A/N: Found that usually I write better in first person, so this, final, chapter is from Blair's point of view.

Chapter 20 – Blair's End

I saw Nat before I heard her. It was only a couple of days after Jack had kicked me out, and I'd been wandering the streets around the Institute, bored and searching for some kind of meaning.

"Blair," Nat said softly. I was instantly comforted by my sister's familiar Australian accent. Nat was standing in the doorway of an old apartment building, black clothes stark against her blond hair that was blowing in the wind. "I want to talk to you."

I moved to my sister who was sheltered in the shadows and said, "Yes?"

"Raphael told me everything. Everything that happened to you. Things, I didn't realise you'd done. For me. And Dee. Things in the Seelie Court, and with the Shadowhunters."

"Raphael doesn't think too highly of me," I said, quietly. He never had. It hadn't been a problem until he started liking my sister.

"No, but he thinks highly of me. And he said I should talk to you. I don't blame you for what happened to Mum and Dad. I never did. I was just angry. And hurt. I mean, Dee was a werewolf and you were a faery and I was dead-"

"I get it," I laughed softly. "It's fine. I get it." And I did. After everything, Nat's reaction was probably one of things I understood the most. Gee, I didn't even resent her for hating me. I would've hated me too.

"You've changed," Nat said.

"So have you." I looked her up and down with a playful speculating look. Nat smiled. "And Raphael? Is he treating you right?"

"He treats me like a queen." If Nat could blush, she would've been blushing now. My chest ached a little. I hadn't had a real conversation with her in two years. We were so close before. Faeries never knew how far the consequences of their actions went. But how could they? They didn't understand emotional responses, so why should they even consider it. They took my sisters to use as leverage on me, and nothing more.

"Good. If he didn't I'd have to have a serious talk with him."

"He loves me," Nat said seriously. She stood there, frozen in her fourteen-year-old body, talking about something that was so mature. She was technically sixteen now, but she'd grown up beyond her years after everything that had happened. We all had. Although love was still one thing I hadn't quite wrapped my head around. The thought of Jack hit me, and I felt the back of my eyes prickle with tears. I pushed them away.

"I know."

"How do you know? Raphael doesn't talk to you or Jack. None of Raphael's vampires do."

"That night, at Pandemonium, when I tried to talk to you," I reminded her. The only reason I'd gone into Pandemonium the night I met Jace was to try and talk to Nat. She wouldn't have any of it, of course, and stormed out on me. I'd ordered a drink of water after that, just to clear all those irrational emotions that were building up in my mouth and nose that made me feel like I was I was drowning. That was about when Jace came in. I'd been so scared of that golden boy with all the confidence in the world. "I met Raphael in the back alley. He was looking for you to tell you he loved you. I could taste it on him."

"Oh," Nat said. There was silence for a moment, then Nat asked me, "Is it true? About you being really strong and whatever?"

I smiled softly. "Yeah. I suppose it's true. Because I grew up with you, in the mundane world, I was constantly exposed to iron. I built up a resistance. And the Shadowhunter and vampire blood makes me stronger too."

"How strong?"

I laughed. "I wouldn't be scared of walking into Durmort Hotel by myself."

This time Nat laughed. "You couldn't take on the whole coven."

I raised an eyebrow with a grin. "Trust me, I can hold my own. And vampires are too easy. One knock on the head and you're out for a good few hours."

"Impressed," Nat nodded in approval. She looked at me carefully, then out into the world of sunlight she couldn't ever experience again. She took a step further back into the darkness, as if she were afraid of the sunlight chasing her. "Did you ever find your real parents?"

"No. I don't want to. They're irrelevant." And they were. What meaning did they have to me except the colour of my eyes or how tall I am?

"I can't believe Mum and Dad never said anything to us."

"I was only fifteen when they were killed. And they didn't know I wasn't human. They probably felt no real rush to tell me I was adopted." I'd never blamed my parents for not telling me I was adopted. It was probably a hard thing to face, and as I got older, it just got harder.

"I suppose." Nat took a breath, and then asked the one question I'd been too terrified to ask myself. "So, what are you going to do now?"

"I don't know… Everything has just… turned to crap," I muttered.

Nat nodded.

I sighed heavily and said, "I think I might go back to Australia."

"What?" Nat looked alarmed.

"There's nothing for me here anymore. You and Dee are looking after yourselves, and I lost…" Again, the pickling sensation at the back of my eyes. My throat felt dry, my chest heavy.

"Jack?"

"Yeah."

"Well… say hello to Rexie for me," Nat smiled. Rexie had been our dog. I wondered what had happened to him. He'd probably be with one of our aunts.

"Sure," I nodded.

"And don't forget to come back," Nat said to me. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too."

"When are you going?"

Honestly, the idea had only just struck me then. "Now," I decided. All or nothing. This was my chance, I was taking it.

"Oh," Nat seemed surprised. "Well… good luck."

I didn't take anything with me. I didn't retrieve anything from the Institute for fear of seeing the Shadowhunters. I didn't dare go back to my house for fear of seeing Jack. And anyway, I reasoned everything that I'd left at home in Australia would still be there, where I'd left it. Unless for some reason some of Mum's family had cleared out the house, but I had serious doubts about this. They thought I'd just run away when Mum and Dad were dead. I had a feeling they would've left everything for when they thought I'd return. Two years was a long time, but it wasn't forever.

I just kept having this terrifying feeling of emptiness. An emptiness that kept asking me, so, Blair, what now? You lost Jack. The Shadowhunters don't want you. Your sisters don't need you anymore. What are you going to do? And all I could scream back was, I don't know!

There was a stab of pain in my leg and I winced. When was that going to go away? Or was I going to be stuck with this reminder forever? The pain clarified my thoughts. I was going to go back to Australia, and see if I could reconcile some sort of relationship with some of my mum's family.

And then what? the emptiness taunted. Going to just go back to school and become a doctor like you always dreamed of? Watch all those mortals die while you live on forever? See your hatred reflected in their eyes as they are gifted with death and all you can do is live.

I tried to push those self-destructive thoughts out of my head. I tried to ignore that impulse to drive an iron blade into my heart. Because of course I didn't want to die. I was just like a child who wanted what they couldn't have, then when they got it, they were bitterly disappointed.

So, Blair, what do you want? Your life is empty. You have no family. You lost all your friends when you lost your humanity. And you practically destroyed Jack.

I can build a life for myself, I reasoned. But inwardly I hated myself. The voice. The voice that was as constant as the flow of emotions that always stung my tongue. The voice that was Etihad's smooth, cool faery lilt. What it would be like to not have his voice in my head to fill me with self-loathing and disgust. Of course, there was a time when Etihad's voice didn't tell me I was worthless. But I can hardly even remember that. All I knew now was his voice in my head, projecting my own thoughts back to me in the most frightening way.

You could just go back to the Seelie Court. Back to Etihad. And I was well aware of what this was. This was my one hope that if I returned, Etihad would have changed into a kind and loving person, and therefore restoring my faith in faeries… and love. But Etihad was a sadist, and you can't change sadists. I'd never wanted to hate fey, but, by default, I just did. I knew they weren't all bad, but it was like anything else, sometimes the bad just outshone the good.

I knew I was running. I was running like a frightened child. Except that it wasn't just fear, I just simply didn't want to deal with it all. Cowardly and pathetic, I was well aware. But I just couldn't… I couldn't deal with… everything. With the Shadowhunters and the faeries and Jack. I wasn't someone who… dealt with emotions well. Not since Etihad. I couldn't cope with this now. I doubted I'd ever be able cope with it. I was pretending my sisters and Jack would be okay when I left. I was pretending, that was all.

I got a cab and directed the driver to the nearest airport. Impulsive and stupid. Like most of my actions nowadays. I glamoured myself a passport and bought a plane ticket with a magic glamoured credit card that would erase all details as soon as I'd left the counter. Then I got on the first flight home.

I stepped out of the airport and immediately noticed the dry air. It was late October and just beginning to get hot. Melbourne winters were traditionally bitterly cold, but the summers were so hot bushfires raged. I got into one of the taxis that were always humming in a bay in front of the terminal. With no bags I felt empty. The taxi driver began to get out of the car to help me with my bags, but he realised I had none, gave a strange look, then got back into the driver's seat without a word.

Driving on the left was probably the first thing I noticed after spending two years in New York. The movement of the car was soothing even if metal surrounding me made me feel a little nauseous. I'd given the taxi driver the address of my old house, almost feeling anxious to see the home I'd left. I knew I'd have to use magic to get in considering I didn't have any keys.

We travelled along the freeway for maybe half an hour before we began passing though the suburban areas. First Greensborough, which had the large shopping centre my friends and I would go to after school in Year 7. Then Watsonia, where I used to take dance lessons at the small church. There was a great library there, which I'd always gorged myself in. There were an amazing number of schools, mostly public, in such a small area. We passed my primary school, then my high school, finally the tennis courts and large soccer oval with a playground that was a hundred or so metres from my house. And finally we pulled into my street. I pointed to my house and the taxi driver pulled into the drive. There were no letters in the letterbox, and the lights were off. The grass in the front garden was mostly yellow and dead, unable to survive the last few years without being watered. The curtains were drawn, so I couldn't see into the house. There was stillness.

People knew the story – my story – well. Probably another reason why no one ever bought the house. The story had been splashed all over the news. The girl who's parents had been murdered – their bodies left in pools of blood for her to find when she came home from school – and her sisters missing without a trace. I was the sob story for the week. Interviewed and questioned by the stupidest of newsreaders who masqueraded as journalists.

They treated me as if I didn't speak their language, talking down to me, using slow, drawn out words, as if to help my understanding of what had happened. Questions like, "What did you do when you saw your mother and father?"

My response was, "I called you so you could film me and shove microphones into my face. That way you're distracting me from thinking about who killed my parents and instead making me want to kill you." After that they didn't air anything I said live. I suppose that was about when the sarcastic defence evolved in me.

As soon as I paid the taxi driver and got out of the car, I could sense something was wrong. Or, right. There was someone in the house, and he smelt familiar, his taste on my tongue would be normal if it wasn't in these circumstances.

"Jack," I whispered under my breath and sprinted toward the front door. I unlocked the door with the ease of magic and practically flung myself into the house. Everything in the house was caked in a layer of accumulated dust from the past two years, and it was clear there was no power, water or gas, because I couldn't smell or hear that constant buzz that inhabited houses normally have. I was so eager to see Jack, that I'd forgotten the awkwardness between us. He was sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper, and just looked up casually as I entered. I stopped suddenly, staring at him. He looked like he always had; pale skin, casual good looks and demeanour which intimidate everyone except me. The sight of him brought on a wash of emotions. Mostly just a longing for everything to go back to the way it was before.

"You left this house for ours in New York?" Jack asked me rhetorically. Now that he wasn't in America his natural Afrikaans lilt came through his voice. I was so glad that he hadn't lost it living in America for so long. I'd always loved that accent, soft and reserved and almost dark at the same time. "This is way nicer, and so much bigger."

But I couldn't answer as Etihad's voice being thrown around inside my head, distracting me from answering and drowning out what Jack was saying. I managed to get out something that resembled words. "It was too quiet."

Jack stood, slowly, as if I was something was about to attack him. I realised I was standing ridged and stiff, and tried to relax my stance.

"Your sister called me," he explained. "So, I called Jace to see if you were at the Institute, and he said you were with me. Which, of course, was news to me. I honestly can't believe you pulled that trick." Oh, yeah, Jace had called my cell when I hadn't come back within a few hours. I had told him I was going to try to work things out with Jack – not a lie, I'd said I was 'going to try' not that I was actually going to do it. I figured it would buy me a little time.

"I didn't pull any trick," I said, suddenly realising my anger. "You kicked me out of the house anyway." Even I could hear the bitterness in my voice.

Jack didn't answer my comment, instead asking me a question. "Why'd you run?"

"How'd you get here so fast anyway?" I asked, dodging his question.

"I have contacts," Jack said easily.

I thought for a moment. "Magnus? You're kidding? Don't tell me he made you a portal? How much did that cost you?"

"You saved Alec's life. He did it for me as a favour."

"I should've thought of that," I mumbled under my breath.

"Why'd you run, Blair?" Jack asked again.

"You know me well enough to know why I ran," I muttered.

"Yes, but I figured I'd give you the benefit of the doubt." Jack stared at me, and I felt a shiver. "Because if you ran for the reason I think you did, then I'm glad I chased you."

And the words 'chased me' triggered something in my brain. Etihad had never chased me. He said he loved me, but he'd never chased me. He let me go, because he could live without me. He liked it when I was around, but he didn't like me enough to retrieve me if I ran. Jack had chased me. Something else clicked in my head, but I didn't want to link it.

My intense fear – that had always been there, but only strengthened with what happened in the Seelie Court – made me want to run again. Get out of the house and away from Jack, someone who was asking so much of me. I couldn't do it, and Jack knew that. Relationships scared me. Commitment scared me. I just couldn't do it. With family members it was different. But to give up to someone like that… I just couldn't. I know that it wasn't giving up but to me that's what it felt like.

Etihad's voice mocked me. Are you going to destroy him again? Are you going to leave him here as you escape to some sanctuary? What do you really think would happen? Your human friends would take you in again? You're too different now, Blair. They won't know you. They won't accept you.

"I…" I didn't know what I wanted to say. "What are you going to do now? Take me back to New York?"

"Do you want to go back to New York?" Jack asked.

"No."

"Then I won't take you back to New York."

"So, why did you come here?"

"Because where has running ever gotten you, Blair? Nothing but trouble. I had to come down here it make sure you didn't manage to find something else to kill you."

Suddenly, I felt angry. "I can take care of my self."

"No," Jack said seriously. "You can't. You don't. You'll take care of everyone else except you. Then you almost get yourself killed. Do you enjoy self-harm? Do you take some sort of pleasure out of torturing yourself?"

"That's ridiculous," I snapped angrily.

"No, Blair, it's you. I know you want to try and find some sort of meaning in life, but have you ever thought that perhaps there isn't a meaning? I've been around a long time, and the only meaning in my life has been y–"

"Don't say it," I said quickly, moving away from him.

"You, Blair. You are the only meaning in my life."

I closed my eyes, hearing the words that tortured me. "Why now?"

"Because sometimes you need saving, Blair."

"But I can't do this!" I suddenly shouted. "You know that. I just can't do this. And it's not you, because if there was anyone it would be you, but I can't do it."

Jack sighed. "I know, Blair. I know it's who you are, and I know you don't think you can do it, but you underestimate yourself. Would it really be so terrible? Just us? Just being alone, together? Would it be that hard for you?"

A pang of longing hit me. God, how I did want to just be with Jack. But I knew who I was, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do it. It was just… everything. The feeling that I couldn't escape. And if I loved him, it only made it worse, because then I knew I could never escape. I could only think of Etihad and it made me shiver. There was something in me that Etihad broke, and I couldn't fix it. And if Jack tried, it would only destroy him. I didn't want to destroy Jack because I loved him, but I didn't want to be with him for the same reason.

"Look, you have to trust me. I just… need to be alone for a while." I took a breath. I walked to the counter and opened and draw, finding a post-it note. I grabbed the nearest pen and scribbled two words on the note. I folded up the paper, walked to Jack, and put it in his palm. "Take this. Keep it for me. I'll find you again. And then, you can give this back to me."

"What is it?" Jack asked as he began to open it.

I grabbed his hand. "Don't. Not yet. When you're on the plane you can open it. Not before then."

Jack looked concerned. He put a hand to my face. I resisted the urge to place my hand on his. "Should I be worried?"

"You will be anyway," I told him, laughing to cover my tears.

Jack nodded. His face was cold, and it hurt. "Okay. Just… get back to me."

I wondered if Jack would try to come back when he read my note. I wondered if he knew that I'd run. I wondered if he knew that he wouldn't see me again.

I'd never thought of myself as self-destructive. I'd never tried to hurt myself or kill myself. But it was all about the emotions for me. I never thought it was. I thought that emotions were my downfall; that I had an inability to connect. That I tasted them and brushed them away. But no, I tasted them and I felt them and they hurt me. I was self-destructive. And although I didn't want to die, I didn't want to be… happy, I guess. I wanted Jack, but I couldn't love him. I just couldn't do that. I wasn't that person. I never had been.

Jack leant down to kiss me, and I let him, chastely, but just once. Then I pulled away, and turned my head, so I didn't have to look at him. I felt a burst of frustration come from Jack, and he grabbed my waist, pulling me into him. I couldn't look at his face.

"Blair?" he questioned. I didn't want to answer. My throat felt thick with tears I was hiding. Jack ran his hand over my cheek, and forced me to look at him. I looked into his eyes that had always been impossibly hazel, green and gold flecks teasing me. "I'll let you be alone. For a time. But come back."

I only nodded, not trusting myself with words. Jack leant down to kiss me again, but I pulled away harshly, hating myself for it.

Jack nodded, stiffly, and turned, walking away without saying anything. I heard the door open, and shut, his scent slowly disappeared as he got into a car – whose car it was, I couldn't be sure, he'd probably just stolen it – and drove away.

If I saw him again, it would be accidental. And he wouldn't forgive me. I wouldn't expect him to. I wouldn't want him to. But he couldn't love me, I mean, look at me, I destroyed everything I touched. Jack would be better off without me. At least that's what I tried to convince myself of.

I took what I needed from the house. Some of my old clothes, things, memories, then I left. I left the house. I left him.

I needed to be alone. I hadn't been alone in over two years. I needed to show myself I could stand up on my own.

Well done, Etihad's voice mocked sarcastically. Drove away the only man who'd ever loved you. Who will ever love you. What an effort. A congratulations is in order. Not many people can do that. You'd have to be heartless.

"No," I told Etihad's voice aloud. "I'm not heartless. Jack has my heart."

Jack held the post-it in his hand all the way to the airport. He held it with her image and her emotions. Her memories. He stepped onto the plane, took his seat, and waited. Impatiently.

People around him filled him with the emptiness of his life, now that Blair wasn't in it. The announcements, and displays and seatbelt lights happened around him like a blur, and then the rushing noise of the plane in the air began.

Jack took the post-it from his hand, and carefully unfolded it. In Blair's messy scrawl, were two words. Immediately Jack felt regret, hatred and desolation all at once. He shut his eyes against the words, but they were imprinted on the back of his eyelids:

My heart.

Blair had given Jack her heart. Jack had chased her once, and it hadn't been enough. Not for her. Not for him. It never would be enough. Jack knew it. He hated to admit it, but he knew it. Jack opened his eyes to the dim cabin lights, and knew that he'd never see Blair again.

A/N: So… perhaps a little bittersweet, but I felt that this is who Blair is. If anyone has any questions, don't hesitate to ask. If there's anything that's unclear, or I didn't finish well, or forgot to finish at all, please tell me, and I'll try to clear it up.

I have just posted the prequel I began writing. It switches from Jack and Blair's point of view, and jumps back and forward through time. The MI crew won't be featured until the very last few chapters, but it's set in Cassandra Clare's world – although not just in New York - all over the world.

It's called Underworld Angels and is at this link: http://www. fanfiction. net/s/53806 15/1/ Underworld_Angels

Hope people don't hate me after this ending, and continue reading my prequel. Just remove the spaces when you put in the URL.

I'd like to really thank everyone who read, even more to those who reviewed with thoughts and feedback. I am indebted to my brilliant beta-reader, and cannot thank her enough for all the hours of work she has put into this story for me.

Thank you everyone and check out Underworld Angels – I'm having so much fun with Jack's story and Blair's beginning.

Jess