Brace yourselves.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter: Belle

One week consists of seven days, one hundred sixty-eight hours, ten thousand and eighty minutes, or six hundred and four thousand eight hundred seconds. If you live a particularly boring life it can seem to last an eternity.

For Belle it went by in a heartbeat.

She didn't understand why time went so quick; it shouldn't have, by any reasoning. Time flies when you're having fun, maybe, but she wasn't having fun. She was in Hell, every minute of every day. She dreaded every waking second but nights were no better, and she woke every few hours with horrific nightmares that were filled with blood and pain and shadows that grinned at her from every angle.

She soon stopped sleeping altogether, and eating as well. Every swallow hurt, and she worried herself ill. Anyone who hadn't seen her every day would be astounded at the change: where there was once a healthy, beautiful girl, so full of life and energy and love (Hey there, angel girl), there remained only the shell of a broken soul, losing weight she couldn't afford to lose until Jem could count her ribs, dark bruises under her eyes, an angel no more (I'm half-demon, you know).

She didn't sleep (or not sleep, as the case was) in her own bed anymore, but rather insisted on being at Jem's side constantly. He didn't mind, in fact he adored her presence, but her sudden change in attitude and manner alarmed and confused him. Why was she ill? Was she feeling all right? Had he done something? Was she sure she wasn't–

"James!" she shouted at him after the fourth time he asked the question. It had been a week since she'd last used that name, a week since she'd begged his forgiveness. A week since she'd kissed Will. "If I was pregnant I would tell you! I'm not, and I'm not ill, I'm just…" She sighed, burying her face in her hands. "I'm just tired."

"I'll say. You never sleep anymore." He sat on his bed (their bed) beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and rubbing her arm. "You think I don't notice but I do, and I don't want you to be unhappy. Please," he begged. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm just going to miss you," she whispered.

"By the Angel, Belle, don't say that. I know… Well, people always miss the ones they love, but you'll be all right, you know you will, and I won't be…"

"Do you believe in Heaven?" She didn't know. She knew many Shadowhunters differed in their religious beliefs, if they had any at all. "I mean, there are demons and angels, so it stands to reason…"

Jem was quiet for a moment. "I believe… Have you heard of the Wheel of Life?" Belle shook her head. "It's the idea that when you die, you reincarnate, as it were, into someone else. I believe that when you love someone, you and they are bound, and in every life you will find each other." He smiled so sweetly it was impossible not to smile back. "What about you? Do you believe in God?"

Belle's first instinct was to deny the existence of any such deity, because a benevolent God would never deal the hand she played with every day. There was the possibility of a malevolent God, which would explain a lot, but it would seem rather silly to waste time praying to a God that wants to squish you like a bug. "I've seen a lot in my time. Three different countries in eighteen years. Mundane, Downworlder, Shadowhunter. I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demigods and would-be gods. I've had the whole pantheon. But if I believe in one thing, just one thing… Well, I believe in you."

"In… me? Why do you believe in me? What's all that about… fake gods and… the rest?" The confusion emanating from him was palpable. Over the few weeks they'd known each other, Jem had opened up to Belle, letting himself feel the wide spectrum of human emotion he previously kept hidden. He had to be the rock for Will, calm and steady, but with Belle he was free.

She shrugged, eyelids fluttering. Exhaustion made her say strange things, though she'd let Jem think she was deep if he liked. "Just that there are a lot of people out there who think they're gods, who have power and abuse it: bad gods. Fake gods, because they're people who think they rule the world when they couldn't govern a street corner. Demigods… That's what I am, isn't it, half-angel and half-something else. I believe in you, Jem Carstairs, because you are the most beautiful person I have ever met."

He flushed; he couldn't hope to hide a blush with such pale porcelain skin. He ducked his head forward and let silver hair fall over his eyes. It's getting long, she thought affectionately. He'll need a haircut. Maybe tomorrow– Her heart stopped. There would be no tomorrow for her. "I'm not," he murmured. "I'm too thin and too pale and too delicate."

"First of all, shut up, and second of all, that doesn't matter. You've got a light inside that can't help but shine through, and you're kind and smart and loving and you put up with Will and I and oh, Jem, I must have done something really wonderful to end up with someone like you," she sobbed, burying her face in Jem's shoulder and winding her arms around his neck. She took shuddering breaths but the tears wouldn't come.

"Yeah, you're you," he replied softly, stroking her hair. "I love you so much. Lovely, lovely faerie girl. It's not as though I'm dying tonight. You don't need to say goodbye."

If you had any idea… she thought sadly. But then again, if he had any idea he'd do anything to stop her. He'd kill himself if it meant he wouldn't have to watch her die. "I don't want to live without you."

"You've lived without me for years, you can do it for more…"

"It's not the same, Jem, I know you now… And I love you, I didn't love you before, there is no way I'm going to live without you. I promise you it will not happen."

"You'd be surprised what you can do when you have to," Jem whispered, burying his face in Belle's curly hair, still dark as coffee roast but limp now. "People can do much more than they think they can, under pressure."

Belle held him, nuzzling her nose into the curve of his throat. "You're going to live, Jem," she promised. "You are."

"Some people live more in twenty years than others do in eighty," he answered, "and I'd like to think I can be one of those people, though I won't hit twenty, I'd bet."

"Don't say that. Just… trust me, all right?"

Jem pulled away. "Do you know something I don't? Are you hiding something from me?"

She met his curious mercury-bright eyes with trepidation; she worried he would know she's lying. "Nothing," she said in a trembling voice. "Nothing you won't forgive me for."

"You're a funny little thing, aren't you? Like a little bird, quick and darting. I–" He yawned. "Goodness, I'm exhausted. Stay with me?"

"Always," she murmured, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes. "Do you want me to– to sing?"

He buried himself into his sheets, nestling in like a cat. "Yes, but come here. I want to fall asleep with you in my arms." She obeyed, crawling in after him and snuggling against his chest. His hands pushed her shirt up to her chest– well, really it was his shirt, loose and forest-green– and his fingers played the violin strings of her ribs. "You're too thin, much too thin. Promise me you'll eat a good breakfast tomorrow."

She didn't say anything, just let a few tears fall down her cheeks. "A la claire fontaine," she sang softly, "m'en allant promener. Il ya longtemps que je t'aime. Jamais je ne l'oublirai…" The soft shuffling sound of Jem's breathing told her he had fallen asleep. She let herself stay in his arms for a few minutes longer, but eventually forced herself out of bed and stood by his sleeping form.

Belle wanted to say so many things to Jem, even while asleep, but in the end all she did was kiss his temple and whisper, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She slipped out of the room and down the stairs, out the front door and down the street until she met Magnus at their prearranged location.

He was all in black, such a sharp contrast to his caramel-colored skin, and even his hair was a silky dark curtain down to his shoulders. Without his usual sparkle and color, he looked drawn and watered down. For a moment they just stared at each other, the pale and ill faerie in her lover's clothes and the warlock who was already mourning. "Don't bury me in black or white," Belle blurted out by way of greeting. "Black is traditional for us and white is for Shadowhunters but I don't want that. Bury me in color."

"If I had it my way, I wouldn't be burying you at all," he said in a low voice. Death he was accustomed to, at his age, but the death of a friend was always a sad occasion, and immortals weren't supposed to die at all. "Where's the vampire?"

"Riley? I told him not to come. I want to be alone."

Magnus nodded knowingly; there were some things one must go through without help. "Shall we get on with it, then?"

She hesitated before nodding curtly. Once. "Get on with it."

He got to work, chanting and doing whatever it is warlocks do to summon a demon. Within moments, the shadows on the brick wall before them collected into a face. Belle's thoughts were drawn to dark times in history for reasons she didn't understand: the fall of Troy and the fires of Pompeii, the mundane World Wars, oppression through imperialism, the deaths of millions, billions, the French revolution and the subsequent Great Terror…

Welcome, welcome, children of Faerie and Lilith, a voice rumbled, sharp and metallic like a knife scarping across stone. You return for the life of the Shadowhunter. Liberating to have another's life in your hands, is it not? Power is the greatest motivator.

"Oh, shut up," Belle grumbled. Magnus looked at her in disbelief; did she really want to risk the wrath of the oldest and greatest demon when she needed him so desperately? She caught his eye and rolled her own. "I'm already gone, Magnus. I'm a dead man walking. What can he do to me?"

What indeed, Nyx mused. I admire your bravery. I don't mind a little insubordination providing you remember exactly who holds the upper hand here. Keep your mouth in check and we'll have no problem. Now, for the deal…

Belle gritted her teeth. "Okay, go ahead. Just make it quick."

So eager. No, no, it won't be so easy. Look at your feet. She looked: there were two small glass vials, one with what looked like black flames inside, the other with a diamond-bright liquid. The dark one is yours to take. The light is for your angel. The mockery in its voice was clear.

"And I just have to drink it?" She picked up the bottles and examined the contents. "I'll just… die?"

I told you it wouldn't be so easy. Drink it and begin your three days of agony. The same will go for him. When the days are over, the exchange will be complete. A life for a life.

A look of fear crossed Belle's face. She hated pain; how could she hold on for three days? No, she told herself forcefully. You can do it for Jem. For Jem. Jem… "I'll do it," she blurted out. She really couldn't keep her mouth shut today.

It's so funny to think you still have a choice. You made your promises, faerie. You were dead from the moment you sought me out.

She turned the vial containing her poison over and over in her hands. "I don't suppose," she said slowly, "there's any way I'd survive three days of agony. If this were a movie my strength and determination would be enough to save me. Love would get me through."

Life is cruel. You of all people should know that. Not every faerie tale has a happy ending. Ha, faerie tale– clever. Did you see what I did there? Yes, I suppose there is the faintest of all possibilities you won't die. Hope is strong. Good luck. There was an icy chill breeze, and then nothing. Magnus stopped chanting, and Belle let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Imagine. She could live. It was a small chance, that was true, but what was life really but a series of unlikely coincidences? She could live. Jem could live. They could be together for years and years. Maybe there would be time for children… Jem's children would be so beautiful… She could be the one at his side when he died in fifty, sixty years…

"Don't," Magnus warned, guessing her thoughts. "Nyx said that just to screw with you. You know it's not worth hoping for. You'll just break your own heart."

"If I'm wrong, I won't have a beating heart to break," she argued softly. She sighed. "Can we go? I don't want to be here anymore."

He nodded and pulled her into his arms. He smelled of smoke and the city. "I wish you weren't so noble. I wish you wouldn't take responsibility for his life. I wish you could just be selfish like everyone else."

"I've spent enough time being selfish," she replied, gently pushing him away. She couldn't deal with any affection right now. "I'm giving him a chance to live a long, selfish life. If I didn't do this I would never forgive myself."

"I wish you weren't so… well, okay with this."

"Look at me, Magnus," Belle ordered as she started quickly walking toward his house. They weren't far. "Do I look happy?"

He had to admit she didn't. She was skeletal and gaunt, paler than usual but with dark shadows in her cheeks and under her eyes. Her hands twitched nervously and he could see her pulse pounding at the base of her throat. She was already a ghost. He followed her in silence, even as she leapt up his stairs and fell into his bedroom. She sat in the middle of the bed and looked at both vials. Finally she held the black one close to her chest and held the light one out to Magnus. Her eyes were dull and dark instead of the bright emerald they should have been.

"Take it to him," she begged. "Give it to Will. He can give it to Jem. I can't go back there. Just leave me here." Magnus took the proffered vial and left quickly; he could stand to see her do this to herself. When he was absolutely gone, she pulled the stopper and took a long draught. It tasted awful, but she swallowed it all and dropped the empty bottle beside her.

She was all right for a minute, but suddenly pain shot down her spine. She cried out and fell back, arching her spine as fire flooded her veins. It felt as though every bit of skin was being slowly torn from her body and burned. As much as she despised being weak, she burst into tears and started sobbing before mercifully blacking out.

Chapter: Will

Three days. Three long, painful days where Will sat at Jem's bedside, not eating, not sleeping, just waiting and watching with bated breath. He knew his parabatai was hurting, of course he was, he had been unconscious for days but still cried out in restless sleep, tossing and turning and oh, God, it's been three days, why isn't he well yet?

Jem was the only person Will needed. He loved, though he would hardly admit it, and he wanted, much more than anyone guessed, but he didn't need. Except Jem. William Herondale and James Carstairs, the dream team, the dynamic duo, two halves to the same whole. Jem needed Will quite a bit, though he never admitted it– he hated needing anyone, because he hated to be a burden, though no one considered him one– and Will needed Jem, which he would freely admit if he could ever find the words.

He took Jem's hand then, pale and cool, with both his own. He was hoping the warmth of another person would bring him around and he started imploring every deity he could name for help. "Angel, please, don't die on me, Jem," he murmured. Jem couldn't die, not when he had been given his last chance at life.

Will put his thumb over the vein in Jem's wrist. He felt the fluttering pulse, light and soft as a butterfly's wings beating. "James, please," he begged. Jem had to be strong enough to get through this. He couldn't lose him. He couldn't lose him. He couldn't–

Just then, as the sun rose on the third day, Jem's eyes started to open.

And at that same moment, across the city in a townhouse by the Thames, a warlock started to cry.

Epilogue up next.