Clary entered the kitchen to see Luke preparing food, he tensed when she entered but he didn't turn. Steam wafted over his head, the smell of garlic and tomatoes filled the room.

She honestly expected a more confrontational environment, like Luke sitting ominously by the fire, him telling her to sit down. Maybe even worse, him grabbing her by the arm in the walkway and yelling at her. But cooking? Why did he always end up cooking?

Clary stood awkwardly near the dining table, surveying him quietly, as if the shape of his shoulders could reveal his mood.

After a long beat of silence, and Luke seemingly reluctant to acknowledge her presence, she spoke up, "Do you need any help?"

Luke paused, and continued stirring at something. Clary began to regret saying anything, because why should she draw attention to herself. Luke seemed happy in his meditative cooking state, until she spoke up whereas he now had put down the spoon.

"I'm nearly done." Luke quietly stated, lifting a pot of pasta and pouring the contents into a colander that rested in the sink. Clary chewed at her lip, furiously working out words to say in the cool silence, but came up with nothing. The sizzling noise, while Luke mixed the sauce and pasta together, sounded deafening.

She seated herself on the edge of one of the chairs, staring out the large window that overlooked the darkened fields. She noted absently that Jace's car was no longer in view, and the sky was blotted with bursts of stars far away from the light pollution of Idris.

Her throat tightened at the thoughts of the events that transpired in the city, a chill the permeated through her bones like a grim reapers' gangly fingers wrapping around her shoulder. Her inner-voice reamed her for being so stupid to go to Idris, sounding very much like the tone of her father.

She did not think it was necessary for Luke and her to have a discussion, because there wasn't anything he could say that she didn't already feel.

Often Clary could hardly identify her emotions beyond the loud roar of fear, but self-loathing was like an ever present cloak clasped about her neck.

"Clary." She turned to Luke's voice, his eyebrows were raised implying that he may have called her name more than once. His glasses slid a bit down his nose, halfway fogged by the steam of the plates he was holding. His eyes flicked up and down, examining her quickly. His eyebrows were furrowed together, apparently their permanent state.

Clary felt every bit self-conscious, "Luke-,"

"Mind moving your hands." Gone was the softness from earlier, he interrupted her in clipped tones.

Clary faltered, looking down and losing her train of thought, she lifted her hands from her placemat, while he went to set down the plate.

"Sorry." She mumbled, moving her hair behind her ears, not quite sure what to say beyond stuttered apology at the stormy expression that had established itself on Luke's face. He placed his food adjacent to hers, settling in the seat beside her. He slid his glasses back up his nose, giving her a good look, once more.

She nervously busied herself with looking at her utensils, unsure if he disapproved of her attire, of her, or was just generally angry.

Clary lifted her fork, but anxiety dissipated any semblance of hunger, and she put it down. She never asked for food, or a place to stay, or a person to answer to for her well-being. She resolutely looked out the window once more, observing the path down the darkened forests, far away from despair.

If there was anything beyond those trees, beyond Hollendale, she was sure she could survive it.

"You should eat something." His voice gathered her away from her thoughts, and she tightened her jaw, determinedly gazing away. She resented the feelings he stirred in her stomach, fear, hope, shame, and the need for him to approve. She wanted to fall to her knees to apologize, and she also wanted to storm out of the house and never look back. She owed him nothing.

She waited a few beats for his insistence, but he didn't say anything. She could see in her periphery, him studying her profile, the corners of his lip twisting downward. It had been less than a week, and all she was left with was more questions. Why does he care?

"I'm not hungry." She finally replied, and she heard his hum of disapproval. So what. He could disapprove. When had it started to matter? She could hardly connect the dots of kicking mud at him to reading silently by his side. She felt like she had walked from a dungeon to a jail, his very presence suffocating her.

"For that matter, I'm not really up for talking." She gathered up the nerve to look him in the eye, it felt like getting shocked, when they made eye contact.

He snorted, "Is that what we're doing?" He added wryly while jabbing his fork at a meatball.

Clary shrugged, his opinion should not matter, of all the things it should not bother or distract her, Luke should be the last of her issues. They were all but strangers.

She eyed his tense posture, the worried lines that crinkled at the corner of his downturned mouth, and she thought briefly of just running. She wondered how long it would take for him to catch her.

"I think we both can agree that going to Idris was stupid." He started, and sighed dropping his fork to his plate, sharing in Clary's lack of appetite.

Clary froze, she had nearly lulled herself into believing that Luke would passive-aggressively avoid the "discussion" for most of the evening. She was unprepared for a verbal onslaught. She could hardly acknowledge the heavy tone of disappointment in Luke's voice.

It shouldn't matter!

"Of course it matters." His voice was firm and loud, the first time he had raised his voice in the evening.

Clary realized that she had said that aloud.

She didn't dare look at him, but she could feel herself move subconsciously further from him.

"Of course your life matters, certainly more than" Luke continued, seemingly at a loss of words, "a-a- stupid party!"

She glanced at him, and he ran his hands through his hair and continued "What were you thinking?" She realized his hands were shaking, and her stomach twisted. Was he afraid?

"Why do you even care?" It came out a lot more forceful than she intended, or maybe she did mean it. Anger swirled with regret, and she couldn't even figure out why she was angry, just that she was.

Luke laughed in surprise at the question, pulling back slightly. Was it that obvious to him, should she know why he cares, has it been glaring her right in the face? She felt angrier, at this response.

Clary shook her head and looked away from him. The moon was a crescent, gleaming on the dusty floors of the porch.

"I think the better question is why you don't." He pushed himself back from the table, his chair screeching against the wooden floorboards, "Your life should matter." he reiterated.

He avoided her question, and didn't understand. She should not matter to him.

She got up quickly, "That's not what I mean." She added with a huff of frustration, and he got up as well, towering over her by at least a foot. She could feel herself shrinking, slightly wobbling in her heals, not realizing she was still wearing them.

He clenched his hand around the back of his chair, "Care to explain?" The patronizing look on his face just further infuriated her. He wouldn't explain to her or answer her questions, why should she even bother asking the same question again.

Clary grabbed her plate, and practically stomped to the trashcan, blatantly discarding the food Luke had made for her. "I didn't ask for this." She mumbled and then turned to Luke, "I didn't ask for ANY OF THIS!"

Luke made a face like he ate something sour, his lips curling, "For what? Food, shelter, medical care?" He listed it off with angry vigor, spitting each one out with a wave of his hand.

She didn't say anything, her heart racing while heat bloomed in her face. He isn't a saint, he practically force his care. She didn't force him to do anything.

Luke growled - not happy with Clary's nonresponse, his eyebrows clashing into each other, "What did you want me to do, leave you to die?" She just wants time, to figure this stuff out. People don't care about her, she has always managed by herself, and he was angry at her for doing as she had always done.

"I wanted you to leave me alone, I don't need this-,"

"Oh for God's sake, Clary, you wouldn't have lasted five seconds in that field – wise up." He said rolling his eyes, and crossing his arms. He didn't want to hear what she had to say.

"You don't know that."

Luke huffed, "You were bleeding, barely could stand-"

"Shut up!" She wrapped her hands around herself.

"No, you would've died." His voice cracked.

"I don't care!" She screamed and it was like the words ripped out of her, because she didn't. She didn't care. If she had ended in the field, if her journey had dwindled there, she would have found peace. What the hell did Luke know about peace? Her heart ached for death as if it were the only frontier for her feet to cross.

The frenzied look on Clary's face appeared to pull Luke briefly out of his sarcasm. Luke straightened, his frown deepening. He took a step towards her, "Clary, calm down."

A sob broke through her mouth and she threw the plate near him, it hit the floor and shattered in dozens of pieces, "I don't fucking care!" Luke jumped back for a second, a shocked look flittered across his face.

"Clary-"

"You shouldn't either." She took a step back, it never made any sense. This was all more trouble than it was worth.

Luke held his hands up in a calming gesture, and took a slow step forward, "Clary, let's-,"

"No! Tell me!" Why did he care? What was she missing? Why did this hurt so much?

"This is ludicrous, why wouldn't I care!" He yelled, frustrated, taking quick steps forward. Clary stood her ground, her whole body screamed for her to run.

"Stop lying to me."

"I'm not." He said firmly, eyebrows in an angry V. he was glaring at her.

"Then I'm no one to you!" Clary clenched her fist, "You should let me go, and pretend I never was-"

"Don't say that."

"Then what, what do I owe you, I have no money, do you want me-" She looked at her body and to him.

"Don't you dare imply that?" Luke voice was deadly low, a look of disgust emblazoned on his face.

"What else is there? Are you just a creep?" She spat.

Luke looked ready to burst, like he want to strike her, she had never seen him that angry.

"Admit it! You just-"

"I LOVED your mother!" Luke roared. Clary froze, eyes wide, a faint whisper of a memory, her mother pulling Clary close, saying "I love you". The last memory of her mother alive.

Luke let out a burst of air, running his hand down his face, "Jesus, Clary, why would I-," He broke off, grief evident in the unshed tears in his eyes.

She could almost feel her hands on her shoulders, telling her to be strong, to never give up. She could smell her perfume, like roses.

And there it was, Clary felt like her head was going to explode, the overwhelming grief of losing her mother, all the years of loneliness. Who was he? After all this, she wanted to be as far away from him as possible, this ever present reminder of loss. Her throat closed up.

"Stay away from me." She said quietly, taking a few steps back.

Clary could tell if he expected this or not, but he entangled his hands in his hair again, "Clary." She could barely hear herself, the onslaught of memories - her mother lying on the floor, her father over her. She sobbed.

She whirled around, hot tears racing down her face and she felt Luke's hand around her wrist. She began to frantically pull her hand from him, "LET ME GO!" She yelled, crying louder.

He didn't listen, he was saying something, but Clary could hardly hear it over the whooshing sound that roared through her ears, the unadulterated panic of feeling trapped, of feeling alone but then not.

She screamed and tugged again, and abruptly Luke let go which caused her to tumble to the ground. She quickly skittered to the closest wall, drawing up her legs, her tears soaking into her dress. She felt lightheaded, as her chest heaving into a full-fledged panic attack.

She was reminded of her time in the field but this time Luke was not right beside her, arm wrapped over her shoulder. She saw his blurred figure in front of her, she heard him muffled and talking. He appeared hesitant to touch her and for a moment all was silent, and then all went black.

A low hum soothed her. She was barefoot by a stream, and her toes dipped into the cool water, little minnows tickling her ankles as they swam by. She saw her mother, sitting on a log wedged in between rocks, just a few yards ahead. The sun shined on her mother's auburn hair, making her look radiant. The humming noise elevated to the point where she could no longer hear the stream hitting against the rocks.

Her mother's face was concerned, sad. She looked at Clary and said one word. "Stay." The ringing got louder to the point she slapped her hands against her ears and winced.

Then she woke up.

Her lungs were burning as she gulped air like she was drowning. She shot up and found herself in her bed, still in her dress, her hair was sticking to her face.

The sun was just starting to rise. She realized she had blacked out, but had she fallen asleep, had she walked here, had Luke moved her here?

Every bone felt heavy, like it pushed her into the bed. She curled into a ball, the dress felt tight and she grabbed onto the zipper, uncurling her body and taking it off. She threw it to the ground. She got up and grabbed a T-shirt and shorts, slipping them on.

Then she collapsed into the bed, rubbing her eyes she thought of Luke's confession. Her mother never said a word about him, had she loved him back? What had happened?

It was stupid, but she thought about what life would be like if he were her father. Would she be a different person, would she be brave, would she be smart? It would certainly be more peaceful, away from the city, growing up on a farm, riding horses from day into night.

Part of her mourned the imaginary life, the other part really wanted her mother. She felt tears leaking unbidden, down her face and wearily shut her eyes.

When she woke again the sun was much higher, glaring urgently through the shades. She felt groggy, and her mouth was dry. Pulling herself up, she dragged herself out of her bed and tumbled from one room to another, the bathroom.

She looked at herself, she was a mess. Her hair matted with hairspray, he face streaked with makeup, tear stains. She could almost imagine Isabelle reaction to how Clary had destroyed hours of work to her hair and makeup.

She pulled off her clothes, took a shower, the warm water washed away the tension in her shoulders. She thought of the evening before, it played over and over in her mind. How could she had let herself go absolutely insane? Luke was most likely regretting ever taking her in, and he probably was disappointed with how unlike her mother she was. She shook her head out of the thoughts and washed the soap out of her hair.

When she was done she went to her room to change. Then she came out, an hour past. It was close to noon when she reached the kitchen. The room was clean, no evidence of a shattered plate. She felt a pang of regret for ruining another piece of kitchenware.

She half expected Luke to be cooking, but she heard him nowhere, not in the living room, and his bedroom door was opened. Generally, he closed it when he was in there. She looked around and decided to go simple and pour some cereal, a task that was not likely to end in 2rd degree burns.

Before she finished her first bite, she was startled out of her thoughts with Jace walking in. Did he think he owned the place, he didn't even knock? Not that she could talk, she was more a guest than he was. Clary was just feeling grumpy.

Jace stopped at the entrance of the Kitchen when he noticed that she was sitting their silently. "Oh." He said softly. The way he said it, had Luke revealed last night's events? She practically accused him of being a pervert and hyperventilated into a blackout. She could feel her ears go warm.

"Need something." She mumbled, because being silent would just make this more awkward.

"No, um, Luke said you were sick. He looked," Jace paused, rubbing the back of his neck, "He looked really sad, so I thought maybe you were really sick." He let his hand drop to his side.

Clary sighed, her stomach unknotting slightly, Luke wasn't the type to gossip. Clary shrugged, "Luke likes to worry." She gave him a small smile but he didn't return it, furrowing his brow.

"Yeah." Jace trailed on, "This is different."

"What are you doing here?" Clary briskly changed the subject. She stared at her slowly drowning cereal and stirred it a bit.

Jace gave her a look of confusion. She took a bite of cereal, it tasted horrible.

"Oh keys, looking for the keys to the shed." He muttered while pulling open a couple drawers, "Ah, there they are." He pulled out a large key ring with at least 20 keys on it. "Wanna come?" He asked, shaking the keys at her.

Clary looked at her soggy cereal, her unappetizing soggy cereal, and shrugged again, "Sure." She felt it would be better to get her mind off things.

Their walk to the shed was a lot further than Clary anticipated, and largely silent. Clary spent most of the time trying to not think about her current set of circumstances.

"I'm glad you're Ok." Jace said, and Clary looked quickly to him, his long hair covering his profile. Clary worried at her lip, she felt a warm feeling in her chest. She felt ridiculous for feeling pleased at something so innocuous.

"Yeah, thanks." She stuttered, kicked a rock that was in front of her feet while walking. She thought maybe he wasn't so bad, that there were worse boys then Jace. Under the false bravado, he was actually nice. She gave him a side-eyed glance, but he seemed determined to walk ahead.

"Clary, you're up?"

Clary's feet halted suddenly at Luke's voice, and she jerked her eyes up to see Luke's weary form waiting expectantly at the shed. She couldn't tell if Luke was angry, she really could not read his expression at all. Jace had said he looked sad, but she couldn't gather that conclusion at all.

Jace walked ahead and unlocked the shed. Clary kept her silence, averting her gaze from Luke's questioning eyes to the darkened shed. Jace stepped in, turning on the light.

"We're planning a fishing trip this weekend" Luke explained, Clary turned her gaze back to Luke, "Thought we check if we have everything and stock up on what we don't."

Clary nodded. She really didn't care one way or another, and she didn't care about a fishing trip.

"You're welcome to come."

"Sure." She surprised herself at the response, "I mean, I haven't really fished before."

Luke eyes widened, "Really? You're mother used to-," He broke off suddenly. Jace swiftly turned his head, curiosity evident on his face.

Clary felt pricking behind her eyes, and she knew it was completely stupid to even think about crying at something so small. She looked down, clenching her fists.

Luke cleared his throat, "You mind giving us a moment, Jace?"

There was a beat of silence, "Okay." He trailed off, obviously holding back a million questions. It was few moments before Clary could no longer hear Jace's footsteps.

"Why don't you help me pick out a fishing rod?" Luke suggested. Clary looked up to see him already in the shed, she took a deep breath, reigning in her emotions and she followed.

There were several fishing rods hung up on the wall, and one end shelves were lined with different tackle boxes. Shovels and rakes were shoved in a corner. It wasn't as dusty inside as Clary would've initially thought.

Luke fingered a red rod that looked almost as tall a Clary, "This one was always my favorite." He picked it off the wall, turning the reel for a moment, "Tension gets a little off though." He mumbled.

"Did my mother have a rod?" Clary blurted it out, and then flushed. She hadn't been able to talk about her mother with anyone. It was always a subject to be avoided, and she found that she hungered for any type of knowledge.

If Luke was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. He eyed the length of the rod, "Yeah, she had a pretty nice rod, but your mom could've pick a fish out of the ocean with a stick and floss." He grinned at Clary, "She was pretty much a natural at it."

"Oh." Clary couldn't picture her mother outside the prison of her home. Her mom was never allowed to leave, she was meant to keep the house nice. She never complained or reminisced about these subjects. Perhaps they were too painful to think of. "She never mentioned it." Clary said quietly.

Luke put the rod down, and leaned his hip on a sturdy wooden table, "Your mother didn't kill herself," He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing, "She didn't, did she?" He opened his eyes and look straight at Clary. He looked every bit of heartbroken as Clary felt.

Clary felt her heart hammering in her chest, it was like the truth clawing out of her throat. So many years of sadness. So many years of silence, suffocating silence. "No." Clary suddenly felt herself let go, because she wasn't strong like her mother asked. She couldn't be brave, and tears rose up to her eyes like fountains. She felt the pricking and the warm wetness roll down her cheek.

"Oh Clary." Luke said softly, he walked up to her slow and deliberate. He carefully pulled her into his arms, gently shushing her. This was the first time she was this close to Luke since he had lifted her, crying from the ground in the field.

She wrapped her arms around him, leaning into his chest, he smelt like corn and detergent. His flannel shirt warm against her cheek, she felt her tears get soaked into the fabric. "I-I want her back." She hiccupped.

"I know." Luke whispered, "So do I." He grabbed on to her tighter. They stayed there in their grief.

A/N: Thank you all for your lovely reviews. It's going to pick up in the next chapters, more action and fun. Please read and review! :)