*All characters belong to Cassandra Clare. Story idea and plot are property of BlondeHairBlueEyes14. Do not copy, reproduce or re-post without express written permission*


Screech.

"Ahem, ."

Crackle.

"Are you aware of why you are here?"

Crackle.

"Can you hear me?"

Screech.

Crackle.

The boy removed his eyes from the imbecile sitting in front of him to the microphone between the pair. The annoying noises it was making was grating on his last nerve. He briefly considered throwing it across the room before returning his attention to the detective in front of him.

The older man looked uncomfortable in the small interrogation room. His tie was loose and his suit jacket was hanging on the chair behind him. The lines between his brows increased as he looked down at his file and then back at the boy.

"Mr..."

Crackle.

"Sorry, Jace. Do you understand why you're here?"

Jace tilted his head back slightly and stared at the glass wall behind Detective Moron. He could feel someone watching him and he knew there was someone else behind the glass. He smirked and lifted his hand just enough to wiggle his fingers in the glasses direction.

"This would be a lot easier if you answered."

Crackle.

"I'm not here to make things easy on you, detective" Jace glancing at the papers sitting in front of him and smirked again. "And I'm not answering any of these questions either."

Screech.

The detective flinched as the microphone emitted more noises, the sounds echoed around the room loudly. Jace watched with bored amusement as the man shifted through the file in front of him and pulled out a photo which he placed on the table.

Detective Moron pushed the picture closer to Jace and spoke again. "Do you know who this is?"

Jace didn't need to look at the picture—he knew who he was being questioned about—but he did anyways. He whistled.

Screech.

"That is not a very good picture; I hope you didn't show it to her." He raked his eyes over the man before shrugging. "You're still alive, so I'll take that as a no."

Crackle.

"Does that mean you know this girl, Jace?"

Jace folded his arms over his chest and bent back so far the front legs of his chair came off the ground. "I don't recall saying I do." He kept his eyes locked on the detectives brown ones as he spoke.

It amused him greatly, how he could piss people off with just a few words and right tone of voice. The man in front of him looked about ready to slam his fist down on the table or Jace's face. The vein in his neck was bulging out and the black circles under his eyes were more prominent now that his face was turning blue.

"Do you know Clarissa Fairchild?"

Crackle.

Jace un-furled his arms from his chest and placed them behind his head before closing his eyes and leaning back a bit more. "Pretty name, doesn't suit her, though." Behind his closed eyes, Clary's scowl—that was reserved just for him—appeared. Neither the picture on the table in front of him or his image of her did the girl justice. Her usually perfect fire red hair and porcelain skin were only something that could be fully appreciated up close.

A hand slammed down on the table loudly.

Screech.

"Jace," The detective snapped." Do you know Clarissa Fairchild?"

Screech.

Jace opened one of his eyes and couldn't help the grin that pulled on his lips. "If I say yes are you going to breathe again? That shade of purple you're turning is not natural."

The man kept his annoyed gaze locked on Jace, his fingers tapping on the metal table.

Jace pushed himself forward; the legs of the chair hit the ground loudly. He placed his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table. He kept his gaze locked on the man in front of him. His smirk held in place. He moved a few inches closer to the microphone.

"Yes, Mr. Detective. I know Clarissa."

Crackle.

"How?"

Jace raised his eyebrows. "How? As in how do I know her?"

The detective nodded his head and glanced at the clock quickly, Jace noted he was sweating slightly and the man's foot was tapping on the ground impatiently.

"Well, when you're born most people have vocal chords which, when you're older, allow you to speak to people and make these things called friends. You've heard of them I assume?"

Crackle.

"You and Miss Fairchild are friends then Jace?"

"I don't think I said that. I was simply pointing out that most people know each other because they are friends."

Screech.

"Jace, if you don't start cooperating, I can't help you. If you answer my questions, I can help you"

Jace brought his eyes back up to the glass behind the detective and voices echoed in his head.

"Remember, don't lie but don't tell the truth"

"That makes no sense, Clare."

Jayson could see the grin on Clary's face and feel the warm June air hit him as he and Clary walked out of the hotel.

"It makes plenty of sense. Work around the truth. The best lies are true"

"I have been answering your questions. If the answers aren't what you want hear, there really is nothing I can do about that," Jace said lightly. "Besides, I know that you know the answers to some of these questions already."

Crackle.

The detective seemed to realize that he wasn't in control anymore. He cleared his throat and asked a new question.

"How long have you known Miss Fairchild?"

Crackle.

"Nine years"

The detective looked up quickly and stared at Jace for a few seconds. Jace smirked. He knew what the detective was thinking, Is he lying?

"How old were you when you met her?"

Jace crossed his arms over his chest and grinned. "I'm not lying, there's no need to ask the same question in a different manner."

The detective watched him for a few seconds before pulling another photo out of his file. This one caught Jace off guard. He glanced down at it to see a hotel.

Crackle.

"Miss Fairchild was seen at the Empire Hotel three weeks ago." Jace felt his pulse quicken slightly. The feds had found one of her locations, looks like someone with a brain was finally hired. "Do you know where she is now?"

Behind you.

It took a lot of will power on Jace's part not to let those words slip. He wondered what the detective's reaction would be if he told the man that the girl he had spent the past month tracking was standing behind him right now. He could practically see her tilting her head to the side and grinning while she waited for him to answer.

"I do," He answered.

Screech.

The detective let out a breath. "Where is she?"

"New York."

A stony silence proceeded Jace's answer. If looks could kill, Jace figured the detective would have murdered him with a single glare by now.

The door opened to the right of Jace and a lady walked in. Her black hair was in a tight bun on her head. Her blue eyes matched her dress and the silver bracelets on her wrists jingled when she entered.

"Mr. Herondale is free to go."

The way she spoke clearly said she was shocked. Her hard eyes scanned the boy who was chuckling while he stood up and pulled his black jacket on his shoulders.

Screech.

The microphone made the sound of the chair echo harshly in the room.

"I would say it was pleasure but lying to an officer of the law is illegal."

Jace watched as the detectives hands clenched together in fists. He waved and left the room. The lady followed him out, her heels clacking loudly on the marble floor.

"Your money is being sent to an offshore account, Izzy. A little extra this time as a thanks for the Paris incident," Jace said under his breath as they kept moving. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they neared the elevators.

When Isabelle spoke this time her shocked charade was over and her voice was neutral. "Thank you, Jace." The elevator dinged and they entered. Isabelle clicked the giant L button and they headed for the lobby.

"Tell Clary I say nicely done. Her planning was fabulous, as always."

Jace grinned as he watched the big red numbers above the doors move. "I will, as always your help was appreciated."

Isabelle returned his smile. "Tell my cousin to watch it; the museum heist last week was too close. You have no idea how many strings I had to pull."

The elevator dinged again and stopped before the doors slid open, revealing a white and black marble lobby. Jace gave one final nod and walked towards the revolving glass doors. Isabelle's heels clicked behind him as he pushed on the door and stepped in.

As Jace was about to exit the building, his eye caught the bright black and silver CIA logo hanging above the reception desk and he couldn't get the grin to leave his lips. The adrenaline pumped through him as he walked down the steps, they made it out unscathed...again. He zipped his jacket up a little higher and pulled his black gloves tighter on his hands as the cold December air hit him.

As Jace exited the building, a girl left the room behind the glass. Her red hair was piled high on her head in a messy bun. Her black boots made almost no noise as she walked slowly down the hallway. Her arms were behind her back and she was whistling quietly under her breath.

Loud footfalls behind her caused her to turn her head slightly, the detective exited the interrogation room, his face had returned to its proper color and his hands were hanging lazily by his sides. The girl pulled a key from her bra strap and fingered it lightly as she waited for the man to get closer.

"It's all on tape, no questions will be asked."

The girl grinned and threw the key in the air; the detective grabbed it and put it in his pocket quickly. His face was pale up close, the girl noted.

"Thank you for your help, detective. The money is in a safety deposit box at Downtown Mutual," The girl said as a small smirk grew on her lips. "And your photos have been burnt; your marriage is going to remain intact, for now."

The detective clenched his fists together but spoke in a neutral tone of voice. "And this is going to be the last I hear of the photos, Miss Fairchild?"

Clary grinned and pulled the zipper of her leather jacket up. "Yes, this will be the last time these photos will be mentioned, Detective Hodge. Thank you for your cooperation."

The up arrow—for the elevator—lit up a bright red and Clary moved away from the detective. She pulled open the fire escape door and slipped through the crack quickly before jogging down the stairs. She opened up her black clutch and pulled out a small silver voice recorder. She clicked the small black button on the side and the small red light dimmed before going dark.

Clary placed it gingerly back in her purse as she kept up her pace down the stairs. Before closing her purse she pulled out her temporary cell phone and sent a text with her gloved hands.

Done.

She jumped the last two steps and threw the phone to the ground before crushing it with her heel; she bent down with a quick glance at her watch, and shifted through the pile for the SIM card. It was cracked but she pulled it out and shoved it in her jean pocket before kicking the rest of the broken phone off to the side.

Clary pushed open the emergency door and exited the building as the fire alarm sounded loudly behind her. She put her hands in her jacket pockets and walked down the alley between the buildings. Someone was leaning on the wall at the end of the alley.

As she neared the figure moved and Jace's smirking face appeared from the shadows.

"We are never doing a job for Bane again."

Clary nodded but pulled out a folded piece of paper from her clutch. "Starting next week," she said and handed it to Jace. "How do you feel about the Mona Lisa?"


*Waves shyly*

Hiya.

Yup.

Not dead, as you can see.

And also not working on my other fanfic's clearly, but this is just a One-Shot to keep everyone (MaxWaylandGrey) somewhat happy while I work on those Updates!

SO, please try not to: murder me, dice me up into itty bitty pieces or sent ninja's after me ( I think I listed all the threats), I am getting around to Updating, but my brain has not been functioning lately. I sprained my ankle yesterday so I'm going to have plenty of "down time" to do some writing.

Thanks a tonne to MaxWaylandGrey for edting and betaing another version of this story :D And for threatening me, Lots. And Lots.

AND...Review for me?

Please?

It might make me write faster ;)

Cheers,

~Mandy~