Lots of hugs and kisses go out to amaggiepie and sunshiiine23 for being beta masters. I wish I could show my readers what the chapters look like before you guys get your hands on them. You do A LOT of work. lol.
Warnings: Mature themes including perceived incest, explicit sexual content, and strong language. Immature themes including excessive dash usage and copious amounts of unapologetic relationship angst. Proceed with caution.
Context: This story is set after a City of Glass in which Clary and Jace do NOT figure out that they aren't really brother and sister. They never got the Book of the White to Magnus, so Jocelyn is still comatose. (This ignores City of Fallen Angels and City of Lost Souls entirely.)
Keep the Next Breath
PART ELEVEN
Jace cannot feel his legs. He cannot feel his hands or taste the cold air as it fills his lungs before being forced out. He is not aware of the cement under his feet and only notices the people on the sidewalk long enough to shove them out of his way. This is the first time he has ever run for his life.
When he reaches the Institute one of the front doors stands open, swung out into the night like the gaping jaw of a corpse. There is a moment when Jace thinks he might get sick as he takes the steps two at a time. Some part of him had hoped he was wrong.
All of the candles and witchlights have been extinguished, save for one at the far end of the sanctuary…
Alec nearly runs over him in the doorway. He skids to a stop, and Jace feels his heavy breaths on the back of his neck as he takes in their surroundings for the first time. He says something, but Jace doesn't hear it. All he sees is that one light casting a dull glow over a long plait of red hair.
"No."
The word falls from his lips like a gunshot. He takes off down the aisle, quickly closing the distance to the altar, where an unmistakable figure lay across the table. In the few seconds it takes to reach her side, his heart seems to stop, restarting only when he touches her back—just beneath the dagger impaled in her flesh.
"No. No. No." The quiet hymn grows more pained of the longer he looks at her—his Clary—lying only halfway across the table with the toes of her boots barely touching the floor. There's a knife in her back and another pinning one of her hands to the smooth surface above her head.
She isn't moving.
"Oh, God. Clary. Baby, don't—" Jace moves to brush the hair from her face, but Alec is already there. Removing one of his gloves, he presses two bare fingers to her neck, his face white with suppressed panic. Jace watches him, waiting, but wanting to push him aside so that he can check for himself. "Alec—"
"She's alive," he says quietly to himself. He looks up at Jace. "She's alive."
There's no relief. Jace doesn't feel any less terrified. When Alec removes the dagger from her hand, he feels sick all over again. He stares, paralyzed, as his parabatai traces an iratze beside the gaping wound. Following his example, Jace swallows and reaches for the handle of the blade in her back. He recognizes it, remembers plunging it into Sebastian's back before watching him fall face-first into the river.
"Don't touch it," Alec snaps. "It could be,"—he swallows—"holding something together."
"No." Jace shakes his head. The blade is perfectly placed or, rather, perfectly misplaced.
"He taught me there's a place on a man's back where, if you sink a blade in, you can pierce his heart and sever his spine, all at once."
Two centimeters down and to the left, and the blow would have been fatal. Instead of bone and organ, the dagger severed muscle and flesh. It would be a mistake to think that Sebastian had missed.
Jace's hand closes around the hilt. "It won't kill her."
"But the blood loss might." Alec has reached beneath her head to the side of her face resting against the table. When he withdraws his fingers, they come away stained red. Not stopping to wipe off the blood, he takes his stele and sketches an iratze on her bared neck.
Jace catches Alec's eye. "Can you…"
He nods. Taking the knife that he pulled from Clary's palm, Alec cuts open the back of her gear, carefully maneuvering around the lodged blade. Once an area of smooth, unmarred skin is exposed, Jace withdraws the dagger as smoothly as he can. As soon as the tip is free, Alec hurries to draw yet another iratze, this one across the top of her spine.
Jace takes a step back out of his way. The dagger feels hot in his hand. He cannot look away from the blade and the blood dripping from its edge onto the floor. Clary's blood. It's wrong. It shouldn't be there. It's meant to be inside of her. Maybe if it was, she would be moving and not lying there so pale, and cold, and still.
For the first time, Jace takes a proper look at her face. In the dim light, it's hard to detect anything amiss. She could almost be sleeping. Only more careful scrutiny reveals the bruise forming on her cheek, the split in her lip, the blood beginning to dry in her hairline, and the shadows beneath her eyes marking the deathly pallor of her skin.
She's alive, Jace tells himself.
"We should get her to the infirmary." Alec uses one hand to press a folded cloth to the wound on her back and other to check her pulse again. He hasn't stopped moving. "Can you get the elevator?"
Jace steps forward. "I'll take her."
He looks at him, his expression doubtful. "Are you sure? I can—"
"I'll take her."
Alec hesitates but nods and moves back. Jace goes to pick Clary up but then realizes he's still holding the dagger. He can't bring himself to toss it aside. A part of him is afraid that if he lets it out of his sight, it will somehow return and bring Sebastian with it. He slips it into one of the empty sheaths on his belt.
As he gingerly turns Clary and lifts her into his arms, her hand—the one that was tucked between her body and the alter—falls open, and something small clatters onto the floor. Alec crouches to retrieve it and then holds it up in the light
A sliver of metal no more than three inches long.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
Isabelle is cold and tired. She smells like sweat dried with blood, and all she wants is a hot shower before falling into bed. But as she approaches the infirmary and sees her brothers loitering in the hall, she knows sleep is a long way off.
Jace leans against the wall opposite the barred infirmary, while Alec shuffles restlessly across the width of the hallway, alternatively casting glances at Jace and the closed door. Isabelle knows Clary is on the other side and that Brother Zachariah is with her. He came to the Institute as soon it was learned that the missing shard of the Mortal Sword had been recovered. After confirming that the sliver was in fact the entire missing piece, Brother Zachariah agreed to see to Clary's wounds, which Isabelle has only heard described as "extensive." With Magnus gone, a Silent Brother is the closest thing to a trained healer they could hope for on short notice.
Neither boy seems to notice her arrival. Instinct draws Isabelle to Jace first—when Clary is involved, Isabelle always thinks of him before anyone else. But then Alec turns and regards her with bright, worried eyes, and she checks herself.
Right. He's still in love with her.
Isabelle rests a hand on her brother's arm. "How's she holding up?"
Alec shakes his head. He's as pale as bleached runestone. "We don't know. She was unconscious when we found her, and she hasn't woken up. There was a lot of internal damage and bleeding." Subconsciously he rubs his red-stained hands against the sides of his pants. "But Brother Zachariah seemed to think that she would live."
"Why didn't Sebastian just kill her?" Isabelle winces as soon as the words leave her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye she catches Jace's flinch.
"I don't know." Alec looks back at the door. "Hopefully she'll be able to tell us."
"If I were her, I wouldn't be in any hurry to wake up," Isabelle murmurs, suddenly feeling twice as exhausted.
Alec shoots her a piercing look. Isabelle shrugs. "They're all pretty upset downstairs."
"Overwhelmed with concern for her welfare, I'm sure," Jace mutters, still watching the door. Isabelle's glad to hear him speak at all.
"She lied to the Clave."
"She got the shard, didn't she? And that's what we were after."
"Yes. But she put everyone's lives at risk. Including ours." Isabelle knows she should drop it, because she's not really upset with Clary. Not because of the night's events anyway. Isabelle and everyone else on that rooftop were prepared for a battle, and that's exactly what they got.
Alec frowns. Isabelle thinks the sympathy in his eyes might be aimed at her. "She thought it was the only way to help her mother."
Isabelle steps away from him. "She's lucky she's just 16. If she were a couple years older, they would probably put her on trial."
"Thank you, Isabelle, for the heartfelt sentiments," Jace drawls tonelessly. "You've proved invaluable at lifting our spirits. You should go and continue to spread good cheer elsewhere."
Isabelle sighs and raises her hands in a gesture of surrender. "Alright. Fine. I'll be in my room. Just tell me if things take a turn for the worse, okay?"
"If it turns out she hired the warlock herself as well, you'll be the first to know."
"Fuck you, Jace." Isabelle brushes past them both and heads to her room before the urge to hit someone proves too strong.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"You shouldn't take it out on her. She cares about Clary, too."
There's no real rebuke in Alec's voice. He's just as glad that Isabelle's gone. Neither of them is in the mood to bicker, even if a confrontation would have made Isabelle feel better—would have helped her ignore her fear.
"I'll apologize later."
Alec's hands are discolored with Clary's blood. The smears of red are so dark they look black across his knuckles. The dagger hanging from Jace's belt is just as saturated. As is the altar in the sanctuary. Jace wonders how long it will take for her body to replenish such a staggering amount of blood.
"I need to ask you about something." Alec stops pacing. He leans against the wall opposite Jace, his stained hands flexing at his sides. He looks tired but determined. There is something significant about the space he's put between them.
Jace's throat is dry. It hurts to speak. "Do we have to talk about it now?"
"Yes."
"Fine."
"Were you ever going to tell me?" Alec's gaze pins him to the wall. "Were you ever going to tell anyone about you and Clary?"
Jace bites the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. It's the only thing he feels aside from the burning sensation in his chest as he holds his breath. There's no bluff in Alec's eyes. "You know."
Alec nods.
Jace considers him more closely, wondering what could have given them away. Not Maia. If she were to tell anyone it would be Luke, and he still doesn't suspect anything. Which can only mean one thing.
"You saw us. You were in the hall outside our rooms the other night."
"I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything. I was just taking a walk because I was having trouble sleeping—"
"Please." Jace raises a hand. "Don't apologize for realizing that I'm sleeping with my sister."
The words seem to burn Alec. He looks away quickly, jaw and hands clenched.
"Do you hate me?" Jace asks quietly. He's always told himself that it doesn't matter, that as long as he has Clary, the loathing and disgust of everyone else he cares about would be worth it. She means more to him than anything else in the world. And yet, the thought of Alec, his parabatai, shunning him for any reason leaves Jace feeling as if someone has reached inside and hallowed him out.
"I want to hate you. I should hate you. You're risking everything, and I…I know Clary isn't mine, but I still want her to have the life she deserves." Alec shakes his head and manages to lift his gaze to meet Jace's once more. The despair in his eyes is as opaque as the blood on his hands. "And what about you? Is this what you want? To live like this? Hiding?"
Jace swallows. "We'll be more careful…"
"You can't keep it a secret forever, and when people find out, you'll have to run. And you'll have to keep running. The Clave will strip you and Clary of your Marks if they get their hands on you. Then you'll lose everything." Alec steps forward. He grasps Jace's shoulder. "I wouldn't even be allowed to speak to you."
Head bowed, Jace closes his eyes and allows the strength of their bond wash over him. The parabatai connection is not amplified by touch, but by powerful emotion. Jace feel's the weight of Alec's anxiety mixing with his own hopelessness, and it would be overwhelming if it weren't for the fact that they are at their strongest like this—together. He has never been more aware of the binding rune warming his skin beneath Alec's hand.
Jace grips Alec's shoulder in turn. "I want you to swear something."
"What?"
"I want you to swear that if anything were to happen to me, if for some reason I can't be here, you'll watch out for her. Swear that you'll keep her safe"—his grip tightens—"and try…try to make sure she's happy."
"Jace…"
"That's what I want more than anything. For her to be happy. I've wanted other things, but nothing half so much as I want that." He holds Alec's gaze. "You understand that."
Silence stretches between them until finally Alec's shoulders sag. "Fine. I swear. But that doesn't mean you have permission to do something stupid."
"When have I ever needed permission?"
Alec doesn't smile.
The door to the infirmary opens to reveal Brother Zachariah's towering, robed form. Jace moves to approach him, questions about Clary's condition forming on his lips. But Alec's grip keep him in place. "You have to swear the same," he says. "You have to swear to make her happy." He drops his hand. "And to be happy."
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
The first thing Clary becomes aware of is the numbness. She can't feel her body from the chest down. If she concentrates, she can get her fingers to bend. There is a pillow beneath her head and there is darkness.
A voice, faint like the final strains of a dying song, lingers about her consciousness, circling but never drawing nearer. She finds its persistence comforting, soothing, and soon she drifts away until there is only the memory of it.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
"Jace."
He's sitting on the edge of her bed, a gold and black sentinal amidst the whiteness of the infirmary. She's lying on her stomach, and she can feel his body heat through the thin blanket that covers her. She can also feel the dull throbs of pain in her head and in her back.
His fingers lace through hers. "Hey."
She tries to respond but her mouth is dry, and all she manages is an incoherent noise muffled by the pillow beneath her cheek.
Jace takes the glass of water from the bedside table and holds it out in offering. Her arms shake as she uses them to prop herself up.
"Careful," he murmurs and tips the cup to her lips. She drinks eagerly.
As soon as the water is gone and the glass withdrawn, Clary collapses back onto the bed, wincing at the discomfort it causes. The pain in her back makes her eyes sting with tears. She forces them away when she meets Jace's troubled gaze.
"Hey." Her voice is rough and weak, but it works. For some reason, the single word earns a small smile from Jace.
"How do you feel?"
"Awful," she answers truthfully. "What happened?"
The grin vanishes. His brow furrows the way it does when he's upset, but his touch remains light as his thumb strokes circles over the back of her hand. "I was hoping you could tell me."
The pattern he's tracing isn't arbitrary. He's following the raised skin of a narrow, pink scar. Memories of her confrontation with Sebastian assault her like fragments of shattered glass raining down on her skin. She wants nothing more than to brush them away but can't find the strength.
Jace peers down at her with a patience she doesn't deserve. "You could have told me."
"No, I couldn't have. I had to meet Sebastian alone. That was the deal." The real deal. "You would have tried to stop me, or come with me."
There's a fleeting a sense of déjà vu. It wasn't long ago that Clary stole out into the night to confront the warlock alone. Afterwards, she and Jace had sat in this very same room having a similar a discussion. She realizes now that this is just a part of who they are, one of their many imperfections. Jace will always be fighting to protect her, and she will always be fighting to do what she must, regardless of the danger.
"You almost died. I thought you were dead."
Her hand tightens around his. "I'm sorry, but I had to. For my—our mom." Clary's heart constricts in her chest. She lifts her head, trying to bring herself face-to-face with Jace, who suddenly looks regretful. She bites her tongue until she tastes blood. "The book. You…you have it, don't you? The Warlock—he had to have it…"
Jace drops his eyes. "Clary…"
This time, she does not stop the tears. They slip freely down her cheeks to land on the starched, white pillowcase. She presses her trembling lips to the damp fabric.
"She had it, but she found a loophole in the Promise, and she disappeared off the roof…"
Clary squeezes her eyes shut. The Book of the White is lost. She will never get to speak to her mother again. She will never hug her mother and be hugged back. She will never see her mother paint again. She will never get to ask the questions she so desperately wants answered. She will never be able to tell her mother that she forgives her.
Jace's hand touches her hair. "We'll find a way," he promises. "We'll get the book back, or we'll find something else to wake her up. It isn't over."
Clary shudders. He's right. It isn't over. She recalls the sadistic promises in Sebastian's black eyes. That hatred…she has never seen anything like it. And to have seen it directed at Jace frightens her more than she would readily admit. Because a part of her is aware that, like Valentine, Sebastian will not be satisfied with only a taste of bloodshed. He will want more, and next time he will collect his debt in full.
"How long have I been out?"
"About 16 hours."
"And Sebastian hasn't tried anything else?"
As Jace brushes the hair from her face, she realizes for the first time that there is a bandage around her head. "No. And he can't hurt you again. You took the shard from him, and we've had the wards around the Institute reinforced. And you're under house arrest anyway."
So, she did it. She got the shard. After seeing it tucked into Sebastian's belt, she waited for him to get close enough. She bided her time until he had her pinned on the altar before making a blind grab for it. He obviously didn't notice.
She didn't fail completely.
"Jace,"—she tugs on his hand—"it isn't me he wants to hurt. It's you. He blames you for what happened to Valentine, and he wants to make you suffer for it."
"But—"
"He knows about us." It is the first time those words do not make her feel ashamed. "He knows what I mean to you, so he thought the best way to make you suffer would be to hurt me."
Looking at Jace, Clary knows that Sebastian's aim struck true. For a long time now, she has been a chink in Jace's armor. It's something she's usually proud of. He lets her into places, lets her see parts of him that he hasn't shared with anyone else, including his adoptive family. He's made himself vulnerable to her, and Clary has always appreciated the responsibility she bears because of it. Now Sebastian is using that devotion to achieve his own morbid ends.
Slowly, Jace shakes his head. "But he could have killed you, and he didn't. If he knew what losing you would do to me,"—he shudders—"why did he let you live?"
She casts her gaze toward the bed. "Does it matter?"
He catches her chin and forces her eyes up to meet his. "No more secrets."
Biting her lip, she briefly contemplates the possibility of lying, but decides that keeping things from him shouldn't become a habit, even if she only means to protect him. She takes a breath and tries to speak matter-of-factly. "He said he wants to create a new breed of Shadowhunters. With me." When Jace stares back at her uncomprehendingly, she reluctantly continues. "I think it's because of what Valentine did with my blood. Sebastian thinks that, together, he and I would produce—"
In a moment, Jace is on his feet, staring down at her as if she's just told him she wants to devote her life to the slaughtering of Mundanes. "He wants—he wants you to give him children?"
She pushes herself up onto one elbow, hating that she doesn't have the strength to stand and go to him. "That's what he implied. It's messed up, I know—"
"No," he bites out ferociously. "He can't. No."
"Jace—"
"If he thinks he can just—"
"Listen to—"
"I'll kill him. I won't let him—"
"Jace!" Her head is throbbing, but Jace has gone mercifully silent, even if he remains stiff and unapproachable. His hands are trembling. "Come here."
Jaw clenched, he continues glaring at the wall above her bed.
"Please, come here."
He takes just two rigid steps forward, but it brings him close enough for Clary to reach out and touch his wrist.
"Sit."
He does, and she takes one his hands between both of hers, bringing his clenched fist to her lips. She leaves kisses and rubs circles until he goes pliant in her grasp, and she doesn't stop until the rest of his body follows suit.
When his breathing finally matches the pace of her own, she says, "It isn't going to happen. You said it yourself; he won't be able to reach me here a second time. And this is exactly what he wanted. Sebastian wants you upset and hurt. You can't give him that satisfaction."
"I'll never let him hurt you again."
"You didn't let him hurt me in the first place."
Jace looks like he wants to say something but remains silent.
Recognizing the small victory, she changes the subject. "Was anyone hurt in the fight last night?"
Jace shakes his head. "Not badly. Maryse was knocked unconscious at one point, but she's recovered. Other than that, nothing worse than the usual. Even Luke's pack made it out alright."
Despite his bitter tone, Clary is filled with relief. Their safety was her greatest reservation about the entire deception. Yes, it's a Shadowhunter's duty to do battle with demons no matter what the scenario, but they were on that rooftop under false pretenses because of her. The fact that they made it out safely makes her guilt a little easier to bear. "And Simon?"
"He slept on the porch," Jace mutters ruefully. "I don't think he believed me when I told him it wasn't likely you would die."
"I'll go out and see him as soon as I can."
"I wouldn't bother rushing. He's doing a commendable job of frightening away the pigeons. If being in a lame band ends up falling through, he may have found his calling as a gargoyle."
Clary smiles into his palm, pleased to hear him sounding more like himself. It's the only reason she doesn't admonish him.
But the lightheartedness doesn't last. Jace's frown makes a foreboding reappearance just before he looks away, eyes staring impassively at some spot just above her head. "Alec will want to see you. He hasn't slept since…we found you."
"Jace…"
"If it hadn't been for him, you might not have made it. When I saw you like that, I couldn't think, couldn't act. I was terrified, and all I wanted was for you to open your eyes." Jace looks haunted by recollection. "But he didn't panic; he helped you when I couldn't."
She drags her fingers down his forearm to the hollow of his elbow. The skin there is a shade paler than the rest of him—white gold. She feels his pulse, slow and steady, beating in time with her own, until she speaks and it begins to quicken.
"I'm glad he was there then," she says. "It's okay to need people."
"I need you," he admits. "I always have. Even before I met you, there was always something missing. And it wasn't just a sister. It was you."
"I need you, too." She must still be tired because she feels the pressure of tears building in her eyes once more. Jace regards her softly.
"You'll always have me. Even if it can't always be like this." He runs his knuckles along her cheek, and the gentle friction causes her to shiver. "I'm yours. Nothing you or anyone else can do will change that. Promise me, you'll remember that."
"I promise."
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
His elbows rest on either side of her head, bracing his weight as he moves inside her. She lifts her hips to meet his unhurried pace, and their lips brush so lightly it almost seems accidental. It's good to be in this room again, to be in this bed with Jace looming over her in a familiar way.
And yet there's something different about tonight, about the way he holds her as if she could break beneath his touch. She knows Jace can be tender, but she's never seen him like this—frightened, almost.
She tries to coax the tension from his shoulders with a practiced touch. Her body, impatient with the torturously slow tempo, presses encouragingly against his hips. Jace moans but doesn't yield to her silent plea. If anything, his movements become more measured, more deliberate.
Clary takes a tremulous breath and doesn't push further. She knew when they began that this was something he needed. The way desperation had battled against tentativeness as he undressed her was enough to clue her in to his precarious state.
He's been behaving oddly ever since she woke up in the infirmary four days ago.
Jace stops moving altogether. Clary meets his golden stare questioningly. She brushes the damp bangs back from his face. "Is something wrong?"
He doesn't answer but draws away until he's sitting back on his knees. Then he moves her legs so that he's no longer between them.
"What—"
"Turn over."
There's nothing in his expression to give him away. His eyes are dark and the set of his mouth is a little sad, Clary thinks, but she's can't tell what he's thinking. She does as he asks, though, and rolls onto her stomach. She immediately feels Jace's hands on the backs of her thigh, parting them before moving to take hold of her hips. In this new position, he enters her quickly, causing her to gasp. Then his fingers are on the nape of her neck, collecting her hair and pulling it to one side. She shivers when his lips touch her shoulder blades, where the scar from her stab wound is still tender to the touch. His tongue soothes over the raised skin, and just when she thinks she can't stand his stillness a moment longer, Jace begins a deep, steady rhythm that has her arching back against him. His hands slide down her arms until their fingers are intertwined on the bedspread.
His pace quickens; the desperation is winning out. She leans forward into the mattress, legs tucked beneath her, so that she takes him deeper. The fluttering in her stomach has heated, tightened, and she knows that he is taking them where they both need to be.
Warm, slick ridges of muscle press against the small of her back, and then his voice, urgent and breathless, is near her ear. "This is it. God, I can't love you any other way. This will always be it."
She buries her face into the pillow, body reeling with shuddering release. She wants to speak, but her mind is full of fragmented thoughts, all dissolving like handfuls of burning confetti scattering to the winds.
Not slowing his vigorous pace, Jace lowers his lips once more to her scarred back. The words he leaves there sink into her skin with a trepidation she cannot comprehend. "Tell me we'll always have this."
His thrusts become frantic just before he goes rigid against her back, fingers digging into her hips. He loses himself, and she does not think he hears her reply.
[ - ] [ - ] [ - ]
When Clary awakes the next morning, Jace is gone. Taking his place is a folded sheet of paper lined with neat handwriting. The letter is brief. This time he did not need to explain his heart.
She already understands.
AN: So, barring any major changes suggested during the editing process, it looks like we just have one more chapter to go. This is very exciting! I can't wait to see what you guys think of how everything wraps up. And, I know, another cliffhanger. I am bad like that. But the last chapter is well underway, so hopefully there isn't a long wait ahead. :)
On a completely different note, I hope everyone is enjoying City of Lost Souls. I finished it yesterday and am still recovering. Also, I couldn't help but notice some of the similarities between it and Keep the Next Breath. ;)
DO YOU LIKE THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS? DO YOU LIKE THE INFERNAL DEVICES? DO YOU LIKE FANFICTION ABOUT THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS OR THE INFERNAL DEVICES? THEN THIS NEXT OFFER IS FOR YOU. I've got a friend who has started a TMI/TID fanfic meme over on livejournal, and everyone is welcome to go and participate. I've been prompting like crazy, and I've even written something. You should go check it out for yourselves (just be aware that there will be mature content): tmi-anon-meme (dot) livejournal (dot) com/440 (dot) html#cutid1