Chapter Text
"Y/N," a deep voice rumbles in your ear. "I need you to get up."
Blearily, you open your eyes, bringing a hand to try and rub away the sleep clouding your vision. You glance out the window and find that it is still dark. Geralt is hovering over you, a hand resting on your shoulder.
"Hey, what's up?" your voice is thick from sleep. You see a small smile on his face and hear a slight chuckle.
"I came to help you get dressed," Geralt says as he picks up the dress laying at the edge of your bed.
"Oh, okay. What time is it?" you ask, still a little confused as to why he is here when the sun isn't out yet.
"Just before dawn. I have to work early today," he replies shortly.
He helps you sit up, then stand. He gathers the fabric and brings it over your head. The dress falls over your shoulders, settling on your hips. He helps you put your arms through the sleeves and tug them up. Geralt steadies you, then moves to stand behind you, beginning to work on the laces. He feeds the strings through the eyes of the fabric quickly and carefully, making sure to fasten the dress but not aggravate your injuries.
A hand comes to move your hair over your shoulder, grazing the skin on your neck, causing a brief shiver to roll down your spine. You feel him tying the last knot. His hands rest lightly on your hips, and his body seems to shift closer to yours. Slowly, he turns you around, your face at his throat. Your eyes trail up to his scruff covered jaw, his lips, his golden eyes, finding them intently watching you. He moves his hand to brush your hair back over your shoulder, taking longer than really necessary.
"I should go," he says quietly, almost as if he is attempting to convince himself that he has to. You only nod your head, not trusting your voice which would come out shaky, asking him to stay. He drops his hands from your form and steps back. You watch him gather his things and exit the room without looking behind.
The day is spent slowly walking around the room, gingerly stretching. You are determined to become mobile again so you can help yourself rather than have Geralt do everything for you. You are used to being alone, so the silence is not what bothers you. It is rather the fact that you still have no idea where you are or how you got here. You determine that you are going to ask Geralt, hoping that he knows more than he's letting on.
"I brought dinner," Geralt's voice startles you out of your reverie. You hadn't even noticed him coming in, too distracted in your thoughts of home. You can feel tears rimming in your eyes, but you blink them away, turning to the man who has been your Good Samaritan for the past two days.
"Thank you," you say, sitting up carefully. You swing your legs over the side of the bed as he sits down next to you. He hands you a bowl that smells like your mother's homemade chicken and vegetable soup. He watches you take the first few bites before focusing on his own bowl in his hands.
"Y/N, do you work?" he questions, seemingly trying to start a conversation.
You nod, "Yeah, I work, or worked, at a museum," you reply. His face flashes with curiosity, compelling you to say more. "I take care of old books and art," you explain, hoping that serves to help his understanding. He hums and nods. "You said that you had to work today. What do you do?"
You watch him attentively as he shakes his head, stops, sighs, then answers.
"I'm a witcher," he states. Your lack of response tells him to continue in his explanation. "I hunt monsters."
Your eyebrows knit, still unsure of what to say. A beat passes. Monsters?
"What kind of monsters?" you question, figuring that maybe this will lead to more of an answer.
"There are many kinds," he tries to keep the answer vague in an effort to not scare you away.
"Do you practice magic?" you pause, "Where I'm from, we tell stories of witches who practice magic. But they're not real." You look at him. His eyes are trained on the ground, but flick up to find your face full of interest.
"Yes," he breathes. He watches as you lean to reach under your pillow, grabbing the locket from its hiding place.
"I think this is what got me here," you hand him the small brass trinket. He turns it over in his hand as you did when you picked it up on the street in New York. He fiddles with it, pressing the key that flicks open the locket. His face is concentrated, almost determined.
"There is some sort of magic tied to this. How did you come by it?"
You shrug, "Picked it up off the street. A man ran into me and dropped it. I didn't think anything of it at the time."
He hums and hands it back to you. You set it down on the table beside the bed, no longer needing the pillow to hide it.
"I don't know much about magical objects, but I think when you opened it, it made you vulnerable to its power," he explains. You only nod in response, peering at the locket.
"So, Geralt. You say you are a witcher. Tell me more."
The two of you go on to spend the next few hours talking and telling stories. You enjoy his company, and he enjoys yours. He is an good listener, always asking questions at the right times. You are slightly horrified by his stories, but you do not let on that they bother you too much.
Eventually, it becomes late, and your eyes grow heavy. He can sense you getting more tired with every passing minute, so he offers to tend to your wounds before leaving for the night.
"Geralt, I am more than capable of taking care of myself," you assure him.
He hears none of it, insisting, "I know you can, but let me help you."
You stand up, and he begins untying the laces he so expertly put in place this morning. He pushes the dress off your shoulders, and it falls to the ground. You lay back down on the bed, pulling your shift to your hips. He works quickly, his face focused. As respectful as ever, he does not let his hands stray or eyes wander.
When he has finished, he stands up abruptly, nods, then leaves. Taken aback by his sudden departure, you begin to wonder if you said or did something to offend him. You gingerly put your arms through the sleeves of your shift before blowing out the candle and closing your eyes.
Sleep does not find you easily as you are still troubled by Geralt's odd behavior. You begin to feel a slight sense of panic and the small stings of betrayal. He was the only person you know here, and you will be lost without him.
Your thoughts are immediately pushed away when you hear the door open and Geralt's quick footsteps in your room. You can make out his hulking form in the dark that does not stop its approach until he is kneeling beside your bed. You sit up and whisper his name.
You are cut off by the feeling of his lips pressed on yours. The kiss is chaste and long. It is tender and kind, expressing care and compassion to you in yet another way. He pulls away, and your eyes flutter open to search his features. His forehead is wrinkled in worry, but a small smile graces his lips. You reach a hand to soothe his signs of apprehension, silently telling him that he was right to come back and kiss you.
He leans forward, placing a soft kiss to your hairline. Wordlessly, he tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and stands up, intending to leave your room again. You catch his wrist and before you can really stop the word, you whisper, "Stay."