HI GUYS! For anyone who's been interested in hearing about the rest of Jace's story, this chapter is for you. There's not too much crazy action in this chapter; you'll have to wait a little while for that. Oh well, you'll all survive.

I don't own TMI :(

I'm not quite sure what to say while we walk onto the bridge. Bringing up Jonathan will spur questions about what is going on and how long it's been happening and what I was thinking and a million more that I want to avoid answering for as long as possible. I'd like to ask Jace about everything he's promised to tell me, but where do I start? Is it as simple as 'why do you have papers that say Jonathan Christopher Wayland on them?' Or do I start with 'why were you sneaking around your own home that night I slept over?' Or maybe 'Why have you always acted like you hate me but then randomly decide to turn around and act like you care?'

I don't know what to say, so I wait for Jace to speak first. After a moment, he does, but he doesn't seem any more confident than I am.

"So, um… I'm not really sure where to start. I don't exactly go around telling people about my life," he says slowly. We step onto the bridge, and he turns to me. "And you realize that after we're done examining my life story, we're talking about you, right? I didn't just bring you here to listen to me rant. You aren't getting out of anything."

I smile, but it doesn't reach my eyes. "You've already told me a bunch. I don't see how much more there could be."

His lips twitch upwards. "Yeah, you'd be surprised." He stops walking and leans against the bridge railing. We're in the middle of the bridge, just feet from the place Jace found me when I fled here last month. "Let's see. How much did I tell you that night?"

"You didn't know what happened, and suddenly the house was up in flames."

"Right. Fuck, that's a cheery ending point, isn't it?" He sighs, hanging his head out over the water. "Well anyways, as I'm sure you can imagine, I got out. And I didn't have too much trouble. I had to run through some fire, and I spent about half an hour vomiting from the smoke, but the paramedics saved me easily. They just gave me some oxygen; I was fine. I still have no idea who called them, but suddenly, while I was hunched over by the side of the road, hacking up a storm, ambulances arrived from every direction. My mom was still alive when they got her out. I found out later that she probably would have been able to get out safely, but she condemned herself when she ran back to my bedroom to try to find me." I notice his hands tighten their grip on the rail as he reveals this. It hurts him to relive it, but I don't think there is any way that I can lessen his pain.

"I was out already, though, so she was searching an empty room. They don't know what the hell happened to my dad. Apparently they found him in his bed, long dead. He looked like he hadn't even tried to escape, they said. I'll bet he did that just to spite me. He probably thought that if I had decided to light the house up, I deserved the consequences. I'll bet he let himself die on purpose: to leave me with his death on my conscience. I still dream about it sometimes, and he always dies laughing. He fucked me up, my God. And my mom." He swallows hard and shakes his head slowly. "It's my fault she's dead. It's my fault the house caught on fire." His words speed up and string together until I can barely make out his words. "She went looking for me! She could have gotten out, but she didn't. And it's all because of me!" His fist slams down on the railing, and reflexively, I shoot my hand out to cover his. He stills, bringing his eyes down to scan my hand. I pull it away quickly and avert my eyes from his. "She used to do that," he whispers. "Put a hand on me or my father. Try to calm us down. Didn't seem to affect him too much when he had his belt out." His eyes – and words – are hard. His father really screwed him up, more so than my father has me. Nearly every emotion seems to set off a memory of his old life. That must be why he's put up such a wall: if he doesn't let things affect him, he won't have to deal with his demons.

I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. I look out at the water too, watching as a ferry pulls out from a dock.

"Anyways, they told me I was in shock after that. They were probably right, but I didn't know or care at the time. They brought out my parents' will to determine where I should go. It actually listed Jonathan's father, but he told the police that 'nobody in his right mind would want to take care of Michael's fucked up son-of-a-bitch.' I wasn't supposed to hear that, but the police weren't all too secretive about it. They all thought I was crazy because I never cried in front of them, so I guess they thought Jonathan's dad was right. Anyways, I was about to go into foster care, when Robert Lightwood heard about everything going on and offered to take me in. I was kind of worried by the fact that Robert had been friends with my father, but he seemed nice enough, and he had a nine-year-old daughter, so perverted ten-year-old me was cool with it. And before you ask," he amends, noting my raised eyebrows, "I never did anything to Izzy. I learned pretty quickly that she wasn't my type. And now… no, nothing happened. Forget I said anything!" His ears have taken on a pink tint, and I almost laugh: his discomfort is adorable.

"Okay, sure," I say. "Perverted you liked Izzy, but you didn't do anything with her. But how is Jonathan tying into all this? Why was his father supposed to adopt you? And why did you pick up those papers that said Jonathan Christopher Wayland? Do you know him?"

"Patience, patience," he scolds with a smirk. "I can only talk so fast. Again, his father and mine were friends. And I guess you could say I know who Jonathan Christopher Wayland is. He's me."

My eyes widen, and I push away from him in shock. His hand reaches out to grab me before I trip into the road, but as soon as I'm steady on my feet, I push away from him again. He's Jonathan Christopher Wayland? The guy Jonathan is friends with? They one he knows? The one who is named after him?!

He steps towards me, but I throw my hands out in front of me. "Stop!" I yell, earning some looks by passerby.

Jace holds his hands up in the air. "Clary?" he asks, concern evident in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"You're… him!" I say, lowering my voice. "I knew it. I knew something wasn't right here! You're Jonathan's friend! The one who's named after him. The one who spent lots of time with him when you were kids! The one whose Dad knew my father!"

His eyes open in shock. "Your father's Valentine?" I take another step away from him. "Wow… okay. Look, calm down. We're just talking here, remember? I'm telling you about my past and why I've been acting so weird. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help."

"That's what the other Jonathan said. And now that I can see it, you're exactly the same. You treat me like crap, throw me around, then promise you'll help me and you won't hurt me again, and I forgive you and you screw me over again. So no – you don't get to tell me anymore. I don't want to hear it. Everything you say is a lie, isn't it?!"

"No! No, that's not true," he says. "I've screwed you over. Yeah. I get it. And you aren't just going to forgive me. I should have been nicer when I knocked into you on the first day of school. I shouldn't have made sex jokes when you first came home with Izzy. I shouldn't have complained about driving you home – even though I was never really upset in the first place, I just wanted to make fun of Izzy. I shouldn't have called you a klutz or a misfit at the movies. I shouldn't have sat so close to you on the couch just to make you uncomfortable when you were watching TV with Izzy. I shouldn't have called you Red. I shouldn't have called you anorexic – even though I still don't know why you refuse to eat. I shouldn't have followed Kaelie into the back at Taki's and pretended to have had sex with her just to piss you off. I shouldn't have stood back and watched while Sebastian cornered you. I shouldn't have accused your father of abuse. I shouldn't have snapped at you when you walked in on me when you slept over. I shouldn't have acted like such an ass when you and Izzy sat with me at lunch. And I'm sorry for all of it; I really am. I can't change the shit I did in the past, but I swear to you: I'm NOT like Jonathan. I won't hurt you again. I promise."

He has slowly stepped towards me during his speech, and at some point I stopped stepping back. We now stand only inches apart, and I rack my brain for something he missed, some instance to point out that he forgot. But all I can come up with is, "You mean you didn't have sex with Kaelie?"

He laughs, but it conveys little happiness. Instead, this laugh is more of a regretful scoff. His lips twist upwards, but they do so in pain, and he looks forlornly up towards the sky. "No, she's way too easy, and apparently she gets clingy real fast. I just kind of wanted to piss you off or something, I don't know, so I followed her into the back, messed around with her for a minute or two, then told her that your faces when you thought we had sex would be worth it and left through the back." He pauses, and silence settles over us.

"So is that it?" he asks after several minutes of silence. "You're not going to acknowledge my apology at all? You're just gonna ask if I had sex with Kaelie and then stand here like I didn't just apologize for every crime I've committed against you?"

I sigh. "I guess I can forgive you. You haven't screwed me over since leaving Jonathan's – although it has only been about an hour."

"Yeah, and about all that," he asks. "How come I never knew that you're Valentine's daughter?"

"We're still talking about you, remember?" I cut him off in an attempt to avoid that conversation for as long as possible. I'm not ready to relive the past few hours just yet. "How come you've been acting so weird?"

He leans back against the railing. "Fair enough. I'm assuming you've looked through all my papers: Jonathan said he'd been having an assistant or someone organizing his cases for him." I nod. "Well, all those belongings that have been mine in name, but that I haven't gotten yet because I'm not eighteen, are about to turn over to me. It's not really a huge deal or anything: I don't technically need a lawyer for it, but before I actually acquire anything I have to review it all, you know, to check out the worth of everything and file any complaints if things have been broken and whatnot. So I've been going to look at everything, but I don't really want to dig up old memories with the Lightwoods or my friends about who I used to be, so I've been going in secret, with Jonathan's help. We usually go at night so that nobody asks what I'm doing. That's why I was sneaking into the house in the middle of the night: I was going to look at some stuff. But there are a lot of items that were burnt in the fire, or that my mom and dad used a lot, and going back over them has brought back a bunch of memories. I guess I've been retreating into myself a little, trying not to let people see how much it's affecting me. I don't know. It's stupid, I guess." He looks back out towards the water, something he has started to do as a means of avoiding eye contact with me whenever he starts to feel uncomfortable with what he is discussing.

Tentatively, I place a hand on his forearm. "It's not stupid," I say quietly. "You don't want people to see that you can be hurt – I get that. But everybody's noticing your behavior, and I know you don't want to hear this, but they're worried about you."

"Great," he says tiredly, obviously sick of talking about himself and his problems. "So I should stop being such an aloof dick, gotcha." He turns to face me finally. "Now it's your turn."

"My… my turn for what?" I stutter, suddenly nervous. I know what he is about to ask, but the last thing I want to do right now is make up an elaborate lie on the spot about every little detail of my life.

"Your turn to lay your life out on the table." My face pales. I'm not ready for this. "Oh, come on!" He grabs my arm loosely, not to hurt me, but rather as if he knows that I want to bolt, and he wants to convince me to stay. "You can tell me. I mean, it's not like I didn't just walk in on the worst part, right? So you don't even have as much to talk about as I do."

I force myself to nod. "I don't see what else I have to tell you, then. Isn't it pretty self-explanatory?" I lie. He gives me a look: big, golden puppy dog eyes.

I gulp.

So I know this kind of leaves in the middle of everything: you know all about Jace but what will Clary reveal? Sorry for that. I meant to put her experiences in this chapter too but I ran out of time in the week… Anyways, you'll find out next week what she decides to reveal.

Until then, REVIEW :D :D :D