Isabelle's voice hummed and slurred along to the song on the radio. It was a song by The Cranberries, and even in her drunken state, Isabelle's pretty voice did it justice. The taxi driver kept sneaking glances in the rear-view mirror, probably trying to check out Izzy's legs. Clary tugged down on the other girl's skirt, realizing that it was riding up past her mid-thigh.

The taxi sped along through a dark area of the East Side, a nice area that she hardly visited. She tore her eyes away from the window to look at the meter, which was already at $47.85. It felt like they'd been driving for an eternity, and Clary realized she had no idea where they were going.

Isabelle rested her head on Clary's shoulder, hiccupping. She really was no good at holding her liquor. Earlier, when Clary showed up at the bar, Izzy had been the only one there. Well, she suspected that Alec and Magnus were upstairs in Magnus's apartment, judging by the occasional thumps coming from the ceiling. Isabelle was behind the bar with her on/off boyfriend, the intimidating bartender that refused to serve Clary that first night. Her eyes had lit up when she saw Clary approaching.

"His highness is not here, I'm afraid," she'd said, her words already beginning to slur. There were three empty shot glasses in front of her.

"Oh?" Clary had to admit, Jace's absence had thrown her off. She was used to meeting him under the streetlight by her house. He sometimes beckoned her downstairs with cliché Romeo quotes via text message. Tonight he hadn't called her down, and she set off on her own trying not to think something stupid like, Romeo, where for art thou, Romeo?

"He's studying. Who spends their Saturday night studying?" Izzy had rolled her eyes very dramatically, slumped forward onto the bar. This had reminded Clary of her and Simon's conversation. So Jace did go to school.

"Jace studies?" she'd asked, not bothering to hide the surprise in her voice.

"I know, right? He pretends he's this big badass, but he totally gets straight A's." She'd reached behind her to grab a bottle of a clear liquor. Clary wondered how it was possible that Magnus was still in business with underage drinkers always stealing alcohol directly from the bar.

She tossed back the shot while Clary contemplated what she'd said. Jace never seemed like the studying type. There was a cache of things about him she had no clue of. She was going to ask Izzy which school they went to, but then the song changed to something fast and Izzy had perked up, shouting too loudly,

"Let's dance!"

So Clary had let Izzy drag her to the dance floor, and they jumped around to the weird punk music that was blaring out of the speakers. The stage was empty, the music coming from a complicated stereo in the back. There were only about five people at the bar in total, all of them ignoring the music and deep in conversation in the dark corners. Clary had felt very out of place, very exposed, dancing in the middle of a mostly quiet room, but there was something about Isabelle's disregard of social faux pas that was infectious.

She forgot what it was like, hanging out with girls her age. Isabelle was chatty and loud. She talked about sex and told jokes while she drank, sucking Clary into her vortex of laughter and gossip. She learned that Alec's relationship with Magnus was hidden from their parents, and that they thought that Alec was with his friends from a youth music program when he was really here, with his older boyfriend. Clary was so tempted to take advantage of Isabelle's inhibition. She wanted to ask when her parents had taken Jace in, where his real parents were, and every other question that she could think of.

There was something stopping her. She remembered Jace's voice, full of honesty when he told her that he was a foster kid. Unless it came from him, it would be just facts. She wouldn't really know him any better. She let whatever secrets Izzy would tell come naturally, without her prompt.

Now it was nearly one in the morning, and Isabelle had drunkenly flagged down a cab outside the bar, nearly being struck by it in the process. Clary insisted on following her, if only to make sure that Isabelle got home safely. Of course it had nothing to do with the fact that Jace might be where she was going.

In the cab, she'd given the driver an address for the Upper East Side, and that surprised her more than anything.

"You guys are pretty rich, aren't you?" she asked Isabelle as the meter hit $50.00. She thought of the haughty way Alec acted, and it became very believable that their family was well off, but it was almost impossible to imagine Jace as an Upper East Sider. Isabelle sighed and laughed at the same time.

"My Mom's a doctor." Her head lolled back to Clary's shoulder.

"What kind of doctor?" Clary asked. She didn't know how much longer Isabelle would be able to form coherent sentences. She wasn't going to ask the big things, but she wanted to know the little ones.

"Oncologisssst," she said slowly. Clary's hear probably stopped. Her chest gave a painful ache as it tried to catch up with its regular rhythm. Just with that word, her careful facade took a pointed blow. She felt like the cancer inside her was lit up by a thermal light, glowing and giving her away. For all she knew, she could have passed by Jace's mother in the hospital. Isabelle groaned suddenly. "I don't feel good," she whined.

"Hey, man, she better not throw up in my car," the cabby said. Isabelle groaned again, and hiccuped dangerously. Clary looked out at the dark street and back to the meter, pushing thoughts of Oncology to the back of her mind. Isabelle pressed her hand to her mouth and shook her head.

"Just…pull over here," she said, hoping they weren't far from Izzy's home.

Isabelle mumbled something about her purse and Clary dug around in it until she found an alligator skin wallet at the bottom. There was an alarming amount of cash inside it, but Clary pulled out a fifty dollar bill and gave it to the driver. She was able to weakly pull Izzy from the car, and they immediately slumped onto the curb as the cab drove away, taking the light with him.

Clary examined their surroundings. They were on a slow inclining hill, lined with tall houses and buildings on both sides of the street. There were dim streetlights, but it was dark. The darkness combined with the eerie quiet unnerved Clary. She really had no experience with the Upper East Side. Normally, she imagined that all these houses were filled with glamorous, ungrateful people asleep under their high thread-count bed sheets, but Jace lived here, too, and he certainly wasn't some kind of trust fund baby.

Isabelle's head hung between her legs. She coughed, and then the coughing turned to gagging, so Clary quickly bunched Izzy's long hair behind her. Before she could get out of the way, Isabelle unfortunately turned her head threw up all over Clary.

"Oh, God," Isabelle coughed. "Clary, I'sorry," she tried to say. She threw up again, this time aiming it at the ground.

Clary shook herself. She was no stranger to vomit, even other people's, but it didn't make it any less vile. Isabelle was about three minutes from passing out, she figured, and she still had no clue where the hell they were.

"Izzy, where's your house?"

But Isabelle let the question go unanswered as she lied her head down on the sidewalk. Normally, she would have tried to keep her upright, but Clary was trying to spot a street sign with no luck. She sighed heavily, beginning to feel her sickly damp shirt cling to her stomach.

There was only one thing to do. She reached into her pocket and retrieved her phone. She sent a haste text to Jace, hoping to God he was still up.

Lost in your neighborhood. Izzy's out cold.

She hadn't really planned this far. She wanted to see Izzy safely home, and maybe she would have caught a glimpse of what Jace's house looked like from the outside, but she didn't think Jace would even know she was near.

She waited for maybe thirty seconds. Then her ringtone went off, and she saw that he was calling her. Her heart gave another little jump. She had never talked to him on the phone before, and there was something nerve-wracking about that.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Where the hell are you?" he asked. His voice sounded strange- not angry, but exasperated. Maybe he was a little shocked.

"That's a great question." She looked around again at the tall houses and the clean street. Without the sound of honking car horns and all-night city chatter, this place was a whole new world.

"Where's Izzy?"

"She's passed out. We were just…I was just making sure she got home okay and then the cabby kind of kicked us out."

"How far did you get from the bar?" he asked. Did he sound worried or was it just her?

"About fifty dollars on the meter." She hoped that this was enough information for him. The thought of staying here all night, on the curb, covered in puke, made her tired. The cops would pick them up before dawn, probably.

"You're not far. Stay there, I'm coming."

She wasn't going anywhere. After he hung up, she checked that Isabelle hadn't choked on her own sick, and pulled her head into her lap. They were both pretty disgusting, smelling truly foul. It occurred to Clary that Jace was going to see her like this. When she thought of her chemo-self, something like how she looked now was what she imagined; dishevelled, pale, and covered in vomit.

Izzy began softly snoring in her lap. Clary couldn't decide if she was regretting even leaving her room tonight. She remembered Jace saying something disapproving of Isabelle's drinking habits, and he was right. She was a messy drunk.

In the quiet, Clary heard the fast approaching sound of footsteps. She looked both ways, her head whipping back and forth. He came from over the hill, a dark figure that was unmistakably him. In such a short time, she'd already memorized his gait. He seemed to see them, and then he broke into a little run, coming into view under a streetlight. Finally, he was wearing a coat.

"Jesus…" he said when he saw them, or rather smelled them. She looked up at him from her spot on the ground. His hair was messier than usual. Perhaps he'd been asleep.

"She threw up…everywhere."

For a moment, he just stood there, shaking his head. Isabelle snorted in her sleep, and Jace looked down at her with disgust. He bent over them both and grimaced, pulling her into his arms like she weighed nothing. Clary thought this wasn't the first time he had to carry her home. He managed to reach his hand out to help Clary up, tucking Izzy's head into the crook of his neck. She felt a ridiculous pang of jealousy go through with her. She wished that he was carrying her home instead.

"She shouldn't be allowed to drink," he said when Clary had stood. She looked down and surveyed her sweater and jeans. There was a disgusting stain down the front and on her legs.

"I should have steered clear," she said, pulling the shirt away from her body. Jace looked at her for what seemed like a long time. She looked back at him, right in his eyes, as if they were in a standoff. Would he tell her to go home now? It could be that he just didn't want her this close to him, that he didn't want her near his secret Upper East Side life. She didn't expect him to say,

"You can clean up at my house, if you want."

She let out a breath that she was holding and nodded her head. She followed a few steps behind him as he walked away with Isabelle still sleeping in his arms. It was a situation comparable to Charlie's, being offered her golden ticket to Wonka's mysterious factory. They trudged up the clean, neatly paved, quiet hill. She had no idea what was waiting for her on the other side.

They said nothing, and she couldn't tell if he was quiet because he was embarrassed by the situation, or because the whole East Side was asleep. The houses they passed seemed to get more and more lavish. They were white and gleaming, some held in by fences, some tall brownstones that were much nicer than Clary's old building. After five minutes, they came to the end of the street, to a house on the left side that was decorated for fall. A cluster of pumpkins was arranged on the porch that was held up by tall, white columns. There was a second story balcony on top of the columns. The brick was grey, still pristine, though it looked old. It was a beautiful house.

Jace went ahead up the steps while Clary followed blindly. It was so strange. This place was not the setting she would have chosen for Jace's life.

"I've lived in a lot of places and they weren't all nice."

She wondered if Jace lived his life in extremes, if he'd known poor parents who cashed his foster checks for cigarettes. How was it that he now had doctors for parents, a beautiful house that was probably worth a million dollars? What did it cost him to end up here, she wondered?

He turned to her before opening the door, his finger on his lips, saying shh. She wasn't going to make a sound. For the first time, she felt like she should just be a casual observer. They entered into a foyer that was beautifully decorated with vases, there were wreaths on distant doors that led to unknown rooms, and the whole place smelled like the freshness flowers. A staircase wound up to a second floor that was pitch black. Jace crept up the stairs and they hardly creaked under his and Izzy's weight. She was trying so hard to drink everything in, she almost forgot that she was meant to follow him.

"The room at the end of the hall is mine," he whispered to her when they got to the second story. It was hardly was another decorated foyer, as nice as the first.

In one of these many rooms, his foster parents slept soundly. His oncologist mother was here, unaware that a potential patient was lurking around her house. She shook off the blind fear that the thought gave her and watched Jace recede down the other hallway that must lead to Isabelle's room. She swallowed, her feet touching down on the hardwood floor as lightly as possible until she was in front of the white door that was his.

How many times had she thought about this? She turned the knob, letting the door swing gently open. It didn't creak.

Inside, the room was bathed in moonlight. Like Simon's room, the curtains were wide open, but that was the only similarity to Simon's room there was. She looked around, stunned by the sheer normality of it. She'd been expecting clutter and clothes, ashtrays and empty bottles of beer, the smell of nicotine and posters on the wall. Instead, the room was painted a plain blue, bare of any art or posters. The bed was in the middle of the room, perfectly made, with white sheets. There wasn't a scrap of clothing on the floor. The only thing that seemed remotely right about this room was the guitar stand in the corner.

She walked into it further, breathing in the same smell of flowers. On one side of the room, there was a dresser that held no photographs. She came around to one side of Jace's bed and felt her stomach explode with sudden excitement. This was the place where Jace slept. She sat down tenderly, trying to be a figment of the room, trying to impose on the perfection. On the bedside table, there was a little box that looked old and out of place. It was the only thing that was out of place.

Before she could touch the box, she heard him coming down the hallway. Jace was always very quick. He slipped into the room, closing the door in what seemed like a flash. When he saw her sitting on his bed, he smiled like a lion.

"Your room is…neat," she said. The statement was so painfully obvious, she wished she could take it back and say something else. He smirked.

"I like order."

She stood up to get closer to him, but realized she was still covered in Isabelle's vomit. Noticing this also, Jace said,

"You can shower in here." He moved to the door she hadn't noticed, an en suite bathroom. He flipped on the light and she saw that the bathroom was just as impeccable as his bedroom. "I'll wash your clothes."

She watched from the threshold as he went to the shower, a glass box that offered no modesty. He turned on the water and the white noise sound of it rushing filled up the room along with steam. Her heart thudded in her chest as she decided to move into the room. He was looking at her like she wasn't covered in vomit. He was looking at her like he was going to kiss her. She shakily closed the door behind her, for some reason, sealing them in the room with the steam and everything else that they weren't saying.

Maybe it was because tomorrow was her next chemo appointment, or maybe it was because he'd let her into his room without any hesitation, or maybe it was because she couldn't stand being covered in vomit any longer, but she became the other Clary and she undid the buttons of her jeans, slid them down her legs, and kicked them away. She started on her shirt.

Jace smiled. She didn't expect that, but he smiled, clearly amused. She tried not to seem so insecure, but she found herself drawing her arms across her chest anyway. He stepped closer to her, fully clothed and stark next to her in her underwear. He leaned in and placed a kiss against her exposed collarbone, and it made her drop her arms back to her sides in total compliance. She thought he might try to do something, he might try to touch her without the fabric between them, but he didn't. He bent down and scooped up the soiled clothes at her feet.

"I'll be back," he said.

She watched him leave and shut the door behind her, unsure if it was rejection or a promise of something more. In any case, she was here, and she was naked, and there was a shower. As unabashed as it felt, she got rid of her bra and underwear, and stepped into the hot water.

A/N- I don't really have any designated update days, but I do promise that the next chapter will be soon.