Disclaimer: I don't own TMI

You Are All The Best! There was a reason that was all starting in capital letters. Because It's true. So...Thank you for reviews and favs and follows. I mean it.

Shoutouts:OmegaBanda14- I grin stupidly after reading your reviews- only thing that I can say. AnnaW14-I'm so happy you caught the mischievous, risky vibe, it was exactly what i was going for, blubery- thank you for the encouragement, it made me smile uncontrollably. And LOVERGIRL- I love it when people say update soon. It makes me want to update. So thanks for that.

Enjoy, in the most sincere way of course.

She was slouched, not so much so that it looked unkempt or ugly, but almost elegantly, as if the scarce fabric on her slender shoulders sunk them into a natural allure. She was leaning against a brick wall, for the buildings had become very modern over the expanse of their ride. And she was looking like a photograph in campaign about corruption with her skin-tight skirt, loose fitting top, and painted lips; a cigarette falling from the two canvases. Not a photograph then, but a masterpiece of visual artistry.

Clary smiled. She often had a weakness for beautiful things. Sometimes she wondered if that was the reason for her mass liking of Jocelyn.

Clarissa absorbingly watched as a man in a suit passed the flirtatious woman.

Look at the way her mouth tilts, pouts, keep that with you.

And use that seducing look, watch as the man's gaze sticks to her own. You could do that if you tried.

Clary's mind usually did this automatically. Living with her father had coerced her into being a quick learner, pushing her to observe things that would benefit herself. And she liked how this woman, this sex-slave, this prostitute, held herself, like she was above all. Her gaze held temptation. Temptation was a choice. And choice was free.

Clary wanted to hold temptation in the palms of her hands.

The woman Clary had been watching locked her eyes on Jace as his long legs carried him swiftly back to the car from the aged building he was exiting. The woman uncrossed her legs and stood almost as if in an offensive position, feet shoulder width apart and leaning forward slightly, making her silvery scrap of shirt hang loose. Her pale legs looked as if they ran on for miles and Clary watched as her mouths formed words, but cursed the glass windows of the car for not letting the sound travel to Clary's ears.

She wanted to see if Clary could use her tone as well.

As Jace turned around his eye seemed to twitch, the same sly wink Clary's mother often gave the men that flirted with her, then continued on to open the drivers side door.

Clary suddenly didn't like this woman as much as she did just mere minutes ago. Her inner thoughts sneered,

Jealousy is just a lack of self confidence.

And you are very jealous.

You can be sexy, you can have any man you wanted if you tried.

Clary didn't quite believe that.

Then prove it to yourself.

As Jace stuck his key in the ignition Clary watched the woman flick her blond curls over one shoulder and resume her perch, eyes scanning for prey, smirk plastered like a bloody smear on her lips. "What'd she say to you?" Clary asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"Nothing much." Jace, even his name gives you shivers, just barely hid the smile that was lurking behind his lips.

"Well," Clary turned to him and he sped off into the dawn. "what's nothing much?"

"My god," he turned and glanced at her before screeching hazardously around a corner, the sound bringing his attention back to the road, where it belonged.

If you think like that, nobody is going to seek you out. Think forwardly, his gaze belongs on you and only you.

Their gazes should be filled by you, with the exception of their blood.

Clary shook thoughts of murder from her mind as she honed in on his voice, "You ask a lot of questions!"

"Yes, and what's wrong with curiosity?" The truth was Clary already knew. Curiosity lead to suspicion. Suspicion lead to rage and...well...rage never used to be good.

You know what a good use for rage would be.

Killing the sick fools that were the reason of your mother's death.

Oh yes. If her mind had a mouth its lips would turn into a smirk of anticipation. That rage would be a beautiful sight.

"You know what they say, curiosity killed he cat." was his remark. He mouth had tipped up at the side, making his bottom lip look plush and kissable.

"No," Clary looked at him in surprise. She'd never really learned any sayings, any slang. She was home schooled, home-ruled, home-confined. Emphasis on was. "I never knew any of them and I never knew that they said things. In fact, I never knew anyone at all." Clary gazed out the windshield with content. This statement was the truth but Clary did't find it upsetting. She'd never really found a use for interaction with many after all her contemplation. And besides, she quite liked riding in cars. Except for the fact that every time Jace reached for the stick-shift his hand would touch her arm, sometimes even her thigh. It was greatly distracting.

Clary'd never felt what she was feeling right now ever before.

Suddenly she felt his gaze warming the side of her face. Clary used a technique she learned from the woman and swung her hair while turning her head, looking at Jace through her eyelashes as if she was abashed, which she most certainly was not. "What?" she asked coyly.

This tone was another technique, this time borrowed from her mother.

It was funny how much Clary borrowed from prostitutes, though she was anything but.

"It's just," Jace started, "You say things normal people would say if they wanted pity, but your tone is almost...bored. Flat, even. It's like your shades of right and wrong are divergent from everyone else's. It's...refreshing."

He pulled to a screaming stop causing Clary to slam into the seat belt. She felt an ache almost instantly between her breasts, where the seat belt was placed. It was tingling with dull discomfort that was oddly enjoyable. Almost like when someone can't stop poking at a bruise, because each time a fresh wave of feeling comes you realize that there's actually something you can still feel.

When Jace started to remove the keys from the ignition Clary realized they had stopped for good. She gazed out of the tinted windows at a tall building that seemed to touch the clouds. It was a strong structure, built for both architectural efficiency and design; sleek and silky, but cold with a distant shine. It was so...modern with blue-tinted glass windows that stretched up the length of the steel scaffolding and Clary felt a strange mixture brew at the sight of it.

This is actually happening.

You actually left.

There was excitement and jubilation, expectancy and only fear that expectations would not be met. She couldn't help the grin that spread from cheek to cheek.

"Alright," Jace said and Clary tore her gaze from the sight filling her body whole. "This is our stop. Take my jacket," he removed it and Clary flit her eyes away from the slit of abdomen shown at the movement. "And put on a pair of pants from that bag you've got in there," he nodded in the vague direction of the backpack at her feet.

"Why?" She narrowed her eyes. Was he really afraid of being seen with a slum in public? She found herself not taking offense but wondering how he could have such high standards for an assassin.

"Because you look like you were a very late baby that had just been born, never been washed off, then chucked into a slaughter house where you dealt first hand with the carcasses." His smile was sarcastically all sugar and sweetness.

Clary couldn't wipe the small smile off of her face, nor the pucker of her brows. "You are..." she trailed off and found herself just looking at him. It was easy to do that. To get lost in the amber optics of his golden orbs; dripping like honey with a born-sensuality... "Strange." she found herself mumbling the word before she could stop herself. In truth she wanted to tell him he was one of the most beautiful beings she'd ever met.

But then again, she hadn't met a lot of beings.

Especially those of the human kind.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "Am I meeting you inside?" His golden eyes bore into her green ones with amusement.

"Oh, no." He smiled charmingly. "I'm waiting right here. Could't risk you going off a killing someone in public, now could we?"

Clary didn't pick up on the joke and because of this wondered if he really thought she was that idiotic. "That'd be...extremely incompetent of me."

Jace's smirk grew. "Yes, but so was running on the rooftops."

Clary sighed. "The witness would have followed me either way. And in hindsight I wouldn't change my decision. My running on rooftops led me to find you, whom shot my witness, and took me in, at least for a day. It worked out in my favor, in the end, did it not?" She felt a venom drip into her voice, almost like triumph mixed with pride. Because she held good argument.

He's not responding. There's no witty retort.

He hasn't belittled you.

You won.

Clary smiled, she been doing a lot of that in the last hour. She probably contracted it from Jace.

The boy in question cleared his throat and glared at her, "Just get on with dressing, there's no use wasting even more time. Your probably wanted by now, and police are most likely scanning the area for your face."

Clary went to correct him, for this was wrong too, but he quickly cut her off. "Hurry, I don't want to risk being arrested for holding a fugitive."

So he's a sore loser. That's always good.

You should set in him in his place often, it'd be fun.

...you should set them in their place...

Clary let her thoughts drift off as she automatically started to do as told. Unbuttoning her jeans she shimmied from the scratchy denim. It saddened her to see such material go to waste. They were her only pair of jeans, as jean was more expensive, now soiled and needing to be thrown away. Luckily her underwear was spared. She looked over at Jace when she'd slipped the waistband past her ankles and handed him the squishy fabric.

But he wasn't looking at her hands.

And Clary knew he couldn't be admiring her body.

It was the purple and black blotches painting her legs like a canvas; making a pale sheet of unblemished skin look like a thousand pens had exploded and left their ink as scars and names of those that never helped her.

Clary was one large bruise.

She hadn't even realized that she'd gotten used to the pain of living, that it had become her friend until she felt his scrutinization.

And as she slipped on a pair of leggings and Jace's jacket, as she walked up the steps and into the glass building that was her last hope, Clary couldn't help but wonder if that was why her heart was hurting, if every breath she'd breathed was like hitting a bruise.

She couldn't help but wonder if her pain was the thing driving her to want to kill those that caused a portion of that pain. Those that were the cause of her mothers death.

She couldn't help but realize that she didn't care.

Because she was going to kill them, one way or the other.

And Jace is going to help.

So, sorry for the wait and the length, it kind of short, but school sucks.

I'd love to know favourite parts if anybody has any.

******Question: Do you think Clary is kind of psychopathic? Because I mean, she already killed two people in the matter of a couple hours. Please tell me if her thoughts get too out of control...

Thank you so much for reading, please keep doing so and make my day?

Lovestory112