Chapter Text
Chapter one
"Would you like to come with me?"
Geralt tries to say it without a growl, and it's a big effort enough, thank you very much.
Jaskier looks at him with wonder, curious and confused, while he tilts his head to the side.
"You'll have to be more specific, my dear." he says, after a solid second of silence, "I think we made clear decades ago that I would like to come with you, er, everywhere. Where would you like to take me, precisely?"
Geralt would like to dig the ground and just stay there for the next season until spring, while, hopefully, his shame will be forgotten and buried with his own body.
"Kaer Morhen," He's able to rasp out, "for the Winter."
There's a thick of silence between him and Jaskier, and he's not sure if that it's worse than the shocked face his companion is wearing right now.
"You-You want me to come to Kaer Morhen?"
Jaskier asks, voice low and insecure.
After the mountain - and Geralt is not proud of that - and his never-enough-apologize, Jaskier uses that tone too often for his liking.
The Bard forgave him, of course he did, but it doesn't make magically disappear the pain or the wound Geralt caused.
So it happens sometimes. Jaskier just lowers his voice when they are at the camp, not singing too much when they make it to their room after a long day of work or just talk, if he has to, with an insecure tone, checking if it's testing Geralt's patience once again.
Geralt hates himself much more for that.
He's almost a century old and the only person who enjoyed talking with him was Jaskier.
Being afraid of speaking... Geralt can't forgive himself for a lot of things and this is one of the worses. Like Blaviken.
"Yes." He forces himself to speak again, before Jaskier could say anything, "Yes. I want you to come home with me. I-I... Nilfgaard is not going as strong as before, but it's still dangerous to wonder alone. And Ciri would be there. She needs helps with her studies and-" Geralt chokes on the next words, "and I want you there. So my family will be together for the Winter."
Witchers have slower heart and colder blood than humans but he can feel his own face burning with shame right now.
Jaskier is watching him silently, his face still tilted to the right and fingers dirty with ink from a song he was writing five minutes ago.
He's studying Geralt, trying to capture all the meaning of that phrase, and Geralt hopes he'll be able to understand without him being more explicit.
Jaskier deserves it, but he just can't. Not right now, now when he is not sure if Jaskier will be safe and sound at home.
With him.
"Okay."
Geralt looks up with such a force that his neck hurts.
Jaskier is not watching him anymore, his hands moving on the papers and little pings of Filavandrel's lute filling the silence.
Geralt adds nothing else.
But he's sure that the beating heart thumping in his ears is his and not Jaskier's.
It's hardly the first time and not a surprise in the slightest.
Not anymore, at least.