Clary awoke from a strange dream in which she'd been standing in the infirmary back at the Institute, with Jace; he'd stared at her with wide hurt eyes and repeated the question 'How could you do this to us?' over and over.

Her eyes were watery and she swiped at them roughly. She rolled over and almost jumped out of her skin as she came face to face with Jonathan. He was asleep, his mouth open slightly and his breathing steady, although maybe a little quick. She stared at him for a moment as if she was scared he wasn't really asleep and hoping that if he was, he wouldn't wake up- ever. She studied his sharp features, a lump in her throat and her muscles tensed up. He looked docile, his face smooth and clear of any scowl lines or sadistic quirks of his lips.

With a muted sigh, the redhead sat up. She was trapped between her brother and the wall so she carefully crawled to the foot of the bed and climbed over the brass frame. She found the teal dress from the previous day on the floor next to the white-blonds clothes. She didn't bother with the black lacy underwear, merely donned the tight dress and cautiously approached the basement door. She stood at the bottom of the stone steps and sent her brothers still form an anxious glance. He'd told her it locked from the outside and if he was down here with her- and they were the only ones here- then the door should open. Unless Jonathan had lied. But there was only one way to find out and that risked her brothers wrath.

She teetered, sweating with the fearful race of her heart. She was being a coward. Swiftly squaring her shoulders and clenching her teeth, she lifted her foot for the first step.

"Clary?" she froze at the sound of her brothers voice. "Where did you go?" the person in question closed her eyes in exasperation, moving back over to the double bed, where Jonathan lay in the same position she'd left him in.

"I didn't go anywhere- I'm here," she answered hastily, hovering by the bed and trying not to look at his ruined back.

"I couldn't find you..." he whispered, his voice trailing off. He was still asleep. Or putting it on...

"I'm here..." Clary said again, hesitantly putting her hand on his arm.

"My scarf." he said, his hand twitching where it rested on the pillow. She frowned faintly, looking about herself as though she expected one to materialise. "It smelled of you afterwards..." he breathed and she jerked, taking her hand back. He was dreaming about their 'day out' in Paris...? She shuddered, picturing him putting the soft scarf to his face and inhaling her scent as she mentally fought against a wave of vertigo.

"Jonathan?" she began, putting her hand back on his arm lightly. "What were you doing yesterday?" she held her breath, her heart pounding in her ears as she awaited his answer. But no answer came. Abruptly, her brothers eyes opened and he turned onto his back, quirking an eyebrow up at her. For a moment, the redhead thought she'd been caught and stepped back and away from his impenetrable gaze.

"What are you up to, Clarissa?" he asked, sitting up and yawning. He looked calm- oblivious, almost.

"Nothing." she answered quickly, bravely perching on the bed beside him and attempting to act natural. He gave her a weird look and then smiled crookedly at her, rubbing his hand up and down her thigh. Forcing down the urge to throw up, she smiled up at him and moved his hand beneath her dress without releasing it from her grasp, so that she could keep it still. Two can play at that game, she thought. He looked at her knowingly and leaned down to kiss her cheek, before getting off the bed. Remaining in his boxers, he gathered up the rest of their dirty clothes in his arms and glanced at her.

"Shall we?" he nodded to the door and then started for it, not waiting to see if she was following. She jumped up from the bed and half-ran to catch up with him. The door had been open, after all. Jonathan lead her down the hallway, only looking behind once to make sure she hadn't made a run for it. Not that she knew the way out of this place. She took her time, feet padding against the wooden floor and glanced into the two rooms whose doors were slightly ajar as she passed them. She glimpsed a fridge through the first one, nearest the basement door and after passing the closed one in the middle, she noted a fancy table and chairs in the third. The mysterious door in the middle of the hall undoubtedly lead to the rest of the house, she concluded.

She briefly considered whether the house was anything like Valentine's apartment, in that its front door shifted between intangible and tangible at the twist of a ring. She supposed it must be, since no one had tracked either of them down. Or had someone...? She remembered the night before, her brothers introvert behaviour and grazed knuckles.

He was waiting for her at the top of the staircase as she mounted it, using the banister to propel her sore limbs up.

"You know, its only a matter of time before Jace and the others find us." the redhead remarked as they entered the bedroom and her brother dumped their clothes unceremoniously by the wardrobe.

"They may find us," he agreed, unfazed. "But they'll never get to us." Clary regarded him quietly in confusion, but he wasn't at liberty to provide an explanation and so he simply moved the broken bathroom door to allow her access and leant it back in place once she was inside.

As she stood brushing her teeth a minute later, staring glumly into the mirror, she entertained the idea of seducing her brother in the bedroom. She could wait for him to fall asleep and then look for his stele; she'd decided that drawing a portal was too risky because of the time it took, but she could send Jace and the others a message. However, as of right now, all she could tell them was that she was alive and she might not get more than one chance at it. She needed more information before she could do anything. And that meant being a good girl for her brother and playing along with his twisted little game of happy families.

Jonathan edged into the room as she began rinsing out her mouth and lifted the toilet seat, proceeding to urinate into the bowl.

"Hey-" the redhead glared at him, turning beetroot as he released a low sigh and tilted his head back. She spun away when he flushed the toilet and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. His arm bumped hers and she slipped passed him to the exit.

"Run a bath, would you?" he called out just as she was about to move the door aside. "I thought we could bathe together before breakfast. You certainly need it," she rolled her eyes half-heartedly but he was already busy squeezing minty paste onto his toothbrush. Silently she plugged the tub and started the water running, pouring in some of the citrus shower gel that was sat on the edge. She boosted herself up onto the counter beside the sink, resisting the urge to get straight into the bath before it had finished filling.

She watched her brother clean his teeth in a methodical kind of precision, the fingers of his free hand drumming against the counter. When he switched to his top row, the beat of his fingers reversed so that his pinky tapped the surface first and his thumb tapped it last. Splitting a glance between him and his hand, the redhead acted spontaneously and clamped down on his fingers. Jonathan blinked and looked at her, his toothbrush frozen on his teeth. He frowned, leaning down to spit in the sink.

"What was that for?" he demanded, pouting sulkily. Clary just shook her head, laughing a bit and leapt off the counter to turn off the bath taps. "Its a good thing I don't have OCD," he commented in a dark tone, begrudgingly rinsing his toothbrush and placing it in the cup that Clary's sat in, before washing his mouth out.

"I was hoping you did." she admitted, smirking slightly at the look he sent her. "I'm kinda surprised. You can be so particular about things- plan something out to the final detail- and then stop halfway through with another idea in mind. You're like Valentine and not like him at the same time, its...baffling."

"In which case, I suppose he succeeded in what he wanted me to be," he replied, his eyes as unfathomable as ever. "Well, except for one minor detail,"

"What?" the redhead asked in a small voice.

"A weapon is a weapon. A tool that is used by someone to their own ends; it cant be anything else," his voice was soft, matter of fact, but a muscle jumped in his jaw, belying something lurking underneath. "However, I have a mind- I have wants, needs- and if our father was half as clever as he claimed to be, he would have spent his time beating the insolence out of me, instead of into me. That way, when he died I would have been rendered useless- no master, no orders to follow. Almost completely harmless. And not on the brink of destroying the world; Valentine didn't want the world to end, he wanted the opposite."

"Lilith would've taken his place." the redhead pointed out rather reluctantly. "In a way, she already has..."

"I don't think I would have been quite as interesting to her had I been merely an obedient puppet of Valentine's." he told her with a quick flick of his wrist, before moving to tug her dress off over her head and help her into the bath. She hadn't needed help, but she didn't say anything. She sat down, the heat of the water and the feel of it over her grimy, damaged skin loosening her muscles up and relieving her frail mind, even if just a little. Her brother took off his boxers and got in at the opposite end, facing her. She drew her knees up to her chest as he stretched his legs out on either side of her, arms running along the sides of the tub. She thought she heard him let out a hiss and glanced up to see his eyes shut and his lips twisted down at the corners.

"Is the water too hot?" she asked, automatically reaching behind her for the cold tap.

"No. Its fine," he replied mildly. She turned back to see that he had leant his head back in a picture of ease, but she noticed his white-knuckled grip on the sides and subconsciously hugged her legs tighter.

"Is something...wrong?" her voice was slightly strained.

"No. Its nothing," he answered more firmly, sitting up to look at her. Her gaze and mind slid towards his back then and her eyebrows furrowed.

"What you said about your back..." she began timidly, her freckled face heating up again but not out of embarrassment. "Were you telling the truth- that they hurt all the time?"

"Yes." his hands had loosened now, but there was a near unnoticeable tremor in them. Clary felt her heart pull at its mooring in her chest, but she ignored it.

"So much for baths being peaceful and relaxing." she attempted to joke, but her voice came out bleak.

"If we'd grown up together, we would have shared countless baths," the white-blond murmured, his gaze less sultry for once and more alight with wonder. The redhead evaded that subject entirely, her skin prickling uncomfortably.

"Why don't you use rescue cream or something?" she asked with a nervous shrug. Her brother stared at her as if she was either incredibly dense or speaking an alien language. "Its cream that you-"

"I can easily guess what is it," he cut in with a hint of sarcasm. "It could sooth them, dull the pain perhaps. But they're never going to heal."

"Of course not-"

"I've grown used to them," he went on, smiling at the look she gave him. "So much so that I forget they are there." he finished, running a hand through his ivory locks.

"Still, I think you should...tend to them better," the redhead said quietly, looking down at her knees. "Even if the pain never goes away."

"It would hardly make a difference now," he countered, though not unkindly. "I've born them for so long that I doubt my pain receptors- or my mind for that matter- would register any change in intensity."

"I guess." she responded non-committal, a thought teasing the edges of her mind and dancing away when she tried to get a hold on it. She shook her head as if to clear it and glanced back at her brother. He had reached over for the sponge on the side and dunked it in the water before putting a dollop of the citrus shower gel on it.

"Turn around," he ordered, eyes brighter than before and a carefree grin twitching up the corners of his mouth. It reminded her of when they'd first met, when he'd been impersonating Sebastian Verlac. "I'll do your back. And then you can do mine." Clary's belly did a nauseous flip at the last suggestion. The thought from earlier flitted around the walls of her mind again but just when she thought she'd grasped it, it dissipated.

Slowly, she nodded and did as she was told.