Jace woke up slowly. His eyes opened, reluctantly, as he realized he was on the couch, smothered in countless blankets. Everything was damp with sweat, clinging to his body. He moved touched his hand to his hair, wanting to brush it back, but instead he laid the back of his hand to his forehead.
Jace threw the covers off of himself, suddenly burning with the heat of each layer on top of him. The blankets flew all across the room, but Jace didn't notice. He could pick them up later. In this moment, he was suddenly fixated on the distinctly pungent stench of vomit.
He began to sit up in search for the source of the smell, bracing his hands against the back of the sofa. A sharp pain shot through his head and ran through his entire body. Shivers raked down his spine, sending him back against the seat of the couch. Maybe I should stay lying down, Jace thought with an exhausted sigh.
With great effort, he found that moving only his head wasn't as painful. He rested one arm under his neck to elevate his head. The source of the odor became abruptly obvious as he noticed the vomit in a trash bin next to the couch. Quickly following was the realization of the possibility that the vomit was his. He sighed.
When he looked around once more, he saw that no one else was in the apartment. Everything was shrouded in stillness and silence, except for the couch, which looked like an utter disaster.
Oh right, Jace recalled from the previous day, Clary is away on another trip to Alicante. She had visiting more often in the wake of the war. Jace reasoned it was partly because she didn't know how to cope with what happened to Simon back in Edom. He also thought the trips away from home gave her a sense of importance.
The thought of her brought a smile to his face. He was proud that she was his girlfriend, that she was the most talented and most critical shadowhunter of the time. He laughed, but it dissolved into coughs, resonating off the empty apartment walls. Yet the thought of Clary gav hi strength to sit up. Jace pushed the trash bin away from the couch with his toes, tentatively, careful not to get too close. "I won't need that again," Jace muttered to himself, breaking the heavy silence in the room.
He limped over to his bedroom, the primary goal of the mission being to change out of his soaking wet pajamas. Once he reached his dresser, he delicately got a grey cotton shirt out, along with a pair of blue striped pajama pants Clary had given him as a congrats-for-living-through-hell gift when they returned to New York.
With a firm intention and a great deal of resolve, he walked toward the bedside table to retrieve his stele. It was sitting next to his copy of A Tale of Two Cities, but as approached the table, Jace saw that there was also a note resting next to it. He picked up the stele and drew a few quick runes on his arm in a frantic attempt to raise his spirits; the shooting pain had diminished, but still remained. He picked up the slip of paper, easily recognizing the handwriting as Clary's, and smiled again.
Dear Jace, it began: You looked a little queasy, so I left some medicine by the kitchen sink, if you're brave enough to try a Mundie medication. Jace rolled his eyes. You've been asleep on the couch for most of the day, and I'm not going to wake you up, but I want you to know I love you. I will be back as soon as I can. I won't be long at all. Feel better. XO, Clary, the letter concluded.
Jace always told her she worried too much, and she always responded that he did the same. But though he couldn't speak confidently for both of them, Jace secretly enjoyed it. He seldom felt the warm embrace of protection. He liked when he was sick and Clary or Izzy or Alec fussed over him.
Still, being sick was a bitch. Jace faltered in to the kitchen, in search of the promised medication. He found it, of course, lying in a mess next to the sink. Clary had many strengths, but organizing was not one of them. Jace, after an episode of coughing, got a cup from the cabinet and filled it with water. Then he took a handful of brightly colored pills of all varieties—there was even a diamond-shaped pill colored neon green—and shuffled back to the living room. Jace usually scoffed at Mundie life, but he was holding out hope that Clary had picked the most effective pills for him to take.
He fell back onto the couch, crashing into the mound of blankets left there from his nap. Having taken medication, he regained some of his senses. Jace became acutely aware of not only the smell of vomit, but the faint tinge of sweat in the air. He resolved to take a shower to help aid the sickness and the smell. So Jace begrudgingly got up and walked to the bathroom, stripping off his pajamas and stepping into the shower.
The warm water ran through his hair and over his skin, and instantly he felt better. He washed off the layer of sweat and sickness from his body, enjoying the cleansing sensation.
The water turned off just in time for Jace to hear a key unlocking the front door. He froze, hearing the clink of heels on the hardwood floor. He had just begun to dry off when he heard the thud of bags dropping to the floor, followed by Clary's voice: "Jace? I'm home!"
Jace hurriedly threw on a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, paying no attention to their appearance. "Clary? I'm in the bedroom," Jace croaked. He heard Clary walking toward him, and went out to the hall to greet her.
They met in the doorway, embracing each other in a tight hug. They stood there together for a moment before Jace whispered, "I'm sick," and backed away cautiously. Clary smiled with empathy, and took Jace's hand. They started to walk back toward the bedroom. Clary told Jace, "Come with me."
He looked at her, perplexed, but conceded. She led him to the bed, where she let go of his hand. Jace raised an eyebrow, suspicious.
Clary laughed softly, peeling back the covers. "Get in," she demanded, placing both hands firmly on his shoulders. "You, um..." He chuckled as she tried to think of an adequate descriptor, looking around the room as if the words were written on the apartment walls. "Sick person?" Jace offered, smirking at her. Clary scrunched her nose, sighing. "Just get in, smartass."
He smiled and leapt in the bed as she pulled the covers up to his chin. She bent down and gently kissed his forehead, pushing back his wet hair. "Stay put. I will be in the kitchen, then I'll come right back. Get some rest." With that, she left Jace alone in the comfort of the bed.
After a short while, she returned with a cup of something-he couldn't discern what-that smelled delicious. Jace was eagerly waiting—as he had been told, of course—and contently took in the scent. Pleasant, for a change, he thought.
Clary proudly set it in his lap, placing a pillow under the cup so as not to burn Jace. Now that she was standing relatively still, Jace finally got a chance to see Clary for the first time since she had come home.
Her blue tank top was disheveled, her sweatpants wrinkled. She had a bruise on her forearm; it looked like from where her arm may have hit the table if she fell asleep working at her desk. The bags under her eyes and her alarming pallor told Jace that she hadn't slept in days.
Jace moved his arms to form a barrier between Clary and the cup of hot soup. She pouted, trying in vain to push his arms away. "It's still hot," she whined. Jace smirked and shook his head. She had always been stubborn, adamant, and breathtaking. But, in this moment, she was tired. And while she tried with all her might to help Jace, he could take care of himself for a little while if it meant Clary would finally get the rest she so clearly needed.
Jace picked up the soup, earning a slight gasp from Clary, and began to get out of bed. He walked toward her side, the side closest to the door, and quietly began to usher her into his spot in the covers. "What are you—" she protested, but was silenced by his voice. "Keep talking and I'll sneeze on you, and then we will both be screwed." He paused to place the soup on the floor, and pulled the covers up to envelope Clary, "So you should get in bed, get some sleep, and maybe eat some of this wonderful-smelling soup."
"I'll sleep if you eat the soup," Clary said, obviously sleepy. Jace chuckled as he watched her; she had already begun to doze off in the comfort of her fluffy bed. "Deal," whispered Jace as he slowly backed out of the room and turned off the lights, listening to Clary as she slept, hearing the sound of her mumbling something about making him pancakes. He tiptoed into the living room and sat down on the couch to read some of Clary's Mundie books. However, he must have fallen asleep without realizing, because the next thing he noticed was the light of morning. Clary was shaking him awake.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. She smiled down at him, and he responded with a drowsy smile of his own.
He discovered that he felt much better now than last night. Of course, it didn't help that Clary had let her amazing soup curing him go to her head, and she pranced around the apartment shouting childish rhymes. Some weird song about a made up disease, like chickenpox. Jace assumed she had learned the song from the Silence Brother who had helped them. Note to self: talk to him about ending the rhymes, chided Jace.
Although, he had to admit, even just to himself, that the sight of her singing was pretty cute. His loving Clary, dancing around on a lazy morning.
He stood up and came closer to her, taking her by the hand and pulling her into a tight embrace. "Cooties," Clary laughed, breathless. She looked him in the eye and lowered her voice. "What was that about?"
"Thank you," Jace replied. Though it was short, Clary understood. She always did. She pulled him closer, kissing him softly and warmly. After a moment, they laughed against one another, and separated. There were still pancakes to be made.