She can break it up
Shake your money down
You can box it in
Bury it in the ground
You can close it off and turn it away
Try to keep it down, six feet in the ground
But love don't die

No matter where we go
Or even if we don't
And even if they try
They'll never take my body from your side
Love don't die

-The Fray

"He's not in a very good mood," said Luke, pausing in front of a closed door. "I shut him up in Freaky Pete's office after he nearly killed half my pack with his bare hands. He wouldn't talk to me, so"— Luke shrugged—" I thought of you."

He looked from Clary's baffled face to Simon's.

"What?"

"I can't believe he came here," Clary said.

"I can't believe you know someone named Freaky Pete," said Simon.

"I know a lot of people," said Luke. "Not that Freaky Pete is strictly people, but I'm hardly one to talk."

He swung the office door wide. Inside was a plain room, windowless, the walls hung with sports pennants. There was a paper-strewn desk weighted down with a small TV set, and behind it, in a chair whose leather was so cracked it looked like veined marble, was Jace. The moment the door opened, Jace seized up a yellow pencil lying on the desk and threw it. It sailed through the air and struck the wall just next to Luke's head, where it stuck, vibrating. Luke's eyes widened. Jace smiled faintly.

"Sorry, I didn't realize it was you."

Clary felt her heart contract. She hadn't seen Jace in days, and he looked different somehow— not just the bloody face and bruises, which were clearly new, but the skin on his face seemed tighter, the bones more prominent. Luke indicated Simon and Clary with a wave of his hand.

"I brought some people to see you." Jace's eyes moved to them. They were as blank as if they had been painted on. "Unfortunately," he said, "I only had the one pencil."

"Jace—" Luke started.

"I don't want him in here." Jace jerked his chin toward Simon.

Clary wanted to argue… but she really couldn't. She threw Simon an apologetic look.

"Out, mundane," said Jace, pointing to the door. Simon waved a hand.

"It's fine. I'll wait in the hallway." He left, refraining from banging the door shut behind him, though Clary could tell he wanted to. She turned back to Jace.

"Do you have to be so—," she began, but stopped when she saw his face. It looked stripped down, oddly vulnerable.

"Unpleasant?" he finished for her. "Only on days when my adoptive mother tosses me out of the house with instructions never to darken her door again. Usually, I'm remarkably good natured. Try me on any day that doesn't end in y."

"Jace." Clary whispered. She meant it as more of a concerned parent, but instead it came out pained. "Luke, can you give us a moment?"

Luke looked hesitantly between them before stepping out of the room and closing the door.

"Jace…" Clary sighed. "What did you do?"

"What did I do?" Jace's eyes flashed and he rounded on her. "What, you think this is my fault?"

"You said it yourself: days that don't end in y." Clary fixed her jaw stubbornly. Jace rolled his eyes and nursed his drink.

"I don't purposefully upset the people who were nice enough to adopt me, Clary." His voice was softer than she was used to. "I'm not that big of an asshole."

"I never said you were an asshole." Clary said, sitting down on the barstool next to him. She rested a hand on his before she had thought it through. She quickly retracted it when she realized what she was doing, but Jace caught her before she could pull away completely. "But I've seen you make things harder on yourself than they need to be."

He rubbed a thumb over the back of her hand, the pale flesh plump beneath the pressure of his finger.

"She doesn't believe that I thought I was Michael Wayland's son. She accused me of being in it with Valentine all along— saying I helped him get away with the Mortal Cup."

"Then why would you still be here?" Clary asked. "Why wouldn't you have fled with him?"

"She wouldn't say, but I suspect she thinks I stayed to be a spy. A viper in their bosoms. Not that she used the word 'bosoms,' but the thought was there."

Clary squeezed his hand back.

"I really don't know how anyone who's known you for years could suspect that."

Amber pools of light and dark held her in place before Jace shifted his gaze away, still grasping her hand tightly but not acknowledging how desperate the hold really was in his expression. He still seemed, mostly, nonchalant about it all.

"I don't know." Jace muttered, swirling the contents of his drink as he stared down into it blankly.

The touch of their hands was crossing a border now, she could feel it, so she pulled back. Jace barely tilted his head in acknowledgement, but he slowly withdrew his hand as well until he rested it on his thigh.

"Luke will know what to do." Clary couldn't explain the roaring of blood rushing through her ears. "Will you talk to him about this with me?"

Jace looked like he was seriously considering protesting. Clary was going to call Luke in either way, because Jace was 17 and she was 16 and she wasn't arrogant enough to think that either of them were prepared to deal with sort of situation on their own. Luckily, Jace uncharacteristically agreed with a nod before draining his drink in own swallow.

Kissing Simon was pleasant. It was a gentle sort of pleasant, like lying in a hammock on a summer day with a book and a glass of lemonade. It was the sort of thing you could keep doing and not feel bored or apprehensive or disconcerted or bothered by much of anything except the fact that the metal bar on the sofa bed was digging into your back.

"Ouch," Clary said, trying to wriggle away from the bar and not succeeding.

"Did I hurt you?" Simon raised himself up on his side, looking concerned. Or maybe it was just that without his glasses his eyes seemed twice as large and dark.

"No, not you— the bed. It's like a torture instrument."

"I didn't notice," he said somberly, as she grabbed a pillow from the floor, where it had fallen, and wedged it underneath them.

"You wouldn't." She laughed. "Where were we?"

Simon grinned and kissed her again, a sigh rushing across her cheek as he did.

She pulled him down on top of her, where he balanced on his elbows. Their bodies lay neatly aligned and she could feel the beat of his heart through both their T-shirts. His lashes, normally hidden behind his glasses, brushed her cheek when he leaned to kiss her. She let out a shaky little laugh.

"Is this weird for you?" she whispered.

"No. I think when you imagine something often enough, the reality of it seems—"

"Anticlimactic?"

"No. No!" Simon pulled back, looking at her with nearsighted conviction. "Don't ever think that. This is the opposite of anticlimactic. It's—"

Suppressed giggles bubbled up in her chest.

"Okay, maybe you don't want to say that, either."

He half-closed his eyes, his mouth curving into a smile.

"Okay, now I want to say something smart-ass back at you, but all I can think is . . ." She grinned up at him.

"That you want sex?"

"Stop that." He caught her hands with his, pinned them to the bedspread, and looked down at her gravely. "That I love you."

"So you don't want sex?"

"Jesus, Clary."

Clary laughed. She laughed because if she was teasing him about it it wasn't a big deal.

Simon rolled off of her and onto his side. Clary moved onto her side too, curious.

"Something wrong?"

Simon stroked her cheek, a soft glow in his cheeks like a child who had just gotten his first glimpse of all the Christmas presents under the tree on Christmas morning.

"No. Well-" Simon looked up at the ceiling, muttering something under his breath. "Look, this is perfect… for me, but I know that we rushed into this, and… well… how are you? This can't be easy for you."

Clary sat up, growing colder.

"Talking about it doesn't really help." Clary said, tense. Simon was just trying to be a good frie- boyfriend. He was trying to be a good boyfriend. "It is what it is. It sucks, but the only thing that will help me is time."

"Ok." Simon sat up too, resting his chin on her shoulder. His thumb rubbed soothing circles into her thigh. "I get it."

Clary was suddenly very done with cuddling.

"Video games." She said, turning her head ever so slightly to look at him. Even though they'd just had their mouths mashed together, it felt weird to have her face so close to him. Not when it was a perfectly legitimate possibility that he could lean in and kiss her again. "You promised me you'd show me that- that one. With the fighting."

A funny look came over Simon's face, as though he was trying to ward off a sneeze, and she realized that while 'friend Simon' would have snorted in laughter and teased her with borderline indignance on that poor description, 'boyfriend Simon' didn't seem to think that would be a very romantic response.

"Right. The one with the fighting." He said meekly instead and moved away from her as he scooted off the bed. Clary felt a tightness in her chest release a little.

"So…you two. You're together now." Jace's narrowed amber eyes flicked down to their hands. Simon tensed next to her.

Jace was sentenced to house arrest under the watchful eye of Magnus until the Inquisitor could interrogate him with the sword. Currently, Magnus and Alec had retreated to some mysterious part of the Warlock's apartment while Isabelle busied herself cleaning up the kitchen after trying to feed them her cooking (which Clary was still convinced might kill them in two hours).

"Yes." Simon said, his voice clear.

Clary forced herself to keep her hand in Simon's. This wasn't wrong, this was right, she reminded herself. Caring what Jace thought was what wasn't right.

"When did that happen?" Jace asked, training his gold eyes on a quarter he started lazily rolling over his knuckles, an impressive, if frustrating, display of dexterity and reflexes. Clary let a breath she didn't know she'd been holding go when he looked away from them.

"Few weeks ago." Simon shrugged. His hand was clammy in hers now. There was no one in this room who wasn't uncomfortable. The coin stopped.

"Oh no, what? Did all of you get food poisoning?" Isabelle was back from the kitchen, though no one had noticed her enter. She looked at each of their faces, her nose scrunched. Jace was perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the coin.

"Excuse me." He rose, graceful as ever, and left the room in even, normal strides.

Clary clenched her free hand around her chair arm to stop her immediate impulse to follow him.

"I was just kidding," Isabelle blinked after him, "but maybe he really did get food poisoning. I think I cooked that pork all the way through?" She muttered almost as an afterthought.

"You think?" That was enough to distract Simon from the terrible awkwardness they'd just sat through, but not Clary. Clary stared determinedly at her sneakers and tried to keep her face straight. She'd hurt Jace again. He tried to be a brother, tried to act like a normal brother should, but that… nobody wants that thrown on them unexpectedly.

Clary waited for five minutes, she counted the seconds in her head, trying and failing to listen as Simon argued with Isabelle on the proper method for cooking pork before she stood.

"Ugh, you are the reason my ancestors banned pork!" He hissed finally as Isabelle stubbornly stood by her incorrect method.

"Your ancestors banned pork because their religion told them to," Isabelle scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I'm going to the bathroom." Clary announced softly. Simon caught her wrist immediately. He shook his head, barely, and his eyes held a warning- don't do this to yourself.

"Jesus, talk about clingy. What, you going to hold her skirt while she pees?" Isabelle looked between them, still completely oblivious.

"I'll be right back." Clary promised. The look in Simon's eye was steady, but she couldn't just sit there when Jace was in pain. She was still allowed to love him as a sibling, and this seemed perfectly within the constraints of that definition of love.

She raced down the hallway once she'd walked out of view from the kitchen. She checked the spare room Magnus had stowed Jace in before she checked the bathroom.

It was old and dusty looking, with strange things cluttering the edge of it, things Clary couldn't describe but suspected they were hundreds of years old. It looked as though Jace had attempted to organize them and clean the dust off before giving up on the mayhem of different instruments and gadgets. Clary remembered his monk-like room in the institute and could only the frustration that came with living in a space he didn't have much control over and couldn't clean to his liking.

Jace was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He rolled the coin along his knuckles again and Clary was irrationally jealous of his physical grace.

"Jace." Clary rested a hand against the doorframe. Jace showed no sign he'd heard her. "Can I come in?"

"If you're asking if you're physically capable of doing so then the answer is yes." Jace raised a hand and she saw the coin work its way over his fingers once more. "May you come in? That's a more complex question."

"I'm coming in anyway." She would have rolled her eyes if the situation weren't so serious.

She sat at the edge of the bed farthest from him.

"I don't know why you're here." This time Clary heard the faint undercurrent of pain and it tugged at her heart. "I'm fine, Clary. I'm glad you have Simon to get you through these… trying times."

"I didn't…" Clary thought about trying to explain to him that she didn't want to be in a romantic relationship with Simon and just couldn't bring herself to actively decline his advances. It sounded weak and pathetic, though, so instead she said, "He's trying to help."

"Does it?"

Clary breathed in sharply.

"What?"

"Does it help?" Jace asked, quiet. He looked deceptively relaxed, but Clary knew him now. She knew the subtle tightening at the corner of his eyes, the tension in the chords of his neck. Everything else was forced, a façade for demons and cane-happy fathers, but not her. "Maybe I should try it."

"Try it?"

"Someone new." Jace muttered, his eyes locking on hers. A flare of blinding jealousy slammed into her. It took her by complete surprise, and Clary couldn't hide it before he saw. She took a steadying breath; it was too shaky. She stood up and walked quickly to the door.

Except Jace, the stealthy warrior, was right behind her, turning her by the shoulders so gently it made her throat catch.

"No." Clary insisted, pushing away his hands. Jace had never been one to push her when she didn't want to be pushed; his hands dropped, but she desperately wanted them to stay on her shoulders, thread through her hair.

They stared at each other for a few moments, and Clary could feel tears leak out the edge of her eyes as she thought about Jace touching someone else, holding someone else, making love to someone else…

Jace reached a hand up until it nearly touched her cheek, but instead it hovered there, frozen, until Clary whirled and left before she lost her control.

"Don't you remember what you said to me?" Clary whispered against his skin. Jace moaned in response, still leaning away from her, resisting. She kept her death grip on him, though, curling her body in on him even as he pulled away.

"You said, 'wherever, whenever. On the top of a mountain-" she bit at his lip and a strangled sound escaped his lips and disappeared down her throat, "-on the bathroom sink.'" She pulled him back with all her might until they crashed into the bathroom counter. The rumble in Jace's chest coursed through her whole body. She felt his gaze race over her wet tear trails, his hands clutching the stone of the counter until they were white. He was close now; she knew she could break him, break that infuriating selflessness that kept him from pressing every ounce of passion and heat Clary knew he felt onto her lips.

"You made me a promise, Jace Wayland." She broke away from his lips, panting against his skin as she inhaled the sweet scent of it. His eyes were heavy with temptation and strain, weighing on her heart. She wasn't going to stop, though, not now.

"You ruined me for anyone else."

He tensed into a frozen mask of pain and she knew she'd said the wrong thing. He tore himself away, the cold rushing in on her as his warmth left.

"You aren't ruined." His voice was taught, control wavering. "You're beautiful and pure and good, and no matter what I've done, no matter what anyone ever does to you, that will always be true." His voice shook with conviction and a muscle jumped in his jaw.

Clary reeled, leaning back against the bathroom sink. It was cold under her fingertips, inciting a shiver that raced up her arms. Her red curls fell into her eyes and she pushed them away slowly.

"You ruined me," she repeated, barely a whisper. She saw Jace open his mouth to deny her words again so she hurried to cut him off with, "I will never be able to love someone else the way I love you."

Jace stared at her, his hair wild from the exploration of her fingers, his eyes like the flashing of a golden coy in the bottom of a too-still pond.

"You're the only one who can fix me, Jace; put me back together. I'll never be whole again, not without you." It hurt her to put into words something she'd pushed down and denied with such conviction. She knew in that moment, though, that she was lying to herself. She couldn't simply 'move on' from him. She couldn't just find someone who kissed her and made her feel ok, warm even, after she'd felt it pulse through her and fill up parts of her she didn't know were missing.

"Please." She said again, closing her eyes. She couldn't bear how still it was, how her voice echoed through the empty bathroom.

She didn't hear him coming, but she never heard him move. She only felt him when he was there, hands on her thighs, lifting her easily and smoothly to place her on the bathroom counter. She gasped as the cool hardness of it hit her ass suddenly and her legs were forced apart to make room for the shape of hips she'd memorized in the many times she'd replayed their night together in her head.

His erratic breath was in her ear as she feverishly pulled off his jacket and tore his shirt from his body. Jace was busy with her jean button and zipper, dipping fingers into her underwear and igniting a cry in her throat as his warm hands brushed her skin.

There was no more arguing left in him, now. They both wanted this. She'd pushed him too hard and he could only resist for so long.

She crushed her mouth into his, needing it after ages without it. She felt that spark in her that only Jace could bring alive, deep and burning and primitive.

"I've missed this so much." Jace gasped into her mouth as he feverishly rolled her shirt up. Warm hands grasped at her breasts more gently than she was used to from him.

"My love," Clary whispered, tangling her hands in his gold hair and cradling his head to her chest. He pressed his cheek to her heart, kissing across her skin until he nipped at the tender flesh. Clary's head fell back as a jolt ran through her and Jace held her hips to keep her steady as he showed his appreciation for her chest.

Clary gasped as she sat up, sweat sticking her clothes to her skin. Gone were the panting and moans that echoed in the pristine white bathroom, replaced with silence and the creak of Luke's ancient house. Her covers twisted around her and between her legs as she looked around the darkness, orienting herself.

-on the bathroom sink-

Jace's happy, sated voice whispered it in her ear, and even though it was just a memory it raised goosebumps onto her skin.

She cried in the dark where no one could hear until she drifted off from pure exhaustion.

I must have opened this chapter 20 times or more to work on it, but I had a serious case of writers block. Your gentle (and not so gentle) nudging helped me work through it, though, so thank you wonderful readers for the support and impatience, haha.