Title: Not In Your Lifetime (An AU The Mortal Instruments/The Infernal Devices crossover fic based on notesfromcecilyherondale and notesfromsebastianmorgenstern on Tumblr)

Characters Involved: Cecily Herondale (The Infernal Devices) & Sebastian/Jonathan Morgenstern (The Mortal Instruments)

Rated (chapter): … Read and see.

Chapter A/N: Uni's kind of kicking it in real hard for me right now so chapters are going to come in slowly. Really slow. This is Chapter 3.1 because it's a pretty long chapter and I really just wanted to get this out of my head before I get in to midterm week for uni. Again, many many thanks to obsidian (obsidianmirage on tumblr) for being the Jonathan to my Cecily in all this. Also, I think Cassie Clare may be on to our little crackship. Dun dun dun! Also, you see a little bit of Will in here so… enjoy!

Chwaer/Chwiorydd – Sister/Sisters; Brawd - Brother

The knife plunged straight on target as it hit the body.

"Good work, Cecily," said a voice from behind. His tone was quiet and controlled. His hands were behind him as he watched her pull the knife out with ease, back on to her belt. She preferred to have her long hair loose as if it never hindered her in training. "You would perform more suitably if you would let me-"

"I said no, William." She brushed her hair behind her ears and tucked in her knife in her belt. It wasn't the only weapon hidden among her clothing. She had dozens of knives hidden within her as they were her favourite. She preferred knives although she resented at how her brother was skilled in that area as well.

"Combat then," he said, rushing towards her. She was ready for him.

She blocked his arms and feet like she had been fighting him for years. Which she had been. His attacks were not as strong as he could but he would never enforce all of his strength on her. She was fast; quicker than lighting she was. He tried to hit at right and left but she always foresaw it. Even his attacks with his knees and his feet, she always caught on.

Her kicks were brutal and her punches took all of her strength. He blocked as best he could and he was really trying. She was good. There was genuine pain in his eyes at every time her attacks managed to hit. She rolled and twisted and bent and jumped, nothing but raw loathing in her eyes.

Perhaps that was how she managed to hit him.

It wasn't a simulation for her.

Minutes passed and soon she had him pinned to the floor, his hand held behind his back, her gripping on the back of his head. They both said nothing, only slow, shallow breaths came from them. After a moment, she pushed him back down and stood from the mat.

"I'm done for the day," she said, turning to go for the showers.

"Where are you going?" Will was met with only silence as she returned some of the weapons back on the walls. "Cecily, talk to me. Please."

"You've had five years to talk with me, William. No more."

"Silly, don't-"

"DON'T!" She stopped dead in her tracks. Her back was turned to him but she froze where she stood, tears suddenly surfacing from her eyes. "Don't you dare call me that, William. Don't you bloody dare."

It was always the same thing after sessions. He would try and talk to her, make excuses for his abandoning the family, but she would just run. A few months in the Institute and she had run from him at every chance she had. But he tried, the bugger still tried.

"Five years, Will. Five years and not a single note, a single sixpence. You never even sent for me," tears were freely streaming down her cheeks, her back still turned away from him. "And you expect me to listen to you? Do you even know what kind of family you left me with?"

"If you would just talk to me, chwaer," he took a tentative step closer to her but she did not move, all her concentration in keeping herself from sobbing.

"Your chwaer is dead. Your chwiorydd are dead."

"I'm still your brawd mawr, Ce-"

"I have no brawd mawr."

Silence.

She started walking towards the door. Will tried to follow suit slowly behind her but she stopped at the doorframe. "Stop. Just stop it, Will. I have no time for this."

"Cecily-"

"Don't start. I have somewhere else to be."

"Don't tell me you're still in correspondence with that thing, that demon-"

"He's not a demon," she said sternly, turning her head to him. She wiped her eyes hastily to remove all signs of tears, her glare uncompromising. "Just sod off, Will."

"You can't keep doing this, Cecily. He'll hurt you."

"Since when have you ever cared if a man hurt me?"

"I can't be there to protect you-"

"YOU NEVER WERE!"

Her blue eyes pierced through his, mirror images of each other. One pair reflected pure pain, while the other, pure anger. He just stared at her while she glared at him, looking for the brother she once had in the poor excuse of a man who stood in his place and bore his name.

"Do not follow me." Cecily stormed out of the training room and headed straight for her room.

There was a hot bath waiting for her when she got there with fresh clothes at the ready as her request. Sophie was a helpful thing but she hated being waited on. It made her feel vulnerable. Weak.

She freed herself of her training clothes and let herself succumb to the hot water. The room was instantly filled with the scent of lavender and rosemary soaps, with just a hint of honeysuckle oils. When she closed her eyes, she was seven years old again and she was home. She was merely swimming in the pond with her sister and all of a sudden, a wave would crash over the both of them, and they'd end up trying to drown Will for dousing them. She let herself underneath the water, letting out all the tears that would never show, her screams entrapped in bubbles that floated away.

She stayed in the bath for more than she was used to, finding herself a little more miserable than usual. She patted herself dry and dressed herself. She tightened the corsets around her waist a little more than she was used to, just to have an excuse to cry out again. The dress was pale blue and made her eyes a little brighter. She combed her hair over and over until it was smooth and damp. She combed until it was dry. She combed until she fought the tears threatening to spill from her eyes until she could not hold them in much longer. She sobbed on her dresser until the pain of crying ebbed away, her consciousness slowly slipping.

The knock on her door was met with silence.

Her name resonated from a voice from beyond her time but she did not get up to open it. Instead, the door unhinged itself and she remained still on her dresser, asleep. Jonathan dropped the bouquet of white roses in his hands and went over to the slumbering girl, a hairbrush entrapped in her fingers. He bent over and attempted to kiss her on the cheek to wake her but her reflexes woke her and he was almost greeted with a hairbrush to the face.

Her eyes were heavy but were trained on the dark haired boy in front of her, his hand holding her wrist.

"Have a bad day, Angel?"

She yanked her hand away and rose from her chair, heading to her bed. "Whatever it is you wish from me, it will have to wait. I'm tired and I'm in no mood for your frivolities."

He approached her from behind at lightning quick speed, his arms already around her waist, his mouth at her neck, breathing down on her.

"No, no. You're not getting away from me that easily. I've waited too long to see you again."

She had no fight in her. She turned her head to face him, a palm against his cheek. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Some other day, please."

Even he noticed the redness in her eyes, the obvious mark of crying. But no, he would not have it. It had been weeks since he last saw her and he would not be denied. Still, he felt a stirring inside of him to bring her with him. She needed peace, some time away from her Institute. Another stirring told him to grab the advantage while he has it. She was at her meekest and offered no resistance. He could have her in every way he wanted if he wished. There was pity in Jonathan Morgenstern's heart. Probably the only human side of him was starting to learn how to feel.

Cecily was not just another exploit. She was not a great love, either. Or just not yet. But he considered her to be the closest thing he had to a friend.

"Come along then, sleepy beauty. I'll take you to rest with me but I'm not carrying you and your fifty pound skirts, love."

She groaned in defeat while he half carried, half dragged her all the way through space and time to where he resided. Her eyes were already threatening to close and he finally had to carry her to his living room. He lay her on his couch and she rested her head upon the cushioned armrest. He shook his head and took off his coat and undid his tie. He bothered dressing up in a suit for her and all she wanted to do was sleep. Ungrateful child.

He stepped out of his apartment and raced down a few blocks to the nearest pizza place. It was indelicate and not classy at all but the situation didn't really call for it and Jonathan did not cook. When he returned, she was peacefully sleeping on his couch, her skirts draped along his floor. He set the food on the table and sat down next to her. He brushed some of the hair out of her face and kissed her cheek to wake her. After a minute, her eyes fluttered open ever so slightly. He was already eating, flipping through the channels. She rose from where she laid and tried to brush the lethargy away from her eyes.

"Eat," he prompted. "It'll wake you up."

He handed her a slice of it and she looked at it like it was a new species of demon. She wasn't even wearing her gloves.

"You put it in your mouth, you bite the top off, you chew, you swallow. Repeat. It's good."

"Let me guess," she started, a drowsy slur in her voice. "That wasn't the first time you've ever said that."

He choked back a laugh and she smirked a little before she ate it. The grease and oil stuck to her fingers but the cheese and the meat were good. The flavours rushed to her mouth and she licked her fingers, savouring it. A few slices later and the pizza was gone. He settled on an old movie that neither of them were really watching and she rested her head on his shoulder.

She looked up at him to find that he was not watching the television at all. He was watching her. She sat up a little and leaned in to him and kissed his cheek. There was a rough bit of stubble around his jaw and she nuzzled the skin there with her nose.

"Thank you," she said softly.

He turned his head to her and captured her lips. He fell to the armrest and she fell on top of him, their lips still melded together. His hands found her face and her hair while she just laid on top of him, kissing him for all he was worth. She pulled away from him at some point but he escaped one, two, five more short kisses before she rested on his shoulder.

"Anytime," he replied, holding her to him, feeling her fall asleep cradled up to him. The steady exhaling of her breath lulled him. He stroked her hair and she snuggled up to him. He could feel the gentle rhythm of her heartbeat as she slept. The sun set after some time and he carried her and her skirts up to his bedroom as gently as he could.

He set her down on his bed and her head found immediate home on his soft pillows. She slept soundly as he angled her in such a way wherein he could find the laces to her corsets. His breath was ragged as he worked, his angel sleeping peacefully. His fingers were painstakingly slow, the knots on her corsets near impossible to undo, but they came undone for his clever fingers. He had dreamed of this, of her on his bed. He and his right hand were more than well rehearsed for such an awaited display of Cecily Herondale.

Slowly, he slid off her many layers of clothing, all except her underclothes. She merely tossed, turned, and sighed as he did his ministrations to make her comfortable. She even crept up a small smile in her sleep when he undid the one thing that kept her from breathing comfortably. He undid his own shirt and wrapped it around her. His pants joined her skirts though he too maintained his boxers for sheer modesty's sake. Because no, he was beyond taking a girl in her sleep – especially a girl he had been waiting for. No. Taking her would be special. For now, he would settle for sleeping next to her. Her head resting on his bare chest; the sound of her breathing, singing him to sleep.

Morning came and she was comfortable, the sheets silky. Her arms, her waist, her legs felt the soft, silky feel of the sheets.

Her eyes opened immediately. She looked underneath the covers to see that she was almost completely undressed save for her underclothes and a shirt that belonged to…

An arm reached from across the bed and held her by the waist. Lips were suddenly on her collarbone, on her neck, on her cheek.

"Good morning, Angel."

She turned her head slightly to find him sleepily looking down on her. "Last night was amazing, love."

Her eyes widened, bright with a sudden fear and fury.

"Who knew you could loosen up like that?"