Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Simon is in trouble. He knows it as soon as he steps into the bar. This is definitely not the place Clary meant. There’s metal music blasting through the speakers and a thick layer of smoke hangs in the air. One guy, big, bald and mean looking, has been staring him down since the second he walked in. Simon gives him a bit of an awkward smile, but he doesn’t seem to be very into friendliness.

Shit.

He’s been calling Clary’s cell non-stop, but knowing her, the battery probably died about half an hour into the evening. So, yeah, Simon’s in trouble.

It’s not even like he was particularly keen on going out tonight, hanging out with Clary and her art school friends. They are all nice, yes, but he always feels like he’s living in an entirely different solar system when talking to them. In theirs, there’s just colours and auras and vibes. They use words like impressionism and retrograde more frequently than basic conjunctions. And Clary, who usually speaks his planet’s language, seems to be fluent in theirs as well. So, whenever she takes him to her artist hangouts, he’s the only alien there, facing a foreign species.

Simon gets it. Really, it’s probably pretty much the same thing for her whenever she joins him for DnD nights. But that doesn’t mean he has to love partying on Planet Artiste. However, having to interpret horoscopes definitely beats being alone and stranded in what seems to be an alt-right bar with Bald Guy still burning a whole into his neck with his eyes.

“Great,” he mutters to himself. He should get out of here before things can get ugly. He’s not big on confrontations with nazi bikers.

But Simon isn’t a very lucky person. He’s just stepped outside when he realises that he’s being followed. And Bald Guy brought his friends, who, as a group just look like a cloning experiment gone wrong.

“Are you looking for something?”

“Er, no, I was just leaving really. I don’t want any trouble.”

To emphasise his words, Simon holds his hands out in front of him, palms facing the gang of degenerate clones.

Bald Guy opens his mouth to speak, but he’s cut off by another voice, coming from behind Simon, “Five on one. Wow. That’s incredibly brave of you guys.”

He spins around to find a man leaning against a lamp post, a lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looks absolutely ridiculous, with his cocky grin and the single arched eyebrow. Like he jumped right out of a Tom Cruise movie. He’s also the most beautiful man Simon has ever seen.

Oh fuck.

“Oh yeah? Let’s see how brave you are, you little fucking twink!”

Bald Guy pushes past Simon towards the newcomer, who takes a drag and shrugs.

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s find out.”

Apparently, that is all the invitation Bald Guy and his bald friends need. In an instant they’re upon him, fists flying. To Simon’s utter surprise, the man isn’t immediately mowed down by the sheer force of their combined attack. He moves with the precision of a properly trained fighter, ducks between them and has half of them knocked out in a matter of seconds. For half a heartbeat he meets Simon’s eyes and winks. Then, he’s tackled by Bald Guy and it looks like he’s about to crush him with his body weight.

Simon moves without thinking. He just leaps forward and lands his knuckles in the sweaty flesh of Bald Guy’s cheek. He’s too astonished by his own actions to move out of the way quickly enough and so the fist hits him right in the eye and sends him stumbling.

Simon has never been in a fight before. He’s been cornered by bullies, alright, but they were just scrappy teenagers who pushed him around a bit. He’s never been truly punched. The only thing that his mind is capable of coming up with now that he has, is ouch. That shit hurts.

He remains hunched over, covering his eye with his hands and sucking in air through his clenched teeth to keep himself from crying in pain. Distantly, he notes a loud clashing noise and someone shouting something unpleasant. Then, there’s a hand on his shoulder. From his position Simon only sees bloody nails on crooked fingers that somehow seem to be bend in a very unnatural direction.

“Can you walk?” the stranger asks. He’s not even out of breath.

Simon manages a nod, still biting down hard to muffle his own heavy breathing.

“Great, let’s go. Before they call the cops.”

The stranger pulls him along by the arm, jogging down the street. Simon feels dizzy.

“Did that really just happen?” he finally gets out after silently running through the dark for what feels like an eternity.

The man lets go of him and slows down, looking at Simon, who’s finally able to look back over at him with at least one functioning eye.

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve seen anyone do in a while,” the stranger huffs and Simon realises that he’s laughing.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was really brave. And nice of you. So, thanks. But it was also really fucking stupid.”

There’s blood dripping from his nose onto his shirt and his lip is split open, but he’s grinning at Simon as if he doesn’t even notice he’s hurt. The adrenaline must still be shooting through Simon’s veins as well because he suddenly feels himself snort and then break out into hysterical laughter.

For a moment, they’re just giggling like children, clutching their sides, fighting for breath.

“Oh my god,” Simon chokes out, “I literally punched a crazy biker. That’s… That’s probably the coolest thing I’ve done in my entire life.”

“It’s pretty fucking cool, yeah.”

The stranger stops to light another cigarette. His arms are covered in thinly lined tattoos, like a rag rug.

“I’m Simon, by the way,” Simon says. “Thanks for saving me.”

“Right back at you. I’m Jace.”

His smile reveals a split tooth. Simon thinks he might faint.

“Any particular reason you decided to go into a bar like that dressed like this?” Jace asks, glancing down at Simon’s outfit.

In an instant, he can feel the blood rush into his cheeks. For the meeting with the delegation of Planet Artiste, ambassador Simon had chosen to wear a fishnet shirt and the pants Clary bought him, that are too tight to be considered clothing in his opinion. No wonder Bald Guy had been staring. 

“I, uh, was supposed to meet with my best friend and her art school friends,” he mumbles.

Jace chuckles. “Brave and stupid seems to be your thing, huh,” he says.

“I went to the wrong bar.”

“I figured.” He blows smoke out through his nose and winces. After taking another painfully close look he shrugs lazily and concludes, “I like the outfit. It suits you.”

“Uh, thanks.” He’s not handling this very gracefully.

“So, do you go to art school too?” Jace asks.

“No. I’m, uh, a musician. Well, aspiring. A struggling musician. Like, really struggling.”

“That’s cool. I like music.”

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” Simon blurts out.

Jace tilts his head and seems to consider his answer very carefully.

“I work as a prison counsellor for juveniles. So, it’s kinda part of my job,” he says.

“Shouldn’t you be deescalating fights instead of provoking them?”

“Oh, absolutely. That’s why I go to nazi bars when I’m feeling provocative.”

Simon snorts. “You mean to tell me that you do this often?”

“It’s a guilty pleasure.”

His grin is scandalous.

“I think I have a concussion,” Simon mutters, more to himself than to Jace, because how could any of this really be happening? Simon doesn’t live in a world where meet-cutes happen. Not to him. Especially not like this.

Jace gives him a worried look. “Are you feeling nauseous?”

“Maybe,” Simon says. Now that he’s thinking about it, he actually feels like he might vomit.

“Alright, let’s get you to a hospital. Better safe than sorry, right?”

Simon nods and finds that moving his head actually hurts like shit. Jace pulls out his phone and dials. The call is answered almost immediately.

“Hey, I need you to come pick me up,” he says. “I know, I know… I know what I said, Alec, but it’s an emergency. I really need you to give me a ride to the hospital.”

He rolls his eyes at the response and hangs up without another word.

Simon has somehow ended up on the pavement, resting his aching head in his hands. Vaguely, he remembers he should probably text Clary and let her know he’s not coming. But now that the adrenaline has worn off, he’s trapped somewhere between shock and disbelief and can’t bring himself to move.

Jace crouches down next to him. Simon can feel his gaze on him, making his skin tingle.

“You alright?” he asks. His voice is gentler than before.

“Uh, I don’t know… I think I’m panicking. I’ve never done this before. I don’t usually go around punching people, I don’t get into bar fights, I’m not that type of person, I-”

“Hey, slow down, okay? You’re alright. You were brilliant. No need for panicking. I’ll get you to the hospital and then you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t even have insurance,” Simon says. He’s feeling desperate and idiotic.

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, you should be proud of yourself. You were pretty badass back there.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Jace chuckles softly. “I’m not, I swear. I don’t lie.”

“Yeah right.”

Simon is miserable. All the golden glory that had been intoxicating him just minutes ago has evaporated and left him drained, feeling like a bad joke.

“I’m serious,” Jace says. He’s still smoking, and Simon peeks up at him through his interlocked fingers. Despite his light tone, there’s a hardened expression on his face.

Fuck, he’s pretty. Simon wants to scream.

“I don’t like not telling the truth. Even if it hurts to hear it sometimes, the truth is still the truth. You need to face it eventually, so why talk around it.”

“You’re not intense at all” Simon mutters.

“I have been called that. Mostly in context with my natural beauty and wits.”

Simon groans and Jace laughs, wiping the blood that’s still running down his chin with his sleeve. Simon wants to comment on Jace’s own injuries that definitely need looking at as well, when a black car pulls into the alleyway and comes to a screeching halt in front of them.

A tall dark-haired man jumps out as soon as the vehicle has stopped moving.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

He scans the scene, and his eyes darken.

“This,” he says slowly, voice dripping with disdain, “is your emergency?”

Jace rises to his feet and flicks the cigarette to the ground.

“Simon needs to go to the hospital,” he tells the newcomer whose brows furrow even deeper.

“Who the fuck is Simon?”

“Hi,” Simon pipes up from his spot on the pavement.

Jace either doesn’t pick up on the newcomer’s displeasure or simply doesn’t care.

In a cheerful voice he says, “Simon – Alec, Alec – Simon. Now let’s go.”

Since Alec only gives Jace an exasperated look and walks back to the car, Simon decides not to question his fate and gets up as well. He climbs in to sit in the back next to Jace and as soon as he’s shut the door behind him, Alec pushes down on the gas.

In the rear-view mirror, Simon can see him frowning.

Instead of protesting any further, he just says, “Explain.”

Jace leans back in his seat and winks at Simon, who’s trying really hard not to draw attention to himself.

“Well, I was just passing by this bar when I saw this biker gang cornering Simon and since I’m a responsible citizen, I decided to step in. And Simon here turned out to be chivalrous enough not to let me fight it out alone – hence the black eye and possible concussion.”

He shrugs again.

“And I wanted to show him that I can be very chivalrous as well, so I offered to take him to the hospital.”

Alec glances at Jace through the mirror and says, “If you get blood on the leather seat, Magnus will literally kill you.”

Jace dutifully cups his bleeding nose with one hand.

“And I’m not a fucking Uber,” Alec groans, and takes a sharp left.

Simon has about a million questions regarding his current situation, but his head is spinning, and he has to make an effort to keep his dinner down.

“Jesus, Alec, you could have just said no,” Jace says, his voice sounding nasal from covering his nose.

“When you said emergency, I thought you were bleeding out halfdead in a ditch.”

Alec stomps down on the brakes and both Jace and Simon are thrown forward into their seatbelts. He turns around to give Jace a look that would have sent Simon running if it had been directed at him.

“You said we weren’t going to have this conversation again. I told you, if you don’t stop starting fights whenever you’re feeling bored, I am going to stop picking you up in the middle of the night to play your own personal ambulance. This is ridiculous, Jace. I don’t have time for this.”

Jace just says, “Green light,” and Alec starts driving without another word.

Simon turns his throbbing head just enough to peer over at Jace, who’s gazing back at him.

He whispers, “Alec doesn’t like to have fun.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Alec retorts from the front. Then, for the first time, he addresses Simon, “Just to be clear, thank you for saving my idiot brother’s ass.”

Simon blinks in surprise, which really hurts his left eye. It’s already swollen into a big painful lump.

“Er, I wouldn’t really call it saving.”

Jace next to him almost seems to burst with joy at that.

“Well,” Alec says, “you could have just let me have that. As a consolation.”

When they pull into the parking lot of the hospital, Alec’s mood still hasn’t improved. Jace, however, seems to be thoroughly entertained by this and dramatically rolls his eyes behind Alec’s back when he announces he’s going to wait in the car.

During the fifteen minute drive, Simon has learned that Alec is engaged, stressed and fed up with babysitting Jace, who apparently has a tendency to get himself into dangerous situations. Simon himself hasn’t spoken much, since Alec’s driving style didn’t exactly help the nausea he was feeling.

He follows Jace into the waiting room and awkwardly stands next to him while he chats up the nurse at the reception. Apparently, this is not his first time in the ER.

As it turns out, Simon is just unlucky enough to actually get a concussion from being punched once. The doctor tells him to take it easy and to refrain from hitting his head in the near future, which Simon thinks is a bit unfair. He’s not that inept.

When he comes back into the waiting room, Jace hands him a coffee from the vending machine.

“How’d it go?”

“Mild concussion. I guess I’m not cut out to be a secret agent after all,” Simon says ruefully.

He takes a sip and grimaces at the taste.

“They haven’t said anything about the medical bill yet, so maybe I should wait.”

Jace shakes his head. Now that they’re no longer in a dingy alleyway and he’s fully illuminated by the relentlessly white ceiling lights, Simon becomes awfully aware of how golden he is. His blond hair flows around his head in soft curls, and even his skin shines with a tinge of bronze. And his eyes… Well. Simon can’t quite believe that he didn’t notice them before. They’re liquid gold, like sunrays melting on spoonsful of honey.

“I told you, don’t worry about the bills,” Jace says and Simon snaps back to reality.

“What’s that supposed to mean? I can’t just leave without paying.”

“No, I mean, you don’t have to worry about it. I took care of it.”

“What do you mean you – Jace, are you saying you paid for my medical bill? You can’t do that! I can’t accept that, that’s…”

Jace does his signature shrug and grins at him.

“Bit too late for that, I’m afraid.”

“I’m serious.” Simon isn’t sure if it’s the shock or the concussion, but he feels like the world is spinning too fast, like he can’t keep up.

“Simon,” Jace says and it sounds urgent enough for Simon to try to focus on his words, “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. It was my fault you got decked in the first place. And I wouldn’t pay for something I can’t afford. So, don’t worry about it, okay?”

Oh fuck, he’s pretty and rich.

“Then let me take you out for coffee at least,” Simon blurts out. “I mean, real coffee, not this watery bean juice. And not at the hospital, at a real café, where you can sit down and talk and –“ He cuts himself off.

What the hell am I doing? Jesus. Lewis, get a grip.

“I’d like that,” Jace simply says, which effectively evaporates the last remainders of Simon’s sanity.

“Or I can buy you something else, I mean coffee isn’t exactly the same prize as one mild concussion. I can pay you back, too, maybe that’s easier, or well, not easier, but… I mean, I would like to buy you coffee but I don’t want you to think I -”

“Simon. I would really like to have real, non-watery coffee with you. At a real café. Where you can talk.” He speaks slowly, as if to emphasise every single word individually. Simon clamps his mouth shut and beams at Jace.

Jace looks infinitely amused but his gaze is soft and Simon isn’t sure he’s breathing.

“Come on,” Jace says, still grinning, “let’s make Alec drive you home.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, you’re so screwed.”

Isabelle laughs – actually throws her head back and laughs – loud enough for one of the passing joggers to give her a dirty look. Jace stares him down and then turns to glare at Izzy.

“You’re exaggerating,” he mutters.

But he knows she’s right. He might have just spent their entire morning run rambling about his date with Simon. Okay, maybe he is a tiny little bit screwed.

“Jace Lightwood Wayland, you have a crush,” Isabelle says delightedly. “You’re completely and utterly screwed.”

“Thanks.”

“I always knew the day would come. You’re so getting payback for every single time you ever teased me about my crushes, this is gonna be so much fun.” She grins at him and when he rolls his eyes in response, she sighs very dramatically. “It’s not a bad thing. I love crushes. They’re exciting and get you all flustered, you’ll get used to it, you’ll see.”

“I hate you,” he announces. “And I hate crushes. I don’t have time for this. It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, no, you should stick to the not-lying thing. You’re really bad at it.”

Now it’s Jace’s turn to sigh. The truth is, he likes Simon. He kind of swept him of his feet. Usually, Jace likes to engage in the type of relationships where it’s clear from the start that neither party is interested in getting attached. He likes to fuck people he finds hot but not particularly interesting. That way, there’s no risk involved, he stays in control of the situation.

The problem with Simon is that he is both, mind-blowingly hot and interesting. Jace genuinely likes him. He can’t remember if he’s ever really liked anyone like that before. There’s just something about Simon that captivates him, something about the way he jumped into a fight head first, without having the slightest clue what he was doing, just to have Jace’s back.

Something about the way he takes his coffee with two packs of sugar and caramel syrup on top. The way his brows furrow when he’s talking too fast and loses track of what exactly it is he’s saying. How he uses both of his hands to underline his words when he gets excited.

Yeah, Jace is screwed.

They had their first date at a horrible hipster café Simon picked out, where they do Poetry Slam Nights every Wednesday and Stand Up Nights every other week. Normally, Jace would never have entered a place like this, but to his own astonishment he found that it had a really beautiful atmosphere. Beautiful décor, beautiful cutlery. Beautiful coffee, too.

In general, everything about that first date had been just… beautiful.

What surprised Jace most was the fact that they were immediately at ease with each other. He’s not someone who makes friends easily, so joking around with Simon and listening to him talk about Dungeons and Dragons (which he still isn’t sure he really knows what it is), his favourite movies and bands, was a little unexpected but fun. It had all felt so easy.

Now, however, it doesn’t feel easy anymore at all.

Jace doesn’t know the first thing about actually dating, not to mention relationships. He doesn’t even really know anything about friendship. Truthfully, he’s only ever had three friends and all of them are his siblings, so he’s not sure they technically count.

“You should bring him to training tomorrow,” Izzy says and continues the stretches she had interrupted to laugh at Jace.

“No offense, Iz, but I don’t think I want to have my second date with my little sister present.”

“But I want to meet him. I’m curious, you can’t blame me for that.”

Jace starts stretching as well. “I don’t even know when I should text him,” he admits. “And what if he doesn’t want to go on another date?”

“You’re adorable.”

“I’m serious. What’s the appropriate amount of time to wait before texting someone?”

He cringes internally at his own words. Jesus, he sounds like a teenager.

Isabelle grabs her ankle and pulls it up to her back, tangling her foot in her long black ponytail. “Lucky for you, I am an expert dater,” she tells him cheerfully. “The secret is that you stop thinking about the conventions and just do it.”

“Wow, thanks. That is incredibly helpful advice.”

“Hey, it’s true. You’ll just have to find your balls first.”

Jace moves fast, grabbing her arm to twist it, but Izzy has excellent reflexes and she knows Jace’s fighting style as intimately as he knows her. They scuffle for a moment, both of their movements practiced and precise, but with no force behind them.

Isabelle giggles and starts to chant, “Jace and Simon, sitting in a tree K-I – owgh!”

Jace has clasped his hand over her mouth. She shrieks in protest and tries to bite him. When that doesn’t work, she uses her foot to pull his legs out from under him and he rather unceremoniously lands on his ass.

An elderly couple passes them and meets them with more than mildly offended stares. Despite his best intentions, Jace feels himself laughing too.

Isabelle is gloating. “Looks like the student’s become the master.”

“I never would have taught you any of my moves if I’d known you’d use them against me like that. Where’s the loyalty?” he grumbles but takes her outstretched hand nonetheless.

When he came to New York he’d already had years of fighting practice. That’s something his father had always been very particular about. Back then, Izzy was barely nine years old and obsessed with the idea of becoming a professional ninja. Much to Maryse and Roberts’ chagrin, Jace was more than happy to teach her everything he knew. Really, he just wanted a sparring partner his own age for a change. After a while, their parents caved and got them lessons.

Nowadays, they mainly train to exercise. Sometime during the last twelve years, Jace stopped living by his dead father’s rules, and Izzy made a career change. Still, they both need the thrill of it, the quiet that settles in your head when you fight.

Izzy checks her watch and curses. “I gotta run, I have a client in half an hour.”

Isabelle is a tattoo artist and a fairly successful one at that. She did all of Jace’s and Alec’s tattoos, and most of her own as well. They were her first clients, or rather test subjects, and thus some of Jace’s older ones turned out a bit crooked, but he doesn’t mind.

Later, after she had set up her studio, he asked her to tattoo over some of his scars. He likes the metaphor of that, how the Lightwoods made him into something less brutal. Something along those lines. Currently, Izzy is working on a design for Alec and Magnus’ wedding tattoo. They decided to get matching ones, which Jace finds ridiculously romantic, but of course he would never tell them that. He wonders if Simon has any tattoos.

Jace hugs his sister goodbye and finishes stretching before making his way to the subway. He feels weirdly proud of Izzy and her thriving business. She built it from the ground up, despite her parents’ initial disapproval. There had been endless fights about it in the beginning, the Lightwoods are a family of high achievers and Maryse in particular wanted her daughter to follow in her footsteps.

Their parents run a law firm, and Alec as the eldest dutifully graduated law school to take over the firm one day. Despite Isabelle’s adamant work ethic and undeniable success, she’s still a bit of a black sheep. Personally, Jace has never minded the Lightwood’s high expectations for their children. On the contrary, to him, their attitude towards parenting was a breath of fresh air after he had spent the first ten years of his life running himself ragged just to please his father.  

He drafts a text on the subway, something vague enough to not be invasive, yet determined enough to show his interest.

I really enjoyed the other day. Would you like to go out again sometime this week?

Usually, Jace is good with words, and he usually also doesn’t overthink this much. As if to prove to himself that he can still be nonchalant and confident, he hits send.

When he gets home and his phone has service again, there’s a message from Simon, sent only minutes before his own.

Hey, I know this is maybe a bit forward, but I have this gig tonight at this bar and I was wondering if you wanted to come? No worries if not I get that it’s really spontaneous. Anyway, I had a great time the other day!

For a few seconds, Jace desperately tries to think of a way to explain himself, but Simon just replies with two laughing emojis and so Jace finds himself stupidly smiling at his phone instead.

I’d love to.

Great, see you tonight!!

Jace has learned a number of pivotal things about Simon on their coffee date. For one, he usually wears glasses, and they somehow make him look painfully adorable. Lucky for him, he wasn’t wearing them the night they met, otherwise he would have ended up with more than just a mild concussion and a black eye. Simon also has an older sister who lives in Arizona, and a best friend called Clary. Clary seems to be Simon’s Alec, they grew up together and share an apartment that is simultaneously art studio, and rehearsal room for Simon’s band.

As it turns out, Clary is also a hobby detective. The second Jace walks into the Hunter’s Moon, she corners him and says, smiling sweetly, “You must be Jace. I’m Clary, Simon’s best friend.”

“Hi,” Jace says because he’s not really sure what is required of him. “Nice to meet you.”

Play it cool, Wayland.

“I’m glad you could make it. Si is still setting up the instruments.”

Clary has fiery red hair and specks of paint all over her hands. She shamelessly looks Jace up and down and he raises an eyebrow at her.

“So, Simon tells me you’re a prison counsellor?”

“For juveniles, yes.”

“That sounds interesting. Why did you decide to work there?”

Jace is equally amused and bewildered by this blatant interrogation. He tilts his head and thinks it over before answering, “Well, most of my family are lawyers, so I knew I wanted to go into that direction. But I’m not the type to do well in a courtroom - though I do like hearing myself talk.” He shrugs. “I’m not sure, really. But I like my work. And I’m pretty good at it.”

“So, you’re not a military guy?” Clary asks.

Jace stifles a laugh. “No, I’m not.”

“Si told me you took on a gang of bikers on your own.”

“I do MMA. Taekwondo, too. And some Krav Maga.”

That seems to impress her, and it looks like he passed the first round of this test. Clary takes a sip of her drink before she continues, “You have a brother, right?”

“Two, actually. Alec’s the oldest, Max is the youngest. And I have a sister, Izzy, she’s a year younger than me.” He wonders if she’s going to make him recite his entire CV. As entertaining as it is, he came to see Simon, not to disclose his entire personal history to someone he’s only just met minutes ago.

“Are you close with your parents?”

“I’d say so, yeah.”

“Any exes?”

Luckily, Simon shows up behind Clary before Jace has to answer that last question. He snatches Jace away from her and pulls him into a brief hug.

“Sorry, there was a problem with the outlet and Rafe couldn’t find the setlist and he’s very dramatic about that sort of stuff. I’m so glad you came!”

His smile is wide and genuine and Jace feels his heart thump in his chest.

“No worries, Clary was just getting to know me,” Jace tells him.

Simon turns to give her a look. “I told you not to do that!”

Clary puts on an innocent face and replies, “I only asked a few questions. When you start dating some random rich guy who you’ve met in a bar fight a girl is allowed to be suspicious.”

“Technically, the fight took place outside of the bar,” Jace mutters.

“Thank you, Clary,” Simon says demonstratively, and she seems to get the hint.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” she announces and wiggles her brows before disappearing towards the bar.

Simon turns back to Jace and grimaces. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. She seems, er, nice. Besides, my sister’s already plotting to make me invite you over so she can meet you, so I get it.” He feels himself grinning back at Simon.

Dating. Clary said dating.

“Clary’s nosy. And a little protective. She tried stalking you on social media but couldn’t find anything. Shit, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, should I?”

“No, you probably shouldn’t.”

Simon’s grin widens. “Also, I’d like to meet your sister. Is she, uh, is she a lot like Alec?”

His worried expression makes Jace chuckle. “Izzy? No. Well, maybe, but she’s not as grumpy if that’s what you mean.”

“Oh okay, good. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Alec doesn’t like anyone. But he’s a softie at heart, you can’t take him too seriously.”

At that, Simon actually looks relieved.

“So, are you nervous? The turnout is pretty good, right?” That’s probably an understatement. The Hunter’s Moon is crowded and most of the people seem to be around their age, so Jace guesses Simon’s band is quite popular.

“I’m always nervous before playing,” Simon admits. “But in a good way. It’s the thrill of the fight, you know?”

“Yes, actually. I’m nervous too, I mean, what if I find myself dating some horribly pretentious douche with terrible taste in music?”

Dating.

Simon laughs. He has dimples and a few decorative freckles on his nose. Jace is absolutely enamoured with him.

“Well, what if I find myself dating some kind of serial killer who picks up defenceless guys at sketchy bars?” he counters. “I realised I still barely know anything about you. I kinda talked your ear off the other day and didn’t even give you a chance to tell me about yourself.”

“It’s alright, really. I like listening to you.”

“Aw, that’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe I’m a cheesy serial killer.”

Simon snorts. Before either of them can say anything else, Clary returns with three elaborate dark red cocktails and hands them their drinks.

“This,” she explains to Jace, “is The Bloodsucker. Best cocktail you can get in this city. I hope you like sugary drinks.”

Jace can’t help arching his eyebrows. “The Bloodsucker? Really?”

“Oh, yeah, all the drinks here have very creative names, but this one’s actually really good”, Simon says and takes a sip.

Jace, in fact, does not like sugary drinks. Well, that’s not really true, he doesn’t mind sugar, he just also doesn’t care for it. It’s not exactly a part of his regular diet. He doesn’t tell them though, because firstly, he doesn’t want to be an ass, and secondly, he’s trying to get on Clary’s good side.

“So, what’s the verdict?” Simon asks immediately once Jace has taken his first sip.

“I’m positively surprised.”

“That was the correct answer, congratulations. I think I better go over to the guys now, they probably want to start.” He gives Jace another beaming smile. “Enjoy the show.”

“Oh, I will.”

And Jace does. Simon is talented, and the music turns out to be really good. It’s a mixture of psychedelic rock and underground pop, which Jace wouldn’t have thought could work, but they pull it off. He’s not the only one to think so too, the entire bar seems to be swept up in the music, and Jace can see Simon’s eyes gleaming all the way from his spot in the back.

Afterwards, he joins Jace outside for a smoke. He’s still a bit out of breath and sweaty, and his hair is sticking out in several different directions. Jace thinks he looks gorgeous.

“I take it you liked it?” Simon asks with a hint of shyness in his voice.

“I did. You failed to mention that you’re fucking talented.”

It’s a hard to tell in the dim light but Jace thinks he can see him blush.

“You’re a real charmer, you know that?”

“I told you, I’m always honest.”

"Isn't that what a liar would say?"

Jace shrugs. "I guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

"Maybe I will."

Suddenly, Jace is very aware of how close they’re standing together. Simon looks up at him and it sends his heart into a frenzy. He catches his gaze drifting down to Simon’s lips and clears his throat.

“So, full disclosure,” Jace says, “I usually don’t really… date. So, er, you have to tell me if we’re going too fast or…”

Simon kisses him.

It shouldn’t really take him by surprise because Simon has already proven to him several times that he’s braver than he lets on, yet somehow it still does. It’s a good kiss, objectively, they’re in synch, and it gets heated pretty quickly. And Jace feels something flutter in his stomach that he normally doesn’t feel when kissing. Yeah, it’s a great kiss, actually. Jace thinks he’d gladly keep doing this for the rest of his life.

But Simon pulls away and Jace’s eyes meet his.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I didn’t know I was going to do that.”

Jace’s mind has gone completely blank.

“Are you.. I mean, is this okay? I won’t be offended if not, I kinda jumped you there, so, uh, I’m sorry if it was too-“

This time, Jace kisses Simon. The cynical part of his brain had expected it too be less thrilling the second time around, but that is definitely not the case.

Oh, fuck.

He’s not sure how long the kiss lasts. By the end of it they’re both a little breathless, still pressed up against each other, Jace’s hands on Simon’s waist, Simon’s fingers in his hair. They linger like that for a moment, before Simon takes a step back and laughs.

“Wow, okay. That was… I mean, you are… Oh god. Shit.”

Jace snorts. “I’m… shit? Didn’t seem like that a few seconds ago, Lewis.”

“What no, that’s not.. That’s not what I was trying to say. Jesus. That was amazing. You are amazing.” He runs his hand across his face, visibly trying to regain some composure. “Oh, don’t look so smug, you made me say it.”

“Maybe I’m smug because I just got to make out with this really fucking hot guy,” Jace manages to say. He’s still feeling a bit fuzzy.

“Ah, flattery. Effective.”

The moment is ruined when Jace’s phone starts to ring. He pulls it out of his jeans pocket swearing under his breath. It’s Maryse. That can’t be good.

“Sorry, I think I gotta take this,” he says apologetically.

“Oh, yeah, no worries. I’ll go get us another drink?”

“I’d like that, thanks.”

He lights another cigarette and picks up. “Hi, what’s up?”

“Jace.” Maryse’s voice sounds strange. The warm feeling in his gut evaporates. “I need to talk to you.”

“Is it about the wedding? Cause I’m kinda in the middle of something right now, can I call you back?”

“No, I don’t think that will work. It’s not about the wedding, Jace. It’s about your father.”

“Robert? Did something happen? Is he okay?”

“No, Robert’s fine. This isn’t about him.”

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up.

Maryse says, “It’s about your biological father.”

Chapter Text

So, Simon is having a crisis. He kissed Jace. That happened. And more importantly, Jace kissed him. Simon had the best fucking night of his life. They killed their gig and Clary made them all do shots and Jace was there and looked at him like that and they made out against the wall outside of the bar.

And then, Jace dipped.

Well, he didn’t just disappear into thin air, he did come back inside to say goodbye, but still. If a guy abruptly leaves minutes after making out, that’s bound to bother you. He did it very politely, to be fair. And Simon has since been trying to convince his brain that it had everything to do with the mysterious phone call and nothing to do with his kissing abilities, but his brain isn’t having it.

By now, Clary is probably ready to cut Jace’s throat in his sleep. Simon is just trying to figure out what part of the whole thing was real, and what might have been just his wishful thinking.

He knows Jace doesn’t usually date. So, maybe for him none of this was as special as it was for Simon. Maybe that really is his thing, picking up guys by picking fights. Maybe he is a liar after all.

It’s been three days. Simon hasn’t texted him because he’s already overthinking this and further exposing himself feels like the last thing he wants to do. He knows he’s being childish, but he just can’t help it.

So, when his phone rings and it’s Jace’s name on the display, Simon almost does an involuntary backflip off his bed. He pauses to take a deep breath before he picks up and says, as casually as he can, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Simon, hi. I’m sorry for disappearing on you, there’s been a lot going on. Alec’s fiancé put me on invitation duty because of all the late night hospital drives and I really don’t want to piss him off even more, but I also really want to see you. So, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to come over and watch me write a hundred invitations per hand? I’ve got great coffee and my irresistible company to offer?”

Simon is a pushover. The thought of having coffee with Jace at his place makes his skin tingle.

“Sure,” he says, “yeah, let’s do it. I mean, I’m also partly to blame for the hospital thing, right?”

Jace laughs and there’s a car honking in the background. “I didn’t want to bring that up, but if it gets you to come over, then, yes. You’re totally to blame.”

Simon feels his lips curl into a smile. Maybe he was being a little overdramatic before.

“Text me the address?” he asks.

“So, uh, I’m kinda in front of your house right now.”

And that settles that.

Jace is waiting for him with a wide smile. He’s wearing the leather jacket he wore the night they met and stubs out his cigarette when Simon steps out of the door.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi yourself.” Simon feels the butterflies in the pit of his stomach flaring up.

“I realize that picking you up would have been more effective if I had a car.”

“Nah, we’re New Yorkers. We’re legally obliged to take the subway.”

The apartment Jace takes him to is huge, with a glass front and meticulously stylish furniture.

“I didn’t know you were into interior design,” Simon says as he takes a look around.

Jace chuckles. “Oh, this isn’t my place. It’s Alec and Magnus’ apartment.”

“Oh.” He can’t help feeling a little disappointed, he would have really liked to see where Jace lives.

“Don’t worry, they’re looking at locations today, so we’ve got the place all to ourselves. Besides, I didn’t feel like carrying the tons of invitations across the city.”

As it turns out, Jace wasn’t exaggerating the number of blank invitations that are waiting for them on the living room table. Also waiting on said table is a large mixed-breed cat who stares at Simon offendedly when he approaches.

“Hello, you,” Simon says and offers his hand to the cat.

“That’s Chairman Meow. He’s a bit shy, but he’s friendly.” Jace walks over to the open kitchen and starts clattering with the dishes, which spooks Chairman Meow away from the table.

“That is a very creative name for a cat,” Simon says stupidly.

“You should have met Great Catsby. He was Magnus’ first.”

Simon sits down at the table and watches Jace make coffee. For some reason just the sight of him standing in a kitchen, with his broad shoulders and black tattoos peeking out from under his shirt makes Simon’s face heat up.

“So, uh, are you a cat person?” he asks, to distract himself from the thoughts that started popping up in his head.

“Absolutely. We had one at home too, growing up. I was his favourite person by far. What about you?”

“I’m definitely a dog person,” Simon says.

“Shit, do we have to stop dating now? Is this what they call a dealbreaker?”

“Well, they also say opposites attract.”

Jace turns to flash him a smile that is glowing with fondness and Simon can feel his heartrate rising. The stupid butterflies are at it again. Jace makes them two large steaming pots of coffee, one of them with caramel syrup drizzled on top of the foam. Simon wonders if he memorized his coffee order or if it’s just a coincidence. He takes a seat opposite to Simon and starts sorting through the papers.

“Where do we start?” Simon asks, but Jace immediately shakes his head.

“No, you’re not writing wedding invitations. What kind of date would that be? Hey, sorry about ditching you after your concert, wanna come do the most arduous work you can possibly imagine? Simon, please, I’m being chivalrous, remember?”

He feels himself smiling. “Then I’m just here to talk your ear off again?”

Jace grins at him. “Precisely.”

So, Simon does. He tells him about Clary’s new art project that’s taking up their entire apartment space, and about the song he’s currently working on. He also tells him about Rebecca’s relationship drama because he really needs to vent about her crazy ex, who set a pile of her clothes on fire in the parking lot after she broke up with her.

And the entire time, Jace keeps carefully writing the invitations in neat cursive handwriting, occasionally chiming in to comment something or to laugh at Simon’s jokes. Simon sips his coffee, which is pleasantly sweet, and watches Jace work.

He notices that Jace looks more tired than he did the last time they met, there are dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in a while.

Finally, Simon musters up the courage to ask what he’s been itching to ask all day.

“Can I ask you something?”

Jace hums his agreement.

“What happened after the concert? Was it… Did I overstep?”

Jace interrupts his writing, and his eyes meet Simon’s. When he doesn’t respond immediately, Simon panics.

“Sorry if that was too blunt, I’ve just been overthinking and I really like you and don’t want to screw this up, so I was just –“

“Simon,” Jace says softly, “breathe, okay? You did absolutely nothing wrong.”

Simon opens his mouth, but Jace cuts him off before he gets the chance to speak, “There’s been a lot of stuff going on but none of it is in any way because of you. I would have liked to stay longer, honestly, but after Maryse’s call I just… I’m genuinely sorry I bolted like that.”

“It’s okay, I’m not pissed or anything, I just tend to… overthink.”

“I gathered that, yeah,” Jace says.

“So, who’s Maryse?” Simon blurts out.

At that, Jace has the audacity to laugh. “She’s my mother,” he explains, and, okay, yeah, maybe Simon was being totally completely overdramatic.

Jace looks at him with a strange gleam in his eyes. “You were jealous,” he observes.

“I wasn’t, I was just…”

“No, no, don’t lie to me, Simon Lewis. You were jealous of my mother.” Jace laughs again and Simon raises his hands in front of his chest.

“Okay, fine. But in my defence – In my defence, you told me you’re not the type to date and how was I supposed to know you didn’t get a late night booty call from someone you’re not dating?”

“Oh my god, Simon,” Jace breathes to contain his laughter, “Why the fuck would I leave a date with you for some random other guy? You do know I’m positively into you, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

Simon feels his face flush red. Again.

“Is, er… Is your mom okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah, no, she’s fine.” Jace has made it through half the invitations by now, and he shakes his hand and grimaces. “Jesus, Magnus really knows how to make a point,” he mutters.

Simon chuckles. “I’m still willing to help. Though I don’t think my handwriting is as tidy as yours.”

“No way. This is a make-up date. You’re relaxing and enjoying the sight of me working.” He takes the pen in his other hand and continues to write.

“You’re ambidextrous?” Simon asks surprised.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I can write with both hands.”

Simon notices that Jace’s fingers on his left hand, which is now idly resting on the table, are shaped weirdly. Like halfway through the growing process, they decided to go in a different direction.

They go back to Simon talking and Jace listening until he’s done with all of the invitations. Then, they move over to Magnus’ couch, on which they sit down way closer together than necessary. At some point, Jace takes Simon’s hand in his. From there, one thing leads to another and essentially, they end up shamelessly making out, while Chairman Meow watches disapprovingly.

If it were up to Simon, they could have continued on like that for the rest of the day, but to his dismay they’re rudely interrupted by the front door opening. Jace groans and begrudgingly pulls away.

“Izzy, that better not be you,” he calls.

“Are you decent?” comes the reply and half a second later a tall dark haired woman struts into the room, smirking at them knowingly.

“Fuck’s sake,” Jace mutters. “What are you doing here, Isabelle?”

“Chaperoning? I though you were supposed to do the invitations, not do Simon.”

She gives Simon a winning smile. “Hi, I’m Izzy, nice to meet you,” she says.

Simon does an awkward waving gesture. “Er, hi. Simon.” He tries to fix his hair by running a hand though it, but he has a feeling that it doesn’t do much good.

“Oh, I know.” She slumps down in one of the armchairs and places her feet on the coffee table. She’s wearing black heels that look like you could stab someone with them. “So, tell me, how did you manage to get my dear stoic brother all gushy and flustered?”

“You know you have your own apartment, right?” Jace asks.

“So do you. And anyway, I wanted to meet Simon.”

Jace sinks deeper into the cushions and Isabelle’s smile grows wider. Simon thinks that the looks are probably a gene thing with the Lightwoods, because Isabelle, like her brothers, is objectively gorgeous. She looks a lot like Alec, with female curves and dark, almost black eyes. He also thinks that neither of them looks anything like Jace.

“Jace told me you’re really talented,” Izzy says, addressing Simon. “I’d love to hear your band play sometime.”

“Uh, sure. Yeah, of course.”

“Seriously, he wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Okay, Izzy, great talking to you. Isn’t there anywhere you have to be?” Jace scoffs.

“No. I’m done working for today.”

Simon, for the sake of steering the conversation away from himself, asks, “What do you do for work?”

“I’m a tattoo artist. You’ve probably already had a chance to admire my work,” Izzy says, nodding in Jace’s direction. “I did all of his, all of Alec’s too. Max is already trying to get me to do him next, but I think mom would literally pass out if I did that.”

“Izzy is the self-proclaimed rebel of the family,” Jace elaborates.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Isabelle says lightly, “I’m just the only one who isn’t as uptight.”

Simon meets Jace’s gaze and smirks. “So, you’re uptight, huh?”

Jace just rolls his eyes, but Izzy says, “I mean, understandably so, considering –“

“So, how’s the wedding tattoo coming along?” Jace cuts in, not very subtly at all.

“How are the invitations coming along?” she retorts.

“Oh, just fine, I finished like an hour ago,” Jace says and Simon stifles a laugh.

“That’s so on brand of you, golden boy. Simon, did you know that Jace here is a literal academic nightmare? He speaks like, what, four languages?”

“Five, actually.”

Again, Simon turns to look at Jace in disbelief and finds him grinning back at him not even trying to look humble. “English, French, German, Latin and Mandarin,” he specifies. “And a little Ancient Greek.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all. I had a very thorough education.”

“Any other skills I should know about?” Simon asks. A part of him feels a little guilty that he’s been bombarding Jace with random stories the entire time and failed to inquire this kind of crucial information of him.

Jace shrugs and says, smirking, “I already told you I’m ambidextrous. So, you know, there’s lots of things I can do well with both of my hands.”

“Okay, TMI,” Izzy groans.

“You’re welcome to leave any time,” Jace tells her. Isabelle flips him off.

Simon’s head is spinning. Not for the first time, he can’t help thinking that this whole situation is absolutely fucking surreal. It’s like Jace, the personification of perfection, just manifested right in front of him and now Simon is subconsciously waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe this is just what they call the honeymoon phase.

Simon has a history of getting stuck in that particular phase. It’s what happened with Maia, it’s what happened with Raphael, and it’s what happened with literally all of his crushes before them. Simon tends to fall too hard too fast. And Jace… Well, it’s different because he’d known both Rafe and Maia before they started going out. Jace is, by all accounts, a stranger who somehow managed to turn Simon into this heart-eyed idiot.

“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asks.

Jace considers for a moment, then says, “I mean, I’ve never tried snowboarding. And I suck at charades.”

“He’s also struggling with the concept of humility.” Isabelle winks at Simon, who laughs in spite of himself.

This is when the front door opens again and Alec walks into the room, followed by another man whose outfits is so outrageously yellow, he practically seems to glow. This effect is only enhanced by the contrast of standing next to Alec, who is wearing a worn-out black hoodie. He takes in the scene and frowns. “Why am I not surprised?” he mutters.

The man at his side, who Simon assumes must be Magnus, touches his forehead with his hand in a very dramatic manner. “It’s like running a youth hostel,” he sighs, exasperated.

“How was the location? Is it a contender?” Izzy gets up to greet them and in an instant, she and Magnus are headed off to the kitchen, discussing scenery and seat arrangements.

Jace as well rises to his feet. “Simon and I have a good excuse, Izzy doesn’t,” he tells Alec who just waves his hand dismissively.

“Never mind, it’s fine. Just tell me you didn’t rearrange the kitchen again.”

“I just cleaned it up a little,” Jace admits which earns him a snort from Alec.

At this point, Simon decides that it’s time to take himself out of the equation for a couple minutes, and so he excuses himself and heads to the bathroom. There, he scrutinizes his own face in the mirror. His eyes are bright, and his cheeks flushed, he looks just… happy.

Clary has sent him about half a dozen texts throughout the day. He lets her know that things are going great, because, miraculously, they are.

The thing is, Simon doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, really, but when he steps out of the bathroom, he can hear Alec quietly talking in the other room and he just pauses in the hallway for a moment.

“Mum said you have been ignoring her texts.”

Jace’s voice replies, and he sounds wearier than usual, “Don’t you think playing the snitching older brother has gotten a little old?”

“I’m serious. She’s worried. We’re all worried.”

There’s a moment of silence. Then, Alec again, “Have you been sleeping?”

More silence on Jace’s part. Simon is very aware of the sound of his own breathing.

“Look, I told you before and I’ll tell you again, Magnus and I agree that we can put the wedding preparations on hold. We have all the time in the world to get married and this is important.”

“What about the infamous Lightwood-Bane wedding schedule?” Jace asks, a hint of humour in his voice.

“Fuck the schedule. You can stay over tonight. For as long as you need.”

“Alec, please. Just let it go, okay?”

Alec releases a long, heavy sigh.

Simon purposefully scuffles his feet and bumps his shoulder against the door before he walks into the room. He really does not want Alec to know he caught any of that. Despite Jace’s insisting that he’s not as cranky as he seems, Simon is definitely still intimidated by him and there’s no use pretending otherwise.

When Simon steps inside, he finds the brothers standing at the table, examining the piles of invitations. He walks over to Jace who casually slides an arm around his waist, which gets the butterflies in his stomach real excited.

“Thank you both, really,” Alec says and for the first time, Simon sees him smile. It softens his entire face.

“Er, I didn’t really do much,” Simon admits.

“Don’t say that. You helped me keep my sanity, and that’s a task just as essential as scribbling down the same text over and over again,” Jace says with emphasis.

Alec snorts again. “Yeah, thank you, Simon. I don’t think you know how much it means to be spared Jace’s whining. Also, Magnus wants me to invite you both over for dinner as a thank you. He hasn’t hosted a party in a while and I think it’s more a treat to himself than anything else, but your still welcome to come over.”

Jace glances over at Simon, waiting for his response.

“Sure. I mean, only if it’s not too much trouble, I guess you guys are kind of busy at the moment, with all the preparations and everything.”

“You don’t know Magnus and his party spirit. Besides, they can always dump the workload on me, right?” 

Alec does not seem too amused by Jace’s comment. He says, “I’ll talk it over with Magnus, but I doubt he’ll change his mind.”

“Brilliant,” says Jace. “I think I gotta get going though. Si, can I walk you home?”

Si. Jesus, it shouldn’t be this fucking adorable hearing his nickname out of Jace’s mouth.

They make their goodbyes and Magnus promises them a “soiree worthy of their efforts”, whatever that means. Isabelle gives Simon a bone crushing hug and he decides that he likes her, a lot. Actually, all of Jace’s family seem like great people, even Alec, despite his constant scowling.

Jace interlaces their fingers and keeps holding Simon’s hand the entire subway ride and all the way back to Simon’s building. There, he looks at Simon with a serious expression on his face and says, “Thank you for today. I didn’t know it was going to get so messy, but I hope you won’t let them scare you away. They mean well, really. And… I kinda liked that, you meeting my family. Even if it’s a little soon and probably really weird for you. Anyways. I hope you had a good time. I had a good time with you there.”

And Simon’s heart just melts. Instead of a reply, he presses his lips on Jace’s, a firm, determined kiss that’s supposed to convey how good of a time he too had today. Before he can stop himself he murmurs, “You could come in, you know. I could show you my apartment. And Clary’s ridiculous art project.”

But Jace shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. “Another time, yeah?”

“Yeah, no, of course. No worries.”

Still, there’s a sting of disappointment in his chest and he clears his throat. “So, uh, see you soon?” he asks.

“Definitely.” Jace gives him a smile, that somehow feels private, like there’s something there he doesn’t say, but that Simon can feel, nevertheless.

“Goodnight, Jace.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

Chapter Text

Jace goes straight from the bar to his parents’ house. He feels strangely calm, despite the uneasy feeling rising in his gut. As if to remind himself, he flexes his disfigured left hand and the sound of iron smashing bones echoes in his ears.

Maryse is waiting for him. She’s wearing her courtroom face, which means she’s steeling herself for a tough conversation. Whatever it is, he’s glad she does, so he won’t have to deal with the sad look in her eyes she sometimes gets when the topic of his childhood comes up.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night,” Maryse says and Jace shrugs.

“Didn’t sound like you had much of a choice.”

She sighs. Jace’s fingers keep curling and un-curling.

“So, what’s going on?” he asks.

Maryse nods to the kitchen table. “You might want to sit down.”

Jace obliges, and she takes a seat opposite to him, her hands folded in her lap. In the twelve years he’s lived with the Lightwoods Jace has never seen her struggle for words.

“I got a call from the department down in Jersey. At first I thought it was purely a legal matter but… I’ll make it quick: They have arrested a man that appears to be your biological father, Jace.”

The world skids to a halt. There’s a ringing in his ears and the only sound he can hear clearly is that of his own laboured breathing.

“That… That is impossible,” he chokes out. “My father is dead. I watched him die.”

“I know. That is what we all thought. But looking at the evidence, well, the only thing we know for certain is that the house burned down with everything in it. You had lost a lot of blood. Do you distinctly remember seeing him when you came to?”

“I… no. I don’t know. There was a lot of smoke. But I saw him get stabbed, I heard his body hit the ground.”

Maryse’s voice remains matter-of-factly, “They think he could have gotten out while you were still unconscious. It’s the only way to explain how he is still alive.”

Jace can feel the bile rising in the back of his throat. “Is there any possibility that this is just a mix-up? I mean, how can they be so sure it’s him?”

“Apparently, he has been taken in as Michael Wayland before. They are absolutely certain, Jace.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows hard to fight the nausea. His slightly intoxicated brain is unable to process any of this, the words keep spinning around and around in his head and there’s the unmistakable crack of breaking bones, his hand is clutched tightly to his abdomen.

“So, he left me there?” Jace asks. “He left me to die?”

Maryse turns her head away and he knows she’s fighting to keep her composure. “I’m so sorry,” she says. She sounds so terribly sad.

“I don’t understand. Why didn’t he just… He could have come to find me. If he’s been alive this entire time…”

The thing is, Jace has had twelve long years to come to terms with everything his father did. Jace fought hard to face the fact that he had, in fact, not been the great loving father he had made himself out to be. Jace knows he was abusive. Jace knows that the way he raised him was cruel and wrong. Yet, still, there is that part of him that’s ten years old and just watched his only parent die. The part of him that tried so desperately to get his father to love him.

And then, there is a fear he hasn’t felt since he was a child. If Michael Wayland is alive, that means that Jace has to get his act together. He would be furious with Jace if he could see him now.

“There is another thing,” Maryse says quietly. Jace straightens his back and nods for her to go on. “When they took his prints, they not only matched with the Michael Wayland that had been arrested before. There was another match.”

“I don’t understand,” Jace says. His voice sounds distant in his own ears.

“It seems that Michael Wayland wasn’t his real identity. When he was taken in before, it was in a small town down in Texas and apparently they do things less thoroughly there. His real name is Valentine Morgenstern. He was a cult leader over twenty years ago, who disappeared after the cult committed mass suicide. It seems that’s when he took on the identity of Michael Wayland.”

“I don’t understand,” Jace says again, which is probably a record.

Maryse’s courtroom face doesn’t slip and that is probably the only thing keeping him grounded right about now. She says, “You might still be his biological son. But at this point we have serious reason to question if he is your real father. He’s being charged with identity theft and assisted suicide, as well as several other minor charges. They’re still investigating and I’m officially getting the firm involved.”

“Oh,” is all Jace can come up with.

Maryse reaches out across the table to take his hand in hers and he flinches.

Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck.

She freezes mid-movement and Jace can see the courtroom face crumble. He grabs her hand with his right, and she squeezes it.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” she says, “but I need you to know that it doesn’t change anything about the fact that we’re your family.”

Jace feels himself nod and he realizes that he’s holding on to her hand too tightly, unwilling to let go. She doesn’t acknowledge it, just stays there with him, until his breathing comes normal again and he loosens his grip, one finger at a time.

“What do I do now?” he asks quietly.

Maryse leans back in her chair. “That depends,” she says. “If you want to know for sure, we can do a DNA test. Other than that, I don’t think there is much to do at this point in time. Except, of course, if you want to visit him.”

“No”, Jace says, a little too quickly. “I don’t. But I want to know the truth.”

“Well. I’ll see what I can do. And I will keep you updated as soon as I get more information from the police. I should also tell you that you are a valuable witness for the state attorney. And you do also have the option of pressing charges yourself. What happened… When you came to New York everything was very well documented and you have enough people to back your case. But you’re under no obligation to do anything. I am just telling you your options.”

“Okay. I… Thank you, Maryse. I think I need some time to process… all of this.”

“Of course.” She gives him a sad smile, then straightens her dress with her hands. “I think I’ll go make a couple of calls, it’s still early enough. And Jace, if you need anything, anything at all, you know we’re all here for you.”

Jace takes a breath and slowly exhales through his nose. “I need to smoke,” he says. “And, uh, I… Could you… Could you tell the others? I don’t know… I don’t know what to say.”

Maryse nods. “Of course. I’ll tell Alec and Izzy. And Robert. I think telling Max while he’s away at school might not be such a great idea though?” It’s a question.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Thank you.”

Jace doesn’t know how he makes it home.

He sits on his balcony and smokes. Alec is blowing up his phone, but he can’t get himself to look at the screen. He doesn’t sleep. When the sun comes up, he smells like an ashtray and so he goes to take a shower. He makes breakfast but barely manages to choke down a few bites. Then, he goes for a run.

After, he takes another shower. He inspects his body in the fogged-up mirror, the tattoos trailing the thinly lined scars on his chest, the dark red mark on his upper arm, the bulging scar right below his collarbone where the intruders stabbed him right before they stabbed his father.

His father.

Jace lifts his left hand up to his face and examines the crooked bones, healed together all wrong and twisted. And then he’s kneeling over his toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the bowl, again and again, until he’s just dry heaving.

Great.

Alec is there.

Jace appreciates that he waited till the morning to check up on him. He stands in the bathroom door and says, “Jace,” and Jace is retching and retching.

The first time Alec found him like this they were children and Jace had been living with the Lightwoods for about three months. It was the middle of the night and Jace’s vomiting had woken Alec up for the fifth night in a row. He brought him a glass of water and sat with him until it was over.

Back then, Jace was terrified of Alec seeing him at his worst and it took months of him silently keeping Jace company until he realized that there was nothing to be afraid of. It took another year for Jace to truly trust him.

Now, at twenty-two years old, Jace doesn’t trust anyone in the world the way he trusts his brother. He lets Alec help him up, lets him steer him into the living room to sit him down on the couch. Alec gets him some clothes and some water and Jace mechanically dresses himself and washes the taste of vomit from his mouth.

Alec watches him like a hawk. Finally, Jace manages to meet his gaze. “So, I guess I’m not an orphan after all,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood. It fails miserably.

“You still could be,” Alec responds and Jace cracks him a smile.

“I’m just glad I put Lightwood on my passport,” he muses, “otherwise that would have meant a lot of paperwork.”

“It’s objectively the better name,” Alec says. He still has a concerned look in his eyes, but his shoulders have relaxed a little since Jace started talking. “Would it be insensitive to say I’m not surprised he’s a criminal?”

Jace laughs wryly and shakes his head. “Yeah, should’ve seen that one coming. Also, who fakes their death in real life? I thought that only happened in crappy soap operas and Marvel movies.”

“You haven’t even seen any Marvel movies.”

“No, but Simon told me….” His voice trails off and Jace’s stomach turns.

Simon. Fuck.

Immediately, he feels the guilt taking over. He shouldn’t have left. He should text him and explain. But how the fuck do you explain this to someone you’ve been dating for just about two weeks? How the fuck do you explain this to anyone?

“Jace?”

“Simon kissed me,” Jace blurts out. It really shouldn’t be his priority right now, but the memory catches him off guard. It had been the best two kisses of his life.

Alec’s brows shoot up. “I take it you’re seriously dating now?” he asks.

“Yes. I mean, I hope so. I don’t think I can… Christ, how do I explain this to anyone?”

“You could make a PowerPoint,” Alec suggests.

Jace snorts. He realizes he’s been holding on to his left hand and lets go.

Alec says, “Magnus asked me to tell you that you’re officially released from invitation duty.”

“Don’t do this. I don’t want to be a fucking charity case.”

“Okay. You should still come and stay at ours, just for a couple days.”

Jace shakes his head. “I’m not twelve anymore, Alec.”

“I know that. I just… I don’t think you should be alone right now.” He makes an effort to sound nonchalant, which Jace is incredibly grateful for.

“It’s fine. I’ve got work tomorrow, and the day after. It’s not like it changes anything if he’s alive or not, or if he is my actual father. It doesn’t change anything. I just… I didn’t expect this, that’s all.”

“Well,” Alec says, “if you change your mind… Or just in general, if you… Just call me, Jace, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. And, er, thank you, Alec. Seriously.”

So, Jace goes to work. He can do that. He’s good at his job, he can keep an emotional distance even when he gets invested. And he cares about the kids, he does. He can still do his job after his entire life has been turned upside down, and he can still do it well.

Every second in between, he thinks, I should text Simon. It’s a constant chorus in the back of his head and still, he can’t bring himself to do it. At some point during those two days, his phone turns into a manifestation of pure dread. Izzy and Alec keep texting, Maryse, too, and Jace just cannot deal with it.

He doesn’t sleep. He goes running, goes to work, forces food down his throat only to find himself puking it back up a couple hours later. He deep cleans his apartment twice.  

On the third day, Jace has pushed past the point of exhaustion.

As if he knew that Jace would break down without anything to do, Alec shows up again. He takes one look at Jace and declares, “Magnus and I are driving to check out this venue upstate. You can either come with us or do the invitations today.”

Jace arches an eyebrow at him. “Uhm,” he says, “good morning?”

Alec scoffs, “Don’t get cocky. Your place looks like an Ikea catalogue.”

In Jace’s opinion that isn’t the insult Alec makes it out to be, but he decides not to push it.

“Is this an intervention?” Jace asks, mildly curious.

“No, this is me kicking your ass,” Alec responds. “Just do something, Jace. Call Simon.”

“I think I screwed that one up, actually.”

Alec scowls. “For a high achiever gifted kid, you’re unbelievably stupid. Just fucking call him.”

Jace gets into another fight.

This time, he chooses to just go for a stroll and see what he can find. He’s successful. The fight is over pretty quickly, and Jace is left with blood running down his chin and an intense pain in his chest, which he has to assume originates from at least one cracked rib.

Despite his threats, Alec comes to pick him up. The drive to the hospital is quiet, mainly because Alec keeps glancing at him through the rear-view mirror as if he’s scared that Jace might randomly decide to throw himself onto the road.

For the sake of keeping his image intact, Jace actually considers going through with it. But it all comes down to the fact that he’s just too fucking tired.

The ER nurse sighs when she recognizes him and Jace gives her his best winning smile. Turns out he’s got himself two broken ribs and a series of bruises across his torso, jaw and neck. She gives him pain meds and waits until he shows her his empty mouth to make sure he actually takes them.

By the time he’s made it home, he’s feeling lightheaded. Alec follows him into the apartment. He says, “You’re going to sleep,” and his voice makes it clear that this is non-negotiable.

Jace gets into bed. Alec sits down next to him and leans back against the headboard. He’s a good babysitter. He’s had a lifetime of experience, cleaning up after Izzy, consoling Max, patching Jace up time and time again.

Jace lies on his back and stares at the ceiling, while Alec plays sudoku on his phone. He can feel that his body is tired. His mind, however, is fighting to stay awake. He wonders if Simon will be disappointed when he finds out he got himself beat up again.

Slowly, the exhaustion takes over. The last thing Jace notices before he finally drifts off, is Alec murmuring really quietly, “It’s okay. I’ll stay.”

In his nightmare, Jace is trapped in the dark. His left hand is a bloody mangled mess, and he curls in on himself to shelter it with the rest of his body. He can feel the walls at his sides, at his back, the ground is cold and hard beneath him. He’s crying. He’s not supposed to cry.

Jace isn’t afraid of the dark. But he’s trapped and he’s hurt and he can hear footsteps approaching. The sound sends a paralyzing fear through his veins. He presses his functional hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs, but he knows it won’t do him much good. The footsteps are getting closer, closer.

Alec pulls him out. Of course he does. When Jace jolts awake and starts retching immediately, Alec shoves a bucket at him and slings an arm around his back. Jace releases the insides of his stomach into the bucket.

“Shit,” he croaks. “Fuck.” His throat is raw.

Once he’s done, Alec takes the bucket out of Jace’s grip and gets up. Jace can hear him washing out the vomit in the bathroom. He realizes he’s panting and tries to calm himself.

Alec comes back into the room and Jace meets his eyes.

“You alright?”

Jace lets out a shaky breath. “Not really.”

Alec climbs back into bed and pulls Jace’s trembling body into a hug. “Yeah, I know,” he whispers. “But you’re going to be.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Jace rasps. “I’m a fucking disappointment.”

With a sigh, Alec leans back so he can look at Jace. It’s dark, but there’s a dim light coming in though the window, and so Jace can make out his features. His brows are furrowed and there’s something in his eyes Jace can’t quite place.

“Don’t say that. You’re not. You’ve never disappointed me.” Jace opens his mouth to protest, but Alec doesn’t let him. “No. You haven’t. Don’t even think that. And whatever… whoever this man turns out to be, it doesn’t change what he did and that what he did was wrong.”

He waits for his words to sink in before he continues, “You don’t have to see him. As your lawyer, I can confidently tell you that you’re not required to do anything about this case.”

Jace manages a nod.

Alec’s face softens a little. “It’s going to be alright. You should see the dinner Magnus has planned for tomorrow… And I promise I’ll be nice to Simon, and to keep Izzy off his back. And we’ll all have a good time, and you can talk to Simon about it – or not. It’s going to be alright. You’ll see.”

And when Jace can’t think of anything to respond, he hugs him again.

“It’s going to be alright,” he repeats. “You’ll see.”

Chapter Text

“Are you kidding me?” Clary asks, her voice an octave higher than usual, “you’re invited to a dinner party at Magnus Bane’s? The Magnus Bane?”

Simon wasn’t aware Magnus Bane is a household name. “Uh, yeah? I met him the other day. He’s Jace’s brother’s fiancé.”

Clary looks like she’s about to pass out. “Si, you’re killing me. Please tell me you’re joking. Magnus Bane is like the biggest fashion designer of the century. He’s an icon.”

He shrugs. “He seemed nice,” he says and Clary runs her hands through her hair, exasperated.

“You’re unbelievable,” she mutters.

“Actually,” Simon says, “I’m amazing. Also, I’m the best best friend anyone could ask for. I mean, I didn’t know you’d go all fangirl when I told you, but technically, we’re both invited to dinner at Magnus’.”

“Simon. If you’re messing with me, I swear, I’m gonna…”

“I’m not. Jace said to invite you, so it’s not just me and his family, which I think is kinda cute.”

Clary does a shrieking sound and jumps down from the kitchen counter to check herself in the mirror. “You couldn’t have told me earlier? He’s a fashion legend, I need to pick out an outfit.” She turns to look Simon up and down and frowns. “And so do you.”

“Er,” he says and considers his jeans and shirt, “I kinda figured I’d just wear this?”

“Oh absolutely not. No way. You don’t want to look like a teenager who just discovered band shirts.”

“I like this shirt,” he protests, but Clary pretends not to hear.

She forces him into the unthinkably tight pants he’d worn the night he met Jace and picks out a light blue button-down and sneakers. She also styles his hair and tries to convince him to wear contacts, but Simon insists on his glasses. Naturally, her own outfit is much more extravagant, a combination of black and hot pink, with large creole earrings and three different necklaces at once. 

They get to the apartment 15 minutes late, which is partly because of traffic, and partly because Clary insisted on showing up fashionably late. She doublechecks her make-up in the elevator mirror and says, “You know, I looked up the Lightwoods’ law firm. Their massively successful. So, if Jace turns out to be an asshole you should just scam him and then we can retire to an island somewhere in the Pacific.”

Simon snorts. “You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought.”

Clary shrugs and grins at him without even a hint of shame.

Alec greets them both with a hug, which Simon finds a bit off-putting, but he just rolls with it. He’s relieved to see that he’s not completely overdressed, Alec is wearing an expensive looking black turtleneck and Magnus’ outfit seems to be peacock themed tonight.

“Come on in,” he says gleefully, and to Clary he adds, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, dear.”

She practically swoons. The dining room table is set, there’s jazz music playing, and Isabelle welcomes them by shoving champagne glasses into their hands.

“Don’t say anything about the extravagance, this is Magnus’ way of coping with the wedding stress,” she whispers to them. She’s in a tight black dress that shows off her tattoos.

“And you must be Clary,” she continues, turning her attention to Clary. “I’m Isabelle, Jace’s sister. I love your style.”

Clary glances at Isabelle’s generous display of porcelain white skin and smirks. “Right back at you,” she says.

Simon flees to the kitchen. He finds Jace stirring some kind of sauce and he looks up when Simon enters the room. He looks… Well, he looks hot, for sure, but Simon doesn’t miss the large purple bruise on the side of his jaw and the bags under his eyes.

“Hey,” he says and places a kiss on Simon’s cheek.

Simon cups his face in his hands and Jace’s expression turns sheepish.

“Did you take on another biker gang alone?” Simon asks. He can hear the audible concern in his own voice.

“Maybe,” Jace admits with a lopsided grin that makes Simon’s heart flutter.

“You should have brought me to save your ass again.”

Jace chuckles and Simon leans in for a kiss. A tiny noise of surprise escapes Jace’s throat, which has Simon grinning into the kiss. Kissing Jace is… unlike anything Simon’s ever experienced. God, kissing Jace feels good.

They’re interrupted by Magnus pointedly clearing his throat. “I’d rather you continue your PDA with some safety distance between you and our dinner, thank you very much,” he says.

“I’d stay away from the sauce, if I were you,” Jace retorts with a deadpan expression.

Simon giggles and lets Jace pull him into the living room.

The dinner is mind-blowingly good. Magnus, as it turns out, is a hobby chef, and when Alec said that he takes hosting events more than seriously, he meant it. Izzy, Clary and Magnus are passionately chatting about fashion trends all throughout the main course. Alec asks Simon about his band. He can tell that he’s trying hard to be polite.

And the entire time he can feel Jace watching him from across the table. His face is relaxed, and there’s a gentle smile playing about his lips as he listens to their conversations, providing commentary every once in a while.

Everything about the evening is just lovely.

During the dinner, Simon notices two things. Firstly, Jace doesn’t eat. Well, he does, but barely. Most of the time he just pushes his food around with his fork and sips his champagne. Secondly, the others keep shooting him worried looks every other minute, as if they’re afraid he might randomly combust.

Simon can see that something is weighing on him, he just doesn’t know if it’s his place to ask. It strikes him then how much he cares. He cares about Jace in a way that is more than a crush, more than just casually liking someone. Maybe he’s in over his head, but he finds that he’s strangely okay with that.

“So, how long have you been, er, doing music?” Alec asks. His interested face is almost comical.

“Well, I started learning guitar as a child, but the band’s been going strong for like three years now.”

“Damn.” Alec sounds impressed.

“What about you? You’re a lawyer, right?”

“Yes,” he says, visibly relieved he’s back on familiar territory. “Our parents actually wanted all of us to go to law school, but, well… They had to concede.”

At the other end of the table, Izzy and Clary break out into a laughing fit and Magnus announces, with the cadence of telling the punchline of a well-rehearsed joke, “And that, ladies, is why I’m technically wanted in Peru.”

Alec, next to Simon, regards his fiancé with so much fondness showing in his face that it smooths his features entirely, and makes him look so utterly in love, it tugs at Simon’s heart. His gaze drifts to Jace, who’s watching him, just him.

They clear the table for dessert and Jace and Alec practically body block Izzy when she gets up to go into the kitchen. She scowls and mutters, “Jerks,” under her breath.

Clary pulls Simon aside and whispers, “Si, you didn’t tell me they were nice.”

“Wow, backhanded compliment much?”, he asks.

She shrugs. “I was expecting rich kids with sticks up their asses, you can’t blame me for that.”

Magnus brings out a bottle of some fancy looking schnaps, and fills shot glasses for everyone.

“I think we all need a little digestive before dessert,” he declares. “Jonathan, will you get your brother?”

Jace cringes but goes to drag Alec back from the kitchen. When he returns to his spot next to Simon, Simon raises his brows at him. “Jonathan?”, he asks, delightedly.

He just shakes his head. “Don’t even start with that, Lewis.”

With a dramatic clearing of his throat, Magnus raises his glass. “I would like to make a toast to my beautiful fiancé and his lovely family. And to Clary and Simon for being here tonight to celebrate with us.”

The schnaps tastes disgusting and burns through Simon’s body with a fiery vengeance. Jace grins at him from the side. “Join me for a smoke?” he asks, and Simon gladly complies.

Magnus and Alec’s balcony is lit by fairy lights. Jace leans against the railing and takes a deep drag, and Simon lets his gaze drift over the shimmering Manhattan skyline, taking it all in.

He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage and says, “I know you’re going through something, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m here for you. I like you a lot and I care about you, so if you want to talk, I’m here, you know. I care.”

Jace just keeps looking ahead, and for a moment Simon thinks he fucked it all up, went all in too fast.

Then, Jace says, “It’s completely insane. The whole thing. I… Well, I don’t really know where to start.” He takes another drag. “You might have guessed already, but I’m not Alec and Izzy’s biological brother. The Lightwoods adopted me when I was ten.”

Simon, in fact, hadn’t guessed that but when he says it out loud, the pieces fall into place.

“I grew up very secluded,” Jace goes on, his voice monotone, somehow detached. “When I was ten, there was a break in. The house was burned to the ground. I was stabbed in the chest and had to watch them stab my father next.”

He pulls down the collar of his shirt to reveal a mean-looking scar, only inches above his heart. Simon stares at it, lost for words.

“I thought I watched him die. But… The phone call I got the other night, that was Maryse, my mother, well, adoptive mother. Turns out my biological father is alive. He was arrested in New Jersey and apparently, he’s got a criminal record. A serious one. Identity theft and all.”

Jace grimaces. “At this point they aren’t even sure if I am actually related to him. He was a cult leader, like twenty years ago, and the name I knew him under, the name that I thought was my last name is a fake. So… I don’t know. I’m not sure where that leaves me, honestly. I don’t know how to deal with any of this. It’s batshit crazy. But, yeah.”

“Jesus,” says Simon, very creatively. “That’s… wow.”

Jace gives a wry smile and flicks some ashes over the railing. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“That sounds… overwhelming.” Simon isn’t really sure what the appropriate response to I watched my father die when I was a child but actually he’s still alive and might not be my father after all is. He studies Jace’s face, but he just looks devoid of any sort of emotion.

“That’s one word for it,” he mutters. Then, he sighs and finally turns to Simon. “I guess I just need to get used to it. Nothing I can do about it anyways.”

“Yeah, but still. It’s a lot to take in.” Simon hesitates. “Have you been to see him?” he asks.

Jace’s body stiffens. “No,” he says softly, “I don’t think that’s something I want to do.”

“That’s fair,” Simon quickly agrees. “You have your own life now. You’re not obligated to do anything.”

A part of him however wonders what he would do if he found out his own father was still alive. Granted, Jace’s father, or non-father, had lied to him and abandoned him, so Simon thinks it’s completely understandable he doesn’t want to see him. Still, he knows that if he had the chance to see his father again, no matter the circumstances, he’d take it in an instant.

Jace turns to regard Simon and there’s something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He exhales smoke and says, “Thanks, Simon. I… Thank you. The thing is, I don’t –“ He cuts himself off and seems to think his words over before he continues, “Part of the reason I don’t usually do relationships or any of this, is cause I’m kinda fucked. In the head. And I don’t want to put any of that on you.”

“I get that,” Simon replies. “But you’re not responsible for the stuff that happens to you. And you don’t… You don’t need to protect me, you know. I’m a big boy. I can look out for myself.”

He smiles at Jace, and some of the tension visibly leaves his body.

“How’d I get lucky enough to find you?” he asks.

Simon can feel a warmth spread through him that has nothing to do with the liquor from before.

“Well, you know what they say: Fight enough nazis and you might just get yourself a date.”

“Fuck around and find out,” Jace agrees. “I’ve got good news, by the way. Isabelle officially gave us her blessing. I wasn’t aware that was a thing but yay us, I guess. I think she’s almost as in love with you as I am.”

Immediately, Simon feels the familiar heat of the blood rushing into his cheeks.

In love.

Jace peers at him with a grin and Simon realises it wasn’t just a slip of the tongue.

“Oh my god,” he chokes out. “You did that on purpose!”

Jace laughs and admits, “Maybe. Is it too soon to say that?”

“Yes,” Simon croaks. “But I’ll allow it. Mainly because I’m majorly in love with you too, so...”

“That’s a little embarrassing for you,” Jace hums. He smiles that same private smile again that he did the other day.

Simon interlaces their fingers over the railing. “Am I crazy for thinking that this could work out?”

“No,” Jace says, “I hope not. Otherwise, we’ll both have to get ourselves admitted to some kind of institution.” He chuckles under his breath.

They kiss.

The entirety of New York City is a sea of lights splayed out before them, but Simon can only think of Jace, his lips on his own, his crooked fingers warm and steady against Simon’s hand. It’s a gentle kiss, heavy with the promise of something good, something lasting, something more.

He never wants to let go. Jace pulls him closer, and Simon breathes in his scent, it’s citrus bodywash and nicotine.

When they finally break away, they’re both panting for air.

“Fuck,” Jace says hoarsely. “You’re a fucking miracle, Simon Lewis.”

And yeah, Simon thinks he could get used to that.

Inside, Clary and Izzy are sitting on the sofa, a little too close together and clearly lost in conversation. Magnus and Alec are slow-dancing, or rather Magnus is, while Alec clumsily follows his lead. The sight of them makes Simon want to pull Jace close all over again.

“There you are,” Alec says, letting go of his fiancé. “You do know that quickies are supposed to be quick, right?”

Jace shrugs, casually sliding his hand into Simon’s. “I don’t do quick,” he just says.

They have dessert. It’s arguably Magnus’ masterpiece, an artful arrangement of sugary treats Simon’s never tried before, but which all taste heavenly. Jace doesn’t have dessert. He steals a spoonful from Simon’s plate, though, and hums in appreciation. Simon catches Alec looking a little surprised at that.

Isabelle makes them all pose for a selfie and then gets Simon’s and Clary’s numbers to create a group chat.

“Clary and I scheduled a training date,” she tells Jace and Simon. “And by that I mean that you, Simon, and her will be joining Jace’s and my training session on Wednesday morning.”

Simon turns to raise his brows at Clary. “Will we now?”

She just shrugs, but Simon knows her well enough to see she’s feeling caught.

“Well, I won’t pass up on a chance to show off,” Jace muses.

Isabelle whispers to Simon, “He’s all talk, honestly.” Jace flips her off.

When they get ready to leave, Jace pulls Simon into the kitchen where they make out against the kitchen counter.

“Magnus is gonna kill me for this,” he murmurs between kisses.

Simon buries his hands in his hair, his beautiful, beautiful hair. This time, the kisses are intense in a different way, hot and fast and breathless. Everything inside of Simon wants to take this further, but that’s probably a bad idea.

He wants Jace. There’s no use denying it. And by the looks of it, the feeling is mutual. It takes an unimaginable amount of effort to pull away.

Simon breathes, “If we go on… I don’t think I can keep it together.”

Jace leans his forehead against Simon’s. “Yeah, same. I really want to though.”

“You could show me your place,” Simon suggests, trying to sound casual.

Jace takes a deep breath and presses another quick kiss onto Simon’s lips. “I’d love to, Si, I swear. But I can’t tonight.”

Simon’s heart sinks with disappointment. “That’s alright,” he says. It doesn’t come out as convincing as he wanted it to.

He takes a step back and busies himself by unsuccessfully trying to fix his hair. Jace is watching him, he can feel his gaze on his skin.

“Simon…”, he says, but doesn’t go on.

“Hey, it’s fine. We don’t need to rush anything. I just… I tend to rush into things, like, all the time. So, maybe it’s a good idea to take this one step at a time.”

He doesn’t want Jace to feel bad, doesn’t want to pressure him into anything. Simon is just head over heels for him and he’s never been good at patience.

Jace brushes a strand of Simon’s hair back into place. It’s such a simple gesture, but it dispels the rejection Simon felt just a second ago in an instant.

“I just don’t want to ruin this,” Jace says very quietly. “I’ve never… Truth is, I don’t think I’ve ever been with anybody who actually liked me. They liked my looks, sure, and my cocky arrogance, but it was always just sex. And I don’t want this - us to be over.”

“I’m not just looking for a quick fuck, Jace,” Simon tells him honestly. “I’m not going to walk out on this - us the second we have sex.”

“I know. Jesus, I know that, Simon. Let’s just…Can we just take it slow?”

Simon takes his hand in his.

“Of course we can,” he replies. “We have all the time in the world.”

Chapter Text

Jace can’t focus. He’s been trying to get himself to read, but his mind just keeps drifting off. It’s driving him insane. The thing is, he wants to have sex with Simon. Oh, he definitely wants to. He’s been thinking about it almost non-stop. But he can’t, not when he still has to run to the toilet to puke his guts out at least three times a night.

Usually, the nightmares come in phases. On bad days, he knows just what to expect when he goes to sleep. Lately, however, since the news of his father’s - Valentine’s arrest… Well, he’s been in a bad place, mentally.

It’s annoying, really. Jace can’t seem to get his body under control. It’s a constant unwelcome reminder of how he just can’t get over himself. He’s a grown fucking man and still flinches at sudden movements. He’s twenty-two years old and still hung up on that fucking falcon.

And Simon… God, Simon is good. He’s kind and funny and caring and Jace knows he could never deserve him. Jace knows that Simon is too good for him. It’s as simple as that. If he were stronger, he’d walk away right now. He wouldn’t risk subjecting Simon to any of his bullshit.

It all comes down to the fact that Jace is selfish and tired, and he just can’t stop himself from wanting Simon, even when he knows, Jesus, he knows that he shouldn’t.

So, Jace tries to read. He goes to work, he does his laundry, he even attempts to meditate. He waits for the DNA-test results.

On Monday, he starts doing push-ups every time his thoughts go back to Simon, his lips, his hands, his fucking eyes. The result of this are sore muscles and several sweat through shirts. His broken ribs are also not particularly amused by this.

On Tuesday, he spends half an hour in front of his closet, trying to decide what to wear. Simon invited him over to meet “some of his friends that aren’t Clary”, and Jace is panicking. He even considers calling Izzy for emotional support.

When he gets there, Clary lets him in. She hugs him and says, “Come on, come in. Try not to step on the canvases.”

The apartment is covered in art. Most of it is experimental, swirls of full, radiant colours that blend together and create abstract figures and sceneries. The canvases on the floor are clearly a work in process. Some of them are half-finished sketches, others just partly painted. Jace tiptoes around them and into the living room.

He’s struck by how lived in the place looks. The shelves on the walls are crowded with plants and sculptures, the large sofa that takes up the majority of the space is covered with cushions and blankets, none of them matching in the slightest. The drawer under the TV is open and full of video games, consoles and knotted cables, and there are three different guitars in the corner of the room.

Simon is talking with a woman in overalls, excitedly waving his hands. He jumps up from the sofa to pull Jace into a hug and give him a quick kiss.

“Hey you.” He’s beaming at him and Jace feels something in his chest click into place.

“Hey yourself,” he says and drops onto the sofa next to Simon, casually sliding an arm around his shoulders.

“Jace, this is Maia, Maia – Jace,” Simon introduces the woman who considers Jace and declares, “You’re shorter than I expected.”

Simon throws a cushion at her and Maia catches it out of the air, grinning. She’s wearing bright orange eyeshadow that contrasts provocatively with her ebony skin.

“Nice to meet you too,” Jace mutters.

“Maia, be nice,” Simon says, and to Jace he adds, “She’s always like that, it’s not just you.”

“Thanks,” Jace says dryly.

Maia rolls her eyes and says, “Simon, I thought you’re type was dark and mysterious not blond and rich.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a very mysterious person,” Jace proclaims.

“Oh, he is,” Simon agrees. “I didn’t even know his real name is Jonathan until a couple days ago.”

“Jonathan? Really?”

Jace hates that. He hates that name with a passion. But he’s also determined to impress Simon’s friends, so he just shrugs.

“Actually, it’s Jonathan Christopher Lightwood Wayland. Well. Presumably.”

Maia raises her brows. “Presumably? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jace smirks and says, “Gotta keep it mysterious, you know.”

He can feel Simon shooting him a worried look, but he ignores it and just squeezes his hand reassuringly. Clary comes in, balancing a tray with drinks, while trying not to step on her art.

“I call this one the Honeymoon, because it’s sweet and you’ll remember it for the rest of your life,” she announces and puts the tray down in front of them.

Jace feels his lips curl into a smile. “You really have a thing for elaborate cocktails, huh?”

She nods. “In this household, we take our drinks very seriously.”

“It’s true,” Simon says, “we used to have monthly cocktail nights, but Maia kept skipping on us so the tradition kinda died out.”

“Hey, I had to study. Exam seasons are hard.”

“What’s your major?” Jace asks.

“Marine biology,” Maia says and grabs a drink. “I love the subject, but I hate the studying. What about you?”

“Jace is a prison counsellor for juveniles,” Clary answers for him. “Right, Jace?”

“Yeah.” Jace dutifully reaches for his glass and tries a sip. He thinks that dating Simon might actually give him diabetes. He doesn’t care.

“Okay, that’s kinda cool. I was afraid you’d be a finance guy.”

Both Simon and Jace give her offended looks. She just drinks and doesn’t elaborate on it.

“So, uh, how did you guys meet?”, Jace asks.

“Si and I used to job at the same comic-bookstore. And then we bonded over our mutual queerness and the rest is history”, Maia explains readily. Jace hums and she goes on, “I guess the stereotype that gays stick together is true.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Two of my siblings are queer so we’re kinda beating the quota.”

“Two?” Clary asks.

“Oh yeah, Izzy’s bi. And Alec’s gay, of course. He had it the roughest, honestly. Our parents kinda needed a moment to get used to it, but by the time I came out they’d gotten over their initial concerns.”

“Spreading the agenda,” Simon says and Jace can’t help smiling at him.

“Lucky you,” Maia says lightly, “when Simon and I started going out my parents were ready to throw a party because they thought I was cured.”

Yeah, that throws Jace for a loop. He tries not to let it show, but it appears that Maia is an observant woman.

“You didn’t know?” she asks.

Jace feels like this is her way of testing him. She’s poking to get an emotional reaction out of him. The joke is on her though, because she clearly miscalculated. Jace can keep his cool under pressure.

“We didn’t really talk about exes,” he says with a shrug. “Looks like things didn’t work out for you two anyway, so…”

Simon next to him releases a breath. “Okay, this isn’t… Well. I was kinda asking for this, wasn’t I? Er, yeah.”

Maia holds Jace’s gaze. “Nah, we’re way better as friends.”

Jace opens his mouth to retort, but before he can say a word, Simon chimes in, “Jace, wanna go for a smoke?”

Jace would have gladly fought this out with Maia. She started it, after all. But he remembers he was supposed to make Simon’s friends like him, and not start petty fights with them. So, he follows Simon into his room and climbs after him onto the fire escape.

“I should have said something,” Simon says, and watches Jace light up with a worried expression on his face. “I honestly just didn’t really think about it cause Maia is literally one of my best friends and the whole dating thing was very short-lived and it was also like two years ago, so.”

Jace smokes and thinks of something to say.

“But we’re still really close. And that’s non-negotiable, so if you have a problem with that…”

“I don’t,” Jace says quietly.

“Oh. Okay. Good.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Jace isn’t always very good at articulating his feelings and right know he’s struggling to come up with the right words.

Simon says, a little sheepishly, “Rafe and I also went out for a while. But that’s pretty much all the exes there are.”

“The guy from your band?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Jace releases smoke into the air. “Alright,” he says.

Simon looks at him, baffled. “Alright? That’s all?”

Jace shrugs and asks, “Is it not alright? Did he like cheat on you or something?”

“What? No. But, uh, I kinda thought… Well, being close friends with your exes is usually kind of a red flag, right?”

“Is it? I mean, do you still have feelings for them?”

Simon shakes his head. “No,” he says decidedly.

“Well, then. I gotta admit, I’m a little jealous that Maia got to see you naked, but other than that… I trust you, Simon.”

It looks like a ton of weight has just been lifted off Simon’s shoulders.

“Oh,” he says. “It’s just… The last guy I dated didn’t take it so well. And, uh, he was kind of a jerk, in general.”

Jace feels his shoulders tense. “Did he hurt you?”

“He broke my heart,” Simon admits.

“But he’s not still part of your friend group, right?”

“God no.” Simon actually chuckles at that. “He was an asshole.”

“Okay, good. I don’t think I would have been able to be nice to him,” Jace tells him honestly. Then, he adds, “I’d tell you about my exes, but I’m not really sure the term exes even applies.”

Simon snorts and Jace leans in to kiss him. It’s short and sweet and when they pull away, they’re both smiling at each other.

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful. Jace and Maia bicker a little, put it seems that she was pleased enough with his reaction to not push it any further. Simon stays close to him the entire time, leaning against his shoulder or casually throwing his legs over Jace’s. It’s a nice evening all in all.

On Wednesday morning, Maryse calls him.

She says, "I've got the test results."

Jace drops the sponge back into the sink and heads straight to the balcony.

"Jace?" Maryse asks, "are you still there?"

"Yeah," he manages to say. "Let's just get it over with."

He can hear the sound of paper rustling and then Maryse takes a sharp breath.

"He's not your biological father, Jace. You're not related to him."

Jace closes his eyes and takes a drag. He pinches the bridge of his nose with two fingers. He wonders what he's supposed to feel at that information.

Hey, great news, I don't share any of my genes with an actual psychopath.

Hey, bad news, my entire life is based on a fucking lie.

"Jace?" Maryse's voice is gentle.

"Yeah," he says. "I'm here."

His head is racing. He thinks he's never really looked like him at all. The blond hair and the strange yellowish eyes. He thinks that it makes sense that he could never be good enough for him. Not his son. Not his blood.

"So, where the fuck did he get me from?" he asks. "I have to be someone's son, right?"

Maryse sighs. "I don't know. I'll get Robert to put some pressure on those Jersey cops. They're re-opening the investigation of Morgenstern's cult. Maybe there's some kind of connection."

Jace feels himself nod. "Right," he says. "Okay."

"I also need your permission to use your medical records as evidence in the trial. And it could be useful if you could provide a recent scan of your hand, to showcase the lasting damages."

Just the thought of it makes Jace's stomach turn.

"Okay," he says again. "Yeah, I can do that."

"I'll make sure he spends the rest of his life behind bars. The file... I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live with this man."

Jace doesn't reply. He smokes and stares down at the cars crawling along the street like little bugs. His hand is aching.

"And Jace?" Maryse’s voice sounds husky. She clears her throat. "I know that isn't what you meant but... You are my son. In every way that matters."

He can feel a lump forming in his throat.

"I know," he croaks. "Thank you, Maryse."

On Wednesdays, Jace and Izzy train in the basement of their childhood home.

She's already warming up when he gets there. "Getting sloppy there, huh", she teases him. "Clary and Simon are on their way."

Jace puts his bag down and says, "Maryse just called me. He's not my biological father."

Izzy's jaw drops, quite literally. She gets up from the floor and throws her arms around his neck. It takes Jace a moment to hug her back. Not for the first time in the last two weeks, he feels like he's just going through the motions, his brain barely comprehending.

"Oh Jace," Isabelle whispers. "That's so fucked up. All of it. What the fuck."

She releases him and scrutinizes his face. "God, you look like shit."

Jace huffs. "Thanks."

"Sorry." She cringes a little. "I just... Fuck, Jace. Does that mean he kidnapped you? As a baby?"

Jace shrugs his shoulders. "Looks like it, yeah."

"Fuck," Izzy repeats. She looks genuinely distraught. "Did you tell Simon?"

"I literally just got the news twenty minutes ago."

"No, I mean, in general. Did you tell him about your - About him?"

Isabelle was twelve when she realized where Jace's scars came from.

She one day waltzed into his room and straight up asked him, "Did your dad do that to you?"

At thirteen years old Jace was still very much convinced he had deserved every punishment he'd ever gotten. So, he shrugged and told her, "He wanted me to be the best."

"At what?"

Jace shrugged again. "Fighting. General education. All of it."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

No.

Now, Izzy is looking at him like she would very much like to beat Valentine Morgenstern into a coma.

"I told him that he lied about his identity and faked his death," Jace says. "I didn't think the rest of it would be very beneficial to the whole dating thing."

"I think you're both in too deep for that to be a deal-breaker. I think he really cares about you, Jace."

"Yeah. I know."

Isabelle goes over to pick up her water bottle from the bench and gulps down half of it at once. "Did you tell Alec?" she asks.

Jace shakes his head. "Not yet. As I said, I haven't had the chance to talk to anyone since Maryse told me."

Alec knows him more intimately than anyone else in the world. He was the one who picked Jace up and put him back together piece by piece over the course of twelve long years.

Shortly after Jace had come to New York, there was an incident where Alec and he were caught staying up past their bedtime. They would lay on Alec's bed and play guessing games, and Alec would educate Jace on pop culture, mostly rambling about the hot guys he'd found in Izzy's fashion magazines. Jace, in return, would tell Alec all about his favourite piano pieces and Greek tragedies.

This one time, they forgot the time and when Maryse caught them around midnight still talking loudly, she told them off. She wasn't mean, she never was, but she was always strict and could be more stubborn than any of her children combined. Jace remembers that night. He remembers just... freezing.

He was so used to getting slapped at any minor inconvenience, being pushed to his knees, the belt coming down on him before he'd even realise what it was, he’d done wrong. He'd spent enough nights locked into the windowless room in the cellar, barely big enough for him to lie down in. He'd taken every beating, every cut, every broken bone and accepted it.

Jace had just wanted his new family to be different. He'd wanted to prove to them that he could be good. He didn't want them to send him away.

Alec looked at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "She's not going to hurt us, you know," he whispered to Jace. Jace only then realised that Alec had connected the dots.

Maryse seemed to get it about half a second too late. She released a deep sigh and knelt down in front of Jace, who hadn't realised he'd been preparing himself for the hit.

Maryse reached out with one hand, palm facing upwards, clearly indicating for him to put his hand in hers. Jace's mind went blank. She was going to break it again. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to handle the pain. But he also knew that if he didn't offer it to her voluntarily, there'd be consequences.

So, Jace gritted his teeth and placed his left hand in hers.

To his surprise, she just held it and said, "Alec is right. I am never going to hurt you, Jace. And neither is Robert. I promise."

Jace didn't really know what to do with that. He knew she expected him to give a  reaction, so he nodded.

All those years later, Jace knows that Alec had known him then and still knows him now, and he can read Jace's feelings even when Jace can't identify them himself. Jace takes comfort in that. He just can’t help feeling like an ass when it’s always him putting his shit on the people around him, because somehow, even now his life constantly keeps coming up with new ways of fucking him over.

Isabelle is watching him. “We can reschedule, you know,” she says. “If you need time to process…”

“No,” Jace says, a little too vehemently. “I’m fine, Iz, really. Let’s just have a good time, yeah?”

Chapter Text

After two and a half hours of being humbled by Isabelle and Jace’s training program, Simon follows Jace up the stairs into the kitchen where he pours them two glasses of water. He leans against the counter while he drinks and Simon regards him, his tattooed arms, the fucking muscles, the fine silver-white scars that are sprinkled across his skin. He wonders if he got them from fighting the wrong kind of people at the wrong kind of bars.

The bruises on his jaw and neck have already started to fade and Simon catches a glimpse of the scar below his collar bone, he showed him the other day. He tries not to think of little Jace, scrawny and scared, getting stabbed in the chest. What kind of person would stab a child?

“Enjoying the view?” Jace asks, smirking up at Simon.

Simon shrugs. “I could get used to it.”

“I don't think it is humanely possible to get used to this,” Jace replies, gesturing down his body.

“Oh how I love third wheeling you and your ego.”

“Sorry, we're a fixed deal.”

“I've noticed.”

Jace's grin widens. He puts down his glass and says, “Come on, I gotta get some stuff.”

So, Simon follows him up another flight of stairs and into a bathroom, where Jace starts rummaging through the cupboards.

Simon feels his brows shoot up. “Are you stealing deodorant?” he asks.

“Nah, I have a naturally pleasant body odour. I'm just borrowing Maryse's conditioner. I usually use Izzy's but I think she's onto me.”

He grabs a bottle of fancy looking hair conditioner and triumphantly presents it to Simon.

“Coconut, huh?”

Jace shrugs. “I'm a tropical kind of guy.”

He proceeds to chuck the bottle in his bag and heads to the room across the hall. Simon dutifully trails after him. It’s probably the tidiest room Simon’s ever been in. The walls are lined with bookshelves. There are no personal items, just a single framed photograph on the nightstand next to the perfectly made bed. A young Alec has his arm thrown around a young Jace’s shoulders, both of them smiling for the camera. Next to them, a tiny version of Isabelle is holding a toddler, who Simon assumes must be Max. Jace scans the shelves and starts throwing books into his bag.

“Is this your childhood bedroom?” Simon asks, unable to fight the curiosity.

Jace shoots him a quick glance over his shoulder. “Yeah. Used to be Alec’s but we traded when I was like twelve.”

“I didn’t know you’re that well-read,” Simon muses. He surveys the books lining the walls. They’re stacked in alphabetical order. “Jesus, The Illyad? Really?”

With a shrug, Jace turns back to him and grins. “It’s better in Ancient Greek.”

“Show-off.”

“What can I say, I’m a multi-faceted man.”

“Well, you should see my childhood room. I plastered every free inch of wall with posters. Mostly Star Wars.”

“Never seen it.”

Simon stares at him in shock. “You’ve never seen Star Wars? How? Why?”

Jace shrugs again. “Just didn’t get to it I guess.”

“Oh, we’re so gonna change that. It’s only the best science fiction franchise to ever exist. The first movies were revolutionary. Of course, you could argue that Star Trek is a close contender, but it just doesn’t have the same nostalgic value for me.”

“I haven’t seen that one either, so…”

“Jesus Christ, Jace, you’re killing me.”

They go to Jace’s favourite Chinese place for lunch. Izzy and Clary claimed they wanted to go over some of the training exercises again, so it’s just the two of them. Jace spends most of the time pushing his food around with his chopsticks.

Finally, after Simon has finished every last bite of his fried rice, Jace says, “I need to go to the hospital again, for a check-up. I… I was wondering if you could maybe come with me? If you’re free, of course.”

Simon feels his brows furrow. “Are you hurt? Should you really be doing any exercise if you’re still healing? Is something wrong?”

There’s the hint of a smile playing about Jace’s lips. “I’m fine, Si. It’s just a check-up.”

“Okay, good. I’m totally coming with you, that’s like our thing, right?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely. I know you only agreed to go out with me ‘cause I bought you that hospital coffee.” It’s a full-blown smile now and Simon can’t help but return it.

“Best coffee I ever had,” he replies.

So, they go to the hospital. Jace is unusually quiet, but Simon tries not to read too much into it. He waits in the sterile white room while Jace is getting examined. He gets two cups of coffee from the vending machine and anxiously sips on his cup while he waits. And waits. And waits.

After 55 minutes, he goes up to the desk to ask the nurse if something’s wrong.

“Oh, not at all. The x-rays can just take a while,” she tells him.

“X-rays?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes, for Mister Lightwood’s hand. There’s always a bit of a delay with the machines. But he should be done any time now.” The nurse gives him a sweet smile. Simon thanks her and tries not to look too confused. Jace never said that there was anything wrong with his hand. Besides, if it were broken Simon would have noticed. He’s been spending a lot of time with Jace’s hands lately.

He heads back to his seat and downs the second cup of coffee. Maybe the nurse got it wrong. Maybe she was looking at the wrong patient’s file. Then again, Lightwood isn’t exactly a forgettable name. And what else would be taking them so long? Simon tells himself to quit worrying. Surely there’s going to be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this.

Still, he can’t push away that sense of frustration that’s been lurking in the back of his mind. How does he know that Jace is as committed to telling the truth as he says? Yes, the past weeks had been a blissful rose-coloured haze, but it isn’t the first time that Simon feels like Jace is hiding something.

Don’t be a dick, he tells himself. Just because he wants to take things slow that doesn’t mean he’s lying to you. This isn’t about you, it’s about him and his boundaries.

The rational part of Simon’s brain understands all of that. But unfortunately, the bigger part of his brain is feeling anything but rational. He wants to be close to Jace, wants to tell him all his secrets, wants to confide in him. And, more importantly, he wants to be that same person for Jace, someone he trusts, someone he opens up to. Only that Jace doesn’t seem too eager to do that.

You’re being ridiculous. He told you about what’s going on with his biological father. He’s clearly having a hard time at the moment. And you’ve only known him for a couple of weeks. He asked you to come with him to the hospital. Stop being paranoid.

Simon takes a deep breath and does his best to not give in to the anxiety. After another fifteen minutes, Jace comes strutting down the hallway.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says.

“Are you alright?” Simon scrutinizes his face. He’s unusually pale around the nose.

“Let’s talk outside.” Without waiting for a response, Jace turns towards the exit.

In the hospital parking lot, he sits down on the curb and lights a cigarette. A woman passing by shakes her head at him, but Jace doesn’t seem to notice. He smokes with his right hand, while his left stays in his lap, tucked tightly to his abdomen.

Simon sits down beside him. “I got you coffee, but I kinda drank all of it while waiting,” he blurts out. “Sorry.”

Jace cocks his head. “You were trying to use my own tricks against me,” he says. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Jace,” Simon says, “what’s going on? Did something happen?”

Jace releases a stream of smoke into the air. He regards the hand in his lap for a long moment. Then, he says, “I took a DNA-test. Turns out he – Valentine Morgenstern is not my father. I’m not related to him. At all.”

“Shit,” Simon mutters. “That’s… Jace, I’m so sorry.”

Jace shrugs. He flexes his fingers and frowns. “Honestly, maybe it’s better this way. It’s not like he was a particularly great father.”

Simon watches him from the side. He can tell that there’s more to the story than Jace lets on, but he decides not to push it.

“You know, when my dad died, my mum… She didn’t take it very well. Understandably, but still. She started drinking. I don’t remember much of it, I was too young to really understand what was going on. Becky became the one in charge.” Simon adjusts his glasses. “I know that it’s not the same, like, at all. I guess I’m just trying to say that I get not having a particularly great parent, you know. I mean, you can talk to me. If you want.”

To his surprise, Jace stubs out his cigarette and reaches for his hand.

“Thanks,” he says. “That’s… You’re just… I don’t know what to do when you’re being like this.”

Simon swallows hard. “Like what?”

“Kind. Caring. Just… You’re such a good fucking person without even trying. And I don’t know what to say to that.”

Their eyes meet. Simon thinks that Jace was right. He’s never going to get used to how stupidly beautiful he is.

“I’m really sorry about your mum,” Jace adds quietly. “And your dad. I’m here for you too, you know.”

And that just melts all of Simon’s worry and frustration away. Just like that. Because Jace is looking at him with this painfully earnest expression. Because Simon can feel that he’s telling the truth, and it’s breaking his heart.

“I know,” he croaks out.

They kiss. It feels tender, almost fragile. But real. Very fucking real.

When they pull apart something has changed in Jace’s expression.

“There’s going to be a trial,” he says. “They’ll want me to testify.”

“Against your… I mean, against him?”

“Yeah.”

Jace’s gaze is fixed on their interlaced fingers. In the light of the afternoon sun, his eyes are like softly glowing ambers. Magnificent, Simon thinks, distracted. He squeezes Jace’s hand.

“Do you want to? Testify, I mean?”

Again, Jace shrugs. “I don’t want to, no. But it’s not that simple. I don’t think I’ll get over it if I don’t.”

Before Simon can think of something to say, Jace looks up at him. He asks, “Is that heartless of me? Disloyal, I mean. Testifying against the man who raised me?”

Simon considers this. “No,” he responds, “I don’t think it is. He lied to you and abandoned you in a burning building. You were a child. And he’s a criminal, right? People are dead because of him. I don’t think you’re under any moral obligation to be loyal to this man.”

Jace releases a long, drawn-out breath. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I thought so too. Would you do it?”

“If my dad turned out to be alive and a convicted murderer?”

“I guess, yeah.”

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’d like to say yes. But I don’t know, really. I barely remember him. When I was little, I used to imagine what it would be like if he did come home one day, you know, and it all just turned out to have been one big misunderstanding.”

He can feel Jace watching him carefully and suddenly, there’s a lump in his throat.

“Of course that never happened. But I just… I wanted to get to know him so badly. If he turned out to still be alive… I don’t know what I would do.” Simon clears his throat. “But still. If he were - well, if I were in your situation, I’d like to think that I would testify.”

For a moment they just sit in silence. It occurs to Simon that he's never told anyone about that. Not even Clary. They both grew up without fathers, but it was never something they really talked about. Neither of them had been old enough to remember their dad, and so it was more like a mutual understanding between them, the shared loneliness of only ever having known one parent.

After a while, Jace says, “Thanks, Simon. I just… I’ve no idea what I’m supposed to feel. And I don’t think I’ll be able to figure it out unless I deal with it.”

Simon feels himself nod.

“It’s a little funny. I mean, I thought I was an orphan for half of my life and now I might still have parents - biological parents somewhere out there, but no way to find them.”

“Do you think he knows who they are? Valentine, I mean?”

“Probably. He must have gotten me from somewhere, right? Don’t think he’s just going to tell me, though. He’s…” Jace pauses and frowns. “He’s not exactly the kind of man that you can walk up to and make demands. At least not the way I knew him. Whatever that’s worth.”

He sighs. “Anyways, I don’t think I’ll get around talking to him.”

“So, you’re going to see him?” Simon asks.

“I have to. I want answers. And I don’t know where else to start.”

They go home together after that.

Jace curls up next to him in bed, still in his jeans and t-shirt, but Simon doesn’t care. They exchange slow, tender kisses. They don’t talk. At some point, Jace falls asleep with his head on Simon’s chest. Simon breathes in his scent, sweat and smoke, and something that reminds him of freshly fallen rain. He runs his fingers through his hair. Jace groans softly and moves closer, leans into the touch.

He must have been exhausted. Simon wonders if he should be worried about Jace’s strange sleeping and eating habits. Well, more worried than he already is.

For a while, he just lays there, listening to the rhythmic sound of Jace’s breaths. Outside the window, evening turns into night. He can hear Clary singing to herself in the other room the way she always does when she’s working. Simon shuts his eyes.

He imagines what it would be like, if his dad walked in through the door right now. What he would say to Simon, his friends, his life. If he would be proud. He wonders what he would tell him.

He’d talk about music, about the rush of playing in front of people and the cathartic feeling of putting your thoughts into song. He’d tell him about the time him and Clary got fake IDs when they were still in High School, and how they went to a club in Brooklyn where they ended up running from the bouncer and hiding behind garbage containers.

Simon thinks that his dad would be proud. All in all, he made a pretty good life for himself. He thinks of Magnus and Alec and the wedding invitations, and of Jace, that look he gets in his eyes when his family is around.

In the grand scheme of things, Simon thinks that life isn’t too bad.

Chapter Text

Alec reacts to the news exactly how Jace had expected. They’re sitting at the kitchen table in Alec’s and Magnus’ apartment, having a beer. Magnus is still at work. Alec listens until Jace is done talking, a frown forming on his face. He doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t need to.

“So, I went to the hospital. Like Maryse asked. You know, for evidence.”

Alec doesn’t look very pleased. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Simon was with me.” Jace takes a sip from his beer, doing his best to look casual.

He tries not to think about the examination process. They took pictures of every little scar they could find. And, of course, his hand. The x-ray had been the worst part of it. Jace looks down to where his hand is now resting on his leg and resists the urge to curl it into a fist.

“Okay. Good. I’m glad you didn’t go alone.”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “Me too. It wasn’t fun.”

Alec’s frown deepens. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I mean, considering everything that’s going on I’d say I’m reasonably confused, but other than that, yes.”

When Alec doesn’t say anything, he continues, “They said they could fix it. Not completely, I guess, but they could break and reset some of the bones.”

Alec blows out air through his nose. “Wow. Okay. Are you considering it?”

Jace is itching for a smoke. He regards his misshapen hand and tries to envision it looking just the same as his right.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “It’s not something I ever really thought about before.”

“I remember,” Alec says, “you wouldn’t let any of the doctors go near it when mum took you to get it checked out.”

Eyes fixed on Jace, he leans back in his chair. He looks tired, Jace realises, but he supposes he’s in no position to comment on that.

“It’s just… It’s a constant reminder of everything that happened. And I know it sounds stupid but it’s also one of the last things I got from my childhood that hasn’t turned out to be a lie, you know.”

“That… is so fucked up, Jace.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. Truth is, I don't know if I could do it. I'm not worried about the pain. It's just... When I have these nightmares or when I get into this weird state –”

“Panic attacks,” Alec supplies.

“Sure. Whatever. It's always about what he did to my hand. What he made me do. I'm... Waking up and seeing that it's healed is usually the main thing that gets me to calm down. If they'd break it again.... I don't know.”

Alec doesn't look surprised. He probably knew all of that already. Sometimes it's scary how well he can read Jace.

“You don't have to. And even if you'd want to, it doesn't have to be now. Maybe you should focus on the trial first.”

“Right,” Jace says, “the trial.”

He hates even the thought of it. Telling a room full of strangers about his childhood is about the last thing he'd ever want to do. Actually, Jace hates pretty much everything about all of this. He hates that he feels old and bitter. The only night he’s slept through in weeks was at Simon’s. And that had been an accident. He can’t allow himself to think about it too much. He hates that, too. And he hates that he hates it.

The announcement that he’s planning to visit Valentine Morgenstern has sparked an ongoing debate between all members of the Lightwood family. It would be comical if it weren’t so draining. To everyone’s surprise, Robert is the only one who’s taken Jace’s side. He agrees that Jace should go in alone if that’s what he wants.

Alec and Izzy are having none of it. While Alec tries to reason with him, Isabelle keeps calling him an “insufferable self-destructive idiot”. She’s not wrong. Jace knows that he shouldn’t go alone. Jesus, just the thought of facing Valentine Morgenstern - even if cuffed to a table and framed by prison guards - makes the bile rise in the back of his throat.

But he can’t drag his siblings into this. With everything that has unravelled in the past weeks, this is the one new fear that Jace can’t shake. In retrospect, Jace thinks that it was actually quite fortunate that he’d thought his “father” to be dead. That way, Jace never even had to consider the possibility of Valentine ever getting a hold of Alec or Isabelle or Max. There’d been a fortunate, uncrossable line between life before and since New York. He would very much like to keep it that way.

There’s another reason, though. One that Jace is ashamed to admit to anyone but himself. Because Valentine will know. If his siblings are with him, he’ll know how much Jace has softened since New York. How weak he’s gotten.

(He’ll know either way. Jace is sure that he’ll be able to smell it on him.)

Really, Maryse is, as usual, the only reasonable one. “It’s your choice,” she’d told him. About fifty times in the last couple of days alone. Jace knows. He’s just afraid that he might have a horrible track record of making choices by himself.

“I’m your lawyer,” Alec says, for what feels like the seven-hundredth time, “it’s literally my job to tell you that it’s a phenomenally bad idea to go in alone.”

They’re in the car, on their way to a cake tasting. Jace pretends to be busy with arranging his seat.

“Also,” Alec continues, “I’m your older brother. So, it’s my job to look out for you.”

“You’re not even a year older than me,” Jace mutters.

“That’s besides the point.”

Alec makes a rather spirited turn to the right, then brakes hard at a red light. He takes the opportunity to stare at Jace as he goes on, “You’re being stubborn. And stupid.”

“Jesus Christ, Alec. Let’s just go eat some cake, yeah? We can keep repeating ourselves tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to eat the cake,” Alec says and hits the gas.

Jace raises a brow at him. “Then what am I here for exactly?”

“That’s not what I meant. I want you to try the fucking cake, but I know you won’t. Because you’ve been keeping a ten feet distance between you and any food that might contain even an ounce of sugar.”

It’s infuriating. Jace glowers at him, but there’s no point in arguing.

“I’ll eat the fucking cake,” he says.

“Yeah you will.”

They pull into the parking lot behind the bakery. It’s some highbrow pastry shop that Magnus picked out. On the sign it says Confectionary. Jace already knows this is going to suck.

They’re greeted by a grinning Isabelle, and – to Jace’s genuine surprise – an equally grinning Clary. Alec kind of hovers in the door.

“There you are,” Isabelle says, shoving a piece of chocolate cake at his face. “Try it. It’s divine.”

Clary nods her agreement, apparently still chewing on a sample herself.

Jace takes the cake with two fingers. “What’s going on?” he asks. He feels a little like he was purposefully excluded from the briefing.

“Cake tasting,” Isabelle says cheerfully.

Jace can’t help arching a brow, looking back and forth between her and Clary.

“So, are you two, like, a thing now?”

“Oh my God, Jace,” his sister shrieks. “You’re impossible.” He doesn’t miss the flush on Clary’s cheeks.

From the back of the shop, Magnus emerges, followed by Simon, who’s proudly carrying a tray with more samples. Jace feels like his head is going to explode.

Simon beams at him and places a kiss on his cheek, the tray dangerously tipping to the side.

“Surprise,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. Jace turns to glare at Alec, who raises his hands in front of his chest.

He just says, “Izzy’s idea.”

“Bullshit,” Isabelle chimes in. “Alec wanted to have his bridal party complete.”

Magnus pulls Alec further into the room. “We assumed you’d want to bring your boyfriend,” he says to Jace.

Simon gives him a shit-eating grin. “Your boyfriend was absolutely delighted to hear that.”

Jace considers throwing the piece of chocolate cake at Alec’s head. Instead, he regards Simon – his boyfriend – and finds himself smiling, despite his best intentions. Holy fuck. His boyfriend.

“Is that so?” he asks stupidly. “I had a whole thing planned, including a boombox and some self-written poetry. I didn’t know a cake tasting was all it’d take to woo you.”

Simon’s grin widens. “It’s really good cake.”

Across his shoulder, Alec gives Jace a pointed look, and so Jace begrudgingly lifts the cake to his lips and takes a bite. The chocolate melts on his tongue.

“You haven’t seen my poetry,” he jokes. Simon balances the tray in one hand and wipes some crumbs from the corner of Jace’s mouth with his thumb.

“Save it for Valentine’s Day,” he replies.

The thing is, Jace is so catastrophically in love with him, he just might. Come to think of it, he doesn’t seem to hate this surprise, no, not at all. He doesn’t even hate the cake. For a couple of hours, Jace forgets to hate the world altogether.

At some point, he pulls Simon into the backroom.

“So, you conspired with my siblings behind my back?” he asks. But it can’t come across as too serious because he’s simultaneously wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist and staring at his fucking freckles like an absolute idiot.

“Maybe a little.” Simon’s smug smile crumble. “Is this… Is it okay? I don’t want you to think that – well, I don’t know, I just figured -”

“Si.” Jace pushes a strand of hair from his face. “It’s okay. It’s totally okay. It’s great, actually.” He licks his lips. “What have you done with me, Simon Lewis? I’m a fumbling idiot.”

Simon chuckles. His hands are resting on Jace’s chest, warm and steady.

“Usually I’m much more eloquent,” Jace says ruefully.

“Tell me in German, then,” Simon suggests. “Or French. Or Ancient Greek.”

“Das hättest du wohl gerne.“

„Show-off.“

„Ich glaube du bist das Beste, was mir je passiert ist.“

In the end, Magnus and Alec settle on a fancy looking red-velvet cake. Jace would have gone for the chocolate one, but he dutifully tries every sample he is handed and has to admit, they’re all about equally delicious.

He goes home with Simon. Maybe that is stupid, considering he’s currently spending most of his nights on the bathroom floor, head on the toilet seat, but Jace can’t resist. He wants to be with Simon. Jesus, he wants it so bad, it’s scaring him.

They’re on his bed, watching some sci-fi show Jace isn’t sure he fully understands. He doesn’t really care; he’s more interested in the way Simon keeps explaining little details to him every other scene. He’ll wave his hands around so violently, trying to emphasise his points, that Jace actually has to doge them once or twice. He doesn’t mind. He loves listening to Simon talk. How cheesy is that.

In between episodes, Jace asks, “Would you mind going with me?”

Simon, who is curled up beside him lazily lifts his head. “Where are we going?”

I am an idiot, he thinks. An utterly incoherent idiot.

“To the prison. To visit Valentine.”

That’s a mood killer. He really needs to work on his timing.

Suddenly, Simon looks completely awake again. “You want me to go with you?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Alec was right. He’s full of phenomenally bad ideas.

Jace makes an effort to sound nonchalant and says, “Alec and Izzy don’t want me going alone. And, as much as I hate to admit it, they’re probably right. So, would you?”

“Yeah. Of course. I mean, if you want me to.”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll go.”

Jace is baffled at how simple he makes it sound.

Maybe, he is a bad, bad person, dragging Simon of all people to face Valentine Morgenstern. He should clarify that he doesn’t have to go, that he probably shouldn’t. He should explain what kind of a man Valentine Morgenstern really is.

Jace doesn’t.

The prison is much bigger than the juvenile detention centre he works in. The guards are nastier, too. And significantly less attractive.

Alec, as always, is taking his job (though Jace isn’t entirely sure which one) a little too seriously. He’s been reciting regulations at them the entire drive there and keeps reminding them not to say anything that could relate to the case.

He’s also anything but happy with the arrangement of Jace and Simon going in alone. Jace can tell by the ever-present wrinkle right between his brows.  

Simon on the other hand appears to be strangely composed. He holds Jace’s hand and frequently squeezes it reassuringly. He solemnly listens to Alec’s monologues and nods at the right parts, which seems to calm the latter down at least a little bit.

Jace himself is just going through the motions. His body is moving on his own, one step after the other. He’s not in charge. He feels like he’s going to be sick.

Just when they’re about to enter the visitation room, Jace manages to turn to Simon. His voice sounds hollow in his own ears. “You should hang back. He’ll try to bait you. Don’t fall for it.”

Simon doesn’t have time for an answer.

Inside, Valentine Morgenstern sits, cuffed to the table. Jace mechanically walks towards him.

“Jonathan,” he says. He’s smiling. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Jace doesn’t sit down. He looks just like he remembers, with greyer hair and sunken eyes.

“You’ve grown.” Valentine’s voice is smooth, almost affectionate. “I’m so sorry I had to miss so much of your life. I wish I could have been there.”

Yeah, no. This was a phenomenally bad idea. Jace is a six-year-old boy with a dead falcon in his lap.

“You left me to die,” he says. He doesn’t mean to. The words just come falling out of his mouth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jonathan. I knew exactly what you were capable of. I’ve raised you to be the best. I knew that you would make it out of that house alive.”

No. No, no, no, this is all wrong. Jace is fighting to think straight.

Valentine says, “Go on, sit down.” Jace sits down.

Then, Valentine’s gaze flickers over to Simon. “And who’s your company?” he asks.

That jerks a part of Jace’s brain back awake. “I’m asking the questions,” he says. He doesn’t turn to look at Simon, silently imploring him to stay out of this.

“Very well.” Valentine leans back in his chair. “Please, go ahead. I imagine you must have lots of those.”

 “You’re not my real father,” Jace says, matter-of-factly. “So why did you take me in? What happened to my parents?”

Valentine sighs. “I took you in after your parents’ death. I didn’t tell you because you were still so young, and I didn’t know how.”

“What happened to them? What were their names?”

For the first time since they’ve entered the room, Valentine’s face darkens. Jace remembers the way his brows twitch whenever he’s displeased. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“What does it matter?” he counters. “I’m the one that took you in. I’m the one who raised you. I’m your father, Jonathan. You understand that, right?”

Jace swallows. “You didn’t exactly raise me though, did you? You trained me.”

“I taught you. You speak five languages because of me. I’ve made you an excellent fighter. I taught you the piano, literature, philosophy, I taught you things most children couldn’t even dream of. I raised you to be exceptional. I raised you as best as I knew how.”

Jace feels the fingers of his left hand quiver.

Valentine notices too and sighs again. “Oh please. Don’t tell me you came to cry about the lessons I had to teach you. I thought I’d made you stronger than that.”

Jace says, “I want to know their names. You owe me that much.”

“Do you truly think so? That I owe you? After everything I did for you? Look at you, Jonathan. I’ve made you the best.”

“You lied to me. You faked your death and left me to die. You didn’t come looking for me in New York.”

Inexplicably, that is what hurts the most. Jace must be substantially fucked in the head if, after everything, that is what hurts the most.

Valentine’s brows are twitching again. “We’ve been over this. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Jace presses out. “I’m not scared of you.”

Valentine bangs his fists on the table, hard, handcuffs cluttering. And Jace flinches. He fucking flinches.

“Don’t,” he snarls, “lie to me, Jonathan.” He nods in Simon’s direction. “You didn’t even have the guts to come see me alone. You’ve gone soft. Weak. I’m ashamed to see what you’ve become.”

There it is. Jace had known it would be coming. Still, he feels his entire body go numb.

“Look at me,” Valentine commands. Jace does. “Their names don’t matter. They were dead before you were even born. I cut you out of her lifeless body myself. I’m the reason you’re alive. I am. Not them.”

There’s a choked sound from somewhere behind him. Jace is frozen in place. The horror spreads through his body infinitely slowly, cold as ice.

“What?” His voice cracks.

Valentine Morgenstern frowns at him, shaking his head.

“Oh Jonathan,” he says. “What a disappointment you’ve become.”

Chapter Text

Simon is having a horrible, horrible realisation. He’s standing in the back of the prison visitation room, trying his best to blend in with the wall behind him. He doesn’t want to be here. God, he truly, truly doesn’t want to see this.

The man at the table, Valentine Morgenstern, is looking at Jace. His voice is dripping with disdain as he says, “I’m ashamed I ever called you my son.”

He’s not sure what he’d expected. The man is a convicted murderer, an ex-cult leader, who let a wounded ten-year old Jace believe he’d just lost his only parent. Left him behind in a burning building. Really, Simon shouldn’t be so shocked to find he is this fucking crazy.

He’s just admitted to cutting an unborn baby out of its mother’s corpse and keeping it as his own, for Christ’s sake.

Not it, Simon reminds himself, Jace.

Jace, who has turned into a shadow of his usual easy-going cocky self ever since they’ve entered the room. Jace, who flinched at the noise of Valentine’s chains clashing against the table, like a beaten dog. Jace, his boyfriend. Simon feels queasy. This is so much worse than he’d imagined.

“Just tell me who they were,” Jace says quietly. His shoulders are squared. He sits upright, hands placed neatly on the table before him.

Valentine scoffs. “What does it matter? They were weak as well. They’re dead, Jonathan. They’ve been dead for twenty-two years.”

“Were they part of it? Of your cult?”

Something in Valentine’s expression changes. Simon watches as he carefully folds his hands before he replies, “I see you’ve done your research.”

“Were they?” Jace asks again, in a strange toneless voice that Simon doesn’t recognize.

There’s a moment of hesitation. Valentine tilts his head. “Yes,” he says finally.

“So you killed them?”

Valentine clicks his tongue. “Don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t kill any of them. They made their own choices.”

“Sure,” Jace says.

“Don’t talk back to me.”

Immediately, Jace’s spine straightens. It breaks Simon’s heart.

I grew up very secluded. It’s not like he was a particularly great father. That’s what Jace had told him. It’s only now that Simon sees Jace reacting to Valentine Morgenstern’s words, instinctively, like a sleepwalker to a hypnotist, that he starts to grasp the extent of what that actually implies. Simon thinks of the scars on Jace’s arms, and his stomach tightens painfully.

Valentine’s gaze focusses on Simon again. Simon holds it. His eyes are dark and seem to pierce right through Simon, but he doesn’t break away.

“I heard you found yourself a new family,” Valentine says to Jace, still looking at Simon. “Is that one of them?”

Jace doesn’t turn around. “No,” he says. “He’s not a part of this.”

Valentine looks vaguely amused. “I see. You wouldn’t want your family to see you as you really are, would you, Jonathan?” He practically spits the word “family” in Jace’s face.

“They’re not a part of this either,” Jace says, a little too quickly.

“So I’m right then.” Valentine seems to be equal parts disgusted and entertained by this. “First me, now the Lightwoods. You’re a little cuckoo bird, aren’t you, Jonathan? What do they call it again? An obligate parasite? Did you push the other baby birds out of the nest? Oh, you did. And now you’re terrified they’ll find out they’ve been nursing a bloodsucker all along.”

Jace doesn’t respond. From behind, he almost looks like one of those marble statues, a little too angular, a little too rigid to be a real, living thing.

“You know what,” Valentine leans in again, lips curled into a smirk, “since you’re so desperate to hear about them, I’ll tell you something about your parents. Your mother was the same way. She latched onto your daddy because he was influential and rich, and she was an insignificant nobody. I guess they call that a gold-digger, don’t they? Well. Your daddy didn’t love her, he was just looking for a quick fuck. And she was just a little too desperate to get that. Maybe that’s why she offed herself, who knows. Pathetic, the both of them. You should be thanking me for keeping you despite all of that. You should be thanking me on your knees.”

Simon hadn’t realized he was walking towards them. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything, the door flies open and Alec bursts into the room. He’s followed by two of the prison guards, who seem like they’re a little out of their depths.

“Mr Lightwood, please –“, one of them says, and in an instant, Valentine’s attention snaps over to Alec.

“Ah,” he says, still smiling, “Lightwood, huh.”

“We’re done here,” says Alec. If Simon hadn’t gotten to know him in the past couple of weeks, he’d be scared shitless at the look on his face.

But Jace is unresponsive. He hasn’t turned around.

“How sweet,” Valentine drawls, “A Lightwood coming to your rescue.”

“Let’s go,” Alec says. “Jace!”

Finally, some life comes back into Jace’s body. He mechanically rises from the chair and heads for the door, without even a glance at Alec or Simon.

Valentine snorts. “Jace. Now isn’t that cute.”

Jace stops dead in his tracks. Alec grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him towards the exit. Simon follows suit.

Before the door falls shut, they can hear Valentine Morgenstern calling after them, “You know I’m right, Jonathan! You know I’m right!”

They keep walking until they’re back in the parking lot. Jace heads directly for a spot of greenery by the side of the building. The second he reaches it, he’s doubled over, puking his guts out. Simon hangs back, unsure of how to proceed. He’s so absolutely not equipped to handle this situation.

Next to him, Alec is rubbing is face with his hands. Simon has never seen him look so genuinely distraught.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Jace is still retching onto the grass. Simon approaches him, slowly, a little afraid he might scare him away.

“Jace?” No reaction. Simon places a hand on his back. He can feel the muscles contracting as Jace heaves, again, and again, and again.

After a long moment, Jace stands back up. He sits down on the curb and lights a cigarette. Simon squats down beside him.

“Are you okay?” He knows that that’s a stupid question. He just can’t think of anything better to say.

There’s a vacant look in Jace’s eyes.

Luckily, Alec appears to be much more experienced in handling Jace. He says, “Tell me, Jace.”

Jace blinks. He takes another drag before he looks up at Alec and asks, “Do you think you can find them?”

“I don’t know. But there’s a good chance, I’d say. We’ll have to do a little digging, but it shouldn’t be impossible.” Alec’s brows furrow. “Jace -,” he says, then breaks off.

They’re just looking at each other. Simon gets the feeling that there’s some sort of telepathic communication going on.

Jace says, “I didn’t… Alec, what he said, if anything –“

“Don’t. We’re not doing this. That man,” Alec points back at the building, “is a manipulative, psychotic maniac. He’s a liar, Jace. And the only reason you are tempted to believe him is because he spent years instilling the idea in your head that you’re worthless if you don’t manage to please him. And that is entirely on him. He’s the evil one. Do you understand me?”

Jace swallows. He nods his head. Alec exhales. “Let’s go,” he says. “I’ll drive you home.”

Jace rises to his feet. He’s still moving stiffly, as if his body is acting on its own accords. Simon wants to follow him to the car, but Alec holds him back. His clear blue eyes are shining.

“This is bad,” he says. “He’s not going to let me stay. But he can’t be alone right now.”

Simon replies, “I’m not going anywhere.” He means it, too.

A flicker of relief crosses Alec’s face. “You call me. Or text me. No matter what time, I can be over in ten minutes. Just… let me know, okay?”

“I will.” Simon can’t help himself. “Is he… I mean, did he… He abused him, didn’t he?”

Alec’s pained expression is answer enough.

Jace’s apartment is tiny and empty. It should be the least of his priorities, but Simon has been wondering about it for so long, he allows himself a couple of seconds to take it all in. Jace heads straight to the balcony and lights up.

There’s a bookshelf on the wall, a table with only one chair, and a bed that is so meticulously made it reminds him of those military bunks you see in movies. The kitchen is only a refrigerator and a counter in the corner. No TV. No photos, no posters, no decorations whatsoever.

Simon rummages through the kitchen cupboard with the vague intention of making some food, but there’s nothing to make. The fridge contains exactly one water bottle, and a single lonely mango.

Simon joins Jace on the balcony. He hasn’t spoken a word the entire drive there, and Simon’s worry is a quickly expanding blackhole in the pit of his stomach.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jace says without looking at him. “I’m… This isn’t…” His voice trails off.

Simon reaches for his hand and their fingers intertwine.

“I know,” he says. “I’m here because I want to be here. I’m a big boy, remember?”

Jace sucks in the smoke through his nose. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” he mutters.

“Don’t say that. I mean, I admit that it was… intense. But I want to be there for you, Jace. I care about you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Simon just shrugs. “Yeah, well, who knows. I probably shouldn’t have dropped out of college either, but here we are,” he says lightly.

“You were in college?” Now Jace does turn around. He sounds mildly curious. “What were you studying?”

“Medicine.” Simon gives him a rueful smile. “I hated it. So, you know, I decided I was better off as a penniless musician than a miserable doctor.”

Jace doesn’t laugh. He says, “I’m sorry you had to witness all that.”

“You don’t have to be. I’m sorry that you had to go through… I’m sorry for what that man put you through.”

Jace’s eyes darken. He stubs out his cigarette and shrugs. “’s not your fault.”

They end up on Jace’s bed. It’s still early enough, but they’re both drained. Truthfully, Jace has never looked more exhausted. He doesn’t sleep though. He’s lying on his back, Simon’s arm wrapped around him. For a long while they just lie in silence.

Simon has received several texts from Alec, asking how Jace is doing. He doesn’t really know what to tell him. It’s hard to figure out what the hell is going on in Jace’s head.

So, Simon takes a deep breath and asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

At first, he thinks Jace is just going to ignore the question. But then, he shifts and tucks his head into the crook of Simon’s neck.

“I don’t know what to say,” he whispers. “I thought… I thought that I was done with all of this. That I’d gotten over it. He… He wasn’t…” A shiver goes through his body. Simon pulls him closer and Jace curls into him, clinging onto Simon like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood.

His whole body is trembling and Simon’s afraid he might be having a panic attack. Then, he notices the sting of hot tears against his chest, and he realises that Jace Lightwood is crying.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he breathes, “it’s going to be okay.”

Jace is shaking with repressed sobs, his fingers digging into Simon’s shirt. And Simon holds him, holds him close, softly whispering meaningless phrases into his hair. It smells like coconut.

Simon wakes up because something hits him in the stomach. He pries his eyes open and fumbles for his glasses. Jace is still pressed up against him. Simon looks around, disoriented, trying to make out the cause of this rude awakening, when he is hit again.

Jace whips his head around in his sleep, jabbing his elbow into Simon’s ribs.

“Ouch,” Simon groans. “Jace, what the fuck?”

It’s dark outside. They must have both fallen asleep in their clothes. Simon gently pushes Jace off him, hoping that will do the trick, but he is still jerking around violently, and Simon almost takes a third hit.

“Jace,” he says, a little more urgently this time.

His face is contorted, and there’s a film of sweat on his forehead. He’s flexing his fingers, his breathing is stertorous.

“Jace?” Simon tries to shake him awake. He whimpers. A tremor moves through his body, and he starts groaning, mumbling incoherently. Simon thinks he can make out the word “please”.

“Jace!” He’s practically shouting now. Again, he shakes him, actually grabs his shoulders and shakes him.

Jace jolts awake with a muffled cry and before Simon can even open his mouth, he’s leapt up from the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. The door falls shut and then there is the unmistakable sound of gagging and vomit hitting the toilet bowl.

Simon sits in bed, stunned. He grabs his phone and hurries over to the bathroom door.

“Jace?” He knocks. When there’s no response, he tries to press down the handle, but its locked.

Simon curses under his breath. He finds Alec’s contact in his phone and texts him.

You up?

It’s 03:14 in the morning. It takes Alec all of five seconds to reply.

Yes. Wh at’s going on?

Jace’s locked himself in the bathroom I think he had a nightmare

Alec is typing. Simon tries knocking again. He can hear the toilet flushing.

Okay. Give him a moment. That’s not unusual for Jace.

Simon frowns at his phone. He’s not sure if he should be relieved to hear that.

“Jace, are you okay? Please say something.”

He can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Alec?” Jace sounds completely out of it. “Alec, is that you?”

“It’s Simon.” Simon wants to tear through the door with his bare hands. “Are you okay?”

On the other side of the door, Jace audibly sinks back against the wall.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just need a moment.”

“Okay.”

Simon lingers, unsure of what to do. Then, he goes back into the main room and sits down on the edge of the bed. His thoughts are racing. There’s another text from Alec.

How bad is it?

Simon isn’t really sure what the scale is here.

idk does he usually wake up puking?

Sometimes. Is he talking?

Simon pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to get his brain to work.

barely

Okay. Just let me know if I should come over.

will do

Clary has texted too, sometime during the afternoon. He lets her know he’s staying at Jace’s. He stares at the bookshelf in the dark and wonders how he got here. He thinks of Valentine Morgenstern, his smile a haunting image, looming over him in the dark. His mind keeps circling back to the picture of little Jace on his nightstand at the Lightwood’s house. The thought of that Jace all alone in a house with Valentine Morgenstern makes him nauseous.

The sound of the lock clicking causes him to snap back to reality. Jace is standing in the doorway. He looks lost, his face devoid of any emotion.

Simon gets up and takes a step towards him. He doesn’t know what to do. He wants Valentine Morgenstern dead.

“I’m sorry,” Jace says. “This wasn’t supposed to… I’m sorry, Simon.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Simon realizes he’s getting pissed off. Not at Jace, no, not at all. He’s fuming because after everything, Jace seems to truly believe that he’s the one who should apologize.

“Talk to me,” he says. “Tell me how to help you.”

Jace’s brows furrow. Simon reaches out to take his hand. It’s curled into a fist, pressed to his stomach. He watches Jace carefully as he wraps his own hands around it, gently starts to uncurl his fingers, caressing the crooked bones. Jace’s mouth is slightly parted.

“Simon…”

“Talk to me,” he says again. “Please. I want to understand.”

Jace says, “I didn’t mean to drag you into all of this.”

“Jace. You don’t get it, do you? I’m here because I want to be with you. I’m not mad. I don’t regret being here. I’m just fucking worried because you’re clearly hurting, and I don’t know how to help you. I’m fucking worried because that… that man, what he said… what he did… Jace, please, talk to me. I see the way you shut down when people try to get close. You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. It’s like you’re punishing yourself for not being okay. Like you think so little of yourself that you actually believe that you don’t deserve to be loved. And it breaks my fucking heart.”

Jace says, “To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed. That’s what he taught me.” He bites his lip. “When I was six, he gave me a pet falcon for my birthday. He told me to tame it. I was so excited, I spent every free minute with that bird. In the end, it would eat out of my hand, react to my voice. I thought he would be proud. So, I showed him, and he took the bird and snapped its neck. He told me that I had ruined it. That I was supposed to make it obedient, not love it.”

Jace sucks in a breath. “Maybe that’s why I believed him when he told me he loved me, even when he beat me or locked me up for days. I didn’t know any better.”

Simon’s eyes are burning. “Oh Jace,” he whispers. His hands travel up to cup his cheeks.

“I’m scared, Simon. I’m scared that he’s right about me. What if I’m really just… What if he’s right?”

Simon shakes his head. “Don’t say that. He’s not. He wants you to think that so he can get you back under his control. It’s not true. Jace, you are so loved. And that is not something destructive. I think you know that, deep down. You’re just so used to being hurt that you can’t let yourself believe it.”

He runs his fingers through Jace’s hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. His voice is hoarse.

Simon can feel the tears running down his face. He pulls Jace to his chest, wraps his arms around him tight. He can feel his shaky breaths, his body rocking against Simon’s.

After a long, long moment, Jace hugs him back.

Chapter Text

About two weeks after the prison visit, Jace is back on Simon’s bed, watching him rummage through his closet. He’s wearing sweatpants and a bright pink crop top he stole from Clary’s laundry pile.

“They said we might get a contract,” he says around the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. It’s pretty much unintelligible, but Simon has said it so many times today that Jace doesn’t have to understand him to know what he’s talking about.

Jace can feel himself grinning stupidly.

“I know,” he says fondly. “You mentioned it. Once or twice.”

Simon turns around to scowl at him, but hardly manages to contain his excitement.

“It’s just, can you believe it? I mean this is what we’ve been trying to accomplish for the past three years! If we actually get a contract there might be tours and concerts and actual fucking money!”

“Don’t let the fame get to your head,” Jace mutters.

Simon says, “I’m just saying. I might not end up with a boring nine to five after all. Not all of us have rich parents.”

“Ouch.”

Simon grins at him. “Maybe I’ll be richer than you.”

“Impossible,”  Jace says lightly, “I bet my dead parents were millionaires. I’ll find some distant uncle who’ll give me the key to their secret vault of treasures and tell me I’ve inherited their outrageous fortune.”

“Dude, that’s literally the plot of Harry Potter.”

“Never seen it.”

“How are you even alive?” Simon looks seriously offended. “Were you raised by a caveman?”

“Only by an evil cult-leader:”

Simon snorts so hard the toothpaste comes flying out of his mouth. That manages to break Jace’s composure, and he bellows with laughter, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“You,” he gasps out between laughs, “you look like a fucking vampire on coke.”

Simon sways and tries to hold on to the closet door but misses. He ends up on his knees, toothpaste plastered across his face, glasses askew. He’s crying with laughter.

Nothing about the situation is funny enough to warrant this response. Jace knows that they’re probably just having a conjoined mental breakdown, but he doesn’t care. His not-father is a murderous psychopath. So what? He’s pretty sure that cutting a baby out of a corpse is less bloody than a regular birth anyways.

When Simon returns from the bathroom, face dripping wet, Jace is still on his back, grinning like a lunatic.

“Christ,” Simon says and shakes his head like a dog. He flops down on top of Jace, which Jace receives with a surprised yelp, and presses their foreheads together.

“I’m going to be a rockstar,” he tells him. “And you’re going to be my muse.”

“Oh yeah? You’re gonna write a song about me?”

“I so am. It’s called Blond Guy in Manhattan.”

Jace slings his arms around Simon’s back. “Blond Guy?” he asks. “That’s the best thing you can come up with? My defining characteristic? Blond?”

“It’s a marketing thing,” Simon explains solemnly, “the less specific the lyrics are, the more people can identify themselves with them.”

“I didn’t know you were such a sellout.”

Simon just smirks and starts placing kisses along Jace’s jaw.

“How about The Ballad of Jace Lightwood?” he suggests. “Or My Most Beguiling Lover - the Envy of the Land?”

“Beguiling? That’s terrible,” Simon chuckles against his skin. “Now will you shut up already and kiss me?”

Jace gladly obliges. Between kisses, he murmurs, “I like it when you’re bossy.”

Something in Simon’s face changes. He sits up, straddling Jace with his legs. Then, excruciatingly slowly, his fingers start moving the rim of Jace’s shirt, until he pulls it over his head and tosses it to the side.

His gaze travels across Jace’s bare chest, and his lips form into a soft oh. Jace is a little breathless beneath him, watching as Simon trails the scars with his fingertips, from his collarbones up and all the way down to his hips, until his hands reach the edge of Jace’s pants.

“Fuck, Simon,” he whispers hoarsely.

Simon’s eyes find his, and without breaking away, he starts moving further down. Jace bucks his hips and impatiently kicks off his pants.

“Easy,” Simon teases, “You’re awfully eager.”

“Fuck you, don’t stop,” Jace retorts.

Simon’s grin widens. There’s a diabolical gleam in his eyes.

And fuck, his eyes. Jace is certain that in the history of humanity, no one has ever had eyes like Simon’s. He thinks that he could write an entire album about those eyes. A doctoral thesis. A fucking poetry anthology.

He buries his hands in Simon’s hair. His body thrusts upwards, his head tilts back and Jace is absolutely done for. Simon is moving between his legs. He’s infuriatingly calm, and Jace wants to just rip that stupid crop top off of him, but Simon pins his hands to the mattress on either side of his body.

“Don’t move,” he instructs. Jace lies still.

Simon gets up and struggles out of his clothes. From his position on the bed, Jace watches hungrily. He’s trying to take in every inch of naked skin, the freckles on his shoulders, the soft hairs on his stomach, the curvature of his thighs. Simon lets him. He’s smirking down at him.

“Come here.”

Jace practically jumps up. Simon’s hands move over the muscles on his arms, and Jace lets himself explore Simon’s body, millimetre by millimetre, with his fingers at first, then with his tongue. The world is spinning around him, but Simon is steady, at the centre of it all. Jace devours him.

They barely make it back to the bed. Simon fucks him into the mattress. Jace thinks he’s never felt more divine. He lets himself drown in Simon’s eyes.

Afterwards, Jace holds him in his arms, devoutly running his fingers along his back.

“I’m not a religious man,” Jace murmurs, “but holy fuck.”

Simon lazily smiles up at him. “I’m half Jewish,” he says.

Jace hums into his hair. “I can’t stand bergamot. I stress-clean, and I can’t cook for shit. My birthday’s January 18.”

Simon arches his brows. “What?” he asks with a chuckle.

Jace shrugs. “I don’t like cucumbers either. And I’m highly suspicious of ducks.”

“Are you having a stroke?”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t really know why he’s blurting out random facts about himself. It just feels important that Simon knows. He wants him to know every single fucking detail there is.

Simon is caressing the scar right above his heart, the stab wound. He says, “My birthday’s October 17. And I’ve been wanting to go vegan since I was 15.”

There’s an ache somewhere behind Jace’s ribs. It’s been there for a while now. He’s tried blaming it on his latest run in with a stranger’s fists, but that was weeks ago. His injuries are all healed up, the bruises have long disappeared.

Jace thinks he’s probably known for about a week. He felt it when Simon gave him a word-by-word recount of his band meeting earlier today. He felt it when Simon pulled him to his chest that night after the prison. He felt it this morning, when Simon drowned his pancakes in caramel syrup and pestered Jace into taking a bite. When Simon had looked up at him laughing, face covered in toothpaste. When he’d watched Jace sink to his knees before him, mouth parted, eyes wild.

Jace loves Simon. It’s as simple as that.

“I was eight when he broke my hand,” he hears himself say. He hadn’t known it was coming, but there it is.

Simon is very quiet for a moment. He asks, “Your scars, are they all… Was that all him?”

Jace sighs. “Yeah. Mostly. There’s one on my arm from when Izzy bit me when she was fourteen.”

“She bit you?” Simon starts examining Jace’s arms.

“She’s a force to be reckoned with, that woman.” He points to the tiny white spot above his right wrist. Simon snorts.

He rolls to the side and props himself up on his elbow. His gaze trails over Jace’s chest again. Simon bites his lip. “How did he… What happened?”

Jace studies the wrinkles between his brows.

He says, “Usually he’d just… Well. He’d beat me, usually with a belt, sometimes a cane. Or just his bare hands, depending on the situation. When he was particularly upset with me, he’d cut me with one of those kitchen knives.”

The wrinkles on Simon’s forehead deepen.

“He broke my hand because he thought I was getting lazy. He wanted me to focus more on fighting with my right, not just my dominant hand.”

Jace glances to where his hand is resting on his stomach. Simon takes it in his.

“He didn’t bother setting the bones, so it healed back together all crooked like that.”

He remembers the iron poker smashing down on it, again, and again. He remembers screaming.

Simon’s voice is husky. “Oh Jace,” he whispers. “That… You didn’t deserve any of that. No one deserves that. That’s so fucked.”

Jace shrugs again. “I didn’t really get how fucked it was until I came to New York. I just thought that’s what fathers do, you know. He told me he was making me strong.”

“God, I hope he rots in jail,” Simon mutters. Jace stays silent.

He has been strangely fine, post-prison visit. The first few days had been rough, but Simon and his family had made it impossible for him to descend into one of his classic self-destructive spirals. He can’t even begin to express how fucking grateful he is. How lucky he is to have them.

There’d been no bar fights, no late-night trips to the ER. He supposes he’d cried most of it out that first night. Even his nightmares have already started to come less frequently, less violently. Jace isn’t sure what that means. He feels like he should be more torn up about it. He feels guilty for being alright.

The next morning, they’re over at Alec and Magnus’ for brunch. Alec has made it his personal task to find out any possible information on Jace’s biological parents. The living room table is crowded with articles on Valentine’s cult, files, and criminal records.

Jace himself only made it about halfway through an online article on said cult, The Circle, before feeling the need to re-organize Simon’s entire DVD collection. There’s a list of deceased Circle members on the living room table, too. Jace tries not to look at it.

About half an hour into brunch, Alec’s cell phone rings and he excuses himself. Simon and Isabelle are engrossed in conversation and Jace is systematically chewing on a piece of banana. He can already feel his stomach sinking with that strange heaviness he gets after eating that has nothing to do with fullness.

Magnus is watching him. He says, “Jonathan,” and Jace grimaces at the use of his full name. Magnus pauses and something flickers across his face.

“Jace,” he says, “I just wanted to express my deepest sympathy. I feel like I haven’t made it clear enough that I am here to support you.”

Jace arches an eyebrow. “Please don’t start being nice to me,” he says. “The past few weeks have been confusing enough already.”

Magnus frowns and sips on his orange juice. “I never meant to antagonize you, you know,” he clarifies.

Jace’s eyebrow moves up even further. “I know,” he says, “I never thought you did.”

Magnus nods, clearly relieved to have gotten this over with. Jace tries not to look too amused and goes back to dissecting the pieces of his fruit salad.

Alec comes storming back into the room, practically vibrating. He heads directly for the table and starts rummaging through the papers. Suddenly it’s awfully quiet in the room. Jace swallows some pineapple.

Alec turns to him and nods. “I found them,” he says.

Jace can feel the others staring at him, waiting for his reaction, but Jace doesn’t know what to say. He stares back at Alec, wondering if it’s still too early to get into Magnus’ liquor collection.

Under the table, Simon squeezes his hand. Jace says, “I need a smoke.”

When he steps out onto the balcony, he is greeted by a pleasant summer breeze. Alec walks up beside him, clutching one of the files to his chest.

He lets Jace light up and take a drag before he says, “Stephen Herondale and Celine Montclaire.”

Jace watches Chairman Meow hiss at a passing pigeon, then lick his paws and strut back into the apartment.

“They were both Circle members. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, of course, but according to the hospital records, Celine was way into her third trimester, when she…” Alec cuts himself off. “They were married for about one and a half years. I… Well, see for yourself,” he says.

He hands Jace the file. Inside, there’s a picture of a blond man in his thirties. He looks vaguely familiar. Jace turns the page with shaking fingers. The woman looks even younger. She’s pretty, but in a slightly jarring way, her eyes are focused on something behind the camera, as if she’s not even aware she’s being photographed.

They’re his eyes, Jace realises. Light brown, almost yellow.

He shoves the file back into Alec’s hands.

Alec says gently, “I know. I thought so too.”

Jace takes another drag. “Did they… It was a mass suicide, right?”

“It’s hard to say. Stephen died a month prior, in a car accident. Celine… They assume that it was suicide, yes. Considering they were involved with The Circle, there’s been some speculation, but the cases were closed years ago. Lack of evidence.”

“So he was telling the truth.”

“I guess so.”

Jace finally manages to look at Alec. “You were supposed to go shopping, for the suit,” he blurts out. “Last week. We were supposed to go to that tailor that Magnus picked out.”

“What?”

“I completely forgot. I was so busy not going crazy, fuck man, I’m sorry. Do you think he’ll reschedule? These highbrow tailors are apparently very fucking busy, self-involved pricks.”

“Jace, slow down. Why are we talking about wedding preparations? Are you feeling dizzy?” Alec actually reaches out to touch his forehead.

“I’m not going to faint, Alec,” Jace says. “I just remembered. The Lightwood-Bane wedding schedule said –“

“Yeah, I know the schedule. Jesus, is that really what you’re worried about right now?” He sounds baffled.

Jace shrugs. “I’m supposed to be your best man. And here I am, actually making you waste your time with genealogy, when you should be picking out ties and worrying about bouquets or whatever the fuck…” He inhales sharply. It’s a strange sound, like something between a cough and a gasp.

Jace wipes his face with his palms and then stares at his hands in confusion when they come back wet.

“Jace,” Alec says. Jace peers upwards, but the sky is still cloudless and blue above them.

“Jace,” Alec says again. “I don’t care about the fucking suit. We’ll find another tailor.”

He can feel himself shaking his head, and then he has to grip onto the railing with both hands because a tremor moves through his body. He makes that strange noise again and clamps one hand over his mouth.

“Fuck,” he croaks out.

Alec removes his fingers, his stupid deformed fingers,  from the railing one by one, and then he pulls Jace to his chest and Jace is sobbing like a baby. “I’m sorry,” he snivels into Alec’s shoulder, over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Alec says. “It’s just a suit, Jace.”

Jace manages to regain his composure just enough to disentangle their arms and meet Alec’s gaze. “It’s not just a suit,” he says. “You… I am… Alec. I’m so sorry, this is all horrible timing. We could have waited till after the wedding. I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. You’re being ridiculous. Sure, the timing is shit but that’s not your fault, Jace. Jesus, you really think I’d just go suit shopping and ignore all of this shit?” Alec sounds almost offended.

Jace wipes his nose with his sleeve. “I just… I don’t want to ruin your wedding. You deserve to have a perfect wedding.” He realises he’s being dramatic.

“I know.” Alec still looks very concerned. “Are you… Do you want to go sit down? I can get you a glass of water…”

“No.” Jace grits his teeth together and forces himself to take deep breaths. “They look like me,” he says.

“Yeah, they do.”

“Thank you, Alec. This… It means a lot.” Jace tries to smile, but it comes out slightly forced.

Alec says, “There’s more.”

When Jace doesn’t respond, he continues, “Stephen Herondale had an ex-wife. She lives in Boston, Jace, she’s still alive.”

Chapter Text

Simon finds Jace at around six in the morning smoking on the fire escape. He climbs outside just in his boxers and shivers in the cold morning air.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks. Jace cracks him a smile.

“Nightmare,” he says.

Simon takes a closer look at him. “I didn’t hear you.” Usually, Jace’s nightmares are quite… vocal.

“Wasn’t that bad. Just couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Simon sighs and rubs his eyes. “I’ll make coffee,” he mutters.

Clary is sitting at the kitchen table, bent over her sketchbook. When Simon shuffles into the room, she peeks up at him.

He raises his brows at her. “Why is everyone up so fucking early today?”

Clary yawns. “Never went to sleep. Are you making coffee?” Simon just grunts in response.

When Simon comes back into his room, Jace is eying the keyboard – Simon’s latest addition to his collection. Eric had brought it over for band practice, but Simon isn’t that proficient at playing the keys.

He hands Jace a cup of revoltingly bitter black coffee and sips on his own sugary treat.

“You wanna give it a go?” he asks.

Jace shrugs. He positions his fingers on the keys but doesn’t press down.

“It’s a bit small,” he says. “You can’t really play anything on that.”

“Snob,” Simon says lightly and Jace grins back at him.

“I’ll play you something on the grand piano next time we’re at the house.”

It’s the first day of the trial.

Jace has been awfully quiet about it. Simon guesses he’s been making an effort not to think about it at all, not after what happened at the prison. The file with his parents’ details is sitting untouched on Simon’s bedside table.

The drive to the court is tense and quiet. Even Alec can’t seem to bring himself to hold any monologues. Simon is wearing a suit he hasn’t put on since senior prom. He’s clutching Jace’s hand, already dreading the moment he’ll have to let go.

The court room is stuffed with journalists. Apparently, The Circle has more of a reputation than any of them had been aware of. At the door, Jace hesitates, and Simon pulls him aside, lets the others go ahead.

Izzy is wearing a dark blue dress that looks so unlike her usual style that Simon would bet it’s one of Maryse’s. She’s holding onto Clary’s arm, lips pressed into a thin line. Magnus is right beside them, watching Alec like a hawk.

“I can’t do this,” Jace mutters. He’s pale, his eyes are restless.

“You don’t have to.” Simon tries to sound reassuring but he’s not even really sure if he’s telling the truth.

Jace looks down at their intertwined fingers and softly shakes his head.

“Fuck,” he says. “Okay.”

“I’ll be there the entire time,” Simon whispers. “I know you can do it.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” He meets Simon’s gaze and attempts a smile. “Thank you. I don’t know if I… Without you, I don’t know…”

“Stop. Don’t think about that.”

Jace takes a deep breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Okay,” he says. “Fuck.”

Simon watches him walk up to the front of the room where Alec is waiting for him. Next to him are a man and woman with raven hair and stern faces, who are so unmistakably Lightwoods that it’s almost a bit unsettling. They are talking to Jace, squeezing his arm, giving encouraging nods. Jace just stands there and lets them. His eyes are focused on Valentine, who has already taken his seat on the other side of the court room.

Yeah, Simon is pretty sure he hates this even more than the prison. There’s a reason he’d opted for medicine instead of law school. Court rooms give him the creeps.

He takes his seat between Clary and Magnus, a bit further back. Clary’s talking to Isabelle on her other side in a low voice. The latter sits with her back uncharacteristically straight. She looks so much like Alec, only with hard dark eyes that don’t move away from Jace for a second.

Simon is fidgeting. He digs his nails into the palm of his hand, tries to get a grip. Jace is still talking with Alec, back turned to Simon.

Involuntarily, his eyes drift over to Valentine. He looks relaxed, almost like he’s enjoying the attention. Simon wants to knock his smug face into the table.

They start with the usual preamble, the stuff you know from TV. Jace swears with his hand on the Bible which, in a different context, would have made Simon crack up.

Then, Alec starts to talk. Most of the terms fly over Simon’s head, meaningless words thrown around in Alec’s clear, matter-of-factly voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Isabelle nodding along, which he assumes must mean that Alec is doing well.

Even without having the slightest clue of how this entire procedure really works, Simon finds himself comforted by the professional manner in which Alec lays out the information, some if which known to Simon, some completely new.

On his other side, Magnus is watching with an earnest expression on his face, practically glowing with pride. Simon allows himself to slacken his shoulders a little. It’s going well. It’s going to be fine.

They start the examination. Jace sits very still and very upright, his features neutral, unreadable.

“Mr. Lightwood,” Alec announces. “You grew up with the defendant as your only parental guardian until you were ten years old in 2001, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Could you please relay to the court the general circumstances of your upbringing?”

Jace’s eyes search the crowd of people until they lock with Simon’s.

“We had a house out in the countryside. It was very secluded, I rarely had contact with other people.”

“Objection, relevance?”

“Line of questioning, Your Honour”

“Overruled.”

The defence attorney, a wiry grey man called Starkweather appears to be unfazed.

Upon a nod from Alec, Jace continues, “He told me his name was Michael Wayland and raised me under the name Jonathan Christopher Wayland. I was homeschooled. I studied languages, literature, and all the regular subjects. What he valued the most however was physical exercise.”

“Can you describe the type of physical exercise the defendant trained you in?”

“Fighting,” Jace replies, “I trained eight hours a day.”

“Every day?”

“Yes.”

“From what age on?”

Jace shrugs, then quickly checks himself. “I can’t say. I don’t really have any memories that go that far back.”

Simon can feel his heart thumping in his chest. Alec is thorough. He doesn’t start with the most incriminating details but takes the time to paint the picture of a lonely, neglected child in the hands of a criminal.

“And what was the precise nature of your relationship to the defendant?”

Jace frowns. “Complicated,” he says. “As a child, I was told that he was my biological father. I had no reason to question that.”

Alec is clearly unhappy with that answer, so he pushes, “Did he act as a father to you?”

“Yes, in a way. He was very strict, very militant. But he could be kind, at times.”

Somewhere to his right he can Isabelle mutter something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like Jesus Christ, Jace.

“Mr. Lightwood, could you please elaborate why you would characterise the defendant as strict and militant, in your own words?”

Jace casts his eyes down to where his hands are resting on the dark wood before him.

He says, “He - Valentine, the defendant, would inflict corporal punishments on me when I disobeyed or displeased him.”

A murmur goes through the crowd. Simon can tell that Jace is itching for a smoke.

“So, he was abusive towards you?” Alec asks calmly.

“Yes.”

Simon looks over to the Judge, a pale woman that has the demeanour of a person who’s never once smiled in her entire life. She shows no reaction.

Alec also turns towards her as he proceeds, “Your Honour, if you would please consider exhibit 1A. These pictures were taken upon Mr. Lightwood’s arrival at the hospital, the night of the fire, in 2001. As you can see, there is a surplus of physical evidence of the abuse that occurred.”

Then, he addresses Jace again, “Mr. Lightwood, is it true that the injuries you sustained the night of the fire include only the entry wound from the knife and a light case of smoke poisoning?”

“Yes.”

“As you can also find documented in the hospital records, Your Honour, this suggests that the residual damage was inflicted on the witness prior to that night. Since it has been established that the witness’s only social contact for the full extend of these ten years was the defendant, it can be concluded that the defendant exhibited a severely abusive behaviour towards Mr. Lightwood, who was, at the time a minor in his care, below the age of ten.”

Starkweather chimes in, “Objection, speculation.”

Alec doesn’t even bother to turn around. “There’s further evidence, Your Honour.”

“Overruled.” The Judge motions for Alec to go on.

“As can be seen in exhibit 1B, the hospital noted that a number of scars found on Mr. Lightwood’s body trace back to very early childhood. It is furthermore stated that the marks indicate a consistent exposure to physical abuse, given their position, stage of healing and nature of infliction.”

At that, Jace looks like he wants to punch Alec.

“Mr. Lightwood, would you please give an account of the nature of the corporal punishment you were subjected to by the defendant?”

“Objection, speculation.”

“It has been established that the defendant exhibited abusive behaviour, Your Honour.”

“Rephrase your question, Mr. Lightwood,” the Judge replies.

Alec doesn’t miss a beat. “Mr. Lightwood, are the scars documented in exhibits 1A to 1D the direct result of the defendant’s treatment of you?”

Jace cocks his head. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Apart from the stab wound, they’re all exclusively the result of his… abuse.”

“Overruled.”

“Mr. Lightwood,” Alec says again, “now could you please describe the precise nature of the abuse you were subjected to by the defendant to the court?”

Simon feels his muscles tense. Even from across the room he can see that Jace is absolutely not willing to comply to that request. He exhales through his teeth and places his hands in his lap.

“As I said, Val- the defendant was always very strict. I…”

“In your own time, Mr. Lightwood,” says Alec.

“Well.” Jace takes another breath. “He would beat me. Sometimes he would explain to me why, make me take off my shirt and bend over the table so he could whip me with his belt. Other times it happened unprovoked, as far as I could tell. When… During training, he never held back. He said it was to teach me, to make me stronger. So, I was usually covered in bruises and welts and…” His voice trails off.

Alec is waiting, patiently.

“Afterwards, he’d lock me in a broom closet. Sometimes just for an hour or two. Sometimes for days, without food or water. He also used a cane, to beat me, I mean. Or he’d cut me with a kitchen knife.” He almost manages to sound nonchalant.

“Your Honour, as you can see in exhibits 1A and 1B, this treatment resulted in extensive lasting damages. Now, if you would please turn over to exhibit 1C. Mr. Lightwood, can you tell the court about the scar on your upper right arm?”

Jace’s gaze is fixed on Alec. “He used a glowing fire poker,” he says. “To burn me. I don’t remember the reasoning behind it.”

“When did that happen, Mr. Lightwood?”

“I was seven, I think. So, uh, 1998.”

Alec gives him a nod and turns back to the Judge. “Before we move on to exhibit 1D, I would like to direct your attention to exhibit 2, Your Honour. These are recent pictures and scans of the physical evidence. As you can clearly see, the abuse that occurred was severe enough to result in a series of scars that are still visible to this day.”

The Judge is studying the file, which Simon takes as a good sign.

She looks back up, scans the room and then announces, “This hearing is adjourned.”

The crowd starts bubbling with noise immediately, voices mingling, chairs pushing backwards, people heading towards the door. Simon leaps up from his seat and rushes to the front, followed by the others.

A bunch of things happen at once. Isabelle is talking at her parents, waving her hands around agitatedly, Clary calls Simon’s name, and Simon himself tries to push through two suits to get over to Jace, who’s standing next to Alec.

Magnus gets through first and he places a kiss on Alec’s cheek.

There’s a cackling sound from somewhere behind Simon. Valentine, hands cuffed, and face stretched into a grimace, is laughing.

“Oh, I should have known,” he roars, “represented by a fucking faggot.”

Simon feels himself moving. He sees Magnus stepping forward, hears Isabelle yelling something unpleasant.

None of them are quick enough.

Jace barrels into Valentine, tackling him to the floor.

In an instant, people are screaming, some trying to pull Jace away, but he shakes them off without even loosening his grip. Simon tries to get to him but someone, Clary, has wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Say that again,” he can hear Jace’s voice over the noise, “fucking say that again!”

There’s an ugly crunch and then blood sprays from Valentine’s face, but Jace still doesn’t let go. He punches him, again, then again, slams his head into the floor.

“You fucking talk to my brother again and I’ll kill you,” he bellows. “Do you understand? Do you fucking understand?”

It’s Isabelle who finally manages to pull them apart. With a single well-practiced movement, she tears Jace away from the other man. Jace struggles, tries to push her away, but Isabelle just twists his arms behind his back and pulls him along.

He’s still screaming, his voice frantic, “Let me go! He fucking deserves it, Izzy, let me go! You don’t understand, he’s a fucking psycho, he deserves it! Fuck, just let me go! You don’t understand, you don’t know what he did! Izzy!”

Then, Simon is dragged along towards the exit, out into the hall and through another door. Everyone is yelling. Clary is holding him so tightly it hurts, and Magnus is trying to escort a furiously gesturing Robert and Maryse out of the room. Simon just stares at Jace, who, in the midst of all the chaos is still fighting against Izzy’s grip.

“You don’t know,” he protests, throwing his body forward, clearly determined to get back to beating Valentine to a pulp, “You don’t know what he did, you don’t know what he made me do! He doesn’t get to, I’m not going to let him fucking speak to either of you, I won’t, he deserves it!”

“Jace!”

Alec has managed to get away from his parents. He grabs Jace’s face with both hands.

“You fucking idiot,” he says.

Jace is panting, his eyes wild. “You don’t understand,” he repeats, still with vehemence, but his voice is cracking.

The door slams shut and then they’re alone, Clary, clinging to Simon, and the Lightwood siblings, a tangle of limbs, Jace still yanking at Isabelle, who doesn’t budge.

“He made me hold it out, Alec,” Jace snarls. “He made me hold out my hand, made me put it down on the table and then he smashed it to pieces. It was broken after the second time, but he just kept bringing that fucking poker down. He doesn’t get to call you a fag, he doesn’t get to fuck with you as well.”

Now, Alec is shaking his brother. “Jace – ”

“No! You don’t understand, Alec, he made me do it. He made me do it too, he made me take that fucking poker and break my hand with it. He’s a monster. I won’t let him hurt you, I won’t do that, I’ll kill him if he tries –“

Alec has pressed his hand over Jace’s mouth. “We’re still inside the courthouse you absolute fucking idiot,” he hisses. “Stop threatening to kill people!”

Jace goes limp. Across his shoulder, Simon can see tears trailing in mascara-stained lines down Isabelle’s face.

“Are you done?” Alec asks.

Jace gives a jerk of his head. Alec steps back, and Izzy takes him over to a chair, sits him down, releasing his arms from her grip.

Before any of them can say a word, the door is opened again, and Magnus slips back into the room.

“It’s hell out there,” he informs them.

Alec releases a long, long sigh. Jace buries his face in his hands.

With an effort, Simon finally manages to free himself from Clary and hurries over to Jace. He kneels in front of the chair, taking Jace’s hands in his. He’s trembling.

Then, without a warning, Jace jumps to his feet, and Izzy immediately lunges forwards, but he only stumbles to the trashcan, where he bends over and vomits. Once he’s finished, he sinks to the ground. Simon sits down next to him.

Opposite to them, Clary has slung an arm around Izzy’s waist, who is rubbing her face with her hands, as if to peel off the skin itself. Magnus brushes a strand of hair behind Alec’s ear.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

With another sigh, Alec pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

“Yeah,” he says. “God, what a mess.”

“I’m sorry.” Jace just sounds defeated.

Alec mutters, “That was really, and I can’t stress this enough, really, really fucking stupid.”

Then, to Simon’s surprise, he drops to the floor on Jace’s other side, throws his arm over Jace’s shoulder and presses a kiss onto his head.

“You’re fucking stupid, Jace,” he says. “But thank you.”

Jace flexes the fingers of his left hand. He tentatively peers up at Simon, as if he’s afraid of finding him upset. Simon just holds out his hand.

After a moment, Jace takes it.

Chapter Text

Jace is wondering about Robinson Crusoe. Michel Tournier’s version, specifically. The Robinson Crusoe that, upon blowing up every last bit of his livelihood on the island, found that living in isolation was so fucking liberating that he chose not to return to England when given the chance.

He sympathises with that Robinson Crusoe. The same Robinson Crusoe that fucked a hole in the ground and spent days wallowing in his own feces. He doesn’t want to know what that says about him.

But retreating to a deserted island, be it Defoe’s or Tournier’s interpretation, sounds like a solid plan to Jace at the moment.

Then, he looks over at Simon, who’s holding out his hand, patiently, fondly, as if nothing in the world could make him pull away. And Jace crumbles. He clutches it with his own, pulls it to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s not sure if he’s said it already and he needs them to know that he didn’t mean to fuck up this bad.

“I know,” Simon whispers back. “It’s going to be alright.”

On his other side, Alec huffs. “It’s going to be fucking annoying, that’s what it is.”

Jace wants to crawl into the carpet and assimilate.

“I think mum and dad are already on it,” Isabelle pipes up. Her voice is weirdly nasal.

Jace takes a closer look at her and realises her eyes are swollen and there’s mascara smeared across her cheek. Fuck. Izzy doesn’t cry. Never. Never ever.

He somehow manages to scramble to his feet.

“Iz,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He needs her to understand.

Isabelle’s eyes are piercing sharp. She snaps, “You’re fucking stupid, Jace. I’m not crying because you beat up that son of a bitch.”

Jace blinks.

“God, you really are a robot, aren’t you? You can’t expect me to listen to everything you said in there, and in here, and just move on with my life without feeling a single thing?!”

Isabelle is an angry crier. The only times Jace has ever seen her cry, she was always yelling as well. It seems like she actually wants to stomp her foot in frustration, but then she just wipes her face, with a vigour that would have made any windshield wiper jealous.

He doesn’t know what to respond to that, so he presses his mouth shut. Really, he didn’t mean for any of that to happen. Not his sudden outburst, not the death threats, not the desperate confessions that just came pouring out of him against his permission.

The worst part is that he remembers every second of it. He remembers brining the fire poker down on his own hand, not once, not twice, but three times in total, because he knew that if he didn’t do it right, he’d live to regret it. Because he wanted Valentine to be pleased.

The memory brings back the nausea. The simple truth Jace had lived by for half of his life is this: The only way to make his father proud was to wreck himself beyond repair. The only times Valentine would smile at him was when Jace was bleeding on the floor at his feet.

He’s pretty sure that exceeds even Tournier’s Robinson on the scale of fucked-upness.

Alec gets back up and pats his back in passing. “I’ll try to help with the damage control,” he says. He grabs Magnus’ hand, and they leave the room together. Before the door falls shut behind them, they can hear a multitude of angry voices echoing through the hallway. Then, it’s silent again.

Actually, Jace is a little surprised no one has handcuffed him yet.

Clary, who has been standing at Izzy’s side the entire time, clears her throat. “So, uhm, what the fuck just happened?”

Everyone is looking at him to explain, but really, Jace isn’t even sure if he knows himself.

“What?” Clary asks. “Is this a normal thing for you? Do you really just go around punching people and threatening to kill them?”

“Clary!” Simon looks mortified.

Even Isabelle, who had still been busy with her smudged mascara, frowns at Clary.

“What?” Clary asks again. Her voice has reached a pitch that should not be audible to human ears. “I’m sorry, I have about zero context to all of this, and I get that that guy is a homophobic abusive piece of shit, but Jesus, guys. What the fuck. I really need someone to tell me the full story here.”

Jace releases a breath.

“The short version is he was a cult leader who most likely killed my pregnant mother before cutting me out of her corpse and raising me as his son. He beat the shit out of me and faked his death when I was ten. You heard most of the rest in there anyways.”

The expression on her face is something between disbelief and disgust.

“Jesus,” she says. “But… What you said about your hand, you didn’t really… Did you?”

Jace thinks he might strangle her.

“No,” he says, “I was just practising my stand-up comedy.”

Isabelle rolls her eyes at him, and Clary walks over to the solitary chair and drops down on it, visibly digesting the information.

“Simon,” she says after a moment, “why couldn’t you just date that polo shirt guy from across the hall?”

With a shrug, Simon gets back to his feet. “Stop being mean,” he tells her. Clary sinks further back into the chair.

Jace walks over to the window, pondering if he could pull off a Bundy. Really, all he wants is a smoke. And maybe some chewing gum. His mouth still tastes like puke.

“Bet I’ll make the title page,” he muses, a weak attempt at lightening the mood.

“They can’t charge you,” Isabelle says, with a conviction that catches Jace off guard. “There was clear provocation and with that kind of personal history every judge would need to consider the psychological aspects of the situation.”

“Great,” he mutters. “I love it when people consider the psychological aspects of my behaviour.”

“They can’t charge you,” Isabelle just repeats. He’s not sure if she’s trying to convince him or herself.

Simon asks, “Do you think they’ll continue the trial today?”

“Guess that depends on whether or not they want to charge me with battery,” Jace responds airily.

“This whole thing is ridiculous,” Clary chips in.

For a brief moment, Jace thinks that she might have been scared of him. He’s gotten to know her over the past few weeks, months at this point, and she’d always seemed absolutely fearless. But to be fair, most people aren’t confronted with violence on a regular basis.

There’s blood on his shirt. Jace inspects the cracked skin on his knuckles. He’d used his right hand to punch him. He’s not sure why.

The seconds tick by excruciatingly slowly. Jace is leaning on the windowsill with his forehead against the cool glass. The horror of what happened in the courtroom doesn’t pass. It’s not the fight he’s upset about, not really. In the end, Jace thinks it had been a long time coming.

It’s the rest of it that makes his guts twist just at the thought. It had been like stripping naked in front of a crowd, like being cut open, with all of his charred, mutilated insides on display.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed. Jace can feel Simon at his side, warm and comforting, his presence alone seems to even out his breathing. It fills him with a bitterness Jace hadn’t thought himself capable of.

He doesn’t want him here to witness this. He doesn’t want him to be a part of it.

He’s hateful and tired, and he already knows he won’t have the strength to pretend otherwise once it’s done. The short period of coping with the stress in a reasonable manner he’d experienced post-prison visit has passed.

Jace wants to fight someone who’ll punch back. And it isn’t fair to Simon to make him watch all of that.

A knock on the door has them all spinning around, but it’s just Alec, who looks like he’s aged about a decade since he left them.

“They’ll continue,” he says. “You ready?”

Jace shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and stands up straight.

“Sure,” he says. “Let’s go.”

The courtroom is airless and hot. Jace lets them scold him, takes his seat and goes through the formalities like the robot his sister thinks he is. It’s only when Alec picks up where he left of that Jace manages to get a grip. He keeps his hands, the right gripping onto the left, in his lap and schools his features into an impartial expression.

He doesn’t look over at Valentine. He doesn’t search the room for Simon.

“Mr. Lightwood,” Alec says, sounding as collected as he did before, “could you please tell the court about the pictures in exhibit 1D.”

Jace locks eyes with his brother and says, “Exhibit 1D shows the condition my left hand was in when I came to the hospital in 2001.”

“Your Honour, as you can see the hand had been broken in multiple places. The injury had been sustained years prior and the hospital records clearly state that the cause for the fractures was deliberate violence. To be exact, it was noted that, and I quote, ‘The patient’s hand shows signs of repeated exposure to deliberate force, most likely carried out with a blunt, heavy object. Some of the fractures are significantly fresher than others and were sustained after the previous injuries had healed.’ Moreover, it was put on record that the injury had not been treated, leaving the bones to heal incorrectly.”

Deliberate violence. He almost laughs out loud at that.

Again facing Jace, Alec continues, “Mr. Lightwood, how did you suffer the aforementioned injuries documented in exhibit 1D?”

Alright then.

“I was eight. He was disappointed by my performance in hand-to-hand combat. Specifically my non-dominant hand - I’m lefthanded. So, he told me I’d have to work harder, or he’d have to take care of it. I didn’t sleep for days, training every night until I’d pass out. But it wasn’t enough. He told me that I could either comply willingly or he’d tie me down and make sure I would live to regret it. I obeyed. I put my hand on the table. He took the fire poker and smashed my hand with it. After the second blow I couldn’t take it anymore and I pulled the hand away. He brought the poker down on my back and told me to put the hand back on the table. I did. At some point  I started screaming and he dragged me to the cupboard by my hair and left me there.”

Jace is speaking in a strange monotone voice that doesn’t sound like himself at all. He can feel the shocked looks of the crowd boring into him and thinks that they have no right to be this horrified. They don’t have to remember the sound of snapping bones.

“He didn’t bother setting the bones. I learned to use my right hand just as effectively as my left. He said he was proud of me for submitting the hand willingly.”

Alec asks, “That was in 1999?”

“Yes.”

“The hospital records suggest that there must have been a second incident. Could you elaborate on that, Mr. Lightwood?”

At some point after his arrival on the island, Tournier’s Robinson crawls into a cave and stays there for an unknown amount of time. Jace would very much like to do the same.

“It must have been about a year and a half after that. I talked back to him and that really pissed him off. He told me the only way to make up for it was to prove I could still be obedient. So, he made me put my left hand on the table again. This time, he handed the poker to me. Told me to prove myself to him.”

That’s when his voice starts to quiver. It’s one thing, talking about what Valentine had done, he can do that, it’s simple. He’d been brutal and manipulative, and that is a fact that Jace can treat as such. It’s something that has always existed outside of his control.

The things that Jace did himself, however, are much more complicated to put into words. No one had been holding a gun to his head. He could have just refused. But he didn’t, he chose to wrap his shaky fingers around the poker and then he’d pounded his own hand to pieces with it.

A part of him is wishing for Starkweather to object, question the relevance of this story. Because really, how can Valentine be made responsible for something that Jace did himself?

When nobody seems to want to chime in and safe Jace from admitting the truth, he pries his mouth open and says, “So I did.”

The look on Alec’s face tells him that that’s not enough. Jace swallows down the last shreds of dignity he has left.

“I took the poker, and I broke my own hand with it while he watched.”

He doesn’t have the heart to check for Simon’s reaction. Alec goes on talking, points to the recent scans that prove the lasting damages, and Jace finds himself turning towards Valentine.

His brows give a small twitch, but other than that he appears unimpressed. Someone has tended to his broken nose, however there’s still some dried blood above his upper lip. That discovery fills Jace with a strange satisfaction. He should have taken full advantage of the situation and broken more of him.

Valentine notices Jace’s gaze and smiles. Jace feels himself gag.

Alec makes him establish some more background facts, some details about the night of the fire, which Jace can barely remember, thanks to the smoke poisoning. By the end of the examination, he has the entire room on their side. Jace has to hand it to him, he’s fucking good at his job.

Starkweather gets up and starts rambling on about the questionable credibility of early memories. He points out Jace’s history of erratic, violent behaviour, actually pulling up hospital records from his late-night ER visits, reciting them to the court. It’s a long list.

Jace supresses a grin. He knows it’s not really funny. Whatever.

Then, Starkweather addresses him, “Mr. Lightwood. Is it true you are a trained fighter?”

“Yes. As I told the court, the defendant trained me –“

“And is it true that you regularly indulge in bar fights, hence the extensive hospital records?”

Jace forces himself to take a deep breath. “Yes,” he says, “I have been in a number of bar fights. Though I’d like to add that that falls under the category of self-defence.”

Starkweather raises his brows. “And was it self-defence when you attacked the defendant in front of this court? Your Honour, we have all had a chance to witness Mr. Lightwood’s lack of impulse control and his violent tendencies.”

“Objection,” Alec interjects, “relevance?”

“The facts speak to the witness’s character and his credibility.”

Judge Penhallow gives Starkweather a curt nod. “Overruled.”

Jace says, “I was acting on provocation.”

“Mr. Lightwood, please only speak when asked,” Judge Penhallow warns him.

“I was asked. He asked me if it was self-defence, and I answered his question.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alec shaking his head at him, with emphasis.

Judge Penhallow sounds far from amused when she says, “Mr. Lightwood, you have broken the rules of this court twice now. I advise you to learn some self-restraint.”

Jace grits his teeth and puts on his best sheepish face.

“Mr. Lightwood,” Starkweather goes on, “you are a trained fighter with a long history of getting into fights with civilians. That would make you a violent person, would it not?”

“Objection, speculation.”

“Overruled.”

Alec doesn’t frown, but Jace can read him like a book. He’s fucking pissed.

“Mr. Lightwood, please answer the question.”

“Yes,” Jace says quietly, “you could phrase it that way. But I think any psychologist would agree that exposure to violence at a young age may lead to, as you put it, erratic behaviour.”

Starkweather gives a grim smile. He says, “Objection, hearsay.”

Judge Penhallow clicks her tongue. “Sustained.”

Jace is beginning to like her less and less.

“You mentioned that the defendant instructed you in languages and literature, Mr. Lightwood, could you expand on that?” Starkweather asks.

“He taught me Latin, Mandarin, German, French and Ancient Greek. I studied literature, maths, history and basic physics. He also taught me to play the piano,” Jace replies.

“And would you say that you have benefited from the education the defendant provided you with?”

“Yes.”

“So, do you agree that there was more to your relationship to the defendant than the alleged assault?”

Jace hesitates. “I was a child,” he says.

“Please just answer the question, Mr. Lightwood.” Starkweather is looking up at him, waiting.

“Yes,” Jace presses out. “He did grant me some human decency from time to time.”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Starkweather says. “When you were still under the impression that the defendant was your biological father, did you love him?”

“Objection,” Alec calls. “Relevance?”

“Establishing the defendant’s character, Your Honour,” Starkweather shoots back.

“Sustained.”

“Your Honour,” Alec protests. “He’s out of line.”

This time Judge Penhallow is speaking to Alec when she says, “Mr. Lightwood, I would appreciate if you would please stick to protocol.”

Jace is suddenly very aware of the fact that Valentine is staring at him. He considers just lying. How would anyone be able to proof whether or not he ever felt love for that man? He wants to tell Starkweather to go fuck himself. This is none of his business. It isn’t anyone’s business.

For the first time since they came back into the courtroom, Jace’s eyes find Simon’s. His brows are furrowed, but the soft gleam in his eyes, his beautiful, beautiful eyes, sends a pang through Jace’s chest. Jace loves Simon. That is what he knows.

Because Simon is kind and wonderful and funny and the strongest person Jace has ever met. Because Simon is brave and compassionate. Because Simon is still looking at him like that, as if he still sees someone loveable in him, despite all of the ugliness, the violence, and the fucking mess that surrounds Jace.

Jace wants to bite off his tongue rather than admit that he ever felt even an ounce of love for Valentine.

“Mr. Lightwood,” Starkweather urges.

Next to Simon, Clary is clutching Isabelle’s hand. She looks genuinely offended on his behalf and Jace is strangely touched by that sign of loyalty. Izzy still seems like she wants to stomp her foot and slam some doors, like she used to when she was fifteen. Magnus, on Simon’s other side, has his lips puckered and his arms crossed in front of his chest.  

Jace closes his eyes and takes a moment to gather his thoughts, before he opens them back up and says, “Yes.”

His voice is steady, so he continues, “Yes, I did think of the defendant as my father. But whatever kind of love I thought I felt for him was the result of an emotional dependency and his psychological manipulation. I craved his approval. I learned to want to crave it because otherwise I’d get hurt. So really, I think the best way to describe it is more like an addiction, rather than love. Does that answer your question, Mr. Starkweather?”

Chapter Text

When Simon gets home, Jace and Clary are on the sofa with the TV running. The smell of weed hangs in the air. It’s a strange sight, by all accounts. 

“Are you watching Grey’s Anatomy?” he asks. He can hear the disbelief in his own voice.

Clary looks up at him with a grin, waving a joint in his direction.

“Yes, we are,” she says. “I’m catching your boyfriend up on pop culture.”

Jace is smiling and when Simon tries to walk past him to put his bag down, he grabs him and pulls him into his lap.

“Hey babe,” he says, pressing a kiss onto Simon’s jaw.

Babe.

Simon scrutinizes his face. “Are you high?”

“A little,” Jace admits. “A little bit. Yeah.”

Clary giggles and puffs out a cloud of smoke.

“I leave you two alone for ten minutes and this is what happens?”

“We’re unwinding,” Jace explains earnestly. “It’s recreational.”

Simon snorts and lets the bag of groceries drop to the floor, positioning himself on top of Jace.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Clary passes him the joint and Simon takes a deep drag. Then, he kisses Jace, exhaling into the kiss. Jace coughs.

“I didn’t know you were a stoner,” Simon teases.

“I didn’t know you were.”

Actually, Jace does look more relaxed than Simon has seen him in a while. He’s just glad he hasn’t run off to any dive bars yet.

After the trial, he’d gone home with his family, and Simon and Clary had decided to remove themselves from the equation and give them some privacy. Clary was still a bit shaken after the whole Jace punching Valentine thing. In the moment, there’d been no time for Simon to consider how she was feeling, he’d been too preoccupied with Jace, feral with anger and covered in Valentine’s blood.

But in retrospect he realises that she must have been taken aback by all of that. Maybe he should have been too.

Jace had called, some time around 8pm, asked to come over. He’d been strangely calm. Like all that sparkling, vibrant fury had been drained from him. He’d sat on the sofa, vaguely staring off into the distance. Simon just went to get some groceries, and this is what he comes back to.

“No, because you don’t understand,” Clary says, “Simon cried like a baby the first time we watched the Thanksgiving episode.”

“Thanks,” Simon says dryly. He rolls off of Jace and slumps onto the couch between them.

Jace grins at him. “You’re sappy.”

“You’re stoned.”

“Yeah,” Jace replies. “I like Clary. She’s a good influence.”

“Thank you,” Clary announces, as if this had been a point of discussion.

“A few hours ago, you two were practically at each other’s throats,” Simon points out.

Jace blinks up at him. “We were?”

“We kinda were,” Clary says with a shrug. “He’s fun though,” she adds, directed at Simon. “I didn’t think he’d be fun.”

“You’ve been hanging out with my sister too much,” Jace tells her. “She thinks I’m a robot.”

“She does not.” Clay shakes her head. “Iz says you think of yourself as a robot.”

“Iz?” Jace asks incredulously. “So, are you two fucking or what?”

“What is wrong with you?” She’s giggling again.

Simon watches the exchange with a strange sense of fascination. He finishes the joint and stubs it out in the ashtray, then turns back to Jace.

“They dropped the charges,” Jace says. “Bet Maryse paid them a fortune to settle.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I guess. Still did some damage to the case though,” Jace mutters. “Now I’m a vengeful violent asshole. Judge Penhallow did not look very sympathetic.”

Simon sighs. “No, she did not,” he agrees.

To his surprise, Jace chuckles and says, “I can’t believe that guy pulled out all those hospital records. That must have been a shit ton of work. He really went through the entire list.”

Simon wonders if he should be worried that Jace is laughing about this.

“He’s a lightweight,” Clary informs him. “Absolutely zero tolerance.”

“That might be true,” Jace says with a yawn. “I get a pass though. I was mentally eviscerated in front of a bunch of journalists today.”

Clary snorts, and Simon leans down to kiss Jace. He tastes like smoke and some kind of tropical fruit.

Mango.

“And,” Jace continues between kisses, “I got to punch in my homophobic not-father’s nose. That was great actually. I should have done that years ago.”

He frowns a little. “Although he probably would have beat me to death if I’d tried that as a ten-year-old.”

“See,” Clary comments, “he’s fun.”

When they go to bed, Jace is still a little out of it. Simon drapes the blanket over him and takes off his glasses.

“You would have made a great doctor,” Jace muses. “You’re very… maternal.”

Simon’s brows shoot up. “Maternal?”

Jace shrugs. “You know, caring and all that sort of stuff.”

“I don’t like you calling me maternal,” he decides, crawling into bed next to Jace.

“Yeah. It’s weird. Forget I said that.”

“Besides, Alec paid me to keep you away from any bars or clubs for the next few days.”

Jace groans. “I’m in love with a conspirator.”

He places his head on Simon’s shoulder and looks up at him through his full dark eyelashes.

“Well, apparently I’m in love with robocop, so.”

“Who?”

Simon grins and pulls Jace in tighter.

In the morning, he wakes up, still entangled with Jace. Which is unusual, for sure. Jace doesn’t sleep in. Simon studies his sleeping face, the small wrinkles between his brows, the shape of his lips. He thinks that Jace is the only person in the world who looks at Simon like he sees someone worth staying for.

Ever since he can remember, he’s always been the temporary fix, the guy you like but just not enough, the good friend and nothing more. Jace looks at Simon like he wants him to be something lasting, not just another step along the way. And that is a very scary, impossible, unimaginable thing.

Simon softly traces his cheekbone with his thumb. He wants to hold him like this forever. He wants to see him grow old, faded tattoos on wrinkled skin, golden hair turning pale and grey. He wants to hold every version of Jace like this, the boy in the picture at the Lightwood’s house, bony and covered in blood, the old man he may grow to be, the man he is, the one that smiles with that achingly tender expression on his face, when he thinks no one is paying attention. 

He doesn’t want to see him hurt.

That scares him too. Because Jace’s world is filled with fighting and nosebleeds and ER waiting rooms. And Simon doesn’t know if he can watch that happening. Not now that he’s realized that he… not now that Jace is here, in his bed, drooling onto his shirt. Not when he’s watching TV with Simon’s best friend, smoking, teasing, laughing at her jokes. Not when he lets Simon run his fingers through his hair every other night, when he’s kneeling in front of the toilet, shaking, eyes wide, pupils dilated.

Not when he found a large bottle of caramel syrup in Jace’s kitchen cupboard the other day.

Simon’s thumb moves on to graze Jace’s brow, then his nose, the scar below his left temple. Jace gives a low hum, and it sounds almost like a purr. He shifts so he lays with his entire body on top of Simon’s, who’s other hand is playing with the rim of his boxers, fingers running over the collection of scarred tissue on his lower back.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Jace pushes himself up so he can look into Simon’s eyes.

His hair is ruffled and frames his face like a halo. Simon’s breath catches in his throat.

“Maybe.”

“Great.” He’s grinning.

Simon’s gaze wanders down his throat, his collarbones, down to his chest. The scars are everywhere. Some pearly white and faded, some pink, bulging, like they’re trying to get out from under his skin.

“Do they hurt?” he asks. As usual, the words leave his mouth before he’s had the time to think.

Jace tilts his head. “The scars?” he asks quietly.

“Yes.”

“No, they don’t. My hand does though. Sometimes. When it’s rainy outside.”

“Really?” Simon reaches for his hand, feels the familiar bends and edges.

“Really.”

Jace leans down and kisses him, and Simon’s brain is pretty much liquidated. Beautiful, he thinks.

God. Holy God. Fuck.

The kiss stops. Jace, still sitting on top of Simon, with his angel hair and his honey-coloured eyes, asks, “You’re not repulsed?”

Simon blinks. “What?”

“You’re not… You’re not disgusted by what I did?” He sounds so small then, like he’s waiting for Simon to push him off, kick him out of his bed.

It takes Simon’s wobbly brain a moment to catch up. “I am. I am disgusted, repulsed, horrified - whatever you want to call it. But not by you. By Valentine. By what he made you do.”

“He didn’t make me though,” Jace points out. “I chose to do it. I did it myself.”

Simon’s heart as good as shatters at that.

“Jace,” he whispers, “you know that’s not true, right?”

Jace shrugs his shoulders. “It is though. Starkweather was right about me. It’s just the facts. I am violent. And though I understand that there’s a reason for that and that there are psychological aspects to consider and so on and so forth – it’s still a fact. I still did it.”

His words linger in the air for a moment. There’s a new, desperate flicker in his eyes.

“Well,” Simon says. “It doesn’t matter. Not to me. I could never feel repulsed by you, Jace. And anyways, I disagree. You’re not violent, not inherently. You deal with problems the way you learned  to deal with them. But you’ve never even as much as shoved me. I had a boyfriend before you, he was… I was scared of him when he got angry. Because he… It doesn’t matter. You’re not like that. I should know. So, just… just trust me on this, okay Jace?”

Jace holds his gaze. “You know that we are going to have a talk about this ex, right?”

Simon rolls his eyes. He feels his cheeks flush. “Jace. Do you trust me or not?”

“Yes,” Jace says. He sounds mildly surprised at himself. “I do.”

This time, the sex is different. They’ve had good sex, great sex even, hot, exhilarating sex. But it wasn’t like this. This is… Well. Simon is enchanted. He thinks he might be drowning in Jace’s eyes, he’s unable to look away, unable to even blink.

It’s glorious.

Simon knows that there’s a term for that. There’s a way to express the subtle difference between fucking and doing… the other thing. His brain just refuses to admit it. He refuses to call it what it is. Because really, Simon knows. It’s just that whenever he’d reached this point with a partner in the past, whenever he’d actually pronounced it, well… That’s when things start to go wrong.

So, Simon refuses.

Alec did in fact not pay him to do anything. Since he’s still busy at the trial, he has however provided Simon with a novel’s worth of texts. In a way, Simon thinks it’s amusing how both Jace and Alec fret about each other but don’t seem to communicate with each other when they’re worried.

So, Simon’s plan is to keep Jace inside the apartment. There aren’t any people to fight in here, and Simon can think of a way or two to keep him occupied.

As is turns out, Jace is a nightmare to live with. Not necessarily by an objective definition, but by a Simon-Clary-house-rules definition. After two days, he has cleaned, dusted, organized and tidied every possible corner of the apartment.

When he tries to get into Clary’s art supplies, she snaps and actually body blocks him.

“You need to take him for a walk,” she tells Simon. “If he doesn’t quit buzzing like an unsupervised puppy with a cleaning fetish, I’m going to physically fight him!”

Jace pouts. Simon thinks he’s adorable.

“Maybe I should head home,” he says.

Even without Alec’s constant reminders, Simon would have known that that is a Jace-branded phenomenally bad idea.

“Or we just go for a walk,” Simon proposes.

Jace cracks him a grin. “Only if you put me on a leash.”

Simon glares at Clary over his shoulder and she sticks her tongue out at him.

They go for a stroll. Like two elderly people on leave from their retirement home. Jace stretches and throws his arm over Simon’s shoulders.

“You know,” he says, “I always thought of myself as more of a cat than a puppy. A wildcat. Or a lion maybe.”

“So, are we going to talk about it?” Simon asks.

“About my spirit animal? I thought you’d never ask.”

“Jace.”

“Simon.”

Simon nudges him in the side. “We can have a lengthy discussion about your fursona if that is what you want – Or you know, we could talk about you turning all your pent-up feelings into a cleaning frenzy.”

“What’s a fursona?”

“That’s so wildly beside the point.”

Jace shrugs. “Gotta turn all those pent-up feelings into something, right?”

Simon opens his mouth to retaliate but he’s interrupted by a voice calling from behind them.

“Simon Lewis? Is that you?”

He stops dead in his tracks. Jace, who looks mildly intrigued at the possibility of a new social interaction, spins around, and takes Simon with him.

It’s a bad joke, really. It’s been months since he’s last thought of Kyle, and now that he’s talked about him for the first time in ages, here he is, spoken into existence.

Kyle is still gorgeous. That’s the problem. He’d go from charming to scaring the shit out of Simon in milliseconds. Simon’s heart is pounding against his ribcage.

“Hi,” he says lamely.

Kyle reaches out, to squeeze Simon’s arm, or pat his shoulder, or whatever he’s trying to do, and Simon takes a step back. He can practically feel Jace’s eyebrow arching.

“Simon,” Kyle says, still smiling. “How have you been doing?”

“I’m good.” Simon considers faking a medical emergency. “Er, this is Jace, my boyfriend. Jace, this is Kyle, my…”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Kyle supplies. He offers Jace his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Jace doesn’t say anything. He shakes Kyle’s hand and looks him up and down in a way that tells Simon he’s put two and two together.

Kyle whistles through his teeth. “Well, little Simon here has a way of going for people way out of his league, right?” he says.

Simon’s face is burning with embarrassment.

Jace says, “And somehow he still went for you.”

“Right.” Kyle’s not smiling anymore.

“Well, we gotta get going, so… It was… Yeah. See you, Kyle,” Simon mumbles, trying to pull Jace along. But Jace doesn’t move. He’s still staring at Kyle.

“He’s adorable, isn’t he,” Kyle says to Jace, “with his stammering and the word vomit and all of that. It gets annoying after a while, you’ll see. From adorable right to pathetic.”

Jace lets go of Simon. His voice is dangerously calm when he says, “You might want to take that back.”

In a cruel twist of fate, Simon has brought the fight right to Jace. And yet, he can’t do anything about it. He’s unable to move, unable to speak. He’s never been able to deal with Kyle when he got into one of his moods.

“Or what?” Kyle asks. He’s smirking condescendingly, which is impressive, considering Jace is made of muscles and tattoos, and his eyebrow is still raised all the way up to his hairline.

He shrugs - that Jace-shrug he does, the shrug that had Simon infatuated the first night they met.

“I guess you’ll find out,” Jace replies.

Kyle raises his chin. Then, without saying another word, he takes a swing at Jace.

The thing is, Simon has seen Jace fight. He’s seen him sparring with Izzy, the two of them moving like dancers, quick, agile, always predicting exactly where the other is going to attack. He’s seen him fight some less elegant opponents, Jace practically running circles around them, making them chase their own tails.

So, Simon knows that Jace sees the blow coming. He knows that he could have easily dodged it, blocked it, whatever. Jace doesn’t. He lets Kyle punch him right in the jaw.

Simon calls Jace’s name. Jace staggers a little. He doesn’t even punch back.

“That was cute,” he says.

The second time, he doesn’t react either. Kyle’s fist connects with his cheekbone. He grabs Jace by the collar, readying himself for another blow.

Simon moves forward, but he doesn’t have to. Jace frees himself off Kyle’s grip and sends him stumbling. When Kyle attempts to get back up, Jace comes at him again. Kyle is gasping in pain. He stays where he is.

“You better get the fuck out of here,” Jace tells him. “And if you ever fucking think about going near Simon again… Well, I’m supposed to stay out of trouble, but I’ve no problem with going back to jail.”

Kyle’s eyes widen. He shoots Simon a final, scathing glance, and hobbles off.

Simon stares after him until he’s out of view.

“Si? Hey, you okay?”

Jace’s voice snaps him out of his trance-like state. He nods his head.

“What happened to always telling the truth?” he croaks out.

Simon is vaguely aware of the fact that he’s shaking.

Jace is still scrutinizing his face. He shrugs again. “Well, it wasn’t technically a lie,” he mutters. “I do work at a prison. Sort of. And I have zero problems with going back there.”

“You’re impossible.”

Jace cups his head in his hands. Simon’s eyes find Jace’s and the air rushes back into his lungs. Jace is bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s looking at Simon as if he’s holding everything that ever mattered right there in his hands.

“I’m sorry, babe” he says.

“He never hit me,” Simon hears himself say. He needs Jace to know that. Maybe it’ll help him feel less pathetic about himself.

“Okay.”

“He just… Well, he would scream and punch walls and throw stuff around, you know. It wasn’t… He never hit me, but I was still scared of him.”

Jace brushes a strand of hair back behind his ear. “I should have smashed his face in,” he says.

And Simon laughs, a teary, shaky laugh. Jace opens his mouth, as if to say something, but then he just pulls Simon to his chest and holds him as he cries.

Chapter Text

Alec is pacing. It’s unnerving, really.

Jace sits on the sofa, with Chairman Meow in his lap and tries not to look guilty.

“You’re unbelievable,” Alec says, for the fifth time today. “I can’t believe you.”

Magnus, who has been watching the, admittedly well-deserved, lecture from his position in the armchair, pipes up, “Darling, maybe you should just take a breath, sit down and…”

His words trail off. Alec doesn’t seem to hear him. Jace cracks Magnus a smile, and he grimaces, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.

“I have been working my ass off, trying to win this case. And I thought that was what you wanted as well. But apparently – Apparently, you prefer to make this difficult for everyone involved. First, you go shouting death threats in the middle of the court room, then you give the Judge your usual obnoxious attitude, and now… Now you show up with cuts and bruises on your face and your knuckles very obviously swollen. Are you trying to drive me mad?”

Jace sinks deeper into the cushions. Chairman Meow stubs his forehead against his palm, demanding cuddles.

“Alec, I’m -”

“Don’t. Even. Say it.”

Jace clamps his mouth shut. Right.

“I can’t believe you. I ask you for one thing – one thing! ‘Don’t get into a fight, Jace. Don’t prove the defence right. Don’t be fucking stupid. For once.’ I provided your boyfriend with instructions. I left you alone for three days. Three days! Fuck’s sake, Jace!”

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters. “Really, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Alec throws his hands up and laughs. Jace is starting to worry that his brother might be having a nervous breakdown.

“Look, I know, alright? I fucked up. I keep fucking up. I get it. But just for the record, the guy was Simon’s abusive ex. And he threw the first punch.”

“And you let him,” Alec retorts. “You do realise you’re going back to court tomorrow, right? With your face looking like that.” He points an accusatory finger in Jace’s direction.

“I’ll tell them I fell down the stairs.”

Alec glares at him. The fell-down-the-stairs-excuse was supposed to cheer him up. It’s been an inside joke ever since that one memorable occasion back when Alec and Magnus had just started dating - an occasion involving hickeys and Alec stammering like an idiot. Jace treasures that memory. Simpler times.

“Alexander, I’m sure we can fix Jace up with a little make-up. They won’t even notice.” Magnus is very obviously not as confident in that as he makes it sound.

Finally, Alec stops his pacing and takes a long deep breath.

“Right,” he says. “We can try that. Just… Jace. I need you to realise the magnitude of this trial. Sure, they’re going to convict him for the cult stuff, there’s no doubt about that, but everything he did to you, that’s an entirely different thing. Right now, I don’t think Judge Penhallow doubts that Valentine’s a piece of shit, but she’s probably thinking the same thing about you. If you can manage to convince her… We won’t just get him for the rest of his crimes but get justice for what happened to you. And I for one really want that son of a bitch charged with child abuse for the way he treated you. Don’t you?”

Jace chucks Chairman Meow under the chin, which earns him a self-satisfied purr in response. He thinks about the man he thought of as his father, the stinging pain of cuts all over his body, the claustrophobic darkness of that broom closet.

His fingers stop moving and Chairman Meow voices his displeasure. He doesn’t seem to mind their misshapen form. Jace clears his throat and forces himself to meet Alec’s gaze.

“Sure,” he says. “Yeah, I do want that.”

Alec gives an involuntary sigh. “Good,” he says, “that’s good. We can work with that.”

They spend the rest of the day going through legal technicalities, strategies, things to look out for. Alec is once again in his element. Jace humours him. It’s clear to him that out of everyone, he himself is the least invested in getting Valentine convicted. What Jace is mostly concerned about is Simon.

After their run in with Kyle, Simon had been uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the evening. They’d watched one of his favourite shows, something with aliens, but Simon had refrained from commenting on any of it. Jace finds that it’s incredibly dull to watch anything without Simon’s added commentary. He’d fallen asleep early and Jace, becoming a conspirator himself, had sought out Clary for advice.

He'd found her in her room, bent over a canvas and summarized the events for her, a bit sheepishly. To his surprise, and for the first time since knowing her, Clary had looked at him approvingly when he told her he’d landed a punch right in Kyle’s stupid-looking self-righteous face.

“Simon said he never hit him,” he’d told her, feeling like a traitor, going behind his boyfriend’s back.

Clary had rubbed her temple and shrugged. “That’s true, as far as I know. But he was… Simon wasn’t the same with him. He never really talked when they were together. He was a manipulative toxic asshole. I’m glad you decked him.”

Jace hadn’t expected that. For Simon’s sake, and maybe for Alec’s, he’s tried to feel bad about losing his temper. But for the love of any god he does not believe in, he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Me too,” he’d told Clary.

She’d accepted that with a nod, and Jace had returned to Simon’s room to have a long, contemplative smoke on the fire escape.

After his visit to Alec and Magnus’, he goes back to his own apartment, only to find Simon waiting for him.

“I figured you wouldn’t come over,” he says. “But I didn’t want to be alone. That okay?”

Jace would rather cut off one of his crippled fingers than send Simon away.

“Of course,” he says and goes to hug him. Simon buries his face in Jace’s shoulder, and for a moment they remain like this, the only sound that of their two beating hearts.

They make it to the bed without letting go of each other, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. They’re like two dying men, parched for the comfort of each other’s arms, hands, lips. Jace is on his back with Simon above him, watching, starving for more.

Simon’s hands move further down, spreading his legs. They rest warm and heavy on the insides of his thighs and Jace’s back is arching, a physical, desperate response to the touch. His fingers run across his skin. Jace closes his eyes, sucks in a breath – and then, it stops.

The touches freeze in place. Jace feels his brows furrow, annoyed at the delay, the interruption. When he blinks down at Simon, he finds him motionless, mouth slightly parted.

“What is it?” Jace asks, still beathing heavily. “Something wrong?” He tries to mask his breathlessness by going for humour. “Did my dick hypnotize you or something?”

Simon’s head snaps up. The look on his face rushes over Jace like a cold shower, effectively eliminating the last remnants of anticipatory bliss.

“Your thighs,” Simon says flatly. “They’re… Jace, did you…?”

Jace curses under his breath. He pushes himself backwards and into a sitting position. Simon is watching him with large, pitiful eyes, and Jace feels the sudden need to put his clothes back on.

“I didn’t notice before,” Simon murmurs. “I was too caught up in… Jace. Have you ever… I mean, did you?”

Something about the way Simon can’t even bring himself to say the words sparks an irrational anger in Jace’s chest, and he scoffs dismissively, “Are you asking if I’m a cutter?”

“I…” Simon, if possible, looks even more concerned. “Are you? I mean, your thighs, they’re covered in scars.”

“Yeah, so is the rest of my body,” Jace shoots back. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so irritated at the soft expression on Simon’s face.

“Yeah, but that’s a thing, isn’t it? Some people cut their thighs because the wrists would be too obvious. Maia did. When she was younger. Her legs look like yours.”

“Well, I’m glad to know that I look like your ex when I’m naked.”

“That’s not what I said,” Simon answers back. “I didn’t mean to… Jace, I’m not trying to argue, I’m just worried. You don’t have to tell me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m not a fucking nutcase, Simon.” Jace tries to get up from the bed, but Simon grabs his wrist. He shakes him off and stumbles over to the pile of his clothes on the floor.

In the back of his head, he’s vaguely aware of the irony. This is absolutely uncalled for and Jace knows it. Even when it’s Simon that needs his company, he manages to fuck it up. He struggles with his boxers for a moment, back turned to Simon. He can sense his eyes on him though, taking in the perfect display of his mangled skin. He feels the need to punch something, someone, preferably someone who’ll punch right back. It’s instinctive. It’s all he’s ever known.

“Jace.”

He finally manages to get into his underwear and turns back around. Simon is still sitting on the bed, naked, eyes wide. Jace forces himself to breathe. He rummages through his jeans and finds the pack of smokes, heads for the balcony.

Simon doesn’t come after him.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

He’s throwing a hissy fit. Over a question. Over nothing. None of this is Simon’s fault. He’s not the one who slashed up every inch of Jace’s body without bothering to put any of it back together.

Jace finishes his cigarette at record speed and heads back inside. Simon hasn’t moved. His eyes are dangerously puffy.

“I’m sorry,” says Jace. He’s standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with himself, with this burst of misguided rage, with the dead tissue clinging to his body, his masochistic desire to get someone to add to it.

“I… It’s not your fault. I’m sorry for snapping. I was just… I don’t know. I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t know why I…”

It’s incoherent stammering. Get a grip.

“Sometimes you’re just too much for me. Not in a bad way. Not because you’re doing anything wrong technically, it’s just, I don’t know how to deal with that face you make, like it’s breaking your heart just to look at me.”

Jace furiously runs a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s like you’re expecting something of me, and I can’t figure out what and I get cagey and mean, and…” He inhales sharply. “I never cut myself. It’s all just - the scars, they’re all just him.”

It’s humiliating. Jace wants to grab his things and make a run for it.

“Oh,” Simon says. “I didn’t mean to…” He breaks off, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Jace says, “It’s not your fault. I was being an ass.”

Simon’s lips curl into a teary smile. “It was unfortunate timing on my part,” he admits.

Jace shrugs. “You caught me off guard.”

He tentatively takes a step towards the bed and Simon moves over so they can sit next to each other with their backs against the wall.

“Fuck. This is embarrassing,” Jace mutters. “I’m a teenager. A fucking teenager.”

Simon cocks his head, peering over at him. “You have a fear of intimacy,” he declares. “The only times that you actually allow yourself to be vulnerable around people is when you’re so worn down that you can’t physically keep it together.”

Jace wants to protest, but really, what’s there to say? He is a fucking nutcase, and he knows it too.

“I didn’t mean to yell,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

Jace can’t bring himself to look at Simon. “I told you he used a kitchen knife.”

“Jesus. Fucking hell.”

Now, he does lift his head to meet Simon’s eyes. “I’m sorry for lashing out,” he says.

Simon gives him a smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay. You’re under a lot of pressure, I don’t blame you for being on edge.”

“Well, so are you. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about yesterday too. I want to be here for you, I…” He trails off, incapable of putting this feeling into words.

“You are,” Simon says quietly. “You’re right here. And that makes it so much easier, Jace, you have no idea.”

When Jace doesn’t appear convinced, he adds, “You didn’t lash out at me because you wanted to hurt me, Jace. That makes all the difference. I know that you keep comparing yourself to Kyle, and I don’t know what to tell you to make you believe me, but it’s just not the same at all. He would have been aggressive, derogatory, you know. You were defensive. And you immediately apologized. He never did that, not once. So, don’t think I can’t tell the difference. I’ve had a lot of time to come to terms with my relationship with Kyle. Seeing him yesterday… That was bad, I’ll admit, but I’m not just some victim either, you know.”

Jace lets that sink in. “I didn’t think you were,” he says.

Simon reaches out to him, and Jace lets him, suddenly very grateful for the chance to wrap his own arms around Simon, pull him close.

Against Jace’s neck, Simon murmur, “And I think it’s weirdly cute how jealous you are of Maia.”

Jace groans. “Well. She’s a ten out of ten, how couldn’t I be,” he mutters. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Simon chuckles, and then laughs, a genuine, full laugh. Jace grins and grins until his cheeks hurt.

He’s back in the courtroom.

Magnus has worked his magic, so at the very least he’s not looking like someone splashed Clary’s acrylic paint across his face. Jace keeps his hands in his lap, just in case. Starkweather’s eyes are boring into him, but Jace can’t bring himself to care. Across from him, Valentine sits, back straight, with a knowing smile playing about his lips.

No one made an effort to conceal any of his bruises. It fills Jace with a grim satisfaction to see the man that made his life a living hell, that made him jumpy enough to snap at Simon all those long years later still, with a nasty black eye that’s almost swollen shut. He wears it like the piece of evidence that it is.

Jace is the one who put it there.

Most of the initial speeches fly right past him. He’s transfixing Valentine with his eyes, admiring his handywork. Alec had been talking about getting justice, but this is what justice feels like to him.

Valentine is asked to the stand. He sits there like a king on his throne, seemingly unbothered. Jace can tell by occasional twitch of his brows that it’s an act. Nevertheless, he appears untouchable.

Alec is asking some introductory questions, most of which Starkweather doesn’t attempt to object to. Jace sits very still, fighting the urge to turn back and find Simon and Izzy behind him in the room.

“Mr Morgenstern,” Alec says, forced civility straining his voice, “is it true that Mr Lightwood had no other interpersonal relationships as a young child, apart from yourself?”

Valentine remains neutral. He replies, “Yes, as previously stated, we lived in a very secluded area.”

“And is it furthermore correct that you encouraged Mr Lightwood to physically train to exhaustion from an early age on?”

“That depends on your definition of exhaustion, Mr Lightwood,” Valentine retorts. “But yes, I encouraged perfection. I wanted the best for the child I thought of as my son.”

Inexplicably, his usage of the past tense on the last part makes Jace’s chest sting with a dull, ages old pain. He should be over this, and yet… He’d only ever wanted to be a good son.

“Perfection?” Alec echoes. “Is that why you permanently scarred him?”

Jace expects Starkweather to object, but he surprisingly doesn’t. It feels like the entire building is holding its breath, waiting for Valentine’s response.

“I was strict, I will admit that.”

If Jace didn’t know Alec as well as he does, he wouldn’t be able to tell how hard his brother is fighting to remain objective.

“Do you deny that you inflicted the injuries depicted in exhibit 1A to 1C on Mr Lightwood?”

There’s a pause, and Jace’s eyes go back to Valentine only to find him staring right back at him. His lips curl back as he bares his teeth in a twisted smile.

“No,” he says.

Behind him, Jace hears a murmur traveling through the rows, but his own attention remains fixed on Valentine. Alec continues, “And do you deny inflicting the injuries detailed in exhibit 1D on Mr Lightwood, and moreover pressuring him into committing self-harm, when the latter was only eight years old?”

Valentine’s expression doesn’t change.

“No,” he says again. “I don’t deny it.”

Alec turns to Judge Penhallow who is watching with furrowed brows. “No further questions, Your Honour.”

Starkweather gets up and takes Alec’s spot. Valentine, who’s been holding Jace’s gaze, shifts to focus on the attorney.

“Mr Morgenstern,” he begins, “how would you describe your relationship to Mr Lightwood?”

Valentine replies easily, “As I said, I thought of him as my own son. I only ever did what I thought was best for him.”

“And how would you, in your own words, characterize Mr Lightwood?”

“Well, he was a difficult child. I’d taken him in because of his parents’ untimely demise, but I have to admit he was more than I could handle. I swear that I would not have behaved the way I did towards him, if I had not been constantly provoked, disobeyed and physically attacked by Mr Lightwood myself.”

Alec shoots to his feet. “Objection, Your Honour,” he calls, “this is speculation.”

Judge Penhallow dismisses this with a wave of her hand. “Overruled.”

Jace feels himself slipping. It takes all of his carefully accumulated self-restraint to remain in his seat, spine straight, eyes staring at nothing. His brain is going to war on itself. It might be true. Valentine might be right. He’s the only other person who would really know. The Lightwoods weren’t there, and neither was Simon.

Starkweather moves on, the hint of a smug smile on his face. “Mr Morgenstern, do you regret your actions towards Mr Lightwood?”

Again, Alec chimes in, “Objection, relevance?”

“Overruled.”

Jace’s gaze travels back to Valentine. The pain in his expression is real.

“Yes,” he says. “I regret the way I acted.”

But Jace knows better. It is not regret that’s showing in Valentine Morgenstern’s face. It’s disappointment.

He doesn’t regret what he did to Jace. He regrets taking him in in the first place.

Starkweather continues coaxing equally as vague statements out of Valentine that might sway the judge to sympathise with him, all the while painting Jace as an unpredictable, violent person. According to Alec, this is what he’d expected. There’s nothing they can do about it.

No one comments on Jace’s hardly concealed bruises.

Both Alec and Starkweather give their final statements.

The court is adjourned.

Outside the courtroom, the Lightwoods, Magnus, Clary and Simon crowd around him, a protective wall shielding him from Valentine – or more likely, shielding Valentine from Jace. They wait an agonizing twenty minutes that feel like half an eternity.

Simon is holding Jace’s hands in his, wrapping his fingers around them, concealing them from view.

“Fuck him,” Simon whispers to Jace, “and fuck Starkweather. We know the truth. That’s all that counts. You know the truth.”

Jace could have married him right then and there. Instead, he plants a kiss on Simon’s lips, gentle, despite the turmoil in his head. Miraculously, a wave of calm washes over him as Simon kisses him back, wiping all the fear and doubt from his mind.

“Yeah,” Jace replies, and it’s not a lie. “I know the truth.”

They’re asked back inside.

When he separates from Simon, it feels like a part of himself is forcefully taken from him.

Judge Penhallow declares, “Valentine Morgenstern, you have been charged with child abuse, child neglect, and child endangerment towards one Jonathan Christopher Lightwood. This court finds you guilty of all charges brought up against you. As you are imprisoned on further charges not relevant to this hearing, it is not in my jurisdiction to grant bail. Considering his behaviour in court, Mr Lightwood will additionally subject himself to court-mandated therapy session, or face charges of battery himself. This hearing closes, June 6, 12:34.”

Chapter Text

Amatis Herondale lives in a suburban area outside of Boston. Simon parks the car down the road of the address Alec gave them, and he and Jace stroll down the street together.

It’s a sunny day and they hold hands as they walk in silence. Simon can practically hear Jace’s thoughts racing when they approach the picturesque little house. He stops dead in his tracks.

“This is a bad idea,” he says, not for the first time today. “We should go.”

Simon squeezes his hand. “We didn’t drive all the way out here to chicken out now,” he says because he knows how much Jace wants this.

Jace looks over at him with a weak grin. “You’re being bossy again,” he says.

Simon returns his smile. “I thought you liked me bossy.”

Jace takes a deep breath and straightens his back. He says, “You have no idea.”

They ring the doorbell, and after a moment a slender woman with greying brown hair appears in the doorway.

“Mrs Herondale?” Jace says. His voice strains at her last name.

“It’s Graymark now,” the woman says agreeably.

“Right, sorry.” Jace is clearly struggling for words, but Simon feels like it would be overstepping for him to chime in.

Amatis asks, “Is this about the shelter? I told Julianne I’d be in later today but -”

“No, sorry, uhm. Can we come in? There’s something I’d like to speak to you about.”

“Listen, if you came to talk about your lord and saviour Jesus Christ, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

“No, it’s not that, I,” Jace clears his throat, “My name is Jace Lightwood. I wanted to ask if I could speak to you about your ex-husband, Stephen Herondale.”

Amatis goes very still. She looks at Jace and there’s a flash of recognition on her face, her hands slacken at her sides.

“Oh my god,” she says softly. “Oh Jesus.”

She takes a moment to compose herself before she adds, “I know who you are. You’re the boy that went to court against Valentine Morgenstern.” She practically spits out the last two words.

“You heard about that?”

“Oh, I read every single article I could find. Valentine took my family from me. I want to see this man rot behind bars for the rest of his miserable life.”

Jace blinks back at her, a bit surprised. Simon decides it’s his turn to pipe up, “If you don’t mind, we’d like to talk about Stephen with you.”

Amatis tears her gaze away from Jace and gives Simon a hesitant smile.

“Of course,” she says and runs a hand through her hair. “Please, come in. We can talk on the terrace.”

They follow her through a homey looking living room and out onto a terrace. Amatis brings out some lemonade and offers each of them a glass, then pours some for herself. No one is feeling thirsty.

“I’m sorry Mr Lightwood,” she says to Jace, “it’s just, you remind me of…” She trails off and Simon can feel Jace’s body tensing beside him. He reaches for his hand under the table, and Jace clings to it.

“Jace,” Jace says. “And this is Simon,” he tells Amatis, “my boyfriend.” The last part comes out a bit defiantly, as if he’s willing her to contradict him. Again, Amatis regards Simon with a small smile.

“Amatis,” she replies, turning back to Jace. “How can I help you? I imagine the two of us have a lot in common, after everything I’ve read about what that man did…”

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Jace says. His voice is even, almost calm. “I don’t know for sure, but I think I might be Stephen’s son.”

Amatis’ clear blue eyes fill with tears. “How?” she whispers.

Simon is holding his breath.

“Valentine admitted to me that he cut me out of my dead mother’s body. According to what I know about The Circle, Celine Montclaire was pregnant when she died.”

Amatis nods. “Oh God,” she says again. “I thought you looked… But I didn’t… God. Poor Celine.”

She wipes her face with the back of her hand before she continues, “I loved Stephen. When he asked me to marry him, I felt like the happiest girl in the world. Then, he became involved with Valentine and The Circle. When it became clear that I wouldn’t join… When he asked for a divorce, he told me he was acting on Valentine’s advice. He didn’t like Stephen being married to a non-member.”

Simon swallows a lump in his throat. Jace is unmoving beside him.

“I knew Celine too. She was a sweet girl, I thought, always a bit unstable. She was a Circle member, so I wasn’t really surprised when I heard that Stephen got remarried to her. When she died… I always thought it was suicide.”

There’s an implied question in that statement.

Jace says, “He didn’t admit to killing her. Or Stephen.”

Amatis scoffs. “Of course he didn’t. That slimy bastard would try talking himself out of anything.”

Simon doesn’t voice his agreement, but to himself he thinks she’s absolutely correct about that.

“God,” Amatis says, “you look like him. I thought when I saw you that I had to be mistaken, that I’d been spending too much time dwelling on the past, but… If what he said to you is the truth and he really… I spent so much time hating Celine for killing Stephen’s baby with her. I always knew it was Valentine’s fault, I just thought if she’d been a bit stronger, maybe… But if what you say is true, then there’s not a single doubt in my mind that he murdered both of them.”

There’s a moment of silence. Jace says, “I think so too. And I think he was telling the truth.”

“Oh,” Amatis whispers, “you are Stephen’s son. I never thought I’d get to meet you. I am so sorry.”

Across the table, she reaches for Jace’s hand, who first seems to shrink back, but then takes hers in his right. Simon feels tears stinging in his eyes.

Amatis says, “What you did, going to court, that was such an incredibly brave thing to do. After everything… I never doubted that he did everything you said he did. And I am so sorry that you had to live through that when you could have had… When you could have been here.”

She’s crying openly now, tears streaming down her face. Jace is trembling and Simon clasps his left hand even harder.

“Stephen would have been so proud,” she croaks out. “They both would have been. I’m sorry that you never got to meet them. They were flawed, yes, but they were good, kind-hearted people. I loved your father very much, I never really stopped loving him.”

Jace makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “I’m sorry too,” he says, “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

Simon feels a cold shiver run down his spine, but Amatis’ features twist into a grim smile.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she answers back. “I want him to live with what he’s done. I… I assume you know  better than anyone else how manipulative he can be. How horribly charming when he tries to be. He didn’t just take Stephen from me he took my brother too. He poisoned them with his fanatic ideas, turned them into mindless followers. I lost everything to him.”

“I couldn’t let him talk down to my brother,” Jace says. “I almost jeopardized the entire trial, but I don’t care, I couldn’t let him get to my family.”

“I understand,” Amatis says earnestly. “I don’t blame you for it. And as far as I know, neither did the judge. She has a daughter who is part of the LGBTQ community, so I suppose she didn’t take kindly to Valentine’s outburst against your brother.”

Simon thinks back to Judge Penhallow’s stern face, her unmovable expression and finds that he can imagine her hating Valentine almost as much as he does himself.

Jace seems to digest this piece of information. He gathers himself, fingers digging into the back of Simon’s hand.

“I… I wanted to ask if you could tell me about Stephen and Celine. What kind of people they were. If it’s not too much trouble, that is.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Amatis replies instantly. “I would love to. Actually… Let me go and get something, I’ll be right back.”

When Jace nods, she hurries back inside, discreetly drying her eyes with her sleeve. Jace fishes a cigarette out of his pocket but hesitates. When he spots an ashtray on the windowsill, he heads over and grabs it before lighting up. Simon waits for him to say something.

“I like her,” he says after a moment of smoking in silence.

“Yeah, me too.”

It occurs to Simon that this must be the first time Jace has met someone who knows exactly what Valentine is. Amatis doesn’t just hate him for what he did to Jace, like Simon and his family do. She hates him on her own term. Has hated him for years.

Simon watches Jace from the side, his furrowed brows, the tension in his jaw. “You okay?” he asks.

Jace sucks in another deep drag and nods. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Just… I don’t know what to feel.”

“That’s fine,” Simon says gently. “You don’t need to know right now. There’s still time to find out.”

Jace turns his head and there’s a look in his eyes that makes Simon’s chest explode with warmth.

“Thank you,” he says, “for being here with me.”

Simon manages a fluttering smile. “Always.”

Amatis returns with a dusty book and Simon realizes it’s a photo album. Jace straightens in his chair.

“Pass me one of those,” Amatis says as she sits down, and Jace lights her cigarette for her, then fumbles for another one for himself.

“I haven’t looked at this in years,” she says between drags. “Celine had no family and Stephen’s mother didn’t want the memories. She never quite forgave him for joining The Circle. So, I took in most of the memorabilia, I suppose out of sentimentality.”

She flips the album open and passes it to Jace, who stares at the first picture, stock-still. It’s a wedding photo of a young man and woman, they’re smiling, brilliant, happy smiles. The man, Stephen, distantly resembles Jace, his face has the same sharp contours, there’s a painfully familiar amused twinkle in his eyes. But the woman… Celine Montclaire has Jace’s eyes. Golden, like the sun in fall.

When Jace makes no attempt  to turn the page, Simon reaches over and does so himself, slowly, expecting someone to stop him. The next page shows photos of a pregnant Celine, with Stephen holding her to his chest. Valentine is there too. Simon almost gags audibly.

“He’s in quite a lot of them,” Amatis says bitterly. “There’s my brother Lucian, and a number of other Circle members.”

Simon scans the photos on the other side of the page, a group of laughing people crowded around a younger Valentine. Celine and Stephen next to each other, and a man with clear blue eyes on Valentine’s other side that Simon recognizes as Amatis’ brother.

Jace abruptly moves to close the book. His breathing is ragged.

“Thank you,” he says, “but I don’t think I can look at him standing there laughing, knowing what he did to them.”

The utter cruelty of it hits Simon like a punch to the gut. Valentine pictured with a pregnant Celine, only months before he’d kill her and her husband, mutilate her corpse, steal their child, and raise him as his own, providing him with nothing but violence and pain.  

Amatis gives Jace an understanding look. “Neither could I,” she says. “You can keep it if you want. In case you want to come back to it some other time.”

“Thank you,” Jace says softly.

Amatis smiles, despite the tears in her eyes. “Your father was a good man. He was kind and caring. He laughed a lot. Sometimes I still wake up missing his laugh. We didn’t keep close contact after the divorce, but I met Celine a couple of times. She was a quiet young woman, very earnest. She made your father smile. I remember hating that about her. From what I know about The Circle, she was one of the most devoted members.”

When Jace scowls, she sighs. “That is not necessarily a bad thing, you know. Sure, Valentine is an evil, evil man, but back then his ideas weren’t. Or at least what he told The Circle didn’t sound harmful. On the contrary, they were all about fighting for a better world. I imagine that must have been appealing for a woman like Celine, with no roots and no family ties. I think she was invested in The Circle because she didn’t want anyone else to go through what she went through.”

Simon, remembering the prison visit, tries to imagine Valentine Morgenstern advocating for a better world. He must have been convincing. From beside him, he watches the muscles in Jace’s jaw work.

“I don’t blame her,” he says, “I believed him too.”

“You were a child,” Simon points out.

Jace shrugs. “Still,” he says. “I worshipped the ground he walked on.”

Amatis blows out smoke into the air. She says, “He has that effect on people. My brother loved him more than he loved his own family. And all he got in return was an early grave.”

They finish their lemonade and Amatis, still teary eyed, walks them to the door. Simon steps aside to give them space, and watches as Amatis pulls Jace into a hug. After a split second of hesitation, Jace hugs her back.

They drive in silence for a while. It’s only when Simon hears a faint sniffling noise that he realises Jace is crying. He pulls over, parks the car on the side of the road and reaches for Jace’s hand.

“’s okay,” Jace presses out through barely suppressed sobs. “I’m okay.”

“Okay”, Simon says. He leans over to press kisses onto Jace’s hand, every single edge of incorrectly healed bone. He wishes he could undo the scars with kisses. He wishes he could take the decades’ worth of built-up pain and put it on himself.

On an impulse, he climbs over to sit in Jace’s lap, facing him, and wraps his arms around him. Jace clings to him, shaking as he cries. Simon continues placing kisses on him, his hair, his temple, his neck. Jace’s hands come up to sling around Simon’s neck. He pulls him in until their lips meet.

The kiss tastes of salt and smoke and lemonade.

It lasts an entire lifetime. Simon never wants it to end. He can feel himself getting hard, which feels incredibly inappropriate considering everything that happened today. Jace, however isn’t far behind, and soon their grinding their hips together like teenagers.

They break apart, both panting, and the second their eyes meet they both burst out laughing.

“You know, we could get shot for this in some states,” Jace muses.

“You’re terrible at dirty talk,” Simon informs him.

“I take offense to that. I’m a great dirty talker.”

“Oh yeah?”

Jace grins up at him. “Try being bossy again,” he suggests. He doesn’t have to tell Simon twice.

He says, “Take off your shirt.” Jace obliges.

Simon resumes trailing kisses along his scars. He starts with Jace’s face, his cheek, his jaw, then moves down the side of his neck to his collarbone, across the entirety of his chest. He takes his time with it, makes sure to get every single one.

When he gets down to the scars on his stomach, Jace is gasping for air. Simon had planned to move on to his arms, get his lips on every little piece of scar tissue, but once he reaches the waistband of Jace’s jeans, he changes his mind.

It’s a bit clumsy, considering they’re still cramped into the passenger seat of his car, but Simon manages to pull Jace’s pants down and put his mouth to more pressing issues.

Jace bucks his hips to meet him, and for a while Simon loses himself in the sensation. He can feel Jace’s fingers digging into his hair, hear his breathless moans.

He relishes this just as much as Jace does, feels his stupid lovestruck heart beating in his throat. When Jace climaxes, he does with Simon’s name on his lips.

He pulls Simon back up to his lap and they lay for a moment, body’s impossibly close together. Simon thinks lovestruck and the heat rushes through his body, an unstoppable force.

Oh god, he thinks, I love him.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise. It doesn’t, not really. Still, the realisation is like electricity coursing through his veins. High voltage.

“What about you?” Jace asks, still visibly trying to regain his composure. “Let me -”

Simon cuts him off, “Don’t worry about me. I’m patient, I can wait till we get home.”

Jace grins at him and goes in for another kiss. This one is fervent, ravenous almost, a clear promise of more to come. It takes Simon an incredible amount of self-restraint to break away.

“God, Simon,” Jace whispers, is voice hoarse. “You’re just… I…”

“Oh no,” Simon teases, “did I break the great Jace Lightwood?”

Jace chuckles and his smile is a bit sheepish. “I think so, yeah,” he says. “You keep doing that.”

Simon wants to kiss him again then, but he stops himself. Instead, he climbs back into the driver’s seat and takes a moment to catch his breath and rearrange himself before he starts the car.

“Thank you for coming with me today,” Jace says quietly. “Thank you for being here.”

Simon smiles at him. “Always,” he says.

He keeps his fingers interlocked with Jace’s for the rest of the drive home.

Chapter Text

It’s getting ridiculous.

Jace has been attempting a love confession over a dozen times in the past few days. On Amatis’ terrace, in the car on the way home, later on between sultry kisses and mind-blowing sex, waking up in Simon’s arms the next day. Every time, he comes up empty.

He wants it to be special. He also wants to get it over with. He wants to do it without pressuring Simon into saying it back. He wants to make sure he communicates the intensity of this feeling.

It’s all-consuming, ever-present. It’s what gets him out of bed in the morning.

At night, when he wakes up from dreams of blood and darkness, he lies next to a sleeping Simon and whispers it to him, until his breathing has evened out and he no longer feels the need to make a run for the toilet.

It’s his daily dose of caramel syrup.

They go to visit Simon’s mother on a Saturday. Simon had suggested it a little nervously.

“After all,” he’d said, “I met most of your family already.”

Jace, who has never gotten to this stage of a relationship before, immediately felt the urge to bolt. After that initial fright though, he found that actually, he doesn’t hate the idea, no, not at all. He wants to know everything there is about Simon. And he wants to offer him everything there is to know about him.

So, he’d said, “You’ll tell me what to say, right?”

“I don’t think you need coaching,” Simon had replied, laughing.

Jace vehemently disagrees with this point, but he’d agreed, nevertheless. At least he’s got the Clary seal of approval.

“I’ll take you to family dinner at the Lightwoods then,” he’d informed Simon. “So you can get to know them properly, outside of the courtroom.”

“Deal.”

Elaine Lewis lives in a beautiful little New York apartment, with high ceilings and light flooded rooms. Jace, in an effort to make himself look both presentable and reliable, is wearing a shirt, but Simon himself is dressed regularly. He’d laughed at Jace when he’d seen his choice of wardrobe, but Jace thinks this is a better safe than sorry type of situation.

“Look at you,” Simon had said, “you could have been invited to my bar mitzvah.”

Jace had cringed but tried to play it cool. “I would have been the best dressed guest at your bar mitzvah.”

“I doubt that,” Simon had said, “you should have seen Clary’s dress.”

Jace had left it at that. Now, standing in the living room of Simon’s mother’s apartment, he slightly regrets looking like a stuck-up rich asshole. The place is comfortably messy, like Simon and Clary’s apartment, in an inviting, lived-in way.

Elaine Lewis wears her soft brown hair in a loose braid across her shoulder. She smiles at Jace, friendly, if a bit reserved. She pulls Simon into a long hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, which Simon receives with minimal complaints. Jace’s heart is aching with something he cannot identify.

He shakes Elaine’s hand and introduces himself as Jace Lightwood, Simon’s boyfriend. Like with Amatis Graymark, it makes his chest swell with something like possessive pride to say those words out loud.

“Please, sit,” Elaine invites them, gesturing towards the sofa. Jace sits close to Simon as she serves them cups of steaming hot tea that have been sweetened by ungodly amounts of sugar. Simon’s eyes crinkle with amusement as he watches Jace sip from his cup, knowing full well he does not exactly have a sweet tooth.

“So tell me everything,” Elaine says agreeably, once she’s settled down with her own cup. “How did you two meet?”

Simon gives Jace an easy grin. “You tell the story better than I do, babe,” he says sweetly.

Jace has the strong feeling he’s being set up. “Well,” he says, stalling. “On a night out. Actually, Simon here wandered into the wrong bar.”

Elaine laughs at that, with motherly understanding. “Oh, my Simon always had a habit of getting himself into the worst kind of situations.”

“Mum!” Simon’s cheeks flush a little. “That’s so not the point. Jace valiantly saved me from getting into a fight with a group of drunk bald biker guys.”

“Did you now?” Elaine asks.

“I may have chimed into the conversation. Simon was the one who got us out of there.”

“When did you get so humble?” Simon asks, still grinning.

Jace shrugs, but he’s smiling too. “Credit where credit is due.”

“I’m curious,” Elaine says, “I assume you’ve met Clary? What did she say?”

Simon’s laughter rings through the room like a piano sonata or a Shakespearean sonnet.

Jace says, “Oh she interrogated me good. I don’t think she liked the looks of me.”

“Oh please,” Elaine says, “you’re gorgeous.”

“I think that’s what made her suspicious.”

Elaine joins in Simon’s laughter, and so does Jace. She says, “That sounds like Clary. How is she doing? Is she seeing someone?”

Simon gives a short rundown of the status of Clary’s recent art project. He leaves out the fact that she’s practically dating Izzy at this point. Maybe he thinks Jace doesn’t know. Jace however has seen his sister through heartbreak after heartbreak, he always knows when she’s with someone new. In his professional opinion, Clary is a great fit for Isabelle. He just hopes things don’t get messy. With his sister, they often do.

“So, what do you do, Jace?” Elaine asks.

“I’m a prison counsellor for juveniles,” he explains.

“That sounds exciting. Your parents must be proud?”

Jace doesn’t miss the way she turns the last statement into a question, subtly poking at the topic of his family. And how the hell does one even start explaining that fucking mess?

It’s Simon who answers for him, “Oh, they are. The Lightwoods are all lawyers, expect Izzy, she’s a tattoo artist. Jace’s brother is getting married in a couple of weeks, to Magnus Bane, the fashion designer.”  

Elaine, of course, has heard of Magnus and shows the appropriate level of enthusiasm upon learning the news. They move on from the topic, and Elaine tells the story of Clary and Simon’s first night out, how they somehow got involved with a bouncer and Simon spent the next day throwing up. It’s clearly a classic.

Jace rebuttals with the story of how Izzy once decided to throw a house party while Maryse and Robert were out of town. “She invited practically every person in our school and got one of the seniors to buy a truckload of alcohol. Alec didn’t know about it until people started arriving. He spent the entire night running around, keeping people from wrecking the place, it was hysterical.”

“Did you help him? Or were you enjoying the party?”

“I was mostly running after Izzy, trying to keep her from throwing up on the living room carpet.”

That earns him another laugh.

“One of the footballs players was a bit too into her,” he continues, “and he didn’t exactly take no for an answer. I was getting ready to square up and defend her honour, but Izzy, despite being blackout drunk,  just judo flipped him. Then she vomited into one of Maryse’s expensive Chinese vases. It was a beautiful sight.”

“My God,” Elaine says affectionately, “your mother must have been furious.”

“I don’t think she ever found out. Alec and I did a lot of cleaning up the next day.”

He remembers falling asleep on the sofa in Izzy’s room, after manoeuvring her to her bed and successfully getting some water and ibuprofen into her. Alec had been tasked with kicking the guests out, mostly because he’d been the only sober one out of them at this point of the night. Jace himself had had a little too much to drink.

He’d been drifting into sleep when he’d heard footsteps approaching and suddenly became aware of a tall shadow looming over him. His hand had snapped up automatically, catching Alec by the wrist. His brother had been throwing a blanket over him.

“They’re all gone?” Jace had asked, to cover up the awkwardness.

“Yeah. Go get some sleep.”

He hadn’t needed to be told twice. While drifting back into sleep, he could hear Alec climbing into bed next to Izzy, pulling a blanket over her as well.

Jace had woken to his first hangover, but it hadn’t been half as bad as Isabelle’s – who’d refused to leave her room for the entire next day. This had left Alec and Jace to do the cleaning, Alec with the diligence of an eldest son, and Jace with the meticulousness of having been raised by Valentine.

“That’s very decent of you,” Elaine says.

“Jace is a very neat guy,” Simon informs her. “He’s tidied our apartment like seven times over.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Simon here used to live in a messy version of the bat cave as a teenager.”

Jace pretends to understand that reference and laughs along.

“I don’t mind a little messy,” he says. “I just stress-clean.”

“Oh that’s not a bad coping mechanism to have,” Elaine chats on. “Since I’ve been sober, I started stress-eating and it’s getting noticeable.”

“Don’t even say that,” Jace disagrees, “you look lovely.”

Elaine pretends to wave this off and turns to Simon. “He’s a charmer,” she says.

Simon rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I know.”

Jace gives them his best charming grin and takes a sip of his tea.

Elaine looks him up and down approvingly. “So, you’re athletic, you work with children, you’re charming, you’re tidy – is there anything you’re bad at?”

Jace shrugs. “I can’t cook,” he says.

Again, Elaine laughs. Jace decides to like Simon’s mum.

“Yeah, and he speaks five languages, has read probably every book there is, and he plays the piano,” Simon supplies helpfully.

“Oh, don’t try that with me, that’s impossible!”

Jace gives a rueful smile. “I definitely haven’t read every book there is. But I’m only twenty-two, there’s still plenty of time for that.”

“You’re kidding,” Elaine says, “five languages?”

“And a little Ancient Greek,” Jace confirms.  

“Well, I suppose in a family of lawyers that’s not all too surprising. How many siblings do you have? One brother and a sister?”

“And another little brother, Max. He’s coming home from boarding school next week.”

“Oh, four children, that’s impressive. I barely managed to press out two of them,” Elaine says jokingly.

“Mum!” Simon buries his head in his hands.

Jace can’t help but laugh. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m adopted. So Maryse only had to do it thrice.”

This is dangerous territory. But Elaine just goes right past this, apparently seeing nothing unusual in this information. It’s been a while since anyone treated Jace’s upbringing as nothing unusual. It’s a refreshing.

“Becca gave me a lot of trouble as a teenager,” Elaine tells Jace. “We fought pretty much every day for three years. This one on the other hand,” she nods at Simon, “he was an angel. Only when he was younger, he used to be a little too lively. It was always such a hassle to get him to go to sleep, he always wanted to keep playing, or reading his comics.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah, big time. Nap time was almost impossible.”

Jace imagines a little Simon, with his glasses and his freckled nose, excitedly babbling on about some comic book. Somehow, this is unsurprising.

“When my sister was a teenager, she also used to fight with Maryse pretty much on a daily basis,” Jace recounts. “Alec was the good one, and I sort of slipped by any trouble without great difficulties. I haven’t seen Max in a while, but he used to be like you said, always so engulfed in his mangas and whatnot, impossible to calm down.”

“He’ll grow out of that. Simon here did. As a teenager he was very approachable, always helping out around the house. I couldn’t get Becca to do the washing up if I tried. Children… What wonderful, infuriating creatures,” Elaine says.

Jace grins in agreement. At work, he’s quickly learned that teenagers are both the most difficult and most loveable human beings in the world. He wouldn’t mind having some of his own one day, with Simon by his side. Adopt some from shitty home situations, like the Lightwoods did with him. A whole minivan full of them.

Judging by the look in Simon’s eyes, he’s thinking the same thing. It makes Jace’s heart attempt a double backflip.

Later that day, they’re staying at Simon’s. They usually stay at Simon’s. Jace has come to realize that he himself doesn’t like his apartment anymore. He prefers curling up next to Simon on his bed, lazily running his fingers through his hair. Jace has never felt more at peace.

Simon was right about him, he’s never been particularly great with intimacy. By himself, Jace thinks that Starkweather had a point in his characterization of him. But that doesn’t mean that things have to stay that way. He knows that now.

Jace turns his face to look at Simon, who’s gazing right back at him, glasses askew. Gently, Jace pushes them back up his nose and plants a swift kiss on his lips. The electrifying feeling of kissing Simon never goes away. He’ll still be kissing him like this at a hundred years old and it’ll still make his heart race then.

When he says it, it’s not difficult to get across at all. It’s as easy as breathing.

“I love you,” he whispers.

Simon’s eyes widen and he gives Jace a shocked look, like he hadn’t anticipated this at all. He opens his mouth to say something back, but Jace is quicker.

He says, “Don’t. I don’t want you to tell me anything just because I said that. I needed to tell you because I needed you to know. I need you to know how fucking much I love you.

“You know, they tell you to look for the light, and out of a sudden, there you were, stunning, illuminating everything I never knew I wanted. You lit up my whole world, like a firecracker, like the sun in a Scandinavian winter. And I was suddenly living a life I’d never even thought possible, and there you were, right at the centre of my universe.

“And I love you. I love you in a way I never expected to be capable of. I mean, I thought I was happy before. But you did something to me. You changed me. Since I’ve met you, I’ve realized that happiness means so much more than what I thought it did. And now that I do love you, I don’t think I will ever be able to not love you again. And I don't want to ever be able to not love you.

“I know I’m still completely fucked in the head, and I know I still have to deal with that. It doesn’t go away. But I think the reason I don’t want to be the man Starkweather made me out to be, is because I can’t stand the thought of that man being around you. You deserve better. So, I’m going to be better.

“I know I can be. You’ve taught me that. I just need you to know that what I feel for you is permanent. Immovable. I love you like I have never done anything else in my life, and I never want to do anything other than keep loving you.

“I love the way you talk when you get excited, with your entire body buzzing, your hands slicing through the air.  I love the way you get lost in the music sometimes when you play, and how you chew on your lips when you’re concentrating. I love that you love your friends and family like that love is a vital organ you need to function. I love how you never back away from what scares you, even when or especially when you are really fucking scared.

“You’ve made me appreciate these tiny stupid things, like your diabetes cocktails, or those shows you watch, or just the way your hand fits into mine. And most importantly, you’ve made me want to share this appreciation with you. It’s infuriating. I want you to know about everything I do, everything I ever did, because any of it only matters if you know.”

Jace takes a deep breath. He can feel his hand trembling. Simon leans in to kiss him, and Jace relishes it with every fibre of his body.

“You are a charmer,” Simon whispers between kisses. “Such a terrible terrible charmer.”

“Well you knew what you were getting yourself into,” Jace jokes.

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“How about I show you how much I love you then?” Jace asks. His voice is thick with want.

Simon pulls him on top of himself and arches his back when Jace traces kisses down the side of his jaw.

“Go on then,” he says, “show me.”

So, Jace does.

Chapter Text

Max is a whirlwind.

Simon isn’t sure what he’d expected, but considering the fact that Alec’s resting face is a frown and Isabelle is a bad ass bitch, he’d anticipated a teenage version of them, maybe a bit haughty in the defensive, performative way most teenagers are.

Max is the opposite of that. When they get to the Lightwood’s house, he rushes past his parents to throw himself at Jace, practically tackling him with a hug.

“Oh God,” Jace huffs, “little Maxy’s fucking massive. What were you up to biceps boy?”

Max grins wildly and flexes, and Jace makes a show out of it, hooting in approval.

“Iz says we should train together,” he announces proudly.

“Well, if Iz says that who am I to object,” Jace says and goes in to ruffle his brother’s hair.

“You owe me,” Max explains earnestly, “after all you kept the whole fucking trial thing from me.”

Maryse interjects, “Language, young man. Just because your brother uses certain words in abundance doesn’t mean you have to copy everything he does. And keeping the trial a secret was my idea, don’t blame Jace.”

Max turns to his mother, pretending to be outrage, but it seems to Simon that there is some underlying truth to this sentiment. “No one in this family ever tells me anything,” he complains with an exaggerated sigh.

“Maxwell, be nice,” Maryse says sternly.

Max rolls his eyes hard enough to see into the inside of his head and turns to Simon. “So you’re Jonathing’s boyfriend?”

“Uh, yeah,” Simon says eloquently. Jace must be really enamoured with his little brother if he doesn’t object to this horrible nickname.

“Max, this is Simon,” Jace says, interlocking his fingers with Simon’s. “Simon - Max.”

“Nice to meet you,” Max says agreeably. “God, am I the only straight one left in this family? That means I’ll have to have all the babies for mum to get her grandchildren. Or are you guys going to adopt? I’ve been trying to get Alec and Magnus to adopt so I can babysit and be an uncle, but they keep putting it off till after the wedding or something.”

Simon can’t help but grin at the red flush in Jace’s cheeks.

“Max, run inside and lay the table, will you,” Maryse says, exasperated.

Again, Max rolls his eyes, but he obliges and disappears inside the house. Maryse greets Simon with a pleasant smile.

“We’ve met,” she says, “but let me introduce myself properly. I’m Maryse, Jace’s mum. It’s very nice to meet you, Simon, I’m glad you could come.”

“Thank you for the invitation, it’s nice to meet you too,” Simon says, shaking her outstretched hand.

Jace goes in to hug her, and they move inside, Maryse leading them into the dining room. As she walks, she continues, “Unfortunately Robert’s stuck at work, so it’ll be only me and the children, and Magnus of course.”

Behind her back, Jace mouths to Simon, “As always.”

Simon isn’t surprised. According to Jace, Robert Lightwood is very much a background character in his children’s lives. Apparently, Jace doesn’t mind, but he told Simon that he assumes especially Alec does. There had been some tension around his sexuality initially, and Jace says that Alec never really forgave him for that.

Simon thinks that’s fair enough. He doesn’t remember much of his own father, so father-son dynamics as a concept are generally a bit of a mystery to him. Jace on the other hand has a low threshold for what he thinks constitutes good parenting, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t mind Robert’s chronical absence.

Isabelle comes sauntering in, rolling her eyes in the same way Max does. It must be the trademarked Lightwood eyeroll.

“The little asshole won’t let me into the kitchen,” she says by way of greeting. She gives both Jace and Simon a hug.

Jace says, “Smart kid. He knows you’ll manage to ruin a meal just by proximity to the ingredients.” To Simon, he adds, “Izzy’s a notoriously terrible cook.”

“That’s bullshit,” she says. “I like being adventurous with my food, you all are just boring.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Izzy ignores Jace and takes a seat across from Simon. “Max has been obsessed with Jace since day one,” she tells him, “So whenever they’re in the same place, they both become even more insufferable.”

“Oh come on, that’s not true,” Jace says lightly, but he gives Simon a conspiratory smirk. “It’s a little bit true,” he stage-whispers.

Simon laughs. “That’s what Becca used to say about Clary and I.”

“Oh you and Clary don’t compare,” Isabelle assures him.

Jace’s smirk widens. “You would say that.”

“Shut up,” Isabelle shoots back at him, followed by a quick glance in Maryse’s direction, as if to check she hasn’t caught on. Jace is visibly enjoying himself.

He’s been in particularly good spirits ever since his confession a couple nights ago. Just thinking about it makes Simon’s face heat up, his heartbeat flutter in his chest. He’d wanted to say it back right then and there, but Jace’s insistence on Simon not saying anything right away and the following earthshattering sex had kind of prevented him from doing so. Now, he’s just desperately waiting for the right moment.

He's also not sure how he’ll ever be able to match the speech Jace had made. For someone who struggles so much with vulnerability, the man can make a fucking speech. Simon can’t remember ever having someone tell him anything remotely as heart-wrenchingly romantic.

He snaps back to the present when Max comes into the dining room, claiming a seat opposite to Jace. He is followed by Alec and Magnus who go through the introductory motions with bright smiles and glowing eyes. You can tell that the wedding is coming up soon.

Alec gives Simon a cordial smile, which for Alec pretty much means he’s accepted Simon into the family. He hands him a fancy looking envelope.

“Your official invitation,” he explains. “Sorry it’s on such short notice.”

Simon grins at him. “Thanks man.”

He recognizes Jace’s neat handwriting and leans over to press a kiss to his cheek. Jace squeezes his hand under the table.

Max starts digging into his food. He says, “I’m thinking about going to law school.”

Maryse beams at him. “That’s great honey. Just keep your grades up and it’lll be no problem at all.”

Izzy furrows her brow. “Are you sure you wanna be stuck with these law school stuck ups?” she asks.

“Hey,” Alec protests half-heartedly.

“Jace, say something,” Izzy urges.

“Well, if you still want to get those tattoos, maybe you should consider…” Jace starts, but he is interrupted by Maryse’s reaction.

“What tattoos? Isabelle Sophia Lightwood, don’t tell me you tattooed your underage brother -”

“Relax mum, we’ve just been talking about it.” She very noticeably kicks at Jace under the table. Jace just grimaces.

“You know I was already sceptical when you started with Alexander,” Maryse says.

“Mum,” Alec chimes in. “It’s fine. Max can decide for himself when he’s eighteen.”

Max does another beautifully executed eyeroll. “I’m practically an adult,” he says. “Besides, I mainly want to go into law because otherwise I’ll never get to see the inside of a courtroom, especially if you keep not telling me things!”

“Maxwell. We’ve talked about this. Your brother’s trial was not a fun outing you were left out of. It was -”

“- serious business, yeah, I got it. I still would have wanted to be there to support him!”

“Thanks Max,” Jace says amicably. “I appreciate it.”

“You should have told me!” Max repeats vehemently.

Jace and Maryse exchange a look. It’s Alec who says, “Honestly, you should be glad that you weren’t there. It was awful.”

“Nonsense, honey, you did amazing,” Magnus says reassuringly.

“I agree,” Maryse says. “You did a fine job, Alexander.”

“Jesus, can we stop with the trial talk?” Isabelle asks. “Some of us are trying to eat here. Besides you’re going to bore Simon to death. Not to mention me.”

Simon attempts a smile. “It’s alright,” he says. To Max, he says, “Jace tells me you’re into manga?”

His whole face lights up. “Yeah, I mean, I like them. Do you?”

“Oh, big time,” Simon replies. “I’m still behind on Attack on Titan.”

“Oh my god, you gotta catch up. It’s so good! So, get this, Eren is actually -”

“Hey, no spoilers,” Simon says and jokingly reaches to cover his ears.

Max grins. “Okay, okay, fair enough. But you need to tell me when you’ve caught up. I need someone to rant to!”

Isabelle gives Simon a sympathetic look. “Now you’ve done it,” she says. “He’ll hunt you down if you don’t get on that titan stuff immediately.”

“It’s Attack on Titan!” Max exclaims, outraged.

“Shingeki no Kyojin,” Simon agrees. Max gives him an approving nod. “Exactly,” he says.

Isabelle just shakes her head in defeat.

“Actually,” Jace says conversationally, “did you now that in Ancient Greece, they thought the titans were the children of a union of the earth and the sky? According to Hesiod, one of them was tasked with holding up the sky forever by the gods, because otherwise -”

He receives a collective groan from his three siblings. “Show-off,” Isabelle mutters.

“It’s Japanese, not Ancient Greece,” Max tells Jace. The latter just shrugs.

“It’s a cool story,” he says. Simon feels for him. He says, “It absolutely is, babe.”

This time, Max’s eyeroll is accompanied by a roll of his entire head, presumably for emphasis.

The rest of the dinner continues on like that, the siblings bickering, teaming up against each other, with Maryse’s occasional interference, and Magnus and Simon exchanging amused looks.

Afterwards, they all help with the cleaning up, and Simon somehow finds himself alone in the kitchen with Maryse, drying plates as she does the washing up. There is a functional dishwasher, so Simon assumes that she got him here on purpose. He steels himself for what’s to come.

“I’m glad to see Jace so happy,” she says after a moment of silence, only disrupted by the sound of clinking dishes and running water. “You’re good for him.”

Simon doesn’t know how to respond to that. Luckily, Maryse continues, “Especially since the trial, we’ve all been worrying. I’ve been worrying. No mother should be able to pick favourites, but I care about Jace’s happiness, maybe even more so than the rest of my children’s, simply because he has had so much of it taken away from him. When he first came to New York…” she trails off and straightens herself a little.

“Well, you were at the trial. You saw the evidence. That man… No child deserves to be treated that way. It took almost a whole year to convince him Robert and I weren’t going to hit him. Ever.”

Simon feels a lump forming in his throat. He’d known this of course, but still, hearing it from the woman who raised Jace somehow makes it worse, makes it more real.

“He’s always been more withdrawn than the rest of them, understandably so. He refused to see a therapist. I think Judge Penhallow was right to assign him the therapy sessions. He’s been self-destructive for years, and I failed to find a way to help him.”

She manages to make every word sound like a neutral statement, just factual observations, but Simon can tell how much it pains her to say these things out loud.

“I care about Jace’s happiness,” she says again. “And you seem to make him very happy. I greatly appreciate that. I haven’t always been the best mother, but I’ve always taken care of my children and I have no intention of stopping now.”

Simon doesn’t miss the implicit message: Hurt Jace, and I’ll make you regret it. He swallows against the uneasy feeling.

“I understand,” he replies. “I care about Jace’s happiness as well.”

Maryse gives him a curt smile. “I thought so,” she says. “Thank you for your help, Simon, I’ll finish the rest.”

This is a dismissal. Simon returns her smile and leaves her to it. He’s still feeling a little queasy when he finds Jace on the terrace, having a smoke. Alec and Max are throwing a football around, and Izzy and Magnus are absorbed in conversation.

“Hey,” Jace says, slinging an arm around Simon’s waist.

“Hey yourself,” Simon shoots back. “Your mum is one scary, scary woman.”

Jace laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh don’t worry about her. She’s protective, that’s all. Magnus practically had to undergo a whole trial when he proposed to Alec.”

Simon shivers at the thought. Ten minutes alone with Maryse Lightwood in the kitchen had been enough for him.

“I get it,” he says. “She’s looking out for you. It would be sweet if it weren’t so…”

“Scary?”

“Intense.”

“Fair enough. Now you know where Alec gets it from.”

“Yeah, Alec. Because you’re such a laidback person,” Simon teases.

“Hey, my intensity is all my own. It’s part of my sparkling personality,” Jace says earnestly, and Simon snorts.

“Don’t go all Twilight on me now.”

Jace grins. “I actually know that one. Glittery vampires. Izzy made me watch it when she was fourteen and obsessed with supernatural creatures.”

“You’re kidding. You don’t know Star Wars, but you’ve seen Twilight? That’s so embarrassing for you.”

Jace laughs again. “It wasn’t voluntarily.”

“I don’t know if that really makes it better,” Simon mutters.

Jace pulls him in, so they’re face to face, arms still wrapped around Simon’s waist. They’re swaying to their own rhythm in the balmy air of the summer evening. It smells of roses and freshly cut grass, and Simon takes Jace’s face in his hands, caressing his cheek.

In the light of the low hanging sun his golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes, seem luminescent, smouldering softly, almost emanating warmth. Simon presses his body against Jace’s and then nuzzles his own head into the crook of his neck.

Jace holds him tightly, strong arms enveloping him. Simon can hear his heartbeat, the steady rhythm the backdrop to their slow wavering.

Jace’s voice is hoarse in Simon’s ear as he whispers, “I want to show you something.”

Simon looks up at him in anticipation. Jace takes him by the hand and leads him to a room on the ground floor opposite the dining room. The door swings open, revealing a grand piano at the centre of the room. Simon feels himself starting to grin.

“You’re going to play for me?” he asks, barely containing his giddy excitement.

“Only if you ask me nicely,” Jace says, but he’s still smiling.

Simon bats his eyelashes at him. “Pretty please?”

Jace’s smile widens into a grin. “How could I refuse,” he says and sits down on the bench.

He delicately places his fingers on the keys. They’re slender, despite the unnatural formation of his left hand, slender but strong, the fingers of a born pianist. He lets his head hang low, his curls obscuring his face.

And then, he starts to play.

The music starts slow, a gentle trickling of notes, that lure Simon in, almost unnoticeably. It makes him think of a garden in spring, cherry blossom trees, flowers starting to bloom in the crisp air of still lingering winter.

Then, it shifts, gradually swelling into something more majestic, thundering scales and clear ringing bells, a ceremonial moment, revelation, celebration. The moment is brief, and soon disrupted by dissonance.

While the previous theme was building a monument, this new one shows it crumbling, devastating and heartbreakingly beautiful. What is left is the aftermath, bliss and sorrow and nostalgic memory of something that is irretrievably gone.

The music ends, and Simon realises that he’s crying. There are no sobs, just silent tears dripping down his face.

Jace looks up at him, and his expression turns to shock. He jumps up to take Simon in his arms and Simon just manages to shake his head.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Jace asks, voice thick with concern.

“I’m fine,” Simon croaks out, “I don’t know why… Jesus, Jace. What the fuck. That was beautiful.”

Jace lets out a nervous laugh. “If I’d known it’d have that effect on you, I would have played for you on our first date,” he says.

“No piano in the café,” Simon snorts. He’s caught between crying and laughing.

Now Jace is chuckling too. He buries his face in Simon’s hair, murmuring to him. Simon sniffs and then abruptly takes a step back.

“I need to do something,” he says. Jace’s features twist with confusion.

Simon clears his throat. “I need to say something,” he reiterates. Before Jace can interject, he quickly goes on, “I let you talk, now it’s my turn.”

Jace clamps his mouth shut.

“I think I’ve known for a while,” Simon says. “I think I was scared to admit it to myself, afraid that I might ruin what we have because in the past it always felt like I was all in with people who weren’t ready to be all in with me. But I know now, and it feels like I’ve always known.

“I love you,” he says simply, “and I’m not worried about losing you. I want us to grow old together, I want to see every version of you, and I want to love them all as much as I love you now. And I have absolute faith that I will, that we will spend whatever time we get together.”

Simon takes a shaky breath. “There,” he says, “that’s all I’ve got.”

Jace is looking at him with an earnest expression. Simon realizes that this is him struggling for words. So, he reaches out to him, pulls him in, kisses him like he plans on doing for the next decades to come. And Jace kisses him back, fully, unabashedly.

When he breaks away, he whispers, “I want all of that. I’m all in with you, Simon Lewis. And just for the record I plan on living to a full hundred years, so you better keep up with me. And I want kids. Like half a football team at least.”

Simon bursts out laughing. “Is that all?” he asks.

Jace gives him a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry,” he says, “I’ll think of more.”

Chapter Text

The day of the wedding dawns with the bright yellow summer sun. Jace wakes slowly, not like jerking out of a bad dream at all, but more like drifting back to the surface of his consciousness. He’s in Simon’s bed, comfortably snuggled up beside him.

Jace yawns and stretches his body. The early morning sunlight is shining in through the window, tracing patterns on Simon’s skin. Jace lazily trails them with his fingers.

Simon stirs as well, mumbling into the pillow. Jace feels a grin forming on his face. For the first time in a long time, he thinks that life is good.

They have breakfast together with Clary, who is running on willpower and espresso shots, and stressing about her dress which apparently is the wrong shade of green. Simon and Jace, each with their own cup of cappuccino with caramel syrup on top, sip their coffee and share amused glances.

“It’s going to look horrible,” she says, “Izzy and I’ll look like Christmas ornaments standing next to each other.”

Jace arches an eyebrow, but Clary ignores him, going on about the distinction between pine green and evergreen. Simon finally manages to calm her down, claiming that no one other than herself is going to be able to tell the distance. Jace knows that Magnus certainly will, but he doesn’t think that he’ll care, today of all days.

“I guess,” Clary says miserably. “Izzy is wearing ruby, so maybe it won’t be Christmas, but it’ll suck anyways.”

“Izzy prides herself in being able to pull off anything,” Jace supplies. “And, as a matter of fact, so do I.”

“Well you can wear my disaster of a dress then,” Clary retorts.

“I would, gladly. But I don’t want to outshine my brother on his wedding they. That’d be in bad taste”, Jace explains earnestly.

Clary just scoffs as Simon snickers.

“Easy for you to say,” she mutters, “no one will be trying to put you on a Christmas tree.”

As it turns out, nothing about Clary’s dress can be described as disastrous. Even Jace has to admit that she is gorgeous, with her green eyes shining, elevated by the dark green colour of the dress.

Simon is looking even more handsome in his suit, and Jace moves in to fix his tie, which gets him a grin and a kiss on the nose. He himself is wearing a dark shade of red as well, since as bridesmaid and best man, he and Izzy are supposed to be matching.

He knows that Alec and Magnus are both wearing white, but unfortunately neither wanted to wear a classic wedding dress. Jace would have loved to see Alec in one of those.

When they get to the venue, it’s chaos. It’s a cute little outdoor venue upstate, with an unobstructed view of the Berkshire Mountains, a pavilion for the ceremony and otherwise raw open space that is currently crowded with bustling caterers and people setting up sound systems.

Maryse rushes past them on the phone, yelling something about shrimps cocktails, and Robert is talking agitatedly at a group of servers. Jace leaves Simon and Clary to wander around and check out the place and goes to find his siblings in the main building.

Alec is pacing, which isn’t unusual, but still doesn’t seem the right thing to do on one’s wedding day. Isabelle greets Jace with a relieved sigh and immediately hurries off to talk to Magnus. Max is sprawled out in an armchair and, without looking up from his phone says, “Welcome to the drama.”

Jace goes to give Alec a short hug. “What’s going on?” he asks.

Alec throws his hands in the air. “Nothing!” he says a bit too vehemently.

Jace looks over at Max who translates, “Magnus is freaking out about some makeup business and mum has decided the catering isn’t up to her standard and trying to get them to make last minute changes.”

Jace gives him a grateful nod and turns back to Alec. “You okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. I’m good. I just want to get married, is that too much to ask? I don’t give a fuck about appetizers and hors d'oeuvres and whatever the fuck not. I just want to get married.”

He’s gesturing wildly as he talks, which Jace takes as a sign of the pent-up stress of the past few months.

“Not having any second thoughts?” he jokes. Alec glares at him.

“No,” he says with emphasis. “Why does everybody think -”

“I was just asking because I could perform an impromptu dance routine for the guests if you were to change your mind. I’m very flexible,” Jace tells him.

Alec looks physically torn between annoyance and amusement, and finally settles for a snort of laughter.

“Thanks,” he says, “but you should keep that in your back pocket for another time.”

“Hey, just giving you all the options. What’s wrong with Magnus exactly? Anything I can do?”

Alec shakes his head. “Nothing’s wrong. He’s just a perfectionist. But I’m sure Izzy’ll be able to talk him down. She’s been on edge more than I am for some fucking reason.”

“Might have something to do with Clary? Their first official outing together? Kinda a debut thing, I guess. Clary’s been stressing about nothing the entire morning.”

Alec gives a weak grin. “That’ll do it,” he says. “Finally.”

Jace hums in agreement. He’s decided that Clary is a great fit for his sister. The only people who haven’t realized that they make a perfect pair are Clary and Isabelle themselves.

Jace gives Alec a once over and concludes, “You look dapper.”

“Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

Max groans from his spot in the armchair. “We’re all handsome and happy and ready to go. Someone tell mum and dad to cool it.”

“I’ll handle it,” Jace assures Alec. “Text me if there’s anything else I can do.”

Alec gives him a grateful smile and Jace heads out to face his parents. They’re absorbed in a discussion about the seating arrangements in the pavilion when he approaches them.

Jace gives Maryse a kiss on the cheek and says, “Alec is excited, Magnus is getting the Izzy treatment, everything is fine. What are you still worried about?”

“I’m just thinking that we shouldn’t have put the Verlacs and the Blackthorns together. And the caterers are a nightmare, and -”

“I told you,” Robert says, “it was a mistake to hire a firm with their resumé.”

Jace holds up his hands in an attempt to be appeasing. “It’s all fine,” he says. “You two should not be worrying about this kind of stuff today. Let me deal with the caterers. The Blackthorns and the Verlacs will get along.”

Maryse opens her mouth to protest, but Jace just repeats, “I’ll handle it. Alec is losing his nerves over you two losing your nerves. Let’s not make the groom any more nervous than he needs to be, shall we?”

That seems to hit home. He leaves his parents to find their seats and pushes past the arriving guests to find a caterer to talk to. He’s not even sure what about. The important thing is that Maryse sees him dealing with it.

Max appears from inside the main building and runs up to Jace. “Your boyfriend is looking for you.”

“Is he?”

“Well, he didn’t say so, but I saw him wandering around looking lost, so I figured you should go find him.”

Jace tries to ruffle Max’s hair, but his little brother dodges his hand.

“When did you become such a little shit stirrer?” he asks. Maryse is out of sight and Jace decides to just let the caterers do their thing.

“I’m not. So, are you going to marry Simon?” he asks without missing a beat.

Jace blinks in surprise but can’t contain the smile spreading on his face.

“Sure,” he says, “one day. I’m planning to.”

“Awww, you’re whipped,” Max deduces. Jace gives him a friendly shove and tells him to go find his parents, then heads back to the main building.

Simon is standing in the hallway alone, seemingly strenuously contemplating the decorations. Jace comes up behind him.

“Hey stranger,” he says.

Simon startles, then leans back to let Jace kiss him. “Clary disappeared with Izzy,” he tells him. “I honest to God do not want to know what they’re getting up to. How’s Alec?”

“The only one holding it together, unsurprisingly. Max is getting ready to plan our wedding, by the way. Just FYI.”

“Jesus,” Simon snorts. “I better get my legs waxed.”

“What?”

“Oh I thought you wanted us to wear dresses. I heard you can pull off anything.”

Jace snickers. “And I’ll do it while proudly showing off my leg hair,” he declares.

“Please, you barely have any,” Simon teases.

“That’s just blatantly untrue. It’s just blond.”

They make their way back down to the pavilion hand in hand, where they meet Clary and Isabelle, both looking a bit more dishevelled than they did the last time Jace saw them.

“I fixed Maryse and Robert,” Jace tells Isabelle, who’s still coming her hair with her fingers. Clary wipes a lipstick stain from her cheek and Izzy blushes.

“I fixed Magnus,” she says without meeting Jace’s eyes.

Jace exchanges a glance with Simon who mouths, “Quickie,” at him from behind Clary and Izzy’s backs. Jace grimaces.

“We ready to go?” he asks.

Isabelle nods. “Yeah. Everyone’s ready.”

The ceremony is beautiful. Magnus and Alec come walking down the aisle together, radiant in their pearl white suits. Jace stands in his designated best man spot and hands out the rings to them. Magnus goes first.

He says, “I have loved you for a while now Alexander, and every day I wake up in astonishment at how much I love you more than I did the day before. I have never met another person that is as understanding, as caring, as level-headed in the most stressful situations, as gentle with the ones you love, as you are. You have such a wonderful mind, and I am grateful to get to spend the rest of my life with you. You are marvellous, inside, and out. I know that I will always be able to rely on you, and I will cherish this, cherish you every day for the rest of our lives. Everything that’s mine shall be yours as well. I love you, Alexander. This is the happiest day of my life.”

Jace’s eyes find Simon’s, and the intensity that passes between them makes him shiver.

Alec says, “I’m not a man of many speeches, but I will try for you. I have been in love with you since the moment I met you. You have brought light and beauty, adventure, and solace into my life. In the last few months, when it seemed like everything was threatening to overwhelm me, you have been my rock, my lucky star, my guiding hand. You are extraordinary, Magnus Bane, and I am the luckiest man in the world to be able to make you my husband. I love you. And I am grateful to get the chance to continue loving you for the rest of our lives.”

Jace feels his eyes burning and discreetly turns to wipe a stray tear or two away. Two months ago, he would not have believed that he’d ever get to live to see this moment. It had seemed so impossibly far away.

But now that the weight has been lifted off his shoulders, he finds that he must be almost as happy as Alec and Magnus are today.

Later, they’re sitting together, Magnus, Alec, Izzy, Clary, Simon and Jace, with Maryse, Robert and Max at the other end of the table. Jace rises from his seat and clinks a spoon against his champagne flute. He clears his throat.

“As Alec’s best man, I get the pleasure of giving a little speech of my own,” he says, “and you all get the pleasure of listening to me speak, so it’s a win-win situation.”

Easy laughter moves through the crowd. From across the table, Alec is grinning up at him. Even Magnus looks uncharacteristically amused.

“Now, I’ve known Alec for about twelve years. We grew up together and it’s safe to say that he has saved my life on several occasions. I am beyond proud I get to call him my brother, and beyond thankful for his unwavering support throughout the years, and especially in the past few months.

“Before I came to New York, I didn’t know what it’s like to have a family. Thanks to you, Alec, I do know it now, and even though you may be a grumpy old man and a snitching older brother at times, I wouldn’t change it for the world.

“When Alec and Magnus first met, I have to admit, I was a bit sceptical, as every good protective brother has to be. But it became clear to me almost immediately that these two were made for each other. Magnus has brought out my brother’s adventurous side, he makes him laugh, and most importantly, he makes him the happiest I’ve ever seen him. I truly, from the bottom of my heart, wish the two of you all the happiness in the world.

“On a more personal - and a little selfish note - I also would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you, Magnus, for being a constant nuisance in your day-to-day life. I also want to thank the both of you for putting up with the drama, the late-night rides to the ER, and all my other wonderful quirks.

“When we were little, Alec always wanted to marry one of the supermodels from Isabelle’s magazines. He didn’t say so, but he spent enough time reading them, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I’d say in marrying you, Magnus, he pretty much achieved his goal.”

Jace can’t help but look at Simon again, just for a split second, and when he goes on, his voice sounds different in his own ears, almost ceremonial, “The two of you were made for each other, and I am honoured I got to witness you on your journey thus far and will get to witness your journey from here on out. Your love is transcendent. And I, for my part, have been inspired by it.”

He gets a healthy dose of applause for his speech, but his sole focus is on Simon, who is smiling so wide his cheeks must hurt. Jace sits back down, and leans in to kiss him, long and hard.

When he comes back up, he catches Magnus wiping away a tear, and Alec actually comes over to wrap him into a bone crushing hug.

“You sap,” Izzy says accusingly, rubbing makeup all over her face with the back of her hand.

Jace grins at her. “Once every two years the sap in me comes out,” he says.

Simon nudges him. “Bullshit,” he says, “he’s been all sappy for days.”

“Aw, I didn’t take you for the romantic type,” Clary jokes.

Jace tries to take this in stride. “Hey, what can I say, I have hidden depths.”

“Not very hidden apparently,” Clary shoots back.

They spent the day like that, eating, drinking, bickering. Alec and Magnus have their first dance, and soon after, Izzy pulls Clary onto the dancefloor. Jace turns to Simon only to find him wiggling his brows at him.

“Dance with me?” he asks. Simon takes his outstretched hand.

“It would be my pleasure.”

It’s a slow song, and they’re swaying to the music, bodies pressed together closely.

“I love you,” Simon whispers in Jace’s ear.

Jace is smiling to himself. “I love you too.”

The next song is quicker, more upbeat, and soon they’re dancing together in a circle, Clary pulling off slightly odd moves, and Isabelle swinging her hips to the beat. Magnus and Alec are still tightly wrapped around each other, despite the sever change in genre. Simon and Jace are having a dance battle.

At some point, they steal away from the crowds, into the dark garden only lit by lampions and starlight. They find a bench with a great view of the sky above, a sea of stars usually drowned out by the city lights. Jace pulls Simon into his lap, and they stay like this for a long, long while.

“You know,” he says, “for a while I thought I’d never be able to feel like this.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Happy.”

Simon looks into his eyes and asks, “Are you?”

“Yeah,” Jace whispers. “You make me happy.”

Simon’s lips curl into a smile. “You make me happy too, Jace Lightwood.”

Jace kisses him then, long and deep, breathing in his scent, aftershave and ground coffee. They’ve both had the most sugary cocktail the bar could offer, so the kiss is sweet, almost unbearably so. Jace never wants to taste anything else ever again.

“I love you,” he says again. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of saying it.

He thinks of their future together, lazy mornings at Simon’s place, concerts, and nights out with the others, falling asleep in Simon’s arms. He thinks of their own apartment, some time in the future, a place that is as lived in as Simon’s apartment now, where they can drown their coffees in caramel, maybe write some music together, get a dog.

He pulls back to take in Simon, a silhouette against the dark sky, moonlight in his hair.

Simon, who’d barrelled into his life with so much bravery and kindness, who’d swept Jace off his feet. Simon, whom Jace has learned to love more than anything else he’s ever known.

Behind him, Jace catches a glimpse of a shooting star, but he’s got nothing else to wish for.

After everything, Jace feels at peace.