Chapter Text
The rising sun has turned the sea into diamonds, lapping gently against the white sand shores. The sky is a light gradient of pinks and reds and purples, cast over the bluest water that Clary has ever seen – the kind of colors that makes her itch for a paintbrush in her hands. The island behind her is a deep, jungle green, overgrown with palm trees and a dense canopy of lush forest. She can feel the salt spray against her face, the breeze playing with her hair, her toes deep in the soft sand.
It’s paradise, and Clary kind of wants to cry.
She can feel Jonathan approaching before he ever says a word. She closes her eyes and forces back the rising tide of emotions – keep it together, Fray, eyes on the prize – and automatically holds her arm out for his inspection. After three months of this, she knows the routine.
“You’re up early,” Jonathan says casually as he scrutinizes her anti-tracking rune. He hums in dissatisfaction; a quick pass of his stele returns it to a stark black against her skin. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I slept fine,” Clary lies, dredging up a smile for him. “Just wanted to see the sunrise. It’s so beautiful here.”
He smiles back at her, and the open affection on his face makes her stomach roil. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I think it might be one of my favorite places we’ve been so far,” Clary says. And she’s not lying – yesterday, she’d spent hours watching the flash of exotic fish, darting between bright coral in the crystal clear water, and even spotted the slow glide of a sea turtle making its way past. It’s the kind of place she dreamed of going as a child, when she and Simon would watch endless nature documentaries and make their big plans to see the world.
“Really?” Jonathan says with a teasing lilt to his voice, “Namaqualand didn’t do it for you?”
“Turns out I’m not really a desert girl,” Clary says, trying to match his tone. “I grew up in New York, land of the humid summers – put me in a dry heat and I just shrivel up like a sun-dried tomato.”
Jonathan chuckles. “Too true, you complained the entire time we were in Watarrka.”
“Lapland wasn’t bad, though, even if I did almost freeze my nose off,” Clary says musingly. “I’d always wanted to see the Northern Lights. I just wish I could have done it without feeling like I was going to lose a couple limbs to frostbite.”
“So deserts are too hot, and mountains are too cold – so picky, sister.” Jonathan actually laughs out loud when Clary pulls a face at him. “I suppose I should have been taking us to tropical islands this whole time. Though you did seem to be a fan of Lofoten, even if it was a little on the chilly side.”
Clary freezes, the memory of Lofoten rising up to catch her in the of the throat. The smile she’s been holding on to cracks, and it’s all she can do to turn away before Jonathan sees the look on her face.
“Well,” she says with forced indifference, struggling for composure as she looks out over the ocean. She coughs to cover the emotion in her voice. “Maybe I just got tired of fjords.”
If Jonathan notices the catch in her voice or the tension in her back, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he bumps her shoulder companionably with his own. Clary ignores the way her skin crawls where he’s touched her – another thing she’s gotten used to over the last three months.
“I’d say we have another week here before it’s time to move on,” he says after a long, quiet moment of listening to the waves rush against the shore. “Where to next?”
It’s the first time he’s ever asked. Clary feels a thrill go up her spine, but keeps the excitement out of her voice when she says, “I’ve always wanted to see Paris.”
“Clary,” Jonathan says, a note of warning in his voice.
Clary turns to him with the brightest smile she can muster and puts a hand on his arm. “I’m an artist, Jonathan. Paris has been the dream since I was a little girl – so many of my heroes made their homes there.”
“I know,” Jonathan says, studying her. It’s not a no. Clary faces him with what she hopes is a look of starry-eyed innocence.
“I want to see the Louvre, the Musée D’Orsay, watch the sun set over the Seine and see the city lights from Sacre Coeur. My whole life, I never even left New York; this is the first chance I’ve had to see the world, and it’s because of you.” She lets her eyes get wide and blinks up at him through her lashes. “Please? It would make me so happy, brother.”
Jonathan stares back at her and brings his hand up to cover hers where it’s pressed against his arm. Clary waits with bated breath through the long pause that follows.
Jonathan sighs, and brings his other hand up to cup her cheek. She leans into it slightly and is rewarded with a small smile.
“I love you, sister, but I’m not stupid.”
The words are ice water down her back. She has to force herself not to jerk away from him, to keep her expression neutral and her eyes on his. She’s suddenly cold in the tropical heat.
“You’re not ready yet. You still dream about your friends, about going back to those Shadowhunters.” He spits the word out like a curse, a dark expression crossing his face that makes her shiver. “If I bring you to a place like Paris too soon, I run the risk of losing you.”
“No, brother,” Clary says, mind scrambling, “you’ve got it all wrong. I – maybe at first, I wanted to go back, but it’s been so long and this connection we have is – it’s undeniable. We’re family. I just want to share this with you.”
“You’re right, sister, we are connected.” Jonathan moves their joined hands to rest over his collarbone, where she knows the twinning rune is burned into his skin. She feels a pulse of heat from her own rune as he presses her hand into the fabric of his shirt. “That’s how I know you’re not ready.”
Clary jerks her hands back and steps away from him, hoping he reads her revulsion and growing rage as a simple, sisterly tantrum for not getting what she wants.
She doesn’t the see the flash of fury that flickers across his face, but she doesn’t have to – she can feel the bright stab of it through their bond. It’s gone as quickly as it appears.
“It’s okay,” Jonathan says eventually with a small, forgiving smile, “I can wait. In time, you’ll feel what I feel.”
He turns and walks back toward where the apartment is hidden among the trees. Clary waits until she can no longer sense him behind her before collapsing to her knees in the sand, heaving deep breaths that almost feel like sobs.
The sun has risen, now; it’s a new day.