AN: I haven't read this series in a-g-e-s, but I was reading some cool Heronstairs stuff and was inspired. This will be a short story - maybe 5 chapters max - but I hope it's entertaining. Okay, I'll set my expectations low: I hope one person is entertained by it, at least. Haha.

1

JEM.

Jem entered the dining room, careful to hold his posture steady. Even so, Charlotte looked up from the table, her large brown eyes unable to completely hide her concern. Jem met her gaze, his own eyes as silver as the surface of the moon, and just as even. He gave her a slight nod, answering her silent question.

Yes. I'm fine.

It was a lie, of course. But he was tired of being treated like a fragile bird, kept in a cage wrought with bars of worry and love.

He also knew, that if he were to turn his head to the left, he would see a certain blue eyed Shadowhunter studying him with an equally piercing gaze. But after the other night, he wasn't sure he was ready to face the other boy yet.

His brother in arms. It was a thought that had once brought him comfort, but now merely left him queasy. Unsure. Funny how things could change.

"Jem," Henry smiled at him, his surprise worn more clearly on his face, but milder in origin. "You're feeling better?"

Worse, actually. "Much," Jem lied. His health was his only indulgence when it came to deceit.

"French toast?" Henry offered, beaming at Jem's response. "Agatha made a fresh batch this morning."

"She makes a fresh batch every morning," Will pointed out, voice as dry as sandpaper. "And this lot's only marginally more bearable than yesterday's… attempt."

"Will," Charlotte frowned, reprimanding him instantly. By now it had become second nature to her. "Agatha puts a lot of effort in the food she makes."

"It's really quite delicious," Jem added pleasantly, being sure to keep his eyes fixed on his own plate. And although he felt no desire to eat the delicious spread in front of him, he forced himself to take a bite. For the sake of the show he was putting on, he forced himself not to grimace. And then he forced himself not to waste his time cursing the wretched drug his body was already whining for.

It had stolen enough time from him already.

Will made a disgruntled noise, but refrained from saying more. Jem could feel his parabatai's gaze on him though. Being uncomfortable around Will was a new feeling for Jem. One he wasn't sure he cared for.

"Well, now that everyone's here and seated," Jessamine put in, sniffing in a most displeased manner, "can you tell us what the big news you have is?" She didn't sound particularly interested in the first place, and if Jem were to hazard a guess, he supposed the lovely girl (in looks, if nothing else), merely wanted to get this meal over with, to retreat into her room. Sometimes, thinking of Jessamine alone, her thoughts haunting that dollhouse of hers, lost in the past on ideals that might not truly make her happy, made Jem feel sorry for her. He tried not to dwell on such thoughts; after all, he himself hated pity.

Once Charlotte mentioned the name 'Lightwood', Jessamine's interest flared out immediately. She did not care for Shadowhunter business.

"Benedict Lightwood has sent me a message," Charlotte informed their little group; Jessamine, Will, Jem and Henry. Sophie occasionally entered and exited the room, adding food to the table as required. "Apparently there are a few demons on the loose." She sighed. "He's heard this reported from some Downworlders, who've complained about reckless demonic activity. He requests that 'as the current leaders of the Institute', we handle this little slip up. He seems to think we've really dropped the ball on this one."

Jem felt a sharp kick under the table. It came from across and to the left. From Will's direction. He still hadn't so much as glanced at the other boy, and clearly Will was getting impatient for some acknowledgement. Jem resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but otherwise ignored his parabatai. He also ignored the slight increase in the rate at which his heart beat, knowing it was due to one of two things – William, or the Yin Fen (more specifically, the lack thereof) – none of which were good.

"Surely he can't expect us to be aware of every demon portal ever made?" Jem asked, raising an eyebrow at Charlotte.

Will made a frustrated little growl that Jem chose to believe had everything to do with the situation they were currently discussing, and nothing more.

"This is Benedict," Charlotte deadpanned. "He expects me to be aware of every little pothole created on the streets of Downworld, and have them all fixed within seconds." She frowned. "Look, the truth is, I don't know how valid his claim is. He doesn't admit to having seen these demons himself – there are three, apparently – and the timing is… odd."

"Is it?" Henry asked, bemused. "Is there ever a good time for a demon to cause havoc for Downworld?"

"Don't be silly Henry, of course there is," Will said, far too brightly. "It's a matter of what you would rather. For example, it would be a fine time for a demon invasion when we're about to be subjected to Jessamine's singing." The blonde girl hissed at him. "Or when you're," Will continued, unperturbed, "about to show us a new invention."

Henry blinked, his face still caught in a rueful smile due to Will's comment about Jessamine, realisation dawning a little belatedly. "Hey!" He protested, but only half heartedly. "My latest experiment –"

Charlotte was already looking exhausted, and beginning to pinch the bridge of her nose, so Jem decided to cut in. "Look, Charlotte has a point," he said. "Benedict's never been one to care about Downworlder safety before. And a routine Inquisitor visit is due soon. It's just the sort of thing he'd like to distract us with while he…"

"Plots something… naughty?" Will asked, arching an eyebrow.

Jessamine gasped and Henry spluttered, choking on his orange juice.

Jem couldn't help it. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch up in a reluctant smile. He knew Will would count this as a victory.

"Will, you can be so improper!" Jessamine complained.

"While I wouldn't use those words in particular," Charlotte gave Will a grudging nod, "you're right. I have no doubt Mr Lightwood has a few tricks up his sleeve. I need you boys to meet with him and get his version of events. Assuming you're both up for it."

But it wasn't a question for both of them, not really. It was a question for Jem.

Jem shut his eyes, for just a fraction of a second too long, before opening them and smiling. "Of course, Charlotte. At least, I know I am."

"Me too," said Will. From the corner of his eye, Jem could see Will had his arms crossed. Yet he still refused to look his parabatai in the eyes.

Coward, he reprimanded himself.

No, pragmatic, he argued back.

Charlotte nodded. "Good. Thank you. Henry and I will investigate the Downworlders who've claimed to actually have seen the demons. I'd go see Benedict myself, but on the off chance this really is a genuine case, I fear he's far less likely to start acting political and going off topic for you boys." In other words, he still didn't respect Charlotte, and Jem knew it cost the strong woman something to admit it so casually. It wasn't fair. But life rarely was.

The Lightwood manor stood tall and imposing, much like Benedict Lightwood himself. The man was lean, but intimidating, his snarl pronounced even at rest, as if his was a face more prone to fury than joy. He stood in front of them now, with his son, Gabriel, standing solemnly behind him, as though he were a stone sentinel.

Gabriel may have had the decency to be respectful to Jem, and, more miraculously, Will, in the presence of his father, but his eyes could not hide his utter disdain for the raven haired boy standing beside Jem. His green gaze burned. There was no other word for it.

They'd taken a carriage to the Lightwood home, and found both father and son waiting to greet them, and willing to escort the two Shadowhunters personally into their study. Although Jem had expected some resistance from Benedict in regards to information about the demons, the snide remarks about Charlotte's 'failing' leadership had been kept to a surprising minimum.

Now, Benedict was proceeding to recount the information he'd collected. His tone was bored, and his eyes were somewhat annoyed that Will and Jem, not Charlotte or Henry or someone with greater standing, had come to gather such important facts, but the information he was giving was actually useful.

"So The Black Eye was where the demons were last spotted?" Will asked, when Benedict paused.

"Yes," Benedict nodded. "As I said, that was the establishment where three werewolves spotted an unusual skinned creature with horns…" And he proceeded to explain further.

Jem was leaning against an oak desk, hands placed gracefully over his cane. His face was the definition of attentive, but his mind was, he was ashamed to say, elsewhere. A lot of the information Benedict was recounting, though while helpful in terms of allowing them to nail the chronology of the recent demon sightings, wasn't that new in and of itself. Much of it had already been provided to Charlotte in his earlier letter.

Jem's thoughts were left with a dangerous amount of freedom, and so they wandered to Will.

Will.

Will, who had grabbed his arm, stopping him just as they were about to exit the carriage and enter the Manor. "James, are you planning on avoiding my eyes for the rest of your life, or simply for some predetermined amount of time? In which case, I'd love to know just when my friend plans to get his head out of his arse, and interact with me face to face again."

Jem had looked at him then and Will's face had been startling. It wasn't that it had changed; it was the same old face, his blue eyes somewhat surprised at Jem's sudden glance, but, as usual, brighter than the ocean, his mouth set in a mischievous smirk. It was just that Jem had forgotten how… well, good, his friend looked.

Or maybe he was realising it for the first time.

"It doesn't matter when I decide to get my head out of my arse," Jem had said, his tone simple, his face as smooth as always. "You have yours perpetually up yours."

At that, Will had barked a laugh. "Touché," he'd chuckled, and the two of them had exited the carriage.

But they hadn't discussed the events that had occured two nights ago, and with that look, that one quick look, it had all come rushing back. And Jem knew that, right now, he should be focusing on Benedict's words, but instead he thought of Will… and of what had happened…

They had been training. It was something they always did. But unlike their usual Thursday night activity of knife throwing, they'd been sparring. It had been Jem's idea; he had been stuck inside all day, and he'd wanted to exert his whole body – not just his arm. Besides, Will was slightly better at sparring – he had more stamina – but Jem was under no illusions. With a bit of practice, he knew he could be just as good as his parabatai. It was a goal he'd quietly set for himself.

But something had happened; between one punch and the next, between Jem's attempt to kick out and Will's attempt to dodge it, he'd stumbled. Fell, and Will's instinct to steady his parabatai had kicked in. His hands had clasped Jem's shoulders, and both boys had fallen.

The mat had felt hard beneath Jem's back, momentarily knocking the air from his lungs.

"Shit," Will had laughed, simultaneously breathless and in pain. "You okay?"

He moved himself, so that he was leaning on his elbows, looking down at James. There was some distance between them. But not much, Jem realised. He's awfully close.

Although, Jem had to admit, there was nothing 'awful' about Will's proximity at all.

Jem was sure they'd been physically closer before, it was an evitable part of training, but for some reason, tonight it felt different. Or maybe things had been feeling different for a while, and Jem was only picking up on it now.

Jem nodded; a subtle dip of his chin. He tried to raise an eyebrow, but found he'd lost the capacity to be sarcastic. "Will?" he said, earnestly. He decided to ask something he'd been wondering about for a while. "You're not really drunk, are you?"

Will's blue eyes were shrouded in the shadows of his lashes. His long, distracting lashes. Jem couldn't read his expression. But his parabatai had returned earlier that evening, pretending he'd spent the afternoon getting drunk. But Jem hadn't believed it. He hadn't believed that particular lie for months now.

"James," Will said, his voice low, but not completely steady. It was a little rough, like gravel. "I am drunk."

"Then William," Jem replied gently, not believing, but allowing him to keep this secret. "Maybe you should get up."

Will's eyes narrowed; his lids drooped down until his eyes were completely hooded. And instead of getting up, he slowly bent his head. Jem stiffened. And suddenly he didn't know how he could've fooled himself earlier – they'd never been this close before. Not like this.

Jem gasped, a small, sharp intake of breath, as Will – as his parabatai Will – placed a gentle kiss under his right clavicle. His shirt had been pulled down by the position they were in, caught in the flail of falling limbs, leaving the smooth skin of his neck and chest exposed.

Jem's first thoughts were that, one, this was a bad idea and two, that this felt good. Scarily good. Jem was just about to voice the former, when Will deepened the kiss and it was all Jem could do not to utter a sound. His mind went blank.

And then the sound of footsteps sent the dizzying jolt of reality through him.

"Will," Jem said through gritted teeth, and still it came out as a groan. But Will had heard it too – he was pulling back with a swiftness that the drunk could never possess.

Then Thomas was knocking, and entering, and laughing at the sight of the two parabatai, lying side by side on the ground, panting heavily, eyes locked firmly on the ceiling.

"Good training session?" he asked, good naturedly.

Jem had nodded, completely speechless.

He and Will hadn't said a word to each other since, and if Jem had hoped a good night's sleep could erase the incident form his mind, he was wrong. The next day, he had avoided everyone, claiming to be unwell. It hadn't been a total lie - his body had indeed been weak from the training of the previous night, and the lack of Yin Fen in his system.

But the truth was, Will had changed something between them that night. And the worst part was, it had left Jem feeling… well, excited. Like he'd discovered something new, something important.

"And that's really all I know," Benedict said now, bringing Jem's attention back to the present. "So I'd appreciate it, Mr Herondale, if you'd stop questioning me like some outlaw. Now, why don't you two do your job and actually start to fix this little situation."

Will and Jem exchanged a look.

"I take it," Jem said to Will, on the carriage ride back, "we'll be heading to The Black Eye tonight?"

Will looked at him, his gaze serious. "Only if you're –"

"I swear the end of that sentence better not concern my health," Jem warned, his tone still amiable. But his eyes were wary.

"Up for a fight," Will finished smoothly. "Hopefully," he added, winking, "the establishment's name makes good on it's promise for an interesting night."

And although Jem gave his friend the usual exasperated smile his self depreciating comments warranted, he could feel that something had changed between the two of them.

Something minuscule, but vital.

We can't go back.