembered how screwed he had been when he watched her stalk off to Hotel Dumort in a mini-dress and knee high boots for her stupid mundane friend. She had looked so fierce. It was the moment he knew he was in love with her. And while it had been confusing at the time, one thing was certain . . . it wasn't a schoolboy crush. He had become so completely hers. Even now that we're siblings . . . his throat tightened, cutting off the thought. Jace blinked as he looked at the woman he could never have a future with—I will always be yours, even if you don't want me—the only woman he would ever love and was insuring would never love him in in return. He sunk his teeth savagely into his cheek. But her safety was more important than his selfish desires. And he had to keep going. If he stopped now, if he thought about it too long . . . he wasn't sure he would be able to continue.

He swallowed hard, screaming at himself to finish it and get it over with. "You always race ahead without thinking," he said hating himself more and more. "You know that, Clary. We'd never have ended up in the Dumort if it wasn't for you."

"And Simon would be dead!" Clary fired back, her face burning crimson. "Doesn't that count for anything? Maybe it was rash, but—"

"Maybe?" Jace cut her off, his brow cocking as his voice rose.

"But it's not like every decision I've made was a bad one!" She shot out defensively, glaring at him. "You said, after what I did on the boat—" Jace's mind froze and panic slammed into him. Stop talking, Clary. "You said—" Please stop talking. He could see from his peripheral as he stared at Clary in horror, that Alec and Izzy's heads were bobbing back and forth between the Jace and Clary in confusion. Jace's heart hammered. Stop talking right now. "You said I'd saved everyone's life—"

And Jace completely lost it, growling savagely at her as he shouted, "Shut up, Clary, SHUT UP—"

"On the boat?" Alec asked, and Jace could feel his brother's piercing blue eyes on him; eyes that were probably demanding answers Jace didn't want to give. "What happened on the boat? Jace—"

Nothing happened on the fucking boat! He rounded on Clary. "I told you that to keep you from whining!" He screamed at her, digging his nails painfully into his palms when she jumped. And yet the words kept coming. "You're a disaster for us, Clary! You're a mundane, you'll always be one, you'll never be a Shadowhunter." His chest constricted painfully. "You don't know how to think like we do, think about what's best for everyone—all you ever think about is yourself! But there's a war on now, or there will be, and I don't have the time or the inclination to follow around after you, trying to make sure you don't get one of us killed!"

And she broke. He could see it in her eyes. Anything she might have ever felt about him—anything good—it was gone. His heart shattered.

No one spoke then. You could have heard a pin drop. And Jace felt drained standing there staring at Clary—knowing that he had just hurt her more deeply than he ever had any right to. He had never spoken to her like that. Not ever. He had only been encouraging of her, and loving. He would set the world on fire if it meant making her happy . . . but now . . . I'm a monster. And there was nothing he could do to take it back. Hell, he was expending all of his strength just to keep standing there. Taking a shuddering breath, he turned his wrecked eyes to her. She wasn't moving, but he didn't have anything left in him to say. And even if he did, he wouldn't say them. He had done enough—pushed it too far. "Go home, Clary," he breathed, feeling himself unraveling. I ruined her. His whole body was shaking. "Go home."

Without a word, Jace watched a tear fall from Clary's eye as she turned away from him and pushed through Alec and Iz to get to the door. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Her ruby curls, her short slender form, her Idris meadows that he had caused to rain. Quia peccávi nimis cogitatióne, verbo, ópere et omissióne: mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

And then Clary stopped, her hand on the door, and Jace's heart fluttered as she turned her now dry eyes to him. "When you told me the first time that Valentine was your father, I didn't believe it," she said sadly. "Not just because I didn't want it to be true, but because you weren't anything like him. I've never thought you were anything like him." And Jace met her emerald eyes with an unfounded shimmer of hope. But it was dashed in her next words. "But you are," she breathed. "You are." Turning away, she pulled open the door and then let it shut softly behind her.

To love is to destroy.

And then whatever cords—whatever willpower—that had been keeping Jace standing, snapped. He stumbled backward, the fight going out of him as he slammed into the wall and slumped against it gratefully and buried his face in his hands. He could feel the terror and horror at what he had done consuming him, but he could also feel the small bit of relief at knowing that he had saved her after all. At what cost, though? He could feel his lower lip trembling threateningly—how long had it been since he cried? He didn't deserve to cry. He had broken her. He didn't deserve comfort or compassion. He deserved only hate and contempt. He didn't get to cry.

"Jace." It was Alec. "Do you really think—"

Sighing, Jace pushed his hair back out of his face and looked up at his brother and sister with dry dead eyes. Clary had said he was just like Valentine—like his father. "Get out," he said numbly, staring past Alec and Isabelle at the door that Clary had left through. "Just get out. Both of you."

"So you can do what?" Isabelle snapped, taking a step to stand in front of Jace. "Wreck your life some more?" She whirled to look at the door, too, and then spun back to Jace, throwing her hands in the air. "What the hell was that about?"

He knew what Izzy meant by her question. And he thought about what she had said when they had been sitting watch over the vampire. 'We see your pain, Jace—we feel it—' He didn't deserve anyone. In the end, he only shook his head. "I sent her home. It was the best thing for her."

"You did a hell of a lot more than send her home," Izzy disagreed vehemently. "You destroyed her." Jace flinched painfully. Don't you think I know that? But Isabelle only sighed, her next words only marginally softer. "Did you see her face?"

Yes—it was my punishment and— "It was worth it," Jace said through gritted teeth, trying hard to believe it himself. He would bear this punishment because . . . he looked back and forth between Alec and Iz and bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. "You wouldn't understand."

But Isabelle didn't look all that convinced. Crossing her arms, she shared some sort of silent conversation with Alec before turning back to Jace with a grim pout tugging at her full lips. "For her maybe," she said tightly. "I hope it winds up worth it for you."

We see your pain, we feel it . . . "Just . . . leave me alone Isabelle. Please." He dropped his head silently, staring at his boots, just as Alec spoke.

"Never mind, Jace," he was saying softly, and Jace looked up at his brother curiously. He was talking to Isabelle with a certain amount of affection and comfort, squeezing her shoulder lightly. "I'm sure she'll be fine."

Jace thought of Clary's face and how shattered it had been. How everything in her posture had screamed that he had broken her. She had said he was like Valentine, and she hated Valentine. "No she wont." Jace breathed painfully, the air hitching in his throat as he thought of that last look she had given him. "But I knew that." And then he sighed and pushed his palms into his eyes until he saw bursts of white. "Speaking of which," Jace switched tracks, though he could still see Clary's pain-stricken face. He needed a distraction. "You might as well tell me what you came in here to tell me. You seemed to think it was pretty important at the time."

Alec sighed, and lowered his hand from his sister's shoulder. "I didn't want to tell you in front of Clary—"

"Didn't want to tell me what in front of Clary?" Jace's heart began to hammer again as he finally focused on his parabatai.

But now that he had Jace's full attention, Alec didn't seem to want it. He only stood there, staring at his brother, and Jace could feel his impatience growing. Talk or get the fuck out. As if hearing Jace's thoughts, Alec started chewing on his thumb nail nervously before finally stammering out, "Yesterday when I brought Simon up to the Gard, Malachi told me that Magnus Bane would be meeting Simon at the other end of the Portal, in New York. So I sent a fire-message to Magnus." Alec took a breath as Jace raised a brow— he already didn't like where this was going. "I heard back from him this morning," Alec exhaled. "He never met Simon in New York. In fact, he says there's been no Portal activity in New York since Clary came through."

Jace's face whitened. Simon had never been sent back to New York? What did that mean—that he was still here? Where would he be?! And then there was the fact that the warlock had mentioned Clary's little Portaling adventure. Knew about that too, did you? Jace thought bitterly. But then, of course Magnus knew. He was probably the one that told her all about how Jace had made sure they left without her, too—the pretentiously clinquant porcupine.

But it was Isabelle who spoke after casting a glance at Jace. He wondered idly what she saw. Did she still think him the same brother as he had always been, now that she had seen him treat Clary—he cut off the thought. "Maybe Malachi was wrong," she suggested cautiously. "Maybe someone else met Simon on the other side. And Magnus could be wrong about the Portal activity—"

Alec shook his head, looking slightly annoyed at the suggestion of Magnus being wrong. "I went up to the Gard this morning with Mom. I meant to ask Malachi about it myself, but when I saw him—I can't say why—I ducked behind a corner. I couldn't face him. Then I heard him talking to one of the guards. Telling them to go bring the vampire upstairs because the Inquisitor wanted to speak to him again."

FUCK.

Could nothing ever fucking go right? Just this once! Jace could feel the rage building back up in his body just as Isabelle spoke. "Are you sure they meant Simon?" she asked, and Jace rolled his eyes. No, they meant that other vampire that came to Alicante illegally. "Maybe . . ."

"They were talking about how stupid the Downworlder had been to believe they'd just send him back to New York without questioning him," Alec continued flatly, crushing whatever hope Izzy had been holding out for. "One of them said that he couldn't believe anyone had the gall to try to sneak him into Alicante to begin with. And—" Alec hesitated here, and Jace turned to see him staring at him. Just spit it out. Alec's lips tightened as he continued. "And Malachi said, 'Well what do you expect from Valentine's son?'"

Jace bit down hard and tasted blood, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, as Izzy took a sharp breath. "Oh," she breathed worriedly. "Oh my God. Jace . . ."

He could feel both of their eyes on him now, but he ignored it. His body was shaking. He had fucked up. He had fucked everything up. And no matter how much he tried to fix it . . . he only made it worse. No one would ever trust him—not with who he was, who his father was—out for the world to know. And Simon . . . the kid had gotten caught up in the middle of it. But Simon didn't—he was—he kinda thought—it wasn't like—the stupid vampire didn't deserve this! This was all on Jace. Mea máxima culpa. "If it hadn't been me who brought him through," Jace said in a low voice, trying hard to keep it from shaking. "Maybe they would have just let him go home. Maybe they would have believed—"

"No," Alec cut him off sternly. "No, Jace. It's not your fault. You saved his life."

Jace nearly laughed bitterly, but he didn't even have that in him. He felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on him. "Saved him so the Clave could torture him." He sighed with defeat. "Some favor. When Clary finds out . . . " he trailed off, his pulse jack hammering in his veins and the fear returning to the take up space in his abdomen. Oh, dear God. When she found out, she would hate him. Hate him more than she already possibly does, because this—this would seal it more firmly than he had ever wanted to. He looked up in terror at his brother, his head shaking. "She'll think I brought him here on purpose—" She thinks I'm like Valentine. "—gave him to the Clave knowing what they'd do."

Alec shook his head softly, his dark blue eyes kind. "She won't think that. You'd have no reason to do a thing like that."

"Perhaps," Jace agreed, knowing it was a lie. She would blame him. And then he saw those shattered emerald eyes that had looked at him like he was a stranger. "But after how I just treated her . . ."

"No one could ever think you'd do that, Jace." Isabelle said, attempting to be reassuring and failing. "No one who knows you. No one—"

Jace pushed himself up off the wall numbly and strode across the room toward the large window and stared out of it. Would he catch a glimpse of Clary running from the house, he wondered. It was probably too late for that. She hated him, and she would hate him more when she found out about Simon. Because no matter what anyone said . . . it was his fault. He had been rash about chasing after Clary when he first met her, and careless in letting her get too close. He had not thought of anyone else in his pursuit of being with her, loving her, and protecting her. And now . . . everything that happened to her from here on out—everything that happens to Simon—it would all be his fault.

The sound of shattering glass and a stinging pain in his left hand pulled Jace from his thoughts. Blinking slowly, he looked at the new splintering hole in the window and then down at his hand, where shards of glass had embedded themselves in his knuckles and his blood dripped to the floor. He hadn't felt it, he realized. He couldn't feel anything but despair.

"Oh Jace," Isabelle breathed from behind him. "How on earth are we going to explain this to the Penhallows?"

#######

Alec forced himself to close the door of his and Jace's shared attic room softly. He was trying so hard to keep from yelling at his best friend right now, after what Jace had already just been through—but it wasn't easy. Sure, the last thing Jace needed right now was to be yelled at, but . . . what the hell? He knew his brother was hurting—knew Jace hadn't meant any of the things he had said to Clary. Even Alec could tell that it had all been to make her leave. But still, he thought it had been a bit much—that Jace had pushed it too far. And the things he had said to her . . . Alec wondered if Jace realized how much a lot of it could be said about himself.

And what the hell happened on that boat?

Turing, he looked at Jace and frowned. His brother was standing there staring morosely at the wall, though Alec knew he wasn't seeing the wall. "Sit," he said irritably, pointing at a nearby chair that sat near the only window. "I'll get the bandages."

Jace stared at him for a second and Alec wondered if he was refusing on purpose or if he truly hadn't heard him. He knew his parabatai's thoughts were probably miles away with a redheaded tornado. But then Jace sat and Alec sighed and went to his bed. Dropping to his knees, he pulled out a small black duffle bag from underneath and began rummaging through it. After Jace had broken the window, Alec's immediate instinct was to pull out his stele. But after a moment of hesitation, he decided against it. He knew Jace well enough to know when he was punishing himself. And no matter how much Alec hated it when he did that, he also knew there wasn't anything he could say to make Jace stop. But there was a difference between hurting physically and hurting emotionally. Jace needed to learn that too. As he removed scissors, tweezers, gauze, and antiseptic, he heard Jace shifting behind him.

"Aren't you going to use a healing rune?" he heard Jace asked, though he didn't sound like he really cared one way or the other.

"No." Alec said tightly, getting to his feet with bandages in his hands. "You can just—" he broke himself off. There was no point in saying anything insulting to Jace. He would just agree right now anyway, and Alec wasn't going to join his stupid pity party. "Shit," he cursed under his breath, chucking the box on the bed with the rest of the supplies and then whirling toward the sink where he washed his hands none to gently—his frustration with his brother coming out with every scrub, every splash of water. When he was done, he practically slammed the faucet off and then, grabbing the supplies and another chair, he sat down across from Jace. "Give me your hand," he said curtly.

Jace gave him his hand. It was bad, but it wasn't worse than anything Alec had seen before. Each one of Jace's knuckles were split open, caked with dried blood and clinging glass shards that ran down to his fingertips. All the same, he glared up at Jace. "You're an idiot."

"Thanks." Jace said with attempted humor that did nothing to warm Alec's mood. Plucking up the tweezers, he went to work on the largest piece of glass still embedded in one of Jace's knuckles. As it moved grotesquely, creating a new trail of blood, Alec shook his head. You're more than idiot, you idiot. Alec just couldn't think of a more creative name at the moment. But he wasn't being gentle, not that Jace seemed to notice.

"So why not?" Jace asked suddenly as if picking up a conversation that Alec didn't know they had been having. Pulling the sharp shard of glass free of Jace's hand, Alec set the bloodied window piece absently on a nearby end table.

"Why not what?" he asked distractedly, going back to Jace's knuckles.

"Why not use a healing rune? This isn't a demon injury."

Alec clenched his jaw, the tweezers prodding a little to deeply into his brothers skin. But Jace didn't move or pull his hand away. He endured it. He always endured it. And then he would cover it up with a nice iratze and try to pretend it never happened. Not this time, Alec thought. This wasn't something that would go away with a rune. What Jace had done to Clary . . . and whatever lie he had told everyone else—told him . . . it wasn't a game. And it wasn't okay. Jace needed to realize that. "Because," Alec said slowly, pulling another glass shard free and setting it—dripping with blood—next to the other one. And then he reached back and grabbed the antiseptic. "I think it would do you good to feel the pain. You can heal like a mundane. Slow and ugly." Alec shook his head. "Maybe you'll learn something." Grabbing the gauze, he was about to pour some of the antiseptic onto it so he could begin cleaning Jace's cuts, but thought better of it. Turning swiftly, he dumped the liquid over Jace's knuckles and heard the sharp intake of his brother's breath at the stinging pain. "Although I doubt it." Alec said with a sigh, setting the bottle down.

"I can always do my own healing rune, you know." his parabatai said pointedly, and Alec knew that Jace was blatantly ignoring everything he had said. He wondered if his brother could ignore a swift kick to the—

Grabbing the bandages, Alec began to none-to-kindly wrap Jace's hand. "Only if you want me to tell the Penhallows what really happened to their window, instead of letting them think it was an accident." Try me. Having finished wrapping Jace's hand, Alec yanked the bandage into a tight knot, causing his brother to wince painfully. Alec sighed, staring down at Jace's newly bandaged hand. He was still holding it. A part of him felt bad and wished he could comfort Jace, and hated knowing that he couldn't. Alec also knew that he was partly to blame. He had promised Jace he would see the vampire through the Portal, and he hadn't. But still . . . "You know, if I'd thought you were going to do this to yourself, I would never have told you anything."

"Yes, you would have," Jace said flatly, his head cocking to the side as she stared at his hand inside Alec's. He didn't pull it away, Alec noticed. "I didn't realize my attack on the picture window would upset you quite so much."

Was that more attempted humor? Alec sighed and turned Jace's hand over gently in his. Bloody fingerprints spotted the white bandage where Alec had touched it, but it was otherwise a very clean wrap job. And then he took a breath. "It's just—" he cut himself off. How could he explain it without Jace getting upset? But then, he was already upset, wasn't he? "Why do you do these things to yourself?" he asked finally. "Not just what you did with the window, but the way you talked to Clary." Alec met Jace's eyes, a golden sunrise over a stormy ocean. "What are you punishing yourself for? You can't help how you feel."

"How do I feel?"

Alec swallowed nervously. Jace hadn't yelled his words, or even raised his voice. But he could hear the tenseness in his parabatai's question. And he knew Jace well enough to know that if he didn't tread carefully Jace would slip away and go back to hiding behind humor and disinterest. Clary had already cracked him open more than Alec had ever seen—he didn't want to lose that. But then, he also wanted to be honest with Jace. He was tired of him and Jace pretending to not feel something that he knew they both did. All the same, he approached his next words with caution.

"I see the way you look at her, and you cant have her." Alec hedged carefully, looking up at Jace. His friend looked terrible—well, as much as Jace could look terrible—which admittedly wasn't much. His eyes were rimmed with the dark evidence of insomnia; and what was more, Alec was surprised to realize just how thin Jace had become. His golden eyes were darker too, not their usual vibrantly bright honey color, but more like dark copper. Alec's heart hurt just looking at him. But then, he supposed they had more in common now. "Maybe you just never knew what it was like to want something you couldn't have before."

Jace stared at him intently, the only sign of his mood in the racing of the pulse in his neck. "What's between you and Magnus?"

The question caught Alec off guard, and sent his heart jumping and his pulse pounding in his ears. Dropping Jace's hand, Alec reared back, his head shaking. "I don't—there's nothing—"

But Jace was already cutting Alec off. "I'm not stupid," he said with a wave of his bandaged hand. "You went right to Magnus after you talked to Malachi, before you talked to me or to Isabelle or to anyone—"

"Because he was the only one who could answer my questions, that why," Alec blurted defensively—too defensively. But he didn't want Jace thinking—what would Jace think if he knew about—how the fuck did this get turned around on me?! "There isn't anything between us," Alec insisted, staring at Jace. But Jace said nothing. It was then that Alec realized Jace hadn't asked him in an accusing manner, or like he was making fun of him. He was honestly curious. And now . . . his brother actually looked hurt by Alec's denial. But why would he be hurt by—he knows.

The thought constricted his chest.

And then the seconds ticked by as Alec waited to feel awkward or weird. To his surprise, he felt none of these. He supposed he should have known that Jace would have figured it out. Everyone else had. Maybe on some level, he had already known that his friend knew. Alec sighed. How could he expect Jace to be honest with him when he couldn't even be honest with Jace? Taking a deep breath, Alec met his parabatai's gaze. "Anymore," he exhaled. "There's nothing between us anymore. Okay?"

"I hope that's not because of me," Jace said softly, and Alec once again found himself rearing back into his wall of defense as his pulse raced furiously.

"What do you mean?"

And Jace sighed and leaned forward, taking Alec's hands in his. Alec tensed. "I know how you think you feel about me," he began shaking head, his golden blond locks falling into his eyes. "You don't, though. You just like me because I'm safe. There's no risk. And then you never have to try to have a real relationship."

Alec stared down at their hands, his heart breaking. That wasn't it—how could he even think or say— "I get it," he said, his voice like stretched wire. "First Clary, then your hand now me. To hell with you, Jace."

"You don't believe me?" Jace said, sounding genuinely surprised. And then he leaned back, throwing his hands up. "Fine," he snapped crossing his arms. "Go ahead. Kiss me right now."

And Alec froze, staring at Jace. He was pretty sure his heart had stopped, and yet all he could hear was his blood rushing thunderously through his veins. Did he actually mean it? Did Jace really want Alec to kiss him? Alec swallowed, his mouth going dry at the thought as he leaned forward ever so slightly. But then he stopped. How long had he had thought about doing this? How many times had he wondered how soft Jace's lips would feel against his. And how many nights had spent thinking of Jace's soft sunlit hair, and how it would feel between his fingers? And now, here was his opportunity to find all that out. And Jace . . . he didn't look like he would stop Alec if he actually went for it.

But then he thought of Magnus. Magnus's lips were soft—his hair . . . different. But not in a bad way. Alec liked their spiky points. With Magnus, Alec's whole body felt alive in a way it had never felt with Jace.

Alec leaned back and the corner of Jace's lips quirked up. "Exactly," he said pointedly. "Despite my staggering good looks, you actually don't like me that way. And if you're blowing off Magnus, it's not because of me. It's because you're too scared to tell anyone who you really love. Love makes us liars." And then Jace sighed, running his hands through his hair, letting a sliver of emotion through. "The Seelie Queen told me that. So don't judge me for lying about how I feel. You do it too." Alec winced. He was right of course. How the fuck was he right?! But before he could ask, Jace got to his feet "And now I want you to do it again."

"What do you mean?" Alec asked slowly, still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. And he was heartbroken by it. The problem was, he didn't know if his heart break was over a love he never had, or a love that he didn't feel anymore.

"Lie for me," Jace said, moving across the room and taking his jacket off the wall. "It's sunset," he explained, pointing out the window as he moved toward it. "They'll start coming back from the Gard about now. I want you to tell everyone I'm not coming downstairs. Tell them I felt faint and tripped, and that's how the window got broken."

Swallowing, Alec looked up at Jace. He had his back to him and was working on opening the window. Alec wasn't even sure that window opened. But then with a pop, it pushed outward and Alec could feel the cool breeze of Idris air sweep in toward him. Biting down on his thumb nail, he stared at his brother. "Fine," he said finally. "If you tell me where you're really going."

"Up to the Gard," Jace said as he turned around and gave him a smile—that smile. The one that would have melted Alec's heart before. Even now he felt a slight jolt through his veins, though it wasn't as pronounced now. "I'm going to break Simon out of jail."

And then he was gone, leaving Alec to stare at the open window and wishing he hadn't asked.


Please Review!