Me: Thank you to all who reviewed last chapter! And to Guest reviewer, the fact that you miss my story means so much. Thank you all!

Disclaimer: I OWN NADA THING!

Note: every time I change point of view, I put 3 dots (…) and paragraph breaks. But recently when looking at my story on Mobile, I've noticed certain chapters leave out the three dots. It might be doing it or have something to do with how I post the story, I don't know. Feel free to let me know if that is happening for you and if it's confusing.

…

Chapter 24: Potential

Simon and his family never really fought. There were times where they were angry at each other or had offended each other, but they never properly fought. It was more like he had words on his tongue, longing to yell or shout but could never bring himself to do it. Whenever he had felt like this, he had gone to hang out with Clary. He had no idea what to do now that it was Clary who was making him feel this way.

He wasn't angry at her, of course not. He just wanted…he didn't know… something. Her to say something. Her to share something. This wall was between them again, and she was on one side thinking and dealing with horrible things and he was on the other side completely useless. He hated it. He was useless. Useless, just as he had been in that clearing.

Simon ruffled his hair angrily as if to shake the thoughts from his head. He opened the fridge door and grabbed a water bottle. He slammed the door shut and turned on his heal, jumping in surprise at the person behind him. ''God.''

''Sorry,'' Clary apologized.

''My fault,'' Simon offered, putting a hand on his thumping heart. How didn't he even hear her enter the kitchen? ''Everything…okay?''

''Yeah.'' Judging by her exhausted expression, that was a lie, but it wasn't like she was going to say anything else. ''I just need to get something.''

''Sure.'' She stared at him and Simon realized he was in the way. ''Sorry,'' he said, sidestepping so she could get to the fridge.

''You're fine.''

Simon went around the counter and watched silently as Clary took out the milk and a sippy cup for Moriah. He frowned a she pulled out a small packet from her pocket and ripped it open. ''What's that?''

''Nothing,'' she replied blandly as she poured some of it into the cup. ''Sleeping potion.''

''Does it work?''

''It might if she actually drinks it.'' Clary turned to grab a spoon and stir the drink. ''She always knows it's in there.''

''How?''

''Who knows.'' Simon clamped his jaw shut at her tone. Clary must've realized her harshness. She sighed and leaned against the counter. ''Sorry.''

''Not five minutes and already three apologies,'' Simon mused, ''we are excellent conversationalists, aren't we?''

Clary gave a half hearted scoff. She met his gaze, managing a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Simon smiled back, but something inside of him shivered. There was something…wrong about Clary, he could feel it. It wasn't as if there was just a metaphorical wall, but a physical one as well. As if there were actually a barrier between them, as if she were somewhere else, out of reach of him and the magic of their parabatai rune. Claimed by something else.

What happened to you? What happened in that cave? How did the demons go away?

What did you do?

With everything that had happened since returning, discussing the details of the cave was the last thing anyone wanted to burden Clary and Jace with. What did it matter, anyway? They were safe. They had gotten away.

There was a more pressing worry they had to concern themselves with.

''I talked to Alec a while ago,'' Simon said.

Clary tighten the lid of the cup. ''Yeah?''

''Yeah.'' Clary tossed the spoon she had used into the sink. ''Do you know Jace gave something to Renage?''

The spoon hit the sink with a clatter. Clary took her time turning to face him again. It was clear from her guarded expression she knew what he was referring to. ''Do you know what it was?'' Simon prompted. ''What he gave her?''

Clary stared at him, her face impassive except for the glint of anger in her eyes. The wall between them was miles thick. ''Yes.''

Simon took a deep breath. ''Is he…is he in trouble?''

A pause. ''We don't know yet.''

''What does that mean?''

Clary averted her gaze. ''It means he could be, but he might not be.''

''Clary-''

''We have it, Simon. Jace and I, we know what we need to do.''

''You don't have to do it alone,'' Simon argued, his tone pleading. ''Just…just tell me what it is.''

Clary looked at him again, and for a brief moment Simon could see his Clary. The Clary who was his best friend, most trusted alley, his parabatai. And he was her's. But the moment was gone as quickly as it appeared. She shook her head. ''Thank you, Simon. But no.''

With a sinking heart Simon watched her pick up the cup and leave, her footsteps departing as quietly as they had come. A million miles of wall, and not a chink of it broken in order to look through.

…

There must've been something in her face that showed Clary's anxiety when she reentered the bedroom. Jace said nothing until she had handed Moriah her sippy cup and Moriah was sat comfortably in her lap. ''Something happen?''

Clary looked away from Moriah and to him. She slumped her shoulders. ''Simon's worried,'' she confessed. ''Said he talked to Alec.''

''Huh.'' Jace shifted in his seat. ''Did he say what he talked to Alec about?''

''In so many words.'' Clary clasped her hands around Moriah. ''I mean, it's obvious both of them are wondering what you gave-'' she caught herself, not wanting to say Renage's name aloud in front of Moriah.

''I can't tell them,'' Jace reminded her. ''Simon or Alec. You know if we do, they will insist it's a problem-''

''Uh, It is a problem.''

''It has problem potential,'' he admitted. ''That's why we are going to take care of all the problems. When we can.''

Clary bit her lip. She looked at Moriah, who was tracing her finger along the condensation from the cold milk in her cup. Sure, they would take care of Renage and their other problems when they could, but who knew when that would be. When would Moriah be okay without them for a few hours? When would they be okay to leave her for a few hours?

A few hours to do all they hoped? Leaving no trace behind? Yeah, not an over estimation at all.

''She wouldn't have asked for it if she didn't think she could make it work,'' Clary brought up hesitantly. There had been few opportunities to speak in depth about their circumstances since getting back with everything going on. Even thought she didn't like the idea of speaking like this in front of Moriah, she didn't really have a choice. ''Renage doesn't settle.''

''She wasn't settling. She was between a rock and a hard place and decided to get out with the little she could manage. That's why she asked, why she held out for at least that. She had leverage.''

''I guess.'' Clary rocked form side to side as Moriah squirmed in her lap, shaking her cup. ''But still, she must think-''

''It will be fine,'' Jace said again, this time his tone more forceful. Clary realized he was more apprehensive about what he gave Renage than he was letting on. ''Besides, telling them about me would lead to them wanting to help, which would lead to us having to tell them about you.'' He raised an eyebrow. ''Have you changed your mind about that?''

Clary bit her lip. She shook her head and spoke in a low voice. ''Telling them…I mean, what would they think?''

''Nothing,'' Jace answered. ''Because there's nothing to think. You have demon blood from the procedures. It's nothing they don't know.''

''It changes things,'' Clary insisted. ''It makes me…not pure.''

''No it doesn't,'' Jace argued. ''Just like it doesn't make her not pure.'' He gestured to Moriah, who looked at him, aware she was being talked about. ''People say how Lucifer fell from grace, but he didn't really. He was thrown out for his rebellion, which happened before Eve ate the fruit, before sin entered the world. That means he existed being capable of evil, which means God created him that way. You and Moriah having demon blood is the same as the rest of the world being born without it. The only way to be 'not pure' is by your actions, and you have yet to not be pure, Clarissa Fray.''

Clary felt her face blush at his words. But all she said aloud was, ''Yeah, well, you don't know about all the games and music Simon and I illegally downloaded.''

Jace blinked. ''I stand corrected.'' He pulled Moriah from her lap. ''Quick, before you corrupt her.''

Clary smirked. Both of their attentions were diverted by Moriah, who was holding out her cup at them. ''Hmmm.''

Clary's smirk turned into a sigh as she noticed how much milk was left. ''C'mon, Moriah,'' she pleaded. ''Please drink it.''

''Hmmm.'' Moriah continued to hold the cup out, shaking it until Jace accepted it.

''Can't get anything passed you, can we?'' Jace mused, glancing at the cup before placing it on the bed next to them. ''Did you even put a lot in?''

''I put barely any in,'' Clary said. ''And yet she still…'' she gestured to her daughter, who was blinking at her inquisitively. ''I honestly don't know what to do anymore.''

Moriah made another low noise in her throat before curling up tight and burying herself into Jace's lap. Jace wrapped his arms around her. Both he and Clary were quiet as the familiar thought rang through their heads. Who knows what they made her take?

Renage and Aster and their coworkers…who knew what else they did to Moriah during that time she was lost to them. What experiments did they preform? What other 'supplements' did they force on her? What was the exact line they had crossed that had made May betray them all?

Clary sighed at Moriah's silent, tired face. They would never know.

…

If Jonathan were one hundred percent honest, Max Lightwood was a little too much a 'feeling' human for his taste. Every major decision Max had made since Jonathan knew him had been based in the boy's emotions. This type of thinking was very foreign to Jonathan and frankly, impractical. Still, Max had a way of saying things that got under his skin.

''I just wondered… well, maybe you would know what she's thinking.''

Jonathan didn't think he did.

The cabin was a prison. It was a prison and a haven. The fact there was no other people was a pro and a con. No mother who hated him, no grandparents who loved him. And really, no father who did either.

For a while, father was forced by necessity to keep him and the other boy together. It was too hard trudging to and fro Wayland Manor to take care of a baby. But this arrangement didn't last long.

''Why can't I be around him?'' Jonathan demanded with a sneer. He wanted to like the baby. The baby was Cèline's baby. He liked Cèline. He could like her son for her since she was dead.

''Do not question me, Jonathan,'' father warned him.

''Why can't I be around him?'' Jonathan demanded again. He wasn't afraid of a reprimand or a slap. The answer would be worth it. Or so he thought.

''Because he is good and you are not. He is an angel, and you are the devil. Good and evil can only thrive when not together.''

This answer had stung more than a slap would have. Everything suddenly made sense. Why mother had always flinched at his mere gaze, why everything bad happened. The fire, his grandparents…it even explained Cèline and Stephen dying.

Only good could thrive with good. If evil intervened…well, one side had to win, didn't it? Like a weed in a garden. You either cut the weed out or let it strangle all the good plants. He was the weed, and his mere presence had strangled all the good people.

Yes, the cabin was a prison. But was it locking him up or freeing him? Was it keeping him away from the world or keeping the world away from him? Keeping people from hating him or keeping them from loving him? Who needed love, anyway? What good did it do one to love? It made no sense. Love only got one hurt. Like father was hurt.

Jonathan didn't know what Moriah was thinking or feeling, but he could guess one thing.

Silently, he slipped into the Institute. It was an hour where no doubt everyone from Clary to Max would be attending to some sort of business- training and such. Jonathan only wanted to be in and out.

So quickly he went in the direction of Clary's and Jace's room. A knock before pushing the door open let him know the room was empty. Save for the child on the bed, that is.

Moriah Cèline was sitting up on her knees on the foot of the bed. She had her three stuffed animals surrounding her and seemed to be in the process of rearranging them. Based on what criteria, Jonathan hadn't a clue. She snapped her head up as the door opened but upon seeing him, looked back at her toys. Clearly she had decided he wasn't worth her time or interest.

Jonathan watched her for a few moments before going to kneel by the bed. He rested his chin on his crossed hands and waited another few moments before speaking. ''You're a demon.''

It was a simple statement of fact, one that Moriah made no response to. She just continued rearranging her toys without giving him so much as a glance. ''That's the issue everyone's been avoiding,'' Jonathan went on, regardless of her indifference. ''You're a demon. You will always be a demon. The people in Idris want to interpret that as meaning you're evil and incapable of things. Specifically, incapable of feeling things. But they're wrong.

''Demons feel things. One main thing in particular, and that's loyalty. Loyalty to their mission to do evil, loyalty to Lilith. You feel loyalty, too. And that's your problem, isn't?'' Moriah studied her orange toy before setting it aside. She reached for another toy, but Jonathan put his hand over the toy before she could grab it. She stared at his hand. ''You could spend the rest of your life in this room, but it won't make a difference,'' he told her. ''It won't protect them.

''Clary and Jace did something you don't understand, and that is pick you. They picked you despite your demon blood. Despite the fact that your existence will always hurt them. Not because of what you are, but because of what other people think of what you are. How they react. Why they did it, I haven't a clue. It's illogical, picking a situation that you know is risky and can hurt you. What they did is only something two purely human people could do. They love you, Moriah Cèline, and because of that they will happily get hurt on your behalf for the rest of their lives. For the rest of your life. And they will have it no other way.''

Moriah pried at his fingers, trying to free her toy. ''If you are staying in this room because you are scared,'' Jonathan continued, ''fine, be scared. But if you are doing it because you think no harm can come to them if you stay away from everyone…then you're mistaken. Clary and Jace will never be happy unless you are. Unless you are free. And they won't rest until you are happy and free. Any fool can see that.''

Jonathan withdrew his hand then and Moriah snatched up her toy. He got to his feet as Moriah went back to her activity without giving him a second glance. He left the room, closing the door behind him.

He left the Institute as inconspicuously as he had arrived. Back out into the cool evening in a world miles and years away from where he had been like Moriah. He wasn't given to feelings of 'what ifs' and pondering, but for a brief second he considered what it would've been like- what he would've been like- had Valentine cared for him half as much as Clary and Jace cared for Moriah.

…

Evenings in the New York Institute followed the same pattern. The occupants would traipse back from whatever activity occupied their evening and eventually end up in the kitchen. Ordering food, making food, or just coming to catch up with each other and get the daily news was how the night wound itself down. With everyone in the kitchen, the rest of the building was silent.

But had someone been in the hallways, they would've seen something different that night.

They would've seen one of the bedroom doors open, a small figure standing on the threshold. She would be hanging off the doorknob, casting her vacant, black gaze around, first in front of her and then behind her. They would've seen the way she rocked on her heels, turning the door knob in thought and hear the squeak of the metal.

Had someone been in the hallways, they would've witnessed this girl take a shuddering breath and go very still, her pale face and vacant stare looking very resolved. Her face was thoughtful, and if remembering the words someone had spoken to her.

''You could spend the rest of your life in this room, but it won't make a difference. It won't protect them.''

Then they would see the girl do something admittedly mundane, but remarkable given her circumstances the past few days. They would've seen her step over the threshold.

First one hesitant foot, and then letting go of the doorknob to take another step. She shuffled forward away from the door quickly, as if afraid of changing her mind. For a moment she just stood there in the hall, still and staring at her own feet in confusion.

The girl then cast her gaze around again, this time whipping her head up and down the hall. It didn't take long to deduce where everyone was, and with quick steps the girl walked into the direction of the kitchen. She broke into a run.

She came to a screeching halt right before the kitchen entrance. She approached slowly, peeking around the corner before entering. As stated previously, there were plenty of people in the kitchen, but she was only interested in two. She settled for one when she spotted him talking to Simon, his back to her.

Before she could lose her nerve, the girl sprinted into the kitchen and collided with his legs, wrapping her arms around him. Her heart was beating fast in her chest. She could feel him turn to look down at her. ''There you are.''

It was as if she had only gone out of sight for a moment. She felt his hand on her head and she craned her neck to look up at him. ''Watcha doing?'' He asked her, one eyebrow raised. Curiosity, she realized.

The girl bit her tongue and rocked on her heels. He picked her up and she laid her head on his shoulder. She knew people were talking, but she didn't care about them. Conversation was boring.

That is, until she heard her voice.

''Hey,'' she said, and the little girl shot straight up like an arrow. She watched as her mother came over. Her mommy, with her long red hair over her shoulder. Her bright eyes seemed to be sparkling. ''What are you doing?''

The same question Tatâ had asked her, yet mommy's tone didn't sound curious. More…sparkly. Like her eyes. Was sparkly an emotion?

Tatâ sat her down on the counter top and mommy handed her a cookie. The little girl munched it contentedly, ignoring the buzz of conversation happening all around her. She ate her cookie and leaned against mommy as Tatâ ran his fingers through her hair.

They stayed in the kitchen a long time, until finally everyone went back to their own rooms, the little girl cradled in her Tatâ's arms. They reached their bedroom and the door shut behind them, but this time the girl didn't feel the rush of relief that went through her at the sound. It was as Jonathan had said: nothing could protect them. Not walls, not a door.

She was comfortable in the big bed with her toys, and when mommy handed her her drink with the special taste, she even drank a little. Maybe she couldn't protect them, she thought as she curled up tight between both her parents. But it was clear they wanted to protect her. Maybe that was that 'love' thing that Jonathan didn't understand. She didn't understand it either, but if they wanted to protect her and she wanted to protect them- well, maybe that was love.

As peace settled over from the little bit of potion she had drank, the little girl thought if this was love, it was very nice. The warmth of both her parents beside her, the softness of her toys and the pillows and blankets…she liked it. And if she liked love, and demons weren't supposed to…well, maybe she wasn't a demon after all. Or at least, not a bad one. No matter what anyone else thought.

…

Me: I'm not 100% happy with this chapter. The scenes are how I like them, and yet I feel like maybe I missed a scene…I don't know. I hope you liked it regardless.

Future updates might be a little slower just do to life stuff. As always, if you have a moment, please leave a review!

Happy Writing!