"For Always, Clary"
a Mortal Instruments story
Emily Helene
"You have to pinky swear," he said, raising his littlest finger and bending it, prepping it for a very important promise.
"Fine." She muttered, taking his pinky and interlocking it with her own. "I, Clary Fray promise to always be Simon Lewis' best friend.
"Through sickness and in health, til death do us part." He prompted.
Clary glared at him. "That's what you say at weddings, Simon."
Simon blushed maroon then scarlet before murmuring a quick "Oh" and getting on with it. "Well, how about 'for always' instead?" He suggested.
She nodded. "For always, Simon." She looked at him expectantly. "Now you say it or it won't work. For always, Clary."
"For always, Clary." He whispered.
10 Years Later...
"Can I ask you a question?" He asked her. He was sprawled out on his blue and white striped lounge chair, letting the sun light dance across his pale skin, giving the impression that his bare chest was crafted from magnificent gold marble.
She looked up from one of her many black, leather bound sketch books to study him, waiting anxiously for his reply.
He opened his mouth slightly before shutting it again. It had been weeks since Clary Fray had been able to read her best friend, but it seemed like much longer. She longed for the days from their childhood on occasions such as this one. She used to be able to tell exactly what he was thinking. Now, it was like trying to solve a Rubik's cube blindfolded; damn near impossible.
The soft lines of his face, hardened after his taste of immortality, stood out against the gentle curve of his jaw and his eyes, a dark brown that nearly passed for black were framed by thick chocolate lashes; the kind Clary would have killed for.
She tried desperately to figure him out. A clue. She found herself looking for something; even just a hint would do. But instead she got nothing. Blank. Zilch. Zero.
She let her mind wander and wondered, just for a second, mind you, if Maia understood him and knew him the way she always had.
Maia. That opened up an entirely different drawer; one that she had promised herself would stay closed, bound by lock and key. How was it that whenever she was around, Simon acted like a different person?
Then it struck her. It was the same way he had acted around her. She had been replaced. By a Downworlder. Not that there was anything wrong with Downworlders, exactly. Simon was one, after all. But she just couldn't picture her best friend with one. She always pictured him with someone else.
But she had Jace, of course. She loved him, the way she wanted to to. She just wasn't ready to see Simon with someone else.
"Hello? Earth to Clary?" Simon waved a hand in front of her face, yanking her out of her trance with such force that she momentarily forgot what she had been dreaming about. "Are you going to answer my question or not?"
"Question? What?" Clary shook her head, letting her pencil and sketchbook fall to the weathered patio stones below. Perhaps by sheer luck, the pencil had landed on the sketch book at an extremely unorthodox angle; for a moment, she was tempted to draw it. The contrast in not only shape and colour but in value and texture, too.
"...What do you think?" He asked again. Clary closed her eyes. Focus, Clary. "Are you even listening?"
"Uh huh." She nodded, looking away and pretending that the loose gravel that lined the stones were arranged in such a way that fascinated her, when in fact, they did not. She was lying to him. The worst part was, he could tell. He glanced at her knowingly. Busted. "Well, maybe I missed that last part." She grinned sheepishly and he rolled his eyes.
"It's not that important, really." He blushed and turned away, picking up his DS from the glass topped side table, pulling the Stylus from it's secret compartment and tapping the screen furiously. Clary could read him now. Hell, a homeless bum could figure out that Simon, a complete stranger, was offended.
He felt the sharp point of her elbow connect with the soft flesh of his upper arm. "Idiot." She laughed. "Just tell me."
"I did." He pointed out. "Twice."
"I'm listening this time." She promised. "Just tell me."
"It's about Maia." He began, but Clary cut him off.
"Are you guys going through a rough patch? Is she being a bitch?" Simon scowled at her. Clary raised her hands in defeat. "Okay, it was a bad pun. Got it. But I'll keep on guessing if you don't tell me."
"I'm thinking of asking her..."
"Asking her what?" She asked, picking up her sketch book and selecting her new stick of charcoal and turning to a fresh page. She had already sketched a rough outline of his face by the time he got around to answering.
"If she'll marry me." He finished, looking down sheepishly.
Her hand, which was usually steady and so sure; a true sign of a talented artist, slipped and a thick, unforgiving streak of black across her drawing. She nearly dropped it in surprise.
She turned towards him and studied his features a second time. "Are you sure?" She squeaked. His stress lines were faded and his eyes were bright, the smile that had formed on his lips dissolved momentarily at her reaction.
He nodded, his movements permanent and precise. He was certain.
"Do you love her?" She asked, threatening the droplets of salty water that she felt ready to fall down her face with death if they left the comfort of her tear ducts.
He stared at her dead on. He didn't even have to answer. She knew.
"Than I give you my blessing."
He smiled playfully. "Your blessing? What, do you Shadowhunters have some sort of blessing I don't know about?"
"No. Do you bloodsuckers have some sort of blessing that I don't know about?"
"That hurts, Fray. That really hurts."
"Uh huh." She laughed. At least it was better than crying. She stood up, dusted off her jeans and collected her supplies, carefully tucking them into the compartments of her canvas bag. "I should probably get going."
Simon sat up suddenly. "What?" He looked so disappointed, he reminded her of Max just before Maryse and Robert put him to bed; he could still hear Alec and Isabelle awake. She fought the urge to giggle.
"What, what?" She asked, hoisting the bag onto her shoulder, the strap brushing the tip of her stele which she had used as a make-shift chop-stick to secure the bun on the back of her head. She was hanging out with Isabelle way too much lately.
"I was hoping you'd help me figure out how to ask her."
"Uh uh, Simon. This is a battle you get to fight on your own."
"Why?"
Because I'm the girl you've had with you all your life. I always have been, always will be. We're a pair. Despite her efforts, she couldn't mask the apprehensive tone in her voice. "Because you do."
"That's an excuse. Tell me why!"
"BECAUSE!" She barked. Suddenly, everything fell silent.
"You're jealous." Clary froze. Her grip on the bag tightening, turning her knuckles white.
"Am not."
"Are too." He stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "But it's okay."
"I'm not jealous, Simon." Clary said quietly. "I'm worried."
"What do you have to be worried about?"
"Never mind." She started back down the path and towards the gate.
"For always, Clary." He whispered, so quietly she almost missed it. Stopping dead, she found herself repeating the promise she hadn't uttered in over a decade.
"For always, Simon."
If there really was a grand design and everything did happen for a reason, then this was happening for a reason. Thinking she could keep Simon to herself had been selfish. She had to let him go, like the fireflies they used to catch in the summer when they were kids.
Simon was meant to be her friend, nothing more and nothing less.
And much to her surprise, she was okay with it.
A/N: Emily, here! Thanks for reading. I just finished the first two books in this fantastic series and just had to write a fic! Hope you liked!
R&R PLEASE!