Chapter 17 of Clockwork Prince, from Will's point of view.

"Bridget, I need a tisane."

The cook paused her singing and looked up at where he stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Well, where he leaned. The walk from the infirmary to the main floor had been more difficult than he'd anticipated.

"Must be hard to sleep with yer back all cut up, sir," she replies, her lilting voice taking on a no nonsense tone he was grateful for. He'd had enough of people coddling him today.

"Aye, I roll around and it ends up tearing the wound open," he lied. In truth, he was worried about Tessa. She was the one making little scared sounds in her sleep and it was all he could do not to shake her awake and chase away her nightmares. But the memory of the last time still had a hold on him and he couldn't bring himself to get close to her. "A strong one, Bridget." As an after thought, he added, "Please."

She slid the loaves of bread she'd been forming into the oven and dusted off her hands before turning to the pantry to retrieve the ingredients. He felt badly for distracting her from her work. It was terribly late and he hadn't expected anyone to be awake. In truth, he'd hoped the the walk to and from the kitchen would be enough to tire him to the point where he couldn't stay awake either. Surely it was possible to be in the same room with Tessa and sleep, he just wasn't tired enough yet. Surely it was possible to be able to close his eyes and forget about the worry and the fear and block out the whimpers she made and just sleep. A brusque shake of his shoulder made him realize that he'd nearly fallen asleep again the doorframe. So it was possible, he just needed to be away from her. Which he was unwilling to do.

"Now don't go dropping it, if you please, Mr. Herondale," Bridgit said as she placed a mug balanced on a plate of biscuits in his hand. "And eat a little before you drink it."

He was so tired that he forgot his walls and smiled at her. "Thank you very much, Bridgit."

She smiled back and shooed him from the kitchen. As he retreated, he heard her pick up singing again and nearly dropped the cup when he realized it was a standard, run-of-the-mill love song she was singing. In other circumstances, he would have stopped to listen, to collect enough of a story to tell Jem later on, but not tonight. Tonight, he was too distracted by other things.

When he reached the infirmary, Tessa was tossing her head fitfully against the pillow. When she murmured as if in pain, he'd rushed to her side without a thought, fearing that she'd do herself and the wound on her head damage if she kept this up. Dropping the mug and the plate on the little bedside table, he'd reached out to shake her awake.

And then froze. Visions of her face in another time and another place swam before his eyes. The way she'd turned away from his kiss. The terrible, terrible pain in her eyes. The coldness in her voice as she whispered "Not for you." kept him from pulling her into his arms.

For a moment, he stayed there, his arm suspended above her, before he forced himself to slowly draw away. He felt like a little boy, helpless and afraid as he watched her. The pain of her watching writhe and whimper on the bed was trumped only by the pain of her pulling away from him that night and kept her out of his arms.

It was with great self-control that he retreated to the bed next to hers, the tisane forgotten on the nightstand. He couldn't make himself go any further than the neighboring bed. He swore to himself that if it got too bad, he'd wake Charlotte and force her to help Tessa. It was a small comfort as he watched her. Eventually, she settled back into the pillows and stilled, her breathing becoming even and her face relaxing. He'd read that people looked younger when they slept, and thought it rubbish until now. Watching her sleep peacefully, her face so innocently childlike was one of the things he knew he'd remember for the rest of his life.

He watched the way her eyes moved beneath the thin skin of her eyelids. He admired her smooth cheek, the bow of her lips, the slope of her forehead before it disappeared behind the white bandage. He knew that, save Bridgit, he was the only one awake in the whole Institute and, thus, could do no harm to anyone but himself for indulging in this moment and staring her, daydreaming. No one would see him and think he was capable of feelings. No one would let onto Tessa that he might fancy her. No one could see this window into his soul, and he didn't care. It felt good to indulge. He savored it.

Mentally, he was holding her close, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet things into her skin. There, in the darkness of the infirmary, he allowed himself to dream of what he'd tell her when the curse was lifted, how he'd explain himself and beg her for a second chance. In his mind's eye, she wept for him and gathered him into her arms and they held each other for a long time as he whispered apologies and reassurances into her hair and she whispered that she'd never been able to stop loving him and that she always knew that it was all a sham.

"Will." His name on her lips was not as sweet as he'd imagined, but it filled him with a split second of idiotic delight just the same. She was sitting up and looking at him with a curious expression on her face. A little sleepy, a little confused, but...affectionate. And adorable. Like she was startled, but pleased to see him sitting next to her. Anything he might have read into her expression, though, was dashed in her next breath: "What are you doing awake?"

To be honest, tt had never occurred to him that she'd wake up when he was sitting at her bedside, staring at her and daydreaming about their future together. He didn't know how to answer the question.

"I brought you a tisane." He spouted the first thing that came to his mind. "But you sounded as if you were having a nightmare." He hoped that she would understand his hesitation to wake her, that it might be a good enough reason for him to be awake and watching her. But if his impropriety bothered her, she didn't say so.

"Did I? I don't even remember what I dreamed." And she pulled the covers about her, as if trying to physically protect herself from an unpleasant thought. "I thought I had been escaping into sleep-that real life was the nightmare and that sleep was where I could find peace."

Her voice was so sad, so lost, that he couldn't have stopped himself from going to her if he'd wanted to. Without realizing he'd done it, he'd crossed the space between them and was handing her the mug as he sank down next to her. In that moment, he just wanted to protect her from the real world, and send her back to where she felt peace.

"Here. Drink this."

She wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped from it delicately. Her nose just barely wrinkled as she tasted it and he had to suppress the urge to kiss her, just from how adorable her facial expression is. "What will it do?"

It wasn't as if he could tell her that he'd requested an extra-strong tisane in order to be able to bear sleeping in the same room as her. "Calm you," is all he can manage to give her for explanation. She blessedly doesn't question his response. She is staring at him, unabashedly, her head tipped slightly to the side. She blinked at him, slowly, and smiled a little to herself. And then gave her shoulders a little shake as if she's realized what she's just done.

"How are you injuries? Are you in pain?"

If only she knew how much pain he was in. How watching her sleep and being unable to comfort her was like a knife in his side. How sitting next to her on the bed and acting calm and not pulling her onto his lap took all his strength. How words of love and adoration bubbled just behind his lips. How the fact that she is concerned for him makes his heart pound and his head feel light. It is all he can do to shake his head and explain:

"Once all the metal was out, they were able to use an iratze on me. The wounds are not completely healed, but they are healing." He realized that he's not just talking about the wounds on his back, but the wounds that this night has done to his psyche. "By tomorrow they will be scars."

"I am jealous," she murmured over the rim of the mug. She takes a sip and makes another face at the taste before touching the bandage wrapped about her forehead. "I believe it will be a good while before this comes off."

"In the meantime you can enjoy looking like a pirate."

The words are out of his mouth and she is laughing softly before he realizes what's happening. He revels in the sound of her laughter, but grows concerned when he realizes how breathy her laughter is. He has placed himself close enough to her that he can feel more than see how her shoulders shake a little after she's done laughing.

"Do you have a fever?" Her voice is still airy, but she speaks to him in the way she would to Jem, like a concerned friend. The thought that she cares about his well-being delights him.

"The iratze raises our body temperature," he explains. "It's part of the healing process."

"Oh," she replies in an exhale and her shoulders slump a bit. It occurs to him that this is the first time she's been awake since the warehouse and realizes belatedly that it should be anyone but him talking to her right now. Damn.

"I am sorry," he starts as gently as he is able, "about your brother."

She doesn't even lift her head when she replies to him. "You couldn't be." He cringes at the harshness in her tone, at the knowledge that, as far as Tessa knows, he truly couldn't feel sympathy for her. "I know you think he deserved what he got." Her voice drops and grows impossibly sad. "He probably did."

"My sister died." The memory rises up and consumes him for a moment, and he lets himself share it with her. It's the first time he's shared his pain with someone in five years. "She died, and there was nothing I could do about it. I am sorry about your brother."

And he truly is. Because he's read her letters and he knows that Nathaniel Gray was her only family. Because he knows that she loved him the way that he loved Ella. Because he saw her face just before the automaton exploded and he knocked her to the ground. Because he heard her voice as soon as the dust settled and it was the pain and love and fear in it that forced his body off of hers, even when he was torn to ribbons. He might have hated Nate for hurting her, for betraying her. God knew that he hoped the brat was burning in Hell for turning Tessa over to the Dark Sisters alone, but he was sorry that she had lost him. He felt her pain like he felt his own.

She had looked at him after he finished speaking, her head tipped to the side as if she were trying to work out some particularly difficult poetry translation. She blinked, once, twice, and gave him a little smile.

"Will," she whispered, almost conspiratorily. "Will, I feel very odd."

The cup in her hand started to slip and his runed hands caught it before it could spill. He leaned across her to return it to the table and wondered what exactly Bridgit had made to help him sleep.

"Do you want me to get Charlotte?" he asked, unwilling to leave her unless she told him otherwise.

She shook her head and the ends of her hair brushed against his arm. And then, before he could quite register what was happening, her arms were around him and she had her face pressed into his shoulder. He almost pulled away from the shock of it, like one flinches away from bright light or the heat of a blazing fire. He didn't know what to do, didn't understand what was happening, wasn't sure if he cared either way.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, her lips moving against his collarbone, her breath whispering across his skin. And he found that he would want her to hold him like this even if it not only meant not just the pain of her hands on his still-healing flesh, but also meant the pain of losing her again tomorrow.

"I don't care." He was speaking to her as much as he was speaking to himself. "I don't care." And he let his arms close around her.

She drew even closer to him, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck and he nearly stopped breathing. Her cheek was cool against his fevered skin and every little puff of breath she exhaled sent a thousand shivers down his spine. Eventually, he laid his face against her hair, reveling in the fact that even beyond the scent of blood and antiseptic, she still smelled of lavender. His arms around her were trembling, in hope, in terror, in pure unadulterated pleasure. It felt so damn good to be able to hold her, to feel her warm and breathing and alive and safe in his arms. There was no other place for her. There was nothing else that mattered other than her. She was everything and he had the strongest urge to kiss her in that moment, just a sweet little kiss, that it nearly overwhelmed him. He let his shaking fingers pass over her hair and slip beneath her chin to lift her face towards his.

"Will,"she said, her sweet mouth on millimeters from his. "It's all right. It doesn't matter what you do." Her eyes slipped half closed and her voice became even softer. She smiled angelically. "We're dreaming, you know."

Her body was trembling in his arms and he felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach as he realized that something wasn't right. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Tess?"

She had been supporting some of her own weight before, but now she went limp in his arms and he instinctively tightened them around her, cradling her head against him as he panicked. He knew that, in all likelihood, she was fine, that it was just the tisane working as it was supposed to, but he contemplated going for Charlotte anyway, just to make sure. But that would require letting her go, standing up, and leaving her, possibly to never hold her in his arms again. And that he was could not do. Especially when he shifted and she clung to him and whimpered his name softly in her sleep.

He stayed like that until he'd lost the feeling in his legs and then a little longer. He knew it was indecent and improper and likely immoral, but he wasn't able to make himself care. She wanted him, and she wasn't under the influence of anything stronger than an herbal tea. She clung to him and had said his name in her sleep and he had heard it and he couldn't move because he was so damned happy.

After a while though, he realized that he was damned. Just damned. That he'd have to let her go and tomorrow morning she'd wake up and she'd be horrified because he'd broken her heart and her trust. And then he realized that he'd have to lie to her again, to tell her he was drunk or delirious and break her heart all over again. And that he could not bear. Not now, not after she'd curled into him and nuzzled her face into his neck and slept and dreamed in his arms.

So he'd laid her down and arranged the covers over her. He'd smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. And then he left her side, though it felt like he was leaving half of himself there with her on the bed. When he retreated to his room and saw the note from Magnus on his bedside table, he barely took the time to dress properly before leaving.

At last, there was something to give him hope.

Fin.