Hi, I finally uploaded again! And it's kind of a whopper of a chapter, so sorry about the length... heh heh... guess I got carried away;)

This story's setting is based off a book I read recently about NY in the 1920s-30s. And as for the plot - what to expect: Clary on the run, Sebastian being an evil prick, Clary being distraught, an inside view of Jace's apartment, and Jace being a beautiful and caring person.

So... yah. Thanks for reading, enjoy! Hope it's been a chill few months xx

- s.i

Clary

New York is freezing this time of year. Fingers of mist curl around the lampposts and get in the gaps between my jacket and my skin. My breath fogs up the air, and I can imagine the cold coming from deep inside me - spreading through my veins and into my thoughts.

I walk fast, nearly running. Not letting my slowly numbing feet waver, stumbling and gritting my teeth but never stopping.

I couldn't stop, even if I wanted to. After what I've just done.

I hear heavy steps in the distance behind me and break into a run, instinct overpowering thoughts.

His voice calls out into the nearly empty street. "Get back here - ungrateful bitch!" It's an ugly drawl, angry but not desperate - like he knows he'll catch up to me eventually.

But this city is big and full of places to hide. And my feet aren't fully numb yet.

There's bigger streets coming up - maybe I can get lost in the crowd there. Sebastian wouldn't make a scene with the blinking lights and partygoers, he's too big a name for that. I can see him smirking at me in my mind, slick and oily eyes making my feet falter.

You can't run, Clary darling. You can't hide from me.

A sob builds its way up my throat, making it harder to breathe. I have to make it, I have to -

"Clarissa!" the steps far behind me have broken into a run, and I know he's seen me in the distance. Furious tears blur my vision as I push faster - faster -

And slam into someone so hard I see stars.

"Whoa there - you okay?" someone's got their hands on my shoulders, supporting me. I try to blink back the tears, struggling to calm my breath as I look up.

It's a boy. About my age. I can't make out much of his face in the darkness, but a lamppost nearby catches his hear and lights it in a fiery gold.

My first, irrational thought is that he's someone Sebastian sent after me, and I push away.

"Hey there, I'm sorry." The boy doesn't understand, grabbing for my shoulder again. "I should have seen you coming." He grins at me. "Although, at the speed you were going, miss - you can't blame me."

I stare at him for a moment, and then try to push past again. Let go of me, please let me go.

But the boy's grip tightens, and as I turn I can see that he's staring into the distance behind me.

Behind me, where Sebastian's footsteps are getting louder. "Clarissa, for the love of God, just give up!" He's panting now, voice furious.

I don't realise that I'm shaking until the boy standing with me lets go of my shoulder and touches my arm. "Is he after you?"

The kindness takes me by surprise - street boys around here are rough with people like me. They'll take your money at best - other things at worst.

But with this boy's voice, all the fight seems to drain out of me. Breathing in feels like pulling shards of glass into my throat. Tears are sticking to my face, frozen. My feet feel like they're on fire.

"Please," I whisper, wondering if I would even be able to stand if his hand wasn't on my arm. "Please help me."

And he seems to understand.

Jace

It's hard to see clearly at this time of night, but the lamplight shows a shard of the girl's face - big, vividly green eyes, tears caught in her lashes. She looks so young.

"Come with me," I say, taking her hand. What the hell am I doing? "I know a place."

The mist is swirling in thicker, hopefully shielding us from whoever the hell is chasing after this girl. I tug her along the street, trying to be gentle without slowing down. Just a bit further.

Even knowing that the alleyway's here, I nearly rush past it before realising. I change direction fast, the girl running with me. The place is a sooty black, uneven cobblestones and damp walls. Someone's dumped a pile of boxes and junk down the side, and I pull the girl behind them. Not a great cover, but the best on hand.

She lets me pull her next to me against the wall, turning my body as a kind of shield against the open street. It's too dark to make out her face, but I can feel her heartbeat hammering against my chest. She's trying to control her breathing, mouth pressed against her arm to quieten the sound.

It's silent expect for that, and the quiet dripping of a leaky pipe somewhere further down. And then, just as I'm getting restless, footsteps.

Running feet, and harsh breathing from the street. I don't look over my shoulder, just wrap one arm tightly around the girl, feeling her shaking slightly against me.

It was too much to hope that the pursuer, whoever he is, would go straight past. The running stops at the corner of the alleyway. A rustling noise, and then a beam of light illuminates the opposite wall.

A torch. That he'll flick to the pile of junk at any second, and to us behind it.

I can't let that happen.

So I wrap my arms tightly around the girl, moving her back against the wall so I'm blocking her from view. Then I put my mouth close to her ear, and whisper, "just play on, okay?"

Her breathing sharpens, but I feel her nod slightly. Then I lean forwards and brush my lips against hers. It's barely a kiss - but it should look like it from afar. Like a drunk couple stealing time alone in the darkness. It's common in the alleys around here.

Torch light flashes nearby us, over us, and then quickly away.

Is this working? I don't want to scare this girl - seems like she's had enough to be scared of already. Her lips are freezing against mine, but she doesn't pull away. I can feel her pulse going frantically fast. I think mine is the same, but I can't tell our heartbeats apart.

Footsteps scuff against the cobbles, then silence - long enough to make me worry. Finally, the torchlight flickers off. And whoever it is starts moving again, speeding up into a run. Heading towards the main streets.

I count ten seconds, slowly, before pulling away. "Are you alright?"

The girl stays leaning against the wall, and I can see her shaking again. I shrug off my jacket and hold it out. She doesn't move, but doesn't object either.

I carefully drape it over her shoulders, letting the arms hang. The jacket's far too big for her small frame. It swamps her like a blanket, but it should keep her warm.

We stand like that for a few minutes, me listening to her breathing slow. Then finally I say, "I'm going to take you to my place, okay? We need to get out of the cold."

"Okay," she says quietly, looking down at her shoes.

I hold out my hand, and to my surprise, she takes it. We walk down the alleyway and end up on another street, which I follow up to the corner. The girl's eyes take in the block of apartments and she looks over at me.

"I live on the third floor," I say. "It's not much, but it's warm."

She doesn't object, so I lead her up the stairs - which hurt like hell after the numbing cold outside - and we finally reach my door.

I let go of her hand to fumble for my keys, and she lets it drop to her side. When the door swings open, I throw my keys onto the counter with a jangle that makes her flinch. But she follows me in anyway.

Clary

The boy was right - his place isn't much. It's small, cramped for his tall frame, and the walls are cracked and peeling.

But looking around, I see the care he's taken to arrange the place in a homely way. The kitchen area is neat and swept clean, pictures and photo frames decorate the halls, and I spot a kind of beaten up piano in the next room - sheet music stacked on top of the keys.

I know the boy is watching me look around, and I self-consciously wrap his jacket tighter around myself. It smells like New York - smoke and cold, salty air.

He clears his throat. "There's a telephone downstairs, and a bathroom just through there." He points past the piano. "I'm going to make drinks - tea or coffee?"

"Coffee, please," I say gratefully.

He grins. "Well chosen. Won't be long."

I go to find the bathroom as he moves over to the kitchen counter. The room with the piano is actually the boy's bedroom - which makes me freeze from the impropriety.

It's a neat place, I notice dimly. I expected boys his age to be messier, but the bed is made and the floor is clean from clothes. A rather dented bookshelf leans against one wall, and a window opens out to show the New York skyline.

My eyes sweep back over to the bed and my face starts to burn. I'm standing in this boy's bedroom. I kissed this boy. I don't even know this boy's name.

I'm almost running as I move to the bathroom, and my hands are shaking as I shut the door behind me. There's a sink with a mirror and I step towards it numbly, staring at my reflection. Messy hair, blue and tearstained cheeks, liquid eyes.

I splash water over my face, wincing as the cold hits my burned-numb skin. I scrub at my eyes furiously until it looks less like I've been crying. Then I unpin my hair and drag my fingers through the red mess over and over until it straightens out.

Then I stand there, unwilling to move. The smell of coffee wafts past the closed door, and I shut my eyes, wondering what the hell I've gotten myself into.

Surely boys who keep books and pianos in their rooms aren't bad, right? It's not like I have anywhere else to go, anyone else to call.

With that, I straighten my shoulders and turn to leave, not meeting my reflection in the eyes.

In the kitchen, the boy has laid out two steaming mugs. He looks up as I walk in, and then back down.

I pull up a stool and accept the mug gratefully. It's sweeter coffee than I usually have, but it's hot and it's caffeine.

The boy disappears for a moment and returns with blankets. "Still freezing," he mutters, handing me one and draping the other one around himself. I do the same, but I keep his jacket on. He doesn't seem to mind.

The boy waits until I'm halfway through my coffee before saying, "I don't believe we've been introduced properly, miss. I'm Jace - Jace Herondale."

I have to meet his eyes then, and I'm surprised. I couldn't see much in the darkness before apart his blond hair, but now I can see his eyes are almost the exact same colour - just a few shades darker. He has lovely high cheekbones, flushed from the sudden warmth of the apartment, and a perfect bow of a mouth that makes me look away before I can think about how it felt against mine.

I think he's studying me the same way as I say quietly, "I'm Clarissa Morgenstern. Most people call me Clary."

"He called you Clarissa," the boy - Jace - says quietly. There's no need to ask who he's talking about.

I look down into my coffee mug. "He knows I hate it."

We're both silent for a moment. I can tell Jace wants to know more, but I'm not sure I'm ready for an explanation and he doesn't push it.

Finally, he says, "you can stay here as long as you need, Clary. I know - " he laughs quietly, "I know this isn't exactly proper. I do have a friend Isabelle - if you'd rather… I mean, if you'd rather stay with a girl, we can figure that out tomorrow maybe. Or if there's anyone else…?"

I can think of only one person. "There's no one else."

There's a pause. "Okay," he says finally. "That's okay."

Jace

She's staring down into her mug, fingers tracing the handle over and over. I want her to look up, to meet my eyes, but she doesn't. Her eyelashes flutter every so often - they're darker than her hair, which is much redder than it looked outside.

Carefully, so I don't spook Clary, I reach my hand over and touch her fingers where they're worrying away at the mug handle. She stops instantly, letting me slip my hand into hers. Her skin is cold.

"I'm going to sleep on the couch, okay?" I say softly. "The bed's yours for as long as you need it."

A blush tinges her cheeks. "I - I'm sorry, Jace. This is so stupid. I don't know what I was thinking."

I squeeze her hand. "Hey, it's not stupid. From what I saw, I think you made a damn good decision."

She smiles slightly at that, and I'm relieved. We stay like that until she finishes her coffee, and she holds my hand like it's a lifeline.

Afterwards, Clary helps me change the sheets and pillows on my bed, which she insists doesn't matter but I ignore.

I'm also trying to ignore my slightly fast heartbeat. I wouldn't pretend that girls haven't been at my apartment before, but usually not in my room - it's my private place and I'm not used to seeing anyone else in here.

Clary is hard to ignore. Even the way she's curled into herself, not saying much, keeps drawing my eyes towards her. Wondering what she's thinking, if she's okay.

I dig around in my dresser, and make a face as I hold up a plain white work shirt. "Do you want anything to change into?"

Clary flushes again. "Uh - " she stares at the shirt, "sure… if you don't mind?"

"It's fine," I say, tossing her the shirt. "I don't know about pants though - most of mine are for work."

Clary smiles as she holds the shirt up to herself. "I don't need pants."

"You - what?" If I was the kind of person who blushed, I would be now.

Clary gestures at the shirt, which goes down past her thighs. "It's basically a dress on me."

The fact that she's smiling makes something in my chest tighten protectively. "You're truly the epitome of fashion, Miss Morgenstern."

The sound of her last name makes Clary stiffen slightly, but she hides it well. "I'm going to go change in the bathroom," she says, looking up at me.

"Take your time," I say quickly. "I'm just going to set up the couch."

Which ends up taking two seconds in the living room, before I'm left with nothing to do. The seconds seem to drag by. I can hear the bathroom tap running - it's been going for a while now and I'm wondering if she's okay.

Just as I'm considering knocking on the door, Clary opens it. For a split second, I think she's been crying, then I realise that she's just washed her face.

My shirt is one of the usual work ones - it has a collar and buttons and was always too big for me. It nearly comes down to Clary's knees and looks so ridiculously attractive on her that I have to look away. Now is really, really not the time.

She gives me an awkward smile like she somehow knows what I'm thinking - please let her not be a mind reader - and says, "I'm going to go to bed, if that's okay."

"Of course," I reply, leaning against the bedroom doorframe. "Call if you need anything, okay? I'll be in the living room."

She gives another tight smile. I can tell she wants to be alone, so I sputter out a goodbye before leaving. Every step down the hall feels too loud. I wish I'd said something else - but there was nothing for me to say.

Whatever Clary's running from, she needs to figure it out.

There's nothing better for me to do, so I collapse dramatically onto the couch - if anyone had been in the room watching they would have clapped for the performance - and shut my eyes, trying not to think about alleyways and red hair and oversized white shirts.

I must have drifted off sometime, because I wake suddenly, disorientated. My shoes are still on - why the hell am I sleeping on the couch?

Clary flashes into my mind and I sit up, blinking away sleep. The place is dark, the shadows have changed on the walls. Likely a few hours have passed.

Something woke me but it's hard to imagine what. The place is silent, just the sound of wind and occasional traffic from below. I stay sitting up, listening.

Bedsprings creaking. That's what's different. My apartment's small - none of the rooms are really that soundproof.

It's probably just Clary stirring in her sleep, but there's an uneasy kind of feeling in the air. I stand up, quietly, feeling my way down the hallway.

The bedroom door is ajar, and I pause. There's a sound coming from the room, and it takes me a moment to place it - the muffled sounds of someone trying not to cry.

Just give her space, the rational part of my brain says immediately. Stay the hell out of this, Jace.

And then I think, screw it, and push the door open before I change my mind.

Clary

Jace had been a good companion - somehow, he'd kept me distracted enough that I could block out serious thoughts about what I'd done.

Now, alone in an unfamiliar bed that smells like him, I lie looking out the dark window - wondering where the hell in New York City I'm supposed to go. What semblance of a life can I pull together after tonight? I've cut all my ties and now I'm adrift, in a city famous for the people who've slipped through the cracks.

I hate crying, hate feeling pathetic like this. I press my hands against my eyes, trying to hold the tears in. The salt stings my eyes.

You brought this upon yourself, Clarissa, I can hear Sebastian saying, almost as if he's in the room with me. Smiling down at me, fingers stretching out.

When the bedroom door creaks open, for a stupid second I think it really is him. And I'm frozen until I hear Jace's cautious voice - "Clary? Are you okay?"

Then I sit up, pulling the blankets up to my neck almost unconsciously. He pauses in the doorway, looking at the floor instead of me. "You can tell me to leave, I just - "

But I don't want to be alone. "Please stay," I say quietly, relieved to hear my voice is steady.

He looks up at that, the sky through the window tinting his blond hair deep blue. I wish I had my paints with me - I could mix that colour with enough time. But my paints are back home, with everything else I've left behind.

I pat a space beside me, and after a moment's hesitation Jace comes over. His eyes don't leave my face as he sits down on the edge of the bed. The last of my tears are easier to blink away.

"I think I owe you an explanation," I say quietly after a moment.

"You don't owe me anything," he replies.

This boy is one-in-a-million, I think. "You're right. But I want to tell you anyway."

Jace

"His name is Sebastian," Clary says softly, looking down at the blankets instead of meeting my eyes. "Sebastian Verlac."

I blink at that. "Verlac... he's the son of that newspaper CEO, isn't he?"

Clary nods, smiling without humour. "Yes, and he's going to inherit a lot of money. He's also supposed to be my fiancé."

She doesn't see me stiffen slightly, just keeps looking down and worrying at the blankets with her fingers. She has artist's hands, I think. Long and graceful. I wonder if she draws or paints.

But I don't know her - so I really have no idea.

"My father," Clary says after a moment, "he was the one who pushed me into it. We've been losing money fast ever since - ever since we left my mother."

"Left her?" I ask quietly, when she doesn't continue.

Clary bites her lip, which draws my attention for all the wrong reasons. I look away.

"I was young, then," she says. "My parents fought all the time, I can't remember why. One day, my father took me and moved away. I had no idea what was happening at the time, and I never saw her again."

"Was your old place in New York, too?" I ask.

Clary nods. "I remember the house - I snuck back there, once. My mother was gone, and no one could tell me where. I don't know if she's even in the same country. She could be anywhere in the world."

I can tell by the flat way she says it that Clary's resigned herself to the fact that she'll never find her mother. But surely there's a way, I think. Surely someone would have a record of where she went.

"But that's off topic," Clary says quickly, after a pause. "The point is, my father was never the same. Our money trickled away, until he was important in name only. Someone invited us once to a ball - out of pity, I assume - and I met Sebastian there."

Her fingers curl into the fabric. "I caught his eye." She smiles bitterly. "My father told me to accept all his invitations afterwards, and I did. I tried not to think about what I was doing."

Clary lets go of the blankets, finally, and wraps her arms around herself like she's cold. "Until… he proposed to me tonight."

I want to see her expression, but she doesn't look up. "What did you say?" I ask.

"I didn't," Clary says. Her voice comes out like a whisper. "I just stood there, wondering what was more important - my father's life or mine. And he - and he - "

She stops, dropping her arms. Then I see what I hadn't before, when it was covered up first under my jacket and then under the blankets. A purple-red bruise blossoming on the side of her neck like a dark flower.

I clench my teeth, but stay quiet. Finally Clary says, "Sebastian didn't seem to care what I said. He'd just decided I was his. He started - " she breaks off, cheeks flaming. "He tried to take advantage of me."

The way she says it, numbly, makes me shiver. I want to kill him.

Clary puts her face in her hands. Her voice is muffled as she says, "I couldn't take it. I said I needed water or something - something stupid - went downstairs, and ran. I don't even remember making the decision. As soon as I got outside, I knew if I kept going I could never go back. And - " she takes her hands away and whispers, "I did it anyway."

I can't stand it. I slip my hands into hers before she starts pulling at the blankets again. "Clary, you did the right thing."

She looks up - finally - and her eyes are burning. "My father will never let me back. I've destroyed his last hope, and made an embarrassment of both him and Sebastian." She bares her teeth. "Sebastian - he's ruthless, Jace. He'll always be angry. He'll keep coming after me - I don't know what he'll do. And I'll never find my mother." She pulls her hands away from mine. "I have nowhere to go."

"Hey," I say quickly, "you can stay here as long as you need, Clary. My friend Isabelle would be happy to take you in as well - we can figure it out tomorrow, okay? And we can look for a record of your mother, she must have left something behind. It'll be okay." I realise I'm babbling, so I shut up.

Clary looks down again. When I see that she's shaking it takes me a moment to realise she's crying, trying to be quiet.

Girls crying is not something I'm used to. But I do what I think is right, putting my arms around her so her face is against my shoulder. She lets me rub her back gently, and I say all the stupid crap about it going to be okay, and we both wait for Clary to stop shaking.

Her hair smells like flowers. She feels so small in my arms.

Clary

This is so far from the normal rules of propriety that it would give my old governess a heart attack.

But propriety has not helped me at all tonight - not with Sebastian, and now not with Jace.

I don't want to cry in front of him, but he doesn't seem to mind, honestly. Even as I make his shirt damp from tears. He sits with me until my breathing evens out, and then even longer.

I'm almost half-asleep when Jace finally, gently, disentangles himself and moves to stand. "I'd better go," he murmurs.

But I still don't want to be alone, so I whisper. "Can you stay? Please?"

He hesitates, and then nods. "Okay. Just a bit longer."

And he stays.

Geez I haven't done this for ages, sorry if I'm kind of rusty. But thanks for reading, you beautiful soul3 And I guess we'll see when I next get around to another chapter of word vomit :))))