Merely Tolerable

The Oregon sky was overcast and gloomy as I sat outside on the front porch of my apartment. Cold air skittered across my bare legs in my brown pleather skirt, making me bristle under my cream colored sweater.

I was proud of myself for getting out of bed this morning. Last night, I had an excuse written up and practiced my sad face in the mirror in preparation to try to convince my dad to let me quit, but I was feeling strangely confident today. I seemed to have talked myself into the thought that maybe the more I inconvenience the detective, the more cases he'll toss my way to keep me quiet. That was my mission for the day.

My dads black SUV pulled up just as I was tamping out a joint on the railing beside me. I tossed the remaining bit into its metal container and slung it into my backpack before skipping down the stairs.

"Hey, dad," I grunted as I swung myself up into the passenger seat.

"Hello, my love. I didn't get a chance to ask yesterday—how did things go with the detective?" He started driving again with his eyes on the road, thank god because he could probably see through my incoming lies. Yesterday, if he hadn't been called on an impromptu mission at the end of the day, I probably would've told him the truth—that the detective was a brute and doesn't give me cases. But I was determined to change that myself.

"Good—great, actually. He's really putting me to work," that technically wasn't a lie, I was working hard to get access to more work and I'd be damned if I was going to let the detective win the war.

"Well, that's surprising," he mumbled in disbelief. "I could've swore he was going to make that transition more difficult." He wasn't wrong in the slightest there.

"Yeah, super good. I think we get along great." Definitely a lie. We would have a moment or two where we got along, but for the most part we clashed like fire and ice—or like two people who have built walls around themselves over the span of a few years.

"He's a good kid, just gets a little reckless sometimes. And I know he's a hothead when it comes to not knowing things, but can you maybe not mention…" he trailed off with a deep grimace.

Ah, of course. The Burden.

"Yeah, sure thing," I said lightheartedly, throwing him a reassuring smile.

"I'm doing much better now, I don't feel the urge anymore." He was hopeful, finally determined to change, but a nagging thought at the back of my mind wondered how long this time would last.

"That's great, dad. I'm really proud of you." I grabbed his hand between mine and gave it a squeeze, earning a grateful smile from the man across from me.

The precinct stood in the light of the sunset, casting a large stretch of shadow over the entire lot that dimmed the inside of the SUV as we approached. We were early—a whole hour early. I wasn't surprised though, my dad has always been punctual to the extreme because my mother had been the exact opposite. You know what they say about old habits.

But a perk about waking up so early was that I didn't see the detective's car in the lot.

I hopped out from the passenger seat just as my dad slid from his own. "Hey, dad, you wouldn't happen to have an extra key for the office, would you?"

He raised a curious brow as I followed behind him through the lobby. "I do, but I'm afraid letting you keep it would be a complaint waiting to be filed from the detective himself."

"No, no, he loves me. Plus, it'll get me out of your hair an hour early this morning," I reasoned, tugging on his sleeved arm as we stepped into the elevator.

"Fine," he sighed, plucking a key from his large key ring and placing it in my palm. "If this backfires on me I'll make you sleep a night in a cell."

I bounced on the balls of my feet with the key wrapped in my fingers. "Thanks, dad," I called while he stepped out onto the second floor.

After a trek, the office door stood in front of me, taunting me as if to say, 'are you sure about this?' and I could practically hear the detective's sultry, menacing voice teasing, 'I dare you.' With a confident turn of the key and a wide victorious step, I had successfully gained access to any file I wanted.

Like a giddy child, I skipped over to the file cabinet below his desk and plopped onto my knees. The drawer slid open smoothly and I could've swore golden rays of angelic light beamed from between each file.

Then a stray thought made me snap it shut.

What would happen if I did this? What if he sees these unsolved cases as his failures? Maybe that's why he gave me one from the 50's, he couldn't be blamed for not solving that one. Or he's just a power hungry prick which was also just as likely.

I opened it again and reached for a file—

Then closed it again.

Well, what if he takes it extremely personally? Like an invasion of privacy? I mean, I don't really know what he's capable of. This could make him go psycho. I also had to realize that I'm not the detective here, this is his domain and crossing into it without permission might be seen as blatant disrespect. I don't disrespect him—the opposite actually, he's a great detective, but I do like watching his face twist in irritation from something petty that I did to antagonize him.

Compromise.

Maybe I could find my mothers file…I am next of kin, after all.

Before I could decide, I heard the jingling of keys from down the hall. I quickly crawled up into Jace's office chair and did a few slow spins in an attempt to look natural despite my heaving breaths to calm my thumping heart. Not a second later, he opened the door, took one last look up and down the hallway, then shut it with his back turned.

Fuck, he was early by more than a half hour. Didn't he say 7 o'clock?

He didn't move from where he stood with his back toward me. Instead, he braced an arm over his head and leaned his forehead against the wood. His chest inhaled and exhaled slowly. A hand fished through his jacket pocket and brought whatever it was up to his mouth.

He finally turned after a moment, and froze when he saw me. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm just sitting, waiting for you." I twisted my hands in my lap, suddenly a little nervous that I just witnessed something that was certainly private.

"You're going through my files," he assumed, stalking forward in his boots.

"No." I wasn't feeling very confident in my plan to snag a few files and let him simply be irritated by it anymore when it's clear that he's ready to kill me just based on accusation alone. He came around the side of the desk, taking in my full form on his chair before the analytical eyes stopped at my reddened knees.

"Either you went through my stuff or somebody had a very enjoyable morning." He stepped toward me until our knees brushed, a rough hand snatching my jaw in its palm to force me to look up at him.

God, what was worse? Getting caught for invasion of privacy or lying about giving a guy a quickie in a closet somewhere? Not that he would even believe the latter if I spewed it convincingly.

"I was going through the books on the bottom shelves before you came in," I retorted more confidently than I felt.

"Oh yeah? Name three books."

"What are we? Twelve?"

He growled and gripped my chin a little firmer, but I had to admit that I didn't hate it. I almost wanted to defy him, maybe annoy him enough to get him to try other things—god, where did all of this sexual tension come from? I had to focus for a moment to remember the mental image of the shelf and its contents from yesterday, clinging onto the hope that there was a chance I could walk myself out of this.

"Dracula, Lord of the Flies, and 1984," I listed without the wobble that wanted to come out. "I noticed you keep the bottom shelf alphabetized in its own system apart from the rest, my guess is those are the books that helped mold the person you are today regardless of law and order. Isn't that right, detective?" A risky ploy, but I had to try.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "Bold assumption."

"It only makes sense. Dracula was a loner that fought against good as an evil entity simply because of his nature, Lord of the Flies taught you that humans—by nature—are savages that are only contained by societal standards, and 1984 warned of the dangers of letting the government have total control. So, what? Do you see yourself as a lonely monster that is only contained by your position as a detective? Or even better, do you see yourself as a monster because of your position as detective?"

His fingers tightened and I bit back a gasp. "Impressive, princess, trying to interrogate a professional."

"Look, I gave you the names—"

"And frustrated me along the way—"

"So can you stop manhandling me now?" I finished.

A dark look crossed over his face. "I think it looks good on you."

"Jace," I hissed incredulously with flaming cheeks and a shameful pulse between my thighs. He broke out of his trance with a few blinks and let me go.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—uh, I didn't get much sleep last night," the string of words came out nervously in a sort of half apology. Whatever angry, irritated, possibly even sexual tension, that had vibrated between us had dissipated for the time being as I shifted in the seat.

My fingers found a stray string on my sleeve cuff as I stared at my lap, "It's fine." I looked up to see him pop something into his mouth again. "What is that?" I was afraid that it was going to be pills that he double fists every hour like Dr. House on TV.

He smirked and got close enough again with his jacket pocket opened to invite my hand in. I looked at him cautiously and noted the way he watched me, like he was testing me. I set my hand in the pocket and felt nothing but silky polyester lining. I looked up in confusion at his smug expression until he grabbed my hand and guided it into a hidden opening for a secret pocket behind the pocket. There, I felt a handful of tiny cold stones roll against my fingers. I pinched a couple and drew them from the pocket.

In my palm were a couple M 's. "Candy? You've been eating pocket candy for two days now?"

He leaned back against his desk beside me with an analyzing gaze. "Well, technically for 56 days now."

"Oh." My chest felt funny, like I didn't know how to respond to what he was insinuating. "What were you quitting?"

He chewed the inside of his cheeks, almost as if he was deciding whether or not he wanted to tell me. The hesitation made sense, since I had just picked apart a deep fragment of this character like it was easily decipherable when it really was just a wild guess based on book reports I had done in high school. Though, it seemed like I was on the right track—and I was unsure how to feel about it.

"Cigarettes," he said finally. "I got pretty bad with chain smoking. Whenever I get a craving, I eat a candy and I've done it enough times now to where it satiates the urge."

"Sounds like now you may have an addiction to sugar," I commented.

He threw his head back and groaned guiltily, "Goddamn I do have a pretty gnarly sweet tooth." The way he was relaxed at that moment made me shiver. He still appeared deadly, even with the muscles of his shoulders being loose. The white grin displayed two slightly crooked canine teeth, making them appear sharper. It almost startled me, but instead, enticed me to memorize it.

I must've gotten caught staring because he closed his lips and sat up from the desk. "Alright, you're getting evicted. Scoot." He waved me off to the chair on the other side of the desk.

I did a lazy spin. "But dad said we have to share," I mocked like a small sibling child. In my rotation, I saw he glared at me in annoyance, then another turn showed him to be gone. I stopped and sat up to see the door wide open, then the sound of rolling wheels came up the hallway until the object was in the doorframe. A black swivel chair was being pushed along the carpet in the detective's hands and stopped at the left end of the desk. "Your ass, this chair. Make it happen." He pointed to me, then the chair.

"Give me a different case and I will," I challenged.

"Nice attempt. Chair, sit, now."

I bit my lip in thought for a moment. "Okay, fine, you win. But can I at least see my—Jocelyn Fairchild's file?"

He looked taken aback and almost ashen as he stood straight and scratched the back of his head. "I don't have that file."

"Bullshit," I countered, a little bit of anger tugged at me. "I'm next of kin, I have the right to see."

"No," he barked. His voice cracked through the room like a whip, making me jump and swallow past a lump in my throat. He sighed. "The images in that file will torture you for the rest of your life. So, just drop it before I burn it."

I knew he was right. I had only been told of what my mother had done to those seven—possibly more—people all those years ago. But admitting that he was right wasn't something I was willing to do aloud. "Whatever," I grumbled and stood from his chair.

"Good." He clapped his hands together once in satisfaction and motioned for me to sit in the new chair but I only glared down at it. "Go on," he urged.

"I'm gonna go explore," I said, striding around the desk to the door.

"What?" he asked incredulously. "We're working, sit down."

I checked my watch. "It's not 7 o'clock yet, detective. I have half an hour." I stepped out the open door and wandered the halls, leaving a gaping control freak behind.

My Converse only made soft padding sounds as I tiptoed through the cellblock. Iron bars stretched around the whole room with walls of bars separating the space into five cells on each building wall. Every cell housed a couple beds, a toilet, and a sink. I grimaced at the thought of how uncomfortable it would be to have to use the bathroom in front of everybody.

The only person in jail at the moment was a thin, long haired man who woke with a stretch in his t-shirt that said Sublime in yellow letters and baggy jeans with holes in the knees. His beard was scruffy as well from several days of no shaving. I sat on the metal bench in the center of the room straight across from his cell.

"Hi," I greeted.

He blinked a few times at me with a bewildered expression. "Hey," he finally answered warily.

"What are you in for?" I swung my legs.

"You mean this isn't a hotel?" he asked in faux confusion and took a look around the small cell.

I offered him a laugh. "If it was, it would have one star for customer service and five stars for security."

"Ah, I guess you're right, I do feel pretty safe."

"So?" I pressed.

He sucked his teeth. "I got into it with a buddy of mine in the middle of the road just as a cop rolled up. Full wrestling on the tarmac. Dude booked it, so I was the one that got arrested and tossed in here for the night."

"What did you fight about?"

He chuckled and picked at the frayed edges of the holes in his jeans. "Something dumb I'm sure. I'll see him later and we'll have a good laugh about it."

I shook my head in disbelief. "You're willing to forgive him? You're literally in jail because of him."

A wave of his hand dismissed the notion. "Ah, friends fight. Sometimes that's how people show that they care." He gave a half shrug. "We can fight until we're bruised and bloody but at the end of the day we have each other's backs, always."

Well, geez. I didn't mean to come down here and learn words of wisdom from a wizard-looking man in a cell. But I did take his words into consideration with the situation going on between the detective and I. He told me himself that he couldn't give me my mother's file because of its disturbing content, maybe that was his way of showing he cared at least a little bit for my mental health. Not to mention we seemed to fight a lot yesterday, but he still had my back when he asked me to text him the moment I got home. We gave each other Hell all day, yet he still cared enough to check.

"So am I in purgatory or somethin'? What's a sweet thing like you doing in a hellhole like this?" he asked when I had gone quiet from my mental chokehold.

"Just avoiding going to work," I sighed and checked my watch. I had about ten minutes before I was sure the detective would come looking for me.

"Amen to that," he mumbled.

My hands dug through my backpack to my metal container and pulled out the remaining joint I hadn't finished earlier. I stood and slipped it through the bars as payment for his wisdom. "Well, godspeed, wizard man. I'll see you around."

He gave a grateful nod and tucked the butt behind his ear with a wink thrown my way.

I was mature enough to admit that I was trudging my feet as if I was walking through fresh concrete in an attempt to avoid the office for a few minutes longer. The wise man's words had sunk in like a seed in soil, making my resentment for Jace's secrecy cool my blood to a low simmer, if even. I could feel myself gripping onto the remaining tendril of feminine rage slightly, but I knew that was only because I was stubborn and wanted to stand my ground.

The office blinds were drawn closed as I passed the windows and nearly rounded the doorframe when I was struck hard from the front by a fast force. With a yelp, I fell backward onto my ass and instinctively cupped my hands around my nose to make sure it wasn't broken. It stung a little but wasn't sitting sideways or bleeding onto my sweater.

"Oh, fuck, Clary I'm so sorry," Jace said quickly and crouched to scoop me up under my arms back onto my wobbly feet. I clutched his jacket sleeve in one hand while I worked to get back my equilibrium, my fingernails biting into the black leather. He kept his arms cautiously extended around my torso in case I toppled over again—which was a very great possibility.

"Where's the fire, detective?" I wiped under my nose with my free hand to ensure no sudden blood loss could taint my top.

He relaxed his arms, tugging the sleeve out of my grip. "I went to go look for you, you're late." The cold, controlling tone was back and hit me with more force than his chest to my nose.

I rolled my eyes. "I would've been on time if a brick wall hadn't clocked me on my way in." The time on my watch displayed 7:01am between us, proving my point.

"Okay, alright, I'm sorry," he uttered sincerely. The way he said it made me feel as if the apology was deeper, like maybe he was also apologizing for fighting with me earlier. I was surprised if that was the case.

My hands found my back pockets at the same time I nodded in acceptance. "Day two of the rest of our lives," I breathed and sidestepped around him into the office that was mine but wasn't. I plopped down into the upholstered guest chair farthest from Jace as I could, still feeling bitter that today was bound to be a repeat of yesterday despite my previous intentions of bothering him enough to give me cases.

He watched my avoidance with his hands in his jacket pockets before palming candy into his mouth. A puff sounded through the room as he plopped lazily into his chair, rough fingers laced behind his head. "I have a case for you."

I perked up. "Really?"

A single nod was confirmation. "It's nothing special, just a case that went cold a couple years back, maybe you will see something that I didn't. Consider it a token for coming back to deal with me today." He picked up the manilla file that was sitting atop his desk and met my eyes as he placed it in front of the extra swivel chair beside him.

The silent request was loud, beckoning me to sit close to him—either because he wanted the company or because he wanted to keep an eye on my progress. Considering he didn't seem to tolerate me that much, I suspected it was only the latter.

I held back my excitement by slowly making my way to the chair. He analyzed me the entire time with a smirk, as if he was satisfied with himself for giving such a charitable donation. I sat and lifted the flap of the folder by two fingers before setting it down in false disinterest, the smirk fell from his face.

"If you don't want it, I'll gladly take it back," he bit with the ghost of a sneer.

I stifled a smile, knowing my reaction isn't what he was hoping for. "Oh, I want it. Did you think I would get on my knees and kiss your boots in gratitude?"

His gold eyes raked down my body and the smug expression came back. "I wouldn't mind."

My cheeks flared and I rolled my eyes before pasting them to the file. I cracked it open and scanned the abundance of pages. The summary of the case stated that on February 23rd, 2010, a girl named Malorie Curtis was found butchered in her home. Her body was found by her younger brother, Justice. He went on record to say that he was at the theaters watching the popular new movie, Prognosis Negative. When he returned home two and a half hours later, he found Malorie and called the police. There is a note here saying that he was incredibly distraught during the phone call with dispatch.

I laughed to myself.

"I didn't think you'd laugh at an unsolved murder," he mumbled into his computer screen.

"This murder has been solved, detective." I scanned the pages to ensure I was correct.

"What?" He slid over next to me and looked at the file. Warmth wafted from his side as well as a wave of chocolate. "No, they didn't have any suspects. They thought she had a secret boyfriend that nobody knew about so it went cold."

"Do you watch movies? Or better yet—have you seen Prognosis Negative? Came out in 2009?" I turned my head to look at him, his brows furrowed at the pages in my hands.

"No, the hype was shoved too far down my throat."

"Well, it says here that Justice left for the movie that started at 10:30am, then came home at 1pm to find Malorie in the kitchen in a bloody heap."

"Okaaaay," he drawled, making me get to the point.

I sighed. "He never went to the movie, because he was killing his sister."

"You can't just make assumptions and hope they go somewhere—"

"The movie is three hours long—without pre-show advertisements. This says he was there for two and a half, take travel into consideration—that's only two hours that he was gone. Unless he left the movie early midway through the ending, he killed his sister." The words had barely left my lips when he reached out and snatched the folder from my hands, frantically running his eyes over the pages.

"Three hours? 2009? And you just happen to know—" I cut off his sentence with a deadpan stare, not wanting to verbally rehash the same disagreement we had yesterday. "Right," he finished.

I slumped back against my chair. "Three hours is an eternity of time for someone like me. When I watched that movie I couldn't sit still in that clunky chair for that long. Drove my parents crazy."

He ran his tongue over his sharp teeth, watching me but his eyes were hazed over like he was internally clicking the clues into place. "God dammit," he finally cursed and stood from the chair in a beeline for the door.

I sat up straight. "Wait, where are you…" my voice trailed off as his form completely disappeared down the hallway.