Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments is owned by Cassandra Clare. I don't own anything except for the plot of The Falling Star. I'm just messing around and having fun with the characters.

Present Day

"Mom, I'm home!" Clary called out as she shut the front door behind her. She halted her movements the instant she saw the familiar scene before her. Large white sheets had been haphazardly draped over the furniture in the living room and suitcases sat near the front door.

No. No. No!

"Good you're home. Quick go pack your stuff. We're leaving," Jocelyn said as she rushed out of her studio with a bag in tow.

Clary stared as her mother dragged the bag across the living room and placed it together with the other bags.

"What are you waiting for? I said we're leaving," Jocelyn said impatiently when she realised that her daughter wasn't moving.

"No. You promised we wouldn't have to move again." How could her mother do this to her again?

"I've changed my mind."

"Well, news flash, mom! It doesn't work that way. I've worked so hard to pay for the Tisch classes! And my new friends —"

"I'll pay you back for those Tisch classes. And you can always make new friends." Jocelyn folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes at her daughter, a sure sign that she was about five seconds from losing her patience.

"Why must you do this to me? What's the reason why we keep moving from town to town every few months?" Clary asked in frustration, fighting the urge to pull at her hair.

Jocelyn looked at her daughter for a few moments with an unfathomable expression before her eyes hardened and her face burned with resolve. "Now, Clary."

"No! For twelve years I've let you drag me across the country whenever you felt like it. I'm not going to let you do it again until you tell me why." Clary folded her arms and stared defiantly at her mother.

Jocelyn's eyes widened fractionally in surprise because no matter how bad situations got, her daughter had never defied her. As if propelled by a whirlwind, she dragged her struggling daughter up two flights of stairs to her bedroom and shoved her inside.

"You have fifteen minutes. After that I'm dragging you out regardless if you have a change of clothes for the rest of the journey to Canada," Jocelyn said angrily.

Clary slammed her bedroom door shut in her mother's face and locked it. Next, she dragged her dressing table with much difficulty in front of the door. Then, she pulled out her cell and dialed a number that had become very familiar to her over the summer.

"Hey it's me, Clary," she said into the receiver the moment the call connected. "I need a ride in ten minutes, my place."

She sighed in relief when Simon Lewis, her new best friend, said he'd be there.

She threw her cell onto the dressing table she'd just dragged across her room and peeled off her clothes in record time. She stepped into a black sleeveless cotton dress which just grazed the tops of her knees she'd bought two weeks ago and pulled on her black converse shoes. She left her hair down and checked her reflection in the mirror. Yep. That was exactly how she wanted to be remembered.

She drew the curtains open and kept a lookout for Simon's bright red Honda and strained her ears to hear her mother's footsteps outside her room, lest she get caught by surprise.

Ten agonizing minutes later, she finally spotted the red car rounding the corner of the road to her house.

"Oh thank God!" She murmured in relief. Pulling the window open, she hoisted herself up and balanced precariously on the windowsill. She catched ahold of the vines hanging down from the roof, somehow managing to maintain her balance and lowered herself onto the ground.

When she righted herself, she saw her mother staring at her through the open ground floor window, her mouth agape. Shit!

Clary bolted for the gate, hightailing out of the house as fast as she could just in time to get into the Honda when it stopped outside the house.

"Drive!" she hissed at Simon who was staring at her much like the way Jocelyn was when she dropped down from the vines moments ago. She saw her mother run out of the house after her and for a few seconds, she was certain that they wouldn't make it.

At the last moment, Simon floored the gas and took them out of there. Clary stared at Jocelyn's reflection through the rear view mirror until she was out of sight before she allowed herself to relax. She sagged against the leather seats of the Honda, sighing with relief.

"What the hell is going on, Fray?" Simon demanded to know.

"Remember when I told you I've never stayed in a place for more than three months?"

Simon nodded, not taking his eyes away from the road.

"Well, it's happening again," Clary said, biting hard on her lip and forcing herself not to cry.

"What?" Simon said, aghast. His fingers tightened around the wheel.

"I'm leaving. She's taking me to Canada this time," she told him as she turned to stared blankly out of the window.

"So you asked me here so that you can say goodbye," he guessed.

"Yes," Clary whispered.

Silence filled the car for several minutes before Simon turned to her and said cheerily, "Well, if this is your last day in Manhattan, there's something you definitely need to experience before you go."

TFS*

Simon pulled over at the entrance of a club and got out, handing his keys over to the Valet. Clary stepped out of the front seat and gazed up at the flashing neon sign.

"A club called Pandemonium? This is what I need to experience before I leave New York? Seriously, Simon? I was thinking more along the lines of Central Park."

Simon shrugged. "Seeing that you probably won't make any close friends for a while, clubbing with one seems like an experience you need to have before you leave. If you still want to go to Central Park after this, I can take you there."

"I might take you up on that," Clary smiled at him, "though I'm not sure what's there to see at night."

Simon smiled in return and held out his arm for her to take. "Shall we?"

Clary chuckled and hooked her arm around his. "Hell yeah."

They joined the moderately long line to get in. When it was their turn, the beefy bouncer's gaze slid over Simon like he was invisible and he eyed Clary like someone had just thrown up over her. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and sighed, gesturing at the entrance.

"Wow, someone's having a pleasant day," Simon said sarcastically as they passed the bouncer. Thankfully, the music was cranked up so loud that Clary could hardly hear him, much less the people standing outside. As much as she believed that her best friend could fend for himself, she knew he wouldn't be match for the beefy muscled man.

"I'm going to get a drink," Simon shouted over the music. "Do you want anything?"

Clary shrugged and tried to shout over the music. When she realized that he couldn't hear a thing from the way he was trying to read her lips and his confused look, she threw her hands up in the air. Simon burst out in laughter at her reaction.

Clary narrowed her eyes at him although he couldn't see her as he was laughing with his eyes closed. His eyes flew open in surprise when he felt her grab his wrist and pull him through the throng of dancing people toward the bar.

She froze about five steps away from the bar when she recognized the bartender. "Eric?"

The music was softer on this side of the club so the bartender, Eric, snapped his head up when his name was called.

Eric nodded at the pair before resuming wiping down the numerous glasses on the bar top.

"You didn't tell me he works here," Clary hissed into Simon's ear. "I thought you guys were in a band together," she added.

"Well yeah, but the band's not doing so well at the moment so..." he trails off, shrugging.

"Well, the drinks he makes had better not kill me," she said warningly before hopping up onto one of the stools.

"Give me a regular martini and a..." Simon trailed off, looking at Clary.

"Sex on the Beach," she told Eric, who eyed her suspiciously.

"How old are you? Fifteen? Aren't you too young to drink?"

"Don't put too much vodka in there," Simon instructed his friend.

"Why? You think I can't handle it?" Clary said angrily.

"You've never drank alcohol before have you? Trust me, a hangover is something you don't want to get, especially not when you have a flight to catch."

"Mix it," Clary persisted, ignoring Simon and narrowing her eyes at Eric who shrugged and grabbed the ingredients. Simon sighed and sat in the stool next to hers.

Clary spun her body around on the stool so that her back was to the bar. She looked at the people on the dance floor as she nodded her head to the beats of a the song. Many girls were scantily clad and dancing sensually in a way that she knew she'd never be able to.

"Sex on the Beach," Eric announced, sliding the drink onto the bar top behind her. As Clary turned her body back around, she saw her best friend staring fixatedly at the dance floor with his jaw on the floor.

She put a hand under his chin and shut it for him. She saw a line of drool at the corner of his mouth and shook her head in disgust. "Is she hot?" she asked, looking back at the dance floor and trying to spot the girl that had captured his attention.

Simon nodded dumbly. "Major understatement of the year, Fray. She has a rockin' bod, a fantastic rack and damn, she can move."

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" Clary nudged him and jerked her head in the direction of the girl.

"Nah I shouldn't. We're supposed to be clubbing together."

"It's okay. Go have fun. I'll find myself a sexy guy to dance with," Clary reassured him.

Simon didn't need to be told twice. He downed his martini and swaggered exaggeratedly over to the girl he'd set his sights on. Clary saw that the girl was beautiful and did have a figure many girls would die for. The black-haired girl interrupted Simon mid speech by grabbing his waist and forcing him to dance to the beat with her.

Chuckling to herself, Clary grabbed her drink and took a daring sip. The vodka burned as it went down her throat but it wasn't too bad. She turned back around to watch the people dancing, as well as keep an eye on Simon to make sure the girl didn't drag him off to a corner to have sex. When she saw Simon put his hands on the girl's ass, however, Clary averted her eyes immediately and shuddered.

Just as she was turning to look at the opposite end of the dance floor instead, a flash of blond caught her eye. She scanned the throng of gyrating people quickly, trying to locate that specific shade of dark blond which had stuck in her mind for the past twelve years.

He's dead. He's been dead for more than a decade now, she reminded herself. After a few seconds, she spotted the blond haired guy dancing with one of the scantily clad girls, though dancing might have been putting it mildly. His hands lay low on the girl's hips as they swayed from left to right with the beat and he was grinding his hips into hers.

Even from the distance, Clary could see that his eyes were smoldering, though she wasn't close enough to know the color of them. When the song changed, he dropped his hands and the girl kissed his cheek. She saw a flash of movement and she could have sworn the girl tucked something — her number? — into the back pocket of his black jeans.

The boy maneuvered through the crowd and found himself another scantily clad girl. He didn't put his hands on her though they were dancing very close to each other. The girl put her hands on his chest and closed the distance between them. The boy started to do a series of complicated moves. Clary stared transfixed as he did so. She couldn't tear her eyes off him though she knew she should. It was rude to stare after all. But damn, that boy could move.

The boy leaned toward the girl and bent down so that his lips were at her ear. Clary saw the girl nod. He took her hand and led her off the dance floor.

Clary tore her eyes away from the boy and she turned back look for Simon. He is not Jace, she told herself once again.

There was no sign of her best friend where she last saw him. Crap. Her cell was still sitting on her dressing table at home so she had no way of contacting him. She hopped off the bar stool, drink in hand and proceeded to search the dance floor for him. Hell, maybe they were really having sex in a dark corner somewhere like she suspected they'd would.

She was halfway to the dance floor, sipping her drink when she heard someone called her last name. Simon. She whirled around and bumped into someone, her drink flying from the glass.

"Shit!"

Clary's jaw dropped in horror when she realized she'd bumped into the blond guy she was staring at not two minutes ago and that he was drenched in Sex on the Beach. From her glass.

The guy rubbed vigorously at his eyes which were squeezed shut and most of her drink was on his white button down shirt. He peeled one of his eyes open and squinted at her as she blinked at him, mouth agape as if she were in the midst of processing the events that had just transpired. He glared at her once he successfully got most of the concoction, which stung his eyes like a bitch, out.

Clary blinked twice more before the reality of what she'd done sank in. "Oh God, I'm so sorry," she apologized immediately, taking in the large orange stain on his shirt and the very annoyed look on his face.

"It's not God you should be apologizing to, but me, little girl," he said, his words barely audible, but somehow over the loud music she heard it.

Clary stared at him incredulously. Yes, she'd been using God's name in vain, but she was obviously apologizing to him. But then again, she did get Vodka all over him so he had a right to be an ass.

"I'll pay for your dry cleaning," she offered, frantically thinking about how she'd get the money since she had nothing on her.

The guy scoffed. "Dry cleaning?" He shook his head. "No, little girl, I expect you to replace it."

"What?" Clary gasped. She could hardly afford a dry cleaning bill after paying for her Tisch classes and he wanted her to pay a few hundred dollars for his dress shirt?

"You heard me right. This is a two thousand dollar dress shirt from Gucci. Pay up," he held his hand out to her, palm upright and tapped his foot impatiently.

Two thousand dollars! Who buys a shirt for two thousand dollars? Clary gaped at his outrageous request for a few moments before she slapped his hand away. "Listen here, mister. All you're going to get from me is twenty bucks for your dry cleaning bill. You want me to pay two thousand dollars? You can kiss my ass!"

The boy ran his eyes down her body, lingering at her chest. "I might just take you up on that offer because you look like you'd be a good lay, but unfortunately, I still have the remnants of vodka swimming in my eyes so..." he looked around, squinting as he did so. "You'd better be here when I get back. If I have to track you down, it won't be a pretty picture," he warned, walking away.

"Good luck tracking me across the country, asshat," she rolled her eyes and looked around for Simon. She was sure he had called her name before, but he was nowhere in sight.

The slight buzz from the alcohol was wearing out and the loud beats made the pounding in her head worse. She sighed after a while, giving up on finding her best friend and resigned to take a cab home to face the music.

TFS*

She saw Luke's truck sitting in the driveway when the cab arrived at her house. Not wanting to ask either one of them for money to pay the cabbie, she headed straight for the vines she'd used earlier. The curtains on the ground floor were drawn so she wasn't too worried about getting caught.

She clambered up as quickly as she could and grabbed the cash from her purse. After paying the fare, she crept back toward the house, wincing whenever the gravel crunched loudly beneath her feet. As she neared the house, she noticed that the front door was ajar. Frowning, she chanced a peek through the gap.

Everything was exactly the way it was before she left. Luke and her mother were nowhere in sight. A strange uneasiness washed over her. She pulled off her shoes and stepped inside.

Clary saw that the studio was on from the gap beneath the door. She tiptoed toward it. As she neared, she heard the hushed voices of Luke and Jocelyn.

Instantly, her curiosity was piqued. She hurried over and pressed her ear to the door.

"You can't keep running away, Jocelyn," she heard Luke say.

"What else can I do, Luke? He's after me, I'm sure of it." Jocelyn's voice shook.

"You can't be sure of that."

"I am sure," Jocelyn insisted.

"Why? Why is he coming after you? I've been helping you run away for twelve years, Jocelyn. I deserve to know the truth."

The silence that followed was deafening. Clary strained her ears to hear something. Anything.

The door swung open suddenly and Clary, unprepared for that, stumbled forward. Luke looked surprised and weary while her mother looked absolutely horrified.

"Were you eavesdropping?" Jocelyn asked.

"Who's coming after you? Why can't we just call the cops?" Clary demanded to know.

Jocelyn stared at her daughter, worry evident in her expression, but didn't say anything.

"Answer me! Don't keep me in the dark. I deserve an explanation after all this time, mom."

When Jocelyn continued to keep mum, Luke sighed in exasperation and walked out of the studio. They both heard the truck starting moments later and the sound of gravel crunching under tires.

"Hiding the truth rarely helps," Clary said.

Jocelyn sighed. "It may not help matters, but at least it keeps you safe." She walked out of the studio and Clary heard a door upstairs slam a few seconds later.

TFS*

Hours after the whole fiasco that occurred, Jocelyn's words replayed in an infinite loop in Clary's head. It may not help matters, but at least it keeps you safe.

Would not knowing anything really keep her safe? She doubted it.

She shook her head as she stepped into the shower, trying to clear her head. She squeezed her eyes shut as the water cascaded down her face and a memory of the boy at the club appeared, unbidden into her mind. Looks like she'd have an opportunity to pay him the dry cleaning bill after all.

Involuntarily, she remembered how good he looked up close. His eyes are gold too. Just like Jace's.

But he's not Jace, she reminded herself once again. Another memory rose up involuntarily. The picture was so clear in her head as if it'd happened the day before.

November 3rd 1999

Clary sat on the beanbag in the living room, idly flipping through channels on the TV. She was all dressed up, donning a periwinkle blue dress with matching blue shoes complete with the tiara Jace had given her.

"Where's mommy?" she asked Luke who was also all dressed up.

Luke sat uncomfortably on the couch and adjusted his tie awkwardly. He wasn't used to wearing a penguin suit at all. He checked his watch. The errand Jocelyn was running was taking a longer time than usual. They were about to miss their dinner reservation if she didn't return home soon.

Right on cue, Jocelyn stepped into the house. One look at her expression and he instantly knew that something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Mommy!" Clary said happily, hopping off the couch and bounding over to take her hand.

Jocelyn couldn't even manage to smile at her daughter. "Luke..." she trailed off, her voice unsteady with tears.

"What's wrong?" Luke crossed the distance to her and held her shoulders.

"Stephen's family... they... they're dead," she sobbed into her hands.

"Oh God," Luke said, aghast.

"Mommy?" Clary said uncertainly. She didn't know what was going on but she knew it wasn't good. Tears sprang to her eyes at the sight of her mother breaking down uncontrollably. She tugged at her mother's dress when she didn't respond.

Jocelyn composed herself for the sake of her daughter. She knelt down on one knee so that she was at face level with her four-year-old daughter. "Mommy's okay, darling," she said as reassuringly as she could.

"I'll cancel the reservation," Luke said and he left the two to talk.

"Why are you crying?" Clary asked, the tears still rolling down her cheeks.

"Remember what I told you about daddy?" Jocelyn asked, wiping Clary's tears away.

Clary nodded. "Daddy's in heaven. He cannot come back, but he's watching us."

Jocelyn nodded, and fresh tears formed. No four-year-old should have to deal with death.

"Jace just went to heaven," she broke the news.

"Why?" Clary asked, and the tears which had barely stopped started once again.

"God decided it was time for him to go," Jocelyn repeated the same explanation as when Clary had asked about her father.

Having never seen her father before since he was in heaven from before she was born, Clary understood well enough that she'd never see Jace again. Not in real life.

Clary nodded. "He will be watching over me too right?"

Jocelyn who was so choked up with tears that she couldn't speak, nodded.

"Is he happy?"

Jocelyn nodded again. "Yes, baby. He is."

Clary wiped her nose with the back of her hand and managed a genuine smile through her tears. "Then I'm happy too."

She willed her tears to stop as she returned to her room but they didn't.

"I can't let Jace see me cry," she told herself determinedly and wiped the tears away. When her face was dry, she stood in front of her bedroom window with her photo albums.

"Jace? Are you in heaven yet?" she looked up at the sky. The stars twinkled at her as if Jace was replying to her question.

"I'm wearing the tiara. And the bells too," she added, pointing to her ankle.

"Goodbye, Jace. I wish I said that before you went to heaven," she whispered sadly. She flipped one of the albums open and looked down at Jace's face. It was taken just after they had made up, the day after his birthday. The two were eating their special cake and grinning widely.

"I'll never forget you," she told him, tracing his face in the photo. She shut the album and drew the curtains and collapsed onto the bed. His pillow still smelled like him, and the thought brought tears into her eyes again. She really let herself cry this time while hugging the pillow. Tomorrow I'll be happy, she promised him.

Present Day

When she came to the end of that memory, she was in tears. She looked up at the sky through the bathroom window just like she did almost twelve years ago.

He really resembles you, Jace. She sighed and stepped out of the shower, wrapping herself in a towel and went back to her bedroom. The bear he gave her still sat on her bed. She always brought it with her when they travelled from town to town. She smiled at the fleeting memory of him leaving it on her front porch step.

She sat down at her dressing table and that was when she saw her cell phone blinking. She picked it up and saw the words twenty new text messages and thirteen missed calls.

Crap. With all the drama, she'd completely forgotten about Simon! She quickly scrolled through the texts. His tone became more and more worried with each text. She quickly typed out a reply to reassure him that she hadn't passed out drunk somewhere or gotten kidnapped by her mom. She also told him that it wasn't her last night in New York after all.

He responded almost instantly, and went into detail about the girl he met - Isabelle, and about how he nearly got laid that night, something that Clary couldn't for the life of her figure out why he felt he needed to tell her.

She rolled under the covers after throwing on an old T-shirt, completely worn out by the events of the day. She drifted quickly off to sleep.

That night, a boy with dark blond hair, messy from dancing and smouldering gold eyes starred in her dreams.

TFS*

"So you've been going from town to town just because some psycho is after your mom?" Simon said as he killed the engine.

"Must you repeat everything I say?" Clary snapped, and felt guilty immediately.

"Sorry. It's just... when you told me that you've never stayed in one place for long, I never thought it'd be due to this," he explained.

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You didn't deserve it."

"S'okay. So what does your mom plan to do now? Are you still planning to move to Canada?"

Clary shrugged. "We haven't talked since she told me I was safer not knowing anything, but I'm staying here."

Simon looked at her with an unfathomable expression for several moments but didn't say anything in response. After a while he realized that he'd been staring and cleared his throat, looking away awkwardly.

"We should probably get to class. What have you got?"

"I don't know yet. I need to get my schedule from the adminstrative office. Hopefully I'll have some classes with you."

They got out of the car. The parking lot had filled up a lot after their talk. Around them, students were hanging out in groups beside vehicles while others were strolling into the school.

"C'mon. I'll walk you to the office," he offered, leading the way.

They reached a rather ominous looking office. Clary reached for the door knob, feeling nervous although she'd done this more times than she could count.

Just as she was about to twist the knob, the door swung open and she stumbled head first into the office. She bumped into something hard. She felt a pair of hands cup her shoulders.

She opened her eyes (she had squeezed them shut when she was falling) and realized that her face was pressing against someone's chest. The person smelled like jasmine and fresh laundry. The scent was oddly familiar.

The pair of hands on her shoulders steadied her as the person stepped back. Clary felt her cheeks flush and looked up to apologize. Her words got caught in her throat and a gasp replaced them instead.

"Well well. Look who we have here." The boy dropped his hands from her shoulders. "I don't think I've introduced myself, little girl. I'm Jace," he paused and Clary felt her heart stop. "Jace Wayland."