Running Away From Jace

The Beginning

It wasn't the first morning Clary awoke with swollen eyes and a pounding headache, and it wouldn't be the last. It also wasn't the first time she'd gotten a Clave summons, and she thought it only safe to assume it would not be her last, either, as she pressed her nails into the palm of her hand. She sat on the couch for a while, her hand somehow finding it's way up to her neck, just sitting there one moment and the next the pads of her cold fingers were sitting over top of the Parabatai rune on her neck. She wondered if Simon ever did this, ever sat with his fingers over their bond, thinking of what he'd lost in her leaving.

Clary did it all the time.

Sucking in a deep breath, Clary pulled her fingers away from her neck as if the skin there had shocked her and opened wide the kitchen window, and then the small bathroom window you could just barely glimpse New York out of in the shower. Then she set to work on herself, adding product to her hair to make the curls sharp and shiny, covering the dark circles under her eyes, painting her lips a peach colour and her eyelashes a black shade. When Clary was done, she stepped back, admiring the sharpness of her cheekbones, the clean line of her eyeliner, the way her legs looked in heels. 

She almost felt like Isabelle, slicing anything that stopped her in half with her whip, and doing it in heels without breaking a sweat. Clary smiled at her reflection, testing herself it felt like, seeing how familiar the action felt after so much crying. 

She could do this, she could march into the Institute with her heels and a blade strapped to her thigh. Clary could pretend that her life was just as good as it had been after the war, she would pretend that there wasn't a gaping hole in her where she'd torn out her family. Pretending like it was true made breathing a little bit easier sometimes - times like waking up in the morning to Allison's beaming smile and her golden hair ruffled around her head like a tangled crown. Times like watching Allison splash around in the salty ocean with Mark, and Cristina, Livia and Dru. 

"Allison!" Clary called, "I'm leaving; text me if you go out, don't get lost, kidnapped, or brutally murdered by demons while I'm gone, please!"

The only response was the floor-shaking music suddenly beginning to play from Allison's bedroom. Clary sighed and brushed a curl behind her ear, stuffing her phone and keys into her coat pocket before closing the door behind herself.

_____

Clary had decided against the glamour that morning, in the same instance where she decided to walk and she was feeling a little unstoppable in her heels. But her feet had already begun to ache from the walk over, much like her head was still doing from the previous night's bout of crying. Standing in the elevator, waiting for it to make it's painstakingly slow ascension to the Institute's main level, she straightened her posture and stared down at the rune peeking out from under the sleeve of her jacket. She wondered at what point had she again become unbothered by the burning, prickling sensation of drawing on the Angel's marks. 

Slowly, the elevator shuddered to a halt, and Clary drew in a sharp breath, preparing herself for whatever accusations the Clave was ready to toss her way this time. She was less surprised to find the hallways deathly and lifeless this time around, but each click of her heels on the floor was unbearably loud in the emptiness.

Then, there were voices—louder as she got closer to where she was expected to meet the Consul and Inquisitor. The appendage in her chest stopped and restarted, and she held a hand over her heart, allowing her fingers to drift their way up to her Parabatai rune. Clary pushed open the doors, peering anxiously through them as they opened. 

It was bound to happen sometime, but it didn't make it any less awful. It didn't make her hurt any less. 

But it certainly made her regret foregoing putting on a glamour. 

Jace's wide eyes met hers, but she looked forward and took a breath, steeling herself. She had bigger things to worry about than Jace Herondale. One being her daughter, and another being that someone had raised Sebastian Morgenstern from the dead.

"Inquisitor," she nodded her head. "Consul." She shook Jia's outstretched hand before taking her seat, feeling Jace's eyes boring into the side of her head. She wondered if he was glaring at her.

"Hello, Miss Fairchild. We appreciate your cooperation in light of this situation." Clary nodded once more. "We've lost our trace on the necromantic magic that was being used. We suspect whoever it was caught wind of of your arrival in New York and is covering their tracks."

"Lying low," Robert interjected with a grunt. 

"Have you told anyone you were in New York?" Jia questioned, cocking her head to the side. 

"Just Emma Carstairs, and beyond that, I have a hard time believing she would tell anyone besides the other inhabitants of the Los Angeles Institute—and I have an even harder time believing they would have bothered to tell anyone else." Clary was slightly out of breath, her head whirring. The Inquisitor opened his mouth, to tell her she did something wrong, Clary was willing to bet. "And may I remind you both that the Clave summons said nothing about keeping my whereabouts a secret. Nor did it specify that I had to keep a low profile."

"Did you tell anyone why you were coming back to New York?" Jia asked.

"No," Clary answered plainly. 

"Then it seems someone has been paying special attention to you, Clary."

_____

After more questions about who she thought could have possibly resurrected her long-dead brother, Clary was free to go. Every step away from the Institute library was a breath of fresh air, one step closer to freedom. 

"Clary wait—"

She paused. She considered. And then she turned around, forcing a polite little smile onto her face. "I'd love to stop and chat, Jace, I really would— except I have somewhere to be. Maybe another time." Because she was suddenly very worried about Allison—if they (whoever they were) could get to her so easily, how hard would it be for them to get closer to her daughter? And because it would hurt too much. She felt the ache in herself everyday for the life she'd had at the end of the War, for Jace and for Simon and for Isabelle, for Alec and Magnus, for Maia. But frankly, she didn't know if that was still the life she wanted anymore. 

"Clary," he tried again.

Her smile dropped. Her eyes narrowed. "No, Jace. I do not want to talk to you right now." She turned on her heel and began her stride again. This time he didn't stop her. 

_____

That anxious feeling she'd had at the Institute followed Clary all the way home. She'd given up her attempt at calm and ran the rest of the way home when she'd called Allison at a red light and she hadn't answered. Allison might've been mad and ignoring her call on purpose—Clary wouldn't put it past her daughter—but something didn't feel right. The call hadn't gone straight to voicemail like Allison had rejected it. It had rung and rung and rung. 

She was breathing hard as she slid to a stop and started up the stairs to their apartment. Halfway up the first flight, Clary heard a grunt, and then a sound like something heavy had fallen on the floor. 

She went faster.

Clary's pulse spiked when she noticed the apartment door was slightly unhinged, the doorknob ripped away. She shoved it open wide, pulling her stele out of her bra. Though she didn't know what use it would be. 

Allison was pulling a seraph blade out of the vanishing body of a Hellhound. There was a black scorch on the floor where the hound had been seconds before. She was panting, her blonde hair sticking to her ichor-splattered skin. Lying on the floor were the crumpled bodies of Raum demons. The coffee table lie in a broken heap on the floor.

Allison turned around, still panting and with a gleam in her eyes. "Hey Mom."