Clockwork Heart | ✓

quindecim.

London, 1903

The last day that Brooklyn would be in London, she woke up hours before dawn.

James was still asleep then, and would be for many hours. He looked peaceful, but not happy. It made her want to cry again, but she knew that she couldn't. She briefly considered sneaking out of his warm bed and returning to her room to dress in her clothes, clothes from the 21st century, since she would be back there by the end of the day. But she was so comfortable and the air outside of the blankets was so chilly, and she wanted to enjoy her last few hours with him, even if he was asleep and temporarily escaping the harsh reality that she would be gone. She had considered crying, too, but she had no tears left and didn't want James to wake up and see that she had been.

He woke just before dawn, golden eyes glowing. He checked out the windows and climbed out of bed. "Come on," he whispered. "There's something I want to show you."

They hurried to pull on clothes and then raced through the Institute's witchlight-lit halls, James leading the way and gripping her hand tightly. He lead her up a set of stairs to the attic, a large and open space filled with trunks and portraits and paintings of a beautiful landscape that couldn't be real. "Those are paintings of Idris," he said as he continued to lead her through the cobweb-covered place. "That isn't what I wanted to show you."

They headed up a short ladder and through a trap door, and a chilly morning wind whipped through Brooklyn's hair and skirts. "The roof?"

James smiled and held her hand again. There was no light in his eyes as he spoke. "The sunrises are breathtaking up here. I remembered you telling me about how you liked to watch them."

"I didn't realize you had paid that much attention."

"Of course I did." He pulled her across the roof and turned her slowly, and then he wrapped his arms around her waist. "The sun rises that way." He had said, his breath warm on her ear.

"Good to know." She replied. "I'd hate to be looking the wrong way."

He laughed and they fell silent, slowly watching the sun peek out from its hiding place beyond the horizon. The first rays of it--pink and gray--reached out like long fingers across the sky, searching for grip in the endless darkness. The black of night receded slowly, dragging up the yellows and greens and violets and whites and blues of a morning sky, and together they pulled out the sun.

What felt like hours after the colors of aurora had burned off, they started back down to their rooms. James walked her all the way back to hers. Everything about him showed sadness--the hard, slouched set of his shoulders, the dragging steps he took, the creases between his eyebrows, the shine in his eyes. Her chest felt weird--like it was empty but not, like she was there but not. Like she was already gone, already back in Los Angeles, but she was also there in London, quietly haunting the halls of the Institute.

She dressed in her clothes--her favorite black skinny jeans, her new, soft black tank top, her well-worn leather jacket that had faded to a brownish-black color with age, and her heeled boots that she'd bought but never worn until the day that began this journey. It felt weird wearing a regular bra and underwear, felt even weirder to wear jeans. She didn't realize how accustomed to the stiff dresses of 1903 she'd become until she pulled on her own clothes.

Breakfast was dead silent. Nobody spoke or looked at each other, as if they could sense the grief that hung from James and Brooklyn. They each ate with one hand, the other tucked beneath the table, tightly gripping the other's as if that would keep them from being separated.

Magnus, true to his word, came at noon. He set up in the library at James's request. Everyone had come, not just the people of the Institute--Gideon and Sophie and their children, Cecily and Gabriel and theirs. She said goodbyes to everyone. Nobody seemed happy to see her go. Lucie cried and Cordelia looked ready to. Matthew embraced her tightly and quietly thanked her for fixing James, swearing that he was indebted to her even though an ocean and a little more than a century separated them.

Magnus approached her once everything was ready. "I usually would not do this," he said. "But if you were ever to visit New York City, I may be there. Perhaps I'll be able to tell you some things about what happened after you left."

"But how will I find you?"

Magnus just smiled. "You'll find a way." He leaned down a little. "James is in the hall. You may want to say goodbye to him."

She thanked him and hurried out the doors to the hallway. James was there, leaning against the wall. He was twirling a gold watch around his hand, black curls hiding his pale face from her view. She would miss him the most, of course, but this wasn't like she was just moving and could call or text him whenever--when she returned, he would be dead, his ashes scattered about the Silent City decades ago. And that hurt.

He turned, his eyes flashing in the witchlight. He couldn't even try smiling. He didn't bother.

She ran to him and he didn't hug her, but he kissed her instead, long and deep and at first it hurt a little when their mouths bumped together, but that was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. "I love you," he whispered. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

She pulled away, and a few tears leaked out of her eyes. She kept them shut. "I love you too." She kissed him again. "I love you so much, James Herondale. So much it hurts." She wanted to stay this way forever, in his arms with his lips on hers. But like a fire and like them, the moment was not meant to last.

"Brooklyn?" It was Will. "It's time."

They entered together, hand in hand.

There were tears in Brooklyn's eyes. "Thank you all so much." She said. "You've all been wonderful to me, and I will never forget any of you. Ever." She swallowed hard. "When I get back, you all will have died. Or most of you will have died. So, I wish you all the happiest lives, and ave atque vale."

Lucie buried her face in her parabatai's shoulder, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Cordelia smiled. "Ave atque vale, Brooklyn Mathis."

"I'm no Shadowhunter." Brooklyn said. "You don't need to say that."

"But I do," Cordelia said. "Because I know that you would Ascend and be a Shadowhunter if you had the option to stay, and because I know no better goodbye."

Matthew smiled from behind her. "Ave atque vale." He said.

Lucie ran to her and wrapped her arms around her, sobbing against her shoulder. "Must you leave?" She sobbed.

Brooklyn laughed, trying to force back the tears that were welling up in her eyes once more. "Yes, I must." She said. "I have people at home. Things I have to do. I'll miss you, Lucie."

She pulled back, her eyes red and tears still falling down her cheeks. She nodded and wiped at them furiously. "You're right. I'm sorry for being so selfish. Goodbye, Brooklyn."

"Goodbye, Lucie." She turned to look at James, who was trying so hard not to cry that it pained her. She took a step closer and wiped away the stray tear as it fell down his cheek. "Ave atque vale, James Herondale. I love you."

He smiled a sad, watery smile. Another tear fell. "I love you too, Brooklyn Mathis."

She turned to Magnus, who gestured towards the portal he had made and smiled kindly at her. "It's time." He said. She nodded and went to stand in front of it next to him. She took a deep breath, didn't look back, and stepped through.