Disclaimer: The Mortal Instruments series belongs to Cassandra Clare.

Distractions

(Jaces' POV)

We're quite a pair, Clary and I.

Her knuckles are white with exertion as she attempts to pull the sleeves of her hoodie over the circles of her wrists, which look like they've been rubbed raw. I examine my own hands and find several cuts from the talons of a demon that slashed mercilessly through the air as I approached it.

A purple bruise has developed below Clary's left eye, while I note that I have most likely acquired a deep cut above my cheekbone because everytime the doors of the F train open, and the debris tainted air from the congested New York streets rushes in, that particular part of my face stings a little more.

I look up and one of the two people sitting across from us immediately drops their gaze. The other reads the newspaper on their lap a little too intently and I smirk because an uncomfortable silence settles between us, occasionally punctuated by the exaggerated rustling of a newspaper.

I slide down my seat slowly and close my eyes, replaying our defeat of the warehouse demons in my mind. Demon blood, dark as tar, splattering across the walls in patterns similar to those seen in the Rorschach inkblot test. The angels blades trapping us, and at the same time protecting us in a fierce circle of light. And Clary. Clary who doesn't say a word when she fights. Clary who pushes on until her breath becomes ragged. Until the uneven pattern of her breath unsettles me and I know I have to keep fighting too.

I open my eyes and she's gone. Only a quick flash of her copper hair gives her away and this is all I need to maneuver around the blank faced commuters and up the stairs. When I'm only a few steps behind Clary I approach her as cautiously as possible because her agitation is unmistakably reflected in her posture.

"I'm pretty sure the man sitting across from us wasn't going to tap me on the shoulder and say, "Your stop Jace. Wake up"", I say once I catch up to her.

For a moment I think I manage to get a reaction. Just the slightest flinch like I uncovered something I shouldn't know about her. But I quickly dismiss it because this probably isn't the time for me to ask personal questions since we're mounting the stairs of the Institute and she looks like she desperately needs some time alone. But something within me wants to pry. I suddenly want to know everything about her. Why she was pulling on her sleeves or why she didn't remind me to get off the train.

I don't ask her 'What's wrong?' or say her name in a stern manner like I'm demanding something from her because it'll result in an automatic answer, and that's not what I'm looking for. I want to hear something from her that I can fix. Not something that will linger between us without a solution.

I follow her up the stairs and I know she's trying not to notice me as she trails her fingertips along the curve of the banister. As she reaches the top step she stops and turns around to face me.

"What do you think?".

There's a desperation in her voice which suggests that she's exhausted all potential answers and it's up to me to give her the right one. A feeling of dread latches on to me and I know that this time, there may not be a right answer.

She moves towards me so that we're only one step apart, and places a hand on my cheek. Her thumb traces the cut above my cheekbone and a burning sensation runs through my wound.

She leans in and places her lips against my ear." I'll make this a little clearer", she whispers. "Who did this to you Jace Wayland?" She applies more pressure to the cut but I don't relent.

"They must have thought it was an accident. Or maybe an argument, which escalated into this", she continues.

Clary stands back now, and all her injuries are clear. I notice her wrists first, then the bruise on her face and finally her eyes.

"They don't know…"she trails off.

I'm trying to cram the pieces together even though I know they don't fit.

"They obviously can't know Clary! Do you expect some kind of award for your efforts? You're a shadowhunter. You don't belong in their world anymore", I shout. My anger seems to tear through the walls of the Institute.

But it's not true. I know it's not and I want to take it back, but she simply gives me one last hard look before walking back down the stairs. I wait for the doors of the Institute to slam shut before I slump against the banister.

I can't see reason yet.

Then make a start.

Taki's. I'll go to Taki's and decide what I should do.

…

Once I get to Taki's I walk towards the booth that the Lightwoods and I always occupy. A faerie with magenta tinted wings glides past, and I order a cup of coffee. She places a white mug on the table and slides into the seat across from me. I'm not sure if I know her, but the way she leans forward strongly suggests that we've met before. Her hand rests on the table between us and she plays with the silver bracelets which coil prettily around her wrists . Nothing has changed. The void between faeries and werewolves is still as wide as ever. It would be so easy for me to take her hand and lead her behind the kitchen counter but something inside me pulls me back. There's a fine line between wanting and caring, and when Clary is concerned I need to find out which side I'm on.

I leave the cup of coffee untouched and throw myself out of the diner before I can even look back.

…

When I step outside the cold chill presses against my face and I can hear the F train rattling past in the distance. It's getting late and I have no idea when the last train arrives so I push through the crowd, descend the subway stairs two at a time and squeeze, with many apologies, through the sliding doors of the train, and take the first empty seat I can find.

Across from me sit two strangers. A man and a woman. I don't think I've ever seen them before but their behaviour seems distinctly different from the man and woman who sat across from Clary and I earlier today. They don't even look up out of curiosity, or boredom. The man stares straight past me, and the woman has her eyes trained on the glaring screen of her cell phone.

Once again the same images cross my mind. Clary's pleading eyes, the suggestions she threw at me, and the man and woman on the train who averted their gaze when I looked up. But this time I see them in a different light because I can sense their minds going into overdrive, making as many presumptions about our appearance as they can. Clary's right. Shadowhunting isn't one of them.

The two strangers across from me are replaced by another pair of strangers, and other, before the train slows to a stop- my stop-and I get off. Clary's house is only a few blocks away and I spend the rest of the journey there with my hands reaching into the depths of my pockets like I'm searching for some loose change. But I'm only using this as a minor distraction while I think of a way to let Clary know-to admit to Clary-that I finally understand.

Clary's house sits on the corner of the street. It's the same one that was ravaged by demons. She decided to spend time restoring her old home to the way it was before the shadowhunting world caught up with her instead of moving into Luke and Jocelyn's apartment. She said they needed room to start their new life together.

I walk up the stairs and unlock the front door as quietly as possible. I remember asking Clary why she invested in locks when there were a number of ways for demons to break in. She simply rolled her eyes and muttered 'shadowhunters' under her breath before dropping the spare key in the palm of my hand. And again I'm reminded of the kind of life that Clary leads. Clary's double life. And how strange and difficult it must be to live in two worlds at once.

One of the doors at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar and I push it open tentatively. The faint glow of the moon illuminates the curve of Clary's cheek and her hair is fanned out on the pillow like a fiery red sea. She lies on her side with her ipod nestled beside her, the glow of the screen severe and unnatural compared to the light of the moon.

I take my shoes off and lie beside her. She doesn't seem to stir. I wonder if she's asleep. When the screen of the ipod gradually fades to pitch black she turns towards me. I catch the tear that rolls silently down her cheek between my lips, and her struggle to fit into the shadowhunting world becomes mine.