**The character names of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2011. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**


Chapter Eight - "That's what I feel"

*Gulp* Actually kind of nervous about this one…

This is unbeta'd. Will fix when I get edits back. Enjoy anyway!

Chapter Songs:

**Prelude 12/21 – A.F.I

**Come On – Ben Jelen

**Possession – Sarah McLachlan


The lights were always brightest on Friday nights. Even as a kid, Clary always loved game night. She'd sit in the stands with her mom and Jonathan, and although she didn't know much about the game, she would always feel like she was a part of something special. But what seemed to fascinate her most, were the lights, so big, so powerful up in the sky.

She'd often stare up at them and pretend they were groups of stars that clustered together just for the game, just for her. And on those times that Simon came, they pretended they were beams from a spaceship, and the aliens on board were just biding their time before snatching them up and taking them to a far off planet to worship and revere them (Simon's words, not hers).

But in all the times she'd sat under them, never had those lights been as bright as they were tonight.

There was something in the air, something Clary couldn't quite pinpoint. A charge of some sort. Anticipation? Excitement? She couldn't be sure, but it was different than she'd ever felt in a football stadium before.

She'd cheered for many games and watched even more, but she hadn't ever rooted for a team other than the Knights. But that night she couldn't help it, even if it was only inside her mind. The Bobcats were amazing—or rather, Jace was amazing. She'd seen him play before, but she'd never really watched him.

Football wasn't a graceful sport by any means, but he was. Somehow, Jace made it all look so easy, so effortless. He commanded the field like a general at war, leading his team yard after yard, all the way to the end zone time and time again. Whenever he set foot onto the grass, Clary felt it. That charge that went through the stands, the one she couldn't quite understand.

They all knew they were watching greatness out there.

The Bobcats offense was huddled near the sideline, Coach Wayland giving some last minute instructions before the time out was over. Clary could see Jace at his side, his head bowed as his father's hand moved over the play board. She imagined his face was serious as he concentrated on his father's words. It took her all of three seconds to realize she didn't know what his serious face looked like—or his joking, happy, or playful ones either. She didn't know anything about him, but right then, a part of her wanted to. A part she'd been trying to suppress since that night.

After a few moments, all the players put their hands in, chanted something she couldn't make out, and then dispersed. Jace started to follow, when his father's hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back. Clary felt a strange sort of tightening in her chest. She leaned forward in her seat, her elbows digging into her knees.

"Coach Wayland is such a dick," Isabelle muttered while munching on a ginormous helping of nachos and jalapeños she'd gotten from the snack bar.

Clary turned to her friend, breathing through her mouth so she didn't gag at the smell of the nachos. "What's the deal with that?" She nodded toward the spectacle on the sidelines.

Isabelle shrugged and licked melted cheese from her fingers. "He's a hard ass, I guess—at least according to Sebastian. But he's especially bad with Jace. You know, probably that whole father-son thing."

Clary thought about that. Her own father had been much the same with Jonathan, always pushing him to run faster, throw harder. It didn't matter how much he practiced or how well he played, there was always room for improvement. Coaches were never harder on any player than they were on their own kid.

She looked back out at the field. Coach Wayland now had Jace by the facemask and seemed to be speaking intensely right in his face. Clary couldn't see Jace's face from this far away, but she had to assume he wasn't thrilled. No one liked to be talked to that closely, especially since the only reason people usually trapped you like that was to yell at you.

After a moment, Coach Wayland let Jace go and he jogged out to the center of the field where his team was already in position. He stepped up behind his center, half in a crouch, when he turned his head, shouted something to one of the guys standing to his left, made some sort of gesture with his hand, then turned back forward. It was only a second later before the ball was snapped and in his hands. Clary leaned forward a little more and wrung her hands while watching in rapt fascination.

Jace held the ball up to his chest and took a few steps back. Opposing players converged around him, his line keeping them back but leaving only about a foot of space between him and them. But that's all he needed.

Clary held her breath as she watched him mark his man, bring his arm up and back, and release the ball. It left his fingertips and sailed in a perfect spiral into the air. Her eyes started to follow the ball, when the hold around Jace broke and one of the opposing linemen slammed into him from behind. A totally unnecessary hit.

"What the hell?" Clary jumped to her feet when no flag was thrown. "Aw, come on, ref! Roughing the passer!"

Several spectators turned to stare in her direction, and Isabelle snickered beside her.

"What are you laughing at?" Clary asked Izzy. "They're not supposed to hit him that long after the release! It should be a penalty."

Isabelle held her hands up. "I didn't say anything."

"You're laughing!"

"Because it's funny." Isabelle grinned. "For him not being 'your man' you sure have been protective of him today."

Clary's mouth dropped open to defend herself, when she felt her spine prickle. Turning back toward the field, she noticed the Bobcat's defense had taken the field and the offense had returned to the sideline. Involuntarily, her eyes scanned the area for Jace and it didn't take long for them to find him. He was standing at the back, his helmet off and his face turned toward the stands, eyes on her. Clary swallowed hard, realizing at once that she was still on her feet—the only one still on her feet. Jace's mouth twitched into what looked like it might be a smile, and he nodded very slightly in her direction before turning back to the game.

"Aww," Isabelle said. "Me thinks somebody liiiiiiiiiikes you."

Clary felt her cheeks heat and began to lower herself back to her seat, but not before she caught the stare of a blonde girl closer to the bottom of the stands. She sat in the third row and was definitely looking at Clary. The girl narrowed her eyes, held Clary's for a few seconds more, and then whipped her head back forward, her hair smacking the person behind her.

What was that about?

Isabelle nudged Clary in the shoulder, and when Clary looked, Izzy gave her an over-exaggerated wink.

"Shut up." Clary rolled her eyes.

But Isabelle did no such thing. Instead she started to sing in a whispered voice, "Clary's got a booooyfriend . . ."

Clary groaned and lowered her head to her knees, her arms covering her ears, but not even that could drown out Isabelle's hyena cackling.

The game ended shortly thereafter, the Bobcats bringing another victory. Clary's father would be pissed, but that actually gave her a smug sense of satisfaction. He deserved it for the crap he'd tried to pull earlier.

After helping Isabelle gather all the garbage from her many trips to the snack bar (How did someone so thin eat so much?), Clary turned to exit the stands, but was stopped by a wall of blonde. Three girls, all with super low-cut pants, tight shirts, and heeled boots, stood in her path, arms crossed over their ample chests. Clary raised her brows and froze. Isabelle stepped up beside her.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" said the blonde in the middle. It took Clary only a moment to realize she was the same girl who'd given her the evil eye earlier. "A couple of Southeast cheerleader skanks in our territory?"

Clary and Isabelle weren't impressed with the poorly executed Mean Girls knockoff.

"Your territory?" Isabelle said, while glancing around in an effort to look innocent. "I'm pretty sure this is a public area. Is your name on it somewhere?"

The girl cocked her head to the side. "Cute. Don't act like you're not here for a reason. I know what you're after."

"Really?" Izzy said. "I'm pretty sure we were here for a game, but—"

"Oh, get off it," the girl cut Izzy off. "Don't think I haven't seen you hanging all over Sebastian Verlac? Don't you have any guys at your own school? Oh, wait, I forgot for a second, they don't grow 'em cute in the south, now do they?"

Isabelle started forward, but Clary pressed a hand to her chest. "Come on, Iz, let's just go."

The girl turned to Clary. "Oh, you're not going anywhere until I've made myself clear on a few things.

"And what are those?"

The girl grinned, but it wasn't nice or pretty. It was a warning. "I know who you are," she said. "And I know why you're here."

Clary raised a brow.

"You can't have him."

"Uh, who is it you think I'm here to get?"

"You can't have Jace. He's mine. He's been mine for two years, and I'm not about to let a little hussy like you try and weasel her way between us."

Clary felt anger curl in her stomach. She wanted to slap the skank and pull her perfect platinum hair, but didn't think it would be very smart, considering she didn't really want to put a spotlight on whatever was going on with Jace. So she played dumb instead. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about."

The girl stepped forward, her face a pinched. She bent until her eyes were level with Clary's. "I know you're the one." Her voice was quiet. "From the party. I know it was you."

"Oh, yeah?" Clary crossed her arms over her chest in an effort to look tough, and to also hide the fact that her hands were shaking. What did this girl know? Had she seen something? "Which party was that? I go to a lot."

The girl grinned. "Oh, fine. Go ahead. Play dumb. But let me just make this clear," she leaned in even closer, "I don't give a shit about you two sucking face at that party. That doesn't change a thing. He's still mine, so stay away from him."

"Funny," Isabelle said. "But I'm pretty sure if he's been 'sucking face' with other girls at parties, then he's not anybody's. Also, Sebastian said Jace doesn't date during the season." She tapped her finger against her lip. "So, how is it that he's 'yours' again? Curious."

The girl straightened and narrowed her eyes.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Isabelle said, grabbing Clary's arm and pushing their way through. Just before they reached the bottom of the bleachers, Izzy turned, her finger in the air. "Oh, and maybe you should, you know, make sure the guy is on the same page before you claim to own him. What if he doesn't agree?" She shook her head. "How embarrassing for you."

Isabelle tightened her grip on Clary and pulled her the rest of the way down the bleachers before the girl could say anything else. Clary nearly tripped a few times.

"Who the heck was that?" Clary whisper-shouted.

"That," Isabelle blew a wisp of hair from her eyes, "was most likely the ex, Kaelie. Seb said she's been having a bit of trouble accepting the fact that she and Jace are done."

"A bit?" Clary pulled her arm from Izzy's grasp and stopped. "Okay. I'm so not interested in a cat fight over some guy."

"Yeah, well, this isn't just some guy, is it?" Isabelle turned to face Clary. "Stop acting like he is."

Clary shook her head, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked out at the empty field. She didn't want to have this conversation again.

Soon, Isabelle spoke again, her voice low and quiet. "You can try and fight it all you want, Clary, but nothing is going to change the fact that he is your kid's father. You don't have to have a relationship with him. Hell, you don't even have to like him in the end." She paused, her expression softening. "But don't you at least owe it to yourself to see what's there?"

"I don't know. I keep thinking maybe it's better to just leave it alone. I mean, this can't end well, right? Look at what happened with Simon."

Isabelle sighed. "You and Simon never belonged together. You didn't feel about Simon how you feel about Jace."

"I don't feel anything about him! I don't know him. When are you going to listen to me?"

"When you start listening to yourself!" Isabelle said. "Maybe you don't know it here," she pressed her finger to Clary's temple, "but somewhere inside you, you know you feel something. I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you what I saw tonight."

When Clary didn't answer, Isabelle went on:

"I saw your eyes never leave him on that field. I heard you hold your breath and felt you flinch every time he went down."

"So what?" Clary said, indignantly. "It's football. I always do that when I watch a game. It had nothing to do with him." But even as she said the words, she wondered if she believed them herself. It had been different watching him, knowing he was the one falling and getting hit.

Isabelle stared at her for a second. "There's something there, Clary, and I think you owe it to yourself to find out what it is."

"What if you're wrong and there's not? Then what?" The thought made her stomach twist into a knot. How was she supposed to have a baby with someone she couldn't stand? Didn't love?

"Then I'll be wrong, and you'll know." Isabelle paused and glanced at Clary from the corner of her eye, a grin tweaking her mouth. "But I don't think I'm wrong."

.o.O.o.

The locker room was still buzzing by the time Jace finished his shower. Granted, it was the quickest shower in the history of showers, but he hadn't expected the majority of the team to still be there. The locations of parties and places to pick up chicks were being muttered all over the room, but there was only one place Jace needed to be tonight.

As soon as he reached his locker, he threw on his clothes and ran his hand through his wet hair. Jace never bothered to actually brush it with a brush or comb, fingers were good enough. But he did an even more half-assed job this time than normal.

"What's the rush? Got a hot date, Sunshine?" Sebastian leaned on the locker next to Jace's, studying his nails like he didn't care about the answer.

"You know," Jace continued to pack his bag and refused to look at Sebastian, "I'm going to stop responding when you call me that."

Sebastian sighed. "When are you going to realize that," he grinned and started to sing, loud and out of tune, "you are my Sunshine, my only Sunshine."

Around the room, more voices joined in, until everyone was singing.

"You make me happy when skies are gray! You'll never know, dear, how much I love you!"

"Jesus Christ." Jace slammed his locker shut. "You are all the biggest bunch of assholes."

Sebastian slung his arm over Jace's shoulder and said in a very serious voice, "Please don't take my Sunshine away."

"Get off me," Jace said, and shoved Sebastian's arm away.

Sebastian held his hands up in surrender and backed away. "All right, whatever you say. But know this," he paused, "you're still my only Sunshine."

Jace lunged, but just before his hands closed around Sebastian, he heard a throat clear behind him. He froze. He would know that sound anywhere. With a steadying breath, he pivoted on his heel. His father stood behind him, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes fixed on the two boys.

"Oh, hey, Coach," Jace said, hoping his use of "coach" instead of "dad" would soften the blow a bit. "We were just—"

"Being boys, I see." His father offered a smile, but Jace saw beyond it to his real feelings. His dad hated horse play. Especially in his locker room. "Before you disappear, Jace, I need to see you in my office?"

Shit. He was using his nice voice. His father never used his nice voice in front of Sebastian. Not unless . . .

"Uh, yeah, sure?" Jace said, but all he could think was: What did I do wrong now?

Sebastian gave Jace a sympathetic look and went back to his locker. Jace gripped the strap of his bag tighter and followed his father back to his office. He expected his father to lay into him the second they crossed the threshold from the locker room, but was surprised by the presence of another man.

The man turned as Jace entered the room. He was dressed in a suit and tie—definitely not something someone would wear to a high school football game. His black hair was slicked back against his head, and on his face he wore a large, expensive-looking smile. When he saw Jace, he held out his hand and stepped forward.

Jace took it and gave his father a questioning look. But it was the man who spoke up first.

"Jace Wayland, it's an honor to meet you. Your father has told me a lot about you in our phone conversations, but I had to come out here to see for myself."

Jace continued to look between the man and his father, having no idea who he was or why in the hell he wanted to meet with him.

"Excuse my manners," the man said. "Marcus Pangborn, new head coach for the SEU Panthers, and you, young man, are just what we need to get our team off to a great start next season. Do you have a few minutes to talk?"

Damn it. Jace's stomach dropped. Not tonight. Not when he'd finally gotten Clary to agree to talk to him.

"Well, I—"

"Of course he does," his father said. "Please, have a seat." His eyes stopped on Jace's. It was not a request for him.

Jace sighed and lowered himself into one of the chairs across from his father's desk. Damn it. What the hell was he going to do now? She was waiting for him. He'd seen her in the stands during the game. But how long would she stay? Would she stay at all? There was only one way to find out.

While Jace's father and the man began to talk specifics, Jace slipped his phone from his pocket and found the missed call from earlier in the night. He didn't recognize the number, but since he knew Clary had tried to get a hold of him, he took a chance it was hers.

Please wait, was all he wrote, and he hoped it was enough.

He tried to listen to what his father and the man were saying, but all he could do was think about where he'd rather be. Any other time, this would be the highlight of his evening: someone scoping him out, giving him his chance. But not tonight. Tonight he couldn't think about football or college or anything else.

A moment later, his phone buzzed in his hand. Jace looked down and smiled at the word on the screen.

Okay.

.o.O.o.

Please wait.

The words made Clary's stomach flip, and that made her eyes roll. Her stomach should not be flipping for him, or anyone for that matter. She swallowed against the feeling and calmly typed a response.

Okay.

The breath she exhaled was shaky. Okay, maybe calmly was stretching it a bit (or a lot). The truth was, she wasn't calm at all and she hated herself for it. During the game she'd been able to squelch her anxiety by immersing herself in football, but now . . . now she had nothing to shield her from the promise she'd made . . .

God. What had she been thinking? What was she supposed to say to him? How was she supposed to act? Earlier that night, as they'd hidden behind the door together and he'd touched her, talked to her so gently, she'd tried to contain it, but she'd felt her foundation shake. Just a little. But it was enough. Enough to form cracks, and she knew it. She also knew how dangerous those cracks could be.

"Was that him?" Isabelle asked between sips of her Slurpee. What the heck? Who was the pregnant girl between them? Clary swore Isabelle had eaten half the concession stand by then.

"Yeah." Clary tucked her phone back into her pocket and leaned against the fence surrounding the field.

"And?"

"And what?"

Isabelle turned toward where the players were exiting the field, regular clothing covering them instead of their uniforms. Clary felt a stitch of anxiety pinch her chest. This was a really stupid idea.

"Are they coming out?"

"Um," Clary moved from one foot to the other. "I don't know. He just asked me to wait."

"Wait for wh—"

"Izzy!" A masculine voice called from behind them.

Both Clary and Isabelle turned toward it. Standing on the opposite side of the fence was a boy Clary had never seen before. He wore a letterman's jacket, white t-shirt, and a pair of baggy jeans. His jet black hair hung into his dark eyes, the back just brushing the top of his shirt collar. The boy grinned at Isabelle, showing off a small gap between his front two teeth that, surprisingly, wasn't unattractive.

"Hey, Seb," Isabelle said. "Nice game."

"Mmhmm," Seb said, and Clary figured out he must be the illusive Sebastian Isabelle was always going on and on about. She could see why. He was sort of hot with all that hair and dark, piercing eyes. Speaking of which, those eyes flitted to Clary and narrowed in question, but also in what seemed a bit like recognition. "And this is . . .?"

"Oh," Isabelle gestured to Clary. "Seb, this is Clary. Clary, Sebastian."

Sebastian held out his hand palm-up, and Clary raised her brows before placing her hand inside. Sebastian kept his gaze on hers as he lifted it to his mouth, paused and gave her a devilish grin before kissing the top. Heat flooded Clary's cheeks as he dropped her hand.

"Quit with the flirting, Seb," Isabelle said. "You're gonna set her face on fire."

"I'm not flirting," Sebastian said, sounding affronted. "It's called being a gentleman."

Isabelle snorted then covered her mouth to stop it.

Sebastian grinned again and leaned into the fence closest to Isabelle. "Just because you prefer me in the non-gentlemanly way doesn't mean other girls don't appreciate chivalry."

"Yeah, Iz." Clary bumped Isabelle with her hip.

"Well, you got me there." Isabelle waggled her brows. "I like my boys bad."

Clary shook her head and looked away, noticing Sebastian still studying her with a strange expression on his face. The attention made her uncomfortable and a bit annoyed.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, and then paused as if he were thinking. "You just . . . you look familiar to me, but I can't place you."

"She's the one I brought to the party a while back. Remember when I said I was bringing a friend?"

Clary felt her heart speed at the mention of that night.

Sebastian frowned. "Oh," he said, the word almost an afterthought, until his eyes widened and he said once more, "Oh!" He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "You're Sunshine's sexy redhead with the boots! Damn, I knew you looked familiar."

"Um, what?" Clary shoved her hands into her pockets to keep them from fidgeting.

"Sunshine—oh, uh, Jace." He paused. "You know, our quarterback? Jace?"

Clary played dumb. She didn't know if Jace had let his friend in on the fact that they had discovered each other's identities, and she didn't want to be the one to spill the secret. This was Jace's world, and she certainly wouldn't want him invading hers unless she knew about it, so she wasn't about to do the same to him.

"Ah, well," Sebastian said, and came around the fence, wrapping his arm around Izzy's waist. She snuggled in like his side was the best place in the world to be. "Guess we all had a few too many that night." He chuckled. "Sunshine doesn't remember either. But, hey, what's a few smooches between rivals, am I right?"

Clary tried to smile, but was sure it came out as more of a grimace. Isabelle stood at Sebastian's side, her eyes wide.

"You know," Sebastian said. "He's just inside if you wanna—"

"Hey, Seb, you ready to go?" Isabelle finally snapped out of her stupor and tugged at his arm.

"Well, yeah, but . . ." He stopped. "What about you, Clary? You coming too?"

"Oh, I—"

"She can't," Isabelle cut her off. "She's got a ride coming."

Clary started to protest that she didn't have a ride then realized what Isabelle was doing. "Right. Yeah. I, um, I can't. Gotta be up early for . . ." She searched her mind for a logical excuse, but nothing came. Thankfully, Sebastian didn't seem to need one.

"That's cool. Too bad though. Maybe you could've lit Sunshine's fire again. I swear that guy needs some—"

Isabelle slapped her hand over Sebastian's mouth. "O—kay. I guess we'll be going now." She pulled at Sebastian again and met Clary's gaze. "Call me if you need anything. Okay? Anything."

Clary nodded and watched as they walked away, Sebastian grabbing at Isabelle and her jumping away in mock protest. With a sigh, Clary moved back to the bleachers and climbed up a few before sitting. The lights still illuminated the field, but it was now empty of people.

She stared out at the emptiness and wondered—not for the first time—what in the heck she was still doing there. This wasn't smart. Not at all. Not only could someone see them there, but there was something about this boy . . . something that made Clary feel unsettled, out of control. And now more than ever she needed to stay in control. Things were going to be hard enough once everyone found out she was pregnant, she couldn't deal with Jace's rejection on top of that. And she was sure he would reject her and the baby at some point. Teenage boys didn't want to be fathers, especially to babies made with strangers—strangers that were their biggest rivals no less—and they definitely didn't want to be fathers when they had as much going for them as Jace did.

Maybe he was curious now—about what happened and about who that girl at the party was—but that wouldn't last. When he found out she wasn't wild and carefree, and apparently, easy, he'd bolt. She knew he would. Boys didn't want art geeks who masqueraded as cheerleaders, with psychotic, obsessive fathers and brothers, and flighty moms who would rather work than spend time with her family. No one wanted that. They wanted "party Clary", and "party Clary" wasn't real.

Clary lowered her face into her hands. This was an impossible situation. She couldn't let her guard down. Not now. Not when everything in her life balanced on a knife's edge. One wrong move and she would be lost. Heck, maybe she already was.

What if letting him in was the wrong move?

What if that move made her fall off the precarious edge into the oblivion?

No. If she stayed her current course—the one where she avoided him—there was at least one part of herself she could keep. One very small part that would still be hers when everything went out of control. She didn't actually know what that part was, but she felt it in there, begging her not to withdraw her protection.

But then there was another part of herself that didn't want to be alone, didn't want to bear the burden of this by herself. A part that, despite all her internal and external denials, wanted to know this boy too, wanted to know why she felt the way she did around and about him, that wanted to see what was there just like Isabelle said. Because she did feel something, something she couldn't even begin to describe, but that scared her maybe more than anything else. And it was that something that kept her sitting there on those cold bleachers, even though her brain screamed at her to go. To just forget about this whole thing and save herself the pain and embarrassment of watching him walk away later.

The big lights surrounding the field suddenly went dark and only the dull glow of the orange lamps out in the parking lot lent any light. Clary exhaled and lifted her head. Why couldn't there be one easy answer? One sure way to make everything tolerable for both of them?

But there wasn't and there couldn't be. Not ever again.

So she sat there, alone and in the dark, waiting. Waiting for a boy who had the potential to crush her into a million pieces, to make her weak and bumbling and everything she hated about all the other girls she knew.

Or who had the very slight possibility to save her.

Not from this situation or life or anything else that those pathetic, idiotic girls needed saving from. But from the most dangerous thing of all: herself. Her pride. Her stupid, stubborn mouth. Her need to never let anyone past her outer shell.

The question was: which was she going to let him do? Know her? Like her? Or would she hold him at an arm's length? Make sure there was nothing between them except one stupid night and a door?

These were all questions she asked herself and couldn't answer. And they were also questions that covered up the ones she really should have been asking: what was she really afraid of? That he would walk away? Or that he wouldn't?

.o.O.o.

Every light in the stadium was out by the time Coach Pangborn and Jace's father let him go. Jace rushed outside, cursing under his breath at his father for arranging this shit without telling him. God, he hoped she hadn't left, though he wouldn't blame her since it had been almost an hour since he'd texted. His eyes swept the stands and the surrounding areas, but there was no sign of her.

"Shit," he said to himself. "Shit, shit, shit." He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, and when his hand surrounded it, it buzzed against his palm. Pulling it out, Jace glanced at the screen.

Do you always swear so much?

He grinned and quickly typed a response, relief flooding through him.

Only when my date seems to have disappeared.

His phone buzzed once more.

You have a date?

Very funny.

I might not have stuck around if I'd known.

It's not a date in the traditional sense.

What's the 'traditional sense'?

You know: food, movies, awkward kissing at the end of the night. This is probably more of an appointment.

Ah, well that's disappointing—the food part at least. She's probably starving.

Jace shook his head, chuckled, and tucked his phone back into his jeans pocket. "Where are you?" He glanced around again, still not seeing any trace of her.

"Under here," came her reply from the dark space under the bleachers to his right.

Jace frowned and ducked under the stands. "I thought you said this wasn't a date? Most 'appointments' don't take place under the bleachers."

"Ha ha. I don't know whether to be disgusted or merely disappointed that you think meeting under the bleachers is a date," she said, and Jace followed her voice. "My keys fell out of my pocket . . ."

Jace then spotted the dull glow of a cell phone screen. He continued forward until he could see the outline of her in the light that bounced back. She was hunched over, searching through the debris strewn ground.

"What were you doing down here to lose your keys?"

Clary looked up, her face illuminated in the glow of her phone, and scowled. "I was sitting up there." She pointed to the stands above them. "Wondering why I was waiting when I was clearly being stood up—"

"But I texted—" he protested, and Clary continued as if he hadn't spoken.

"—and I heard them fall." She paused and glanced at him with a small smile. "And I was kidding."

Jace exhaled and felt his chest loosen as if he'd been holding his breath for a long time, though he hadn't been. Why did this girl make him feel so out of it? Normally he'd have a snide comeback of some sort, but with her he couldn't think, couldn't seem to relax. She was turning him into such a girly asshole.

"Here, let me help you." Jace pulled his phone back out and turned it on, the screen emitting a dull glow.

Silently, the two of them searched the ground below for any trace of her keys. It was so awkward and strange being there with her, but even so, he didn't want to be anywhere else. He didn't know how to talk to her, or even what to say if he could figure out how to speak again. Why was this so hard? Jace never had a problem talking to girls before. In fact, he was good with girls. Really good. He didn't even have to try most of the time and they were all over him. But Clary was anything but easy. He could tell how unsure of him she was by the distance she kept between them. Jace wished she'd say something, anything, to break the tension. But she didn't, so, he stayed quiet, his eyes on the ground and his mind working to come up with some way to start a conversation.

About a foot in front of him, the light from his phone caught a glint of metal. He stepped forward and crouched, reaching out at the same moment Clary did. His hand closed over hers as she grabbed the keys. Her breath caught, and for just a second, Jace let his hand stay there, covering hers, his skin sparking with warmth. Even though it was only a moment, it was long enough. She was so soft and warm and tiny beneath him. He wanted to wrap his fingers around and hold on tight, just to see what it would feel like to hold her, just that small part of her. But before he could even think about doing anything at all, Clary snatched her hand back, her keys jangling.

"Got 'em." She shoved them in her pocket and stumbled back, as if she couldn't wait to get away from him.

Jace sighed and stood, letting the light of his phone go out. Disappointment flowed over him. He knew it was going to be weird, but damn it, he didn't want it to be so awkward they couldn't even talk. "You know," he said, "it doesn't have to be like this."

The light on Clary's phone dimmed then went out completely, plunging them both into pitch blackness. "Like what?"

"This weird, awkward shit."

Jace heard Clary exhale, and then the rustle of grass beneath her feet. "But it is, isn't it?"

"I don't want it to be," Jace said, truthfully.

Clary stayed silent.

"Do you?" Jace asked.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "I don't know how to act."

"Just act like you. It was you I wanted to see tonight."

Clary laughed and it ended with a little condescending snort. "What if I don't know who that is?"

With everything that had happened in his life: living with a controlling father who cared more about football than a real relationship with his son, to losing his mom when he was just thirteen, the one thing Jace had always been sure of was himself, who he was. But he could at least act like he got what she meant. "We're teenagers. We're not supposed to know who we are."

Clary laughed again, and this time it sounded genuine. "Yeah, I guess. I'm just—I'm not very good at this stuff."

"What stuff?"

"You know, guys, talking . . . being myself."

A memory of her smiling and talking about how she most certainly did do a dance routine to a very suggestive song, came to Jace's mind. And that memory ultimately led to her straddling his legs and leaning into him, her mouth centimeters from his ear and her breathy voice whispering over his flesh. Jace shifted uneasily in his spot. "Oh, I think you're better at it than you know," he said, feeling a chill race down his spine.

Clary didn't say anything for a few long seconds, and Jace started to wonder if he'd just screwed everything up by sounding like a douche.

"I'm really hungry," she said, her voice strained with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. It's—I can't help it. I usually have stuff with me, but I hadn't planned to stay . . ."

Jace couldn't help but chuckle at the randomness of her statement. "Okay. Do you want to go somewhere or—"

"I don't really think that's a good idea. I mean, we can't really let anyone see us together, right?"

Shit. "Oh, right . . ." Hell, this was going to be complicated.

"You know, we could just do this another time—"

"No! Just . . ." Jace wracked his brain for a solution. They were finally alone, finally not arguing, he didn't want to wait. He didn't want her to leave. But he also didn't want to starve her to death either. Suddenly, the solution came to him. Pressing the button on his phone once more, he held it in front of him to light the way. Holding out his hand to Clary, he said, "Come on."

She stared at him, first at his face then his hand, her uncertainty plain in her expression.

"It's just so you don't trip," he said. "I won't try anything."

Clary glanced up at him, and even in the low light, Jace could see the green of her eyes. There was so much hesitancy, so much mistrust. He knew the way they'd met and what had happened as a result of that meeting weren't exactly good, but he didn't think it warranted such caution. He wondered what could have happened in this girl's life to make her so weary to give in a little.

"I swear."

She studied him for several more seconds, a light of determination glinting in her eyes. And then slowly, she lifted her hand, paused, and slipped it in his. Immediately his fingers closed around hers, almost as if they were drawn magnetically to her. He couldn't have stopped them if he'd tried. Heat pulsed from the places their skin touched, spreading through his palm and shooting up his arm.

Jace inhaled sharply as pictures and sensations flashed though his mind again. His hands slipping up her thighs, hers in his hair, pulling hard, so hard. His fingers digging in as her mouth closed over his, tongue slipping across his lip.

He let out a breath and the images and feelings died away as quickly as they'd come, leaving him standing in the dark once more, his hand surrounding Clary's. He struggled to breathe normally.

Clary's brows drew together. "You all right?"

Jace blinked, trying to clear his mind, but still, he could see that version of her, feel her wrapped around him, wanting him, and him wanting her like he'd never wanted anyone before. He swallowed, but it didn't seem to help. "Yeah. Of course." His voice cracked a little "Let's go." He turned away before she could question him further and started back toward where he'd entered the bleachers, pulling her behind him. His body vibrated with the lingering memory. Damn. That was intense. When were these visions going to stop? He wished he could just God-damned remember already. Enough of this shit.

Seconds later, they emerged from beneath the stands, and even though he wanted to keep holding her hand, he let her go. The loss of her touch left Jace feeling a persistent nagging in his chest. Ignoring it, he led Clary toward the back of the stadium where the lights from the parking lot lent better illumination. Just before they reached the asphalt, Jace stopped at the small cinderblock building with a large metal closure in the front. The structure housed the restrooms and snack bar. He thrust his hands into his pockets, searching for his keys when Clary spoke:

"Uh, I appreciate the gesture and all, but since we're the only ones here, I'm pretty sure this is closed."

Jace walked around the building to the door on the side. Holding up a small silver key, he grinned. "Not if you have a key."

Clary raised her brows. "Do I even want to know how you have a key to the snack bar?"

"My father gave it to me." Jace pushed the key into the lock, twisted, and opened the door, flipping the light switch before sweeping his hand in a gesture for Clary to enter. "I'm here so much to practice that I practically live here. Sometimes I get hungry or thirsty or you know, have to use the bathroom."

"But isn't that stealing?" Clary stepped past him into the hall. Apparently she was hungry enough not to care if it was stealing or not.

"I pay for what I take," Jace said. "But even if I didn't it's not like they'd care."

"Why not?" Clary glanced back at him. "Are you above it all since you're their big 'star'?" She tweaked her fingers when she said the word star.

Jace shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't want to sound like a massive dick and account for her all the "perks" he got just for being who he was—free reign on the snack bar being the least of them. But she snorted and rolled her eyes, looking away and letting him know she got the idea anyway. For the first time ever, he felt a little like an asshole for all of it.

"It's not like I ask for it," he said in his defense, stopping at another door and using his key once more.

"Maybe not, but it's not like you say no, either." She stepped inside and looked around. Jace tried hard not to be pissed at what she'd said, because it was kind of the truth. Clary turned and her expression softened when she looked at him. "Sorry. I'm kind of a bitch when I'm hungry—and when I'm not sometimes too."

"It's all right." He gestured for her to have at the snacks. "You're right anyway. I don't say no."

"Maybe you should. You know, just to shake things up a bit."

"Maybe I will," he said with a grin. And just before she turned away, he could have sworn she grinned a little in return.

After several minutes of Clary picking through the snacks available, she finally found what she wanted: Skittles, nachos—no cheese, so basically tortilla chips—and a Sprite. Jace grabbed a couple of small things too, then placed several dollars on the counter, which Clary complained about but Jace ignored. Then the two of them made their way back out to the field, because it was either there or his car since they both agreed they couldn't be seen together. They stood at the fence surrounding the field, both eating their snacks and staring out at the dark. Jace still had no idea what to say, and Clary wasn't being much help, until, surprisingly, she said the thing he'd been thinking the whole time.

"Why is this so awkward? I mean, I have all these questions and thoughts, but I can't seem to articulate any of them."

"Well, to take a wild stab at it, I'd say it's probably the sex."

She choked on whatever she was eating, but quickly regained her composure.

"Sorry," Jace said. "Just figured blunt was best at this point."

"No," she shook her head, "it's fine. It's true. It's just . . . so strange because I know it happened, but I can't remember . . . that . . . at all."

Jace glanced over at her, watching the way the wind blew strands of her hair across her cheek, and for a brief second, he wished those strands were his fingers. He wondered if she would smack him if they were. Probably. And if Sebastian ever found out Jace was thinking about her hair or touching her like her hair was, he'd never hear the end of it. He really needed to stop thinking like such a pansy.

He sighed. "It's probably best you don't. I'm not thinking that was one of my finest moments anyway. I'd hate for you to remember me like that."

She met his gaze. "Better than not really remembering you at all."

"I don't know, Clary." He shook his head and looked down at his feet, feeling the shame over everything that happened wash over him again. "Maybe."

Clary shifted next to him. "Well, for what it's worth, I remembered something earlier." Jace's head snapped up, but she wasn't looking at him. She chewed at her bottom lip. "And from what I remembered, you were very . . . nice . . . to me."

"I was?"

She nodded and finally looked up. Holding up a finger, she said, "You put a Band-Aid on my finger."

Jace laughed and glanced out at the field once more. "Well, that's . . . random."

"Yeah," she said. "I don't remember meeting you, drinking all that alcohol, talking to you or . . . or . . . kissing you, but I remember you putting a Band-Aid on my finger. What a jip, right?" She let out a strained laugh that let Jace know she didn't think it was funny at all. Neither did he, really.

"I remember kissing you," Jace said, softly.

Clary stilled beside him, and Jace heard her let out a breath. He glanced over and she was staring at her hands, which were clutching the metal of the fence. Her chest rose and fell more rapidly than normal, but she didn't look at him. He was about to speak again, to apologize for being an insensitive ass, when she spoke:

"And . . .?" she asked so quietly Jace wondered if he'd heard her correctly, but the darkening of her cheeks let him know he had heard her just fine.

"And what?"

She hesitated. "And how was it?"

Jace closed his eyes and let the memory come: lips, first soft and hesitant then harder, more persistent and wet. The smoothest tongue, the sweetest taste. Jesus, he wanted to taste it again, to see if it was just as sweet.

"It was . . ." He tried to put his memories into words, but none would come. "I can't really describe it."

"God," she put her head into her hands, "it was that bad?"

Jace leaned down and removed her hands, replacing them with his. "No," he said, their faces only inches apart now, their eyes locked, his palms cupping her cheeks. "It wasn't bad at all. Quite the opposite actually."

Clary's lips parted slightly, and Jace's eyes dropped to them. They were so close and so pink. Her face felt so small and fragile in his hands. He swallowed and inched a little closer without thinking. It was almost as if he had no control over his own reactions.

"I could . . ." was all he said before her mouth was right in front of his, so close he could feel her breath mingling with his. It would take only a few more centimeters, a few more and he would be right there, kissing her again, seeing if his memories of how it felt were true. Anticipation buzzed through his body. Never had he wanted to kiss a girl so much. And even though he knew how bad of an idea it was, his fingers tightened on her jaw, drawing her in, bringing her closer—

"Please don't," she whispered, her words puffing against his mouth.

Jace froze, but did not move away. He couldn't. He physically couldn't. "Why?"

"Because I—I can't. Just . . . please."

Jace let his hands slip from her face and dropped his head. God, he was an idiot. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I just want to remember you."

"Maybe we're just not meant to remember."

Jace looked up, sure she could see the disappointment on his face, since his entire body radiated with it, but she didn't turn away.

"Maybe we just need to start over," she offered.

"Start over?"

"Yeah," she took a step back. "Maybe we can get to know each other as . . . as friends."

"Friends?" Jace tested the word in his mouth, not liking at all how it tasted on his tongue. He wanted to touch this girl, to kiss her, to remember what it was like being with her, and she wanted to be friends? Jesus Christ. Did she not feel anything he felt? He couldn't believe she didn't. The way she looked at him, the way she reacted to him . . . "Yeah. Friends. Sure." He started to back away, but she reached out and grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"What's wrong with being friends?"

He shook his head. "Nothing, Clary. Nothing at all. Except I don't feel friendly about you."

"You—you don't even know me."

Jace laughed, a painful, angry laugh. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I see how messed up this is? I know I don't know you, but it doesn't change the fact that I feel this . . . something. I don't know what the hell it is but I know it's not God-damned friendship."

"What do you want from me?" Her voice shook. "I'm trying here."

"Are you?" Jace moved toward her again. "Are you really? Because if you are, if you really want to just be friends, then I'll try my damndest to do that despite all of this, but I need you to tell me that that's the God's honest truth." He knew he was being an asshole, towering over her, demanding things from her, but damn it all to hell he felt like she was lying. How could she not feel this? "Just tell me. No hiding. No games. I won't push you into anything. But I have to know. Do you feel this too?" He pressed his hand against his chest, where he could feel his heart slamming against his ribs, where it was clenched so tight he could barely breathe. Reaching out, he took her hand and brought it up to where his was and held it there. "Do you feel this?"

She just stood there, staring at him with her mouth hanging open. It wasn't what he'd hoped for. Actually, he didn't know what the hell he wanted; he just wanted . . . something, anything but this. Resignedly, he pulled back and let her hand fall from his chest.

"Okay, I guess that's my answer—"

Before he had the chance to finish the last word, Clary's hands were on his face, pulling him down to her. Jace barely had time to close his mouth before hers was on his. Soft and warm. Full and hesitant.

She was kissing him.

She was kissing him.

It took everything in him not to grab her and hold her against him, to open his mouth and kiss her properly. But this was her show, so he let her lead. The kiss was small and chaste and barely even there, but it was still her kissing him. It was her wanting him in the same way he wanted her.

And he could feel it everywhere, living, breathing, growing into something he never would have expected.

And it was over far too soon.

Only air lingered between them as she pulled back. "That's what I feel," she whispered, her mouth still close to his, her breath panting fast and hard and hot, just like his. "I don't like it and I don't understand it. But that's what I feel." She dropped her hands from his face. "But I just can't right now. Okay? I just can't. Not until . . ."

It took Jace a moment to compose himself enough to answer. "Until what?"

"Until I know I can trust you."

Trust him? That was all? He could do that. He would do that. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. "You can be my friend."

Jace felt like the world had just dropped on top of him, flattening him into the ground. It was not what he wanted. He wanted to explore this feeling, to figure out what the hell it was and why she was the one making him feel it.

With great effort, he met her stare. He didn't want to agree to this, but she looked so wary, so disappointed already, like she knew what he was going to say before he even said it. And, well, he just wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of being right. He was going to prove her wrong, no matter how much ass it sucked.

"Okay, Clary. Okay." The words felt like acid in his mouth. Empty syllables burning holes through his tongue and cheeks, working their way down his throat and to his stomach. But some way, somehow, he would make them true. He held out his hand. "Friends."

Surprise transformed Clary's face, and for the first time, she didn't look like she was scared of him, didn't look like she just wished she could run away and hide. A genuine smile stretched over her lips as she took his hand, that same fire lancing Jace's skin when she did. But when she let him go, her fingers slipped out of his slowly, slower than they had any of the times before, as if maybe she wasn't quite sure she wanted to let go at all. Jace wanted to hold on, but he didn't, and when she looked up at him after, even though it was harder than hell to admit, he knew he'd just taken the first step. Not one that he needed or particularly wanted, but it was the one she needed him to take.


Long A/N (You can skip unless you have questions—this may answer some):

I know, guys. I *know.* But . . . baby steps. It may not seem like they've moved forward, but they have. I promise they have. I know some of y'all just want the LOVE already, but this is just slower building. I'm sorry, you're going to have to wait. Those of you who have read my stories before know that I just write what the characters give me, right? Well, for this chapter I got a WHOLE LOT of awkwardness and confused feelings from both Jace and Clary.

Some might also be wondering: Why aren't they focusing on WTH they're going to do about this baby? Well, in order to figure out how they feel about that, they seem to need to figure out how they feel about each other first—at least that's what I'm getting from Jace especially. He doesn't seem to be able to wrap his mind around her being pregnant yet—but it's that way for a lot of guys. It really doesn't hit them until there are physical signs (i.e. the girl starting to show). So, I think we'll see more of that from him later. Right now he's trying, in his own way, to make sense out of everything. He honestly DOES NOT KNOW what he's feeling at all. He knows he's feeling something: curiosity, attraction, like, want…he just can't name it, and he's trying so hard to figure it out.

I think it's pretty obvious that Clary is feeling a lot of the same things; she just has a very hard time opening up and trusting anyone. She's had a lot of people walk out on her in her life (Simon, her mom, her brother—in a way, her father –when he decided being obsessed w/football was better than being a husband and father). She needs some sort of proof that Jace is going to stick around before she'll allow him in. I can understand her hesitancy. This is a huge deal for her.

:( Poor kids. I really feel bad for them.

Until next time, XOXO ~ddpjclaf