**The characters of The Mortal Instruments are owned by Cassandra Clare. The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by ddpjclaf, 2010. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.**


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Chapter 9: Rushing Current

Chapter songs:

Gotta be Somebody's Blues - Jimmy Eat World

Stop & Stare - One Republic


Her hands were on him, her thumbs brushing his cheeks, and her fingers mingling in his hair. Brilliant green eyes bored into his, holding him trapped within their stare. The way she touched and looked at him was not at all indicative of friendship. Jace could see the beginnings of something else stirring behind her eyes, and as much as he shouldn't, he liked it. God, how he liked it. Another moment longer and he'd be forced to lean in and take her mouth with his. Feel her warmth and softness, taste the sweetness of her lips. It wouldn't be his fault. He wouldn't be able to help it.

No, he couldn't do that. He couldn't. Not only was she Isabelle's friend, she was his. And she was hurting, projecting that pain onto him and turning it into something else entirely. He couldn't soil that, couldn't take advantage of her. What he thought he saw couldn't really be what she felt. But Christ, he couldn't pull away. He begged for the strength to just move. To be strong enough for just that moment. To do the right thing. He didn't want to see her like he saw other girls. As things to kiss, hold, and ultimately toss away when he stopped feeling fulfilled by them. He was much too damaged to be anything more. And she deserved more. More than he was. More than he could ever hope to be. He didn't want her to look at him like that.

But she was so close. So damn close he could feel her breath flowing over his cheeks. And she kept looking at him. Did she have any idea at all what she could do to any male with that look? When she batted those wide, innocent eyes? Eyes that let every single emotion gush out and straight into the soul of whoever dared stare into them. She was killing him softly with just a look. A safe, spotless, untainted gaze. And she didn't have a clue.

"Ahem."

And with just that sound the spell was broken.

Jace breathed out silently in relief. Removing his hands from her was nearly impossible, but he managed. Clary's fell from his face as she turned toward the voice. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the florescent monstrosities the school called lights, were Isabelle and Clary's mother. Isabelle's eyes looked as though they may fall out at any second, and Jocelyn looked—well, she just looked mad.

"Clarissa Fray-Morgenstern. What in the world are you doing?"

Jace stood slowly from his crouched position on the floor and Clary followed, swaying slightly as she stretched to full height. He reached out, grabbing the tops of her arms to steady her. She peeked up at him, giving him a small, apologetic but grateful smile before turning back to her mother.

"Honey, what's wrong?" Jocelyn's anger was replaced by concern as she crossed the threshold and wrapped her arms around Clary's shoulders.

Jace released his hold on her and moved a few feet away. Isabelle narrowed her eyes and studied him curiously. He stuck his hands in his pockets and glared back at her.

"N—nothing." Clary stiffened under her mother's embrace.

Jace wanted to tell Jocelyn to let go, knowing how uncomfortable it was to feel smothered after an attack. But kept his mouth shut, figuring it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

"I—got a little dizzy. Isabelle and Jace were just helping me."

Jocelyn glanced at Jace. "So, you're Jace, then." She eyed him carefully. "Clary's spoken quite a bit about you."

Clary's eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright pink.

Jace tried extremely hard not to smirk at the idea that she'd been talking about him. To her mother of all people. "Yeah, I am."

Jocelyn studied him for a few moments, saying nothing more to him. Finally, she shifted her gaze to Isabelle, smiled, and said, "Thank you for taking care of my baby, Isabelle, and for coming to get me." She maneuvered Clary toward the door. "If you'll excuse us."

It wasn't lost on Jace that Jocelyn said nothing to him about his role in taking care of Clary. Not that he cared, but it seemed odd that she'd completely dismiss him. He and Isabelle moved out of their way and Jocelyn ushered Clary forward. Just before they exited to the hallway, Clary glanced over her shoulder, gave Jace an apologetic look, and then disappeared from the room.

As soon as they were gone, Isabelle whipped around, her hair nearly smacking Jace in the face as she turned toward him. "What the hell was that?"

Jace rolled his eyes and tried to move past her, but she blocked the entrance. "For God's sake, Isabelle, I was just trying to help her. You don't have to get all pissy about it."

Isabelle placed her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Not you, ass. You know, not everything is about you." She blew a piece of dark hair out of her face. "I meant her. What the hell was that? She wasn't just dizzy."

Slightly taken aback that she wasn't yelling at him about going near her friend, Jace hesitated before regaining his composure. "Yeah, well, it's nice to see you're not quite as dense as I assumed you were."

She scowled.

"It was a panic attack." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"How did you know what to do?"

"Does it matter?"

Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "You know, maybe if you opened up a little bit everyone wouldn't think you're such an ass."

Jace thought about that for a moment and then met her eyes. "You know what? I'm okay with that."

He pushed past her and made his way into the hall. Looking up, he spotted Clary and her mother a little ways ahead. Clary leaned with her back against one of the bright red lockers. She caught his eye for the briefest of moments before he shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his gaze to the floor, studying the slate gray tiles and moving away without a word.

.o.O.o.

Clary followed Jace's retreating form with her eyes. She wanted to talk to him, to thank him properly and apologize for her mother's blatant rudeness toward him. But there was no way she was getting out of Jocelyn's clutches at the moment.

"Clarissa, are you listening to me?"

Clary forced her gaze away from Jace and back to her mother. "Yes."

Jocelyn crossed her arms and stared down her nose at Clary. "Then what did I just say?"

Clary closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer finger, and let out a slow breath. "I don't know, Mother."

"I asked you to explain exactly what happened this morning."

"Well," Clary hesitated, not knowing precisely what she wanted to tell her mother. Jocelyn tended to overreact—case in point, her treatment of Jace. "I just started feeling dizzy, so Jace and Isabelle helped me out of the auditorium." There. She figured that would be enough to appease Jocelyn's concern over her well being.

"That's all well and good but it doesn't explain to me why you were touching that boy like that, and him you." She narrowed her eyes. "Is there something going on that I don't know about?"

Clary sighed. "No, Mom. There's nothing going on."

Her mother spoke softly, yet with subtle warning. "Do you like him, Clary?"

"Sure." She shrugged as nonchalantly as she could muster. It was always best to not make a big deal out of anything with Jocelyn. If she acted like she liked Jace or even disliked him, Jocelyn would make it into more than it was. "Why wouldn't I? He's always been nice to me."

"And that's it? He's just been nice to you. Nothing else?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "Yes. Nothing else." She crossed her arms over her chest. "When are you going to give me a break on the whole boy issue? I mean, I've been best friends with a boy for practically my whole life. I don't understand why you can't trust me."

"Oh, baby." Jocelyn stepped closer, pushing back a chunk of hair that had fallen into Clary's eyes. "It's not that I don't trust you. It's just . . . well, after the incident last year, I just worry about you."

Clary scowled. "Mom, not all boys are like Julian. You can't just lump them all into a stereotype." She paused. "Alec and Jace are nice. You shouldn't treat them like they're not, just because of what happened."

Jocelyn frowned. "What are you talking about? I've never even met this . . . Alec, and as for Jace, well, I've met him once for about two seconds."

"Well, it was long enough for you to be rude."

Jocelyn stared at her in disbelief.

Clary cowered slightly under her mother's gaze, but didn't back down. "You thanked Isabelle for her help and completely ignored Jace when, if I'm being completely honest, he's actually the one who helped me."

"Oh, Clary, don't be ridiculous," Jocelyn said as if she were bored with the conversation.

Clary lifted her hands into the air and dropped them to her side. "Are we done now? I need to get back to the gym before they release and I'm late to class."

"Are you feeling up to going back? I could take you home if you're still not feeling well."

Clary waved her hand in front of her. "No, I'm fine. Really. You should go."

Jocelyn eyed her for a moment before leaning in and placing a kiss on her forehead. "Okay. But if you start feeling bad just call and I'll come get you, all right?"

"I'll be fine, Mom."

As Jocelyn made her way down the hall, Isabelle came up to Clary, her eyes wide and brimming with questions.

Clary sighed and shook her head. "Don't ask." She started toward the gymnasium. "Come on. We wouldn't want to miss any more of this super exciting assembly."

Isabelle laughed and hooked her arm through Clary's, pulling Clary tight against her side as they walked toward the double doors.

.o.O.o.

"Well, I was right about one thing." Simon poked at the yellow blob on his tray with a plastic fork. "It's definitely a surprise." He jabbed a mushy yellow-orange square and held it up in front of his face. "Please tell me this is a carrot."

Clary snorted. "I don't understand why you just don't bring your lunch. You would avoid so much lunchtime drama if you did."

Simon pushed around a rock hard brownie occupying one compartment of his tray. "I don't want to look like a dork carrying my little brown sack around with me."

Clary raised one brow in his direction. "Simon—I say this with the utmost love and adoration—you're already a dork. A lunch sack is not going to make that worse."

"I am not a dork." He raised his chin indignantly. "I'm—" He grimaced at her smirk. "Shut up."

Clary laughed, reaching into her sack and pulling out the extra peanut butter and jelly sandwich she'd packed for Simon that morning. His suffering through school lunch was not something new. She handed it to him with a grin. He snatched it from her hand, removed it from the plastic baggie, and took a huge bite, smiling at her with his mouth full and cheeks puffed out. Clary shook her head and twisted her hands around the green apple she'd taken from her bag.

"There you are." Isabelle plopped down in the seat next to Clary, taking a zippered lunch tote from her backpack. "For this school being so small, it's surprisingly hard to find people."

"This school's not that small, Izzy." Clary bit into her apple, the juice dripping down her chin.

"It is compared to our last one." She unloaded the contents of her lunch onto the table in front of her, choosing to start with her sandwich first. "So," she took a bite, chewing slowly, and sipped from her thermos, "are you guys going to the dance on Friday?"

Clary shrugged. "I don't know. Sebastian asked me that this morning."

Simon's head whipped in her direction, his eyes wide.

Isabelle raised her brows. "Hottie wanted to know if you were going to the dance?" She scooted her chair closer, sitting on the edge of it. "What did you say?"

"I said maybe."

"Maybe?" Isabelle shook her head and sighed.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Are you really that naïve when it comes to boys?"

Apparently, since she had no idea what Isabelle was getting at.

"He likes you, Clary."

Clary laughed. "No he doesn't. He's just looking out for me." She bit into her apple once more.

Isabelle snorted. "God, you're so clueless." She took another long draw out of her thermos. "Tell you what. Let's all go together, you know, as a group."

"A group?" Clary's ears perked at the sound of that idea. Though she quickly squashed the excitement the thought of who might exactly be in this "group" brought on.

"Yeah. Ooh, maybe you can spend the night after? You want to?"

"Sure." She smiled. "That sounds fun."

Isabelle turned to Simon. "Do you have a car?"

Simon's cheeks turned pink. "Um, no, but my Mom does."

"Can you borrow it?" She paused. "You are sixteen, right?"

"Yes and yes. But doesn't your brother drive?"

"Yeah, but he might be otherwise engaged." She rolled her eyes and jerked her head in the direction of a table across the lunchroom.

Clary followed her movement, spying a group of soccer players huddled around the table along with a few girls. The girls put on a show of laughing at everything the boys said, causing Clary to roll her eyes at the pathetic mating dance going on.

Jace sat amongt the other guys, seeming at home with his teammates. Clary hated to admit it, but she'd been secretly hoping to spot him. She didn't know what was happening to her, but she'd found it increasingly difficult to keep him from her mind all day. The memory of how his hands felt as he caressed her cheeks, and the scent of him as she'd buried her face into his chest would not leave her mind no matter how hard she tried to push it away. But as she caught sight of him now, another new feeling filled her. To his side, leaning toward him and smiling, was Kaelie Meadows. Tall, blonde, perfect Kaelie Meadows. Clary's chest grew uncomfortable as she watched Jace turn and smile at Kaelie. Kaelie bit her lip and looked up at him under her lashes, making Clary's heart plummet into her stomach. Her mouth went dry and suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to get out of there. She didn't want to watch, didn't even want to be in the same room. Not understanding her own reaction, she gathered the remnants of her lunch and stood.

Simon and Isabelle glanced up at her curiously.

"I'm not hungry," she said in a tight voice, feeling her throat constrict around it.

"Well, don't waste it!" Simon said, grabbing the bag and shoving a few chips in his mouth.

Isabelle studied her intently. "You okay? You look kind of pale."

"Yeah, I'm good." She swallowed against the increasing pressure in her throat. "I'm going to go use the bathroom before class. I'll see you later." Turning quickly, she made her way to the double doors, cursing herself for acting so stupid. Why did she care who Jace talked to, or flirted with for that matter? They were friends. That was all. She knew sooner or later he'd attract the attention of some female, or if she were being more realistic, multiple females. So, why did the sight of it make her feel like vomiting? Furthermore, why did she wish, with everything in her, that it was her he'd smiled at like that?

.o.O.o.

Jace slung his bag over his shoulder as he made his way through the now empty halls. The team meeting had lasted longer than he'd anticipated and he hoped Isabelle found another ride home. At least he had a night off from practice, which was a bonus. He always hated having a full on practice the night before a game—or in this instance, a scrimmage against a neighboring high school.

As he pushed through the front doors, his eyes fell on an amusing sight. Clary walked down the sidewalk carrying a large box, stumbling against its weight and the cracks in the pavement under her feet. Chuckling, he bound down the steps and caught up to her within a few moments.

"Hey, Pippi."

She gasped and nearly dropped the box. "Jesus! Why are you always sneaking up on me?"

"It's your own fault for not following through on your promise to put a bell on me." He grinned.

She pursed her lips against a smile of her own. "Yes, well, now I'm definitely getting you one."

"Would you like some help with that?" He pointed to the box in her hands.

She glanced down, her cheeks coloring slightly. "Oh. Um, that's okay, I've got it," she said as she struggled against its weight.

He rolled his eyes, shifted his bag further onto his shoulder, and reached out grasping the box. "Don't be stupid." He took it from her, brushing her hands in the process. "I assume you were going to walk home carrying this?"

She nodded, her face growing even brighter.

He sighed. "Come on. I'll give you a ride."

"Oh. You don't have to. It's only a couple of blocks."

He looked back at her incredulously. "Yeah, I know. I live right next door, remember?"

She scowled, scrunching her little nose up and rolling her eyes. He shook his head and smiled as he made his way across the parking lot, stopping beside the black classic '69 Mustang he and Robert had been working on for the past three summers.

"Wow," Clary said, her mouth dropping and eyes widening. "Is this yours?"

Jace shrugged and twisted the key into the lock of the passenger side door, opening it wide and stashing the box in the backseat. "It's a work in progress. Robert and I have been restoring it for a few years."

"It's great." She glanced up at him and narrowed her eyes. "Just how many hidden talents do you have?"

He grinned and leaned in closer, his face just inches from hers. "Guess you'll just have to wait and find out." He pulled back and gestured for her to get in.

Clary ducked under his arm and settled herself in the passenger seat. Jace pushed the door shut before rushing around to the driver's side, surprised to find that she'd already unlocked the door for him. After throwing his bag in the back, he turned the key in the ignition, the radio blaring as it turned over. He reached forward and turned the dial down.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I like it loud."

"Me too." She smiled and leaned forward, turning the volume back up.

He shook his head and grinned.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"No, what?"

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, making sure to watch the road as he drove. "You're just constantly surprising me."

"No, that'd be you with all your sneaking around."

"Not that kind of surprise." He laughed, stopping at the red light and turning his head toward her. "You're always doing and saying things I don't expect."

"Oh." She stared at her hands, a faint line forming between her brows.

"I don't mean it as a bad thing," he said quietly, pulling out as the light turned green. "I never know what's going to come out of your mouth or how you're going to react. It keeps life interesting. Well, at least when I'm hanging out with you."

She gave him a small smile. "Thanks. I like you too."

"Well, seeing as we have to endure each other's presence being neighbors and all, that's probably a good thing."

"Yes, much better than if I couldn't stand you."

"Give me a little time. I'm sure I'll get on your nerves sooner or later."

She giggled. Finally. He thought she'd keep that sad look on her face the entire ride home. After a few minutes, he reached his house and pulled into the driveway, killing the engine. Clary didn't move and stared at her hands as the creases formed on her forehead once again. With a deep breath, she looked up and met his eyes.

"Listen," she said. "About this morning."

Jace shook his head. "We don't have to talk about that."

She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. "I know, but I have a few things I want to say."

He raised his brows as she shifted against the leather seat, obviously uncomfortable about something.

"I feel really bad for how my mom treated you. It was rude and not at all your fault."

He opened his mouth to tell her it was fine, that it wasn't a big deal because no girls' mothers ever liked him. But she raised her finger to tell him she wasn't done.

"She's very over-protective when it comes to me talking to any boys besides Simon."

He wanted to ask her why, but figured she'd tell him if she wanted.

"And, well, it was just really embarrassing and I wanted to tell you I'm sorry." She looked up at him from under her lashes, causing his chest to tighten slightly.

"It's fine, Clary. It didn't bother me." He shrugged, trying to fight off the strangeness she was causing inside him. "Truth be told, I'm used to that kind of thing."

"Well, it's not fine with me." Her eyes sparked with anger. "I just—you really helped me today, and I didn't even get a chance to thank you properly before she came in and treated you like crap."

"Clary, you said thank you. What more is there?"

She took in a deep breath and met his eyes. The way her gaze flicked between both of his made him believe she was contemplating something. He had no idea what it could be, but something about the way she was looking at him made his chest tighten even more.

"I don't know," she whispered, "but a simple 'thank you' didn't seem like enough."

Jace swallowed. "It was enough for me."

"But not for me." She closed her eyes for a moment and leaned forward across the consol.

Jace's breath caught as she came closer to him, thinking he should pull away but really, really not wanting to. He watched her, frozen in his position, as she brought her face right up next to his and turned toward him. His eyes closed and he released the breath he'd been holding as her soft lips brushed against his cheek.

"Thank you." She breathed against him, her warm breath flowing over his face.

He wanted to turn to her and catch her lips with his, but he didn't. He just sat there as still as possible, forcing himself to ignore his body's pleas to give in to what he wanted.

Clary shifted slowly back into her seat and turned toward the door, pulling against the handle and shoving it open. She hopped out and reached behind the seat to retrieve her box and bag. Before shutting the door, she leaned down and smiled.

"Thanks for the ride."

He forced a grin and nodded. She closed the door and started across the lawn toward her house. As Jace watched, he lifted his hand to his face, cupping it slowly over his cheek which still burned where she'd kissed him.

When she disappeared into the house, he groaned and dropped his forehead to the steering wheel. He sat there for another moment before letting out a deep breath and finally forcing himself to get out of the car. Grabbing his bag from the backseat, he trudged up to the house, conflicting emotions battling inside of him.

As soon as he opened the door, Max raced up to him waving a manila envelope over his head. "Look! You got mail, Jace."

He furrowed his brows. "Really?" Taking the envelope, he studied the front, noticing there was no return address. "Hmm…" He looked up into Max's smiling face. "Thanks."

Max grinned wider and took off into the living room. Jace chuckled and turned toward the stairs. He made his way to his room, deposited his bag on the back of the chair at his immaculate desk, and sat on his bed. Pursing his lips, he slid his finger under the sealed flap of the envelope. Once it was opened, he tipped it upside down and shook until a smaller, white envelope fell out onto the floor. He frowned and bent to pick it up.

Jace sat back up and flipped the envelope over, gasping as he read the name on the return address. Closing his eyes, he fisted the paper in his palm, and leaned his forehead against his knuckles. He tried blocking out the memories the name caused to flash in his mind. But no matter how hard he squeezed his lids together, he couldn't make the images go away. With a deep breath, he opened his eyes once more, smoothed out the crinkled envelope and stared numbly at the return address:

Michael Wayland.

Grayson County State Penitentiary.