I don't own it.
It was like looking at something out of a nightmare. Jace was going to let Luke die. Here, he whispered in her ear again, "Don't look. It will be better if you don't look." He was blinded by Valentine's smooth persuasiveness and honeyed words of family loyalty.
Clary could hear herself screaming, horrible, bloodcurdling screams that were ineffective. She accomplished nothing. In abject anguish, she watched as the man who had fathered her stood over Luke, his weakening body twisted uselessly under Valentine's sword finally pierced Luke's heart.
Luke's eyes bugged and his mouth went slack. Clary screamed once more, one final, piercing note that summoned Luke's death. With ounce of strength she yet possessed, with every fiber of her being, Clary fought Jace's vise grip on her arms. It was ineffectual, and with a final, fading glance at the redhead, Luke Garroway, formerly known as Lucian Graymark, the only father Clary had ever known, died.
Clary went limp in Jace's arms, collapsing in the grief that overtook her. Jace caught her up in his arms, and soothingly rubbed her back. "Ssh, Clary. Shh. It had to be done. He was just a Downworlder." His voice, which she once considered musical and sweet to listen to, now carried no attraction for her. Now it bore resemblance only to hate. She could no longer bear to look at or listen to Jace. With renewed fervor, she screamed and fought at his clutches. Raking her nails across her cheek, she finally gained ground, listening with a sense of vengeance as Jace cried out and loosed his hold on her, if only slightly.
"Enough," Valentine hissed, and stepping towards her, grabbed her upper arm in a crushing grip. Yanking her towards his massive body, the back of his hand connected with her cheek in a blinding pain. She fell to the floor, striking her head off the stone. Across the floor, Luke's dull eyes stared at her.
"Father, I don't think that was-" Jace began, but was interrupted.
"It was entirely necessary. Lucian had to die."
"Father, with respect, I meant Clary." Jace tried again, holding his palms out towards the older man in a show of submission.
"Disrespect will not be tolerated. Surely you learned that as a child."
Jace stepped back, nodding once, a look of misery at Clary, still motionless on the ground, now bleeding from the wound on her head.
"I will return in a moment. I must fetch Jocelyn." With that, Valentine disappeared from the room.
Clary struggled to an upright position, putting a slim white hand to her forehead to staunch the flow of blood. Jace knelt next to her, offering the hem of his now stained shirt as a bandage.
"Get away from me!" Clary savagely spat at him, furiously lashing out with her fists. Jace flinched backwards as Clary recoiled from him towards Luke. Gently, gently she lifted his limp head into her lap. Tears fell from the corners of her eyes and landed like raindrops on Luke's forehead, his nose, his cheeks. Collapsing onto his chest, Clary fell apart, sobs ripping through her body with a force she had never experienced. Her grief was a real, tangible pain, causing a visceral ache that weighed her down, dragging her through the very depths of despair.
Jace tried again to comfort and heal her, but this time, Clary snatched the discarded kindjal and slashed at Jace's chest, leaving a deep jagged cut from his left bottom rib to his right collarbone. Jace fell back, reeling from the pain, though more emotional than physical. Clary still wielded the weapon, brandishing it at Jace.
"I said, stay away from us." Clary's voice shook with an unreleased sob, and she pitched forward onto Luke's still warm body again.
With sudden clarity, Jace at once realized what he had done. He fell back from his kneeling position. "No, no." His voice was broken, reflecting the brokenness within and all around him. He looked at Clary's shaking, sobbing body and looked towards the heavens. "Oh, Angel." He was growing faint from the blood loss and sorrow. "Clary, please. Please, I'm so sorry. I didn't know, I didn't…" He trailed off, not sure of how to continue. "Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa."
At this, Clary looked up. "Don't you dare. Don't you even dare." Clary's voice was savage, rage and pain leaking into it. Jace looked at her in despair. "You said once," she went on in that awful, haggard voice, "That you didn't believe sin. Well, I hope you're wrong. I hope that there is a hell so you can rot in it!" She was screaming at him again by the end of her sentence.
The door opened, and Valentine stepped through the door, bearing a still unconscious Jocelyn in his arms. His black eyes flashed when he saw Jace bleeding and damaged, then quickly returned to his usual calm. Valentine's eyes flicked to Clary.
Looking around the room, Clary saw the Portal mirror and knew in an instant what she had to do. With one quick, fluid motion, she leapt at the Portal. Jace followed her, but grabbed only at air. For once, she had been faster, and for once, he had not been fast enough. Clary disappeared into the Portal, into an unknown destination. Valentine's cry of rage echoed in the stone chamber, bouncing off the walls as Jace watched his sister disappear.
He knew - he knew - this was his fault. He knew Clary's screams were not over nothing, merely the dramatics of a young girl that wasn't getting her way, but the real, true anguish of someone losing everything. But he hadn't reacted, hadn't even batted an eyelash.
He'd instead held her still, preventing her from stopping the atrocity from happening.
Oh, yes. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
The Portal took Clary to Simon. She emerged, covered in blood, sweat and tears, and had collapsed into his shocked and surprised arms. In halted, broken words, she explained what had happened.
Simon took her back to his house and made coffee, though she initially refused to drink it. After a long hour of coaxing and cajoling, Clary drank the coffee and collapsed back onto the futon in exhaustion.
Upon waking up, she said only this, "I can't stay here. I'm leaving."
And she did.
Simon wanted to go with her. He begged and pleaded and threatened, but Clary wouldn't tell him what she was planning.
"I can't risk your life too, Simon. They're going to try to find me, and when they do, Simon," Clary paused here, unsure of how to say it, so, with a resignation in her voice, she whispered it, "They will kill me."
Simon's look of horror broke Clary's heart and she reached for him. Simon's arms were so tight around her shoulders that Clary could not breathe. She felt a drop on her cheek and looking up; she saw something that nearly killed her.
Simon was crying.
It took three years for them to find Clary in San Francisco. And when they finally did, Valentine was not with them. Jace found her one day, sitting in her studio painting.
Her back was to the door when he arrived; Clary heard the bell ring and paused for a moment to call over her shoulder that she would be out in a moment. The voice that called back was familiar, but she could not place it.
Clary emerged from the back room, entering the gallery where many of her paintings hung on the walls, to see a tall man, blonde haired and corded with muscle, with her back to him, studying a painting of a stocky, brunette man with an elegant red headed woman and a small, slim child in the middle of a room surrounded with book shelves. They were laughing and playing in a makeshift tent of sheets and chairs, a flashlight in hand.
"That's not for sale," Clary said, clearing her throat.
"I figured," the man said as he turned around.
It was Jace.
Clary's eyes widened, her body stiffened, her breathing stopped.
"I wouldn't want to sell my happiest memory either." He did not move towards her, but raised his hands as though she were an animal he was trying to reassure. "Hello, Clary."
"What are you doing here?" Clary's voice hissed. He could almost feel the tension in her body.
"I've been looking for you for the past three years. Valentine-"
"Valentine," Clary interrupted, "Can go rot in hell and keep all those demons company, for all I care." Her voice was venom, spitting at him from across the room.
"Valentine is dead." Jace said simply. "I killed him."
"Good." Clary shot at him, that one word cutting at him.
After a pause, he added, "And technically, demons are from other dimensions, not hell."
He had to duck out of the way to avoid stapler from hitting his nose. "What was that for?" He asked, a flush creeping over his face.
"You let Luke be murdered by Valentine." Clary called to him, not bothering to spare him a glance. "You can leave now." Clary turned and walked back through the studio. Jace followed quickly, grabbing at her arm. Faster than he realized, Jace found himself on his back, looking up at her beautiful, angry face. "You can die too, for all I care, Jace." Her voice now dropped to a whisper. "I want nothing to do with you."
From his spot on the floor, only one thought ran through his mind.
"Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa."
So, new oneshot. I think the ending was kinda weak, but leave what you think in the comments.