"And some days I can't even dress myself / It's killing me to see you this way"
"Little Talks" Of Monsters And Men
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Tessa dreamt of him.
She dreamt that he watched over her as she slept, like he used to. There were many times when she would wake up in the night and see him, his eyes luminous in the night's light, blinking slowly next to her.
'Don't you sleep?' she would asked.
His eyes crinkled and she could see a twitch in the darkness as he smiled. Or at least she thought he smiled. 'Why would I want to sleep when I have a beautiful woman to watch?'
'That's really creepy,' she told him.
His face twitched again. 'You love it,' he would tease.
She felt herself smile, slowly, sleepily. 'I love you, your creepiness is just something I have to tolerate.'
There were times when she still wondered why he stayed up, sometimes twice a week—maybe more, she didn't know—just watching her.
Did he think she was going to leave? Was he worried that something would happen to her? How many times did he do that? Just stay awake for Raziel knows how long, just watching her? Or was he just trying to remember her, the way she slept, at her most vulnerable for some poetic Will-ish reason? Or maybe he was just creepier than she thought when she married him.
But of course she never saw it as creepy.
It was Will.
It was the opposite of unsettling. It was comforting. He was watching over her, her very own guardian angel, ready to protect her from the demons lurking in the shadows.
And he didn't do it every night. There were times when Tessa went to check on James or Lucie, woken by maternal anxiety, and Will was fast asleep, his hair flattened against his pillow. Or when he came in from a mission and collapsed on their bed, barely able to place a kiss on her cheek before he succumbed to exhaustion.
She dreamt that he watched over her, not just during the night, but during the day.
She saw him in doorways, his eyes tracking her across the room, a light smile playing at his lips.
She saw him in the stairwells, waiting for her with his hands held out, ready to bring her close and place a chaste kiss on her lips. Sneaking little pecks on her nose or her hand, her temple or forehead.
Always seeing her, always waiting for her.
She saw him watching from their bed as she pulled her hair up, pinning it up in a clean braid around her head. Those were her favourite moments with him.
She loved to see him in the reflection of her vanity, still lying down, his chest flat and dipping down to his stomach. Sometimes she was able to see the pale expanse of his chest, sometimes the sight of him, rumpled in his sleep shirt, gave the same amount of exhilaration. His face was still stiff with residual sleep, his eyes still heavy with leftover unconsciousness. And his hair.
By the Angel, his hair.
She loved his hair. Sleep mused was her favourite way to see it. And when they were hosting, he made the effort of combing it or slicking it into submission with grease. Or after a bath, when it stuck to his scalp and it dropped down his neck, when he would grin and shake his head ferociously, splattering her with water droplets. Or just on a regular day, when it was unruly and curled against his head, damp with London fog. Dark as the night, soft as cotton, thick as the forests of Idris. She couldn't think of any hair she would love more.
Even Jem's, as silver as her jewellery, thin like cornsilk, paled in comparison.
She dreamt of him, lying next to her in the grey morning light, watching.
'I love you,' he would mouth, not quite awake enough to speak, but plenty awake to realise how much he loved her. He was always awake enough to realise how much he loved her. Even as age made his hands shake, his eyesight worse, his teeth rot, he was always mouthing, 'I love you. My Tess. I love you. I love you, my Tess.'
'I love you,' she would mouth back, smiling. Sometimes she would press a kiss to his lips, sometimes she would reach out and cup his cheek or intertwine their fingers. 'I love you. I love you. My Will. My darling, darling Will. I love you.'
She dreamt of him when she slept.
She dreamt of him holding a hand out to her. Of him sitting next to her as they travelled down the roads to the Herondale manor in Idris.
She dreamt of him, standing next to her, holding her hand, overlooking the sea. Overlooking the moors up North. Overlooking their city.
She dreamt of him, falling down a hole.
She dreamt of herself, running through a forest, Will beside her, his hand in hers, then their fingers slipping away from each other, and then he was gone.
And then she was alone.
But then it was okay, because for all the dreaming that she did, she always woke up.
And when she woke up, she saw Will, with his head propped up on his hand. The room was dark, barely lit save for the sliver of light filtering between the folds of the curtains. A sliver of his faceshone pale in that light, his eyes reflecting a blue so dark it was almost black. His mouth, illuminated, formed the words: Are you okay?
And Tessa would catch her breath, her heart thundering in her chest. Panic still buzzing in her brain and suddenly she was awake, so very awake. Everything so very clear.
Will, in perfect clarity. Will, worry lining his face. Will, with her.
I'm okay, she thought. Will's okay. He's here. He's here.
And slowly, Tessa would nod.
