A/N: This, as you might be able to tell, is set sometime just before 'The Midnight Heir' story in the 'Bane Chronicles' but doesn't actually relate to the plot much. I haven't read TID for quite a while, so sorry if it's OOC. Cassandra Clare owns the Infernal Devices. Please read, review if you want and enjoy!

The Music Room

Will found her in the old music room. Tessa. Soft moonlight bathing her still form as she sat on the piano bench, head bent low. A few wisps of fringe obscured her fine features, painted silver by the intermittent flare of the small orb of light she held, cradled like a precious stone in her cupped hand. Hands that rested on a well-worn book, lying on her lap, closed; Will suspected it had been for some time.
He shifted in the doorway, unwilling to disturb her contemplation but equally curious to know what thoughts so occupied his wife's mind. He always did want to know what she was thinking. Tessa let out a startled gasp and spun around, clutching at the cream shawl wrapped around her slim shoulders. Will rocked back, bearing his palms in surrender, but frowned- he hadn't anticipated such a fearful reaction. Tessa relaxed, leaning back against the cloth covered piano. Taking this as permission, Will crossed in to the room, slipping his hand around Tessa's as he settled down next to her. Automatically, her pale fingers closed around his, a small connection that sent an ecstatic, almost childlike giddiness dashing through him.
"I love you." He told her simply, his soft voice clear in the quiet night.
"And I you." Tess replied, shifting closer to Will until their bodies were touching. With the contact came a tide of warmth, pooling around Will and gently submerging him in contentedness.

However, Will was nothing but attentive and even a fool would notice that Tessa had been anything but content recently.
He wrapped a strong arm around her waist and, with all the mixed gentleness and determination gleamed from years of marriage, asked "Are you alright?"
There was a pause. A weighty pause, the kind of pause in which every second held a thousand thoughts and possible courses of action, the kind of pause in which the world stopped and waited with baited breath. Then, at last, came the conclusion: "No!" Tessa cried, breath hitching. With a semi-human whine, Tess covered her face, tears streaming down her fingers as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Will hesitated only a moment before he pulled her in to a hug, the pleasant smell of lavender teasing his nose as he stroked her silky hair, murmuring sweet nothings in to the ear that had suddenly appeared against his neck. At last, when her sobs had wound down to steady breathing, Tessa pulled away. Her hair was mussed, eyes red and face blotchy. She was – obviously- still beautiful, but it broke Will's heart a little every time he saw her like that. Will spun around, straddling the piano bench, and took her hands in his.
"Tell me what's wrong." He beseeched her, trying to meet her gaze.
She shook her head, eyes downcast.
"Please," Will tried again, a thumb stroking her smooth skin "tell me why you've been so glum of late."
Tessa merely shook her head, saying sadly "I would but you wouldn't like it."
Will could have pointed out that is wasn't very plausible that he would particularly like anything which caused his wife to weep in music rooms at night, but instead he tried a different tack. Putting a hand to his forehead like the heroine of a melodrama he moaned in mock despair "Oh, woe is me! My wife, my very own, has been colluding and consorting with the most trusted of the modern man's companion- the milkman!"
Tessa giggled, although the usually light sound appeared dampened by her worries. Will took her hands again. After some apparent contemplation, Tess too decided to straddle the piano bench. She shuffled forwards until their knees were touching then, taking a deep breath, she began to talk.

Tessa told Will of her concern for their son and his misdemeanours, which he could empathise with. She explained her qualms about the ever-marching armies of time, which Will could sympathise with. Then, with halting words and shameful looks, Tessa told him of the rumour haunting her every step, the sneering looks that were tattooed on to the back of her skull and the spiteful slurs which festered in her heart. That made Will fairly angry. Livid, perhaps. Irate. Some choice words were certainly aired after the reception of that news. And news it was- Will was no fool, he knew some members of the Shadowhunter community were less than willing to embrace his wife with open arms. Yet what he had never counted on- what, in Will's books, stripped those concerned of any respect- was those few dissenters having the gall to flounce their bigotry in front of the woman herself.
"If any of them ever come here looking for help I shall personally tell Bridget to tell them we're not in. And then I'll set ducks on them." He fumed, fists clenched.
Tessa frowned at him and, although Will could tell that some part of her liked the idea, admonished him "We have to give them help. We live in the only Institute in London."
"Well then we'll give them sub-par help." Will grumbled.
Tessa shook her head, a lightness returning to her eyes that had been absent before. She stood up, bent down to retrieve her book (which had slipped unnoticed on to the floor) then held out her hand to Will. He took it, allowing himself to be led through the archaic halls and back to bed. There, snuggled down underneath the quilt, arms wrapped around his sleeping wife, Will couldn't help but feel that life wasn't all that bad. Even if he was going to have some serious…words… tomorrow.