While trying to work through ANOTHER annoying case of writer's block, I decided to go back to characters I know and love to help get my mojo flowing again. This was written off from a prompt from one of my readers (she will know who she is when she reads this!). It is an EXTRA SCENE that would take place after the last chapter of CC. Not too much later, but it'll give you a slight bit more insight into what happened with Valentine, Simon (not much) Jonathan, etc... Oh, and there are sexy times too (because I just wanted to write it dang it!). So, yeah, *CITRUS WARNING* Hope you enjoy. ;)
P.S. This is unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.
P.P.S If you have a scene or a prompt you would like to see (from one of my stories only, please) let me know from which story and what the prompt is, and who knows, maybe I'll write it!
Long after the last spectator left the courtroom, Clary sat amongst the empty seats, her fingers curled around the handle of her cane, and her eyes staring forward at the raised bench from where the judge had handed down his verdict.
Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.
She could hardly believe it was real. That it was finally over. For so many months after the truth had come out, she'd waited for this day. Waited for the moment she might feel free. It didn't feel as she'd expected. She'd thought she'd feel lighter, that her pain and sacrifice would finally have meaning. But when they'd taken Valentine Morgenstern from the courtroom, his hands cuffed behind his back, wrinkles forming in his seven hundred dollar suit, he hadn't even glanced in her direction. It was as if she didn't exist. As if she hadn't spent nineteen years believing she was his.
Her brother, Jonathan, sat at her side the whole time, his body tense and straight. Clary knew this was harder for him. He'd lived his whole life seeing their father through rose-colored glasses. His mind had been conditioned to believe the man was good, that he may have been shrewd in business, but that was just how the business world worked. He'd never imagined the man who'd groomed him from an early age to be his protégé, was capable of such horrors, such monstrosities.
That he was capable of murder.
When the details of their mother's death came to light in the aftermath of what happened during the night Clary was shot, Jonathan had a hard time believing it to be true. He'd known for some time their father's business practices were questionable, but murder? And the murder of a woman he had claimed to love at that, was more than Jonathan could comprehend. But Clary had been there through it all. She'd comforted him, convinced him. And when the gavel came down, she held his hand.
Clary ran that same hand over her pulled back hair, trying her hardest to get the look in his eyes out of her mind. So empty. So dead. So like the father they'd grown up with. All she could do now was hope he learned from his father's mistakes and continued on a path that wouldn't destroy him too.
With a sigh, she gathered her bag from under the chair and stood, barely putting any weight on the cane as she did. She hardly needed it now, but had grown so used to having it that it was hard for her to leave it behind. It gave her a sense of steadiness, of safety, even though the pain in her side was all but gone.
She exited the courtroom into the hall, where only one person waited. He leaned against the wall, his dark hair falling into his face and his glasses slipping down the slope of his nose. His charcoal-colored suit appeared rumpled and just a bit too big. In his hands he fiddled with his phone, playing some game as he waited, no doubt. Clary smiled and crossed the hall to stand before him.
Simon glanced up, his dark eyes falling on her. "All set?"
He'd known she needed some time by herself, time to think, to process, to heal. But that wasn't a surprise, he always knew.
"Uh huh. You wanna get out of here?"
"Hell, yes. I'm starving. Plus, I promised I'd meet Izzy in a few hours." He pushed away from the wall and shoved his phone in his pocket. "Do we need to wait for Mr. Wonderful?"
Clary shook her head and started down the hall toward the front doors. "Jace is still sequestered until all the press leave. I'll see him later tonight." A ripple of nervousness skittered down her spine.
"Ah, right," Simon said. "His super secret agent status must stay intact. Gotcha." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "This feels a whole lot like that last time. You gonna lock yourselves in a room for the next week like then too?"
Clary nudged him with her shoulder and grinned. "Your green is showing again."
"There is nothing green about me."
"Uh huh. I see a little here." She pointed to his chest. "And a little here." His head. "And here." She pushed his glasses up his nose.
Simon scowled. "I'm not jealous of him."
"I'm not! I—"
With the opening of the doors, the sound of shouted questions and the clicks of cameras came from every angle. Clary heard her name being called, and hands grasped at her clothing.
"Miss, Morgenstern! How does it feel to know your father was responsible for your mother's death?"
"Miss Morgenstern! Did you know you were the crux of a federal investigation the whole time?"
"Miss Morgenstern! Is it true you were romantically involved with one of the Agents on your case?
Over and over and over they called out to her. Simon wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she ducked her face into his chest to avoid more flashes. As safe as she felt there, his were not the arms she wanted. For months her face had been splashed over the front page of every newspaper. For months she could barely step out of her apartment without seeing at least a few reporters camped out. And for months she could only meet with Jace in private. When everyone was watching her, they couldn't risk being seen together. His identity, his job, depended on it. So this accounted for very few face-to-face encounters. And she missed his face. So much.
But now, now that everything was over. Now that her father was going to prison, now that her mother and countless others finally had justice, Clary would finally, finally get him back. Well, as soon as the media circus died down, at least. She was to meet him in a secluded location, where they were sure no one else would be. Where it could be just them.
She and Simon broke through the crowd and started toward the taxi waiting at the curb. The horde followed, still shouting their questions, still clomping at her heels, but she did not turn. As much as Clary hated this whole situation, she felt lighter, happier than she had in a long time. Finally, she was going to start looking forward. Finally, she was going to start her life again.
Just as they reached the cab, Simon leaned in to open the door, and Clary spied an old homeless man limping to the bench nearby. He breathed so hard with effort Clary could hear him over the crowd. She frowned and froze.
Simon turned back to her, the door to the cab hanging open. "Ready?"
"Just a sec," she said, and took a few steps toward the man. "Excuse me. Sir?"
The man stopped and turned. His hair was long and shaggy, graying with touches of black threaded throughout. The skin of his face was brown and textured like that of a potato and his eyes were dull and streaked with red. Pain etched lines through his face.
Clary held out her hand, and with it, the cane that had given her the strength to make it through these months. But, she realized as she'd come out of the courthouse, she didn't need its strength anymore. She had enough of her own. "Here."
The man looked up, his bushy brows disappearing beneath his hair. "Miss?"
"I think you need this more than me."
He blinked but didn't say a word.
She pushed the cane into his hand and smiled. "It's gotten me through some really rough stuff, but I don't need it anymore."
The man looked down at his hand, and when he glanced back up, he smiled and tipped his head forward. He didn't say thank you, he didn't say anything at all. But he didn't need to, the nod was enough.
Clary turned from the man and made her way back to where Simon stood and where the crowd of reporters snapped away. She grinned at Simon and said, "Now. Now I'm ready." And ducked under his arm and stole into the cab.
Traffic closed in all around Jace as he rode through the streets toward his destination. The Agency had held him for what seemed like forever before allowing him to return home. He was quite sure the reporters hadn't camped outthat long, hoping for a glance at his face.
Thankful he still had his bike, he weaved between and around cars, ignoring all shouts and horns directed at him. He didn't care if he ticked them off. He had one thought and one thought only: getting to her. It felt like an eternity since he'd really seen her face, touched her skin, kissed her soft lips.
Because of the over-abundance of press watching every one of Clary's moves, the only time he'd gotten within a few feet of her, was when she was brought to the Agency building, and even then, they were never alone. But Jace took what he could get. Just seeing her, even sporadically, was better than not at all.
Jace veered off into the alley next to the seemingly abandoned building. It was where he'd been sequestered while the trial had been going on. Up until today it had been teeming with security. Tonight, it would only be them, a few guards at each entrance, and Alec and Izzy—but since they had their own apartments and didn't have to be as careful in public as him, he didn't have to worry about any interruptions.
He parked his bike and made his way around to the back entrance, entered the code on the keypad next to the frame, and rushed inside when it beeped open. Jace nodded to Frank—the door guard— and raced up the four flights of stairs until he stood in front of the door to the apartment he'd called home all these months. His hand shaking just slightly, he pushed the key into the lock and turned. The click echoed in the empty hall.
Inside it was dark, only the glow of a few lit nightlights gave him any light. He furrowed his brow and closed the door behind him. His eyes danced over the room, disappointment crashing into him when nothing looked disturbed. She wasn't here yet, he thought. But just as he was about to switch on the overhead light, he felt a breeze waft through the room.
His senses were on alert immediately, and his eyes locked on the open window across the way. The curtains moved just slightly, and behind them, he could make out the curve of a shadowed silhouette. His heart hammered in his chest as he pulled off his riding jacket and draped it over the back of the couch. Normally, he'd reach for his gun or some other weapon, but not tonight. Tonight he knew exactly who waited, as he recognized the shape of her immediately.
Jace crossed the room and stopped when he reached the window. He held the curtains aside with one hand and stared out into the night. There she was, standing against the rail of the fire escape, only the light of a streetlamp halfway down the alley outlining her face. His body vibrated with the need to go to her, his fingers itching to reach out, but his eyes wanted to soak her in. And they did. Every inch, memorized, burned into his mind in a perfect copy of the moment.
Her hair was piled up on the back of her head and held secure with a clip, little flyaway strands hanging at her temples and at the back of her neck. She wore a tight, white sweater that hugged her curves just the way his arms wanted to, a short, pleated skirt, and a pair of canvas shoes with ankle socks. He smiled at the vision before him. In all the times he had laid eyes on her, whether she was fresh out of bed, dressed up in the finest clothing, or just lounging around, never had she looked so good. But that was probably his hormones and the months he'd been unable to be alone with her talking.
Not wasting another second, he ducked through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape behind her. She didn't turn, but he knew she knew he was there by the shiver that shook her frame. A flash of light lit the sky and a low rumble echoed through the night.
"You're late," she said.
Jace smiled and bit his lower lip, wanting to go to her, to pull her against his chest, to brush his lips down the curve of her neck, but decided to wait, to draw it out until he couldn't stand it any longer. "Hmm," he said. "Maybe you're just early."
Her spine stiffened, and another flash and rumble transformed the sky. "I don't think so, Cass. I'm never early."
He chuckled at the truth behind her statement. Trying to get her anywhere on time, let alone early, was a feat of epic proportions. Tiny droplets started to fall, one landing on the tip of his nose, and another on his cheek. Clary did not move. He wanted to reach out to her so badly and was losing his ability to hold back quicker than he'd like.
"It's starting to rain," she said. "Do you remember the first time we were in the rain together?" Her voice was low, quiet.
That did it. Jace moved forward. Each step he took, his heart thudded harder in his chest. Finally, he stood just behind her, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of her against him. He placed his hands to the rail to either side of her, caging her in. Strands of her hair blew into his face as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. She smelled so good. Like lavender and rain and her.
"Of course I do. I remember every time we were together." He let his mouth brush against the spot just behind her ear, so lightly, so softly. "Would you like me to show you what I remember, baby?"
She shivered and a small squeak fell from her lips.
Jace smiled and dragged his mouth down her neck, barely touching, letting the warmth of his lips and breath entice her further. "Because I will. I'll show you everything." His fingers slid closer to hers on the railing, until they brushed her knuckles. He traced them lightly, building on the tingling sensation touching her always brought. "That first time." His lips kissed at the curve where her neck met her shoulder. His fingers trailed over her wrist and back to her hands. "You were so sexy, soaking wet and in all your spitfire glory, looking for all the world like you wanted to kill me. But I knew what you really wanted, didn't I, baby?"
Her fingers tensed under his and her breath sped.
"And, oh, how I wanted you. Right there. In the street with God and everyone watching." Jace nipped softly at her shoulder, his teeth pulling at her supple flesh, and Clary's breath caught. "I still want you like that. I still feel like I might die if I can't touch you. If I can't have you."
"Then what are you waiting for?" she said, her voice trembling.
"I'm waiting for you to tell me."
"Tell you what?" Clary's head dropped back, giving Jace better access to her neck. Her hands flipped and grasped at his. He let her take them, feeling her fingers slide between the spaces in his. They were so warm, so soft, so inviting. He wanted them on him, brushing across his chest, curling into his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin. More rain fell from the sky, harder now, quickly covering them both in a layer of wet. Clary's breathing came fast, ragged, begging.
"What you told me that night."
"Jace . . ."
"Come on, Spitfire. I know you remember." He trailed back up her neck to her ear once more. "Dime,nena.Dimeahora."
"Take me," she whispered, so quietly Jace barely heard her.
"What was that? I can't hear you, baby." Jace removed his hands from hers, wrapping one around her waist, his fingers splaying against her stomach and pulling her back against him, and the other spread over her thigh, digging into her flesh.
"Take me," she said louder, her voice trembling. "I said, take me."
Jace spun her until she faced him and didn't even wait for her to stop completely before his mouth was on hers. His hands rose to her face, holding her steady, his fingers slipping against her wet skin. The taste of her exploded on his tongue.
"God, I've missed how you taste." He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. "How you feel." His hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, and along the curve of her hips. "I've missed touching you so much," he said against her lips.
She nodded. "Me too." Her hands were in his hair, pulling him into her, harder, so much harder.
Jace shuddered and deepened his kiss. It was all tongue and teeth and breath. Not too much of one or the other, but just perfect. His hands curled around her waist and moved her from the railing to the ladder near the back of the fire escape. She twisted her hand around the rung above her head. Jace followed her arm up and entwined his fingers with hers, only the cold, wet bar between their palms. He forced himself back and looked her in the eyes. They were big and dark, and her cheeks were flushed despite the cool rain.
"I love you," he said, leaning back in to kiss her nose, her cheeks, her jaw, the corners of her mouth. "So much."
"I love you too." Her hands reached for him again, and there was nothing stopping him from taking her in his.
Clary's body arched into him, fitting perfectly against him like she always did. Jace lifted her until one of her feet rested on the first rung of the ladder and tucked his fingers under her knee, draping her other leg over his hip. One of his hands trailed up her spine and cradled the back of her neck, while the other slid along her wet thigh and under her skirt. The fabric scratched at his wrist as he spread his fingers over her slick skin. It had been so long, too long, since he'd touched her like this.
Her mouth moved from his to his jaw, and he could hear her hot, fast breaths in his ear. A chill worked its way down his spine, and he gripped her tighter, touching her, tasting her, devouring her. Her fingers teased at the bottom of his shirt, tracing his skin and making him shiver again. She pulled the fabric up, and he let her remove it from his body. The rain was cool, but not cold enough to chill his overheated flesh. Clary ran her fingers along the ink on his arm, then lowered her lips to it.
"I've missed these too," she said.
Jace's hand slid further up her leg and when he reached the edge of her panties, Clary dropped her head back and Jace attacked her neck with his lips. She thrust her hands into his hair and he moved his to cup her ass and pull her into him. He curled his fingers into her and she gasped before capturing his mouth again, her tongue slipping inside and twisting around his. Her hands dropped from his hair, trailed over his chest, then his arms, grasping at his biceps before letting go and brushing down his abs. Jace felt her fingers flit along the top of his jeans, dip inside, and trace a line around the band. His stomach clenched, as she fumbled with the snap.
Jace tugged against her. "Let's go inside."
Clary shook her head. "No. Here. I need you right here."
"What?" He pulled back and gazed down at her. "Here?"
She nodded. "Here." A wicked grin pulled at her mouth. "You said you wanted me right there in the street." She leaned in and bit down softly on his ear. "Now I want you to take me right here."
Jace groaned and dropped his head to her chest. "Don't say things like that to me. Someone could see us, hear us. And I don't want anyone seeing or hearing you like this but me."
"There's no one around. It's just us." She kissed a line across his face, her wet fingers following. "And I can be quiet, baby. Can you be quiet?" Her lips brushed across his mouth and her tongue flicked out to trace his bottom lip. "Take me here." A quiet snap sounded from below, and Jace felt his pants loosen around his waist.
He closed his eyes as she lowered his zipper and thrust her hand inside his boxers. His heart nearly slammed through his chest, and he could no longer deny her anything. His mouth took hers so fast she rocked back against the ladder, the metal screeching against the ground with the movement. Clary matched his enthusiasm, her mouth opening for his, and her hand still surrounding him below. Neither of them seemed to notice the increasing tempo of the rain, nor the dropping temperature. To Jace, all that existed was her, what she was doing to him, and what he was about to be doing to her.
His hand fisted the side of her lacy panties and pulled. The rain against the metal fire escape mixed with a low rumble overhead drowned out the sound of the fabric ripping away. Jace lowered his hands to her hips and dragged her forward until he was encased between her warm thighs. His jeans hung precariously around his hips, as Clary tugged his boxers down, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his mouth lightly again and whispered his name and her love against his lips. Jace returned the sentiment, in the most gentle, loving way, before tightening his hold on her hips and pulling her down, hard, onto him in a way that was not gentle at all.
Clary's nails dug into his shoulders in the most painfully delicious way and she gasped.
Jace held still, remembering too late about her injuries and scars. He cursed and tried so hard not to move, but she was so warm and felt so good. "Did—did I hurt you?"
"God, no," Clary said, and met his eyes, hers wild and on fire. "You feel so good. I think I'd forgotten." She retracted her nails from his skin and drew closer to him, her arms resting loosely on his shoulders. She kissed him again and again and again. Little kisses. Chaste kisses. And then she whispered against his jaw. "Remind me, baby. Remind me just how good you can feel."
Jace squeezed her hips and pressed his against her. "Do you have any idea what it does to me when you call me that?"
She bit her lip and grinned. "I could guess . . . baby."
Jace moved her away and pulled her back again, just as hard as the first time and all teasing fell from her face, and only the fire remained. She tucked her arms back around him, held on tight, and let him do whatever it was he wanted. It was not gentle or slow, but he was pretty sure that wasn't what either of them needed then. It had been too long and there would be plenty of time for that later.
The rain continued to fall around them, pouring over their faces and making the planes of his chest slick and cool, but none of that mattered. The only things that did were the way their bodies moved together, perfectly in sync, taking and receiving in equal measure, the way their breaths intermingled, ragged, short, and panting, and the way her voice sang his name in breathy sighs that only he could hear.
There was nothing in the world more beautiful. Nothing he'd rather hear for the rest of his life. His name on her lips. His body making her body sing the way it was right now. He wanted this forever. Her and him together with no worry of court cases and media and jobs. Just like this. He wanted forever to be just like this. And somehow, someday soon, he'd turn forever into today.