Chapter Text
He stands there like a ghost, the snow warping his tired figure as if he had been frozen from deep within. He says it again. The word feels so dry, leaving his lips that it's almost like he hadn't said it at all.
“Geralt?” Jaskier repeats, the word stretching through the air between them like the thinnest rope atop the highest mountain that kept him tethered by a thread.
“You’re awake.” He manages to croak out.
“Obviously.” The bard grins, that cocky smile- gods, he's so confident. It was like nothing had even happened between them at all.
But that wasn't what happened.
And Geralt is afraid.
He hesitates. No words come to his lips.
“Geralt, you’re staring at me.” Jaskier reminds a nervous lilt to his voice. “Don't look at me like that.”
“Like what?” Geralt grunts, unable to break eye contact.
“Like- I don't know. Like I'm dead.” Jaskier responds. “It's creepy, you know.”
You were dead, Geralt wants to scream. I thought- I thought I knew you were dead. I lost you.
“Geralt,” Jaskier says pleadingly, and the word brings him to his senses. “Are you even listening?”
Geralt reaches down and grabs the firewood he dropped, “Of course I am,” he mutters gruffly, shutting the door behind him with a thud. “I thought I never would again.” The admission is so honest and raw that he hardly believes it when it leaves his lips.
“Sorry?” Jaskier asks voice raised an octave in surprise. Geralt hates that he can even notice that.
“I'm sorry it's cold in here. I forgot to stir the coals.” Geralt responds, even though that's not true. I didn't think you would care, his helpful mind supplies, being dead, and all. The thought nearly sends his fist into the wall again, but somehow, his thumb closes around his knuckles, and he breathes instead, feeling heat rush to his face. He’s traumatised. He’s in shock. The more helpful part soothes. He needs support, not anger. That’s right, of course. Though at this point, Geralt’s not sure if he’s thinking about Jaskier anymore.
“It's fine, Geralt,” Jaskier replies softly as Geralt kneels to tend to the fire.
But it isn't fine. This isn't fine.
His fingers tremble on the fireplace poker, sending sparks up the chimney as Geralt takes a shaky breath. Angry words linger on the tip of his tongue. His hand clenches around the poker.
He should be happy, he realises. He should be happy. Jaskier is alive. He’s alive. He should be fucking happy now. But he fucking isn't.
He wants to fucking scream. I cried for you, I grieved you a thousand times over, I died a hundred miserable times, and you dare to come back to me at the moment at which I thought it was over? You have the gall to smile at me after you ruined me?
He turns to face Jaskier in a moment of rage- and the dam breaks.
“I thought I lost you.” He whispers, voice wavering. “I really did.”
“Geralt…” Jaskier reaches over to grasp Geralt’s hand. “Everything I do is for you. If it was within my power, then gods help me, then there is nothing that could keep me from you.”
“That’s not fair,” Geralt argues, clenching his teeth. “I've been nothing but a monster to you. I don't deserve the kindness you afford me- as I've never afforded it to you myself.”
Jaskier’s gaze softens. “Yeah. You are an arsehole. But you aren't a monster.”
“You know that's not what I meant.” Great mumbles, running his fingers over Jaskier’s knuckles. “I meant I've been cruel to you. And you didn't deserve it. And I sure as fuck don't deserve you.”
Jaskier gaze flickers. “Maybe you didn't.” His voice softens, “But you’re here. A lesser man would do no such thing.”
Geralt grips Jaskier’s hand softly, turning his head to gaze into those cornflower-blue eyes. “I swear to you, Jaskier, I will do better. From this moment on. I promise, there is nothing in the world I'm not willing to do for you. Ask it of me, and it shall be done.”
“Strip naked and run through the hallways of Aretuza?” The bard suggests cheerfully, with a light in his eyes. “Singing one of my songs?”
Geralt sighs and repeats, with the utmost sincerity, “Ask it of me, and it shall be done.”
Jaskier cackles at the thought for a moment, before realization dawns on him. “Oh, oh gods you’re serious. I'm kidding, Geralt, relax! Though, you see the look on your face.”
Geralt just stares back, with the same serious expression.
“Don't look at me like that, dearheart, you look like a lost puppy.” Jaskier reaches forward with his other hand to brush a strand of Geralt’s hair away from his eyes. “Geralt, darling, you know I was a Viscount, yes?”
“Of course,” Geralt murmurs.
“So, I'm rather familiar with the whole “servitude” thing.” He muses. “I never liked it from people my family was employed for the service, so I figured I would much less prefer it from you. And yes, yes, it would be well and fun for a few days, perhaps a week- but I have no intention of lording your guilt over you as a king does so to a peasant. It's a rather kind offer, really, dearheart, but I'm not a monster either. So, let's make a deal, yes? You only do that of which I ask you to if you want it as well.”
Geralt just stares at Jaskier. “If that's what you want.”
“It is.” The bard replies defiantly.
“This is exactly what I meant,” Geralt grumbles. “You’re too kind to me. I don't deserve it.”
“Oh, I'm sorry I want to treat you with basic human decency,” Jaskier snaps back, with a teasing scoff. “It is what I asked of you, is it not?”
“It is,” Geralt grumbles. “And it shall be so.”
“Good, then,” Jaskier replies haughtily, a smug grin on his face. “Besides, forcing someone to do whatever someone says sounds like a bizarre form of torture.”
“It is. I saw a curse like that once.” Geralt recalls distantly. “Twas not a happy one.”
“Then don't tell me,” Jaskier responds. “At least, not today. I've had enough of sob stories for a lifetime.”
“I’m sure you have.” Geralt murmurs, trying not to read into that statement.
“Geralt-” Jaskier breaks off his thoughts with a hand to his cheek. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s talk about something else, hm? Something we haven't talked about, how about?”
“May I…” Geralt trails off, almost embarrassed by what he’s about to say. “May I apologize to you?”
“Apologise?” Jaskier questions. “For what?”
Geralt stares blankly at the wall.
“Oh, right. Of course.” Jaskier says awkwardly, fidgeting with the blanket in his hands. “Geralt, you don’t need to apol-”
“Yes, I do.” Geralt corrects, softly, but seriously. “It was my fault you were kidnapped. I should've protected you.”
Jaskier is quiet for a moment. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t careful.”
“You were only in danger because you’re associated with me.” Geralt turns to face him, messaging Jaskier’s knuckles with his palm. “I thought you would be safer away from us, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. It wasn’t just cruel, it put you in direct danger where I couldn’t protect you. You are my responsibility to protect, and I abandoned you. So, please, let me apologize to you.”
Jaskier just stares at Geralt. “Pinch me.”
Geralt balks at him. “Sorry?”
“Pinch me so I know this is real,” Jaskier says breathlessly. “I dare say otherwise I must be dreaming.”
Geralt gently complies on the bard’s palm, and as Jaskier flinches slightly, the word, “Sorry,” flies from his lips.
“Perhaps not a dream then- then what has become of the Geralt I once knew?”
Geralt blinks. “Must you always speak in riddles?”
Jaskier cackles. “There he is.”
“You’re an enigma, you know that?” Geralt says, exasperated. “I ought to be angry at you.”
“But you aren’t,” Jaskier says, reaching out to touch Geralt’s cheek. “And a matter of fact, neither am I. So, there.”
“There, what?” Geralt asks, bemused.
“There, I forgive you,” Jaskier says easily, cornflower blue eyes large and bright.
Geralt raises an eyebrow, reaching out remove Jaskier’s hand from his cheek. “I think you’re supposed to think it over more before you decide that.”
Jaskier quirks an eyebrow in response. “Do I? So, you’re the expert on apologies, now, are you? My, how things have changed.”
Geralt feels a flash of embarrassment. “No, I just… I don’t know.” He admits, blushing sheepishly. “Just don’t want you to be too hasty in letting me off the hook. I fucked up.”
Jaskier’s eyes soften. “Too hasty? Me? Certainly not. And you did, for the record, fuck up big time.” His voice softens. “But you also saved me.” His gaze clouds for a moment. “But I… I attacked you. I was so afraid you weren’t real that I… did I hurt you?”
Geralt raises an eyebrow, and this time, he reaches out to cusp Jaskier’s cheek in his hand. “Of course not. Jaskier, you’re about as dangerous as a mouse in a teacup.”
Jaskier purses his lips. “A clay teacup?”
“Porcelain.” Geralt replies easily. “One of the fancy kinds, with a flower decal and gold detailing.”
Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes remain narrowed. “And the mouse?”
The edge of Geralt’s lip twitches. “A meadow mouse. Like the ones you used to give your extra sunflower seeds too after you were finished.”
A soft smile crosses Jaskier’s face. “You remember that, do you?”
“Of course,” Geralt says quietly, running his finger along Jaskier’s cheek. “I remember every moment, every sentence, every word. And I’ve been replaying them in my mind, every second of every day. Trying to find where I went wrong.”
“Where you went wrong?” Jaskier prompts.
“In not appreciating you whilst I had you,” Geralt admits, staring into those cornflower blue eyes.
Jaskier’s eyes are suddenly sad. “Geralt… what happened to you?”
Geralt takes a breath. “I lost you,” He admits, looking down. “For good, I thought. And I realized…” He trails off. “I realized I still needed you.”
There’s a tear trailing down Jaskier’s cheek. “Maybe you are an expert in apologies,” He mumbles, a grin in his face.
Geralt smiles softly. “I’ve had a long time to think it over.” He says, brushing the tear away.
“What’s next, an itemized list?” Jaskier jokes, amid tears.
“Ask it of me, and it shall be done.” Geralt replies.
“My, what the gentleman you’ve become,” Jaskier says, fanning his face. “Do you drink tea with your pinkie up?”
“I’ve been attending Ciri’s Royal Courtesy classes,” Geralt answers teasingly. “But not that far, no.”
Jaskier laughs. “My, by the time I’m well again you’ll be a knight!”
“Technically, I’m already a knight.” Geralt reminds, releasing Jaskier’s cheek. “That’s where the ‘of Rivia’ comes from.”
“What? You never told me that before.” Jaskier replies incredulously.
“Well, then, I suppose we have a lot to catch up on.” Geralt teases.
Jaskier wraps his arms around Geralt’s shoulders. “Yes, I suppose we do. Now, do you accept my forgiveness?”
Geralt hugs the bard back. “Of course, bloody idiot. Doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive myself, though.”
“We’ll work on that,” Jaskier replies briskly.
“We will?” Geralt asks, not releasing Jaskier’s cheek from the hug quite yet.
“We will.” Jaskier affirms. “I’ll weasel it out of you someday.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell,” Geralt remarks, holding Jaskier a little closer.
“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier sighs, relaxing into his grip. “I missed you, you bastard.”
Geralt smiles for the first time in a long time. “Me too, Jask.”
“Me too.”