A/N: Oh hay fluff! Cassandra Clare owns the lovely characters and world. I just own my copies of the books, my laptop, and an extreme love for people named Jace Wayland. This was inspired by something that Cassandra said about City of Fallen Angels at her Q&A session at Bryant Park.

Learning to Fall

"Alright—now let go."

Clary looked down at Jace incredulously and almost immediately wished that she hadn't. The floor of the training room seemed to spin, causing Clary to clutch the ceiling supports even tighter. She squeezed her eyes shut and shouted down, "Are you crazy?"

"It's been said," Jace called up, a hint of a smile in his voice. "Come on, Clary. It's only thirty feet, and you've got to know how to fall."

"Only thirty feet? I'm gonna break myself!"

"I didn't know you were afraid of heights," Jace said. Clary opened her eyes a slit and glanced down at him again. His arms were folded across his chest and he was looking up at her with an expression caught between amusement and exasperation.

"I'm not afraid of heights," Clary said with as much dignity as she could muster. If she just focused on Jace, and not the thirty feet of air between them, she could see straight. "I'm afraid of falling from heights."

"That's what I'm trying to help you with, in case you've forgotten," Jace said patiently. "Just let go, and try to get your feet under you while you're falling." He pulled his stele from his pocket and waved it like a white flag at her. "If you sprain something, I can fix it with an iratze."

"An iratze isn't going to help me if I break my neck, is it?"

"Probably not," Jace allowed, not sounding concerned. "But Magnus is downstairs, so you're running out of excuses." He looked up at her thoughtfully for a moment before adding, "You trust me, don't you?"

Clary, with an irritated huff, shut her eyes and let go of the ceiling support.

Air rushed around her, seeming to do nothing but increase the speed of her fall. I'm going to die, she thought miserably. I made it past vampires and Forsaken and demons and Valentine and Sebastian and I'm going to die right here in the Institute.

She hit the safety mat on her side and rolled onto her back from the force of her momentum. Staring dazedly at the ceiling—was it really that far away?—she numbly said, "Ow."

"Are you alright?" Jace kneeled down next to her, and she could see the concern flickering in his eyes.

"I…think so." Nothing had snapped or popped, though her entire body felt like a single, living bruise.

Jace turned his head to the side, and for a moment, Clary thought that he was reaching for his stele. But no—she heard a cough, and noticed that he was shaking. "Are you laughing at me?" she demanded, dismayed.

When he looked back at her, he was grinning. "I'm trying not to," he said, "if that helps at all."

"It doesn't," she replied sourly, glaring at him. He leaned back so that he was lying down next to her, still smiling. Clary would find it infuriating if it weren't so good to finally see him smile again. "How do you do this?" she questioned, turning her head to watch him.

"Well, for one, I have something called coordination." Jace propped himself up on his side, studying her curiously. "Have you always been a good artist?" he asked thoughtfully.

Thrown, Clary frowns. "No. I mean, I've always been drawing, but it took me a while to—oh," she said, realizing what he was getting at. "Practice makes perfect, then?"

He laced his fingers through hers without seeming to think about it. "Not perfect," he mused. "But it gets easier. It's not an instant thing, Clary. Alec, Isabelle, and I—we've all been training our whole lives to get to where we are."

"I'm sure the angel blood has nothing to do with that," Clary said. Her tone was sarcastic, but she was smiling now. There was something infectious about Jace being in a good mood. Knowing that he hadn't always been so annoyingly good at demon hunting helped, too.

"It's not helping you any, is it?" Jace teased. He dropped a hand to trace the outline of her face, grinning slightly. "Now c'mon—let's try again."