Chapter Text
“I swear, it’s like living among bloodhounds with you two”, Jaskier tells Ciri one evening, several days after they have arrived in Oxenford, mock-exasperated, hand on hip and smile twitching in the very corner of his mouth, “what’s this about then, hm?”, he adds, tipping back his head and scrunching up his nose exaggeratedly as if he were trying to pick out a scent in the warm, summer air, “I literally bathed this morning, there’s no way I smell that bad”
“Not bad”, Ciri says slowly, as if waiting for the rest her thoughts to catch up while she speaks, “just…”
Her nostrils flare again, and she has just opened her mouth to go on, when Jaskier gently slaps the side of her leg with an affronted sound and her answer dissolves into a giggle instead.
“Stop”, he insists, but he too is laughing as he flops down beside his daughter on the bed, shaking his head, even as he reaches up to catch the tip of her nose between his fingers and pretends to pinch it between the knuckles of his index- and middle finger, “you spend far too much time with Geralt”
“And you don’t”
Ciri’s scoff is somewhat undercut when Jaskier taps her nose one last time before he lets go and ruffles her hair.
“Not as long as I don’t go around sniffing other people I don’t. Now spill so I may do something about my apparent stench, market’s already starting to close up”
“I already told you, you don’t stink, you just, I don’t know, smell different than you usually do”
“Different”, Jaskier echoes, propping himself up on one elbow as he watches her, “different how?”
“I don’t know”, Ciri repeats and barely resists the urge to throw her hands up into the air. Instead, she waves her hand vaguely, as if she were warding off a bothersome fly, “different different, like there’s something missing that’s usually there”
“You truly are Geralt’s daughter, aren’t you”
“And yours”
“I should hope so too!”, Jaskier exclaims with a laugh, “I don’t just let anyone steal half my breakfast after they said they weren’t hungry”
His fingers are warm when he plucks Ciri’s hand from the air and tugs it up to his face to kiss the back of her hand, careful not to touch the faded scar.
“Well, I don’t know what else to tell you”, Ciri finally says, shifting into a more comfortable position on the mattress while outside their window the sun is starting to set, “I’ll let you know if I figure it out”
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And she does figure it out at the end of the week when Geralt catches up with them and gathers them up in a tight hug half a mile before the city gates. That’s when things click into place.
“What’s wrong?”, Geralt asks her when she pulls back from his embrace with an expression meander between disgust and triumph.
“You’re what’s been missing”, she tells one parent as much as the other, voice flat “you two are so gross”
“Do I even want to ask?”, Geralt asks, gaze flicking between Ciri and Jaskier, who is slapping one hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter when realization finally dawns on him.
“No”, Jaskier tells him, and the word barely makes it past his lips amongst his giggles, “no, dear husband, I’m afraid you’re not ready for that conversation – o, my poor girl, I’m sorry, I had no idea”
The look on Ciri’s face only sets Jaskier off again, and he finally gives up trying to talk through is laughter in favor for turning his back on both her and Geralt and propping his hands against his thighs as he laughs so hard, tears start running down his cheeks.
Geralt for his part merely watches his husband guffaw, more than a little tempted to join, but Jaskier’s face is already starting to flush as he tries and fails to catch his breath between bouts of laughter while Ciri looks on as if she were praying that the earth would just open up and swallow her whole.
“Fucking hell”, Jaskier finally wheezes, wiping at his eyes and forcing himself to take several long, deep breaths before he turns to face them again, “I think I’ve actually given myself muscle ache”
“I want new parents”, Ciri whispers, just loudly enough to be heard over the bustle of the streets around them, decidedly not looking at either of them.
“Let’s head back”, Jaskier suggests in a softer tone of voice, gently tugging her into his side when she allows him to throw an arm around her, “perhaps you’ll find some back at the inn. I’ll be on the lookout for one of those miserable couples who never touch each other at all if you want, I’m sure they’ll be delighted to take you in”
Geralt’s fingers are warm between his when he links their hands as well and they finally start off towards the center of the city – and when he wakes up in his husband’s arms the next morning warm, content and pleasantly aching all over, he doesn’t have to rely on either Geralt’s or their daughter’s heightened senses to know that he once again smells like he always does and that he’s as happy as he has ever been.