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I (Rejection)
It might seem far-fetched, but after all the trials and tribulations of her relationship with Jace, there was nothing in Clary Fairchild’s life that had ever chafed at her more than the persistent awkwardness that she now felt around him. After years of blissful partnership, of love and laughter and ease, they had reverted back to their teenage selves - having stilted conversations, and moving around each other with a lack of the comfort and assuredness that they’d possessed since the end of the war. It was like a bruise that someone kept rubbing on, reminding her constantly of the way she had hurt him. Clary shouldn’t really have expected anything different, though - how else was one supposed to act when their marriage proposal was turned down? She can't blame him for being hurt, but she longs for the peaceful days of a couple weeks ago, when Jace was secure in the knowledge that she loved him.
How was she supposed to tell him that she knew, with absolute certainty, that she was about to die. She didn’t know how, and she didn’t know why, but the image that haunted her in her dreams was unequivocally real. Red hair splashed like a stain against dull sand, mixing with the crimson blood leaking from her chest. The glint of white bone in the sun, the pallor of her face, the flat lifelessness of her eyes - it was a snapshot of her future.
Of course, any and all attempts Clary made to stop thinking about it were thwarted, because it visited her every night as she slept, taunting her. Her nightmares were mocking and cruel, and the wind whispered in her ear as it blew sand over her dead body: you’ve been a fool, Clary Fairchild, to think this happiness would last, to think you would be allowed to keep that golden boy lying next to you.
Suffice to say, the golden boy lying next to her was none the wiser. She wakes up in cold sweats almost every night, terrified that Jace will open his eyes and see right through her. But he sleeps on, oblivious and at peace, just as heart wrenchingly beautiful as he always has been. And almost every night Clary pulls the covers back up and works her way into his tired arms, breathing in the heady smell of him, letting it fill up her mind like a drug until all she can think about is Jace.
Sometimes he does notice when she wakes up at midnight, petrified or crying or scared, and that’s when she feels the worst, because that’s when she has to lie. He’ll pull her close and tell her that she is safe, and the moment he asks Clary what her nightmare was about, she spouts off some bullshit about Sebastian or her father. Raziel knows she has a laundry list of traumatic experiences to pick from, and Jace always takes them at face value. He never questions it, because nightmares are common enough for the two of them, and how is he supposed to guess that what’s really troubling her is the recurring image of her soon-to-be dead body.
So she had been stuck with two options: marry Jace, die, leave him a widower and shatter his heart into a million pieces, or reject his proposal, die, and shatter his heart into a million pieces. The second one was a small comfort, but when it came down to it, there was no right answer. She’d been forced to choose, and she had decided to say no, because she couldn’t bear to have accepted his proposal and given him hope for a future that didn’t exist.
She was now asking him to trust that she had said no for a good reason, that she still loved him with every fiber of her being, but she just couldn’t marry him right now. And Jace - her perfect, brilliant, and bewildered Jace - had granted her that trust. All the same, things were getting very, very awkward.
II (The Seelie Court)
Clary stares in abject horror at the land inside the portal. It’s her worst nightmare come to life, and she thanks every God she can think of, Raziel be damned, that Jace has turned away at just the right moment. She hears herself strangle out a couple words, feels herself gripping Emma’s hand as the noise of the Seelie Court fades to a dull murmur in the back of her mind, and all she can register is that’s me, that’s me, that’s me. She thinks she says it out loud, too, because Emma turns and follows her line of sight.
Ten minutes later, though, she knows she isn’t going to die, and it is the most bittersweet victory of all, because Emma and Julian are in that world now, where the sun hangs dull in the sky, as dead as the Earth her body is buried in.
III (Interlude)
After Emma and Julian get back from Faerie, exhausted and broken, an explanation comes out, and Clary’s conviction is reaffirmed. She isn’t going to die, not anytime soon. But in some other world, she’s gone, and she has left Jace on his own to become the worst version of himself.
It is this part of Emma’s story, her description of Jace in Thule, that makes Clary’s need to tell him everything, the unfettered truth, more important than ever. He needs to know that she’ll be here with him until they’re old and gray and he’s begging her to finally kick the bucket.
Unfortunately, there’s a Cohort to defeat, a war council to plan, and one extremely sick Magnus Bane to take care of. On top of all of that, Clary doesn’t have the words to describe how sorry she is for saying no the first time, and she still has to process the joy coursing through her, secure in the knowledge that she now has the chance to beg him to forgive her, marry her, and live happily ever after with her, because damn it all if they don’t deserve that.
In the absence of an explanation, she does the next best thing (or perhaps the first best thing, depending on who you ask). She draws him into their room, after they’ve finished eating dinner with the rest of the LA Institute, and she locks the door, the look in his eyes telling her that he knows what is coming. That he’s missed it just as much as she has.
And she has missed it desperately, the sex. She had been anxiously awaiting her imminent death while they were in Faerie, and barring their intense and earth-shattering interlude the night before they were captured, it has been weeks since she’s had the pleasure of leisurely sex, with a bed and sheets, and the passionate, playful, achingly familiar feel of Jace’s body, pressed all along hers. Funnily enough, the Faerie prison had been cold, hard, and not at all conducive to intimacy.
She walks over to crack their window open. It looks out over the beach, and a cool ocean breeze blows into the room, the air smelling faintly of sea salt. She’s not surprised at all when the next thing out of Jace’s mouth is not the seductive, panty-dropping drawl she knows he’s capable of, but instead:
“You know, maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to shave off my beard. I feel like the Burnished Greek God vibe of it did wonders for my sex appeal.” His catlike grin has worked its way onto his face, and he’s examining himself in the small mirror on their wall, rubbing a hand over his jawline in mourning for his prison beard. She snorts and walks up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and laying her cheek against his back.
“We both know your sex appeal is in fine working condition, and you are absolutely forbidden from growing that beard back,” she says sternly. He turns in her arms, his golden eyes dancing with mischief and delight.
“Really?” He says, drawing out the vowels of the word until she knows what he’s going to say next. “Fine working condition? I feel like we have to test the validity of that theory immediately. What if you’re wrong, and I have no choice but to become a rugged and bearded kind of sexy, like Luke?”
Clary makes a noise of disgust. “Jace,” she whines out, “bringing up my stepfather and the word ‘sexy’ in the same sentence is just about the least seductive thing you could possibly have just done. Now your Sex Appeal points have definitely dropped into the negative territory.”
To Clary’s chagrin, this remark doesn’t seem to put out the shit eating grin on his face, and she knows she’s lost when he pulls her closer, his voice low and husky in her ear.
“Just give it time to start working, you’ll be on your knees soon enough.” For all the absolute certainty he says that with, she’s dimly amused to realize that after ten minutes of reacquainting her lips with his, he is the one on his knees, and she is the one feeling like a some sort of God, writhing against the sheets as he drives her to oblivion. When he’s done, he rises off the ground with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, eyes roving over her limp body. She breathes out the only words that come to mind.
“Yeah, definitely still working.”
IV (Explanation)
“You thought you were going to die?”
His voice is shaking, rough with emotion, and his eyes implore her to tell him that it isn’t true, that she has made this all up in an elaborate farce and she hasn’t really spent the past two months carrying the weight of it alone.
They’re in their tent in Brocelind Forest, sitting on a mountain of wonderfully soft blankets that Magnus has conjured out of nowhere. Clary hopes they’re from a Bed, Bath, and Beyond warehouse where nobody will miss them, but even if they aren’t, she is thankful for them now. The tent feels intimate and comfortable, and Clary can think of no better environment to finally explain herself.
“No, I didn’t think I was going to die, I knew I was going to die. If it was just a thought, then I would’ve told you, I swear,” she whispers, moving closer to him, pulling one of her hands from his grasp so she can lay it on his cheek. “I would’ve tried to fight it, or get to the bottom of it. But I was seeing myself dead every night, and I knew it wasn’t just a dream. It was so real.”
She is the one with suspiciously bright eyes, not Jace, but she skates her thumb across his cheek anyway, as if she is wiping away tears, and forges on.
“And I just couldn’t tell you when I knew there was nothing I could do to change it. I’d only be sentencing you to the same fate as me, knowing it was coming and not being able to do a thing about it. It would’ve been cruel.”
He finds his voice again, and it is with such a deep sadness that he says, “What’s cruel is that you’ve been living with this alone for months. All those nightmares you’ve been having? That night before we got captured? And I didn’t even realize anything was wrong, God-“ She cuts him off right there, before he can go down that ridiculous rabbit hole.
“No. No, Jace you cannot find a way to pin this on yourself. I didn’t want you to know. I-“ She pauses and realizes that one of the tears she’s been trying to hold back is snaking its way down her cheek, unbidden. She quickly wipes it away. “Don’t you see, though? It’s why I didn’t say yes, when you asked me to marry you. I didn’t want to leave you a widow. I didn’t want to get engaged and then die on you,” she says desperately. He winces at the word ‘died,’ like he can’t even bring himself to think about it.
He pulls her close to him, as close as he possibly can, burying his face in her hair. Even in the most dangerous, stressful, or intimate moments, it’s rare for Jace to be lost for words, but she seems to have done a number on him.
“I know why you did it,” he finally whispers into her ear. “I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
His hand starts rubbing slowly up and down her back in a way that always calms her down, and Clary finally lets herself relax. Jace knows what’s been haunting her for the past couple months, he knows that she loves him, and he knows that if things had been different, she would’ve said yes to his proposal in a heartbeat. It feels like the weight is finally off her chest, despite the fact that she has known where her nightmare was coming from for days now.
“So do you think if we have sex in this sleeping bag we can let Magnus send it back to wherever the it came from, or does that guarantee us a one way ticket to hell?”
She throws her head back and laughs loudly, and Jace has a proud smile on his face, like that had been exactly what he was aiming for, but before she can berate him he’s pulling her down on top of him, and she knows in her heart they’re going to be okay.
V (Family)
There is a certain lightness in his step that she hasn’t seen before. That isn’t to say she can’t remember Jace ever being happy, it’s just that he’s never been happy like this. There is a look on his face whenever Kit Herondale walks into a room, and it seems to say this is more than I could possibly have hoped for, this is more than I ever thought I would have. Clary knows Jace resigned himself to being the only Herondale left in the world a long time ago, and so had she, so it feels like a surreal experience, meeting a sarcastic, golden haired kleptomaniac that walks like Jace, talks like Jace, and has appeared out of absolutely nowhere. Clary can hardly believe the kid really exists.
She’s in the middle of brushing her teeth when Jace opens the bathroom door, a gleeful smile taking over his whole face.
“Kit just asked me to find a weapon for him,” he says, ignoring the toothbrush in her mouth that renders her incapable of responding to him. He leans against the door frame, and she tries to make a positive sounding noise from around the spearmint toothpaste. “I mean, he actually came to me! He said that since everyone else has a signature weapon, he wants help on finding one for himself. The thing is, he hasn’t exactly been trained yet, so that eliminates like half of the coolest weapons I can think of.”
Clary spits out her toothpaste and glances up into the mirror in front of her, seeing the reflection of Jace standing behind her. The delight he feels at having been asked for help by his new long-lost relative (cousin?) is palpable, and she feels a sudden outpouring of love and appreciation for Kit Herondale.
“You could give him the Herondale dagger,” she says, before leaning back down to rinse out her mouth. As she does so, she feels him come closer to her, and when she stands up in front of the mirror again, he’s right there. Suddenly she feels like that might have been a stupid suggestion. It’s the only possession Jace has that belonged to his Dad, he wouldn’t want to part with it.
She turns around, though, putting her palms on his chest, and relaxes. There is still a smile on his face, but it has turned softer, more adoring, and she knows it’s a smile reserved just for her. “It’s not really a permanent weapon, but it would be great while he’s doing basic training and figuring out what he’s good at. He can learn to throw it pretty easily, it doesn’t take much muscle mass, and knife-fighting in close quarters is a great skill to have.”
“How did I not think of that,” he says indulgently, leaning down to give her a kiss. Instead of going for her mouth, though, he puts his lips on her jawline, just to the left of her chin, whispering, “You missed a spot of toothpaste.”
She giggles and pulls his head back up, but he just plants another quick kiss on her cheek and begins pulling away.
“Where are you going?”
“I need to find the dagger, I think I put it in one of our bags,” he says over his shoulder as he walks back into their room.
She turns back to the mirror to begin washing her face, calling back, “It’s in your black bag, in the side pocket!”
“Clary, all of our bags our black.”
She laughs again, but two minutes later he locates the dagger and he’s heading back into the maze of the institute to find Kit. As she ties back her hair, she hears him yell from down the hall.
“You complete me, Clary Fairchild!”
VI (Nerves)
The cool wind coming off of the ocean blows her hair back from her face, and Clary knows it is sure to be in knots and tangles tomorrow. She’s grateful for it, though, as it cools the sweat on the back of her neck and helps to steel her nerves.
It isn’t as if he’s really likely to say no, she thinks to herself. It’s only the knowledge that he would have a very valid reason to that is causing her hands to shake. She had said no to him, initially, and who could blame Jace for being put off of the idea of marrying her after that.
Suddenly Izzie is snapping her fingers in front of Clary’s face, and she refocuses on the present.
“Clary, you are totally tuning me out rights now.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Clary gives what she hopes is a really apologetic smile.
“So you know how Simon is Jewish - or, he was Jewish? I guess technically he can’t be Jewish anymore because Shadowhunters have their own religion and everything, but lets be honest he’s still kinda Jewish. And I figured that we should pay homage to that during the ceremony or something, because it’s a fundamental part of him, but obviously I don’t know much about mundane religions, much less Jewish marriage traditions, if there even are any. I figured I’d ask you, because its easier than going to look it up, but clearly you can’t be bothered to listen.”
Her last remark is cutting, but Clary had long ago learned how to see beneath Izzie’s biting words to hear the genuine concern beneath. Izzie raises an eyebrow at her, confused, and Clary can’t blame her, considering they’re at one of the most beautiful and purely joyful events that they’ve had in months. There isn’t any conceivable reason that Clary should be stressed out right now, and she tries to erase the obvious nerves from her face so that she won’t have to explain that she’s about to propose to Jace and potentially get turned down.
She’s saved by the call of Alec’s voice from up the beach.
“Clary,” he yells. “Come get your man. I think he’s falling asleep.”
She and Isabelle both turn to where Jace and Alec are laying in the sand, and a smile breaks onto her face at the sight of them. Ragnor’s fireworks are illuminating their bronzed skin, and Jace’s gold and blue suggenes jacket is making him look devastatingly handsome in the dying light. Alec, siting up on his elbows, is utterly happy and at peace in a way that she has never seen him. It’s practically rolling off of him in waves, and it does wonders for Clary’s nerves, reminding her that all the stress will be worth it if it means that one day soon she’ll get to see Jace looking like that - newlywed and happier than ever before.
As she turns to make her way over to the boys, Isabelle grabs her hand.
“Hey,” she says in a low voice, and the look in her eyes tells Clary that Isabelle knows exactly what she is about to do. Simon must have cracked and told her. “Don’t freak out. It’s going to be perfect.”
Then Isabelle gives Clary one of her very rare, joyful smiles. It tells her that Isabelle is beyond excited for what is coming. Clary smiles back, and the prospect of them soon becoming sisters, of planning a wedding right along with her, fills her with another wave of self-assurance and excitement. Her hands aren’t shaking anymore.
She walks over to Jace and Alec, her green chiffon skirt rustling in the light breeze, and with every step the momentum builds, until she can hardly wait to get back to the Institute. She reaches a hand down to help Jace to his feet.
“Bedtime?” she asks, his grip warm and familiar as he stands up and stares her down.
In a low voice, he responds. “I’ve never been more awake.”
It makes her blush and glance around the beach, to see if anyone will truly notice their absence. Surely Magnus and Alec won’t mind if they slip out early, especially if it’s in the name of taking her boyfriend home to propose to him with an engraved sword in front of magical flowers that witnessed their first kiss. She tugs at his hand.
“Come for a walk.”
VI (They Get Married)
“Simon!” Jace roars, beckoning him from where he’s dancing with Isabelle, “It’s time to toss the garter!”
Simon grins over at them, and Clary knows she’s in for it. She’s blissfully dancing with Jace, swaying in the circle of his arms, with her head pressed against the fine linen of his shirt, listening to the sound of his heart beating - or rather, she was. Now he’s pulling away from her, an utterly wicked grin on his face.
She tries to back away from him, slip in between their hordes of wedding guests and hide until Jace forgets about the stupid tradition, but she stumbles a little when her heel catches on the hem of her golden dress, and Clary realizes that the three flutes of champagne that she has downed aren’t exactly conducive to her escape. Of course, Simon is right there behind her as she starts to fall, catching her by the elbows and dragging her back towards Jace’s wandering hands.
“Better to give up now, Clary, struggling is futile,” he says knowingly into her ear, and she giggles madly, her head thrown back in laughter, sagging against her best friend as a chair is conjured from thin air in the middle of the dance floor, and she realizes that everyone else is in on this but her. She turns her head in desperation towards Magnus, but he just gives her a devilish wink, the blue tendrils of his magic still curling around his fingers.
As she is lovingly manhandled into the chair, her gaze lands back on Jace. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, his suit jacket long discarded, and his golden hair is still deliciously rumpled from the end of the ceremony, when she had run her fingers through it like they were the only people in the room. After all these years, the sight of him still takes her back to being sixteen. Like someone has pulled the air from inside her longs, and it’s all she can do to try and catch her breath.
Jace’s eyes gleam with delight as he sinks to one knee in front of her, his hands gentle and a little bit sweaty as he puts them on her calves and pushes her legs apart. Among the jeers and hoots and claps they are getting from their assembled guests, she hears Isabelle let out a loud wolf whistle, and Clary decides it’s time to give in, threading her fingers through his hair once more. The crowd around them cheers louder as Jace presses a soft kiss to her knee, and then, smooth as sin, catches her garter between his teeth and tears is off with a flourish.
She keeps her flaming face turned upwards towards the arching ceiling, away from her friends and family, but it’s as if the heat that has been simmering low in her stomach all day has suddenly been turned up on high. As Jace looks up at her, the tops of his cheeks flushed from champagne, his wide smile making her insides squirm and his dancing eyes wrapping like a vice around her heart, the anticipation of what tonight - what the rest of their lives - will bring rises to a boil.
He rises to his feet, catching her hands and pulling her up with him, until they are back in the position they were in before, pressed against each other in the middle of the room. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, except it’s more like her grin pressed against his own, because they are both smiling too much to have a proper kiss.
“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to throw the garter at a crowd of bachelors now,” she whispers against his lips, and his eyes are adorably puzzled, as if it hadn’t occurred to him that there was anything more to this silly mundane tradition beyond getting to stick your head up your new wife’s dress in front of all your guests.
“You thinking I’m giving this garter away? Not a chance. It’s gonna be featured in a wide range of kinky s-“ She kisses him again, before he can finish whatever absurd thing is coming out of his mouth, and he doesn’t seem at all upset about it, pulling her closer against him, arching over her until she is bent backwards in his embrace. There is a fog that overtakes her mind every time Jace kisses her, and the only thought that can successfully fight its way through is that she hopes someone is catching this on camera. She wants this moment, this incandescent happiness she feels, immortalized forever.
As Jace’s fingers curl into the back of her dress, his wine sweet lips whispering against her own, I love you, I love you, I love you, she realizes she will spend the rest of her life as happy as this, so long as she has him by her side.