I don't own anything. And here you are. (:

I wasn't sure how long I stood there, my eyes trained on the bland wallpaper and my mouth open in both shock and horror. It was only when I dropped backwards into the hard backed chair that I was able to stutter out a quiet, "N- No, that is not true."

The words sounded false even to my own ears, as if I had given up the hope of them before they'd been spoken. Not being able to bear Luke's sympathetic gaze, I hunched my shoulders over, dropping my head into my hands. It was quiet then, save the ticking of the tacky owl clock above his desk. Through the walls, I could hear laughter and conversation from those I had passed. It seems they'd forgotten my entrance already. I liked it, not affecting anyone, it was a pleasant change from what my life seemed to have become.

After that moment, the rest was just a blur. I'm positive that we talked for a long while more but I can't remember how I got to be walking back into the institute, my eyes trained on my shoes and an overall shadowy demeanor over me.

It reminded me of my first weeks in California, before I'd become good friends with Chris, Will and Zoe. I had walked as if I had weights on my shoulders, they often told me, and I never made eye contact with anyone. I had been simply miserable and I hadn't been afraid to let everyone around me see it.

I knew it would take more than friendly words and days in the sun to heal me this time. I wasn't just losing New York now, I was accepting that my memories were gone forever. No chance of ever retrieving them. Luke's words repeated themselves over and over in my head until they seemed to have lost meaning, the way chants always did if you say them long enough.

I thought of the pictures I'd seen, the faces that had been smiling from them. I thought of Jace, and how we'd been so close to each other in this place called Idris. Of how he looked at me with adoration in his eyes and I returned his look. I couldn't understand how I hadn't noticed it with Will before. I couldn't understand how I hadn't felt emptier in our relationship without that same passion. Even if I couldn't remember it ever occurring, there was still a ghost of it inside of me and it was enough to make me wonder how thick I was only a week ago. You'd think that after experiencing it, I would be able to tell when it was absent from a relationship. Will was more a brother to me, I could easily admit. He was comfortable whereas Jace was dangerous. He was breezy whereas Jace was intense. His kisses were meaningless, easily thrown away whereas Jaces were unattainable now. Will was familiar. Jace was uncharted territory.

Well, he had been charted once, just once that I would never remember.

Like the shadow I had been the past couple weeks, I walked quietly inside the place. My footsteps were dim, barely there and I stuck to the darker parts of the corridors instinctively. I found that many times I could pass right beside one of the three and they either would not notice me or just would not care. While it might have saddened me, any other day, their uncaring attitude. Now, it only made me grateful. I did not want to talk to anyone. In fact, I wasn't sure what exactly I wanted to do except wallow up into a ball of self pity and stay there until a memory saving miracle was performed… not that that was likely.

It was in my reverie that I ran face first into a body that had been turning the corner ahead of me. Firm hands grabbed onto my arms, steadying me. I hesitantly glanced up, though I would know that long fingered grip anywhere. When I met impatient tawny eyes, I wasn't the only one to pull back, though his was more in what I could guess was disgust than anything else. Not in the mood for any of the usual hostility, I just waited for him to pass.

"What happened?" he asked quietly, his eyes rolling over my face.

I lifted a hand automatically to touch my cheeks. Weird. I hadn't realized I'd been crying.

"Nothing," I murmured, trying to push past him and hide my face at the same time.

Unsurprisingly, a hand on my wrist stopped me. My body gave a shiver at the contact he made, even if I wasn't exactly in the mood. I did not turn around, I couldn't look at his face and know that I'd never get back all of our sweet moments, that I would never get another chance to run my hands through his silky hair, to look into his eyes and not see the coldness that filled them now.

Stifling more tears that threatened to erupt inside of me, I pulled my arm away from his loose clutch and began half walking, half jogging down the rest of the corridor.

I expected – I wanted – him to leave and to continue on like he'd been doing and ignore me completely. If anything, the fact that he cared enough for me to hear his graceful footsteps in my pursuit, just made me more upset.

"Clary," he snapped out suddenly, grabbing onto my shoulder and whipping me around, non too gently, "what's wrong?"

I hated the obligation evident in his voice. He felt he had to ask, I could tell.

Even though I could see the frustration rising in his eyes, I couldn't help but repeat my reply from early and refuse to meet his gaze. A small gasp met my lips the moment he gripped my chin in one of his rough hands and jerked it harshly upwards so I was forced to look at him.

"Tell me," he repeated, his voice unyielding.

I wrenched myself away from his almost painful grasp, though I didn't remove our gazes.

"Why should I?" I hissed, the sudden anger coming as I became defensive. "You've done nothing but make it obvious that you don't give a damn about me since I got here so why should I tell you what's wrong, now?"

Jace didn't look upset at my pointed words, in fact, they seemed to satisfy him in some dark way. For once, there was something else behind his hard exterior, something bitter.

I moved once more to try and escape this impending argument. The expected hand shot out to grab onto my elbow this time, and spin me around once again.

"I haven't made it obvious," he retaliated, before adding after a moment… "In fact, I thought I've done a pretty good job of keeping it under wraps."

I narrowed my eyes at his audacity. Something stirred in me at this remark - not the remark itself, but the way he'd said something so… vexing at the first real conversation – argument – we'd had in days. While I was boiling in my irritation, he seemed completely at ease with the conversation, as if I'd asked where we kept the spare towels or something.

"Would you just let me pass?" I barked, not caring to be talking to him anymore, out of anger instead of hurt this time.

"Nuh uh. Not until you tell me what's bothering you." he replied in a sing song voice. The moment might have been refreshing against the harshness of the days before if not for my fowl mood.

"At this moment, what's bothering me is you!" I barked, throwing my arms across my chest.

He simply chuckled at my insult, taking a step closer towards me.

"Am I bothering you, Clary? Am I really?"

I didn't notice his proximity at first, responding bitingly.

"Yes, you asshat, you are!"

His smirk grew into a smile at this, bitterness laced inside it. Warily, I uncrossed my arms over my chest and then knotted them together in front of me in an effort to try and control my still raging temper. I glared at his almost happy demeanor. I wish he could have been in this good of a mood rest of the week, that way he might not have caught me the one time I wasn't in the mood to talk to him without him acting like I was the bane of his very existence.

"Tell me you hate me Clary," he whispered, suddenly, still holding that infuriating half smile one his face.

I sucked in a sharp breath at how close I realized he had become – he must have advanced without my noticing as I could now see the tiny flecks of lighter gold in his eyes as well as the same dimple I had drawn what felt like months ago, in my art glass with Mr. Quince.

"I- I can't do that," I muttered, wishing I could avert my gaze, drop my eye contact, anything to avoid that greedy look in his gaze.

He gave a small, resentful laugh.

"Fine," he said nonchalantly, "then tell me you love me."

I remained quiet a this, not knowing what to say. I was too confused about my feelings right now to try and put them into words and I would not, could not, talk about them now, in the middle of an argument. At least, It thought it was still an argument. I couldn't be sure anymore, as the anger had all but left me to be replaced by confusion. I wished he'd back up, as my legs seemed to be unmovable at the moment.

He chuckled dryly.

"You never could do that."

I felt a blush rise to my cheeks at that comment. I wished I could remember where his words had come to, what long ago conversation we must have shared.

He was too close to think. I could hear his sharp breaths close to me, almost feel them against my flushed cheeks. His hands hovering between me and him, as if testing himself. I closed my eyes, turning my head away from him. He laughed then. It was a horrible laugh, with no joy, no happiness but only spite. With him so close to me, I could feel his breath as he chuckled, could watch as he backed away. I didn't look up, studying the ground instead and taking slow calming breaths.

I knew he was gone only when I couldn't hear his suddenly laboured breaths as he rounded the corner and out of sight.

Miles away, Jocelyn Fray entered her house with a large fake smile and a duffel bag slung around her slim shoulders. Pushing open the screen door, she dropped her bag onto the hallway floor. Lifting a hand to massage her aching shoulders, she called out tentatively to her daughter, waiting for a reply. Nothing.

Ignoring the inkling of paranoia, she managed to convince herself that Clary was just out with Will or one of her other friends. It wasn't uncommon when Jocelyn had to go to a convention that she would just stay at the twins house. 'She's safe now,' she reminded herself persistently, 'she's away from them.' Pushing the thought from her mind, she moved to the blinking telephone. Maybe she'd called to leave a message on their own machine as she sometimes did.

Jocelyn stopped short. 17 messages? How long had Clary been gone? She'd have to talk to her about coming home at least once a day to make sure the place was fine. She jabbed a button on the machine, walking to the kitchen as the signature beep began, she opened the fridge to search for something to fulfill her hungry stomach.

"Hey Clare-bea- Um, Clare, I mean." The crisp male voice began, one that Jocelyn recognized as being her boyfriends. "Listen, we're all still kind of freaked that you won't return our calls and that you just blow up and go all spazzy and then… well, peace out. Could you please call me, err- one of us back? Thanks."

Shooting upright, Jocelyn tensed, her mind already whirling with anxiety. She could only bring a stunned hand to her mouth as the rest of the messages played, all but two telling her mostly the same thing. Jocelyn couldn't decide between anger at her daughter or guilt at herself. She'd thought that after she'd done it it would be like when Clary was young, she'd feel no remorse as she was only keeping her daughter safe, giving her a childhood. Yet, this time around she was plagued with guilt, all the time.

It was almost comical, every time she closed her eyes for even a second she saw her daughters friends in her mind. Not the ones in California, but her real ones. The Lightwoods, Simon, the warlock Bane and even, Jace. Though, she had dragged them to this new world to be safe from the threats posed, the shame dug at her so much there wasn't room for happiness.

It can still be fixed though, she convinced herself, they could be safe once more.

Clary couldn't have gotten her memories back all at once, maybe not even at all. Yes, maybe she had just found something in the attic or something about their old life. Jocelyn just had to find her and a capable warlock and everything would be fine. She could live with the guilt if it meant that he didn't come for her baby.

Yes. It would all be fine.

With this, Jocelyn moved towards her bedroom. She only had to grab a few more things and then she could leave. To New York. To find Clary and bring her back here, where it was safe.

Luke was sitting in his quarters, his head held in his hands. The room hadn't moved since Clary had been there, her scent still lingered in the air, only perceptible because of his werewolf senses. The man looked beaten down, tired, his plaid shirt hanging off of a thinner body. Yet, his cool eyes were still the same as always, calm and steady, even with the raging migraine battling him.

He jumped when the phone rang, the shrillness much to loud in the otherwise silent headquarters. His pack had seemed to sense the morose feeling in the air, and doing as they often had to in the past few years, they'd remained quiet for their despairing leader. If Luke was anything, it was respected by his pack.

Tiredly, Luke picked up the phone and offered a half-hearted greeting. He could only guess it was some one mistaking their address once again for a Chinese food place. Once, it had seemed funny, but now it only made Luke very, very tired.

"Luke," the voice at the other end breathed.

The werewolf sat up in his seat, his whole body going rigid.

"Jocelyn," he responded in the same neutral tone, even though his body was singing in natural delight at hearing her voice.

There was pause on the other line; a deep breath against the sounds of many other voices before she spoke again, "Is Clary there?"

Luke had choices, he knew. Choices between honoring his loyalty to Jocelyn or to her daughter. One side of him was screaming to say yes, just to be able to maybe see the woman again in the flesh. He'd been devastated when she left him again, this time he knew he wouldn't be able to find her. Yet, another side of him said no. What she'd done was despicable, a second time too. He himself had also seen what it did to everyone that she'd left behind. What it had done to the Lightwoods, particularly one Lightwood. They raged inside of him.

"Luke? Is she?" Jocelyn asked, her voice having an edge of motherly fear that tore at him.

Luke took a slow breath. It was an easy decision, one he'd been making his entire life and would continue to make now.

"She-"

Jace heard the footsteps before her heard the knocking. He didn't respond, only lay on his bed. In the past months, when Alec or Isabelle would come to the door he'd pretend to be busy, to ease their worry. He couldn't be bothered to now, just as he couldn't be bothered to answer. They'd leave if he waited long enough. Plus, he'd long ago learned that the bland white ceiling tiles were much more interesting than anything they would have to say to him.

The knocks came again and Jace still lay immobile.

One more time and they'd be gone, he promised himself.

But they didn't stop, this time getting louder until it sounded like whoever it was behind the door was laying a fist into it. Impatiently, Jace pushed himself off the bed, padding barefoot towards the door. What could be so damn important that they couldn't just go away?

It was just as another set began, even louder than the rest, that Jace swung open the door, making the first – he'd guessed right – stop right before it slammed into his neck.

He went rigid, his face going from impatient to blank almost immediately.

"What do you want?"

"Well, thank you, Luke." Jocelyn murmured in resignation, "Goodnight."

"Wait! Is that all I get, Jocelyn?"

There was no sound on the other line, letting the sharp sounds of an airport intercom be heard over the phone. Luke shook his head tiredly, how could he have expected anything less? She'd gotten what she wanted and now she would just leave, once again.

"What else do you want, Luke?" she said calmly, irking the man in a way that only she could do.

"What else do I want?"

He couldn't begin to tell her what else he wanted. He wanted her to be here, with him. He wanted her to talk to him before she mad such horrible decisions concerning her life. He wanted her to love him as he loved her. He'd thought she did once upon a time, but her leaving only convinced him otherwise.

No, Jocelyn Fairchild never loved him. He knew that now.

She said nothing. It was only the background noise that convinced Luke she hadn't hung up on him.

"You never learn, do you Jocelyn?" he asked with no malice… only wariness.

"I suppose I don't, Luke, I suppose I don't."

The reply stunned him, but he said nothing. He knew then that he had made the right decision.

"I hope you find her, Jocelyn," he lied.

He was the one to hang up the phone, this time.