WHO: Jem Carstairs and William Herondale WHAT: Dancing on New Years Eve bring about some sad reminders of what could have been for all three of them, if times were different and they weren't separated by a century. WHEN: Tonight, at the NYE Charity Event WARNINGS: Talks about past deaths (of each other) STATUS: Complete
It had been less than a month since Jem had arrived in this new world of Vallo and he hadn't expected that he would be all dressed up for a party so soon upon arrival. Not that he minded, of course. If anything, it was nice to be reminded that time continued to tick by and this place gave them reasons to celebrate and be merry together. He felt unduly lucky that he had arrived with so much of his family already there, even the one person he had thought he would never see again.
It was that particular person his eyes landed on now, having promptly lost track of his companions when he had gone to refresh his drink and wander around the hors d'oeuvres tables. Seeing Will now, he didn't waste time before stepping up next to him, nudging him gently with his shoulder as he did so.
Though they no longer had their parabatai bond, Jem swore to himself that he could still feel a connection of some sort to Will. It was different now, after years of best friendship and even more years of dulled emotions as he was called to the Institute. No, it was different than all that. It reminded him instead of what he felt with Tessa, something that he had only just started allowing himself to consider the implications of. The implications were, of course, as complicated as anything regarding hearts and feelings and history might be. But, as the days passed and they both continued to be married to Tessa, Jem knew that a conversation would be coming eventually. He thought that perhaps he should have ideas, solutions to present.
But, again: complicated.
Jem thought it best not to dwell on complications tonight, as much as his active mind might allow. Instead, he just looked over to Will with an inquisitive lift of his brow. "Are you having a good time, William?"
Will loved parties. Not in the sense of having people surround him (though that was nice) and being served food that he didn't have to cook (also, nice.) But in the energy that people brought with them. The moments to celebrate in the most elaborate sense. It felt like someone had ripped the tablecloth from the table, left all the place settings, and said tada, like it was magic. In some ways it had been, because Magnus Bane tended to finesse things with magic to rip tablecloths off as entertainment at parties. But the sentiment remained the same.
And now, dressed in probably the most familiar piece of clothing Tessa had conjured for him since he had been here—and so that he did not stick out like a sore thumb—Will observed. He had been doing that a lot lately. The dichotomy between his life at home and the life here in this fascinating modern world had left him curious and constantly unfed in his hunger for satiating that curiosity. And the parties were new; not in the mood, everyone seemed pleased and electric, but the dancing was different. Strange. Exciting. A stranger had told him what twerking was when he asked.
Jem was sitting by him now, and awareness had flooded him the moment he sat down. His whole body wanted to gravitate toward him, in the same way it did to Tessa. Will assumed it was from his parabatai bond, having reorganized the fundamental need inside his body even though the bond was gone. If he were a more scientific sort, he might have suggested it be studied. Instead, he would wax poetic about it in his journal or in the margins of a book.
He tipped his head, lolling to the side at Jem's question. "I am having a wonderful time. I'm learning the types of things you might have done at a wedding reception. Or a Friday evening after all the children have gone to bed," Will said, grinning wildly. He had meant the twerking, but his mind materialized something else inappropriate. Will jumped to his feet, a hand out, as the music moved from a heavy bass to something softer, waltzier.
"Would you care to dance, James Carstairs? I will tell you now, there is only one correct answer, and it is not no."
Jem smiled up at Will, a crooked little half smile that had always been reserved only for his friend. He very nearly admitted that there was little that Will could ask of him that he would say no to—not so much because of his reappearance in his life, but simply because Jem had never fully mastered that ability across the board—but knew better than to open that door, at least not so early on in the evening.
Instead, Jem simply took Will's hand and stood himself. "Then I suppose the answer would have to be yes, wouldn't it?"
It wasn't necessarily something that they would have been able to do once upon a time, the optics of that period being what it was. Times had changed, though, and this world was even more open-minded, so it was an easy enough thing for Jem to jerk his head once toward the dance floor and lead the way in that direction, hand still linked with Will's. Much of the music during the night was something that Jem recognized in one way or another and this particular song would be easy to dance to—a thought that he was only having because it was distracting him from the more persistent thoughts dancing in his mind about Will and dancing and just how glad he was to get to do this at all.
At the edge of the dance floor, Jem stopped and turned to face Will, gesturing him in closer. "You can lead," he offered, still smiling. "At first, at least."
"Oh I can lead, how ever so thoughtful of you, Jem!" Will said, sweeping him up into something that resembled a Victorian waltzing stance—hand at his waist, another joined and raised to their shoulders. "When the option was that I was always going to lead. I've watched enough of them dancing, do not fret. You are in wonderful hands."
It wasn't until they were moving onto the dance floor, and Will had realized the audacity of his gesture that he seemed visibly confused. Consumed with the creeping doubt that this wasn't allowed. It had only been a few weeks, but he had seen the openly queer couples existing when that was saved for shady boudoirs and back alley speakeasies. He knew the look that Magnus would give him, the compliments so freely spoken on his beauty. Will had often shrugged it off as a coy way to keep running back to the warlock who would do anything for his dark hair and blue eyes. But Will put no stock in it. His heart had belonged to another. To others.
He was deeply lost in thought, his hand tightening around Jem's waist like he might lose him again if he let go. The last few weeks had been a lovely, wonderful, confounding dream. Someone, whoever it may be, was kind enough to not wake him up. And so Will continued to take what he could, do what he wanted, dance with his best friend who he loved endlessly as Tessa.
There was no need to move quickly across the floor. A gentle endless sway of couples seemed to occupy the space. And so Will simply slotted himself and Jem into the crowd. "You know," Will said, to fill up the quiet that had overtaken them. He leaned in next to Jem's ear. "The last time I did this in earnest was another Christmas party. Just after Tessa and I were married. I tried to convince the Silent Brothers that we required a member to be in attendance to make sure we were in accordance with appropriate Shadowhunter standards. They, naturally, did not agree, but the dancing was spectacular."
Will paused, glad that his face was out of Jem's view, looking past his shoulder. "I might have tried to ask you then, too. If you had been allowed to attend."
A little jolt skittered down Jem's ear, to his neck and spine, as Will spoke. It was hardly the first time they had been so close or had to lean into one another's space to speak, but this was different, it was clearly different. So different that Jem very nearly tripped over his feet—he didn't, of course, but there was a little hitch in his breath that he deftly ignored, instead just focusing on Will, following his movements and listening to him in turn.
Quite without his permission, he felt his gaze dip as he processed Will's words and Jem, too, found himself glad that his best friend couldn't see his face in the moment. He felt a yearning in his chest as he thought of such a party, of all the many festive events he hadn't been given the chance to attend because of the separation necessary to keep him alive.
"I would have wanted to say yes, if you had," Jem said after a few beats of music, confident in his answer despite the layers upon layers of reasons why that would have been a bad idea, then. He didn't even know if it was entirely true. His many years spent as Brother Zachariah were often hard to think back on, especially when he looked upon Tessa and Will now and knew that the overwhelming fondness he had for them both had been so dulled. There had been fondness, of course there had been; it was nothing, though, like what he felt in this moment of dancing.
Jem's hand tightened at Will's shoulder and he swallowed hard. "I'm thankful," he continued, "that we are getting another chance, now. Not just to dance like this, but that too."
Dancing was a horrible, terrible, wretched idea. He hadn't been thinking clearly when he asked Jem to dance. It was the wine. The shots. All the liquor he hadn't actually consumed but Will was insistent on blaming in this moment. There was a piece of him that felt incomplete without Jem. Not that he didn't love Tessa. His whole body had been consumed with his love for her. And that was enough, he was so certain of it. But sometimes when he looked at Tessa, and she would look back at him, there was an understanding between them that completeness was impossible without Jem.
And so here he was, both of them across time, feeling a strange stirring in his chest, as he held Jem close and slow danced with him across the floor. He could sense that they inevitably had come to the same conclusion in a matter of seconds, pretending to be together in a way that was impossible in their respective times. It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt.
William Herondale was also an absolute coward, and he hooked his chin on Jem's shoulder to stop him from saying something big, and huge, and risky. He had given up on leading him in the dance. Swaying, close like this, was the better alternative.
"You are my best friend, Jem," Will said softly. A fact they both knew, or an excuse for not saying the other things he had wanted to for ages, it was hard to tell. "Sometimes, after you—" Had gone did not feel right when he was still walking among them as a Silent Brother. But it was not the same. He had not been the James Carstairs that Will knew, but it was all Will was able to have. He couldn't be greedy. "—I told myself that our parabatai bond was not enough. It did not encompass all that you meant to me. And I always wanted you to hear that, with your whole heart, all of your emotions, everything that was you. But I had to settle for half of you."
Will leaned back and scooped up Jem's face in his hands, framing his cheeks and giving him a bittersweet smile. "I do not have to settle for half anymore, right?"
"No," Jem agreed, his hands moving to circle around Will's wrists as he matched that bittersweet smile with one of his own. He still found himself swaying, caught in the rhythm of the music and the movement of the dancers around them who seemed caught up in their own moments. Paying no heed to any of that, his attention squarely on Will for now, Jem added, "No, you do not."
Jem could feel that they were on the edge of something, something that they had been walking toward from the moment he had arrived in Vallo and had been fetched from that office by Tessa and Will, the two holders of his heart. It somehow felt both dangerous and inevitable and right; but had that not been so much of his relationship with William Herondale? Now that they were reunited and without the constraints of their lives, wasn't this dance, both figurative and literal, a foregone conclusion?
"When my ties to being a Silent Brother broke and I was a mortal Shadowhunter once again, my emotions were overwhelming. I had gone so long with my heart in a fog, knowing that I had people that I cared for and yet always knowing that the true understanding of just how much and how that truly felt was just out of reach. To have that fog lifted and to suddenly remember the depths of my love and dedication for Tessa, for you. But, you were—" Jem's words broke off, not finishing the sentence as both of them, he had to assume, knew the rest: Will was gone, at no fault of his own and with only time to blame. His happiness with Tessa was absolute and Jem loved her with every piece of himself and perhaps even more beyond, but it didn't change that they were missing their third.
Jem's fingers tightened around Will's wrists, a gentle pressure as he continued. "So again, no. You do not have to settle for half of me, not any longer. And I say it with my whole heart that our parabatai bond could not encompass all you meant to me, either."
This was too much. It was like playing a game—one that Will should not have, he knew better—with his best friend. Who would crack first? Who would say things that seemed impossible and improbable? Normally, Will would barrel into things, and ask questions later. But he had done that so much with Jem, had led him astray so many times, lied in an effort to protect him when only he was hurting him. It felt unfair now to take all the choices away from him, to be the one to guide and force them to come to a reckoning that only Will now was toying with. What happened when this opportunity was no longer available?
So, Will took the only window he had and instead of being honest, he did what he always did: brushed it off as a joke. He vibrantly pulled Jem in to kiss each of his cheeks, free of the fever and illness that Will had grown too accustomed to. It was all too platonic for the moment they had just crafted around one another. "Dead! You can say it. I was dead and buried, an old decrepit man who missed out on all of this. And now look at us, dancing under bright lights and flashy decor. It is a miracle."
And he was immediately pulling his hands away from Jem, and putting them back on him properly, gentlemanly. Will worried that his previous conspicuous yearning might be readable from every table around the dance floor. And he couldn't seem to spot Tessa, who probably wondered where they disappeared off to. It was easier to pretend that Will had popped his and Jem's bubble, than continue to face what was inside of it.
"I have done enough leading, did you not say you were going to show me a few moves? I have yet to see them, and I think you might be pulling my leg."
As caught up as he had been in their words, the atmosphere, in Will himself, the popping of the bubble that they had built around themselves was undeniable. It was as though Jem had been dunked into ice cold water, the realization of the level of sincerity and what might have happened had Will not pulled them from that edge that had felt closer than ever. He found himself torn between relief and disappointment. Relief, as this was not the time and place for such confessions and intimate moments, not without conversations and an inclusion of Tessa. Relief, as it all felt very big and terrifying, the enormity of what Jem felt for Will, now that they were in a time and place where it could be examined.
But also disappointment, because—well. He was only (half) human.
Jem knew that the warring of emotions had to be written plainly on his face, at least to anyone who knew him beyond acquaintance or casual friendship. Will, he knew, would be able to see it. Tessa as well, if she were watching.
And so, Jem pushed himself to recover for now, to ignore the ache in his chest and instead follow his best friend's lead in the dance they were stuck in that went beyond what the music inspired. He smiled, adjusting their hands to allow himself to take over. "Me, pull your leg? Does that sound like something I would do?" He immediately fell into step, less intimate than the gentle swaying had been just moments before. "I promise not to tread on your toes."
"I'm not sure, you are a whole new person to me," Will said, fondly. Jem might have physically changed, but his heart was still earnest and lovely as ever. The kind of person that Will had desperately wanted to be when they were younger; the kind that he still wanted to be. It was his own way of honoring all the goodness that Jem had brought into his life from the beginning.
But Will was still learning and correcting himself. He could see some of the brightness fade from Jem's eyes as their conversation shifted, and Will told himself That was me, I did that. Some things never changed it seemed, and Will continued to not draw attention to it. If he hyper-focused on something, he wouldn't feel that creeping guilt that he had let this important moment between him and Jem slide through his fingers.
"Am I different to you? You can say so. Or you can say I am woefully, unhelpfully the same. At least I dress up finely, though I do not have—" Will lifted the fabric from Jem's back. "A cape. I am disappointed I was not offered a cape. I should have said something before we left the manor, but." He didn't want to admit he had been distracted. Not by the cape, but by the handsome suit Jem was wearing. And the bold red gown with plunging neckline that Tessa had put on. Will was not prepared and it had taken every moment of resolve to not gape at them both like a fish.
"There were other things."
"I would offer you the cape now, but I am rather attached." Quite literally, as it was attached to the shoulder of Jem's jacket. It was a joke, though, an attempt at moving past the charged moment without too much comment, even if it would continue to linger in the back of his mind.
Jem allowed them to simply dance for a few moments as he considered how best to answer Will's question. He was different, of course, but still was very much the Will that he had known and always loved. There was something about time, though, that blurred the edges of the memories of a person. Many decades had passed since Brother Zachariah had made his final visit to William Herondale. Still, Jem remembered Will for the vibrant spitfire of a person he was. His quick wit and love of banter and the ease in which they could tease one another. Yet, it was the quiet parts that he liked being reminded of most, as they were the ones most easily overshadowed. How he could look when he was engrossed in a book in the library. The look in his eyes when he was looking at Tessa. What it looked like when he laughed, really laughed. His expressions when he would listen to Jem talk.
"You are all that I remember of my best friend," Jem decided on as a start, "but you are different in some ways. They surprise me sometimes, but in a very good way." This time when he smiled, it erased any of the lingering sadness that had been about his eyes. "I have been enjoying getting to see the parts of you I recall, but also learning the new."
Will smiled. A soft, fond thing. There were parts of him preserved in metaphorical amber, saved for Jem when he was no longer Brother Zachariah. Will thought he would never be able to crack them open in this lifetime, only hold on to them forever, pass them down to someone who would understand, keep them within Tessa—just in case. But now knowing he was both the same and different to the one person who knew him just as well as his wife, this seemed like a good time to undo all the safekeeping Will believed was permanent.
He smiled wider when he realized the opening Jem had given him."You are going to see the new parts in real time, because I have learned many new dance moves, words, and insults in the few weeks I have been here. I am saving them for a rainy day. Or when you least expect it," Will said, and came to an abrupt halt in their dancing. He took a single step back to give them space, and himself some room.
Holding up his hands, poised for presentation, Will said, "Would you like to see twerking? From my vantage point at the tables, I believe I could give it a good shot."