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“Are you feeling okay, Ciri?” Geralt asked from across the kitchen counter. She was absentmindedly scooping spoonfuls of cereal and dumping them back into her bowl, not eating any of it.
Her head snapped up. She probably didn’t think Geralt had been watching as he moved around the kitchen packing her lunch for school.
“I’m fine,” she said, the cheeriness in her voice too forced to be believable.
“Are you sure? You don’t look well. Are you sure you don’t want to go back to bed?”
“We’re releasing the butterflies today. I can’t stay home. I feel fine I promise,” she argued.
Ciri’s second grade class had been raising caterpillars for weeks now, learning about insects as they watched the caterpillars go into their chrysalises and emerge as butterflies. Ciri had become very invested in this process, and had been giving Geralt daily updates on them when she got home from school every day, even calling to tell him about them when she was staying at Yennefer’s. She’d be heartbroken if she missed this.
Geralt walked over and felt her forehead. No fever. That was a good sign at least.
“Fine,” he conceded, “but you’re not going anywhere until you finish your cereal.”
She began to protest, but he didn’t let her argue.
“If you aren’t well enough to eat your cereal, you aren’t well enough to go to school. I’m not going to send you in with an empty stomach.”
By the time they needed to leave to walk out to the bus stop, she’d only eaten about two thirds of the cereal, but Geralt didn’t push it.
“Are you sure you feel well enough to go to school?” Geralt asked, kneeling next to her at the door while she put her shoes on.
She nodded. “I’m fine. I promise.”
Every parenting instinct he had was telling him to keep her home, but she insisted she was fine, and she might resent him forever if he caused her to miss the long awaited butterfly release.
Against his better judgment, he unlocked the front door and let her through.
She held his hand as they walked down his long dirt driveway to where the bus would come and pick her up. Her tiny hand felt cold and clammy in his.
He asked one last time when the bus arrived if she was sure she didn’t want to go back home, and once again she assured him she was fine, before scurrying up into the bus. She waved at him from her seat as the bus drove off.
Geralt hoped he was being over protective, that he was just a worried dad, but he had a gut feeling something was going to go wrong today.
***
He was out in the stables feeding Roach when he got the call from Ciri’s school.
“Hello, is this Cirilla’s father?” the woman on the phone asked.
“Yes, is she alright?”
“Cirilla threw up in class this morning. She’s going to need someone to come pick her up.”
Geralt’s heart sank. He knew he shouldn’t have let her go to school today. Why had he let her convince him?
“I live out in the country but I can be there in a half hour,” he told her, wishing for the first time in his life that he lived in town.
“Alright, she’ll be waiting for you in the office.”
***
He found Ciri, just as the woman had said, waiting for him in the office. She looked so small, her legs too short to let her feet rest on the floor, a trash can in her lap.
She didn’t say anything when he entered, just looked up at him. She looked miserable and like she might burst into tears at any moment.
“It’s alright,” he assured her, “I’m going to take you home.”
She didn’t protest now, but she did get up and stand at his side while he signed her out.
“I hope you feel better Cirilla,” the receptionist said.
Again, Ciri said nothing, but Geralt thanked her before taking Ciri and leaving the office.
Geralt couldn’t tell if it was shame or embarrassment or just plain old misery that kept her from speaking, but the pair remained silent as Geralt helped her up into his truck and the two of them started the long drive home.
The silence wasn’t broken until they were about ten minutes away from Geralt’s house. He heard Ciri whimper from the back seat.
“Geralt, I feel sick.”
He wasted no time in pulling over to the side of the road, jumping out of the driver's seat, and going around to put the passenger seat forward so Ciri could get out of the truck.
He didn’t wait for her to climb out, instead unbuckling her seatbelt himself and lifting her up and out, onto the dirt on the side of the road.
And not a second too soon.
He had just enough time to pull her hair back from her face before she started to throw up again. He held her hair with one hand, rubbing her back with the other as he waited patiently for her to finish.
After thirty seconds or so she did, and Geralt let go of her hair and went and retrieved a napkin from the glove box so she could wipe her mouth.
He was surprised to see that in the few seconds he had his back turned she had started to cry.
“Oh no, what’s wrong?” He squatted down next to her so they could be at the same eye level.
“I got throw up on my shoes,” she said between hiccuping sobs.
It was such a trivial issue that Geralt almost laughed, but he kept his expression in check. Everything felt like a bigger deal when you were a child, and she was already miserable enough. He didn’t want her thinking he wasn’t on her side. And after all, these were her favorite shoes—blue sparkly ones. She had a right to be upset.
“It’s alright. I’ll put them in the wash once we get home,” he told her. “Here, let’s take them off.” He reached out to undo the now soggy laces, not wanting her to have to touch them. He was unfazed though. As a Witcher, he had to deal with much more disgusting substances than puked up Cheerios.
Once they were off, he threw them into the bed of the truck and helped Ciri back into her seat.
Luckily, the last ten minutes of the drive home went without incident, and soon they were back at Geralt’s house. He once again lifted her out of the truck, this time carrying her all the way inside, not wanting her to have to walk from the car to the door in her sock feet. She wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder as they entered the house.
He deposited her in her bedroom.
“My shoes,” she reminded him.
“I know. I haven’t forgotten,” he replied. “Why don’t you put some pajamas on and I’ll go get your shoes.”
“Okay.”
Just as he promised, while Ciri changed out of her school clothes, Geralt put her shoes in the wash. He then went into the kitchen and looked through the cupboard until he found the pack of pedialyte which he kept handy for situations like this, and because, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he sometimes drank it when he was hungover.
He put some in a cup with a lid and a straw just in time for Ciri to emerge in her pajamas.
“Do you want to lay on the couch?” Geralt asked her.
She nodded.
“Alright.” This would be good. It would be easier to keep an eye on her this way.
He handed her the cup of pedialyte and she took it without protest.
“Little sips, okay?”
She nodded again. It was strange to see her so quiet. Usually she was so chatty that he could barely get a word in.
He brought her over an old plastic container to keep handy just in case she might need it. This too she took without protest, setting it in her lap before taking another sip.
Geralt waited for a few seconds to make sure she was comfortable before turning to leave.
“Don’t go,” she said, finally speaking up.
“I’m not going,” he assured her. “I just need to change out of my work clothes.”
He’d gotten enough done this morning—all the animals were fed and watered, and everything else seemed in order—he would spend the rest of the day with her.
***
Geralt had hoped that Ciri’s illness was just a matter of eating something which didn’t agree with her, and then getting carsick on the winding roads home since she already didn’t feel well. He’d hoped she might be able to get rehydrated, take a nap, and feel better by the time she woke up, but of course things couldn’t be so simple.
Geralt put on a movie and Ciri sat sipping her drink, but before it was half over she was throwing up again. Geralt held her hair, kicking himself for not tying it back as soon as they got home.
“That’s it. You’re okay,” he did his best to offer soothing sentiments, but there wasn’t much he could do to lessen her misery now. This was something she’d just have to endure.
“Finished?” he asked. She nodded, reaching up to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. Geralt caught it before she could though. “Wait just a second. I’ll bring you a rag.”
He took the plastic container and emptied it into the sink and rinsed it—making a mental note to bleach the sink later—and wet a washcloth for Ciri.
He brought it out to her, and took this opportunity to tie her hair back.
“Are you feeling any better?” he asked. She shook her head. He gave her a sympathetic look. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Can we finish the movie?”
“Of course we can.” He went back and sat next to her on the couch, putting his arm around her when she nestled into his side. Geralt felt terrible that Ciri was so miserable. Hopefully this would all be over quickly.
***
After the next time Ciri threw up, when Geralt was in the kitchen washing out her plastic container he grabbed his phone from the counter and dialed Yennefer. It wasn’t that he needed any help caring for her, but he figured he ought to tell her that Ciri should probably stay here tonight. She was supposed to come pick her up after dinner to bring Ciri to stay with her at her home in town, but Geralt didn’t think she felt up to it today.
“Geralt?” Yennefer answered the phone, sounding confused. He didn’t often call in the middle of the day while she was at work. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied. “It’s just that Ciri came down with a stomach bug and I don’t think she feels up to switching houses tonight.”
“Oh no, is she alright?”
“She’s thrown up a couple of times. She feels pretty miserable, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”
“Well do you want me to come over? I might be able to leave work early, or at least come and take the night shift.”
“You are seriously doubting my single father abilities,” Geralt said, a bit annoyed that she didn’t seem to trust him.
“It’s not that. I just worry about her. I don’t want you to have to do this on your own.”
“I’m doing fine on my—” He walked out of the kitchen to bring back the container, only to find her curled up against the arm of the couch, crying. “Hold on Yen. I’m going to have to call you back.”
He sat back down next to Ciri on the couch, putting a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him. There were tears running down her face and her bottom lip was trembling as she tried and failed to stop crying.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“I feel sick,” she answered. “I don’t want to anymore,” she stammered.
Geralt’s heart ached for her.
“Is it just your stomach? Or is it something else?” He worried something more than a stomach bug might be ailing her, but she shook her head.
“It’s just my stomach. I don’t want to throw up anymore,” she reiterated.
“I know. It’s going to be over soon,” he tried to comfort her. It didn’t work. He would need a different tactic. “Hey, I was just on the phone with Yennefer,” he told her. “Do you want to call her back with me?” This got her attention. She nodded and rubbed the tears from her cheeks. He handed her a tissue from the side table so she could wipe her nose.
He dialed Yennefer again and put her on speaker.
“Hey, Yen. It’s me and Ciri. She wanted to talk to you.”
“Ciri! How are you feeling?”
She was still sniffling, but she seemed eager enough to answer.
“I threw up in front of my whole class,” she told her. “It was so embarrassing. And I missed them releasing the butterflies!”
“What happened?” Yennefer asked. “Did you feel sick before you left for school?”
At this she fell silent, and her cheeks turned red.
“I asked Ciri if she felt well enough for school,” Geralt interjected. “And she insisted that she did.”
“I didn’t want to miss the butterflies,” she said, trying to defend herself.
“I know you didn’t,” Yennefer responded. “Did you learn your lesson though, about staying home when you’re sick?”
“Yes.” Ciri mumbled.
“Alright,” she replied, giving up the reprimanding. “I’m going to come over tonight after work, okay?”
“Really?” Ciri perked up.
“Yes, but until then listen to Geralt and do what he says, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tonight then. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Geralt took her off speaker and stood up. “Don’t go yet.”
“What?”
“I told you that you didn’t have to do that. I’ve got this completely under control.”
“I know,” Yennefer replied. He was surprised to hear that she sounded completely sincere, any condescension from their earlier call gone. “But I miss her.”
“Alright. I’ll see you tonight then, Yen.”
“I’ll see you then. Take good care of her, Geralt.”
“Of course I will.”
***
Yennefer arrived at six thirty, with a bag of groceries in her hand. She must have gone to the store straight from work; she was still in her blazer and slacks.
Geralt answered the door, putting a finger to her lips to let her know that Ciri was asleep.
“How is she doing?” Yennefer asked in a whisper.
“She had a pretty rough afternoon, but she’s been asleep since just after four.” He let her into the kitchen so they could speak in normal tones, and she began taking the groceries out and putting them away.
“So what do you think happened? Did she get food poisoning?”
“I think it’s just a twenty four hour bug,” Geralt answered. “She hasn’t had a fever or anything. And thinking back, she wasn’t very hungry for her dinner last night, and she didn’t bother me to stay up past her bedtime like she usually does, so I think that might have been the start of it. And if that’s the case then the twenty four hours is up, which would make sense. She was throwing up every hour or so before, and she’s been asleep for more than two now, so I think the worst of it is over.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
“You were worried you might have to get your hands dirty,” Geralt teased.
“No, I’m just glad that our child,” she said, emphasizing the word child, “is feeling better.”
He was about to reply when they heard her call out from the living room.
“Yennefer?”
“I’m here love.” She went into the next room and sat next to Ciri on the couch.
“I missed you.” Ciri threw her arms around her mother. Reflexively, Geralt wanted to feel jealous. Wasn’t he enough for her? But Ciri hadn’t seen Yen in almost two weeks; he couldn’t hold this against her. They usually spent a fair amount of time together as a family, even though Geralt and Yennefer didn’t live together, but Yen had been busy with work during the two weeks Cir had been at Geralt’s, so they’d hardly seen each other. And Geralt could tell from Ciri’s calls that she missed him too when she was at Yennefer’s.
They’d tried living together as a family of three a few times, but even though Geralt and Yennefer cared for each other deeply, and both of them adored Ciri, Geralt hated living in the city, and Yennefer hated living in the country, and their relationship was always healthiest when they weren’t around each other every minute of every day. Some people didn’t understand, but it worked for them. Still, Geralt felt sad that Ciri was almost always missing one of them. Maybe it was a good thing Yennefer hadn’t listened to him and had come over anyway.
“How are you feeling my dear?” Yen asked.
“Better I think,” she answered warily. She looked better. The circles under her eyes hadn’t completely disappeared, but some of the color was back in her cheeks.
“Do you think you feel well enough to eat some dinner? Some soup maybe?”
“I don’t know,” Ciri answered.
“Well that’s too bad then,” Yennefer said, “because I brought some popsicles, but you can’t very well have dessert if you haven’t had any dinner.”
“Alright,” Ciri conceded, drawing out the word. “Did you bring chicken noodle?”
“Of course I did.”
The three of them spent the rest of the evening curled up on the couch together, Ciri nestled in between Geralt and Yennefer. They ate the popsicles Yen had brought, and Ciri laughed when all three of their mouths turned blue.
By the time she went to bed, she was practically good as new.
The next morning she left with Yennefer, and Geralt was sad to see her go, but he couldn’t help but feel proud of the way he’d taken care of her.
“I’ll see you soon, Ciri,” he said after he’d carried her bag out to Yennefer’s car.
She threw her arms around him. “Are you going to come to Yennefer’s next weekend?”
“I’ve got to go out of town for work,” he answered, and her face fell.
“But next time you come stay with me, I’m going to take you to the science museum, okay?”
Her pout turned into a wide smile. “Really?”
“Of course,” he answered. “We can go see the butterflies.”