Here's a reminder of what has happened and where we are in the story now:
Jace was not with them. He was not with them because he was standing outside the infirmary, leaning against the wall, his bare, bloody hands curled at his sides. When Clary stopped in front of him, his lids flew open, and she saw that the pupils of his eyes were dilated, all the gold swallowed up in black.
"How is he?" she asked, as gently as she could.
"He's lost a lot of blood. Demon poisonings are common, but since it was a Greater Demon, Hodge isn't sure if the antidotes he usually employs will be viable."
She reached to touch his arm.
"Jace—"
He flinched away.
"Don't."
She sucked in her breath.
"I never would have wanted anything to happen to Alec. I'm so sorry." He looked at her as if seeing her there for the first time.
"It's not your fault," he said. "It's mine."
"Yours? Jace, no it isn't—"
"Oh, but it is," he said, his voice as fragile as a sliver of ice. "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa."
"What does that mean?"
"My fault," he said, "my own fault, my most grievous fault. It's Latin." He brushed a lock of her hair back from her forehead absently, as if unaware he was doing it. "Part of the Mass."
"I thought you didn't believe in religion."
"I may not believe in sin," he said, "but I do feel guilt. We Shadowhunters live by a code, and that code isn't flexible. Honor, fault, penance, those are real to us, and they have nothing to do with religion and everything to do with who we are. This is who I am, Clary," he said desperately. "I am one of the Clave. It's in my blood and bones. So tell me, if you're so sure this wasn't my fault, why is it that the first thought in my mind when I saw Abbadon wasn't for my fellow warriors but for you?" His other hand came up; he was holding her face, prisoned between his palms. "I know— I knew— Alec wasn't acting like himself. I knew something was wrong. But all I could think about was you . . ." He bent his head forward, so their foreheads touched. She could feel his breath stir her eyelashes. She closed her eyes, letting the nearness of him wash over her like a tide. "If he dies, it will be like I killed him," he said. "I let my father die, and now I've killed the only brother I ever had."
"That's not true," she whispered.
"Yes, it is." They were close enough to kiss. And still he held her tightly, as if nothing could reassure him that she was real. "Clary," he said. "What's happening to me?"
"He's not your father!"
Jace looked as if she had slapped him.
"Why are you so determined not to believe us?"
"Because she loves you," said Valentine. Clary felt the blood drain out of her face. She looked at him, not knowing what he might say next, but dreading it. She felt as if she were edging toward a precipice, some terrible hurtling fall into nothing and nowhere. Vertigo gripped her stomach. Valentine was looking at Clary with amusement, as if he could tell he had her pinned there like a butterfly to a board. "She fears I am taking advantage of you," he said. "That I have brainwashed you. It isn't so, of course. If you looked into your own memories, Clary, you would know it."
"Clary." Jace started to get to his feet, his eyes on her. She could see the circles beneath them, the strain he was under. "I—"
"Sit down," said Valentine. "Let her come to it on her own, Jonathan." Jace subsided instantly, sinking back into the chair. Through the dizziness of vertigo, Clary groped for understanding. Jonathan?
"I thought your name was Jace," she said. "Did you lie about that, too?"
"No. Jace is a nickname." She was very near to the precipice now, so close she could almost look down. "For what?" He looked at her as if he couldn't understand why she was making so much of something so small. "It's my initials," he said. "J. C."
The precipice opened before her. She could see the long fall into darkness. "Jonathan," she said faintly. "Jonathan Christopher."
Jace's eyebrows drew together. "How did you—?"
Valentine cut in. His voice was soothing. "Jace, I had thought to spare you. I thought a story of a mother who died would hurt you less than the story of a mother who abandoned you before your first birthday."
Jace's slim fingers tightened convulsively around the glass's stem. Clary thought for a moment that it might shatter.
"My mother is alive?"
"She is," said Valentine. "Alive, and asleep in one of the downstairs rooms at this very moment. Yes," he said, cutting off Jace before he could speak, "Jocelyn is your mother, Jonathan. And Clary— Clary is your sister."
The moment they returned to the institute, Clary threw up in the bathroom, checked on Alec, and then came, alone, to sit in her room in the darkness. She clutched at her sketchbook, a pencil in one hand. Normally when she was upset she would draw to distract herself.
She had never been this upset before, though. She couldn't move. She just clutched and unclutched her hand around her pencil, staring at the wall, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Luke would be by to pick her up soon. She had to get out of there, away from him. She saw his face as he stood over the broken shards of the portal and she had to hold him with all her strength. But then she felt him whisper her name brokenly into her hair over and over again, and something snapped. The adrenaline had protected her from feeling it, believing it was real.
She had nothing to protect her now.
I slept with my own brother.
I fell in love… with my brother.
Something so incredibly perfect, that felt so deeply, intensely right, was now dirty. She would never be able to scrub off what they had done, no matter how many showers she stood through. How twisted and cruel the world was that it could turn her pure, beautiful feelings into something that made her stomach turn until she threw up everything in it.
I will never touch him like that again. I will never hold him.
The worst part was how badly she wanted to, how unsure she was that she could keep that promise to her self.
Her fist clenched around the pencil, then unclenched.
She tried not to break, tried to take deep calming breaths. She pushed it to the deepest recess of her mind, buried it under whatever she could.
She made herself breathe.
Footsteps in the hall.
"Clary."
Simon stood in the doorway, his body tensed, his wide eyes set with fear and worry so intense Clary braced herself for what might come out of his mouth next.
Oh god, he knows. Simon was probably the only one who knew, beside herself and….
Anything he said now couldn't possibly be worse than what echoed in her head in low, persistent whispers.
"Simon." She choked on his name. She hadn't cried, not yet. It didn't feel real until she saw his eyes and realized that he knew; this wasn't all some horrible nightmare because Simon had never looked at her like that in her life and he never would even in her dreams.
Then Simon was holding her, his warmth against her shoulder, squeezing her tightly in his arms. He kissed the side of her head, his breath hot on her ear, "I'm so sorry, Clary. I'm so sorry this happened."
A wail broke free from Clary's throat, a sound she didn't know she could make- so broken and raw, the cry a dying creature. Some part of her was dying, she could feel that part withering in on itself and greying.
Simon held her tighter. She wept and clutched at him, her hands balling up his dark t-shirt and wrinkling it, probably beyond repair. She held onto him for dear life, because if she let go she would fall and never stop falling into the hole that opened up inside her.
"Clary, Clary I'm so sorry. Luke told me. He told me everything."
"Stop." She gasped. "Stop, don't say it."
"It's ok." Simon soothed her, rocking her in his arms like a child, "Nobody will know."
"I know, Simon. I know what I did. Jace knows." Clary whispered, her head in the crook of Simon's chin, her wet cheek pressed to his chest.
"I was worried…" Simon faltered, his hand stroking through her hair. His breath hitched and the words died in his mouth.
"You were worried what?"
"I didn't know what you would do. You're strong, Clary. You're the strongest person I know… but not many people could handle this."
"You thought I would… hurt myself?" Clary said in between shaky breaths.
"I just want you to know that I don't care, that I don't blame you. No one could. You didn't know, Clary. You just have to let go, put it behind you."
She couldn't. It was too late. Even now, the thought of Jace made her want to throw herself into his arms and kiss him until the bright light of ecstasy bloomed under her eyes. She wanted to give in to it, and that hurt more than the knowledge that she never could. That she would never not want it, it would just be an ache in her chest that burned through her every day until she died.
She tried to stop the rolling, heaving gasps, but her sobs intensified at the thought. She would never feel for someone else the way she felt for Jace.
"Clary, let me help you." She was making that sound again, that sound like she was dying. "You always act so aloof, like you don't need anyone, but let me help you just this once. Let me take care of you. I want to." Then Simon's lips pressed to her tear-wet ones, his hands in her hair, smoothing the red curls sticking to her damp cheeks from her face, tilting her chin up to meet him. Clary closed her eyes. It felt nice, like she was doing something acceptable. It didn't twist her gut.
She wished Simon had kissed her like this a long time ago, before Jace had shown her how dizzying and exhilarating and heart stopping a kiss could be. She could have been satisfied with Simon's kiss, she could have been perfectly happy with him.
"I'm sorry." Simon whispered against her lips, and this time she knew his apology was for kissing her. "I've just-" Simon searched her eyes, and she felt limp. She didn't want to move away from the little source of comfort she had, and Simon had always comforted her. His clever, nerdy jokes, his fine curly hair and the way he scrunched his nose when he didn't understand something- all of that comforted her. But this wasn't right. This wasn't fair to him. "I've loved you since I can remember, Clary. I could make you happy. I could help you forget about him."
"Simon… I don't want to use you like that." Clary whispered, shaking her head weakly. Simon flinched, as though he was hoping she wouldn't say it out loud, but that's what it would be. She would be using him.
"Clary." He murmured. "I know what I'm getting into. I have no illusions. Let me take care of you."
"Simon, please." Clary shook her head, no, but she couldn't bring herself to push him away when he brushed his lips against hers again, tasting her tears.
"I love you." It was another apology he whispered into her hair as he held her tightly to his chest. "I love you."
She put her things away, dried her eyes for when Luke came, got in the car. She set her things up in the room at Luke's house just for her. She woke up the next morning and went to visit her mother. She tried not to think about it, about him. Simon went with her, and when he sat next to her, he slipped his hand into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. She didn't stop him, didn't push it back. She couldn't, not when she was thinking about what her mother would say if she woke up and found out what her children had done. Invisible nails raked across her chest when this fear hit her.
"You know there's still the possibility that Valentine lied." His words fell flat in the near silence of the room, broken only by the steady whir of machines and a pulsing beep that let them know her mother's heart was still beating, steady and slow.
"….Maybe. I don't want to talk about it, Simon. Not in front of her."
It wasn't going to get better. Clary knew that now. Simon was right, it did help to have him there, to lean on him when she felt the pressure in her chest was too much. She sometimes thought of Jace, what it must be like to have no one again, and she ached until tears sprang to her eyes. She knew she had to get over it then, had to be strong. She had to try to be there for him any way she could.
She finally worked up the courage to visit the institute. Alec was in the hallway when she crept through the large entry way doors, and he looked better now- limping on crutches, but better than half-dead on a hospital bed.
Alec was surprisingly… pleasant, to her. He had a certain ease about him she had never seen before. He even thanked her for lying to him and telling him he'd killed the demon when he hadn't, just to spare his feelings.
"You did it out of kindness," he said. "That means a lot, that you would be kind to me, even after how I treated you."
"I think Jace would have been pretty pissed at me for lying if he hadn't been so upset at the time," said Clary, trying not to wince as she said his name out loud. "Not as mad as he would be if he knew what I'd said to you before, though."
"I've got an idea," said Alec, his mouth turning up at the corners. "Let's not tell him. I mean, maybe Jace can behead a Du'sien demon from a distance of fifty feet with just a corkscrew and a rubber band, but sometimes I think he doesn't know much about people."
"I guess so." Clary smiled faintly. They'd reached the bottom of the spiral staircase that led to the roof.
"I can't go up." Alec tapped his crutch against a metal step.
"It's okay. I can find my way."
He made as if to turn away, then glanced back at her. "I should have guessed you were Jace's sister," he said. "You both have the same artistic talent."
Clary paused, her foot on the lowest stair. Sister. That word hit her like a punch in the stomach. She composed her face before she turned to ask,
"Jace can draw?"
"Nah." When Alec smiled, his eyes lit like blue lamps, and Clary could see what Magnus had found so captivating about him. "I was just kidding. He can't draw a straight line." Chuckling, he swung away on his crutches.
Clary watched him go, bemused. An Alec who cracked jokes and poked fun at Jace was something she could get used to, even if his sense of humor was somewhat inexplicable.
The greenhouse was just as she'd remembered it, though the sky above the glass roof was sapphire now. The clean smell of the flowers cleared her head. Breathing in deeply, she pushed her way through the tightly woven leaves and branches.
She found Jace sitting on the marble bench in the middle of the greenhouse, his head bent. He seemed to be turning an object over in his hands, idly. He looked up as she ducked under a branch, and quickly closed his hand around the object.
"Clary." His voice was an inexplicable combination of emotion. "What are you doing here?" A dark storm cloud raced through his eyes before it cleared and smoothed into something blank and careful.
Clary's stomach twisted, even when her heart soared. The light hit his soft hair and illuminated the golden quality of it, just as it shone through his amber eyes and lit them up. She wished he wasn't so beautiful.
"I came to see you." She said, swallowing down the lump in her throat. They hadn't spoken since that night.
"I'm fine." He said dismissively, looking away from her. He was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. She could see his still-fading bruises, like the dark spots on the white flesh of an apple. Of course, she thought, the real injuries were internal, hidden from every eye but his own.
"No you're not. It's ok. I'm not." Clary said softly. She couldn't speak louder or else her voice might break. Jace met her eyes and the depth of the misery there… she had to look away. She wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms and kiss away the pain from his trembling eyelids.
But that's not what siblings did.
"What is that?" she asked instead, pointing to his closed hand. He opened his fingers. A jagged shard of silver lay in his palm, glimmering blue and green at the edges.
"A piece of the Portal mirror."
She sat down on the bench next to him, gingerly, careful to keep from touching. "Can you see anything in it?"
He turned it a little, letting the light run over it like water. "Bits of sky. Trees, a path . . . I keep angling it, trying to see the manor house. My father." Jace said. His voice was husky, like a cold recently passed through his body and left some parts behind.
"I want you to go somewhere with me," she said abruptly. He looked at her sideways. Something about the way his light gold hair fell into his eyes made her feel unbearably sad.
"Where?"
"I was hoping you'd come to the hospital with me."
Jace recoiled like she'd slapped him. He looked at the ground, his fingers trembling as they closed around the shard. His eyes narrowed until they looked like the edges of coins. "Clary, that woman—"
"She's your mother too, Jace." Clary cut him off, a cold chill running through her. Jace felt it too, she saw it shake him to his core.
"I know," he said slowly. "But she's a stranger to me. I only ever had one parent, and he's gone. Worse than dead." Jace shook his head. "Besides… after what we did… how could she not despise me?"
It was the first time they'd said it out loud, and the sound of it gripped Clary with a sickness that dizzied her.
"If that's true, then she'll hate me too." Clary breathed, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
Jace closed his eyes, and Clary knew he was in pain again. Watching that hurt more than her own distress. She had to try to make this better, give him something good.
"I know there's no point in telling you how great my mom is, what an amazing, terrific, wonderful person she is and that you'd be lucky to know her. I'm not asking this for you, I'm asking for me. I think if she heard your voice . . ." Clary took a breath.
"Then what?"
"She might wake up." She looked at him steadily. He held her gaze, then broke it with a smile— crooked and a little battered, but a real smile. "Fine. I'll go with you." He stood up. "You don't have to tell me good things about your mother," he added. "I already know them."
"Do you?"
"She raised you, didn't she?" He said, looking away from her. He glanced toward the glass roof. "The sun's almost set."
Clary got to her feet. He was much taller than her, and his lean warrior's build looked so graceful even as he stood there doing nothing. She redirected her gaze to her feet instead when she caught herself thinking such thoughts. "We should head out to the hospital, then. I'll pay for the cab," she added, as an afterthought. "Luke gave me some cash."
"That won't be necessary." Another weak smile twisted its way onto Jace's mouth. It wasn't much, but it was something. "Come on. I've got something to show you."
"Where did you get it?" Clary wondered as he backed away from the revealing of the Vampire Bike.
"Magnus was complaining that someone left it in front of his house after the party, so I convinced him to give it to me."
"And you flew it up here?" This was good. Things sounded almost normal between them- just a casual, lighthearted conversation. Maybe they could pull this off, maybe they could actually be brother and sister. Maybe they could forget the past.
"I'm getting pretty good at it. Want to see?" Jace asked her, and even though there was still something fragile about the way he looked at her, something a little broken, she saw the effort there to sound cheerful, to get past it.
She could try too. They could try together.
She swung her leg over the back of the bike and tentatively circled her arms around his waist. She didn't hold tightly, couldn't bring herself to face the feelings it stirred in her, until the bike lurched and she clutched at him out of fear. Jace chuckled a little, but she felt him tense at her touch.
"If we crash into the parking lot of a key food, I'll kill you, you know that?" She yelled over the throttle of the bike.
She felt Jace chuckle again, vibrating through his rib cage and into her fingertips.
Sorry this update took forever! Please review :D! Then prepare yourself for some good, old-fashioned incest angst. This is still a humor/romance genre story, though, so I promise not to overdue it.
