Here's another chapter!

Pretty quick for me huh?

November had rolled by quickly. Thanksgiving was a silent affair with the clatter of silverware against fine china to keep the Herondale's company. His family was spread out around the U.S so no one really got together anymore unless you counted the hellos and happy holiday's over Facebook and Skype.

Which no one did.

At all.

Every day Jace grew closer to Clary, Alec, Isabelle, Magnus, Jordan, Maia and even Simon.

Every day he drifted farther from the life he once lead and became apart of something he had never known existed before.

Something that was stronger than anything he had experienced and more powerful than anything he had ever felt. An inescapable bond was forming and he wasn't so sure everyone was happy about it. He knew he wasn't and at the same time he was. It was all very confusing.

Every day Jace fell for Clary a bit more.

All of November and parts of December had been spent with his red headed Pixie making him go to an ice skating charity for supporting creating wells and other water spouts in Africa, stopping at three art galas for three different fundraisers that were raising awareness for children with cancer (Clary had looked stunning at all of them even without any make-up), and going to the local orphanage (local meaning three hours away in the city) to make sure they had all the supplies they needed for the Christmas holiday coming up.

Case in point, Clary was a very busy girl.

Which made Jace a very busy guy.

He knew she was an avid student, he shared two A.P classes with her (English and History) and one art class together (because he hadn't known at the time that he would already have two classes with her and he hadn't thought his art skills were that bad). He also knew she cared deeply for people. But he also knew that Clary was the central being that made their group run.

He had grown closer to the Lightwoods. Alec actually spoke to him in the hallways now (hello constituted as speaking) and he shared a class with Isabelle (Math) where she sat right beside him (she had chose to sit there much to his elated surprise) but still wouldn't speak to him. He still counted the sitting beside him thing as a total win though.

Maia, who Jace had no idea even went to the same school, did not share a class with him which he was relieved about. Maia scared him a little. And by a little, he meant a lot. Plus, Jordan was annoying him with his constant "love" chatter about her and her cold shoulder.

Magnus and Alec seemed to get along swimmingly though Jace had already known that before they had been introduced to each other. Magnus was just the person to make Alec more at peace with who he was. He was the perfect person to break the last part of Alec's shield down. And he knew Alec was grateful. He had whispered thank you to him once and that was all Jace needed.

And Simon, well, Simon still hated his guts.

But Clary was the source of sunshine they all seemed to generate on. He had seen the respect that gleamed in Isabelle's eyes as she listened to Clary talk with wide gestures about an upcoming fundraiser. He had seen the protective stance Jordan had taken around her and the way he stiffened whenever Sebastian and his like came around. Clary, on the other hand, paid them no attention. Not because she was trying to seem strong but because she really just didn't care. She didn't give one shit to how the world perceived her and yet she was probably the best person he had ever met.

Alec seemed to idolize her in a way he would never understand. Like he wished to be as free as she was, which made sense and Jace did relate but there problems were very different.

And Simon, well, Simon spent most of his time glaring at Jace or hovering around Clary like an ugly wart.

To say he was annoyed would be an understatement.

But in a way he respected that about Simon too. To have that much loyalty that he would do anything for her. He knew they all felt that way for each other and he was sure that they knew Clary would have done anything for them. Her smiled seemed to keep them all together; like her very essence was the stitching that kept them all intact.

Jace smiled to himself the next night at dinner. His father and mother had their banquet tonight and Stephen sat at the head of the table with his newspaper in hand waiting for his wife who was finishing off the final touched to her outfit for the evening. She was after all the Mayor's wife. Her appearance reflected him and so she was very important.

Jace sat and ignored his father; thinking of the way his fairy girl seemed to shine. Of the way everything seemed to glow with her around. He wished he could be with her always, wished some of the joy and love she gave would rub off on him.

Jace never felt this way before. He thought about her when he was with her and when she left. He dreamt of her, vulnerable dreams where she looked at him as if he were the only boy in the universe; as if there was no place she'd rather be than with him.

Dreams that made his heart feel too big and work too hard in his chest when he woke up. Looking at her felt like staring at the sun, beautiful and painful all at once. He remembered the way she looked walking and dancing with the children with less than she did; children and families that had been swept under the rug; that his father had forgotten.

Jace's forked clanged against the fine china of the plates at their long cherry oak table; a table that was much too big for all of them and extremely overzealous. The silverware he ate with and the plate he ate off of cost more than anything the people they had served in the Soup Kitchen could afford he was sure. A feeling of emptiness fell in the pit of his stomach, his family had more than they needed and they gave nothing back.

He dragged his eyes up slowly. Robert Lightwood stood straight and at attention in the doorway; his brown eyes, eyes that looked so much like his daughter's, flicked to the ticking clock in the corner and Jace knew why. He could picture Maryse glancing at that same clock in her kitchen, her family lingering around their meal waiting for their husband and father.

Jace frowned thicker, why his father didn't just send Robert home was beyond him. They had no use for him now; he'd done his job. Their coats were hung and the food was made, he should have gone home and eaten with his own family by now.

And maybe he'd take Jace with him.

"Darling," Jace looked up from where he had made a large hole in his mound of mash potatoes. "What's wrong? You barely touched your steak and it's your favorite." His mothers cooing voice floated toward him as she tilted her head in concern. Her glowing gold eyes so like his own but filled with so much more sadness. Her gown was radiant much more beautiful than what she had wore to the pre-banquet. His mother was an absolutely beautiful woman and his father was foolish not to see it. "You're a growing boy, sweetheart, and you need to have meat on your bones." Her hand reached across the table and gripped onto his as if he had just told her he was dying.

Jace tired to keep his eyes from rolling at his mother's theatrics. Stephen dropped his gaze from his newspaper and scowled, his eyes trained on the grip his wife had on their only son. Unlike Jace, his father didn't have the manners to keep his eyes in place. "Celine, leave the boy alone. If he doesn't want to eat than he can starve. Maybe then he'll learn to appreciate what we give him."

Celine stopped a moment before she dropped her eyes as she leaned back in her seat and slowly pulled her hands from her son's. Jace was quick to squeeze her palm with his before she could fully retract and it seemed to brighten her spirits.

"Actually," Jace said dropping his fork and sending a glare at his father, who had made him run 3 times longer at practice today and the bruises forming on his stomach and shoulders weren't from the warm fuzzy thoughts, was getting on his last nerve. "I'm a little pissed actually."

"Jace, angel, manners." Celine spoke with as much authority she could manage and even that wasn't much.

Stephen narrowed his eyes as he calmly placed his newspaper down before lacing his fingers together. Jace knew that he was in for deep trouble now, when his father was mad normally he was scary but when he slipped into his calm and deadly phase, the same phase he used at work, well shit was about to hit the fan.

"And what is it, exactly, that you're unhappy about?" Stephen said with a grim smirk. "The way you played like a fool today at practice? The way you've been feed and clothed all your life? Or the money that I pour into that gas guzzler of a car for you?" His father's smirk turned into a grin that made Jace feel ashamed and stupid all at once. "Or are you unhappy with the rumors that have been going around about you running around with Starkweather's granddaughter?" Jace's eyes widened as his hands curled around the fork and knife in his palms. Stephen laughed as he watched his son's reaction. "Did you think I wouldn't know? How long did you think you could keep it a secret? Especially in a town this small." He shook his head, his slicked back curls coming undone around his face making him look more like Jace did. "That girl is trouble and trouble doesn't seem to have a problem finding you already. It would be wise to stop before you lose too much."

"You don't know anything about her," Jace couldn't stop the words that followed from his mouth. He had never really talked back to his father. Mostly because Stephen had never really been around long enough to yell at him or bothered long enough to find out if he had caused any trouble at all. "Don't say things that you don't know."

"Are you talking back to me?" Stephen said through clenched teeth. "I have been around far longer than you have. I know every secret or flutter of gossip in this town—"

"Just because you're the Mayor doesn't make you a God." Jace said with a clatter of his silverware. His hands were almost shaking with strain as he tried to keep himself together. "Obviously, being around longer doesn't make you wiser because you don't know one thing about Clary." Robert watched with wide eyes from where he stood in the doorway and Jace couldn't truly blame him. "So don't sit there like you're on some high throne and tell me that you do."

Stephen slammed his hands down on the table making Celine jump in her seat. "That girl—"

"Is wonderful and kind and giving and a much better leader than you." Jace jumped up from his seat and glared at his father with hard eyes. "You don't know anything about her; don't preach like you do." Jace sighed heavily, dropping his head. "You would be singing a different tune if you did."

Jace pushed back from the table and stalked toward the door giving Robert a respectful nod on his way out. Celine, as if truly unable to stop herself, jumped to her feet also and followed after him with quick steps. "Jace, sweetheart, please wait!"

"Don't you dare walk away from me!" Stephen yelled from where he stood at the head of their overzealous table surrounded by knickknacks they never used and expensive paintings they hardly looked at. Celine stopped in her tracks like a loyal dog and Jace couldn't help but do the same. It both disgusted and made him utterly disappointed. "Did she ever tell you why she came to this town?"

Jace frowned and shook his head as he turned back to the man that he so closely mirrored from the board shoulders to the scowl on his mouth. "No. . ."

Stephen sighed a moment before running a hand down his face. And for a brief moment his father looked really tired, like the weight that he carried on his shoulders was threatening to crush him."Celine, darling, will you make me a drink please." His beautiful wife blinked a moment at the softness of which he husband spoke before she nodded with a smile and slipped out of the room and up the stairs toward the study. "Robert, we've kept you far longer than we should and I apologize. You are free to head home."

Robert paused for a moment to bow, Celine usually cut him after Stephen stumbled upstairs toward his study. As the older man left he placed a firm hand on Jace's shoulder before moving out of the way and out the door.

"Son," Stephen said through remorseful lips. "Come and sit with me."

Jace parked with more force than he should have. He was a little mad, sure, but more hurt than anything. Why hadn't she told him? Why did she just leave him to wonder and to find out from his father? The man he couldn't stand half the time was too much.

He gripped the sides of his leather jacket as he stormed the steps of her creaky and familiar house. He'd been here more times than he could count on his fingers now and he enjoyed it far more here than at his living space. His fist pounded on the door with more malice than he had meant to. He shivered from the cold as his fingers clenched and unclenched to keep the circulation flowing. The door opened with a flourish as Hodge stared up at him with kind eyes.

The elder man grinned and it almost melted the layer of ice that Jace had surrounded his heart with. "Hello there, Jace. What could I do for you on this fine night?" Hodge said with a smirk of his own and a raise of his thick eyebrow. Hodge Starkweather still reminded him of the old grandfather from Pinocchio and the blanket he had wrapped around his useless legs was a gift from Clary he knew.

"I'd like to talk with your granddaughter, please, Hodge." Jace said with an impatience he couldn't swallow.

Hodge stared for a moment, the smile etched permanently on his face. His eyes flashed with a wise understanding that was slightly mixed with amusement as he nodded with a knowing grin and widened the door. "She's upstairs painting, I believe. You know the way."

The way he spoke with such familiarity made Jace's stomach clench as he nodded and flew up the stairs. His fist pounded on the second door that night with too much force as he tapped his foot impatiently. When Clary opened her door with confusion dancing in her eyes, reminding him of a cute puppy, he just about kissed her. It took him three minutes to remind himself that he was supposed to be angry and another three to remember why he shouldn't just kiss her anyway.

"Jace?" Her voice made every part of his body aware and alive as her lips shaped his name.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He said as he pushed his way into a room that had become his own. In the corner was his favorite football he had left from the day after Thanksgiving when he, Luke, Clary and Alec had tossed it around. His sweatshirt was thrown on the back of her desk chair because he had lent it to her to keep her warm and he knew how much she liked it. A couple of his notebooks were thrown around and he was positive he had a toothbrush in her bathroom though he had never stayed the night.

Clary tilted her head to the side making more curls fall from her tossed together bun on her head and kiss her face. What he wouldn't give to be just one of those curls. "What are you talking about?" She said with furrowed eyebrows and folded arm; a stance that should have spoken to him that she was angry but Jace knew her well enough to know she was just confused.

"Why didn't you tell me why you moved here?" He said with his fists clenched; he hadn't even known he'd done it before he swiftly unclenched. "Why did my father have to tell me before you?"

Clary stared at him a moment as her face leveled out, the frown lines on her forehead smoothed over into creamy skin and her lashes no longer brushed the top of her dark eyebrows while she dropped her large emerald orbs to her twisting fingers. "Why does it matter?"

Jace blinked quickly as he stumbled for words. "What—what do you mean why does it matter?" Jace flapped his arms out as his mouth dropped open. "Your father is a criminal, Clary. He stole money from a bank. He broke the law. That's serious stuff!"

"But why does it matter?" Clary said again her head tilted still and her eyes studying him.

"It matters because he's a criminal! Do you not get how crazy that is? Do you know what a criminal is? It's bad, Clary!" Jace said through exasperated eyes.

"Of course I understand how crazy it is. And yes I know he's a criminal, stealing is stealing." She said with an easy smile as she teased him and Jace couldn't seem to find humor in the situation. "And that matters for his record and his future. But why does it matter to you?" Her smile turned even more tender as she watched him. "What importance does my father's one mistake have to you, Jace Herondale?" She stepped toward him with almost sad eyes. "Is it because it affects me? Or because it affects you." Jace noticed that she didn't ask the second one like a question as she bowed big, shining eyes; her curls all but completely falling out of the bun on her head. "Being seen with the Outcast must sting enough; you don't need any added pressure and humiliation right?" She raised her eyebrows at him and Jace felt the floor give out from beneath him. What was wrong with him? It didn't matter that her father was a criminal. It wasn't his business and he knew she was right.

He was mad at himself; because he was still insecure. Because his father was insecure. Because his mother was insecure. He was trying to fight genetics.

He was upset because he was blind sighted, sure. Because he was just getting used to her being the Outcast not a criminal's daughter too; because that would add to the rumors and the stares and the whispers when everyone else found out because they always did. He was mad because change was coming again and he didn't know how to handle it.

He didn't know how to handle Clary.

He felt her hands before he say her move. She cupped his face softly and Jace absentmindedly wondered when he had dropped his stare to his lap or the moment when he had sat down on the edge of her bed. "Jace, no one blames you. This is hard. What you're doing is hard." Clary said with a sweet smile as Jace stared at her. She was so close to him he could practically feel her breath on his lips. "Change is hard. Being different is hard but that's what makes you so strong. Because you're trying anyway." She stroked a hand down his cheek and he found his face turning into her small palm. "And no one can take that from you. That is completely yours."

He wanted her to be his too.

"All of this is just going to take time." Clary said as Jace's eyes fluttered closed. Her skin against his seemed to burn him. It seemed to tingle and spark at the softness of her touch. "And time is a sacred thing. Never waste a minute of it."

And it was because she said those exact words that he kissed the inside of her palm.

And the moment he did it, he totally wished he hadn't.

Her eyes widened as she stared at him as if she couldn't believe what he was doing and she didn't want him to stop or start. He was hoping for the first.

But when she roughly pulled her hand from his he knew he'd made a mistake. But for some reason it didn't feel like a mistake.

He had seen her blush at him before, at his closeness, and compliments. He had seen the way she'd looked at him with longing at the Soup Kitchen a month ago when she hadn't corrected Ester on their relationship status. He had watched her smile at their laced hands or give him side glances. Those were signs weren't they? She hadn't done those things before. Not when they had first become friends. He could remember when he first started to like her when they had both grabbed the camera to stare into the lens at what she'd drawn. She hadn't blushed then. She hadn't cared that their hands were touching then.

She cared now. He knew it.

"You have to feel it too."

Clary shook her head slowly as if she was trying to convince herself and Jace took the offensive gesture as a good sign. "No. . ."

He stood slowly and stepped toward her as she backed away. "Yes, you do." He had never been more sure as Clary sucked in a breath and stumbled backwards her face flustered and her cheeks a beautiful shade of red. "I love it when you blush."

Clary shook her head quicker and steadied her stance. "This isn't right, Jace."

He moved toward her more quickly grabbing onto her shoulders with his hands. She wore a long sleeved shirt under a pair of paint spattered overalls and she was killing him. "What do you mean not right? I can't think of anything more right."

Clary pushed him away roughly as she brushed her hair from her face. It had completely fallen from its masterpiece on her head and waved around her face in fiery strands. "No, it's not. It's wrong and you should be running from me. Isn't that what guys like you do? Run from relationships. Why are you doing this to me?" Clary said her hands gripping her hair.

"What do you mean guys like me?" Jace spoke with a frown as he watched her smile sarcastically before letting out a humorless laugh.

"The type of guy too pretty to settle for one girl. The type that runs when things could get serious because they're too scared."

"You think I'm pretty?" Clary groaned as she put her hands to her hips. Jace, turning serious, scoffed as he narrowed his eyes. "Look, prettiness aside, I am not that type of guy." Clary narrowed her eyes in return as she raised an eyebrow. ". . .Anymore. I'm not that type of guy anymore." He coughed before feeling that tightness in his chest again. "Well, what about you, Ice Queen? Getting you to even look at me with anything more than contempt is a struggle."

Clary dropped her mouth open and threw her arms up. "That is absolutely ridiculous!"

"Oh yeah?" Jace said with a hard laugh. "Don't act like you're so innocent, Clary!" He said with a wide gesture of his arms as she watched him. "You're running just as fast, if not faster, than I am, baby. You're just as scared as me."

Clary smirked before she shook her head as if that was the furthest thing Jace could say from the truth, but he wasn't so easily fooled now. Clary's well held mask was there; present in the fisting of her hands and the slight tilt of her head. "This has nothing to do with me—"

"Doesn't it?" Jace said in a questioning voice. His eyebrow rose as he stepped toward her; her stern face flushed for a moment as she took a quick step back. "Whatever," Jace gestured between them quickly; his hand reaching toward her before slamming back into his chest. "This is; itscares you just as much as it does me. Admit it."

Jace's eyes dared her to lie as she parted her plump and pink lips. "No," Her voice shook as she cleared her throat; her eyes focusing on anything but him. "No, you're wrong—"

"You've never lied to me before, Clary, not once." Jace emphasized ever word. "I really hope you don't start now."

There was a moment of silence that passed between them as Jace and Clary stared heavily into each other's eyes waiting and daring the other to drop their gaze first. Gold and green clashed in a fiery battle that Jace was sure he'd lose. Clary bit her bottom lip hard as she frowned and dropped her chin to her chest. "Fine. I'm scared." She whimpered mostly to herself.

Jace stumbled back a few steps in complete shock as if Clary's words had actually pushed him. Clary scared? His Clary? Sure, he'd accused her of being as frightened as himself but he never thought she would give in so easily. He thought for sure she would fight tooth to nail with him in denial before giving up. But she seemed to simply curl in on herself as if to shield herself from the pain; all of a sudden Jace remembered what he first thought when he saw Clary. How she was so fragile under the harsh lights of the drama stage, how upset he was because of her size. How he or anyone could easily overpower her; that she never seemed to understand how frail she really was. But now? Hearing what he always wanted her to admit didn't make him feel any sense of satisfaction. It only made him feel like vomiting. Or crying. He didn't really know which was worse.

"Oh, Clary," Jace said in a voice he'd never before used; so filled with concern and something else, something that was so sweet and pure that Jace just couldn't put a name to it; in fear that it might taint the innocent feeling.

As if feeling his arms beginning to circle around her, she shot her head up and jumped back as if his touch was poisonous. Jace didn't sugarcoat that it hurt him for her to react in such a way. "But I have a very good reason to be scared."

Jace blinked at her in confusion before he furrowed his eyebrows in anger. "And I don't?" Jace said in an exasperated voice. "Oh, this is rich really just rich. I just can't wait to hear this reason."

Clary crossed her arms and turned her head. "I'm not telling."

"Really?" Jace said with raised eyebrows. "'Cause I'm all ears."

Clary uncrossed her arms and glared at him as she pinched her mouth together in anger as if the truth was trying to slip right through her seamed lips. The wind picked up around them but Clary gave no notice to the chill. "No, Jace, I'm not telling."

"Perhaps this is because this reason doesn't exist."

"Yes, it does." Clary said through clenched teeth.

"Then say it."

"No."

"Go on, Clary, say it."

"No!"

"Say it!"

"NO!"

"GOD DAMMIT! SAY IT, CLARY!"

"I'M DYING, YOU ASSHOLE!"

Jace's chest heaved as he stared at Clary blinking; his breath came out in sharp puffs around him as his brain caught up to the rest of his body. "What?" He answered breathlessly.

Clary's chest was heaving too. Her breath just as short and coming in quick pants with his own; but unlike his eyes, which were still filled with a confused denial, hers were filled with sorrow. A deep bone aching sadness that made his stomach cramp in nerves and he knew for certain that if she didn't answer soon he was going to definitely vomit.

"I have Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia." She answered in a low voice; her eyes seemed to make the whole situation more real as they shined brightly into his own. How could someone so full of life be dying? "Or CLL for short." She said with a half smile and a friendly punch to his shoulder.

Jace reached out quickly and caught the fist that sailed toward him; feeling her warm, soft skin beneath his own. She couldn't be dying; this was all a cruel trick. This was all a ruse that she was playing; well he was about to give her a piece of his mind on the subject. He didn't find the whole thing funny at all.

And he could tell she didn't either. Because Clary never lied. The Clary he knew; the Clary he liked never joked about death, quoted old people from way before their time, painted murals on old buildings, did anything to please the people she loved, treated everyone equal no matter their wrongdoings, saw the simple things in life, the small things we tend to forget.

Clarissa Morgenstern, the girl who ruled in freedom and breathed life into others, was dying.

His Clary was dying.

And he didn't know how to respond. He didn't know what to think; so he didn't, not when Clary guided him back to his car and drove them home. Not when she lead him through the front door of his disgustingly rich and huge house; not even when she laid him down in his bed and helped take off his shoes. Not even when she kissed the top of his head lovingly and turned the light off in her wake.

He laid there for hours pondering how life could be so cruel. How God could be so mean as to give him someone like Clary only to take her away. How He could make someone as perfect as she was only to let her slowly wither and die.

Suddenly he couldn't lie down, not for another second, so he jumped out of bed, raced down the hallway into his father's study and booted up the computer that was always on. Jace knew his father would be more than angry that he was in here without his permission but he couldn't find the will to care. All he could think of was Clary, his angel, who had a black cloud of death hanging over her head.

"You'd rather catch your death instead?"

"I don't think you can catch death. Death is more of a fog than a solid being. You can't catch fog; you can only really wait until it clears."

"Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia, Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia," Jace mumbled under his breath as he spelled it out to the best of his ability before letting Google do the rest. "CLL,CLL,CLL."

His eyes widened as he read over what was sure to happen to his Clary. He liked her more than he could really put to words and just as he was sure he'd have her she was being ripped from him; slowly and surely. The screen began to cloud and blur as the lines he read over and over began to fuse together.

Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia is a cancer that causes the body to produce large numbers of white blood cells (lymphocytes). These lymphocytes, called leukemia cells, cannot fight infection very well. When leukemia cells build up in the blood and bone marrow, there is less room for healthy blood cells. This can cause infections, anemia, and easy bleeding.

At least, that's what I'd read that night. It's still bookmarked on my laptop at home; I glance through it from time to time as if to torture myself just a little.

It gets worse slowly; almost like falling from a building. You speed up more and more before you hit the ground and after you fall, you can't help but wish you could just go back. Think about how this was not the way you'd want to die; a slow death gave you time to think.

About what you wanted to do but never did. About the little things you never saw in life. About the family you'd never have and the children you'd never bear. About the places you'd never see and the people you'd never love.

Having to respect and come to terms with the fact you would no longer exist and half, if not most, of the world would know nothing about it.

That's what my Clary would go through.

It's rare in children, you know. There's an even less chance girls get it. But God made Clary special. Too special; she was such a rarity that it applied to everything. At least, that's what I told myself. Because that was better than cursing God; it was better than burning every church I looked at because truly I wanted nothing more but to do just that.

The symptoms Clary would go through were: weakness and fatigue, fever, night sweats, poor appetite, and weight loss.

Her spleen would get swollen and her immune system would fail her resulting in infections.

But most of all, she would be in pain. Lots and lots of pain. Slow and agonizing; a seemingly never ending pain.

The thought still makes me cry at night.

It couldn't be. This had to be a dream; a sick, twisted nightmare. Surely, this couldn't be real. No, it couldn't have been.

Jace had no idea of the tears that ran down his cheeks or the words he was muttering as his mother and father walked into the doorway. His father's stern face twisted as he scolded his son. "Jonathon, how many times must I tell you. . ." His voice trailed off as his son gave him no indication that he knew he was even there. His eyes just kept letting moisture escape and his mouth kept muttering those cursed words. "Jace? Son?" His father's voice dropped as he placed a hand upon his tensed shoulder, silent tears rolled down his son's cheeks as his eyes stayed glued to the screen. "Jace, what is this? What's wrong?"

"Baby?" His mother's soft touch seemed to make him break more as she knelt in front of his father's study chair. "What's the matter? What's caused my perfect angel to cry?"

Jace felt his composure break more; his chest seemed to cave in as he heaved and his lungs seemed to spasm. His eyes blinked with a vengeance but the tears continued to come and Jace knew he couldn't be here. Not in the coldness of this empty house; or with the two concerned parents that were showing interest in him 18 years too late.

So he picked himself up and hurdled around his concerned mother and bewildered and uncomfortable father and sprinted out the door. Knowing exactly where he needed to go; knowing exactly where he would find the peace he needed or at least some form of it. He didn't pause to grab his coat though the wind felt like ice against his face. He didn't pause for his mother, who had tears of her own running down her face or his father who grabbed his mother's shoulders tightly like he actually cared for her well being.

Jace simply ran and ran; passing his car, though it would have been a good idea to drive. He ran down the block and then another. By the tall Oak tree he shared his first kiss with Penelope Hertz, over the old railroad tracks, that no longer even transported any sort of train; past the decaying old building that Clary had made beautiful, that used to stand for the same thing his house did now: propriety, wealth and importance. And just like this crumbling, rotting building; this is what would become of Jace's home. The image he cherished so much would be nothing but a passing memory.

"I mean, who wants to be forgotten right?"

She was right about it all. He had nothing and he thought he held the world.

And then he had; he'd held Clary's heart but soon that would crease to exist too.

A bullet of sorrow shot through his chest making him clench a fist against his drenched t-shirt and stumble. His tears mixed into that of the falling rain as he ran onward. Not stopping until he reached the lit porch steps as if having been waiting for him the whole time.

His fist knocked erratically on the door frame making it cave from his power as he continued to bang. He didn't stop until the door swung open sharply as if the person on the other side was aggravated by the noise.

"I told you I was coming!" Isabelle stopped her yelling as she watched as the boy, she had always thought of as a second brother, stood before her looking like a shivering, sobbing mess. His eyes were puffy and red and his nose blotchy. His bottom lip quivered as he bit it and Isabelle had to close her eyes against the pain she saw in his.

"Isabelle, who is—" Alec stopped mid sentence as he stared at the figure in the doorway. His eyes blinking as he watched Kingsley's "Golden Boy" break. As the mayor's son was reduced to nothing but a sniffling mess of the boy he used to know.

"Darling?" Magnus yelled as he stopped too; curiously inquiring who the boy was who stood in the doorway. His arm fell over Alec's shoulder naturally but Jace gave no notice; he didn't care truly. He couldn't feel anything but numbness now anyway. Numbness and blistering pain.

There was another silence; one that was filled with everything and yet nothing all at once. Isabelle sighed heartfully as she opened her warm brown eyes and took in the boy she would always, no matter what, call family. "She told you, didn't she?"

Magnus and Alec both gave a gasp as Magnus's hold around Alec's shoulders tightened as if in anticipation. Jace was quiet a moment before taking a shuttering breath that broke him down once again as a sob broke through his chest as he nodded.

"Oh, Jace." Isabelle sighed, just as he had said to Clary not so long ago. She opened the door wider and her arms, also, opened willingly as Jace fell right into them. His head at the cock of her neck and his tears wetting the hair that cascaded down her chest; she stroked his hair lightly as she hushed him. Alec, as if being pulled by some unknown thread, walked forward and wrapped his arms around Jace too. Sinking with them as they sat upon the floor and holding onto each other like a life line.

"Isabelle! Alec! Did anyone see who was at the—Oh!" Maryse said with a gasp as she watched the sniffling boy that was wrapped in her children's arms; the same boy she had tucked in at night and sang to. The same boy that had sat around their tree at Christmas and the same one that had lead prayer during Thanksgiving. The boy they cherished.

Their Jace had come home.

But at what cost?

Maryse sighed before straightening her shirt. "Why don't I go make you some tea?"

They had held me all though the night; even after the sun had set and the moon had risen. Isabelle held me tight and stroked my hair, whispering soft things that I had used to whisper to her when she had a bad dream. It was fitting; being with them when I cried. Because this was the real me, in my real home, with my real family.

The boy that the Lightwood's raised; I never deserved their love but Clary gave me some knowledge that I could.

And after Maryse had made me sip tea before whisking me off to the spare bedroom that had always been mine, she tucked me in tight and kissed my forehead before sitting right down beside me and sang me the lullaby she had always used to. As if I had never left; as if I hadn't hurt her son beyond belief only a year ago. As if I fit right in like a perfectly placed puzzle piece.

Clary had saved me.

And so, that night as I lay and listen to Maryse's soft, crisp voice singing to me in another language, I made a decision. Since Clary had saved me.

I would do the same in return.

I would save her.

So you know Clary's secret now.

And Jace likes her a lot

Will Clary return the feelings regardless of how short their story is?

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