"Clary? Clary?!"
Jace felt as though he was being torn into. Half of his attention was on Clary, watching as the blood drained from her face, her skin turning an ashen-grey. Her reaction incited a protective instinct in Jace like no other, and he wanted to leap in front of Clary, and fight off all the things that were hurting her. But he couldn't fight off a memory, and Jonathan's presence was tearing open old wounds. He was picking scabs, he was lemon juice. God knew—and, Christ, how tightly coiled adrenaline was making him now—he couldn't strike Jonathan down. Not with the other patients around, not with the nurses and the ever-watching CCTV presence. It was too late now, anyway. The damage had been done.
Jace couldn't protect Clary from this. He could only try find a way to piece her back up, slowly rebuild the almost-security she'd begun to feel in her world. Try to find a way to give her faith, show her somehow, that she would find a safe place. That this wouldn't go on forever. That one day, she'd leave the danger behind her. That she wouldn't have to be afraid all the time.
It was funny, really. Jace remembered his violent reaction to Michael Wayland—the way his brain had completely bottomed out, and his body lashed out before he'd been even able to process the scene before him. Yet now, Jace was processing the scene before him in an unnaturally cool manner. It was like the voice of reason had leaned down close to him, barking simple instructions in his ear. Jonathan wouldn't hurt Clary here. Not physically at least.
He couldn't kill Jonathan. Not here anyway.
Jace felt like he was losing faith in the justice of the world.
Jonathan said something. Jace didn't hear—it was all warbled to him—but he watched the boy's smirking mouth moving. Clary's face turned paler still.
It hurt, because Jace knew what Jonathan was doing to Clary. Whatever safe-space she'd slowly crafted for herself, the cocoon of protection she'd created—out of scraps of self-preservation and recovery attempts, was now destroyed. Jonathan had entered that space, torn it down with his hands, and defiled it.
Jace couldn't protect Clary from that.
Suddenly she was dropping, her eyes rolling back in her head, and Jace ducked forward. He caught her just before she hit the floor.
Then Jonathan was crouching down beside them, arms out, as though he was intending on holding her.
That was nearly too much for Jace.
"Don't even think about touching her, you sick, sick fucker." Jace hissed, and Jonathan stiffened. It was a very slight movement, but Jace picked up on it—just.
Jonathan rose to his feet, hissing, "Whatever you think you know, you don't. But you know she's mine. I made sure of it."
But that was all Jonathan said, as the nurses that had seen Clary drop, were finally rushing over.
"Is she ok?" one asked.
God it was hard. Jace knew that if he told the truth, came out with it, let it all pour forth, then Jonathan would be moved. They'd put him away in the furthest possible place from Clary. But if only it were that simple. Put the big bad away, and the ill in the story would be all magically resolved. Curtains close. But Jace knew that no matter how far away Jonathan was sent, how tightly locked up he was, some damage wasn't so easily undone.
"She's just exercised a little too hard, and probably hasn't drunk enough water."
He scooped Clary up, standing, terrified by how fragile she felt in his arms. But he knew really, she was anything but.
"I'll take her back up to our ward. She'll be fine."
"Are you sure?" the nurse asked again, and Jace was too out of it to even register the features of the person he was talking to. All he dimly noticed was that Jonathan seemed to have disappeared, absorbed into the sea of beige clothed people that now crowded Clary, curious and concerned.
"I'm sure." He started heading for the gym's exit, never so eager to leave his place of refuge.
There was a flurry of panic when Jace entered the ward with Clary's limp body in his arms. Aline at the front desk squealed, and Alec—always knowing when something's not right—came fast-walking into the ward's foyer.
"Little too much exercise." Jace explained, trying to elbow his way through the small throng of people that had suddenly appeared in front of him.
He could feel Alec trying to meet his eyes, trying to gauge the real situation. Alec could always see straight through Jace's lies, which was way Jace never attempted to employ one around his best friend.
"She's fine. Just let me put her in her bed." He repeated again, looking anywhere but at Alec.
Finally he managed to shuffle through, his brain able to process nothing but getting Clary down onto a soft surface.
He let her down gently, making sure her head didn't loll as he rested it on her pillow. Jace was almost a little glad she'd fainted—giving her body an opportunity to recover before her mind was forced the process the events of the last hour.
Like Jace's mind could only process one task at a time, his next task popped into existence.
He was going to kill Jonathan. The thought filled him with a sense of calm, like he'd taken a deep, slow breath after fighting to reach the surface.
He wasn't sure when, and he wasn't sure how. But inevitably, he was going to watch as the life faded from Jonathan's eyes, watch the boy struggling to draw his last breath, and feel his body twitching and spasming for life under Jace's fingertips.
There was nothing roaring or red-hot in Jace's anger, only a cool realization of the inevitable action he was going to take.
With that, the next set of instructions popped into Jace's head, smothering any panic he'd normally be feeling. Jace also noted that this was shock felt like.
Suddenly Alec was at Clary's door, his eyes boring into Jace's with urgency.
"Jace. What the hell is going on?"
Alec had his adult voice on, and Jace fought through the initial instinct to tell Alec everything.
Trying to keep his gaze steady, Jace met Alec's eyes with a calm authority, "I need Clary's cellphone."
It was obvious that Alec had been expecting explanation, and his face twisted into disbelieving shock,
"…are you all there, Jace? I can't get you Clary's cellphone. And I need to know why Clary is unconscious, and why you won't let anyone in to check on her."
He was Nurse Alec now, and Jace knew only Friend Alec would even consider Jace's request.
"Alec. You're just going to have to trust me. I need Clary's cellphone, for her own safety."
He tried to hold their eye contact, trying to see if Alec would show weakness, and bow under Jace's requests.
"I think I, Jace, as a trained staff member of Fairchild, should be the one deciding what is best for Clary's safety!"
Jace took a deep breath, trying to tamper down the flare of anger he felt towards Alec. Alec was trying to do his job, trying to prove himself, and he was concerned for both of them. He understood Alec's position. But he couldn't communicate why he needed the cellphone, or why—at this minute—it was of crucial importance that Alec just do as he asked.
"Alec. Please."
Jace had used please only a handful of times, and it usually was indicative to the urgency of the situation. He watched Alec's resolve crumble, and the boy begrudgingly let his shoulders slump in defeat.
"You get five minutes with it. That's it! And then you're going to explain what the hell is going on. Ok?"
Jace nodded, "I promise."
Sometimes, a white lie never hurt anyone.
Thankfully, Clary was the kind that didn't have a passcode on her old looking phone. Jace skimmed the contacts list and—with Alec standing guard outside Clary's room—punched the call button.
Jace turned to check on her as it rung. She hadn't stirred, but the steady rise and fall of her chest reassured him. He'd let Clary rest for as long as they possibly could.
"Clary!" the excitement in Simon's voice was palpable, even through a phone call.
"It's Jace."
"Oh."
The sudden disappointment in that one syllable had less than no effect on Jace.
"I need you to tell me about Jonathan's court case. What was his sentencing?" he probed urgently.
He could feel the idiot stiffen up, "I don't know why that's any of your business." Simon said snootily.
"It isn't. But since it involves the immediate safety of Clary, I suggest you impart with the information."
There was a frozen silence on the other end, and Jace growled as he realized this was chewing through his valuable five minutes.
"Listen, peroxide brain, if you've done anything to Clary I'll—"
Jace laughed darkly. He hated to admit it, but the absolute awfulness of today had entirely dried out his already low supply of patience.
"You'll what, throw comic books at me? Maybe if you weren't so socially incapable and generally useless, you'd realize that we both share similar feelings for Clary. Yes, I know how you feel, because I'm not a complete buffoon and you haven't learnt that your heart has a place aside from your sleeve. I hate to admit that I have anything in common with a mouth-breather like you, but since this information is for the safety of Clary, I was hoping we could put our differences aside and you could tell me about Jonathan's verdict."
This earned Jace thirty-seconds of stunned silence.
"For fuck's sakes—" Jace growled, as Alec motioned to his wrist through the glass pane in Clary's door.
"Alright, alright." Simon snapped, apparently at a loss and finally realizing the urgency of the situation, "Jonathan's verdict was incurable insanity. Apparently he had some weird stuff going on up there, and he wasn't in a fit mental state to be tried as a functioning adult."
"And?"
Simon huffed, "That was it. It was taken out of our hands. We assumed they had special wards in the prisons for people like him, or something. We weren't told. That was that."
"And Clary knew about the verdict?"
There was a pause—a very guilty one, "I tried to tell her. But she wasn't interested."
Jace sucked in a breath. He was trying to get to the bottom of this—why such a gargantuan error had occurred. But, Jace realized, they didn't have the insight he did. Nobody knew the full story, and why Jonathan was such a danger to Clary. To the courts, Fairchild's criminally insane ward was a good choice for a crime as simple as arson, for a young offender. Jace doubted they even realized Clary had been a voluntary admittance to Fairchild, or if they even had access to that information. It didn't help—from what Jace had seen of the news report on TV, the one that had spooked Clary—Jonathan and Clary didn't even share the same last name. In a system so large, it was a mistake that had slipped through the cracks, and no one knew what a grievous error it truly was.
Simon—annoyingly—filled the silence as Jace groped for answers, "What, no thank you? Did they forget to teach you manners at douche-bag school?"
Jace sighed, "That was a horrible comeback." And then he hung up.
But Jace barely had a moment to think, to process his thoughts, as Clary sucked in a panicked breath as her eyelids began to flutter.
"That's it!" Alec declared angrily, apparently having seen Clary begin to wake through the peeping glass. He stormed the room, rushing straight to Clary's side—completely Alec the Nurse now.
"Jace, go grab a doctor from the general clinic. We need to make sure her vitals are alright, or if she needs some kind of treatment." Alec snapped, placing his fingers on Clary's wrist pulse point.
But as Jace—reluctantly—began to leave the room, Clary sat bolt upright. The pure panic on her face hadn't calmed, and was just as bone-chillingly terrified as it had been when she'd laid eyes on Jonathan.
"Jace!" she gasped, shaking violently, "Is he—is—"
Jace could see it clearly, and he knew the sensation well. Clary was entering the full blows of a panic attack, and Jace hoped he never felt this truly powerless ever again.
She struggled with the words, trying to talk over Alec's murmured reassurances,
"Is… he... he's… real?"
There was nothing Jace could do. He gave Clary a curt nod.
She'd already known it. But this wasn't what she'd wanted to hear.
Tears brimmed, quickly spilling down her cheeks as her body drew panicked breaths.
Jace knew the feeling. It was almost as though something was trapped in your throat, while being simultaneously assaulted by the feeling of something heavy pressing on your chest. You can feel your body rebelling, resisting its orders, and you are sure, in that moment, that your heart is going to falter, before stopping completely.
He didn't want to leave, but he needed to do what Alec said. Because another order had just been whispered in his ear.
By the time Jace had raced back, doctor in tow, Clary's panic attack was almost over. She looked very shaken, and pale as a ghost, but still. When he entered the room, her eyes met his only. He immediately recognized the steely determination in them, paired with a sort of deadness that made him feel all nauseous inside. He was watching Clary shut off parts of herself, initiating her walls of defence, and he was afraid to be caught outside them as they came crashing down.
The doctor's advice had been to rest up, eat dinner, and not do rigorous exercise tomorrow. Alec had promised that Hodge would go over the events tomorrow, and that Clary had nothing to be ashamed of. She'd nodded automatically, and then they'd left her be—until the only other in her room was Jace.
She couldn't even begin to process her thoughts. Everything was too raw, too real, and she carefully filed it away in the 'review later' of her mind. But for all the compartmentalization of her mind, she couldn't shut of the natural reaction of her body. She couldn't help flinching as she caught glimpses of Jonathan in her peripheral vision, couldn't prevent a shudder as the shadows in the corner of her room seemed to twist and morph into his leering face.
She looked for Jace, the only person she knew would truly understand. As soon as their eyes met, they realized they'd both reached the same non-verbal agreement.
"Jace…" her voice was tired, even though her panic alarms were far from shut down, and adrenaline still flooded her body.
He crossed the room in an instant, not needing to ask permission as he scooped her up, holding her as tightly as she was sure he could. Every inch of their body touched, but Clary didn't feel the fire in her belly she usually associated with Jace's touch. She knew—she could feel—that he was shielding her, protecting her, and trying to hold her together. But she could tell, from the way he shook, that he needed holding together too.
They made it through dinner silently, eating one-handed as their hands stayed interlocked under the table. Maia didn't question the silence, and Alec's watchful gaze was accompanied by no comment.
They crawled into bed together, with no comment from the patrolling nurses, switching off the light. But they stayed awake, too loaded up on a cocktail of anxiety and anticipation to sleep, simply holding each other in the dark. And when the skeleton crew clocked on—the daytime nurses at home—they silently bagged their bags. Jace jumped the front desk, picking the lock on the cabinet to retrieve their banned belongings.
And, in the first few minutes of Christmas Day, they left Fairchild Clinic behind—nothing more than charred remains of another illusionary safe haven.