AN: Guys! Thanks you so much for being patient with me! I apologize for the long delay! But I do have to put this second part on hold and revise it. I also do suggest that you read at least chapters eleven and twelve, just so you could refresh you minds with regard to the story. Again, thanks for all the love and support you all have been giving me! Hopefully, all the wait is worth it! :))

The Final Chapter

There she was, sleeping. Her head resting between her crossed arms over her desk. Her soft breathing gently carried back and forth a short strand of red hair that fell from their neat arrangement. Her white blouse was now replaced by a gray snuggly top and her trousers with old denim jeans. She had also put away her black pumps beside the heater and instead wore her worn-out sneakers she always kept inside her locker.

Silhouette Gallery's still a fascinating sight to see even after the sun had set. Sherry—Clary's gallery attendant for the day—let Clary sleep for a little while as the cold rain took a toll on her. From the Garroway household, with a quick kiss to Lily before she left, New York seemed to have a sunny day that Clary decided to walk and enjoy the sun—thinking that a tan would be a perfect way to forget about the event that happened a few days ago in the bookstore. But just six blocks away from Silhouette, big and heavy thunderclouds came out of nowhere and gave Clary a second bath.

So now, as her day in the gallery's about to end, Sherry let her save her remaining energy. With a heavy thud on her swiveling chair, she slept—and for quite some time now too. But as she did, someone still continued to gaze at her—continued to watch her and stare three seconds too long for his taste.

But hadn't he been inconspicuous in follow the tour around the gallery? Blending in with the crowd of onlookers? Buying the subway ticket like everyone else? Pretending that he was just some New Yorker wanting to relax after a hard day's work?

Though he had to admit, how many times had he wanted to come down from the awnings and rooftops just to give her his leather jacket when the rain started to pour? What about the seat he wanted to give when no one in the subway—no guy—wanted to give theirs to her and she had to stand up on the entire trip, clutching tightly to her art kit bag? Or what about when the attendant had forgotten to turn up the heat the moment Clary walked in, dripping wet from head to foot?

And right now, as he still pretended to listen to the attendant explaining the paintings to the thinning gallery guests, he kept looking back and forth to that certain corner of the room where Clary's desk was. Every once in a while, she moved, finding a more comfortable position and exposing more of her beautiful face right where the guests were standing—where he was standing.

Jace Lightwood, giving a distraught sigh, looked away from the desk—exerting all his patience not to destroy his day's efforts in keeping his presence unknown. Clary didn't know he was here. No one, not even Luke, knew about the Lightwoods' return to the Institute. If Jace let that slip—a view of his blonde hair, his scars—he could give Clary a heart attack.

Isabelle and Alec wanted to see Clary the moment they got back. His parents wanted to visit Luke and Jocelyn. It was only him who hesitated, reasoning that knocking on the Garroway's door wasn't the best thing to do.

"It would be a shocker. We don't want them dead just after a few hours of our return, right?" He smugly reasoned during their unpacking. He saw Isabelle glare at him but he shrugged it out, giving her his typical nonchalance. But who was he kidding? The only reason he didn't want to see Clary—or confront her for that matter—was simply because he was scared.

Three years… so many things had happened in three years. Jace didn't know what damages that three years had done in their relationship. And with all honesty put on the table, Jace was scared to know. If they did knock on Luke's door that night, what would be the first words he'll speak to Clary? How are you? Did you miss me? Would Clary hug him or kiss him on the cheek or would she just be as awkward as him?

There were just so many uncertainties that made Jace's stomach churn.

"And now this painting," Jace heard the attendant say, pointing to a very familiar picture, "is what our artist call, 'Alicante'. Such a creative name for such a magical painting, don't you think?" A few of the guests murmured their agreement. Jace let out a small groan and decided to head towards the men's room instead, leaving the tour group and avoiding looking back at Clary's desk in the process.

A break was all what Jace needed. In the last weeks, he had spent most of his times walking around in Alicante. And during those times, he always thought about the possibility of going back to New York. Surely, the Clave can't do anything about it, would they? If he decided to go back? But he also knew that he had to think about his family.

Robert. Maryse. His siblings.

Still, even after almost three or four years of trying to move on, the loss of Max was still like a fresh wound. It sometimes crept up on them at the simplest of days where they would eat dinner at their lavish dining hall. But even the grandeur of it couldn't hide the empty seat deliberately right in front of everyone. When they do their monthly cleaning, Max's favorite Mangas turn up in closets and bookshelves unannounced, acting like some sort of a reminder whenever they seem to already forget. But the most painful would always be when Maryse would have her moments and space out. There would be a sudden jolt of emotion crushing right through her and she can't do anything about it. Her loneliness was just too evident it instantly became viral.

That was what Clary did, didn't she? Jace always reminded himself.

She thought about her own family before herself. What were a few years of longing for her than the lifetime of longing for Max? His family needed him until they were all ready to face life again without Max.

They were all just thrilled, weren't they? That he got to be trained this early. Jace Lightwood, not anymore the Morgenstern they once labeled him. The Clave, admittedly, wanted his services.

So as days went on in Alicante—days without Clary—Simon's first ever visit was a heaven sent for Jace. He remembered, and God forbid, the excitement he felt in seeing him.

"Thought you'd like this," Simon handed him an old, slightly creased polaroid. "It's a bit rustic, if you know what I mean, but that's a precious picture. Took it when we were still seven years old. See her wild hair then? Amazing, huh?"

Jace chuckled lightly but handed the picture back to Simon.

"Oh, okay. Not the reaction I was expecting." Simon raised an eyebrow.

"It's yours. Why are you giving it to me?" Jace explained. "Besides, I don't need a picture."

"Don't you want it for keepsakes? At least you see parts of her. Even at just seven years old."

Keepsakes, Jace thought.

"The way you put it, bloodsucker, it's as if we're not gonna see each other anymore."

"'S not what I intended…" Simon muttered, slightly ashamed. Jace had to laugh at that.

"Keep it. Really, Simon, you're underestimating me."

"Five years, Jace! It will be five years before you could see her again."

Jace didn't reply. He felt Simon studying him like an owl. But he didn't budge. He didn't move a muscle. But wasn't it just so easy to snatch away the photo? With his Shadowhunting skills, snatching it from Simon would just be a blur.

But no, he didn't need it, Jace tried to assure himself.

So instead, he heard Simon took a deep breath and a small 'tsk'.

"Well, suit yourself."

Then Jace simply watched as Simon slid back the photo inside his wallet.

But as he recalled that encounter, Jace couldn't help but feel the regret crawling on his back—that he might've made a wrong decision. Because truly, five years was a long time and he didn't know if he had enough Shadowhunting patience for that. And right now, Jace still couldn't believe that it had been almost two and a half years since he had seen Clary. Two and a half years since he held her, kissed her, jumped off from her window…

"But everything's changed now, isn't it?" Jace finally told himself.

And it was all because of a small talk with Robert Lightwood.

He was walking along Alicante's town square at that time—alone and for the third time that week. He hadn't heard from Simon or Luke for weeks and all he knew was that Clary was having an exhibit. He felt elated when he learned about it; Clary finally fulfilling her dreams. But of course, the Clave had to interfere. He wouldn't be able to see it. Not so soon, anyways, not until he was more than just an apprentice. He remembered thinking that the Clave was too strict. They couldn't give him even just a day.

"Fancy seeing you here," He heard Robert.

"Robert." Jace turned around from the bench he was sitting.

"I would've really preferred for you to call me 'Dad'." Robert chuckled.

Jace felt sheepish. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well." Robert took a seat beside Jace. "I understand…certain circumstances…" He didn't finish and just let out a breath.

"What are you doing here?" Jace finally asked after some moment of silence.

"I just wanted to walk. Away from the house for a while."

"Why?"

Robert looked at him, surprised and curious.

"Do I even need to answer that question, Jace?"

Jace shrugged. Robert shook his head and chuckled again.

"Oh, Jace, you of all people. The numerous days we see you sneak out of the house just to be away from everyone… just to have enough space to think, to contemplate." Robert took another deep breath and sighed. "I do hope you know what day it is today."

Somber, Jace nodded. "All the more reason I needed to get out of the house."

Jace felt the numbness crawling on his back—it was Max's death anniversary.

"Three years yet it's still so difficult." Robert mumbled.

"I guess it could never be easy."

Robert looked thoughtful and said, "No, it can never be. But it could go away, I guess."

"Really?"

Robert nodded. "Really. You already set an example, actually, with your patience. You're waiting over and over and over again… for almost three years now and still you can keep that brave face. God knows how much you've suffered but you manage. Isn't that the important thing? To manage the pain?"

Jace looked at Robert and still saw the ache and the longing from his eyes. But there was also something else in there. Acceptance.

"Every night, we know that you get out of the house not just to get away from Alec or Isabelle's bantering. We know that you get out of the house to escape from the choice that you made—the choice of going back here in Alicante. That maybe, even miles and dimensions away, being away from us might give you the littlest chance to be nearer to Clary. That you're looking back on the other option you might as well have chosen."

"That's not true!" Jace replied, almost angrily. "This is what I want. This is where I want to be."

"I didn't mean to offend you, son. And I know how certain you are of Alicante. But hey," Robert reached for Jace's shoulder and gripped it. "You're not invincible. You hurt. From Max, from Clary, from the Herondales… you can also become vulnerable. But that doesn't make you less of a person—of a Shadowhunter—that you already are! Because Jace," Robert shook his head in amazement, "You are truly the best Shadowhunter we've ever seen."

Jace's lips twisted into a small smile and snorted. "I already know that."

Robert chuckled. "See? That's what's so great about you! You manage the unmanageable."

Robert paused for a moment before he spoke the next words, "Don't you think it's time?"

Jace looked up, confused. "Time for what?"

Robert smiled warmly at Jace, remembering the small but strong blonde haired boy he met eleven years ago.

"Jace, it's time for us to get a move on and finally let ourselves be free of all the misery."

So a few days later, Jace found himself on a rooftop of some building, watching. And he hated watching. He also hated not doing anything, standing idly, watching the people below him holding out their umbrellas as the rain continued to pour. It took him a couple more hours to finally have the guts to enter the gallery.

And as Jace splashed cold water on his face, he knew that this was not the time to be scared. All day he had been acting like a stalker, following Clary wherever she went. He looked at his watch, nine fifty. Ten more minutes and the gallery would already close. He had to have a grip on himself. He promised, before this day ends… But what would happen if they met, finally, after three years? What would they be? Strangers? Friends?

Never over.

Clary's voice echoed in his head. The last words she spoke before he jumped off from her window.

"Of course, it's never over." Jace assured himself. He trusted Clary's words and at the same time he knew she trusted his. But his growing anticipation in finally letting Clary know of his presence inside her own gallery just makes him squirm like a drevak demon. Jace looked at his reflection on the mirror. Same angular face… blonde hair, a few centimeters shorter the last time he saw Clary, a few more scars since then as well… eyes, shining gold… his seraph blades still hung on his belt… black leather jacket, black shirt, black pants, black boots… it's as if nothing had changed except that there really was.

Jace looked mature.

He had matured.

He looked at himself one more time and found that he looked tougher and wiser. Still foolish at times but definitely not childish. Jace knew he had to go out soon or else Clary would've already gone home and he had to wait a few more hours until the gallery reopens again the following day.

It still fascinates him how a small—but beautiful—creature like Clary be his weakness? Bring about his fears, his hidden and repressed emotions?

Jace grinned.

Isn't that what made him love her? The mystery she possessed intrigued him. Like she was a secret he had to unfold, a delicate book he had to hold with care… flip its pages as if it were made of thin, brittle glass. The first time her saw her, that angry curios look at Pandemonium, a sudden emotion struck. An emotion woke up inside him and instantly he wanted to protect her then and there, from the sneering remarks of his siblings, from his own conceitedness. Everything about Clary was pure and innocent he wanted nothing more but to bathe in the glory—the beauty—of it all.

She changed him.

Clary changed him.

"The hell with it, Jace." He finally told himself, still looking at the mirror. "Never over, remember?"

Throwing his paper towel on the black trash bin, Jace took a deep breath and went out, silently, from the men's room. The gallery's almost empty except for the few people—the ones he pretended to be with—the attendant was now ushering towards the exit. A wall was blocking the desk from his view and he couldn't see if Clary was still there. He felt relieved, though, when he heard the attendant spoke.

"I'll just be in the locker room, Clary."

Jace realized that the attendant was heading towards his direction. Alert, he climbed the pillars as quietly as he could and made his way crawling through the awnings and scaffoldings of the bare ceiling. Just a few meters away, he could already make-out Clary's figure, now standing and getting ready to go home.

It was now or never.

And without even thinking about where he'd be falling, Jace let go of his hold on some metal bar. The fall could've been one of his finest and most graceful, but the carelessness brought about by his jitters had him falling on the top of some installation art. He had the whole empty gallery echo the noise of clanging metals and ripping sheets.

"For the love of…"

In the corner of his eyes, he saw movements. Clary.

"Sherry?" Jace heard her. "Is everything…What the?"

Standing up quickly, Jace had a second or so to hide behind a wall. He saw as Clary fumbled around the destroyed art piece, looking up to the ceiling and side to side, wondering who or what broke the installation.

"What happened to you?" She murmured as she collected the broken fragments.

Jace watched her silently, observing how much Clary had changed. She had gotten taller, a few inches maybe. Like him, she looked mature. Everything about Clary shouted adulthood in the height of a blossoming career. But he noticed that there was this tired look on her face. Jace felt a small twitch inside him as he knew that it had nothing to do with the rain that soaked her. The weariness had been with her for a long time. He wondered if he had been looking like her for the past years as well.

Yes, Jace was certain. He definitely looked that terrible.

Or worse.

Clary couldn't quite remember what happened next. All she knew was that after one of her installation art got destroyed, and Sherry being locked away in the locker room (her frantic shouting echoing all over the gallery), Clary concluded that she was already dreaming. Just a few feet from her, someone very familiar stood, as magnificent and as angelic as she remembered. The rugged look gave him a more mature look. But that was the least of her concern.

Clary thought, Is he even real?

She heard him chuckle as she continued to stare at him, lips slightly apart, arms hanging limp right at her sides. He couldn't be real, can he? But as she continued to stare at him, pacing slowly around the destroyed art work, his hands behind his back, the gallery lights further more highlighting his blonde hair and making him look more golden, she couldn't help but hope that yes, he was real; that he wasn't just some figment of her imagination, of her desperation.

Clary was at a trance. She stood frozen as she watched him come nearer, both of them not even minding the noise Sherry was making in the background. She saw as he opened his mouth and started to speak. But Clary couldn't quite put two words together that everything he was saying seems so foreign she just decided not to hear, or rather not bother listening. She just continued to stare as he chuckled one more time, his gold eyes, gleaming.

The more he was coming closer, the more she was becoming rigid and scared. What if he just vanishes and pops away like a fragile balloon? Clary couldn't take another goodbye, not when he looked so real and so tangible she could actually smell his leather jacket. Clary could feel her tears already streaming down her face, at the same time he, that figment of her imagination, stopped just a feet from her. And in the corner of her eyes, she saw him move slowly, torturing her in finally knowing if he was real or not. Just a few seconds now and she'd know. The thought scared her so much she let out a sob or something like it. It's either he vanishes or he stays.

But as she continued to stare at the golden eyes, she almost jumped when she felt something or someone, tucking strands of red hair behind her ear. It was like something clicked. Something cracked open her senses. Something that made her felt relieved. Suddenly, Clary became aware of her surroundings… aware of his touch, of his voice.

"Grapefruit." Clary heard him say.

And that did it. Snapping out of her trance, she whispered the words—the name—that not only sounded so warm and familiar, but also so real.

"Jace…"

He took his steps slowly and surely and positioned himself a few feet from her. He waited as Clary finally stood up and faced where he was standing.

What happened next simply took his breath away.

He saw her green eyes widening in disbelief, her hands weakening their grip on some ripped papier-mâché, her arms dangling useless at her sides. And he heard, clearly and audibly, that sharp yet short and sweet intake of breath.

Clary Fray stared at him intently as he stared back.

This was it.

Say something was not the words Jace thought as Clary still gaped at him. Her surprise was written all over her face. A quick jump towards the awning easily led Jace to the locker room and locked the attendant there. He didn't need her to ask questions or worse, interrupt his moment with Clary.

Jace thought it was going to be difficult. But it wasn't. The feeling was like coming home from years of journey and then finally seeing that warm and familiar pathway, that beacon of light waiting for him for years.

She was his as he was always hers.

"Is that what I'll get? Not even a hello or a hug?" He finally spoke, breaking the silence between them. Jace wanted to already come closer, but she was still not moving from the shock. The only movement Jace could make-out from Clary was the threatening tears in her eyes.

But he started to pace. And then slowly, he made his way towards Clary as she still continued to stare. He could see her eyes following his every move, letting some of her tears escape. He stopped almost a feet from her, feeling some kind of a string pulling him closer.

He hesitated, as he felt the familiar itch on his long deprived hand, to finally hold her. He didn't know if they were in the same page now. But Jace couldn't care less. She was just so close.

With all the emotions he could muster, he finally whispered the words he longed to say for so long.

"Hello, Clary. I'm back."

Clary made a choking sound—or something to that effect, Jace couldn't even fathom. He gave her a small laugh again. Then, as he just waited for this for years, he finally let his hands move and touch her. Slowly, he raised his arms—golden eyes still locked to the green ones with no intention to break apart. Jace took his time as he always did but not because of his detachment or nonchalance. Jace took his time to reach for that strand of hair he had wanted to tuck right behind her ear for hours now because touching her might put him into some sort of a shock or a trance. Three years without this physical contact and then now, just a few inches away… three inches, two, one…

Jace held her face, pushed back the stray strands of soft red hair, smelling always of,

"Grapefruit," Jace chuckled once more, but more so, refreshing his memories of this long repressed, long forgotten fragrant he desperately needs.

"Jace…" He heard her, finally. It was barely even a whisper, but it was enough. He blinked, snapping out of his reverie, of the fragrant grapefruit smell and instead focused once more on that beautiful face, that green eyes.

"Jace," Clary said one more time.

"Hey, redhead. Did you miss me?"

And that did it. As if Clary instantly woke up from sleep and was finally able to move her muscles, she had Jace in a tight embrace and sobbed.

Jace relaxed and hugged her back if not more tightly. They stood there, amidst the clutter and the ripped sheets, as if they were the most beautiful art work.

"Clarissa," He murmured in her forehead. She looked up at him again, eyes swollen and puffy. He gave her a crooked smile and then like an impulse, he bent down as his hand held her closer again. He had a second or so to see as she closed her eyes and anticipated what was coming next, anticipated what they have longed for years.

Jace kissed her softly and slowly at first, but the longing was just too much to handle. He waited almost three years for this. And it was easier this time. She was as passionate as him. Jace didn't know how long the kiss lasted but he realized they were already gasping for deep breaths at the end of it.

"You're real." Jace heard her whisper as she broke the kiss. He wanted to pull her again but he reminded himself that he got the anytime in the world now to do so.

"Of course, I am real. What d'you thought I was?" He chuckled and pulled Clary slightly away from his embrace to see her more clearly.

"My imagination playing games on me?" she sniffed. Jace wiped her tear stained face and then held it in his hands.

"You are my imagination brought to life, Clary. And I am thankful."

Clary blushed, and Jace felt some stirrings in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't put into words what he was feeling at the moment.

"I was on the other building's rooftop the whole time before I got in here and pretended to be a tourist, a rune helping me dry myself under the rain. I was excited, but then I saw your paintings and I suddenly got scared."

"Jace…" Clary held his face.

Jace chuckled, "Your paintings scared me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. It feels weird being here, seeing you finally. I'm scared as if we're just starting to know each other again."

"Then let's. Let's get to know each other again. " Clary caressed his face but he held her hand stop and gripped it instead.

"I love you." he heard Clary continue.

Jace smiled, tightening his grip on her. "And I love you, too. More than you'll ever know."

He felt relieved. He felt happy. He felt complete. Jace couldn't think of any better days he had compared to this. The sacrifice and the separation seemed all worth it. It was as if it never happened. Was it the right decision to go back? Leave Alicante for New York? Leave his training to reopen the Institute once more?

Yes it was. New York was also his home. And New York would be the place he would continue his adventures. With his family. With Clary. Who knows, they might find some new Shadowhunters around, just like the same way he found Clary. And seeing her now, having her in his arms, made him think of all the possibilities. And he cannot wait to start. He cannot wait for the next morning where he would wake up because of a phone call from her, though it would most likely be the other way around.

"Jace," Clary started to speak. "I do have one confession to make," She pursed her lips. Jace snapped out of his daydreaming and frowned. He was curious at first but that guilty expression was just too evident, he tried to contain his laughter. He knew what it was all about.

"Don't ruin the moment, Clary, if you have a new boyfriend—" Jace tried to kid.

"No! Not a new boyfriend, of course not! It's about something…"

"Something, huh?" Jace put his arms around her shoulder as he led her out of the gallery and Clary letting him do so.

"Yes, something. Remember that thing you gave me when Luke visited you guys?"

"Uh-huh," Jace raised his eyebrows, still fighting hard not to laugh.

"Well, you see-"

But before Clary could even finish, Jace slid something—something long, and sleek—inside the back pocket of her jeans. That made her stop talking and instead punched him much, much harder in the stomach.

"Ow!"

"It's you!" Clary gasped, her eyes widening.

"Of course it's me! It's always about me, Clary!" Jace smirked, still massaging his stomach.

"Oh, good lord! You locked my attendant as well, did you?"

"What? Yes! Of course I have to lock her up! I don't want someone intruding our romantic reunion!"

"Oh, Jace…" Clary sighed.

"What?" Jace said innocently as held her closer once more and opened the gallery door.

"Nothing. Just you and your self-righteousness." she joked.

"Me and my self-righteousness." He sighed. "Your attendant will be fine, though?

"I think she'll be okay." Clary sighed again and shook her head, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"Good, because I might have to steal you away for hours if not days, you know." Jace winked.

"Yes, please. You've got lots of explaining to do."

"Yeah, right." He snorted. She punched him one more time but smiled and tightened her hug.

Jace grinned. He pulled her closer as they started to walk in the streets of New York City for the first time after almost three years. He can't help but think of the hot chocolate both of them would share later at Taki's as they get to know each other again.

(Easter Egg)

Jace couldn't remember the last time he felt thrilled. He continued to run, faster than he remembered running before. He didn't care about the people looking at him, whispering as he accidentally bumped the trash bin and the garbage sprawled out.

"Sorry!" he shouted back. Apparently, there wasn't too much glamour. But again, he couldn't care less. He didn't even care that he broke his promise to Isabelle about not sneaking out and see Clary without her.

"Come back here you thief! Hey!" he heard someone say.

Trouble wasn't what he wanted. But he can't help keeping the grin off his face. Every once in a while he would be smelling the stench of demons, see their rear ends or tails scuttling away towards the alley, but again—and for once—he didn't care.

Jace ran faster and faster, he felt like he was already just a blur to the people sitting outside the cafés or buying at the hotdog stands. He just felt elated, grinning still as he held the seraph blade in his hands.

"Long time no see, Ithuriel." He murmured as he held on to it tighter.

With the New York cabs honking all around him, Jace could already picture Clary's face as he surprises her soon. She might not like his prank of stealing Ithuriel, though.

"But what the hell," Jace murmured to himself, shrugging and still grinning from ear-to-ear. He was back, wasn't that the more important thing? What was Jace without his arrogance and cleverness anyhow?