a/n: Hey, y'all. Long time no see. This is for DallasFaye and xxslashmindedxx for getting me back going on this. Here's a happy chapter because even of Jace not everything can be bad and there has to be a reason he doesn't hate his father.

WANTED! A beta reader who will keep me on track as well as find all of the blaring mistakes I miss.

Disclaimer: Ain't mine.

Of Sailing and Fireworks

There's a small crack on the ceiling directly above my bed, when I was a child I threw a wooden block at the surface. My father was away on a business trip at the time and so he missed the clatter as the single block was soon followed by a number of the hand carved toys. It was only when I realized some of the blocks were covered in a fine, white dust that I realized I had damaged something. To this day I still don't think he knows about it, the one thing I seem to have ever gotten away with.

My eye burn from the lack of sleep the night before as I stare blankly up at the crack. There have been times when I imagined slipping away from my body, up into the fissure, and hiding out in the darkness between floors, safe from my father's temper. As if a reminder of my father's temper the, now splinted, fingers on my hand throb angrily the welts above them a bright red.

I'm thankful he didn't see the damage I had done to the statue. When he finds out that I have ruined his property he will be furious, a few welts and a night in the cellar might seem like a good option then. But it was worth it, no matter what happens, releasing the angel was worth it.

When he knocks he doesn't wait for a response before entering my room, "Johnathon." I can feel him standing next to my bed but I can't force my eyes away from the crack. Still I nod to show that I'm listening. "I'm taking the boat out one last time this season. It's supposed to snow this weekend."

Somewhere in there he's offering a chance for me to come along. But it's not like he'll ever just ask me to come with him. If he did that meant he wasn't upset with me, which I can tell from his tone he still is. "I was going to sleep. Despite the luxurious accommodations you provided last night I could barely manage to sleep. Must have been a pea under my mattress."

He acts like he doesn't hear my comment, though I would bet good money his scowl deepened as I spoke. His fingers snap together in front of my face, startling me half-an-instant, "Look at me when I'm speaking to you. I taught you manners."

I wait a moment before obediently turning my head towards him. As soon as I finish the motion he continues speaking. "I need someone to go with me. I'll be out on the dock in fifteen minutes." Not much of a question, though I doubt he'll do anything if I refuse.

I prop myself up on one elbow, rubbing at my tired eyes with the back of a hand. "Yes, sir." He nods at me and then he is gone again, leaving me alone to get ready.

I slump back on my pillows, scowling at the mark on the ceiling. I absolutely hate how weak I am. I should have said no and told him to stuff it, instead I answer him like a polite little boy. I am clay in his hands, letting him do whatever he wants to me, mold me in his image. I decide to be angry at him and he dangles a tantalizing treat in front of me and I instantly forget all my anger.

The wood floor is cool beneath my feet as I step out of bed. It's not like I have the choice to say no anymore, I already agreed to go with him. From my bureau I pull a loose t-shirt and comfortable shorts, shortly followed by a pair of dock-siders as well as the fingerless sailing gloves I wear.

If Alec were here he'd make a comment about how I looked like I just stepped out of an expensive sportswear magazine. But he isn't here so only silence and my reflection judge the outfit I'm wearing.

My stomach is growling as I pass through the kitchen, I missed dinner after the soccer game last night, and snag a muffin and banana on the way out to the boat. My father is already on the boat and waiting for me when I arrive. He doesn't even need to tell me what to do, as he starts the motor I cast off the bow and stern lines before stepping onto the vessel.

Neither of us are willing to break the heavy silence as I settle into the cockpit, my father taking the tiller a usual. Finally he speaks, "Supposed to be a good weather today."

What exactly am I supposed to do with that? I'm not going to have a conversation with him concerning the weather so I simply nod with a hum of agreement.

"Jonathon." I sigh and glance towards him, the smooth lines connected to the foresail tugging at my fingers as the wind shifts direction.

The way he's look at me when I turn makes me almost hope that he's going to apologize for the night before. But those are just hopes, hopes that I can reach and reach for but just like a moonbeam will never catch. "Yes, sir?"

"If you plan on getting in fights again make sure you do it properly. If you had used any sense when you punched him your fingers wouldn't be broken."

Of course he corrects how I fought. As soon as he thinks that he won't take any more heed to his instructions about fighting he'll condemn the way I go about it.

"I thought I wasn't allowed to get in anymore fights." I answer, keeping any agitation out of my voice.

He chuckles, "How often do you really listen to me? You and that boy will get in fights again and the least I can do is make sure my son comes out on top." His hands tighten on the wheel, "Prepare to come about."

"Ready." I reach out and grab the line opposite of me as I mull his words. This could be some kind of trap…Him trying to see if I'll listen to last night's lesson. But his word's feel genuine enough and his eyes lack the malicious glint they contain when he's punish me.

"Coming about."

Cold water sprays up as we heel to one side, the sails flapping as one line is released and the previously loose one brought in. Soon we're heading almost exactly in the direction we had been coming from and I can hear my father again.

"How did I do it wrong?" I ask.

There is an instant of silence and then he responds, critiquing how I held my hands and the angle I punched at. Soon his instructions fade away into a more comfortable silence than before, some of the tension had melted away in the shared fondness of the activity we're involved in.

The sun has moved high in the sky and my head is nodding forward until I catch it and straighten. The wind has died down and we reefed the sails for lunch, leaving us almost motionless in the lake. My nerves, on edge for the past twenty four hours, have settled and I'm feeling the effects of the long night in the basement. With the sun warming my skin and the gentle rocking of the boat it's all I can do to keep from falling asleep.

My father is relaxed in the cockpit behind me, occasionally turning the wheel one way or another to keep us on course. I stand, "I'm going to lie down up in the bow. Warn me if the wind is picking up." A sudden burst of wind against the sails while lying in the front of the boat would cause a cold tumble into the water beneath us.

"If it were last night I wouldn't." My father quips, laughing at the thought.

"Hilarious." I mutter, settling down to lay on the warm deck. Ever since I was young and my father would hold me in the bow pulpit I have always found the forward section of a sail boat to be the most relaxing place I knew, better than the soccer pitch or partying with my friends. There was something simple and safe about resting there.

It is nearly dark when I wake up, the breezing pulling at my hair. We've drifted further from shore, our large house visible across the way. Valentine sits in the cockpit, an old book is held in his elegant hands but he isn't reading it. Instead he is studying one of the houses on the far side of the shore.

I push the jib away as I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the back of one hand.

"I thought I was going to have to make sure you were still breathing soon." My father says, acknowledging the fact that I've woken up. He reaches over and tosses a sandwich wrapped in wax paper in my direction, I'm yawning when it flies in my direction and I only catch it at the last second. Few people truly understand how a sport where you sit in an object propelled by the wind can cause you to be so drop-dead tired but often I feel as if this activity is more tiring than a long soccer game.

"Shouldn't we be heading back soon?" I ask, unwrapping the meal. Docking is significantly harder once the sun has set.

Broad shoulder's shrug, "I thought we'd stay out for a little while longer. There's a fireworks show in town today and the views better from out here."

I know that. I used to beg my father to let me stay up so we could sit out on the boat in the middle of the lake and watch the distant explosions. I rarely stayed awake for the entire event, falling asleep long before we returned to shore. Those memories still cause an unexpected pang in my chest, a longing for a father I seem to have lost. Though he is sitting beside me the heavy handed man is nothing like the one who would wrap me in his jacket and carry me up to my room on those nights.

We haven't done this in years and I wonder what has caused the decision to do it now. Maybe this is his way of trying to smooth over the tensions that have been boiling recently, trying to keep the inevitable explosion at bay just a little longer. Or perhaps he's tried to remind me of how much I owe him. Or he is ready to drop world shaking bad news on me. I shake my head. We could just be enjoying fireworks.

It's obviously nearing fall and I'm glad I had left a jacket below decks the last time we took the boat up. With the black jacket on and my knees up I can enjoy the chilly breeze and smell of someone's chimney.

"I remember when you were young." Valentine's voice is soft, or soft for him. Apparently he's been remembering our old excursions too. "Before that damned attitude of yours appeared." But the way he says it makes it as appear as if he's almost fond of my temper, "You weren't nearly so hard headed back than either. You used to come and read in the study with me while I was working."

I swallow and look out on the dark water; He shouldn't be bringing those memories up. We'd both start wanting something we would never be able to have back, we both had changed too much to duplicate them. When a firework explodes over the distant mountains I'm glad, not because of the way it looks but because it means we won't continue talking about how we used to be.

Though I should be watching the fireworks I end up watching my father's profile instead. The way he says it makes it sound as if I am the reason we no longer can agree about anything. Is the man next to me a person simply driven to act against his son because of the boy's actions? His features are the same as I remember from when I was young, a few more wrinkles, but otherwise unchanged. He has remained the same and me? I have become a person that not even I know who he is- a rebellious, loud, troublesome boy who would sacrifice anything to save his image.

Sometime between these thoughts and the feeling of the bump as we reach the dock I have dozed off again. "Jonathon." The hand on my shoulder is gentle and the voice soft. It's something from a dream, my father trying to wake me before carrying me inside. "Johnathon, it's time to come in." He says again and I feel a large hand rubbing at my back, trying to awaken me.

When I blink up at him it's like I'm five all over again and I'm so tempted to raise my arms and silently beg for him to carry me inside. He could do it still, I have no doubt of that, I may have grown during the years but I was no where near his size or strength.

Instead I sit up and run a hand through my hair, "What time izzit?" Sleep slurs my words as I yawn.

"Midnight." He offers a hand to help me up and I willingly take it. Once again that little ache appears as we briefly connect in a familiar gesture but then we're on the wooden dock and separate again.

A few years ago I would have lunged at him to give him a hug before scampering off to bed. But now. I can't that was then and this is now and no matter what we wish that will never change.

I step back, "Thank you for today, sir. I hope you sleep well." The warmest goodnight I've given him in weeks leave my lips before I leave him, a reply on his lips, and walk back into the house.

a/n: Alright it is a shorter c hapter but I felt it was needed. Not only does it add depth to the relationship it will be more impotant to show how they do actualy care about each other later on.