A/N: Okay, so I was rereading Clockwork Angel, and when I reached the part near the end where Jem tells Tessa about the time Will bought him his jade pendant, I had this random inspiration hit and thought, OMG I have to write this.

I don't own TID.

The Gift

Jem curled up in a ball on his pillow, cradling his violin to his chest. The feel of the cool, glossy wooden surface soothed his headache, but did little to alleviate the hollow feeling of homesickness in his chest. The violin was one of his only familiar possessions in this foreign city, so he did feel, to an extent, comforted by its presence. But it also reminded him on his parents – especially of his father, and the hours and hours he had devoted to imparting his knowledge of the instrument to his son. Hours and hours of holding Jem's shaking hand steady while he slowly grew accustomed to the weight of the bow, of watching and listening patiently while he struggled with intonation.

Jem had been playing Schubert's 'Ave Maria' earlier, in an effort to take his mind off the yin fen and the unfamiliarity of gloomy London and the endless stone walls of the Institute. But before long his whole body had begun to ache, and now he was simply too tired to continue. He leaned his head on his hand and plucked aimlessly at the strings, his eyes half-shut in the dimness, trying to blot out the pain.

The door opened, a rectangle of light spilling across the floor. A small, dark figure strode into the room without pausing to wait for an invitation.

Jem sat up with a sudden, renewed burst of energy. "Will?"

"I took a detour through the East End," said the boy in question, without so much as a smile or a greeting. His dark hair was windswept, his cheeks flushed from the sting of the cold air outside. He moved towards the bed with a sort of hesitant eagerness, clutching something in his hands. "I found this. I thought perhaps . . . you might like it."

"You bought something for me?" said Jem, surprised. He remembered thinking, the very moment he and Will had locked eyes for the first time, that he was looking at a boy who was different – a boy so irritable and unfriendly that it seemed almost impossible to get along with him. But when Will had gone from coldly fending off his offers of friendship to tentatively agreeing to train with him, Jem had dared to hope otherwise. Perhaps, he had thought, Will had warmed to the fact that Jem himself was far from ordinary. There was still a chance. But he had been disappointed. After that day, Will had drawn the shutters around himself again. In the presence of Charlotte and Henry he had behaved in his usual insolent and reckless way – alone with Jem, he had been cooperative at best, but always with a distant manner with threatened to give way to hostility at the slightest provocation. And so Jem had not questioned it, only hoped that over time Will would come to trust him.

But now here he was, the Will he had seen a glimmer of only once before, his blue eyes full of loneliness and sympathy and a desperate hunger for companionship. Jem set his violin down on the bed and leaned forward, peering into Will's outstretched palm.

Cupped in his hand was a small green stone in the shape of a fist. Jem picked it up carefully, angling it towards the light. It was cool to the touch, and voices from the other side of the world echoed in his head as he looked at it. Voices speaking of health and tranquillity and wards against evil.

"It's jade," said Will. There was an odd sort of edge to his voice, and he was standing stiffly with his hands behind his back. He looked as though he wanted to either flop himself down beside Jem or punch him in the face and storm out. "Jade is from China, isn't it?" His expression softened a little. "And you miss China."

"Yes." Jem looked up at him wonderingly. "How did you know?"

"I know a great many things," said Will, somewhat smugly, the shadow of a smile playing about his lips and lifting the corners of his eyes. "Perhaps more than you can imagine."

Jem shook his head, laughing. "Really, Will, you astonish me sometimes." He closed his hand around the stone. "Thank you," he said softly.

Contrary to his expectations, Will flinched at the words, as though Jem had hurled a nasty insult at him. A moment later he had collected himself, and his eyes when he met Jem's gaze were like tinted glass, reflecting everything but revealing nothing. "You should get some rest," he said abruptly, turning away and heading for the door. His voice shook almost imperceptibly as he spoke.

Will turned and ran as soon as the door shut between them. He could not bear to be in Jem's presence a moment longer, to watch the pale, melancholy face light up with disbelieving joy. In his expression Will could see Ella and Cecily, the way they'd looked when he'd surprised them on their birthdays or made up with them after a quarrel. He saw, with dread rising from the pit of his stomach, their eyes filled with relief and gratitude – and love. Then the images vanished and Ella's dead body seemed to rise before his eyes, bloated and grotesque, like the demon that had killed her.

Swearing in Welsh, as loudly as he dared without Charlotte hearing and rushing up to make sure he wasn't in mortal danger, Will burst into the training room. He picked up a dagger and hurled it at the target. It missed the centre by a few inches. He was getting better. He pulled the dagger free and threw it again and again, the methodical exercise taking the edge off his fear. Finally, the dagger buried its point in the centre of the target with a triumphant thunk, and Will heaved a great sigh and slumped into a sitting position against the wall. His clothes and hair were dripping with sweat.

And suddenly his eyes stung and his vision blurred. He lifted a hand and wiped the hot tears away impatiently, wondering what had suddenly come over him. Then he saw Jem's face in his mind again, delicately framed by black hair interwoven with silver . . . how awful he had looked when Will had entered his room, and the way he had perked up as if the sun had risen in his life again. I will never have this chance again, Will realised with a sudden, painful jolt. Jem will die, either because of me or from his illness, and then no one will ever look upon me in such a way again. When he had journeyed from Wales to London, there had been nothing but numb shock and emptiness. He had hardly felt the pain of the many cuts and bruises he had sustained on the road. But now it was like a blunt knife was lodged inside him, twisting and tearing at his innards with every memory of his family that taunted him. It had been easier to be completely alone. Perhaps over time he would have forgotten what it was like to have people who cared for him.

At length the burning ache in his throat subsided. Will drew his sleeve viciously across his face and again resorted to cursing extravagantly, furious at himself for losing control of his emotions so easily, when it was more important than ever to keep them at bay. He glared at the target, faded and bearing puncture marks from years and years of having knives thrown at it, yet remaining eternally silent and proud – and snapped in its direction, "'That monster custom, who all sense doth eat, of habits devil, is angel yet in this'." He paused, oddly pleased with himself despite everything. The new Memory rune was certainly useful. Then he wrapped his arms around himself and added softly, "'I must be cruel only to be kind'."

He didn't know if it was true, but it was all he had.

Jem stole soundlessly along the dark corridor, coming to a halt in the doorway of the training room. Will was huddled against the opposite wall with his head bowed, seeming small and pitiful in juxtaposition with the vastness of the room. Jem tiptoed forward, ignoring his body's growing thirst for yin fen. "Will?"

The dark head snapped up, and Jem was shocked to see the blue eyes rimmed with red, rendering the blue more striking than ever. Seeing Will's horrified expression, however, Jem chose to pretend he had not noticed that Will had been crying, though he knew better to even begin to hope that Will would be fooled.

"Bull's eye," he noted, his eyes landing on the silver glint of a dagger stuck in the centre of the target on the north wall. Despite Will's apparent distress, Jem could not help feeling proud of him at that moment. "I always said you were capable."

Will stared at the floor, not answering or acknowledging his words in any way. Jem approached him cautiously, but at this point it seemed unlikely that he had any shows of false cruelty left in him.

"Will," Jem repeated gently, pausing in front of him.

After a few moments of silence, Will sighed and ran his fingers through his damp hair. "That stone," he began.

Taking Will's recovery of speech as a good sign, Jem sat down beside him and reached inside his shirt. "It's a pendant now. Look." He held the stone, which he had hung on a chain around his neck, up for Will to see.

But Will appeared to be engaged in a fierce internal battle. Jem slipped the pendant back inside his shirt and waited. At last Will said, "I suppose it reminded me of you. Strength and peace, as one." He paused. "In a way, you are like a sheathed seraph blade. It looks small and fragile, yet in times of great need it glows brighter than any other blade."

Jem stared at him, lost for words. This was Will, stripped bare of his defences? This boy, who painted the world with poetic strokes, who looked at Jem as precious few did, seeing beyond his strange appearance and his addiction. "You flatter me, William," he said, using Will's full name without thinking.

"It's the truth." Will looked somewhat abashed, but then the corners of his mouth quirked up. "No one ever calls me William," he added thoughtfully.

Jem scooted closer to him. He felt Will tense up, and reached up drowsily to squeeze his shoulder. "It's all right, Will," he said.

Will shuddered. Jem wondered for a moment if he was going to leave, but he stayed still, his body slowly relaxing, leaning into Jem so that their heads touched. For a minute or so no sound or movement passed between them. The glowing balls of witchlight and the silvery gleam of weapons against the walls dimmed as Jem's eyelids began to droop, and the lines and colours before him slowly fused together into a muted blur. No sooner had the pleasant thought of falling asleep like this formed in his mind, than he heard Will's sharp intake of breath.

"Jem – James? When did you last take it?"

Jem was so tired that it took him a moment to be roused from his stupor and to realise that Will meant the yin fen. "It doesn't matter." Then he smiled. "No one ever calls me James."

"What do you mean, 'it doesn't matter'?" Will sounded incredulous, his voice tinged with worry.

But Jem only closed his eyes and leaned his head against Will's shoulder. "Let's stay here for a while longer."

"But –"

"Just a little while. I'll be fine, Will." Jem felt for Will's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I have you here."

I don't own the quotes from Hamlet either, but that's hardly necessary to point out because it's HAMLET. Enough said.

Thanks for reading! :P