London Institute For The Mentally Ill (An Infernal Devices Fanfic)

IX

Pain.

She awoke to her head swimming in dull pain.

There's a dull throb in the back of her head, as if she was clubbed faintly there from a few minutes ago.

Darkness welcomed her eyes as soon as she opened them.

She tried to process what exactly happened; why her head is throbbing, why she is lying, where is she, exactly.

She recalled the library -- the single florescent light illuminating the room, the scent of old books dusty and fading, Woolsey Scott passed out in his own workstation, and William Herondale.

What were they talking about? She racked her mind. It came in bits and pieces. Suicide -- yes, they're talking about suicide. Maybe a book, or a TV show? She can't pinpoint.

She remembered his grip on her, his hand probing the back of her head, then nothing more.

She bolted upright. Looking around, she patiently waited for her eyes to adjust against the dark. She can now make out the outline of a window, barred. She felt the bedding underneath her. Thick, with just the right softness one can expect from facilities maximizing the budget. She felt the blanket covering her from the waist down -- thin, cottony, stinking of sweat obviously not hers although her uniform is clinging to her skin now.

She saw the scattered books on the floor. Realizing that the room is familiar enough, she stood up. She probed in the dark for her shoes under his bed. After a while, she found it and wore it as quick as she could. She can see him sleeping on his back peacefully on the floor, his head propped up by a few books.

She went for his door. It was locked, unsurprisingly. She stared at the body on the floor once more, hoping she didn't wake him. He didn't. She fumbled for the lock, and upon successfully unlocking it, went out to the welcoming hospital corridors, not even bothering to close the door gently behind her.

Jem isn't surprised that Will won't be joining him today for meals, for sessions, for free time, for anything; he apparently got himself in trouble last night again. Typical of him, but still, he wished Will would be more stable.

Which is hypocritical and selfish of him to ask. Sure, he's got his own personal demons leashed and tamed by his own hands for now, but it's unfair to ask Will to behave himself when his nature straight up contradicts it.

He's sitting by himself at the library. There are a handful of patients around him. A nurse and a male warden served as their chap. They all have an hour before dinner time. He's got nothing better to do, anyway.

On normal, sane days, Will would be here with him, ranting profusely about a book while reading it, repeatedly telling him how he could do better if he were to write the thing himself. On days where he's out of commission, Jem would pick up that same book, read it out of curiosity, then either agree or disagree on Will regarding the technicalities the day he's allowed to be out again on certain parts.

That's what he is doing now.

If Will managed to fuck up bad enough, Magnus won't even let him stand in front of his door. He secretly hoped this isn't the case this time.

Nurse Tessa isn't around. It's Tuesday, so he'll probably see her when night falls. Maybe he can inquire about Will's predicament to her. From what he's gathered, she is the one nurse who gets the most contact in terms of consistency with Will, which is to say a lot.

Will had been babbling about her these past few days. At first, it was nothing unusual; he'll repeatedly remark how awful she looks, many more of that sort. He still stabs her in the back, but this time he can't help but notice his admiration and obsession radiating.