Hello, Everybody.

So I wrote this on a crazy 3am high a few days ago and forgot everything about it the next day (well technically the same) when I woke up. Its kind of dark, a little depressing and made me slightly concerned for myself... Ah well. I have plenty of others reasons to be concerned for myself.

So this is going to be a two part, and I am currently in the middle of writing the second part so hopefully it'll be up in a couple days, hopefully. Exams are coming up so I might get a little swamped but I'll try my best.

Sorry If this sucks balls or if there is spelling mistakes.

*All rights and characters and all that shit belong to the brilliant Cassandra Clare*

(Shadowhunters on Netflix in 5 days! I live in Northern Ireland so I can't see it on TV. Cry.)

Red.

Everywhere he looked, there it was. Red.

Red curtains. Red doors. Red walls. Hell, even a little red dot would appear just as he started thinking he could move on. He could do this – life – without her. And then he'd see that stupid, bright color that just demanded his attention and any hope he ever had of getting over her came crashing down like waves on a beach side home during a freak storm.

Jace used to think that he was unbreakable. Unattainable. Far out of reach from the rest of the world. Unable to be broken down by even Godzilla's and The Incredible Hulk's mutant child. Jace had spent all the years of his life protecting himself from everything that he thought could possibly tear another piece of him apart. But the one thing that Jace never even imagine being able to get through his walls, was a short redhead with a ratty old sketchbook as her companion.

Jace had never considered that he would ever fall in love. Of course, he had never considered that she'd be able to tear down his walls with just a small smile sent in his general direction without even a clue about what she was doing to him either. So he shouldn't have been that surprised when he figured out that that little thump in his chest, that little rush of adrenaline, that wave that came over him whenever he would touch her soft and pale and surprisingly warm skin, was love.

And for a while, he gave into it. He gave into that rush, that wave, and floated with it, letting himself drown in it. And then he found out, that after countless nights lying texting each other, causing trouble at cafes, and basically doing everything and nothing together, that she had drowned it too. That she had let herself go, let herself drown in it all. That she loved him too.

If you counted the months that they were officially dating, it would be a good solid two.

If you counted all the months before that, it would be around 8 and a half.

But it wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

She had invited him over for dinner that night. He came into her apartment, not bothering to knock since he had practically lived there ever since they started dating. He had come up behind her while she was setting the table and wrapped his arms around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder and a simple rose that he had picked up one the way over in his hand. She had laughed and leaned back into him, thanking him and taking the rose. They had stood like that for a while, lost in each other's presence, until the oven timer had went off. They had talked animatedly throughout the dinner, and Jace could tell there was something weighing on her shoulders, something on the tip of her tongue but he didn't press her for it. He knew that if he did, she would refrain from telling him until she had decided he was allowed to know. So he carried on until she decided to tell him, and she had been so awkward about it. Sitting him on the couch, telling him to remember how much she loved him.

"Baby, you're scaring me." He had told her. "What's going on?" Tears glistened her eyes.

"I-I, I never told you this before, actually I've never brought him up before to anyone," She had hiccuped. She paused for a while and Jace wondered if she was done.

"Who?" He had her asked gently, his voice soft because he didn't want to push her. She looked up at him, tears making her eyes gleam in the dark candlelit apartment, saw his worry and fear and concern, and this beautiful woman smiled. And he could tell it was just to reassure him.

"My father."

She had never mentioned him before. Jace had never pushed. He just assumed it was a bad daddy-daughter relationship that she'd rather forget.

He never knew how right he was.

Apparently, she – his beautiful, gorgeous, kind, caring, reckless girl – had struck a deal with her father. He would leave her mother, Jocelyn alone. He would leave her step-dad, Luke alone. He would stop trying to destroy the new life they had built together and stop trying to kill them if she – the only girl in the world that he could ever imagine waking up to every morning – came the day she turned 21 and sacrificed everything she had and everything she was to be her father's servant and her brother's – who he never knew existed – toy to play with, in whatever way he wanted. And her 21st birthday was in two days' time.

He had frozen after that, breath stopped, heart stopped, everything stopped. All just pausing and hoping that for a brief moment time would stop and her 21st birthday never came around. Hoping that this was just a dream. Hoping and hoping and hoping that there was no way, no way that he was going to lose her. Begging her to stop joking around, begging her to say it wasn't true, begging her not to leave him like this.

But hope, after all, is delusional.

And he cried.

For the first time in years, he cried. And she held him. She held him and told him that she loved him and that she had tried so hard not to. Tried so hard to keep everyone away, so when the day came she wouldn't have to worry that there were people out there feeling the same pain and the same sense of loss she did, but Jace had just come barging through and brought Alec and Isabelle and Magnus and Simon with him and she couldn't help loving each and every one of them.

She couldn't help loving him.

God knows how long he cried for. It felt like a year. It was heart wrenching and when he was done every muscle of him ached from the sobs that wracked through him.

They had laid together, limbs tangled and faces bearing tear tracks, and when morning came and his alarm went off, he turned it off. When his brother called, he ignored it. She had ended up getting up after the tenth time that either of his siblings had called and told them that Jace was fine, she was fine, and everything was fine.

Lies.

Then he had moved with such urgency, such power that she had jumped out of fright. He began listing ways to get her out of this, but she just sat on the couch and watched him pace back and forth, watched him bring out his master strategist side with lifeless eyes and a sad smile. He had fallen to his knees in front of her and begged her not to do this. He told her he couldn't live without her. Jace, the man that had spent his whole life making sure that he never needed anyone else to live, had become dependent on the endless amounts of love that came pouring out of this small girl who could barely handle herself against a tiny spider in the kitchen sink.

He begged her, pleaded with her with old memories. The happy ones, the sad ones, the angry ones.

He pleaded with her with their friends and family and the plans they had made for the future.

And all she did was shake her head and say:

"We can't stop this, Jace. We can't stop them. I want to, God I want to so much, for you and for everyone, but I can't. I can't stop this, nobody can. For these past few months, I've been counting the days until I had to say goodbye. I've been putting off this moment for all this time, putting off telling you and putting off this. But I can't anymore. And I don't want to spend the last day we have together in grief. I want just you and me, here and now. I want to make sure that when I go there, to them, that everybody out here is okay. And I want to make sure that before I go I know that you'll remember me, and think about me, but move on and build a life. Be happy. For me. Do this, for me."

He wanted to protest, to scream at her for giving up so easily and leaving him like this and for making the goddamn deal in the first place, but she had leaned down and connected their lips and Jace couldn't bring himself to break it to yell at her because he knew, beneath the denial and anger, that this could be the last time he could touch her and hold her and taste her. Granted, she was shaking and tasted like salty tears but he didn't care.

So he kissed her. He kissed her till he couldn't breathe anymore and loved her till he fell from exhaustion and even then, he wouldn't let go.

"You can't tell them."

It'd been hours since either of them spoke, they had just laid there and reveled in each other's arms, so when her voice came out, tiny and croaked, he wasn't completely positive that she had actually said it. Not until he saw her bright emerald eyes looking into his, stubborn and loving, and expecting an answer. And when she didn't receive one, she continued.

"You can't tell Isabelle or Simon or Alec or Magnus or anyone. Even my mother. They can't know about this."

They fought again. He said he couldn't keep this to himself. She said she couldn't handle everyone knowing how weak she was being. She said it was safer if they didn't know. They argued and argued and argued and argued until finally Jace relented. Not because he agreed with it, which he made extremely clear to her, but because he didn't want her to leave knowing the last thing they ever done was fight. Actually he didn't want her to leave, period.

They carried on the day together. Watching movies and shows, debating who the best Doctor was in the whole history of Doctor Who, just spending the day together. Never leaving the other's side for too long and always – in some way or another – touching.

Holding.

Tight.

Because the weight of what was about to go down, the weight of helplessness and fear never left them. No matter what.

And now, over a year later, he sat at the head of a big table with a stupid party hat on with everybody singing happy birthday around him. His foster parents had made it, which they hadn't in three years – shortly after they had gotten divorced, and were now able to tolerate the other so much that they could even sit across from each other and chat civilly. His niece and nephew, Max Lightwood-Bane and Lydia Lewis, play together in a small children's area closely next to the table while Izzy watched over them, a perfectly manicured hand resting on her ever-so-slightly protruding stomach as she was 4 months pregnant. His younger foster brother, Max Lightwood, had brought his first girlfriend who was beautiful and funny and light years out of his league. And what was he doing in this time of happiness and hope? What was he doing on the day that celebrated the day the world was gifted with the great and almighty Jace Herondale?

He was staring at a goddamn red candle sitting atop the chocolate cake wondering where on earth he had made the Lord and God and the angels despise him.

He had told her friends and family that she had to go away. That she would miss them all and that she loved them. Which was all true. He just didn't tell them about the bits lying in the dark, the secrets that tore him apart every night when he went to bed and attempted to sleep. Because he promised not to. It had been over a year since and he was still so broken, so torn. He often wondered what was wrong with him. Wasn't the pain supposed to fade? Wasn't it supposed to go away? Wasn't it supposed to leave him alone so he could do what she asked and move on?

"Happy Birthday to you." Everybody finished off happily, snapping him out of his reverie. He smiled gratefully up at his family, and blew across the candles, watching how they faded to smoke and the red candle, which was half burnt now. His family came forward and hugged him, gave him presents which he thanked them appreciatively for and acted as though he wasn't bleeding out on the inside from a wound that refused to heal.

Then Isabelle gasped. Loud. Everybody's head snapped to her and asked her what was wrong. Simon, Alec and Jace were all by her side immediately, worrying over her and fearing the tears in her eyes, now having discarded the torturous hats. She didn't say a word, but pointed behind Jace, towards the entrance of the small café his family rents out for every birthday. He noticed everyone else was staring at the door too, eyes wide and unbelieving, so he turned, unable to resist the urge to know what had happened.

And he stopped breathing.

His golden eyes were probably the size of the moon.

"I don't have any real gifts with me," The figure – who stood in half in the shadows and half out – said and a small, frail and pale hand stretched itself out and revealed a ring. A ring that he grew up with. A ring he had brought with him everywhere he went. A ring he gave to her, "But I was hoping this would be okay."

His eyes traveled up her. Up her long legs, clad in ripped jeans that didn't seem to be ripped for the purpose of fashion considering the mud coating them. Up her torso, covered in a black sports jacket that looked as though it had seen better days. And finally, to her gorgeous face, that was dusted with freckles and was soft and covered in dirt and a small, awkward smile gracing her lips.

Clary Fray.

Simon was the first to react, rushing forward and hugging her tightly, and everybody followed soon after. There was the exchange of polite conversation and tears and laughs.

But Jace wasn't in any of it.

He was still frozen to the same spot he was standing in when he saw her. His jaw had gone slack. He couldn't feel anything. And he was pretty sure he hadn't blinked in a long time. And to be completely honest he was scared to. He was scared in case he blinked and this was all gone and she was gone and he was still sitting at that stupid table with that godforsaken hat.

And then he blinked.

And she was walking toward him.

Her mouth opened as though she was going to say something but all his senses came back at once and he dove forward, pulling her into him and did the only thing he could think and needed to do, he pressed his lips to hers, so only a surprised gasp came out. She still tasted the same, although it was dulled down he could still taste that underlying essence of something he could never quite place but something that was so her that he never thought twice on it.

When they broke apart she stared up at him with wide eyes and shaky breaths. He let go of her suddenly, nearly causing the small girl – who had lost a considerable amount of weight since he last saw her – to tumble back into the table.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that. Are you okay? What happened to you? How are you here? Please tell me you're okay. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorr – " This time he was the one cut off, as she had jumped forward and pulled him back down to her. He was aware that his family was still here and watching but he didn't have it in him to care. All he could do, was kiss her back.

So he did.

Jace wrapped his arms around her tiny form, lifted her in the air as he spun her, and kissed her.

And this time, when they broke apart, he kept his arms around her and his forehead on hers.

"I'm alright, you big doof."

He didn't realize that he was crying until she reached up and swiped her thumb across his cheek. He buried his head into her neck and inhaled deeply breathing in everything, the faint strawberry and raspberry mix, the strong scent of mud and sweat, just her.

"How?" He croaked. Holding her tighter against his own shaking form. She had told him there was no way to stop them. She had told him it was impossible. And here she was, real, stroking his hair, wrapping him in her warmth and love that he had missed so goddamn much.

"Doesn't matter." She whispered, her breath fanning across his skin, rustling the slight curls in his hair that even now, when he was 23, refused to stop, "Jace," She whispered, and this time he could hear the pain in her voice, the urgency, the desperateness of her tone and he noticed that he was not the one shaking.

"Clary?"

Jace pulled back slowly, gripped her arms with both his hands and looked at her, really looked at her this time. Her skin was sickly pale, her face so hollow you could see her bones, her lips cracked, and it felt like he was holding a skeleton against him. Her eyes held tears and pain, and the lids of them falling slowly and her legs giving out.

"Clary!"

He caught her as she started falling and rested her gently across his lap. People rushed to his side, gasps and shrieks and calls for help filled the air around him but he wasn't listening. He shook her and said her name over and over and over again but she remained still in his arms. Unmoving.

No. No. No. No. No.

"Clary, come on, come back to me, open those pretty little eyes of yours for me. Come on, baby, don't leave now." He continued mumbling. Alec tried to pull him back when the paramedics came and pulled her away from him. He was terrified, so terrified that all his common sense flew right out the window and the only thing he could think of to do was hold on tight and never let go. He cried out for her, and it took Alec, Magnus, Simon and Max combined to tear him away from her and let the paramedics take her.

Plans were arranged. Isabelle, Maryse, Max and his girlfriend and Robert would stay at the café and take care of things – the kids, the mess, calling Clary's mother – while the rest of them would go to the hospital.

The hospital.

A place full of the sick and dying and sad.

A place full of death and happiness and sorrow.

A place that always made him sick to the stomach, not from any illness but from the guilt and the pain he felt washing over him every time he set foot in there.

The hospital.

A place that can bring either fear or hope

A place that could destroy a family or bring together a new one.

A place that can either bring the worst or the best.

And Jace Herondale had a funny feeling that it wouldn't be the latter.

Review please!