Whew! It's been awhile!! I am so glad to be home from our trip! The wedding was very nice—albeit cold!! Brrr…winter in Michigan is no fun at all! I much prefer the chilly south. :D

Okay, down to the important business . . . this chapter is angsty. Just warning you now. It's sad and you'll probably just want to do to Jace what Clary does…;) Sniff…

Chapter Songs: --Okay, as you know, I love EVERY song I use, but these were so…appropriate. The rage in the first one just about gave me chills for how perfect it was. And the second—well, if you know the song, you'll know just how perfect it is! Go listen if you haven't heard either because they are both so awesomely perfect! (Playlist link in my profile of course).

Hemorrhage by Fuel (Scene 1 -Jace)

A Message by Coldplay (Scene 2 -Clary)

The punching bag hanging in the corner mocked him. Its well-worn red outer screamed out at him, willing him to let it all go, to lose himself in his rage and self-hatred. Jace stared at it with contempt. He wanted to let it all out; punch until his heart stopped aching and his brain quit obsessing. Until every single thing on his mind was gone and replaced by pure adrenaline and exhaustion—maybe even a little pain in his hands wouldn't be bad either. It was as if he craved it—the physical exertion and pain—because maybe it would cover up the much worse agony in his heart.

He didn't want to think about Stephen or the things he felt. He didn't want to think about Clary or the fact that he hadn't really touched her since it all happened. All he wanted was to let the beast out, to let it triumph over everything else. Tired didn't even come close to describing how he felt about the mask he'd been sporting since that day. The day everything in his life had imploded around him, sending him deep inside himself where no one else could touch him. Where no one could find him.

Glancing to the other corner of the training room where Clary and Isabelle were stretching for their morning session, longing filled him so completely that his chest clenched around his heart, causing the ache to triple. He balled his fists and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. Clary caught his eye briefly before he turned away. But not before he saw the hurt in her gaze. She was in pain too, and it was all his fault. The more she tried to get close to him, the more he pulled away. It wasn't that he wanted to distance himself, he just didn't know what else to do. He couldn't risk letting her close to him. Not only did he not know how to control the after affects of the serum, but he couldn't fathom subjecting her to everything he was feeling.

Normally, keeping the straight, blank façade up wasn't much of a problem, but something happened to him that day. Something tore inside him that he wasn't sure could ever be repaired. Because of this, he wasn't sure he could hide it once he let her in. He wasn't positive he could control his emotions any longer with her. Although he'd been weaker with her than any other person, he wasn't ready to bare himself quite so much—especially since he wasn't really even sure himself how he felt. All he knew was that it hurt. It hurt more than any physical or emotional pain he'd ever experienced before.

He dealt with his frustration the way he always had—training and fighting. Unfortunately, with the addition of the "complications" from Stephen's experiment, he couldn't even do that to his satisfaction anymore. It hadn't been long after they'd arrived home that he started feeling—different. He'd always been slightly faster and stronger than the others, but this was so much more than that. The first instance occurred when he'd tried to open his bedroom door and ripped it completely off the hinges without even exerting much pressure. Maryse hadn't been happy in the least, but she also hadn't said anything to him, knowing it wasn't something he could help. The second time was when he'd tried to jog to the front gate and found himself a few blocks away in less time than it normally took to stand. The frustrating thing was that it wasn't like the abilities stayed constant. They came and went without any rhyme or reason. He had no idea if they were permanent or if they'd eventually leave. He hoped for the latter because, as much fun as he could probably have being that strong and fast, it complicated things in other areas he was much more concerned about—specifically his relationship with Clary.

Since he'd begun displaying these abilities, he'd automatically shied away from any type of physical contact with her. Not that he didn't want to touch her, to be with her, but he was scared out of his mind that, at any moment, the freakish strength would overcome him and he'd hurt her in some way. He just couldn't risk that. Even when she looked at him, her eyes pleading with him to just give her something, anything, he pulled back, denying every urge in his body to just let her in. Her safety was more important than anything else in this world and he was determined to keep it that way.

Luckily, Clary had only felt small shockwaves of the symptoms he did through their bond. She had no idea to what extent he was experiencing them because he hid it from her with great skill. It wasn't like keeping things from people was hard for him. He'd perfected the art over many years of hiding within himself. At least now those skills were useful.

It was with all those thoughts and feeling swirling within him that he peered over at the bag in front of him. The padded gloves sat on the floor next to the rest of his gear. He glanced down at his scarred hands and lost all concern over hurting them, in fact, he wished for it. What did he care if he broke a few bones, bloodied a few knuckles?

Clary's laughter filtered over from her position across the training room, filling him with a need so powerful it almost overshadowed his rage. Jace closed his eyes and stretched his neck from side-to-side, shaking his hands out at his sides before assuming a fighting stance. Valentine's face appeared behind his eyes. His mouth was fixed into a sneer as he stood over Jace's trembling child-like form in the study of their home after he'd commenced his scolding over weakness. Without opening his eyes, Jace threw his fist forward, contacting the rough surface with an unprotected knuckle. Pain sliced through his hand, shooting up his arm in small bursts. That wasn't so bad.

Several more visualizations of Valentine and that many more punches later, his hands throbbed with a pain that actually cleared his mind and helped him focus. Before he had a chance to calm himself, Stephen's face flashed in his mind. Without even pausing, he threw several punches in quick succession into the firm bag, not even stopping when he felt the crack of bones in one of his hands. The pain searing through his body with each jab solidified his desire to keep going. Pain meant he could still feel something other than the absolute rage and agony that clouded every day. As he continued to assault the bag, another face filled his vision, but this time it was one he knew almost better than anyone else's, it was his own. To his surprise, this image filled him with more revulsion than the others. More than anything, he wanted to destroy this vision. Wanted to make it pay for everything that had gone wrong in his life. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he knew it was irrational to blame himself for the actions of others, but he couldn't help but wonder if he had been stronger maybe it could have ended sooner. Not just the recent events with Stephen but earlier with Valentine as well. Maybe if he hadn't been so weak and needy for affection, he could have stopped it before it ruined him completely. Was he ruined? He couldn't even tell anymore. All he knew was that he felt absolutely decimated.

Rage built inside him with every punch, growing stronger until his entire body radiated with it. Fire shot through his veins, fueling the rage and spilling over in a massive hemorrhage of self disgust. With an unintentional cry of frustration, he let out one last strike, putting every ounce of hatred and anger he could muster into it, and struck the bag. As his fist impacted the rough fabric, the force of it sent the bag rocking violently away from him, ripping the chains from the ceiling above and sending the entire thing rocketing across the room. Pieces of plaster rained down on him, embedding themselves into his hair and scattering across the ground at his feet.

Silence permeated the area as the girls stopped their training to no doubt stare at him. He felt their eyes on his back, but neither said a word. After what seemed like hours, two distinct sets of footsteps sounded on the hard floor. One veered off in the direction of the doors, the other stopped just behind him. He dropped his head and let out a deep breath as his muscles clenched in his back, knowing that his avoidance of her was about to end.

***

Clary stepped up cautiously behind him. His shoulders were set in a stiff and warning position—not one she normally messed with, but the way he'd attacked the punching bag told her that no matter what he said he needed her.

He'd been so distant ever since what happened with Stephen. Not that she blamed him. He'd had nothing but heartbreak where his father was concerned. She wished she could take all the pain away. If the rune worked that way, she would gladly do it. Unfortunately, it had only worked for physical things not emotional and it had burnt out on that when Stephen had injected Jace with the serum. All she wanted was to be there for him, but he wouldn't allow it—effectively pushing her away every time she tried to get close. She shook her head, telling herself that she wouldn't let him do it anymore.

With her hand shaking, she reached out and tentatively touched his shoulder. She felt him tense under her fingers. Her breath hitched as her chest clenched in response.

"Jace," she whispered, not having a clue as to what to say, but wanting to say something anyway.

"I'm fine," came his ragged reply.

She furrowed her brow and gripped him harder. "Jace, please."

"I said I'm fine Clary. Just . . . go."

"No. I'm not going to let you do this anymore, Jace."

"Clary," his voice broke, "please."

Clary swallowed against the lump in her throat. She couldn't stand to see him in so much pain, especially when he wouldn't let her help him. "Please, Jace. Don't hide from me. Let me help you." She stepped closer to him, placing her other hand on his opposite shoulder and pressing her face to the skin bared just between his shoulder blades. Closing her eyes, she laid her forehead against him. "Please let me in."

A shudder ripped through his body as he let out a breath. Slowly, he turned to face her, her hands falling from him as he pivoted. She opened her eyes, her gaze falling on his broken and bleeding hands. "Jace," she whispered as she gingerly lifted one in her hands.

"It's fine," he said.

She lifted her eyes to his. The once vibrant, golden irises were blank and dead as they stared out at her. "No. It's not," she said quietly as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her stele, placing the healing rune on the inside of his wrist. "Why are you doing this?" She met his gaze again.

"Doing what?"

"Hurting yourself and . . . and pushing me away."

He closed his eyes briefly before meeting hers again. "Because it's better than hurting you."

Clary wasn't positive, but she thought that his answer was probably true for both questions. She reached up and ran her fingers along his cheek. "You don't need to do this alone. I wish you could see that."

"Clary, you don't understand."

"You're right. I don't. But that isn't my fault. You won't let me in. Maybe if you did, I would."

He shook his head and bit his lower lip.

"Please."

"Clary—" His voice shook.

"Please don't shut me out anymore, Jace."

His face contorted as a straggled cry escaped from his lips and he fell to his knees in front of her. He buried his face in her stomach and gripped her thighs with his hands. Clary gasped as she felt him shudder and break before her. Jace had always been the picture of control, sometimes to a fault. But now, as she felt his tears soak through her shirt and his body shake against her, she knew the extent of his pain and how much he'd been holding back—not only from her but from everyone.

Her breath hitched as a knot of pain traveled up her throat and lodged itself there. Tears streamed down her cheeks as his pain now became hers. Her hands twisted themselves in his soft curls as he sobbed into her. Unable to stand any longer, she pried his hands from her and sank down with him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him as close as she could. His arms snaked around her, holding onto her as if she were a life raft coming to his rescue. It was desperate and needy, but she was more than willing to be that for him.

After several minutes, his shaking slowed and he fell limp in her arms. She took a few more minutes to soothe him by running her fingers through his hair and rubbing circles over his back. He never moved, not even to wipe his face.

"Tell me," she said softly, continuing her calming caresses.

He shook his head into her shoulder. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," he whispered.

"Try."

He let out a deep breath and pulled back, finally looking her in the face. She tried to control her reaction to seeing him broken so completely. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks streaked with the remnants of tears. Most of all he just looked—destroyed. There was no better word to describe what she saw. Every ounce of the hard, unreachable Jace was gone and all that remained was this broken, bleeding soul aching for someone to fix it—regardless of whether it knew it or not.

"I'm not good, Clary. I thought maybe I was for awhile, but now I know I'm not. There's just no way I could be."

Clary narrowed her eyes. "What are you talking about?"

Jace's face fell again and Clary feared he may start to cry once more. "Look at the examples I've had. First Valentine, who was a bigger monster than anyone could have imagined. He raised me to be like him. To have the same ideals and to fight like him. I thought that maybe since I learned he wasn't my real father that I might have a chance but now—now I learn that my real father was just as screwed up. I mean, I've got both the nature and nurture side screwed up. How can I be good, Clary? How can I be okay?"

Clary reached forward and took his face in her hands, swiping her thumbs over his cheeks and removing any trace of the tears that had covered them moments before. "Because you're you, Jace. That's how. You're not them and you're not like them—in any way."

"But how do you know that? What if I snap—it's possible right?" His eyes pleaded with her.

She shook her head. "No, it's not. I know because I know you. I feel you. Don't you know that?"

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Clary."

"No. Don't shut me out again." She jerked his face back up to hers. "Please." Leaning forward she rested her forehead against his. "Let me take care of you."

He let out a shuddering breath and nodded his head. Clary closed the distance between them and placed her lips on his. Just as he started to respond to her kiss, he stiffened and pulled away.

"No. I—I can't," he said.

Clary's mouth dropped open. "Wh—what?"

His face contorted once more. "I don't want to hurt you and I—I can't control this." He gestured to his body meaning the serum effects. It wasn't until that moment that she finally grasped what they were doing to him. She'd seen the results of the door and now the bag but she didn't realize he was struggling so much with it.

Clary let out a sigh and scooted forward on her knees until their bodies were flush against each other and she could feel his breath on her face. Taking his hands in hers and feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her chest, she looked up at him. "You could never hurt me. I know you couldn't."

He closed his eyes. "But I can't control it," he repeated.

She leaned in until her lips barely touched his. "Try," she breathed.

With a shudder, he surrendered and allowed her to kiss him. She felt his heart accelerate as his hands released hers and made their way around her back. Slowly, she raised her hands to his neck, dragging her fingers up to his jaw and tracing it back behind his ears, grabbing two fistfuls of his hair and pulling him closer to her. He groaned into her mouth just before his body stiffened and he prepared to pull away.

But she wasn't having any of that and she twisted her hands tighter in his hair. "Don't," she said against his lips. "I need you. I need you so much it hurts. Please. If it makes it easier, I'll do everything. Just please . . ." She was very aware of the begging in her voice, but at that moment, she really didn't care. It had been so long since he'd touched her, since they'd been together and she needed to feel him again. Needed to be close to him in a way she couldn't be close to anyone else. And she had a suspicion that he needed her the same way. More pain than was fair had been thrust on the both of them in such a short amount of time that they deserved some time to just forget and feel.

With a short nod, he tightened his grip around her waist and stood. Scooping her up into his arms, he raced out the door and down the hall to his room. After a moment of fumbling at the handle, they were inside; her back pushed against the wall as his body pressed tightly against her. His need and hers combined into a massive explosion of touching and tearing of clothing until they both stood almost completely bare, save for her gray sports bra and boyshort panties and him in her favorite black boxer briefs. She pulled away from his kiss only to shove him backward to the bed. He sat on the edge and gazed up at her, the pain and emptiness in his eyes replaced by excitement and need as he moved his hands to her hips.

She smiled down at him as she moved to stand with her legs on either side of his before lowering herself onto his lap. Her eyes stayed locked on his as she raised her hands to his face and traced his cheekbones back until her fingers mingled in the hair just above his ears. "Don't hide from me anymore, okay? I just want to take care of you like you do me."

His hand moved from her hip up her back, his fingers tracing along her spine all the way up to her neck. A shiver shot through her body at his touch. "It's not easy for me, Clary, but I'll try."

She smiled and lowered he face back down to his, catching his lower lip between hers. "Thank you," she whispered.

He responded by opening his mouth against hers and sliding his hands forward to hold her face against his. In that moment, she felt all his pain disappear. None of the stiffness remained in his shoulders, none of the veiled calmness masked his features. He was just Jace, and she loved the fact that she helped him to recapture that. Even if it only lasted for these fleeting moments, at least for now, that would be enough. Eventually she would succeed and bringing him back to life fully. No matter what it took, she would convince him that he was worthy and that he was so much more than the two men that claimed to be his father. Because to her, he was all that was good and worthwhile in this world. To her, he was everything.

Can you say mush? Yeah, I thought so. Sigh…I needed that. :D Be back with more later…;) And HOORAY for the return of Jace's underwear...:D

And before you all want to shoot me over 'breaking' Jace -- I know the guy is like some super solid rock of emotion, but in my world, Clary is the one person he can be vulnerable with and I wanted him to show her everything, even weakness. You can hate me if you want, but well, there it is...;)