Our Favorite Mortal Instruments quote of the chapter:

"Mom and Dad won't be pleased if they find out."

"That you freed a possible criminal by trading away your brother to a warlock who looks like a gay Sonic the Hedgehog and dresses like the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? No, probably not."

-Simon and Isabelle

oOo

"Where are we going?"

"It's a secret."

"Jeez. A secret. Now don't I feel special." She follows him through the winding path. It feels as if they've already walked around campus twice, but he claims they haven't.

"Nothing is more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm." He stops suddenly. Clary stops right before she runs into him. "I don't know your name," he says turning to look at her.

"Clary."

"Don't you want to know my name."

"I already do." He shoots her a funny look. "You showed up in my ER. I'm supposed to record my patient's name."

"Oh. Right," he says, turning and continuing down the path. Clary follows a few steps behind him, keeping a comfortable distance between the two. He heads straight towards the woods that surround the campus.

"Where are we going again?"

"Currently? The parking lot."

"Smart ass," she mutters under her breath. "I'm not going unless you tell me where we're going." She stops and crosses her arms over her chest.

"Come on, Red. Stop being such a spoil sport." She gives him a glare as a response. "How about this. I'll tell you where we're going if you guess it right." Clary considers his offer. Curiosity wins over sensibility.

"Fine." He starts walking again and she follows. "Are we going to your favorite strip club?"

"No," he says, shooting her an angry glance.

"Are you taking me back to your bedroom to rip away my innocence?"

"In your dreams, Red."

"Are we going deep into the woods where you can kill me and nobody will hear my screams?"

"Close, but not quite."

"Wait. What?" He says nothing. "Fine. Are we going to your love cabin?"

"I don't have a love cabin. I don't do cabins." He approaches a beat-up white car and pulls open the passenger's seat. "In you go." Clary eyes the car suspiciously.

"What is this?"

"This," he says, affectionately patting the car, "is Betty. She is the best car ever made." Clary sighs and climbs in.

"I never would have guessed your soft spot is an old car." He grimaces and swings around to the other side, hopping into the driver's seat.

"Betty's been my car since my freshman year of college. I have gotten into a single accident since I got her."

"I see. Can you give me a hint?" she asks, pulling on her seatbelt.

"A hint for what?"

"For where we're going."

"I don't think so." He pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road, taking the left that leads them away from the city.

"I see we're heading away from civilization. I think my being murdered in the woods guess isn't too far off," she says.

"I'm much more classy then a killing in the woods." Clary rolls her eyes and attempts a topic change.

"How far away are we?"

"Five minutes."

"Does Betty have a radio?" Clary asks.

"Does Betty have a radio," he says, shaking his head. "What a stupid question." Jace hits a button on the control panel and the car floods with music. The tune is vaguely familiar, soft and sweet. The underscoring of piano perfectly accompanies the singer's soulful voice.

"What is this?" Clary asks.

"'Boston' by Augustana."

"It's nice." Jace pulls down a dirt road, humming along to the song. When he gets to the chorus he starts softly sing along. His voice is surprisingly soft and sad. Clary becomes quiet and unmoving, unwilling to break the almost eerie feeling his singing has created. After another minute down the twisting road, Jace parks and turns off the car, cutting off the song. Clary tries to hide her disappointment. Jace steps out of the car and Clary follows suit.

"Where are we?" she asks. He smiles.

"Stop asking questions or you'll ruin it." He follows the road for a few more feet then branches off onto an almost overgrown path. They walk in silence. After a little while he stops. "Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Red. What did I say about the questions?" Clary closes her eyes.

"How will I know where to go?" She hears him sigh then feels his hand clasped over her eyes. She lets in a startled breath. He leads her forward, his hand resting on her waist. His hands send thrills of warmth up and down her spine. After another minute, they stop. Clary feels an open breeze on her face and can tell they're in some sort of clearing.

"Keep your eyes closed," he says, releasing her. Clary feels a wave of warmth leave her body. "Okay. Open them." Her eyes shoot open and she takes in the scene in front of her.

"Holy shit," she says breathily. She's standing approximately five feet from the edge of a massive cliff. Fear sweeps over her, making her nauseous. She sees Jace, his legs dangling over the edge and his torso twisted so he's watching her. His excited eyes quickly turn worried as he takes in her reaction.

"Are you alright?"

"We're—we're on the edge of a—of a frickin' cliff!" An easy smile spreads across his face.

"Ignore the drop. Focus on everything else." Clary tries to follow his instructions, but the fear has completely consumed her.

"I can't." He swings his legs over the edge and stands up. The movement that looks so easy for him makes her heart speed up with fear for him. He clasps his hand over her eyes again.

"Focus on the smells," he says. She breathes deeply through her nose, taking in the scent of pine and leaf litter and fresh air and that Jace-y smell of soap and lemons and a faint hint of antiseptic. "Now focus on the sounds," he whispers. She does. She hears birds and the rush of water and the wind through the leaves and the even sound of Jace's breath by her ear. "Now focus on the sights," he says removing his hand from her eyes. "See past the drop. See the beauty in it all." And she does. She sees the levels of life. The trees and birds all around her and then the ones below her. The river that cuts through the land at the bottom of the cliff like a shimmering blue ribbon. The absurdly fluffy clouds floating lazily in a too blue sky.

"Oh," she says, taking a few steps forward. She looks right over the cliff, the drop as dizzying as before but now full of so much beauty that the vertigo becomes a second thought. Jace returns to his seat at the edge and lies back. She sits carefully next to him, still aware that a single bad move will send her plummeting to her death. "Why can you sit at the edge of a cliff but you can't roll down a hill in a plastic bubble?"

"Fear of enclosed spaces."

"I see." Jace turns his head to look at her, shielding his eyes with his hand.

"About the other day…" he sits up and turns to face her. "I think there are some things I need explain." Clary says nothing, afraid that any sound or movement on her part will break the fragile cocoon of friendship. "I have PTSD. That's why I…freaked out."

"Why are you telling me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice soft.

"I don't know. You're just so—I don't know." She wants to touch his shoulder to comfort him, something she would have done without consideration had this been Simon, but she has a feeling the contact wouldn't go over well with Jace. Clary runs through everything she knows about PTSD, which is, admittedly, not much. She decides not to push him for information. "Can I trust you?" he asks. Clary seriously considers his question.

"Yes," she says, realizing that in a short amount of time Jace has developed from a complete and total asshole to someone much more complicated. He's silent for awhile. She can see something building in his eyes.

"I don't want to fight you anymore," he says.

"And I don't want to fight you, either."

"I can't sleep on Mondays," he blurts out. "I can't think of any sort of future. I can't focus most of the times. I use women because I can't handle caring about anything or anyone anymore. I can't watch the news or I get flashbacks so violent it feels like my head will explode with the images. I can't let myself think or my mind will wander to the one place I don't want it to go. I refuse to get a psychiatrist because I refuse to think I'm crazy. And I feel guilty. I always feel guilty." He's breathing heavily, his hands strongly gripping the edge of the cliff. She's terrified he's going to jump off. Absolutely terrified.

"Jace," Clary whispers. He looks at her, his golden eyes a storm of emotion. She slowly reaches for him. He doesn't move. Her finger tips brush against his shoulder. He leans into her touch, almost subconsciously. She spreads her fingers against his shoulder rubbing circles into it with her thumb.

"I'm sorry," he groans, turning away from her.

"For what?"

"For dumping my—everything on you." She moves closer to him, turning so she's facing him.

"It's alright," she says.

"It's not," he mutters. Clary takes his hand in hers.

"What happened to you?" she whispers. She sees fear flitter in his eyes. "You don't have to answer that," she says. He lets out a breath.

"We should probably head back," he says. But he doesn't move. And neither does she. Jace looks at her, his golden gaze locking on hers. A silent conversation plays between them full of things that can't be explained in words. A silent understanding drops over them.

"You can talk to me anytime," she says. He glances at her and she knows that he believes her and that maybe he will. He pulls her to him, tucking her into his side. She wraps her arms around his waist and looks at the view. He holds her tightly, burying his face in her curly red hair.

"Thank you," he mutters. They sit like that for a long time.