**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.**

Due to fanfiction's decision to disable the ability to copy and paste from this site, I will be re-downloading Turbulence in its entirety. Those of you who have been supportive of my decision to remove it due to the numerous times it was copied and pasted and re-posted under other people's names, I appreciate you and thank you all so much.

Chapter 14: Cloudy with a Chance of Light Rain

Chapter songs:

Fireflies - Owl City

Losing Grip - Avril Lavigne

Breathing - Lifehouse

Simon dropped back onto the grass, drops of sweat trailing down his cheeks and dripping from his nose. "Okay, that's it. I'm spent."

Clary sat next to him, squinting and holding her hand at her brow, attempting to shield her eyes from the bright sun. "You're spent? After three boxes?" She shook her head and pulled her knees to her chest, holding them tight against her with one arm. "That's pretty pathetic, even for you."

"But it's like a thousand degrees out here," he whined.

"I told you to wear appropriate clothing—and by that I meant shorts. It isn't my fault you decided to ignore me and come in jeans."

"Fray, you know I don't wear shorts."

"Oh come on, Simon. Who cares if your legs are skinny and white?" She paused. "And what do you really expect when you only ever wear pants?"

"You know it's not just that!" he turned to her and whispered in a harsh voice.

Clary rolled her eyes. Ever since Marty Brasman told the entire school about Simon's "inability" to grow hair on his legs he'd been afraid to wear shorts for fear that everyone would think he shaved. "I thought you said it was finally growing in?"

Simon frowned and glanced up at the sky. "It is, but it's still really sparse and—well, you know how I feel about it."

"All right." She held her hands up in front of her and fell back onto the grass next to him.

They lay there for awhile, side by side, their heads touching, while staring up at the clouds and pointing out different shapes to one another. Clary saw an elephant, a Chinese mask, and a pair of angel wings. Simon kept rattling off various video game scenarios that Clary had no idea what he was talking about, or how he managed to see such detailed scenes in a clump of moisture particles. But she'd stopped questioning Simon's imagination a long time ago. It just wasn't worth the hour long lecture she received on which sorcerers harbored which power, the different weapon accessories available to each player, and which demons spewed poisonous venom.

Even though they hadn't spent much time together since his return from the summer excursion with his mother, it was easy to fall back into their easy friendship. Clary had almost forgotten what it was like. Most people looked at them and assumed what they had went beyond friendship, but that had never been an issue for them. Simon had been her best friend practically all her life and she just didn't see him that way. Sure, he was cute in his own geeky, Simon-way. And she loved him, but the relationship they had was perfect just as it was. No games, no worrying about looks, no pretending. Just them acting like dorks as they always had. She liked it that way.

But Jace—well, Jace was another issue entirely. From the moment she'd laid eyes on him she'd felt—something. It wasn't love at first sight or any such nonsense, but it was different than she'd ever felt for anyone else. A connection of sorts that was immediate and strong. She had no idea what it meant or what it was. All she knew was that she had to know him. Had to be around him and get inside to figure him out. But the more time she spent with him, the more she wanted . . . more. He got her in ways that not even her best friend got her. The understanding off loss and pain was something she had with no one else. Not even her mother who had suffered the loss of Jonathan as well. Maybe it was because her mother was an adult and had an easier time coping with such things. Maybe Clary just needed someone her own age to listen. To be there. To share it with.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was just him she'd needed all along.

"You seem happy," Simon said, breaking through her musings.

Clary stared at the sky and smiled. "I feel happy."

"It's been a long time." He turned his head toward her. "I've missed seeing you like this."

Clary met his gaze. "Truthfully, I've missed feeling like this. Like—it was okay to be happy again." She shook her head and looked back up once more. "It's nice."

The screen door banged shut and Clary lifted her head to see her mother trudging across the lawn, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade perched on top.

"Thirsty?" she asked, pausing when she saw them lying on the ground. "Really? You needed a break already? After—" she turned to survey the work they'd completed, "six boxes?"

Clary sat up and pushed herself to her feet, taking one of the glasses from Jocelyn. "Not me, I was just humoring Mr. 'it's-like-a-thousand-degrees-out-here.'"

Jocelyn laughed and motioned for Clary to sit back down. She handed a glass to Simon, who'd managed to sit up at least. "So, tell me about the dance. Did you two have fun?"

Giddiness curled in Clary's stomach as she thought of the dance. While it had been fun in its entirety, the most exciting part of the evening didn't happen until the last ten minutes, and furthermore, later that night.

"Yeah, it was great," Clary said, trying to act nonchalant and not reveal anything more than what was appropriate.

"Did you dance with anyone?"

Jocelyn always did this, probing for information on Clary's interaction with boys. Clary knew her mother only wanted to protect her. Considering what happened with Julian, she didn't blame her, but wondered if maybe she'd loosen the chastity belt just a little. Sooner or later, she knew that keeping this thing with Jace a secret would become increasingly more difficult. She didn't know how he felt about possibly someday letting it be known to the general public, and she was okay with the secrecy for now—she actually kind of liked it—but someday, it would be nice to be able to be open and free with him. When that day came, she didn't want Jocelyn to freak out over it, demanding she cut it off. But, how could she convince her mother to give her a chance. To give them a chance?

"Um, well, Simon." Clary gestured to him. "And . . ."

Jocelyn raised a brow. "And?"

"Well, Sebastian once." And Jace, who, by the way, is now my super hot spit-swapping partner.

"Sebastian Verlac? Jonathan's friend?"

Clary raised the glass to her lips, nodding over the rim as she swallowed a large gulp.

Jocelyn looked away, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "He's a nice boy," she said before meeting Clary's gaze once more. "I always liked him."

Clary nearly choked on her lemonade. "What? You mean you're not going to yell at me?"

"Why would I yell at you?" Jocelyn blinked innocently.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you always do when it comes to boys?"

"When have I?

Clary raised her brows. "Um, just last week. Remember? At the school?"

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "That—that was different?"

"Wait a second—" Simon leaned forward. "What are you two talking about?"

Clary ignored him. "How was that different?"

"It just—was." Jocelyn fidgeted. "He's a different sort of boy, Clary."

"Who is?" Simon asked, clearly confused as to the direction of the conversation.

"Again, Mom, how?"

Jocelyn let out a slow breath and looked away for a moment before meeting Clary's gaze once more. "I've spoken to Maryse, Clary."

"Oh," Simon's eyes grew wide with understanding, "him."

"So?" Clary hedged.

"And, well, he's . . . he's a very troubled boy. That's all."

Clary shrugged. "So what? Does that mean he doesn't deserve friends? I have issues too, does that mean I don't?"

"Honey," Jocelyn leaned forward and placed her hand over Clary's, "Of course you do, and of course he does. It's just . . ." She drew in a deep breath. "He's a very nice looking young man, and I'm sure you've noticed that. He has a . . . history, according to Maryse, with young ladies, and I just don't want you to be taken advantage of, that's all."

"Okay," Clary stood slowly. "Let me get this straight. I can be friends with a boy—as long as he's not too cute?"

"Hey." Simon's forehead creased with hurt.

Clary rolled her eyes and shoved him in the shoulder.

"Cuteness is not the only factor, Clary." Jocelyn stared straight into her eyes. "You forget, I saw you two together. You were touching each other and . . ."

"Oh, come on, Mom. I touch Simon all the time. It's no big deal. Plus, I told you what that was. He was helping me, that's it." Clary's conscience screamed in her brain, Liar, Liar, pants on fire!

"Boy, I am totally lost now," Simon muttered to himself.

"I know what you said, Clay," Jocelyn said with a disbelieving tone.

Clary's mouth dropped open. Never in the past had she given Jocelyn reason not to trust her. Although she was completely and painfully aware that what she was doing right now was an ironic contradiction to that fact. She didn't want to go against her mother. She didn't want to lie. But what choice did Jocelyn give? It was clear in Clary's mind that her mother had her mind set on what "type of boy" Jace was without even having ever met him for real. She would never give him a chance because of what she perceived him to be. Sure, he looked like the type of boy to play with girls. And he may have been that way. But the boy she knew, wasn't like that—at least not to her.

Clary lowered her head, chuckled darkly, and stood. "You know, I never thought I would ever feel this way let alone say it, but . . . I'm really disappointed in you, Mom."

Jocelyn gaped at her, but Clary continued.

"I always viewed you as sort of a free spirit. Sure, you are a ferocious mama bear, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I never thought you would blatantly judge people before you even got to know them. I don't care who it is, people don't deserve that. Everyone deserves a chance." She pushed a chunk of sweaty hair from her eyes. "Just because I happened across a really stupid boy once doesn't mean they're all like that. And just because someone has issues doesn't mean there's anything to be scared of. It makes me feel bad when you say that, because to a lot of people, I'm a freak. I'm the girl who has 'issues.' The one who's totally screwed up after her brother died. To hear you say something so—so—mean and judgmental about someone else . . . it just—it hurts me too. Because that could be how other people talk about me." She paused and smoothed her hands down the sides of her shirt. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to get back to work." Turning on her heel, she stomped back toward the garage, before pivoting once more toward Jocelyn and Simon. "Oh, I found a box of old comics in here. I thought maybe Max would like them since he reads comics. Would you mind if I gave them to him—or is he too cute for me to talk to?"

"Clary," Jocelyn warned.

"What?" She acted like she didn't know what the problem was. "He is quite adorable."

Jocelyn sighed and stood to her feet, gathering all three glasses before meeting Clary's gaze. "You're being ridiculous."

"I'm a teenager, I'm allowed to be ridiculous."

Jocelyn pressed her lips into a thin line.

Clary knew that look, knew it meant that her mother had nearly had enough. For once, Clary didn't care about being the good girl, the polite girl. She didn't like this new attitude Jocelyn portrayed and especially because at the moment it was directed at Jace. Why did she have to act this way? Did she never want Clary to date anyone, ever? She realized Jocelyn did it out of concern, but she couldn't help but feel her mother was going overboard.

"You may give the comics to Max, that's fine." She eyed Clary carefully. "We'll discuss your attitude later."

"Whatever," Clary said as she turned from Jocelyn and made her way back into the garage. She threw herself into clearing the far right hand corner, fuming into the boxes of old dishes, clothing, and toys. She didn't know how long she threw stuff around before she heard a throat clearing behind her.

Sighing, she turned and met Simon's dark eyes. "What?"

He shook his head and looked at the ground. "What was that all about?"

"Nothing," she said before turning back to what she'd been doing before.

"That didn't sound like nothing. I have no idea what you guys were talking about that went on between you and Jace but—"

Clary closed her eyes and bowed her head. "It really was nothing, Simon. I had a bit of a panic attack during the assembly and Isabelle and Jace helped me out of the gym. Isabelle went to get Mom while Jace calmed me down. That was it." She tossed a few old sweaters into an empty box labeled "to go." "She's just freaking out over nothing like usual."

"Okay, I get that, but why are you so upset about what she thinks of Jace? I mean, you don't even talk to him, do you? So why do you care?"

Clary let out a slow breath before answering. She knew she had to be careful and that her reactions were suspicious. But it made sense, didn't it? Whether or not she "talked" to Jace was beside the point. She didn't have to stand by and listen to her mother say things about him like that. Didn't have to go along with her very wrong assessment just because. No. She was quite sure she'd stick up for anyone, regardless of whether or not she "knew them" well, if she felt they were being wronged or mistreated. "Because, it's rude. She doesn't know him at all and yet she still feels like she can judge who or what he is. I don't like that. I wouldn't like it if she did it to anyone."

Simon stepped up next to her and tucked his arms around her, pulling her into his side. She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I know." His hand came up and brushed the damp hair away from her face. "I know you're a very caring person and you don't like people being mistreated. I get that. But, Clary, this is your mom. Don't you think she'd have a good reason for saying those things?"

Clary lifted her head and glared at him.

He held his hands up in front of him as if in surrender. "I'm just saying, she said she talked to his mother. Maybe she knows some things you don't. Maybe bad things."

Clary shook her head and started going through the boxes again.

"Just think about it, Clary, okay? Maybe you can ask her about it or something. Then you'd know exactly what her aversion is." His voice grew quiet. "Maybe you'd be more cautious then too."

Clary spun around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Simon lifted his hand and ran it through the hair at the back of his head. "Well, you're too trusting. You believe everyone at first thought and, well, sometimes it gets you in trouble."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're not seriously blaming me for the whole Julian fiasco are you? Because I swear, Simon, if you are, I will cut off all the legs of your pants so you have to wear shorts to school."

"No! Of course not! I would never do that." He raked his hand through his hair again. "I'm just saying that not every guy is nice."

"And not every one is like Julian. I just wish she could see that. She's just being so—stubborn about everything. It's driving me insane."

Simon chuckled. "At least we know where you get it."

Biting back a smirk, Clary threw an old sweater at Simon. "Shut up."

He raised his hands to ward off her attack and grinned. "Just keeping it real."

"Are you going to help me with this or are you just going to stand around watching me all day?"

"Jeez, you're such a slave driver," Simon said as he bent to pick up the now full "to go" box at Clary's feet. "Next time I'm here to witness one of your mother-daughter spats, could it please be about something other than boys? Thinking about that makes me want to break out in hives."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Sure, Simon, I'll be sure to get you a copy of our argument schedule, so you can plan your visits around the more sensitive topics."

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. "That'd be great." He turned and walked toward Jocelyn's truck—well, Luke's actually, but he'd let Jocelyn borrow it for hauling.

"God, you're such an idiot." Clary laughed.

"I heard that, Fray," Simon called.

Clary smiled to herself. Her best friend may be an idiot, but he was her idiot and she was thankful for that at least.

.o.O.o.

Just as the sun lowered beneath the tree line, casting long, dark shadows across the lawn, Simon and Clary loaded the last boxes into the back of Luke's truck.

Closing the tailgate, Simon leaned against it. "Remind me to never accept an invitation to your house on a Saturday afternoon ever again."

Clary laughed and lounged next to him. "Think of it as pay back for all the times you made me come listen to Eric play."

"Oh, come on, it wasn't that bad."

Clary turned to him and raised her brows.

He grinned. "Fine. But are we even now? Because, I think I may have gotten a hernia carrying all these boxes."

"I guess."

The screen door slammed and Jocelyn walked across the yard toward them, her hair knotted on top of her head and a long sundress replaced her sweats and t-shirt from earlier. "Are you ready, Simon?" she asked, dangling her keys in one hand and her bag in the other.

"Yeah." He shoved off the back of the truck and made his way around to the passenger side. Before he got in, he turned to Clary. "Don't fight with your mom anymore. You know she's just trying to keep you safe."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Just get in the truck, Lewis."

Simon jumped inside and Clary met her mother's gaze over the bed of the truck.

Jocelyn let out a sigh. "I don't want to fight with you, Clarissa, but that doesn't mean I'm going to just go back on everything I've said to you. I'm your mother and it's my job to protect you. Sometimes that means being hard about some things. I'm sorry you don't like that but that's just the way it is."

"Great, Mom." She turned and walked toward the house. "I'll guess we'll just pick up where we left off when you get back from your date."

"Clary—"

Clary turned abruptly, her hands crossed over her chest. "What?"

"Please, let's not do this, all right?"

Just as Clary was about to answer, Maryse pulled into the driveway next door. Isabelle sat in the passenger seat, and Max sat in the back behind her.

"Hey, Clary!" Isabelle called as she hopped out of the car.

"Hello, Maryse," Jocelyn said.

Maryse nodded once and offered a short, "Jocelyn."

Jocelyn looked at Clary. "We'll finish this later."

Clary rolled her eyes and walked toward the Lightwoods. She met Simon's eyes as she passed. He shook his head and looked down at his lap in disappointment. Clary knew she was acting immature, but in her eyes, so was Jocelyn. Deciding how someone was or wasn't before finding out for herself was just rude. She couldn't just come to the conclusion that Jace was no good without ever having taken a moment to talk to him. It wasn't fair and she would make sure Jocelyn understood that. But she had to find a way to do it without arousing any more suspicion about her reasons for being so offended by it. If Jocelyn had even an iota of thought that there was more than a friendly acquaintance between Clary and Jace, she would not hesitate to do everything she could to keep them apart.

Jocelyn pulled out of the driveway as Clary approached the Lightwood's car. Max jumped out of the backseat, his eyes dancing and a huge smile on his face.

"Hi, Clary!" he said.

Clary couldn't help but smile even though she still felt angry with her mother. "Hey, Max. How was your day?"

"Awesome!" he said. "We went to the games."

"Oh yeah? Sounds more fun than my day." She leaned forward and whispered, "Cleaning out a dirty garage is totally the pits."

Max wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, that doesn't sound fun at all."

"So, how were the games?" Clary asked, trying to sound interested only because Max was.

"So good." he said. "We won both of them!"

"Really?"

Max nodded, his eyes wide and bright. "Jace made seven goals."

"Seven? That's pretty impressive."

"I know. He's awesome."

Clary laughed and nodded, thinking the very same thing.

Isabelle strolled up next to them, leaning against the door of the car and smiling down at her little brother. "Somebody suffers from a major case of hero worship."

"Shut up, Izzy," Max snapped.

Clary laughed again and bent at the waist to look him in the eye, though she didn't have to bend far. At age nine, Max was only a few inches shorter than her. "It's okay. I felt the same way about my brother, so you can join me in the hero worshipping club, deal?" She stuck her pinky out to him.

He grinned and hooked his around hers. "Deal."

"Isabelle!" Maryse called from the porch.

Isabelle groaned. "Coming!" Turning back to Clary, she rolled her eyes. "I have to help Mom with dinner."

"You cook?" Clary asked surprised.

"Hell no!"

"Izzy!" Max said.

"Oh, sorry. Heck no." She glanced down at him. "Better?"

He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest.

Izzy returned her gaze to Clary's, a small smirk on her lips. "I have to wash and chop the vegetables. That's as close as Mom let's me get. I'm a disaster in the kitchen."

"Oh," Clary said. "Have fun—oh, can I borrow Max for a bit?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Keep him forever if you want." She rubbed her fist on his head.

"Hey! Knock it off, Izzy."

Clary giggled. "I'll return him; I just have something I think he might like." She beckoned him to follow her as Isabelle made her way up to the house.

"What is it, Clary?"

"It's a surprise." She punched in the code of the garage door and they waited as it slowly rose from the ground.

Max fidgeted in excitement as he waited. "I love surprises."

"Good," Clary said as the door finally stopped moving and they stepped inside. She led him to the large box near the entrance, gesturing for him to look inside.

He stepped up to the box, folded over the flap, and his eyes went wide as a gasp escaped his lips.

"So, what do you think?" she asked.

"I think," he paused for dramatic effect, "that these are totally awesome! Where did you get them?"

"One of my mom's friends gave them to my brother and I a while ago. I thought you might like to have them."

Even though she would have thought it an impossibility, Max's eyes grew even larger. "You're—you're giving these to me?"

"Sure." Clary shrugged. "That is, if you want them?"

"Do—do I want them?" he asked as if that were the stupidest thing he'd ever heard in his life. "Of course I want them."

"Well, then they're yours."

His grin grew wider and then slowly faded.

"What?"

"Well." He reached a hand up and scratched his head, much in the same way Jace had the night before when she'd asked him what he was going to play. She smiled at the memory. "I'm not sure how I'm going to get it home. It's pretty big."

"Hmm." Clary raised her hand to her chin, stroking it lightly.

"I got it." He snapped his fingers. "I'll ask Jace to come get it when he gets home. Is that okay?"

More than okay. "Sure. That's fine."

"Okay." Max jumped a few times excitedly. "I'm gonna go tell Mom!"

"Okay. See you later, Max."

"Bye, Clary." He rushed toward the opening of the garage, stopping just before he set foot outside, and turned back to her. "Thanks."

She smiled. "You're welcome."

He returned her smile and stole out into the dark.

Clary ambled back inside, fixed herself something to eat, and tried to read for awhile. Unfortunately, the argument between her and Jocelyn would not leave her mind long enough for her to concentrate on anything. She still couldn't believe the way her mother had reacted. Jocelyn had never been like this before. She'd always been very accepting of all people. Always the first to help anyone out. Always taking the side of the underdog whether it be during presidential debates, sports games, or anything, really. Even after what happened with Julian, she hadn't been this bad. It wasn't until Jonathan's death that she'd started all the overprotective crap. It started out with everything. But had since dwindled to being just boys. Clary got it, understood how Jocelyn could feel the way she did, but that didn't make it right or fair.

Angry tears slipped down her cheeks, and she wiped them away irritably. She just couldn't stand being treated like a child. Even though, for the most part that day, she'd acted like one. All she wanted was for Jocelyn to let her make her own decisions. To decide for herself whom she wanted to be friends with and whom she didn't. She hated the constant feeling of being watched, babied. All she wanted was to be a normal teenager. To go out with friends, to participate in extracurricular activities, to date the boy she wanted to date without feeling like she had to sneak around to do it. Clary knew Jace was worried about Isabelle and her feelings on the whole thing, but deep inside, Clary knew Isabelle would come around after awhile. She may be hurt or upset at first, but she really thought she'd be okay after the initial shock wore off. But, Jocelyn, well, that was a different story all together.

A knock at the door startled Clary out of her thoughts. She swiped the rest of the tears off her face and made her way over to the door, opening it to find Jace standing on her porch. He was freshly showered and dressed in a black t-shirt and dark jeans.

"Max said you had something for him I needed to come get?" His voice was flat and his face impassive. If she didn't know better she would never have thought he saw anything in her other than neighborly politeness.

"My mom's not here."

"Oh, thank God." His face immediately dropped the blank look and filled with relief and a bit of concern. "I thought I was going to have to act like an uncaring ass the whole time. What's wrong?"

She stepped out onto the porch, closing the door behind her and plunging them both into darkness. Standing several inches away from him she asked, "Where is your family?"

"In the house. Why?"

"Can they see my porch when it's dark like this?"

"No, I don't think so."

She let out a relieved breath and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in the crook of his neck. His arms slid around her, one hand at her waist and the other fisted in her hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked again.

"Nothing. My mother." She sighed. "She's being—difficult."

"Why? About what?"

Clary drew back from him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him to the porch swing near the end of the deck. "About you." Clary felt him stiffen in her grasp. She shook her head. "I didn't tell her anything about us. She just—well, she was asking about the dance and I told her about dancing with Sebastian." Clary grimaced. "I figured she'd get all mad and yell at me like she did after my little 'incident' at the school last week. But no, she acted all—accepting and like she liked the idea. Then I asked her why she wasn't mad about that, when she'd nearly bitten my head off about even talking to you earlier in the week, and she said some crap about talking to Maryse and that you were different and—" Clary sighed. "And it was just stupid and I'm angry with her."

Jace was quiet for a few moments, making Clary uneasy. Finally, he spoke in a low voice. "Did she tell you what Maryse said?"

"What?" Clary glanced over at him. She couldn't make out his expression in the dim moonlight. "No. Why?"

He let out a slow breath and looked up, his gaze peering off into the distance. "There's a lot of things we'll have to talk about, but not now since Max is expecting me back soon."

"Jace . . ."

He lowered his head and shook it. "I won't deny I've been screwed up a long time, Clary. I've done a lot of stupid things. I've seen a lot of worse things."

"Hey." She reached out and touched his cheek, turning him to face her. "You can tell me whatever you want to tell me, but your past is your past, okay? I'm not going to hold it against you."

"Maybe you won't." His eyes finally met hers, and even in the dimness she could see the uncertainty in them. "Or maybe you will. And I won't blame you at all, but . . . I need a little time, okay?"

She nodded, brushing her thumb along his cheek. He leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead, then pulled her to him.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath before speaking. "Are you going to play tonight?"

"Do you want me to?"

She nodded.

"What do you want to hear?"

She snuggled in further as his arms squeezed tighter. "Something happy, okay? I think I'm done with depressing for today."

He chuckled and brushed his lips against her hair, his breath warming her chilled skin. "Okay."