**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 29: Pain

Chapter Songs:

The Story – 30 Seconds to Mars

She is the Sunlight – Trading Yesterday **Lyrics belong to "She is the Sunlight" belong to Trading Yesterday.

All We Are – OneRepublic

Hurricane – 30 Seconds to Mars


Foreboding silence hung heavy in the room, stretching to the furthest corners and filling every void like creeping fog. Jace sat perched on the end of his bed, his head down and his trembling hands thrust into his hair. The skin of his chest felt as though it had shrunk a few sizes and now squeezed uncomfortably against his ribs, making it hard to breath. He closed his eyes and drew in a slow, pained breath, willing the tightness to abate and the pressure swelling inside to lessen. Dropping his hands from his hair, he raised his face to the ceiling. The fan above whirred and pushed cooling air down onto him, refreshing his heated flesh.

Dull, golden light filtered through the curtains, pooling to the floor below the window. The last sign that the day he'd been dreading had finally dawned. In the darkness, surrounded by nothing but the girl he loved, things seemed simpler, less urgent. But now, with the light filling and overtaking the night, the reality in which he'd created became true and nearly unbearable to accept. He knew his decision was the best one for everyone—even if it didn't feel like it to him. Hurt, pain, and disappointment had come to be expected in his life. It wasn't what he wanted, it just was. There was no changing the course of his destiny—at least that's what he'd always told himself. That he wasn't good enough, or deserving enough to have what other people had.

Family.

Friends.

Love.

In the past, he'd embraced it, moved on, and just accepted that was how it was. But this time he didn't want to do that. He wanted a life all his own. He wanted . . . more. He needed more. He deserved more.

His fists clenched at his sides and he drew in a sharp breath, anger flooding through him and filling the emptiness that had been present ever since the night before. Memories of the look on her face, the trembling of her voice, the tears falling over her cheeks, washed over him and fueled the overwhelming urge to hit something.

He'd hurt her.

Something he'd promised himself he'd never do. Seeing her cry, witnessing her pain, and knowing he was the one who'd caused it, was more unbearable than anything else about this whole messed up situation. It wasn't enough, apparently, that everyone he loved was in danger because of him, but he had to hurt them all—maybe irrevocably—to protect them. It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. But he already knew that. He'd lived that truth for twelve years.

It didn't matter that God had, for whatever reason, decided to hand him a steaming pile of crap to live in to begin with. But He just had to keep dumping it on him, over and over until he was buried miles beneath it. One would have thought, given the circumstances, that he wouldn't believe in a God who would allow that. Who would stand by and watch as a small boy listened to his mother die, witnessed his father being taken away, and allowed monstrous people to take him in and beat what innocence he had left out. For so many years he'd believed just that—that God couldn't be real. But if that was true, if God wasn't real, then how was he sitting there, looking down on the most beautiful girl, watching her—in her perfect innocence—dream, knowing she was in love with him. Something he never thought he would experience. A lost and broken soul, drifting aimlessly through life, having no reason to connect, no reason to believe he was worth a damn.

Until she walked into his life. Well, more like tripped into it.

Before her, all he could see was his own heartache. How unlucky he must have been to get the cards he was dealt. But she'd taught him how to see past his own pain, his own torment, and focus on someone else's. That he wasn't the only one who'd been given a pile of crap to live in, and somehow, that made him feel normal. For once in his life, he belonged. With her, he belonged.

A muffled sigh brough him out of his mind, and he glanced over to the sleeping figure lying at the head of his bed. She looked so small, so fragile, wrapped up in his blankets, her red hair fanned over the pillow and her hands tucked carefully under her cheek. Her chest moved rhythmically with her deep breaths.

Jace closed his eyes briefly before scooting closer to her. He gazed down at her face, the peaceful expression leaving her skin smooth and free of the lines which gave proof to her distress. Reaching out, he drew a finger carefully under a stray curl lying across her cheek, the act reminding him of that first night she'd spent with Isabelle and he'd carried her back to his sister's room after she'd fallen asleep outside his door. How much he wished he could go back to those days. To when things, no matter how screwed up they both were, seemed simpler. To when the only danger was from people finding out how they felt about each other. If he'd known then what he knew now, he would have told her the moment he knew how he felt about her. He wouldn't have tried to fight it, or hide it. It would have afforded him more time with her. To touch her, to kiss her, to love her like she deserved.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so many things he wished he could tell her. He didn't want to leave letting her think it was as simple as him choosing his father over all of them. That wasn't it at all. But what could he say that wouldn't make the threat to any of them more palpable? How could he explain it without spilling that? He knew if he tried to say it to her face he'd say something he shouldn't. But he couldn't leave it like it was. He needed to at least let her know that he wasn't choosing anything over her. He was choosing her. Her safety. Her life. All of their lives. He could stay, yes, and maybe no one would find him. But what if they did? How could he live with the knowledge that he could have prevented it. That he could have saved them all by just removing himself from their lives. Maybe it was selfish, but he couldn't. Hell, it seemed any decision he could make was selfish in some way.

As he continued to look down on Clary, his fingers itched to touch her. To run themselves over the smooth planes of her skin. To feel the electrical current that accompanied every touch. The warmth that flowed through him, making him feel full and alive. He didn't care how cheesy it sounded, she did complete him. She filled all the holes left in his soul, like when a wave crashes over the shore covering the pits in the sand and drawing back over them, healing them as if they'd never stained the beach in the first place. She made him whole.

He closed his eyes and fisted his hair once more, the memories of the previous night washing over him. She'd pleaded with him to stay, and God, how he wanted to say yes. If he could he would in a heartbeat. But what he remembered most, what he regretted most, was having to tell her no when she'd asked to be with him. In that moment, he'd almost failed. He'd almost let go of her hands and allowed her to continue on her path of undressing him. He wanted her. Craved her. Needed her. And to think that she wanted him too, in that way and enough to initiate, nearly overcame him. The idea of being with her, touching her, feeling her all around him was something he couldn't even fathom. And he wanted that with her so badly. Not just because he was a hormonal teenage douchebag—which he certainly was—but because he could only imagine what it would be like to be that close to her. He didn't even know if he would have been able to stand the emotional onslaught it would have brought. They were both so cut, so raw, that it very nearly could have broken both of them.

But even that wasn't the reason he'd said no. Why he'd denied her one request, the one thing she wanted with him, that she wanted with only him. It was no secret Clary was a virgin—in every aspect of the word. And to be honest, so was he in so many ways. He'd never loved anyone before. Never let anyone see his scars, both on the inside and out. When he'd been with girls in the past, it was always dark, he was always drunk, and he'd never allowed them to touch him. It had always been about fulfilling a physical need—for both parties, so he'd never felt bad about it. But with Clary, it would be so much more. He would let her put her hands on him, touch him in any way she wanted, not just because that's what she'd expect but because that's what he wanted. Her skin on his left him heated and breathless already, add to that the sensations of being with her completely and he was sure it would be beyond anything his feeble imagination could come up with. He knew this and he wanted it, but it needed to be right. It couldn't be now, when he was about to leave her for God knew how long. To leave her to deal with the aftermath of those emotions alone would be more than irresponsible. It would be reprehensible.

When they were finally together, Jace wanted it to be everything she deserved. What they both deserved. He wanted to hold her and fall asleep next to her. And when morning came, he wanted to wake up with his arm trapped under her body, his hand tingling from lack of blood, and her hair in his face. He wanted to keep her there all day, just lying with her, listening to her thoughts, feeling her soft touch as she ran her fingers over his skin, feeling the vibrations from her laugh when he tickled her with kisses. Those were things he wouldn't compromise, wouldn't give up. She deserved them. He deserved them. They deserved them. He wouldn't settle for anything less.

God, he needed to just tell her. He couldn't stand the thought that she might feel rejected by him. That was the last thing he wanted. He stared down at her, taking in the peaceful look on her face and he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't remove that look—not yet. And when he told her, she'd cry. He knew she would. Looking toward his desk, Jace noticed a notebook that had fallen out of his bag jammed between the edge of the desk and the wall. He walked over and picked it up, his fingers gliding over the smooth cover. Making a decision, he quietly drew out the chair and sat, grabbing a pen with his left hand. He flipped open he cover and stared at the blank page, wondering how he should phrase what he needed to say. Nothing smart or eloquent came to mind, so he threw all caution aside and just wrote with his heart.

Words quickly filled the page, the pen pressing into his finger as he wrote. Line after line, his scrawl encompassed the paper, spilling his thoughts, his worries, his heart for her to see. Finally, he set the pen carefully beside his work, and then picked up the paper to read what he'd written.

Pippi,

I'm writing this instead of saying it to your face because I'm a coward. A complete and utter coward. Somehow, whenever I think about saying these things my mind goes completely blank and my tongue fills my mouth. I'm afraid to say too much. To make things worse than they already are. Hell—I know this doesn't make sense and I'm so sorry for that. Just please, please, know that if there were any other way—any way at all—I'd choose it. I'd do anything to not have to leave. God, I just—I just don't want to leave.

I've screwed up so many things in my life, Clary, and I won't let you be one of them. I won't let you become a casualty in this messed up game I call my life—not when I can help it. I wish . . . I wish I could tell you . . . to make you understand. I know someday this will make sense and I hope that on that day you'll forgive me for what I had to do. I hope you'll know that everything I do, I do to protect you and my family. You mean . . . everything, just—everything, to me.

I'm rambling. I know I'm rambling. It's just, I'm looking at you sleeping in my bed and I want so much to crawl in next to you and fall asleep too. I want to wrap you up and keep you with me always. And I'm fighting the urge to do just that. God, you don't know how badly I want that.

I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry I said no. If you knew—if you had any idea—just how much I wanted to say yes . . . Yes, I wanted to say yes. I almost said yes. I wish I'd said yes . . . But it would've been wrong of me. Right? Hell, now I'm second guessing myself—no, it would have been wrong.

But, Pippi, please know that I didn't reject you, it wasn't a rejection, it was a . . . "not now". I knew you were hurting, that I'd hurt you, and I would have given anything to take that away. And when you asked me, for a split second I considered it, but I knew it would end up hurting both of us more in the long run.

When we do—and we will, someday—I want it to be everything you deserve it to be. Not as a last second decision, not when you're sad, not when I'm getting ready to leave . . . but when I'm getting ready to stay. I want to stay, Clary. So badly, I want to be staying. On that day—when I get to stay—if you still want me, I'll say yes. I'll say yes until I can't utter another word. And from that point on, I'll only ever say yes. When you ask me to stay, when you ask me to love you, when you ask me to kiss you, when you ask me to hold you, when you ask me to be with you, my answer will always and only be yes.

In fact, I'm going to give you one in advance. You asked me last night if I'd ever come back, but you didn't let me answer. You should've let me answer, Pippi. It would have been so easy to say. I wanted to say it. And now I will. It's only one word. One word with three little letters . . . Yes.

No matter what happens between now and when I see you again—and I will see you again—just remember . . . just remember, I love you. Always, Clary. Always.

- Jace

Drawing in a breath, Jace folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, sealing it and writing Clary's name across the front. A rustling drew his attention back to the bed. He turned and saw Clary stirring. Shoving the note into his back pocket, he stood and crossed the room, sitting back down on the edge of the bed just as she stretched and yawned. Jace smiled and reached out, running a finger along her cheek.

Clary opened her eyes slowly, blinking to clear them of the bleariness of sleep.

"Hey," Jace said, his fingers still tracing her skin, unwilling to remove his touch from her.

She frowned. "You let me fall asleep."

He grinned again. "Only for a bit."

"Hmm." She stretched again and sat up, her hair a mass of tangles, but Jace thought she'd never looked more beautiful.

He kept his eyes trained on her, trying to ingrain how she looked right then into his memory. He wanted to remember her this way, slightly sleepy and not quite yet aware.

She turned to him and raised a brow. "What?"

He lowered his gaze. "Nothing. I was just . . . looking."

When he glanced back up, her eyes locked on his, and in that instant, he watched the sleep leave her stare and realization take its place. She sucked in a shaking breath and bit her lip.

Jace cupped her cheeks and shook his head, swiping his thumbs under her eyes when moisture started to build. "No more." He leaned in and kissed her lightly. "Please. I just want to see you smile. No more tears."

Clary drew in another breath, held it, and nodded, forcing a smile. "Okay. I'll try." Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned into his shoulder. He closed his eyes and brushed his lips against her hair. With a sigh, she glanced up at him. "I should at least brush my teeth."

He chuckled and pushed back a chunk of hair hanging stubbornly across her cheek. "Okay."

Her eyes turned serious and slightly paniced. "Don't go anywhere," she whispered.

He shook his head and left a kiss on her forehead. "I won't."

She nodded and let out a relieved breath before standing and stretching. Jace watched as she walked to the door, his eyes unable to leave her until she stole into the hall. He turned his gaze back to his room. Everything was so still, so silent. He lowered his face to his hands and rubbed them over it. Taking a deep breath, he stood and went to his closet, grabbing his bag from the shelf. He pulled it down and with it came a small black box. He picked it up, a lump forming in his throat. Opening the lid, he ran his fingers over the delicate metal. Closing it once more, he shoved it into his pocket with the letter and proceeded to his dresser, pulling out whatever clothing he could fit into the bag. Once it was full, he turned, his eyes falling on his guitar. Taking slow steps forward, he reached out, running his finger along the neck. Without even thinking, he wrapped his hand around it and lifted. It felt good to hold it, to feel the familiar wood and strings in his grasp. Suddenly, he felt the urge to play. To drown the growing ache with music—just how he always had.

Turning away, he took it with him and sat slowly on the edge of his bed. His fingers plucked at the strings as he loosened or tightened them to the correct tune. Once he was satisfied they were all in tune, he strummed a chord, closing his eyes as the strings cut into his fingers and the vibrations flowed through him. He continued to strum, feeling as the music engulfed him, dulling the emotion rising within him.

He didn't know how long he played before he felt the bed shift beneath him. Even though he knew she had returned, he didn't open his eyes or stop. After a moment, he felt her arms wrap around him from behind, and her lips touch the skin of his shoulder. He took in a shuddering breath as a swell of sadness built inside him. Her hands moved against his skin, touching so softly, so carefully and her mouth left small kissed to his neck. Part of him wanted to turn around and kiss her back, hold her in his own arms, but the other part wanted to stay right where he was, allowing the music to work through them both, allowing them to feel, but also calming them at the same time.

Clary strengthed his idea when her lips slid up his neck and hovered at his ear, and she whispered, "Sing for me."

He sighed. "I don't have anything but sadness right now."

"That's okay," she said. "Me too."

He swallowed and turned his face toward her, capturing her lips for a brief moment before taking in a breath and starting to strum and sing just like she asked.

*If all the flowers faded away
And if all the storm clouds decided to stay
Then you would find me each hour the same
'Cause she is tomorrow and I am today

'Cause if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone

Her hands drew lightly up his arms, causing goosebumps to erupt over his flesh, but he didn't stop. His fingers curled around the neck, pressing firmly to the strings while his other hand strummed out the rhythm.

And if loving her is a heartache for me
And if holding her means that I have to bleed
Then I am the martyr and love is to blame

'Cause she is the healing and I am the pain

She lives in a daydream where I don't belong
She is the sunlight and the sun is gone

Clary continued to touch him, her forehead pressed against the back of his neck. He felt her breath fan over his skin and knew when it shuddered with restraint.

And it will take this life of regret

For my heart to learn to forget

Tomorrow will be as it always has been

And I will fall to her again

For I know I've come too close

'Cause if right is leaving I'd rather be wrong

'Cause she is the sunlight and the sun is gone

His throat tightened, and he breathed in, trying to dispel it, but it wouldn't budge. Clary seemed to know this and her grip on him tightened, her lips dancing over his flesh in an effort to soothe him. But, no matter what she did, the grief stayed and his voice showed it as the last line came out shaky.

She is the sunlight and the sun is gone

Her hands kept touching him, but it wasn't enough. He set his guitar aside and reached behind him, pulling her around and placing her on his lap. His arms immediately wrapped around her, holding her tightly to his chest. He buried his face in her hair and placed his ear against her chest, breathing in deeply and listening to the steady rhythm of her heart. Her hands made their way into his hair and her lips brushed the top of his head. Jace felt as his fingers curled into her flesh, trying their hardest to hold her there. Clary's breathing faltered when he turned his face toward her, his lips sliding along the space at the base of her neck. He let out a breath and she shivered, her grip on his hair tightening.

Glancing up, Jace caught her stare. She lowered her forehead to his and closed her eyes. "I don't want you to go," she said.

Instead of answering with words, Jace reached up and cupped his hand around the back of her neck. Lifting his chin, he met her mouth with his. It felt the same as always, warm, soft, wet, but there was a subtle difference. Something that had never been present before—pain. Not physical pain, but the kind that gripped his heart and squeezed, nearly taking his breath with it.

Clary let out a gasp and kissed him back, clawing at his back in desperation to hold him closer. A soft knock at the door pulled Jace's attention away. He groaned and lowered his forehead to her shoulder.

A voice drifted through the door. "Sorry to . . . uh . . . interrupt, but . . ." Isabelle said.

Jace sighed and lifted Clary off from him and set her down on the bed. Standing, he moved to the door and opened it. Isabelle glanced over his shoulder, her eyes landing on Clary and then shifting back to his. They looked oddly wide and bright. She swallowed as if she was trying to collect herself.

"Michael is here," she said quietly, and Jace's chest squeezed. "And, Clary's mother is looking for her."

Clary jumped up and joined them in the doorway. "What does she—"

Isabelle held up a hand. "I told her you were asleep—in my room." She gave a small smile. "But she wants to see you."

Clary nodded and turned to Jace, lifting herself up to place a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be right back, all right?"

He smiled and nodded, then watched her go. Closing his eyes, he let out a slow breath and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them again, he was met by Isabelle's wide stare. She chewed on her bottom lip nervously.

He leaned against the doorframe. "So, I take it you know."

She nodded and glanced at the floor. "Mom told me, finally." She looked up. "This sucks."

He laughed. "I thought you'd be thrilled. You know, now you're finally rid of me and my assyness."

She chuckled and nudged him in the shoulder with her fist. "If you're gone, who else is supposed to annoy me by acting like the biggest ass known to man?"

"I'm sure you'll find someone."

The smile died from her lips and she glanced at the floor. "It won't be the same."

"Sure it will. I could probably give you some names if you'd like."

She glanced up. "They won't be you. They won't be my brother."

Before Jace had a chance to respond, Isabelle threw her ams around his waist and hugged him. He hesitated for a moment, not used to this type of physical display from her, before he laid his hands on her back.

"No matter what, you'll always be my brother," she said, squeezed him briefly, and then pulled away, brusing the strands of hair from her face. "You know, I should really kick your ass for this. Now, prove me wrong about your asshattyness and come back, okay?"

Jace grinned and was about to respond when he heard the door just up the hall opening and saw a sleepy Max appear. His eyes met Jace's and a scowl stretched across his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. "Mom said you were leaving us."

Jace swallowed and moved out into the hall, kneeling down in front of Max. Max moved his gaze away from Jace's face and continued to glare at the wall. "Hey, listen." He tried to make Max look at him, but Max jerked his face out of Jace's grasp. Jace sighed and glanced down. "I'm sorry, Max."

Max finally turned to him, his voice tight. "Why are you going? Don't you like us anymore?"

Jace's head snapped up. "Of course I do! I wish I didn't have to go, Max. Believe me."

"Then why are you?"

Jace sighed. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't want to when we get bigger. This is one of those things."

Max studied him carefully, his stance loosening. "Are you coming back?"

Jace closed his eyes briefly and spoke honestly. "I hope so."

Max lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Jace's neck with such force he almost knocked him over. "Don't worry," Max whispered. "I'll save all the comics for you and we'll read them when you get back."

A throat cleared behind him and Max let go. Jace turned toward the sound and found Maryse standing there, her face a blank slate but her eyes spoke volumes as to her emotional state. "The car is waiting for you, Jace."

He stood slowly, his chest tightening with every inch he rose. His eyes moved across the faces in front of him. All of them familiar and safe. These people were with whom he belonged. They were his family. No amount of distance or separation would change that. They cared for him and he for them. They'd protected him for five years and now it was his turn to return the favor. No, not favor—honor.

Jace nodded and stepped back into his room, gathering his bag and placing his guitar in its case and flinging it onto his back. He looked around his room one last time and crossed the threshold once more. Isabelle and Max had retreated down the stairs, but Maryse had remained. She stood at the top of the steps, her eyes trained on him as he closed his door behind him. He stepped up to her.

She stared at him and then raised her hand, resting her palm tentatively against his cheek—a gesture she'd never offered before. "I'm sorry for keeping all this from you. I hope, now that you know, that you understand why I had to." She closed her eyes and sighed before opening them once more. "Not that I'm trying to use that as an excuse, it's just—the way it was, and I'm sorry for it." Her eyes met his once more. "But no matter what you may think of me now, please just know that I have always thought of you as my son. You are my son. And you always will be."

Jace looked unwaveringly into her eyes. "I know that." And he did. Without a doubt, he'd never questioned that.

She smiled and patted his cheek, sucking in a sharp breath as she turned and started down the steps. He followed, each step seeming to stretch further and further in front of him. Time slowed and every second felt hours long. He wished they really were.

When they reached the bottom, Michael stood in the foyer, two of his armed men flanked his side. Jace swallowed and stepped up to him. Michael looked down at him, his eyes filled with regret. "Are you ready?"

"Do I have a choice?" Jace asked.

"Yes, you do."

Jace sighed. "You know that's not true."

Michael reached out and patted Jace's shoulder. "I know, son." He slipped the guitar strap from Jace and took it to himself, guiding Jace out the door and into the bright sunlight. Jace squinted against it as his foot hit the wooden deck.

The day appeared to be the same as any other day. Light stretched across the dew covered grass and trees swayed lightly in the breeze. The familiar scents wafted through the air, acting as a cover for what this day really was. It was change, loss, death.

Jace's eyes scanned the vicinity, searching for the one person he needed to see. Finally, she spied her, standing at the edge of the lawn with her mother's arm holding her to her side. Clary's eyes were large and her lip trembled, but there were no tears, just as he'd asked. He couldn't help the smile that tweaked his lips.

He turned to the Lightwood's once more. They were all huddled together, arms around each other. He felt a pang of longing to be enveloped in that circle as well, but he knew he didn't belong there anymore. He'd made his choice, and although he did it to protect them, he knew what it cost him to make it.

Jace looked down. "Thank you," he said. "For everything. Putting up with me and just . . . everything."

Isabelle turned her face into Maryse's chest and Maryse hugged her tighter against her. "Of course," she said.

He nodded and backed away, a pressure growing in his chest that made being in their presence uncomfortable. Making his way down the stairs, his eyes fell on Clary once more. Her mother had moved back, leaving Clary on her own as she stared at him. He moved forward, his heart willing him to move faster, but his brain telling him to go slower and just savor looking at her. In the end, his heart won and he found himself standing before her. She looked up at him, the sadness in her green eyes cutting into his soul. Without another thought, he dropped his bag and pulled her into his arms, closing his eyes as she hugged him back.

"Don't say it," she said, and he knew exactly what she meant.

"I'm not going to." He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the letter and small black box he'd put there earlier. He glanced down at it, his finger running over the smooth, crisp paper. "This is for you. But—don't open it until I leave."

Clary sucked in a sharp breath and held it. He knew she was trying to ward off tears. "Okay." She reached out and wrapped her fingers around it, but he held firm as she tried to take it from him.

He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. "When you read this, know that I meant every word. And just because I'm leaving doesn't dimish their meaning."

She nodded, her breathing becoming more and more uneven. He loosened his grasp and she tucked the letter and box into her hoodie pocket. Reaching up, he cupped her cheeks and rested his lips against her forehead. Her hands came up and gripped his waist. He could feel them trembling.

"I love you," she whispered. "Always."

He squeezed his eyes shut and tilted her face up, kissing her one last time before he dropped his hands, picked up his bag, and turned away. If he stayed there in her arms a second longer, he wouldn't be able to force himself to move. The uncomfortable feeling built even further and he had to stop breathing in order to calm it. The car seemed miles away, but his feet pulled him toward it regardless. But the further he got from her, the harder it became to move.

Jace's steps grew slower, dragging, almost impossible. He felt eyes on his back and the sensation squeezed his chest even more. His heart sped and thudded hard against his ribs, so hard it was almost painful. The closer he got to the vehicle, the less his legs wanted to move. He sucked in, trying desperately to to fill his lungs, but no matter how many breaths he took, he still couldn't breathe. The ache inside grew until it felt as though his heart would stop from the sheer force of it.

Finally, he reached the door and tried to open it, but his hand wouldn't move. He glanced down and saw it trembling. Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist and tried to regulate his breathing. But nothing made the pain go away, nothing made it diminish. His ribs ached, his head pounded, and his eyes burned. He tried once more to reach out, to just close his fingers around the handle, but his body froze. The bag he'd slung over his shoulder slid down the length of his arm and thudded to the ground. He couldn't do this. For so long he'd prided himself on being strong. On being able to shut off his feelings and just do what he had to do to survive. But this wasn't surving. This was dying. Everything inside him screamed this was wrong. With every step, he died a little more, and he knew that the next one would kill him completely. The one that took him away from this life, this family, her. It would be the last. The one that would cement his fate and rob him of his future. The future he'd finally allowed himself to believe in. In a matter of seconds, it would all be gone.

Jace lowered his head and clenched his lids tighter, trying to gather the strength to walk away. Instead, he felt his body turning, involuntarily, back toward where she stood. It was as if he couldn't control it anymore. He needed her, ached for her touch, just one last time. One more feel of the warmth of her hand, one more brush of her lips against his.

Opening his eyes, he met hers. They were wide and filled with so much emotion, it immediately squeezed his heart once more. She was still holding back, doing exactly as he'd asked and forcing herself not to cry. Her lip trembled and her hands were fisted tightly at her side as if it was all she could do to hold on.

Jace felt the pressure building inside, rushing to the surface with the force of a speeding train. He took in and held his breath, trying so hard to hold it back. But there was no stopping it, and it exploded out of him in a gush of air, his vision blurring and his feet moving of their own accord.

In fewer steps than it took him to reach the car, he reached her, his hands taking her face between them and his lips crashing to hers. He heard gasps and felt wetness on his cheeks. For a moment he thought it was her, but when the unbearable tightness in his throat and stinging in his eyes became apparent, he knew then it was him.

Her hands came up and mimicked his hold on his own face. He felt her tremble and collapse into him, her body warm and safe and comfortable. Her mouth soft and wet, tasting of sweet mint, and sadness, and her. He clutched her tightly against him, his body convulsing around her with the release of the pain and fear he'd held for so long. He knew it was weak, he knew he was losing control but he couldn't stop it from happening.

Removing his lips from hers, he buried his face into her hair, greedily taking in her scent and filling himself with her essence. Just a little longer, he told himself. Just a few more seconds and then he could pull himself together. But the seconds passed and the ache grew. The pressure in his chest coiling so tight he felt as though it would break any moment.

Clary's hands moved to his hair, combing through the strands as soothingly as they could even though they shook.

"It's okay." Her voice reached his ears. "It's going to be okay."

He wrapped his arms around her back and held her closer. "I can't."

"You can," she said.

He squeezed his eyes shut, the foreign wetness falling over his cheeks. Moving back slightly, he pressed his forehead to hers. Her hands came up and moved over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. He opened his eyes and met hers. They gleamed with unshed grief, though her mouth held a sad smile.

"You're so beautiful, even when you cry," she whispered, her voice catching. To anyone else, it may have seemed an odd thing to say. But to Jace, it meant that she didn't find him weak or pitiable in that moment. She meant exactly what she said. In his most broken down and vulnerable state, she still thought he was beautiful. She stood on tip-toes and kissed his cheeks, first the left and then the right, then she touched her mouth to his and he could taste the saltiness of his tears on her lips.

"I need you to tell me," he said, his face still pressed against hers. "I can't do it unless you tell me."

"Tell you what?" Her breath fell over him, causing the pain inside to increase ten-fold.

He let out a slow breath. "I need you to tell me to go."

A small whimper escaped from her throat. "Jace . . ."

"Please, Pippi," he whispered, his hands smoothing the tangled locks away from her face. "Tell me to go."

Instead of speaking, Clary tightened her grip on him, finding his lips with her own, kissing him like she needed it to breathe. He grabbed her face once more, opening to her, taking all of her he could get and not caring who saw. After a few moments, she pulled back, keeping her forehead against his. She drew in a deep breath and held it for what seemed like an eternity before she spoke. "Go."

The word barely made a sound as it passed her lips, but it was enough to fill him with the strength necessary to move, to do what he had to do. His hands fell to his side and his face dropped away from hers. He pressed a soft kiss to her jaw just below her ear, breathing her in one last time, and lingering there as he breathed, "Thank you."

She nodded, her body trembling almost violently with restraint.

He closed his eyes, and turned away, whispering the last words he would say to her. "I love you."

His feet carried him forward, forcing him to move even though his ears registered the thud of her knees hitting the ground, the pattering of footsteps running toward her, and the chocked sobs and moans he knew were racking her chest. He bent to pick up his bag, his heart hammering against his ribs so painfully, if he didn't know better he would have sworn they were about to break. Pain swelled and crested as his fingers gripped the door handle and he pulled it open.

Nothing felt real as he slid onto the leather seat and slammed the door shut behind him. He stared straight ahead, barely noticing when Michael turned toward him, his eyes pained and lips moving. Jace couldn't comprehend a word he said. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to shut himself off to the chaotic sensations building inside him.

"Drive," he said, his voice sounding empty and dead even to him. "Just drive."

Michael sighed and turned away from Jace, saying something to the driver. Jace felt the vehicle move beneath him and he closed his eyes once more, willing the emotion back. But it was no use. He reached up and gripped his hair tightly in his fists, bent over, and let out the agonizing breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His heart shattered into a million pieces as the bottled up emotion poured out of him. The further he got from the people he loved, the faster it came. Wave upon wave of grief, anger, and loss, spilling over and filling the car with the sounds of his pain.