It was a month before her eighteenth birthday when the subject first came up. Clary had known about the custom, but she never thought to apply it to herself. Maybe, a small part of her mind thought, despite the fact she had been training for nearly two years there was still a part of her who struggled to consider herself a Shadowhunter.
So, when Jace mentioned, with an offhand comment, her travel year Clary was completely caught off guard and could only pause to stare at him, hand stilling on her sketchbook and mind blank.
"I don't really know what I would like to do," she told him.
"You do not have to work it out right this second, you know." He cracked on eye open, looking up at her from where his head was resting on her lap, golden rays of sunlight cutting through the thick branches of the cherry tree to cast patches on his face.
Summer had just fully come into bloom, the sky blazing blue and the sun a celebration of yellow, free and bright. The greenhouse was often their refuge from the heat of the city; trees rising to the occasion, donning their best shades of green, and everywhere were flowers, the scattered rainbow that turned the air sweet and sticky with their scents.
Jace's eyes were warm and tawny and when he smiled crinkles formed at the corners. "Wouldn't you like to leave behind everything, even if just for a while?"
She didn't have to think about it twice. "Okay."
It was a lot more complicated than that, Clary knew that, but he had offered her an escape from the grim city New York became after the War and the Cold Peace, and she was sure she would take him up on the offer sooner or later.
They ended up starting their travel just the day after Clary's birthday.
Jace had helped her come up with a list of cities and places to see all across the globe, places Clary had only heard about or seen on the television screen.
It certainly wasn't the most proper or legitimate way of doing things, but Clary had learned time ago that on the scale of black and white, the ethics or traditions of her new world tended to lean a lot more on the dark gray that she thought acceptable.
She could easily do without the Clave's stamp of approval.
There was an old, red Ford pick-up waiting for them in front of her mother's house, the first purchase she made using the money she acquired by claiming the Fairchild name. It had air conditioning, a navigation system, and a spacious cargo bed that both of their belongings didn't manage to fill by half. Their baggage was light; a few spare steles and some weapons (just in case) a few changes of clothes, money withdrawn from their families' dusty vaults, Clary's Mundane documents, and incomplete high school education and Jace's life of Shadowhunter training.
Her mother watched them leave with her mouth pressed in a thin line of worry that was mirrored in her whole posture. Simon was there too, broader and less awkward than Clary remembered him ever being, just a couple of weeks shy of his return to the Academy. Luke was the last one to hug both Clary and Jace goodbye, making her promise to send him as many postcards as possible.
The wheel had grown hot under the sun by the time they managed to start the car, it vibrated under Clary's fingers with the hum of the car's engine. In the background, the radio played some of the songs her mom used to listen to while she, Luke and Clary drove to his farm out of town during her childhood.
Luke had loaned them some travelling guides and maps from his bookstore that Jace took to studying with alarming intensity, tracing his slender finger along the winding lines, navigating from the passenger seat.
They stopped before taking the highway, before effectively leaving New York, and Jace bought them a couple of matching caps - the cheap kind they sold to tourists and were decorated with big bold letter that spelled 'I 3 NEW YORK' – and a pair of ridiculous sunglasses, Clary's square and with a thick, black frame that covers half of her face.
There was a feeling of anticipation pooling in Clary's stomach, buzzing just under her skin, as Jace slipped back in the passenger seat, his own pair of ridiculous sunglasses perched on his nose. She felt young, carefree for the first time in years, with the car humming quietly and Jace smiling, bobbing his head to the music's rhythm beside her.
He glanced at her. She scrunched her nose and grinned, "Are you ready to go?"
The vast highway spread out before them. Clary adjusted her glasses, enjoying the wind blowing through her hair, and let a smile stretch her lips.
They made the first stop the second day, in New Orleans.
The city was hot and humidity clung to their skin was almost unbearable but the stifling heat offered a reprieve from masses of tourists, who had escaped to cooler places, and most important cheap deals on hotel rooms. One solution they found to the problem was napping the morning away. It wasn't even hard, considering they had been on the road for nearly a whole day.
In the afternoon, they went on historical tours and strolled through museums. Jace listened to her ramble on about bits and pieces of history she remembered from school and rant about the pieces of old and modern art, even though she was so excited about it that he could barely make out half of the things she was saying. After that, they spent hours browsing local vintage bookstores and, by the end of the visit in the city, there was a brand new duffle bag among their baggage where Jace stocked the stacks of used books he purchased.
On the third day of travel they headed even further south, towards the border with Mexico.
For the first time, Clary let Jace behind the wheel, giving in to his demands after a whole day of pestering. There wasn't another car in sight, he had pointed out, and as long as he kept following the highway there was no danger of getting lost. She regretted it immediately though, because as soon as they switched positions Jace sped off confidently, hammering down the gas pedal and laughing brightly as the world blurred around them.
Clary was quick to buckle her belt. "My mom will kill you if we die before even reaching our first stop," she told him, her knuckles white from her iron grip on the door.
Jace made a sharp turn left and purposefully turned the volume of the radio up. "I'm sorry," he yelled over the noise, "I can't hear you."
He drove along the coast because Clary wanted to see the shore even though they couldn't stop; the graceful arc of sand glittering under the summer sun, the slow waves rolling in with a soothing sound, the wind carrying the smell of salty water and a brief flurry of sand.
There was a hand resting on her leg as the car moved onwards along the curved road. Clary rested her forehead against the window watching the way the horizon deepened from blue to dark purple. His palm was dry and warm against her bare skin and she covered his hands with hers, happy to keep him close as she drifted off to sleep.
Mexico was a vibrant place. The colors of the towns were so perfect, full of vitality under the bright light of the sun. Clary felt like driving through a movie set. The road was black tarmac with a golden stripe, the sidewalks more silver than grey, and the houses' walls painted in every color that could tumble out from a box of pastels.
They ate at the traditional markets, buying food and pints of michelada from street vendors. Mexican spices burned her mouth and the maize sat heavy in her stomach, lessening the effects of alcohol. The streets were packed with people, couples holding hands, groups of high school kids clustered noisily together, families walking with children. It was loud and colorful, the music and the bustle and the stream of people moving to and fro, happy and lighthearted for the time being, invigorated her. Clary breathed in and for this short little while, she had no obligations, no worries, no inner conflicts or turmoil. She smiled as she took everything around her in; because she was truly happy.
The bedroom was close enough to the water that they could feel the breeze from the ocean drift past the open windows of the balcony. September had arrived and with it the weather became more mild, the sun not so hot anymore, and just a little bit of humidity lingering in the air.
Clary and Jace laid in bed next to each other; him fast asleep, breath slow and even, while she laid on her back wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Moonlight slanted in the window, casting the room in blue shadow. She thought about facing death; about how falling asleep next to her boyfriend somehow felt scarier than any other threat she had faced in her life.
Jace's heart, she knew, was a fragile thing. Hardened by battle, but still delicate when out of sight like this. Behind closed doors, there was no shame in vulnerability. There was no pressure to remain strong despite everything that he had been through. Jace's heart was fragile, he felt pain so easily, and in his life there had been an abundance of it. Now, though, he had trusted her with it and Clary was terrified of doing something wrong. Of not being deserving of such honor.
She looked over. Jace was watching her, wide eyes and blown pupils, curled onto his side. Clary turned to face him, reaching out a hand. His hand was warm and calloused; hers finely freckled. He falls asleep with the scent of nighttime and salt all around him.
It wasn't until they reached Chile that they had the occasion to stop by the ocean again.
Clary enjoyed getting tipsy on fruity drinks and going boneless in the sand and spending entire days in their hotel room living in soft white sheets and endless sunlight and nothing else. The water was the most beautiful turquoise she could have imagined. It was the sort of thing she thought she would only see in travel magazines or something.
The boat at the port taking them out to a reef to snorkel was not very large and set Clary's nerves on edge a bit. She was not really big on boats if she was honest, but Jace's excitement about taking her snorkeling is slightly infectious. The promise of dolphins was appealing too, she had to admit, and Jace had been right about zip lining, back when they had been in Colombia, so she was just going to trust him that the boat was not going too fast through these choppy waves.
The crystalline waters were calm and allowed Clary to actually swim amidst otters, round stingrays and small multicolored fishes. The bright pinks and yellows of the coral on the reef and the anemones that she steered clear of made a lovely backdrop for the sea life before her.
And then she saw one. Clary hastily grabbed Jace's hand, squeezing and pointing to the pod of dolphins just to their right. They spent the rest of their time chasing after it, not that they ever got too close to them again.
When they had booked everything that morning, they went with the four and a half hour snorkeling trip because they figured the more snorkeling the better. But, by the time Clary pulled herself onto the boat that evening, she was dead tired.
"The next few places will be more chill. More walking and doing tourists things," Jace told her as they were brought back to the port, sitting beside her, dripping wet and with a bare thigh pressed against hers.
Clary sighed, resting her head against his shoulder. "Good, I'm done with water for a while."
He clucked his tongue. "Really? And here I had intended to take you cliff diving."
Clary snorted. "That's not going to happen."
"Anything can happen, Fray."
The first day in Buenos Aires was spent wandering through the streets of the capital, shopping at the markets at San Telmo's, buying fresh-squeezed juice and warm empanadas from vendors on the streets and sticky their fingers on a precariously held together Choripan they passed back and forth between themselves. They walked along the cobbled streets, watching all of the street performers, bopping along to each spot of live music they passed along the way.
The city was a lot chillier than she had anticipated, and Clary spent most of the day freezing her ass off, dressed in her rather summery ripped jeans and a flannel on top of a plain white t-shirt, only complaining to Jace about it every single time a cloud passed in front of the sun, an accompanying shiver skittering its way down her spine.
By the time the second week rolled around, Clary was sure she and Jace ended up on so many late night runs to all the local restaurants in the city – to the tiny, authentic restaurants they find tucked behind shoe shops, the street-side cafés open to the cool night air – that there were no more for them to try.
Most of the nights after dinner they toured all the hot tourist spots Clary had read about on the guides and books Luke had given them and all the hidden places Jace asked the locals about, eventually stumbling back into their hotel room at some completely unreasonable hour of the morning.
She wasn't sure how Jace could manage to function properly on such a short amount of sleep, not when it was difficult for Clary to even keep an eye open after going exploring every day and night.
Still, she loved every second of it.
It was December, and at past eleven in the night it was considerably cold in Ireland.
Clary sat in the back of the pick-up – a new one, since they had to give up the other to board a plane and reach Europe - legs stretched out in front of her and buried under a pile of blankets, rubbing her frozen hands through her thick gloves.
Ireland offered some of the darkest night skies in Europe, Jace had informed her as they landed in the country, perfect for stargazing. She had to admit it was true. So far away from the cities the sky was amazingly clear and she could see a whole array of stars he wouldn't have been able to in the city.
"Clare County is one of the most famous spots for stargazing," the cashier girl at the airport's souvenirs shop had told them, her smile bright, "The county hosts a Burren too. It's an amazing sight. You should visit it, if you pass by." Clary had smiled back politely and paid for her guide. Then, completely skipped past Clare County as she skimmed through it. She could do without it. She had seen enough Burrens for a lifetime.
As soon as they got their car, they drove steadily to the east and away from Poll na Brón. It was much better this way. Much safer.
Jace hopped in the cargo bed, a pair of steaming thermos in his hands. He offered her one and flung himself bodily on the makeshift next to Clary. She snuggled up fully against his torso and blinked wonderingly up from her position to where he was looking down at her.
"Do you remember any of those constellations?" he asked, voice so soft that hadn't been for the complete silence that surrounded them, she wouldn't have been able to hear it.
Clary did remember. Most of them.
Jace had taught her every last one of them, regaling her with the stories behind each one in the way only he could, capturing every ounce of his attention and having her hang onto every word that left his mouth. Except, she would inevitably get lost in admiring his profile. His face ghostly and dream-like in the pale moonlight, painting his tan skin in white and silver.
His lips curved into a soft smile, one of content and tranquil bliss, one whose existence was a miracle considering the storms it had endured.
He wasted no time wrapping his arms around her sides and pressed a kiss into her hair.
I love you, he sighed softly, I'm glad you're here with me.
It rained for four days straight during their stay in Great Britain, a record so far. Water tumbled down like a thick gray sheet over the whole world, leaving it drenched and murky, flowers sagging beneath the weight of heavy water, the ground slippery under their feet.
Clary spent most of the days sitting by the fireplace of their nearly deserted hotel, pen and paper in her hand – tiny, overrun with freckles and new faint scars from the faded runes - cramming her slanted handwriting onto the backs of postcards for Luke, longer letters her mom and Simon.
Last week, when they were still in Scotland, an old lady had stopped them on the street to tell them they made a lovely couple; she'd asked if they were on their honeymoon and Clary had laughed, loud and bright.
Maybe it was due to her mundane upbringing, but she had never even remotely considered marrying so early. Still, living in close proximity with Jace for such a long period of time, waking up next to him every morning, learning to read his moods, was an indescribable sensation.
By now, shops and houses alike were adorned with garlands and blinking lights, and, whenever the weather allowed it, people clustered around the streets committing their energies to last-minute shopping in the darkening late December afternoon.
The busy streets reminded her of New York, of nearly two decades of Christmases that felt like happened a lifetime ago. She looked at Jace and the quiet wonder in his eyes. Everything was different now, but Clary could tell with certainty that it wasn't a bad thing.
Jace turned nineteen during their stay in Paris.
She looked at him, the morning of January 18, and said, "I'm really proud of you."
Surprised he glanced over, eyes still clouded with sleep, smile slow and warm and a little bit confused. "What for?"
The way he looked at her made her feel like her chest was packed with cotton, all cushioned sentiment. There was so much she wanted to tell him. That she was proud of him for finally letting his walls down and allowing himself to love and being loved. That she was proud of him for the person he had become. She shrugged, feeling unable to find the appropriate words to express her thoughts. "Just, for being you."
They celebrated by spending hours inside the Musee d'Orsay, going through Monet's gallery and Van Gogh's and once they got out, with the sky dark and starlit, Clary treated Jace for dinner in the most pretentious restaurant she could find nearby.
Between white tablecloths and glittering chandeliers, golden tapestries on the tall walls and the delicate tinkling of a piano in the air, there was no mistaking the fact that either of them did not belong in a place like this. Their waiter seemed to be of the same idea too, wearing a pained expression (with lips pursed as if he'd swallowed a lemon) which had Clary struggling to hide her snorts of laughter every time he approached their table.
They walked back from the restaurant until they sobered up from the expensive wine, Clary tucked away neatly under Jace's arm. He kissed her goodnight and then kissed her awake the next morning, laying in under the fluffy blankets until the sun brightened the room just because they could and there was nobody to bother them.
"We could have gone out for a hot chocolate," Jace commented as they went through the breakfast they had ordered with room service.
Clary smiled. "I like it better this way."
They left Paris after a two-week stay. And yet, despite the loveliness of the city and the wonderful time spent there, Clary couldn't help but feel that the dark shadow that had been looming over her the entire time had dissipated.
Jace slept on his stomach, a habit he had picked up recently, face smooshed to one side, mouth slightly open, one hand curled up underneath the pillow and one knee bent. Clary slept with one foot tucked warmly between Jace's calves, the other hanging off the mattress.
The few mornings she woke before him, were always something to treasure. His breathing soft, eyelashes sweeping like dark fans across his cheeks. Outside, dawn was just starting to unfold beneath a purple sky, and the first, golden rays of sunlight stretching across the bed.
Clary grumbled a lot when she woke up for good some hours later. Well, she always grumbled when waking up, but still. There were pillow creases cut into her cheek and her eyes were puffy as she blinked up at him. The sourness was always dampened, however, as Jace presented her a warm cup of coffee before patiently waiting for the caffeine to kick in before she became awake enough to smile at him.
She didn't mind least of all, if he kissed her awake, in the meantime.
From Bilbao they headed to Madrid. Then, they crossed to Portugal and back to Spain, to Seville, Valencia and then Barcelona. They ate at bars, deep fried potatoes and large helpings of paella, drinking large glasses of sangria made sweeter by peaches and sugar that settled warm in Clary's stomach and made her head feel lighter. They took whole days to wander around the coastal resorts with their cream and sky-blue streetlamps and row after row of white-facades, red-roofed houses.
"I think we should ask Maryse to let trainees be sent to our Institute,"Jace told her one day, the warm coastal breeze making his hair tousled. "I think I'd like to teach them."
Clary said, "I'm sure you would be great," and then, "I'd be proud," and she meant it.
Jace looked dazed for a moment, then smiled at her with a delighted smile that had her chest bursting with warmth.
There had been some kind of an unspoken agreement, as they crossed through the Alps, to completely avoid Venice. So, from Liguria they moved down to Florence. It was a bit of a shame though, because despite her dinner with Jace she hadn't gotten to see much of Venice the first time around.
From the top of the bell tower, all of Florence stretched out before their eyes. Winding streets made patterns among the red brick roofs, and to the south, the Arno River cut across the panorama.
Having raced to the top, though, Clary and Jace were still too winded to enjoy any of it properly. Jace had won, but just barely; Clary blamed her loss entirely on his longer legs.
They spent a few moments sitting on the last stone step of the massive staircase catching their breath, while the few other tourists nearby rolled their eyes.
Giotto's bell tower was their first stop of the day, as suggested by their receptionist. She had marked the Duomo on their maps, assuring them it was impossible to miss – and she had been right. The main cathedral of Florence floated like a white marble cloud over the nearby buildings, its brick dome visible from almost every street. Clary and Jace hadn't been inside the main structure yet, opting instead for the tower that, according to their guide, promised this spectacular view.
Clary stood up first, leaning over the edge to gauge their height. The piazza below was swarming with activity, and not just from tourists stopping to take photos. A majority of the bustle came from native Italians walking past the Duomo as though they were disillusioned by the impressive sight of it.
Clary wasn't sure how they managed to.
The sun broke through the clouds to fall across the page and Jace looked up from where he was sprawled on his stomach on the bed reading. From what he could see out the window, the whole sky was brightening and the rain was history.
"Clary? It's stopped raining."
Clary muttered something but didn't move from where she was draped over his back.
"You want to go check out that grotto the old guy in the square was telling us about?"
She lifted her head off Jace's shoulder and squinted at the window. "'M good here," she said
"Ok," Jace said, and Clary laid her head back down. She could see a glimpse of Naples and a little strip of blue sea spread out of their window. She let herself be lulled by the sight for a while before her eyes started to droop, Jace muttering under his breath in the background, trying to figure out the murderer's identity.
If Clary never had to see the inside of a sleeping bag again, it would still be too soon. She was young, and probably for the first time in her life, she had enough money to blow a little of it on expensive hotel rooms in the most beautiful cities of Europe. One room they stayed in had a Jacuzzi tub and Jace's skin was slick under her hands when he held her and pressed his mouth against her.
They developed crazy inside jokes that nobody else would understand. They talked a lot, more than they ever did before, especially now that it was no longer about the mad rush of getting to know the other, but a gradual fall of learning who they really were. They talked about how strange it was knowing that most of Clary's old classmates were likely attending college while she worked to complete her Shadowhunter training. Clary knew that Eric and the other boys from Simon's old band had chosen to attend colleges nearby New York in the hopes of keeping their band together.
It was a weird thought, bittersweet at the same time. She and Simon had always made similar plans among the two of them, to stick as close as possible even though they would attend different colleges. Clary supposed they wouldn't be close for another while, a year at least. And hoping Simon would regain his memories after he Ascended.
Clary felt like throwing up only thinking about it.
One of Clary's favorite moments to draw was just before bed. To her it was kinda like writing a diary. She had blushed when he discovered this, looked at him with defiance in her eyes, but he had just kissed her cheek and turned on the television, letting her have her private time with her thoughts.
There was something pure about the signature wash of white Santorini had. It seemed untouched, undefiled. The water was the most perfect glassy azure Clary had ever seen and she had to wonder why he's never spent a lot of time in Greece. The sky seemed perpetually blue and the clouds, when they appeared, were soft wisps exactly the color of the houses below.
In the warm, buttery glow of the midday sun, Jace looked just as untouched as his surroundings. Undefiled. At peace.
He was standing in saltwater that lapped at his calves, sunglasses perched on his head, studying the horizon.
"You're going to ruin your clothes," she told him and he turned to watch her kick off her sandals and roll up her jeans twice. The water was sun-warm, but it was going to grow cold soon.
"I wish it could be like this forever," she tells him.
"Why can't it?"
Clary took the time to really look at him. His posture was relaxed, the line of his shoulders was smooth and he had even let his hair curl around his face instead of cutting it at the first hint. He was put together in an entirely different way than before; rather than pulling everything in tightly and nearly breaking under the pressure of keeping it there held everything in its place, perfectly pleased to let things shift if needed.
He didn't look at all untouchable anymore. He looked real and warm and solid and content. Jace was content. Content and sure.
They were in Eastern Europe. It was so foreign, so removed from the other European countries they had visited until now, all byzantine roads and decrepit churches, the cold castles and cobwebbed chateaus.
A rainstorm had caught them by surprise as evening dawned close and Clary and Jace had been forced to stand out under the awning of a tiny restaurant and watch the rain hiss down against the pavement, counting out the seconds between the bright forks of lighting and the deep, breath-catching rolls of thunder booming overhead.
Along this twisting, aimless road, only a motel, a few restaurants and shops lie scattered, each distant from the last, and Clary felt herself small beneath the vastness of the sky.
Jace slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around Clary's waist, tucking his nose in against the side of her neck. His clothes were dark and soaked by rain, his hair and skin damp and dripping, yet he managed to remain warm. She pressed into him, fighting off the shivers; he smelled like hotel soap and strange shampoo.
Clary inhaled deep, and on the exhale, she turned around in Jace's arms and walked him back, so that they were partially hidden from the orange and white tent. It was easy to kiss him, to feel every familiar line and muscle of him, to feel Jace clinging to her and hear the shaky-slow exhale of his breath, even over the downpour, the scattered patter of thick water drops on the roof and in the cobbled stone of the floor. She wanted the rain to keep coming forever, so that she wouldn't have to let go, so that she could to cling to him.
Jace did disentangle them but didn't step away, hand circling Clary's waist, dragging down, hooking his fingers in her belt loops. The other slipped inside hers and squeezed softly.
She didn't let go.