"Here,"

Clary glanced up as Jonathan came into the bathroom with a maroon towel in hand and a matching one wound around his waist. His and hers...Her fingers curled inwards a fraction but she flashed a smile up at him and held a hand out for the towel. Instead, he clasped her wrist gently in his free hand and began running the fluffy fabric up and down her arm.

"I'm not a kid, Jonathan," she sighed, putting her hand on his arm to stop his ministrations. "I'm not your baby sister who needs taking care of."

"I know that. You're a grown woman," he murmured with a tender smile, leaning down to nudge her nose with his, his palm warm on the milky skin below her right breast. "But I like to," His lips brushed against hers for a moment and she felt obliged to return the pressure. She felt him smile, before he pulled away and continued to towel-dry her.

The redhead felt strange- the kiss had been strange. She'd come to the assumption that to her brother, kissing was a necessary stepping stone to sex and yet he had kissed her without any pre-conceived agenda or motive. The memory sprung to mind of his arms around her in Valentine's apartment and Jace commenting that Sebastian didn't do hugging. She almost preferred it when he reserved kissing for sex; she didn't like the idea of being the only person in the world that her brother treated this way, as if she was 'special' in his eyes. She wasn't sure whether the chill down her spine was due to the water dripping from her curls or something else.

"Can you even cook?" she asked, her stomach tight with hunger and her mouth dry from lack of thirst.

"Not well, but I know the basics," he responded as he wrapped the towel around her and folded the corner over at the top, fingers briefly lingering on her cleavage. "I didn't have servants growing up. I had to do everything myself," Clary returned his black gaze weakly, seeing nothing but sincerity there. But hadn't Jace mentioned servants when he'd talked of his childhood?

"Didn't Valentine cook for you...?" even as she spoke, she was overwhelmed by the surrealism of it; she couldn't imagine their father standing at a stove and slaving away over a stew. But she could see him standing around with a glass of white wine in hand, maybe even attempting to help out and getting under her mothers feet in the process. She shook her head briskly, trying to rid herself of unwanted thoughts.

"Perhaps when I was very little. But I don't remember a single time when me and Valentine sat down to a meal together," Jonathan sounded oddly wistful as he smiled down at her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I do however, remember sitting down with him in the evening, over glasses of wine; sometimes we discussed his plans, but mostly he would speak of his opinions and ideas in regards to the Shadowhunter world and the Clave. And I would listen, believing and agreeing with every word. Until I was granted liberty from my isolation and let loose into the wild; it didn't take long for me to realise that Valentine was utterly out of his mind.
Despite knowing that his hope of becoming the next Jonathan Shadowhunter was pure insanity and would never come to be, I wasn't going to stand in his way. I let him follow where his dream lead him, even though I knew he would meet his own death at the end of it. Do you think me heartless now, beloved Sister?"

Having trouble processing everything he'd said, the redhead hugged her elbows and edged past her brother into the bedroom, opening the large wardrobe with shaky hands. "So, what are we going to eat? I don't like eggs- but you already know that," she was babbling, so she attempted to focus on pushing aside the boys clothes to get to the girls clothes; the hangers screeched against the metal bar they were hooked on. "You have cereal, right? I'm sure I can manage with pouring milk-"

"You've thought me heartless from the moment you found out I killed the little Lightwood boy, haven't you?" Clary's hands paused on the fancy dresses she'd been looking through and she shut her eyes. Jonathan was right behind her, leaning down slightly so that his mouth hovered by her left ear. "I suppose Jocelyn cooked and fed you growing up. I bet she coddled you. Did she dote on you, little Sister?"

"Its obvious where this is going," the redhead retorted sourly, spinning around to face him and clutching the top of her towel both for support and to make sure it didn't come loose. "Everyone must feel sorry for Jonathan Morgenstern: he was raised by a tyrant and his mother 'abandoned' him, saving all her love for his sister- all valid reasons to justify killing innocent people and tearing down the world." her voice had dripped perfectly acidic sarcasm, but when she finished and sucked in a much needed breath, she clamped down on her tongue and hoped she didn't regret ever opening her mouth.

"How cruel," the white-blond muttered, his onyx eyes glazing over as though he couldn't figure out how to react. And then his hand grasped the back of her neck and he brought his mouth down on hers roughly. Immediately, she started beating at his torso and clawing at his hand, trying to get him off her. His mouth was like steel against hers, as if he was attempting to suffocate her or consume her, or both. She braced her palms on his chest and bit down as savagely as she could on his bottom lip. Unfortunately the sound he produced in response was a far cry from pain.

He let up an inch and she saw that his lip was bleeding, the red vivid against his snowy complexion. "Do that again, harder." his expression was deadly serious but his eyes were smouldering with excitement. His mouth was insistent on hers, prying her lips apart with his tongue; she could taste his blood and it had a bitter tang to it. She stopped struggling eventually and concentrated on his face, watching his eyelids flutter every so often.

They were more inhaling and exhaling into each other now with their accelerated heartbeats in sync, rather than kissing. Her brothers tongue merely prodded at hers as though willing it to dance with his. She reached up to cup his face and pressed three slow, simple kisses to his lips and then pushed him away. As she'd expected, he didn't resist, only stood fingering the sore cut on his bottom lip with a placid look on his face.

She turned back to the wardrobe, trembling faintly and took out the first thing her hands landed on. It was a black pin-striped shirt of Jonathan's. She swiftly dropped her maroon towel and slid her arms into the sleeves, buttoning it with clumsy fingers. It was baggy and stopped just below her bum. Without a glance in her brothers direction, she hurried to the bedroom door and through it.

"There's no point running, Clarissa," she heard her brother call as she flew down the stairs. Apprehension gripped her throat at his nonchalant tone, but she didn't stop, darting down the hall and through the door in the middle. Four more steps of hallway and then it opened out into the front of the house, an office space to the right, a lounge area to the left and the front door straight ahead. There was a front door! She slowed as she approached it, glancing through the vertical strips of window either side of it. All she saw was lush green grass. She heard the white-blond moving about above her, still in the bedroom.

Isn't he going to stop me? The noose of apprehension around her neck tightened, but she clasped the brass doorknob and twisted it. The door opened easily out onto a sand-coloured brick porch. Looking behind her once to see that her brother hadn't appeared, she stepped outside, not bothering to close the door. If he did pursue her, a wooden door wasn't going to stop him- he'd probably use it to his advantage, like break it off its hinges and throw it at her. At least, that was what she would do.

She skipped down the four steps, off the porch and onto a dusty stone path that lead to the pavement and was bordered by grass. There was no breeze or gust of wind whatsoever and the stillness of the air unnerved the redhead; it was no wonder that the house was so stuffy. Nevertheless, she broke into a sprint towards the road as if she anticipated a car to come cruising along it any second.

Just before her foot hit the pavement, an electric current coursed through it and up her body, sending her backwards and hurling through the air. She landed on the grass to the left of the house, rolling a few times before she fell motionless. She coughed, gasping for oxygen as she tried to haul herself upright. The skin of her face and body were scored with burns here and there; her brothers shirt had rips and tears that sizzled with tiny dark clouds rising from them. Another cough racked her frame and Clary fisted the earth with her hands in an attempt to stall the tears stinging her eyes.

"You can try again if you like. Though you wont get through," she looked up to see Jonathan looking down at her, leaning on the low wall that ran around the porch, with his chin cradled in his palm.

"Just help me back inside..." she muttered, her voice raspy as she rubbed the dirt off her hands. She noticed absently that there were no other houses or buildings anywhere in sight around them, only vast, empty expanses of grass. Perfect.

Jonathan had shrugged and jogged down the steps, coming round to where she was sprawled. He was dressed in a snug, black tank top and grey sweatpants as if he were planning on having a workout, although there was no training or exercise room in the house. Then again, a workout for her brother was probably a hundred push-ups, a hundred sit-ups and a ten mile run. She mentally shuddered at the thought- she could barely do ten push-ups, let alone a hundred.

She snapped out of her reverie as she sensed him swing her up into his arms. He was bare foot again, she saw, wondering if he had a thing about not wearing socks or shoes. She let her head lull against him and closed her eyes, feeling like she'd just been repeatedly run over by a truck.

"What was that?" she breathed, swallowing sharply.

"Our security system," the white-blond replied peaceably as he carried her over the threshold. "Its a force-field; it repels any and all physical contact," he settled her down on a chocolate brown leather sofa and moved to close the front door.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" she asked him dryly, pushing the shirt sleeves up to her elbows and folding the cuffs over.

"Some things are best learned the hard way; there's more of an impact," he answered, sitting on the wooden coffee table opposite her. "Besides, even if I'd told you, you would have tested it out anyway because you don't trust me. That, and you're the type of person who would ask about the danger of playing with fire, to then go and do it to see if it truly burned."

"You're right. I would've tried it either way." she admitted begrudgingly as he leant forward, resting his elbows on his legs. An ivory lock fell across his face, lying between his eyes and she felt an alien impulse to brush it out of the way.

"There's more: I wanted you to stop wanting to escape, not accept that escaping is impossible," he breathed out through his nose, running a hand through his hair and the redhead found herself fiddling with a corner of the shirt she was wearing, not knowing what to say. Of course that's why he hadn't told her- he didn't want her to be his prisoner, he wanted her to want to stay here with him. He wanted her to be his partner. But she was his sister and she wanted nothing but to escape or kill him- preferably both. He glanced towards the wall where there were stylish metal numbers- one through twelve- nailed in a circle with second, minute and hour hands fixed in the centre and telling the time; ten past twelve.

"I guess we wont be having breakfast, again." the redhead remarked in an attempt to relieve the tension in the atmosphere, but her voice came out toneless. Her brother stood up and offered her his hand.

"I'll go out and buy something for lunch," there was a ghost of a smirk on his face as she accepted his hand and he drew her back through the hallway and down into the basement. At the bottom of the stairs, Clary gripped his hand as he was about to pull it back.

"Can I eat with you upstairs when you get back? Please?" she watched as his angular features softened; she was getting used to the subtle and minor changes in his expression- almost as if she were getting better at reading him- but when his face softened like this, it was the only time she felt real, bone-deep relief in this precarious situation. Whether it was a façade or not, it meant that she was in his good books and she needed to stay there indefinitely, now that she knew she had nowhere to run.

"I'll consider it," was all he said before pecking her on the lips- which she hastily reciprocated- and leaving with a secretive smirk on his face. Somehow she knew that he didn't need to consider it, that he had already decided. She allowed herself a triumphant smile, just this once.