Forgetting the Past

Chapter Two: No Matter What

Clary woke the next morning before Jace did, still resting in his arms. Morning sunlight streamed in through the many windows, giving the wooden surfaces a warm glow. She detached his arms carefully, trying not to wake him, and slipped out into the hall.
She padded down the stairs, walking into the kitchen. It was eerily silent in the house, the only noise being muffled bird chips from outside. She took a glass from a cupboard and filled it up in the sink. Without taking a drink from it, she climbed back up the stairs.
Walking past their bedroom, Clary pushed open a door on the same side of the hall. Though small, this space was bursting with messy color; easels and paintbrushes, pallets of watercolors, oil paints, and chalks. A collection of old stools with tattered, patched-up cushions were strewn about the room. The occasional streak of multicolored paint marked the floor, some of which were from the vibrant orange walls that had been carelessly painted. A few landscape paintings she or her mother had done were propped against the wall or hung up. Clary ached to capture the fresh, new morning outside.
She dragged an easel and two stools onto the adjoining, outdoor balcony, pulling the cushion from one to use it as a table. Propping a blank canvas on the easel, she set her cup of water on the table and pulled on a smock. After a bit of searching, she scooped up a collection of watercolor tubes and brought them out to where her supplies were. She shut the sliding door behind her.
She poured a small amount of green and white onto the wooden stool itself, moistening the brush and looked out over the railing. The vibrant landscape, clouded with low fog, was tinted with the diluted sunlight of morning. Birds perched in the trees, fluttering among each other and singing their cheerful morning songs. The woods were dark and looming, branching out from the thin stretch that enclosed the backyard on both sides. Past them was the meadow she had spent yesterday evening in it; the brilliant flowers had just begun to recognize the sun's presence and were opening. A cool breeze rustled her hair, raising goose-bumps on her pale skin, but she barely felt the cold.
Clary brought her brush to the canvas, sweeping on lush, gentle hills and slopes. She swirled her brush in the clear water, making beautiful emerald clouds erupt. They rose, widened, and then fell into the brewing cyclone and became a uniform color. She drew out her brush, mopping up the excess liquid with the front of her paint-streaked smock, and poured dark brown paint for the trees.
As she continued, Clary touched the side of everything that was bared to the sun with gold. They seemed to be touched by its warmth, basking in the new light. Finally she moistened a sponge, and began to dab on diluted white paint to imitate fog.
The glass door slid open slowly, with Jace standing behind it. "Hey," he said, smiling warmly. "Good morning."
Clary smiled back at him, laying the finishing touch on her artwork. "Good morning," she returned.
"That looks beautiful," he said, motioning to her canvas as he stepped onto the balcony and slid the door closed behind him. He put a hand on her shoulder and rubbed his hand up and down her arm.
"Thanks," she said hoarsely.
"What do you say we have some breakfast?" He asked.
"Ya. That sounds good," Clary answered, rising to pick up her wet painting. She took it inside, propping it up carefully so as not to smudge its surface, and pulled off her smock. She laid it across a stool, and turned around to find herself suddenly and blissfully wrapped in Jace's arms.
He tilted his forehead down to touch it to hers. "I love you, Clary. Don't ever forget it," he whispered.
"Either you want something, or your feeling very sentimental," she joked.
"I'm serious," he said, and his expression showed total sincerity. "I know it's been kinda tough since we got back," he said, making Clary tense up, "for me and for you. But I just need you to know that I still love you. That isn't going to change."
"I'm fine," she lied. "You don't have to worry about me-"
"But I will anyway," he interjected. "Clary, you went through a lot of terrible things back there. I never wanted that for you. But we can keep going, we can get married, we can be happy together. I just need to know that you're okay before we do any of that."
"Jace," she replied, drawing in a breath for what she was about to confess. "Back there, when... When he had me, I thought I would never get to be with you again. I though we would never really get a chance. But now we're engaged, living in the Herondale manor together, planning out our lives. I couldn't be happier. I know I don't seem like it, because I'm still... recovering, in a way, but there's nothing I want more than this."
Jace drew in a sharp breath at her words. He looked at her with bright hopeful eyes, then pressed a kiss to her lips.
"I'm glad," he said softly. They drew apart, still holding hands, and went down to the kitchen for breakfast.