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The first thing that Jaskier is conscious of when he wakes is a dull pain just above his left hip. The second is a warm hand resting on his chest, just above his heart. The third and last before he lets the darkness reclaim him is Geralt calling his name.
When he's next aware of his surroundings and finally manages to open his eyes, the sun is much lower in the sky and he can hear the crackle of a nearby fire. His side still hurts, sharper now than earlier, and he desperately fights the urge to shift closer to the heat. There's a quiet snort behind him and Roach snuffles at his hair from where she's lying at the edge of the camp.
In the absence of any sign of the witcher, Jaskier slowly gathers his strength to push himself up on one elbow, gritting his teeth and keeping his other hand pressed tight to his bandaged side. After a few moments and some ragged breaths he manages to sit up and shift over to lean back against a tree stump, carefully reaching over to extract some food from one of the packs. For the next few minutes he focuses on breathing shallowly between bites, trying not to aggravate his wound, and misses the approaching footsteps.
Geralt clears his throat before dropping down next to him, setting a pair of rabbits beside the fire and regarding Jaskier carefully. Frowning he reaches out, slow enough to give the bard a chance to move away, to lift his shirt to check on the bandages. He's close enough to Jaskier for him to catch Geralt's relieved exhale and the slight relaxing of his shoulders. It's this that gives him the confidence to throw a dramatic hand over his face, "So Geralt, is my time up, are you going to be bereft of my glorious company?"
He doesn't get the immediate annoyed brush off or exasperated snarl he was expecting, instead Geralt's hand trails down to his hip and he leans forward to rest his head against Jaskier's shoulder.
"Um... Geralt?"
"Jaskier, what the hell were you thinking?" He pulls back scowling, but his thumb is still stroking bare skin and there's an edge to his anger that Jaskier can't identify. It's been a while since Geralt's initiated this kind of closeness and he hates how much he'd missed such little touches.
"I'm not sure I was." He breaks eye contact and sets his jaw, staring into the fire and trying to suppress his flush through sheer force of will. Geralt abruptly stands, with the growl that Jaskier had expected earlier, and moves away to start preparing the rabbits to cook.
Jaskier must have drifted off again because the next thing he feels is Geralt gently shaking him. There's the smell of cooked meat and he quickly forces a bright smile to his face.
"Don't get too used to all this quiet, I've been working on a couple of new ballads that I need…"
"Jaskier." He doesn't think Geralt's ever used his name so much in the last decade, and isn't that sad. "Do not ever do that again."
His tone reminds Jaskier of a half delirious memory he was never sure was real; Geralt standing in front of a, then unknown but obviously powerful, sorceress and asking her to heal him 'whatever the price'. Calm and stoic as he always is, but with the slightest edge of desperation he can only recognise after so long knowing him.
"I fight monsters for a living. Do not get between me and a dagger again. And do not ever get between me and something worse."
To be honest Jaskier doesn't remember what happened, let alone what he was trying to do. There were men coming up behind them on the road as they paused at the crossroad, the sound of weapons being drawn, Geralt grabbing the back of his doublet and pulling his behind him, being surrounded, a snarling bandit charging at Geralt's back. But then nothing else besides a sharp pain in his side and a throbbing headache now thankfully receded.
"Aright. Aright."
"I mean it." Geralt sits back on his heels, regarding Jaskier carefully before turning back to grab some food. They settle carefully and he ends up leaning against Geralt's side, surprised he's still allowed so close. His head is resting on the witcher's shoulder and after a moment a tentative arm curls around his waist. It's comfortable but there's still a lingering sense of unease and pain that puts him on edge, and his appetite is non-existent.
"What's wrong Jaskier? A wound has never stopped you talking before, usually the opposite."
"Just tired." He doesn't look away from the fire and can feel more than see Geralt's disbelieving snort, and he's right, that never stops him either.
It's a few minutes after they've finished eating before Geralt breaks the silence again, voice soft. "One day I'm going to go into a tavern and hear news of your death. The great bard struck down; stabbed by a jealous lover or attacked by bandits. You need to be more careful."
"That's not so different than what I expect of you at some point." He shrugs as Geralt's arm round him tightens a little, and a chin rests on top of his head.
"That's my job."
"So you've said. Doesn't make it any easier though."
There's a quick kiss pressed to his hair before Geralt pulls away, standing up to settle Roach for the night and set up their bedrolls. Jaskier hates that it takes such drastic circumstances for Geralt to show any part of the affection he feels. He's never been any good at it, but in the months apart and since meeting Yennefer he seems to have become even more closed off. There are times when Jaskier's half convinced to try talking him into returning to Cintra, to see if having a child around will teach him anything.
He's pulled out of his musings by a gentle tug on his hair and Geralt gestures towards bedrolls and blankets with a small pot of salve. He stays gentle as he applies it to Jaskier's side and rewraps the bandages, gentler still as he presses him down and after a moment slips below the blankets to join him. An arm comes round his chest, and Geralt settles warm against his back. "Try not to move too much." Like he possibly could. "Get some sleep and we'll head for an inn tomorrow."
He doesn’t examine too closely exactly how safe and content he feels right now, or the second kiss pressed to his shoulder before Geralt stills, ever watchful even as Jaskier drifts off.