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When Geralt saw Jaskier again, he was gaunter, less bright. Geralt expected it; after all, everything was lean in times of war. Likely, Jaskier wasn’t getting the sort of pay for his singing he was accustomed to. But he looked reasonably taken care of, and that was what mattered.
He hadn’t been interested in anything Geralt had to say. Geralt had expected that, too. What he had said on the mountain, he knew it was unfair and uncalled for, and had hurt his friend. Still, Geralt tried. He and Ciri stayed in town perhaps longer than it was strictly advisable when on the run from an invading army, but they both agreed it was important. It was practical: a party of three when Nilfgaard was searching for a party of two provided some extra protection, but Geralt could finally admit that there was more to it than that.
Now, Geralt could admit that he missed Jaskier. Being without him felt as if he had developed a blind-spot. Something was supposed to be there, and yet was missing. Jaskier provided an additional angle of observation as well as a source of humor Geralt hadn’t realized he had grown to find comfort in. Without Jaskier, Geralt felt alone and entirely out of his depth. Jaskier made it a little easier to breathe.
“You aren’t going to give up, are you?” Jaskier asked on the third day. “You don’t often stay in towns this long.”
“I don’t often have a reason to stay,” Geralt answered.
Jaskier eyed him curiously and he slowly drank his ale, considering.
“You’ll have to make it up to me,” he finally said, and Geralt’s heart swelled. This sounded like negotiations.
“I’ll do my best, every day,” Geralt promised.
“You’ll have to be nice to me. I won’t tolerate you using me as a misplaced outlet for your anger or hurts. Instead, you’ll have to talk to me. Tell me what’s actually bothering you, and let me help you fix it, if I can.”
Geralt was nodding before Jaskier even finished. “I’ll do my best. I’m rotten at it, but I want to treat you the way I always should have treated you.”
Jaskier hummed. “Well, don’t be self-deprecating about it,” he said, and Geralt delighted at the small smile Jaskier hid behind his tankard. “There’s plenty I could improve on, as well. Like toning down on the dramatics and actually giving you a chance to process your thoughts.”
Geralt was silent. There wasn’t much he could say to that, as an argument wasn’t his goal. They could both be better. They could both learn to earn the other’s company. Jaskier seemed at a loss for what to say, too, and that, more than anything, made Geralt feel as if they were on even ground.
“You don’t actually think--no, never mind,” Jaskier let out a nervous laugh and flapped his hand in Geralt’s direction. “If I ask if you meant what you said on the mountain, you’ll just get self-flagellating and heap praise upon me. Neither one of us needs that. I just need to know--would me being your companion again be a curse--or-or a burden?”
Geralt hesitated a moment, then covered Jaskier’s hand, which was resting on the bartop, with his own. Jaskier met Geralt’s eye and they shared a small, cautious smile. They’d get to know each other again, Geralt knew. Things would become easy again. If only they pushed through this storm.
“Having you with me again would be the blessing.”