All Characters belong to Cassandra Clare etc... Yes, this is a rewrite of Here Comes the Sun...there's a reason why I didn't finish that story and it just didn't feel right to me. I didn't connect with the characters or their back story at all and I couldn't bring myself to finish it. So here is the new and improved version- much like a different story.

P.S: The title of the story comes from Lord Byron's poem, "She walks on beauty"

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Chapter One

Jace thought it was a cat at first. To be honest, he really didn't give shit. He was perfectly happy inhaling the cancer giving smoke that his dear mother worked so hard to wean him off of.

Alec had been getting on his nerves lately, bitching about how he's only visited his parents one in the past two years, and that's only when his dog Bugs, had died and even then. it was Jace that had to dig his grave, Jace that attended the funeral. Jace exhaled, letting the curls of smoke fade into the night. He rolled his eyes at the rattling sound near the dumpsters.

"Magnus needs to stop feeding those freaking alley cats." He muttered to himself. The club music was giving him a headache, the only good thing about knowing the gay owner of Pandemonium was the free drinks. Jace glanced up, taking note of the gathering dark clouds. He'd probably have to go get going soon, it was a pain in the ass to get the rust off of her after the rain.

"No please...it's all I have." She whispered.

"Bitch, you have five seconds to give it to me before I slit your throat."

There was a quick whimper and more scuffling as Jace drew closer to the noise. The man's hand was wrapped around her slender neck and was tightening as her deep, guttural chokes filled the air. Jace can fully admit that he is no hero, but she was so small, so fragile and unlike any other street rat he had seen. She wouldn't stand a chance.

"Hey asshole!" His voice echoed in the dark alley. The man looked up, quickly snatching something from the girl's hand as she collapsed, coughing. "You're seriously going to steal from a kid? How fucking desperate are you?" Jace scoffed.

The man didn't answer, just fisted his hands and stood at the ready. Jace had seen this pose many times, in the kids at school, even in his father sometimes. "On a scale of one to ten, how high are you right now?" The slight sway in the man's steps said it all and Jace couldn't help but chuckle.

This must've angered the man because he made the first swing, only to meet air. Jace ducked out of the way, only to twist his wrist and smile as the man screamed in pain. "How manly," Jace mused, delivering a kick to Mr. Mugger's stomach. Jace had missed this, the adrenaline that ran through his entire body, fueling his swift hits packing all of his force, his anger, everything about him hitting flesh and knocking bone.

The mugger grunted as he keeled over, his hands fisted at his stomach. Jace couldn't help the near maniacal laugh that escaped his lips, "No more? That's such a shame really, I was expecting more fight since you seemed so bold a minute ago."

A nearly inhuman growl erupted from the mugger as his hand swiped out, grazing blindly in the darkness. The confusion clouded Jace's mind for a moment before the pain set in. A part of Jace wanted to laugh, he had used his fists in a knife fight but the blood greatly distracted him from his predicament.

The pain had brought him to his knee and his lungs suddenly couldn't get enough air. He could hear the footsteps for the mugger fading into the night, leaving only that horrible sound of wet cement and dirt grinding against the soles of his shoes in his wake.

"Sir?" Jace could barely register the tiny voice next to him as he stared up at the black sky. It was raining. She would rust now. Damn. "Mister are you okay?" Jace could feel small hands lifting his palms from his stomach. A gasp. A clenched breath. He could only sense the outside world in flashes now. "Oh my god, do you have a phone? I can call for help!" Her voice was so high, so much like Max. A smile touched Jace's face as he thought of Max.

If his last thought was of him...then death wouldn't be so bad. The pain was starting to fade anyway. The only thing pulling him back to consciousness was her voice,"Help! Someone please!" Jace had half a mind to tell her to shut up since it was too late anyway. But he couldn't find his voice. "Please don't die! What do I do? Tell me what to do?" The rain was warmer now...no it wasn't rain. It was tears.

"D-don't" He gasped, he had to say something, "Don't cry Max." He wheezed.

"I don't know what to do Jace." Max turned his face to hide the tears. Jace sighed and bent down, examining the black eye and split lip. Trademark middle school drama, courtesy of the complete asshole nature of children. Jace had taken off Max's thick, black rimmed glasses. The lenses had broke and they needed to be fixed.

"What happened this time buddy?"Jace asked.

"Nothing...I was just walking home, honest. Then Harper Collins just appeared out of nowhere. Then he started saying that my glasses were stupid and that they made r-r-retarded." Jace could see the waterworks beginning again as Max's shoulders began to shake.

"Hey, look at me." Brown met gold. "They are nothing Max, no don't look away. You need to listen to this. Middle school is three years of your life. Then it's high school, college and the real world and in the span of your lifetime, I'm sorry but you will meet people far worse them they are."

Max looked down and sniffed as he listened to Jace's words. "But you'll meet people that are so much better than them too. You can never forget that. There are about 7 billion people on this earth buddy, and I guarantee you, you will meet someone that will love manga just as much as you do, that can pretty much sleep anywhere, anytime just like you." Max quickly wiped his tears as he glanced up at Jace.

"Really?" His voice held the hopeful note that Jace was going for.

"Yup...and until you find them, i'll stand in. Look, I already made it through the first five volumes of..." Jace's voice drifted off as the name of the manga suddenly blanked out in his mind.

"Naruto." Max offered, smiling.

"Yea, how many are there again?"

"Sixty...and going."

"Seriously? What the heck? This is just a ploy so you can force me to get read isn't it?"

To think that Clary had expected tonight to go smoothly. Or at least she hoped for it. They always say to go to the shelters, but failed to mention the small part about getting nearly all of her shit stolen while she slept. Downstown was full of crackheads and druggies so Clary could forget about the bridge. Her footsteps became to speed up as the air got moist and warm, indicating an impending storm.

Even the shelter was full tonight and Clary was probably going to have to sleep on the street. She could sleep on the subways, but the last time she had done that, she was faced with a policeman's wandering hands.

"C'mon babe, it's not like anyone will miss you. You're not exactly high maintenance." His guffaws lingered in her ears as she sprinted out of the station.

Uptown was a different story. She cursed internally when she looked at the street sign. Crap. How the hell did she end up in East Harlem? It was nearing midnight the last time glanced into a diner at a clock. Her hands cradled her empty stomach. Food would have to wait until morning. It was better to go hungry than get stabbed.

Clary was used to hunger, usually she could just sleep it off or muffle the rumbles of her stomach with water. She did not believe she was going to get much sleep tonight.

Usually she slept in a tiny dumpster around 90th street. It was against a tenement and periodically emptied out by the garbage truck every morning. The smell was handled with frequent visits to the shelter's showers (she made sure to hide all her valuables this time). It was smelly, gross and sometime, she shared it with rats but it was hers.

Clary fought her shiver as she felt the vibrations of the club reverberate through her feet. She ducked into the alley. It was obviously a trendy place, lots of people around. She would be safe around the noise. Clary hunched behind the dumpster and the cluster of trashcans adorning the grimy walls of the alley. She clutched at her necklace before taking a deep breath. This was safe. For now.

"What the fuck? This is my spot bitch." The man's rough voice grated against her ears. She flinched.

"I-I'm sorry mister...I'll just leave." Clary managed to stammer.

"Nope missy...you're here, you pay."

"I-I have nothing to give you." She squeaked. It was true. Her miniscule savings had run dry a week ago.

"Don't fucking lie to me. What you got?" He snarled and Clary gagged at his breath. She glanced around, she was cornered, no way to run unless she wanted to trip over a bunch of trash cans. She blacked up, wincing as the metal rattled against each other. Oh god someone...please come and help. She prayed.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She whispered.

"I know your deal. What you got? Coke? Apache? Caps?" He growled.

"I don't have drugs. Please." She pleaded.

"Don't bullshit. Fine, you have this though." He fingered her necklace and Clary's skin wanted to crawl as his fingers brushed her neck.

"No please! That's all I have!" Her defiance was the last straw as his hands wrapped quickly around her neck. Clary could feel the air escaping her lungs as black dots appeared in her vision.

She thought of the cop shows she used to watch when she was a child, both amused and horrified at the extreme dramatization of the most gruesome murders. But now she saw her own body lying cold and pale. Would anyone be able to identify her? Or would her body be thrown in the morgue with all the other Jane Doe's.

And then he came. Air rushed back into Clary's lung as she coughed, loosening the muscles in her throat, feeling their burn. She watched them fight, the golden boy, beautiful and deadly as he pushed the bigger, older man back.

He was crazy, his laughter echoing off the walls and into the night and all Clary could do was curl up and watch, her limbs paralyzed. He was an avenging angel. He knew no mercy.

Clary saw the knife when he didn't. Her mouth opened to scream but the golden boy hunched over and the mugger ran, taking away the last thing that Clary ever owned. Her feet carried her to the boy, her hands pressing against. She barely felt the rain soaking her clothes as her hands were already wet with blood.

Her pleas fell on deaf ears as he murmured incoherently, his eyes rolling back. Her screams for help dissipated with the mist.

"Help please. Wake up! I don't know what to do! Please don't die!" Tears broke to full on sobs. "Please, I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do." She whimpered. She had seen death before, destruction but never for her sake. He was a stranger and he had been kind to her in a way that no one else had been before. Even though her neck felt empty and they were completely in the open, she stayed with him.

His warmth was bleeding out onto the sidewalk. Clary had no training for this, the only thing she could do was put pressure on the wound. He was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.

She looked up at the sky. It was a night without stars.

I hope you enjoyed reading. (And I will have the next chapter of RAOK soon! My Beta just needs to look over it!)