Hey guys it's me again! And I'm updating; how good am I?

Anyway, this is the start of part two, so it's set just over three years in the future. I must warn you, it gets a tiny bet dirty towards the end, so beware. (but not really dirty that much)

DISCLAIMER: You guys get it.

Clary woke up to a dull thudding in the front of her skull, the way she always did when she had slept for too long. She peeled her eyes open and was met with an empty space on the mattress next to her. The sun was warm on her bare back, and when she rolled over in the sheets, warm hazy streaks of yellow light pooled over her. She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back until she heard the satisfying click of her stiff joints. She turned onto her side to face the empty space on the mattress next to her. Sitting up she groaned internally, thinking about how much she hated waking up alone these days.

Her hair was a nest of auburn and her joints creaked stiffly as when she stretched, the way they always did after long periods of unconsciousness, as She got up, scanning the clothing littered floor until she found her work uniform, hidden beneath a polka dot bikini and a pair of jeans. Clary cringed at the shapelessness of the black waitresses dress.

"Oh, yuck." She said to the dress, dismally.

30 minutes and a shower later, she emerged from the bedroom fully dressed and fully made up, slipping into her work flats.

"Good morning, Clarissa," Clay smiled up at her eccentric roommate, who seemed to be up at an unusually early hour, seeing as she usually didn't see him until anytime after noon.

'Morning, Magnus. You're up early." She noted as she pulled a bowl down from one of the kitchen cabinets. Magnus sighed dramatically, the diamantes on his favourite belt buckle flashing as he leant lazily against the kitchen bench, looking salient as always.

"I'm afraid, my dear Clary," He looked meaningfully at his perfectly manicured nails, "That I've been having some boy troubles, and it has been causing me to lose sleep." Clary couldn't help but giggle ever so slightly. Magnus was forever having troubles with some boy or girl he was momentarily interested in.

"Do not laugh at my pain Clarissa." He took a long sip of his coffee, "I know I have had my plenty of flings over the past couple of years you have known me, but I think you'll find this one is very different." Clary poured milk into her bowl of lucky charms and retrieved a spoon from the cutlery draw before hoisting herself onto the kitchen counter adjacent to Magnus.

"How so?" The tall boy waved his hand exasperatedly.

"To be honest, I don't want to go too far into it, but let's just say that this is one denim jacket that hasn't been out of the closet since the eighty's."

"Ah. But of denial here, is there?"

"Big time."

"That sucks, Magnus. I'll start a prayer circle for you, okay?"

"That's very sweet, darling."

For a moment they just sat there, and Clary watched Magnus brew in his sorrows until he sighed one last time and looked back at her.

"What time does your shift start?" Clary finished her cereal and dunked the bowl into the sink.

"Eight till twelve. Tiny one today."

"Wanna hit the beach later?" Clary grinned.

"What, so I can show off my rocking bod?" Magnus clucked, disapprovingly.

"Don't sell yourself short, Fray. You totally have one fit booty."

Clary just laughed, and grabbed her handbag from where it hung on the hatstand.

"Maybe at around two-ish?" She paused, thinking. "Actually, no I can't. I have some errands."

"Alright." He sighed, "I'll just be left alone to wallow in my misery then."

"I'll see you later, okay?"

"That's if I haven't died of frustration by then. You know, due to my one true love thinking he's a ladies' man."

"Goodbye Magnus." She slipped through the door of the loft and into the hallway.

XXX

Work went by reasonably quickly. The old Italian restaurant wasn't exactly five-star classy, and it didn't pay well and the customers never seemed to tip, but the people were nice and the hours were flexible, and she really did need the money. Art supplies didn't grow on trees, and you had to pay the bills somehow.

As soon as Gretel came to replace her, Clary was out again onto the hot streets of Long Beach, California. The day was hot, but the black of her dress was attracting heat, which made things even harder as she mounted her bike, which had been chained to a streetlamp outside the restaurant.

Clary rode until she reached the quiet, secluded neighbourhood of Carroll Park. She stopped outside the old house whose address matched the one scrawled haphazardly on the palm of her hand. She parked her bike in the driveway, leaning it carefully against the garden fence. She walked the garden path and subsequently the porch steps and knocked on the door.

There was a few moment of nothing, and Clary was just considering knocking again when she heard a set of footsteps approaching the door. The latch clicked and it swung open, revealing a thin, middle aged woman with greying brown hair and crow's feet in the corner of her eyes.

"You must be Clary," She said as she stepped aside in the doorway, gesturing her into the house. "I've heard so much about you, honestly felt like I already know you." Clary smiled as she was led into a sunny kitchen.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs Nolan. I've heard a lot about you too."

"Please, call me Jean. Can I get you something to drink? Ice tea? Coke? Coffee?"

"Ice tea would be great thanks."

"Gosh, you look exhausted. Did you ride all the way here on your bike?" Clary smiled and nodded, watching as Jean, who looked like she hadn't slept in about three weeks, bustled about, collecting water glasses and a pitcher of beautiful looking iced tea from the fridge.

"You're so good. It's important to get into good exercise habits when you're still young." Jean plucked a lemon from a bowl on the island and knife from the block next to it.

"They're all out the back, why don't you go join them and I'll be out in a minute?"

"Sure you don't need any help?"

"I'm fine, sweetie. Go on, I'll join you guys soon."

Clary made her way through the bright lounge room and through a set of open French doors onto the back porch. In front of her spread a pale wooden veranda and then steps and a ramp that led out onto a wide, green lawn. Along the back fence were beds of petunias in every shade of colour and in the middle of the lawn was a trampoline on which a little boy, about six or so, jumped happily. There were Frisbees and soccer balls and footballs scattered all over the lawn, and in the far corner, spread over a banana lounge, was a teenage girl in a pink bikini, her brown hair splaying out from underneath the large floppy sunhat that covered her face.

"Clary." She turned towards the familiar voice and grinned. Jace sat, golden eyes hidden behind a pair of fake ray bans, at a picnic table on the veranda next to her. Next to him sat a man, about fifty or so, in a wheelchair. His head was tilted to the side, and he looked up at Clary when Jace spoke.

"So this is Clary? You know, when Jace said you were pretty he never mentioned that you were a supermodel." Clary blushed at this as she moved over to Jace, who reached an arm out to her.

"It was implied, obviously." He kissed her, short and sweet on the lips before turning back to the plate of food in front of him. He stabbed the fork through a small piece of chicken and held it up the man's mouth.

"You must be Victor," Clary said to the man as she sat down.

Victor, Jace had told her, was a quadriplegic. He'd been in a really bad car accident about three years back, and had lost all movement below his shoulders. Jace was his carer. To be honest, Clary had been more than surprised when Jace had told her that he wanted to be trained as a carer; it just seemed so completely out of character for the car loving, football playing jock she'd known. True, Jace had turned out to be full of surprises, so this shouldn't really have shocked her, but it still did.

Anyway, Jean, Victor's wife, pretty much had to take care of him full time, so Jace would come five days a week to help and three of those days he would stay the night so Jean could get a full night's sleep. He was surprisingly good at it. He just seemed to have a way of talking with people; he wasn't bothered or uncomfortable with the intimacy that caring for a quadriplegic required. Clary found herself in awe of him very regularly.

Clary ended up staying for lunch with the Nolan's. Their son, James, was adorable and bubbly, and Clary fell in love with him almost automatically. They had a daughter too, Wendy, who dragged herself up to the patio for lunch, but spent the whole time with her earphones stuck into her ears. Apparently there was also another son, but he went to college in Pennsylvania, and was taking courses over the summer.

"So Clary, Jace tells me you're an artist." They had finished lunch and were finishing off what was left of the ice tea. James was back on the lawn, kicking a soccer ball into a set up net. Clary laughed.

"I'm pretty sure that you actually have to sell a painting to be considered a proper artist."

"Nonsense!" Victor exclaimed, "You just have to love what you're doing and do it constantly." Clary smiled as Jace held up a glass of ice tea with a straw stuck in it for the older man to take a sip.

"I'm sure you're excellent, Clary. You have to show me some of your work some time." Jean began stacking up the dishes.

"Who's your favourite?" A husky voice came from the end of the table. It was Wendy, who had been silent up until now, seemingly absorbed with her iPod.

"Van Gogh," Clary answered, a bit surprised at how the girls eyes lit up at the mention of the Dutch artist. "What's yours?"

"Vincent, same as you."

"Wendy loves to draw," Jean explained, "Wendy, you should show Clary some of your sketches." And just as that was mentioned the light dropped from her eyes as she looked down at her fingers. "Not tonight."

"Alright then. Now," Jean said, looking pointedly at Jace, "You, get out of here. You're exhausted and you've stayed for longer than you should have. I don't want to see your face again until Tuesday. Go home and get some proper rest."

Jace drove Clary home, her bike resting in the back of the same Ford he'd had when he was eighteen. When they walked through the door of the loft, Magnus was absent and the sun had turned a bright yellowy orange as it sank lower in the sky.

"They seem nice," Clary remarked of the Nolan's as she hung her bag on the hat stand and slipped out of her shoes.

"They are," Jace replied.

She was about to say something else when she felt strong arms around her middle and warm breath against the back of her ear.

"You know," Jace whispered, "This apartment is empty, apart from us." He paused. "And also Chairman Meow," he said of the small cat who was currently asleep on the coffee table.

Clary turned in the circle of his arms, and when she was facing him, she hoisted a leg up around to his hip lead a trail of kisses along his collar, something that always drove him crazy. Jace lay his hands on the creases on the back of her knees and ran them up her legs. He lifted her from her thighs and she wrapped her legs around his middle. He carried them through the doorway (complete with beaded curtains, thanks Magnus) and into their bedroom. He knelt down by their bed, a plain mattress on the floor, with her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him long and slow, and they fell forward together until he lay over her. She unhooked her arms and slid her hands underneath his shirt, pressing her thumbs into the soft flesh of his lower abdomen in a way that made him gasp and shudder. He zipped her dress down the front and pulled it off her shoulders until her entire torso was bare.

Leaning down, pupils so dilated they left only a thin ring of gold in his iris, he kissed her neck, sucking and nibbling softly as he traced the supple curve of her breast with his free hand. She breathed in a shakily and arched towards him, grinding her hips against his until he thought he might pass out. She grabbed the hem of his shirt in her fists and pulled it up over his head. He looked at her then, and she almost melted because she didn't think anybody had ever looked at her that way before. He kissed hard, and leant down onto her as she accepted him fully.

When it was over they lay together for hours. She rested her head in his chest as he slept, listening to his heartbeat. She loved looking at him sleep. He seemed so much younger, so innocent (ironic considering what they'd just done). He was the easiest to draw when he was like this; less alert, less on guard, less self conscious. She had a whole notebook dedicated to Jace sleeping hidden somewhere among the piles of paints and canvas and charcoal and paper that lived at the back of the room.

She was running the edges of her fingernails softly over his stomach when she felt his head tilt to the side and breathe in deeply.

"Hey." She said.

"Hey," he replied, voice muffled by her hair.

They sat there for a while Jace played with her hair, the only sound coming from the soft hum of the radio from the living room.

"Jace?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything, sweet."

"Why did you decide to become a carer? Like, what was the whole reason behind it?" For a few moments he was silent, then;

"I used to look after my mom, you know, when she was sick." Clary looked up at him. He was staring at the ceiling. A faint stubble had grown on his jaw and it made him look older than twenty one.

"But you were just a little boy," She said, "Didn't she have a carer; like you are to Victor?"

"Yeah, I mean, during the day. But she left at night, and my dad wasn't really around much when she was sick- he didn't take it very well." He shrugged, "Somebody had to make sure she got to bed all right, and my brother was pretty useless at that stuff. So that person had to be me."

"But that's not fair. You were just a child, a baby."

"I know," He looked down at her and shrugged again. "But these days it makes me happy. I'm actually making a firsthand difference to people's lives, and that's a good thing, you know?"

"Yeah, it really is." She smiled and leant up to kiss him on the lips, just as the doorbell rang. Jace looked up.

"Who do you think that is?"

"I dunno, but I'll get it."

"Coming!" She called out as she rolled off the bed. Quick as a flash she slipped into a light, racerback dress and hurried to the door.

"Sorry, I was-" She started as she opened the door but stopped when she saw who it was.

Because who it was was Simon.

HAHAHA CLIFFHANGER OH YEAH. Did I scare anybody at the beginning, even just a tiny bit?

I wrote a way more racier version of that ending part but I decided not to publish it because this is a family fanfiction sort of and also I'm a bit embarrassed by it. Instead I saved it in my documents as OH GOD NO.

Anyhow, I hoped you enjoyed the story. Please review or follower or w/e.

I love you all fredos for everyone.

Until next time.

Beth.