There was a whoop of laughter above him and Will tilted his head up to find Jem balanced on the top of an unsteady pile of crates. They both wore gear and were more heavily armed than an evening patrol should require. At 15 they had finally been granted leave to patrol without an older Shadowhunter present. Will suspected it was because he had driven off anyone who had been talked into the task. Jem took it as a sign of respect and trust from Charlotte and Henry.
Will tried to imagine what it might be like to have them be proud of him, to have someone be proud of him and his accomplishments. Will had woke up one morning that summer to find that he was almost six feet tall. He must have been growing before then but he hadn't noticed it. At that height and with a scowl on his face, he could elbow his way into taverns and be served whatever he asked for. The first time he'd stumbled up to the front door of the Institute, legitimately drunk, the look Charlotte had given him was as far from proud and respectful as one could imagine. He hadn't touched another drop but he had made stumbling home a regular occurrence. She'd stopped bothering to lecture him a few weeks before this assignment. Maybe she hoped he'd get himself killed and save everyone the trouble.
"You're in high spirits," Will said disapprovingly. Jem's eyes glinted silver in the dim lamp light. His hair was completely silvered but in full light there were still dark flecks in his eyes, echoes of the near black they'd been when he'd arrived in London.
"It's a good night," Jem said. "No fog, no river stink and blessedly no rain." Then he threw his arms wide and looked up at the sky. His head was thrown back and from below, Will couldn't see the expression that went with this strange temper.
"He says as we wander through dark alleys filled with refuse and rot," Will said as Jem jumped off the stack, executing a neat half twist to land on his feet. Will fought the smile creeping up the corner of his mouth and pushed away the worry that the energy and the laughter were coming from the drug and not from the boy.
"Oh hush, Herondale," Jem said shoving him hard in the shoulder so he staggered sideways. It took him by surprise and by the time he'd righted himself Jem had taken off at a run. Will laughed aloud. His own dark mood temporarily washed away in the light of Jem's glee. He caught up with him the edge of Blackfriar's Bridge. It was late and the roads were empty. Jem leaned over the balustrade and his hair fell over his face so that Will couldn't see his expression but there was something about the set of his shoulders that made Will pause. Jem did not do histrionics. Jem did not swing from glee to melancholy. Jem was too stable for that. And yet…
"What's wrong?" Will asked.
"It's the 15th of October," Jem said.
The date meant nothing to Will so he said, "Horrible day, always hated it," and then cursed himself because he was getting too good at finding the nasty thing to say.
"My mother's birthday," Jem said. He never seemed to hear the horrible things Will said.
"Oh," Will said searching his brain for what one said on the occasion of a friend's dead mother's birthday. He wasn't sure that the etiquette books covered it.
"She was young when I was born. She would have been 38 today," Jem said to the river.
"She'd be proud of you," Will said leaning forward against the rail, his shoulder against Jem's. The one of them worth being proud of didn't have a mother left to feel that pride. Will wanted to say it more forcefully somehow, to prove to him that he was worth being proud of. There wasn't a way to do it. Not really. He let Jem see through the cracks but there wasn't a way to tell someone that they were smarter, kinder, stronger, better than ordinary humans while still maintaining the person he tried to be. After a long pause he repeated the words though they weren't everything he wanted to say, "She would be proud of you, Jem."
Will's mother would not be proud of him. She wouldn't be impressed by his knife throwing or well he read Purgatic but that wasn't why she wouldn't be proud of him. She had always been a person who believed in love and kindness first. She would hate the man he was turning into. He hated the man he was turning into too.
Jem bumped his shoulder against Will's just a little. If they hadn't been fifteen year old boys, they might have hugged but as they were, they did this instead.
"I hope so. My mother was a warrior in a way my father wasn't. They were both born Shadowhunters but my mother, she took to it like a fish to water, a little like you I guess," Jem said nudging Will with his elbow, "My father was a warrior because he believed the fight was worth fighting. He would have been a concert violinist if the world hadn't needed him to be a Shadowhunter more. I hope she feels no guilt that she couldn't save us."
Before Will could formulate a response, Jem grabbed his sleeve and said, "We should finish checking these streets and head back to the Institute." His smile wasn't the manic glee from before. It seemed genuine. Will wondered if maybe Jem wasn't better at hiding things than even he was.