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The sound of creaking wood and endlessly moving water filled Geralt’s ears. He stared at the ceiling of the tiny cabin, from where he lay stretched out on the tiny bed, fingers intertwined behind his head. He breathed deep, and though the tang of salt was strong, he was grateful that the smell of Jaskier was stronger. His eyes flicked to the bard, perched on a crate that was their only chair and plucking at his lute with a determined look on his face, then back to the ceiling.
“If I’m never on a ship again that will be good with me,” he muttered, petulant.
It wasn’t that he got seasick. Not exactly. He felt no nausea, no loss of balance or equilibrium. He didn’t need days to gain his sea-legs or to be ushered onto the deck to breathe the fresh air. No, he didn’t get seasick. It was more that he felt landsick. Geralt had spent decades walking the Path, crisscrossing the Continent. Was there anywhere his feet hadn’t trod, any bit of grass his Roach hadn’t tasted? He felt such a connection to the land. His elixirs came from the land. His swords had been forged from the land. He even made connections with the people of the land, though some of those weren’t as positive as others. So out here, on the open sea…
Jaskier didn’t answer, just continued his plucking and strumming. He’d heard all Geralt’s complaints before. This wasn’t their first time on the sea, and was unlikely to be their last, and Geralt did not keep his irritations to himself. Not with Jaskier, at least.
Geralt huffed in annoyance. Jaskier could at least commiserate with him. But no. Jaskier thrived everywhere. If he could get to the moon, he’d be happy there, too.
About to request either an actual song or an end to the same notes played endlessly over and over, Geralt instead went even more still, muscles taut and ready to spring, listening.
Somewhere close a new sound had joined the creaking and the water and the distant sounds of people; a sort of woosh, then a vwoorp vwoorp thump.
“What was that?” Before Geralt could answer, Jaskier was up and out the door.
Geralt was just behind him, thinking, Not a speck of self-preservation in his entire body.
“Hello!”
It was a female voice, bright and oddly accented. He was sure he’d never heard it before. And yet, there was something…
When he reached Jaskier, when he saw what now filled the already cramped corridor outside their berth, he understood. He rather wished he didn’t.
More complications.
“Oh! It’s you!” She squinted a bit, clearly thinking, then shouted with glee, “Geralt!”
The woman was looking up at Geralt with wide eyes. Her straight blonde hair framed her surprised, but not unhappy, face. She stood in front of a tall blue box.
“You look different,” Geralt said. A drastic understatement. She was nothing at all like the last time he’d seen her, but he recognized her anyway. She felt the same, and also the blue box was a big clue. “Last time it was curls and velvet and…” He looked her up and down, not sure exactly how to phrase the rest.
She shrugged. “Things change.”
“Hmm.”
That made her laugh. “I do remember that. Same old Geralt. Are we on a ship?”
So like her.
Before Geralt could answer, Jaskier made a noise in his throat. “So you know each other then?”
She turned the full force of her grin at Jaskier, who couldn’t help but smile back, even if his was a bit shaky.
“I’m the Doctor. And this is– Yaz? Yaz!” When she realized there was no one standing with her, she held up one finger, said “Be back in a tick!” and darted to the other side of the box.
Jaskier rounded on him. “Where–? What–? How–?” he stuttered in a loud whisper.
Geralt could feel Jaskier coming apart. He put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders and pressed their foreheads together, saying, “Take a breath.” When Jaskier’s breathing was slow and even, he said, “I can’t explain it all. The Doctor is more than I understand.” He shook his head, thinking about this inexplicable new Doctor, who was somehow the same as the old Doctor. “Rather a bit more, apparently. But yes, we met once before, a long time ago. Not long after I started on the Path, in fact. I helped him–”
“Him?” Jaskier interrupted.
“It’s complicated,” the Doctor said, startling both of them. “I was a man back then. I’ve been several different men since then, actually. I’ll probably be a man again someday. But I’m still me. Always still the Doctor. And this is Yaz.”
“I don’t change,” said Yaz, waving at them both. She exchanged a smile with the Doctor, like they’d done that bit before.
“Geralt,” Geralt said, by way of introducing himself. “And this is Jaskier. He’ll probably sing to you later, so be prepared.”
Jaskier stomped on his foot, which would have been more effective if Geralt had been wearing something other than his boots. As it was, he barely felt it.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Jaskier said with a little bow. “Though I still have no idea who you are or how you got here. Or what this big blue box is.”
He looked so confused, Geralt couldn’t help but have a little fun. “Do you still have the room with all the clothes?” he asked the Doctor. The corner of his mouth turned up in the hint of a smile.
The Doctor lit up. “It’s even bigger now! There’s a makeup table, and loads more mirrors, and–”
“Clothes?” Jaskier asked.
“I’ll bet Jaskier would love to see it,” Geralt said, with a meaningful look at the Doctor.
The Doctor put a hand on Yaz’s wrist; Yaz grinned at Jaskier and said, “Come on, let’s go try on some clothes. I can tell you’ll appreciate the wardrobe.”
“But where–” Jaskier started. His words stopped abruptly when Yaz led him inside the box. He darted back out, ran back to Geralt and the Doctor, then dashed around the corner and back inside. “Fuck!” they heard him yell.
Geralt chuckled. “Later,” he muttered.
Looking back at the Doctor, he saw she had one delicate eyebrow raised. “It’s like that, is it?”
He laughed outright at this. “As if you can talk.”
She blushed at this. “It’s new, Yaz and me. And a bit–” The Doctor looks away. “I told you some about my life, yeah? Last time? It’s dangerous, a lot of the time. I worry.”
How could he answer that? Admit that he worried too, nearly every moment? He knew Jaskier was stronger than he looked, but every time Geralt held him in his arms, every time they kissed, every time they– He closed his eyes, consciously breathing deep and calming his heart. Still, he faced the thought. Every time he held Jaskier he felt the fragility of the man. Understood how easily Jaskier could break.
In the end, Geralt just nodded. “I understand,” he said. And there was a look in the Doctor’s eyes, the ageless eyes in the bright young face, that said she saw it, the way they stood on similar, precarious, pedestals.
Changing tacks, Geralt asked, “Why are you here?”
“Still all business, I see.” The Doctor nodded, just once, either agreeing with his attitude or getting herself into the new mindset. “I don’t know, actually. My TARDIS, she’s been a bit difficult ever since she redecorated.” There was an irritated chime from the open door behind the Doctor, and she shouted over her shoulder, “Well, you have!” To Geralt she continued, “Not impossible, but less likely to do as I ask, more likely to go where she wants. Sometimes takes four or five tries to get where I want to go. Or when.” She brightened. “But this time she brought us to friends, and in cases like this she usually knows what she’s doing. So maybe you need our help?”
“There’s something hiding on the ship.”
The Doctor bounced onto her toes. “So we are on a ship! I thought so. Brilliant! It’s been ages since I’ve been out to sea.”
Biting back a groan, Geralt went on. “Whatever it is has never been seen, but it’s terrorizing passengers. No one has been truly injured, though it’s knocked several people over. It steals their things, leaves gouges and scratches all over the ship. Even inside locked rooms. It’s been here for over a month; the crew think the ship is haunted. The captain hired me, because, as he said, ‘ghosts ent thieves.’” The last was spoken in a rough sailor’s cant, and Geralt almost wished Jaskier had been here to hear it. But the Doctor’s eyes danced at his attempt at humor.
“Then we have a mystery!” She looked delighted at the prospect. She pulled a small metal tube from inside her coat–a sonic something, he remembered, though this one, like the Doctor herself, looks quite different–and flashed it around. “A slight increase of nitrogen is all I’m detecting in the near vicinity. Come inside, we’ll see if the TARDIS scanners can pick anything up.”
Inside, the control room of the TARDIS was all warm and yellow, filled with strange arches and stools and a soft glow that set him at ease as soon as he stepped across the threshold. It, too, was nothing like before, but his mind had already accepted that everything about this strange Doctor was subject to change. They were standing at the console, looking at one of the flat shiny–not pages, but something like that–hanging above the controls, while the Doctor explained what the numbers on the display meant, when he heard footsteps behind them.
“Geralt?”
Jaskier’s voice was tentative. Unsure. Geralt could almost hear him biting his lower lip before he turned around to check. He meant to make a joke about it, but when he turned any words he’d thought to say caught in his throat.
He forgot how to breathe.
It was Jaskier, his Jaskier, standing a few steps higher than Geralt in a shaft of warm light, but he’d never seen Jaskier like this, never seen him quite so striking. Geralt’s eyes took in everything all at once: the long, deep red leather coat, the white shirt that had no buttons and looked so soft, the black trousers that must have been painted on they were so tight and ended not even halfway down his thighs. The trousers should have been indecent, but they were perfect. Jaskier wore black shoes with bright white soles and white laces up the front, and the top bit of his hair, recently grown long, was pulled back in a messy knot at the back of his head.
And then Geralt began to see the details. The white circles on the inside ankles of the shoes, with blue stars and red writing that said “CONVERSE ALL STAR” in block letters. The black that lined just below Jaskier’s lower lashes. The sparkles that dusted his cheeks. The way the soft white shirt ended just above the top of his trousers, so a line of skin showed. That the hem of the trousers wasn’t a hem at all, but a tear, and there were little bits of thread hanging down, little wisps of frayed fabric ghosting against Jaskier’s skin. And he was wearing stockings. Strange, black, netted stockings that crisscrossed his legs.
Geralt finally found his breath again. And his voice.
“Jas.” His voice was mostly breath, but he managed.
“Do you like it?” Jaskier asked, low and nervous.
At the same time, Yaz, standing a little off to the side, said, “Yeah?”
Geralt shook his head, flustered. “No. Not Yaz, Jas.” As soon as he said ‘no’ Jaskier’s face fell, and when he was repeating the names, Yaz looked confused. “Fuck.” he said, and just went to Jaskier.
Standing just apart, Geralt said, “I’m afraid to touch you, afraid I’ll ruin this vision I see before me.”
At that Jaskier was the sun, smiling so bright Geralt wondered, for a moment, if he should shade his eyes. “You like it? Truly? Yaz helped. I found the coat and she helped me piece together the rest. I wasn’t sure about the shorts at first,” he patted at the odd trousers, telling Geralt their name, “but Yaz reassured me they were just the thing. Oh, and she did my makeup.” He made a few exaggerated kissy noises, and Geralt noticed that yes, there was a pale pink sheen on Jaskier’s lips.
He smelled like strawberries.
Leaning in to see if he tasted as good as he smelled, Geralt was stopped by the sound of exaggerated throat clearing behind him.
Together he and Jaskier turned to see the Doctor and Yaz watching them, arms slung around each other’s waists, not even trying to conceal their amusement. “Hmm,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier to his side, his arm sliding under the coat. He’d been right, the shirt was quite soft. So was Jaskier’s skin.
The Doctor turned back to her buttons and switches with a wink. “Reverting to form I see. Right.”
“I know the clothes aren’t exactly practical for hunting,” Jaskier murmured, just loud enough for Geralt to hear.
“Good thing there will be no hunting involved then,” the Doctor said, interrupting.
“What?” Jaskier and Geralt said together.
“You two were too starry-eyed to hear the first time,” Yaz teased. “The Doctor’s got it all figured out already, even how to get the creature into the TARDIS so we can take her home.”
“Her?” Geralt said. He felt lost.
The Doctor waved at one of her screens. “The increased nitrogen in the air is from her pheromones. She’s looking for a mate. But she won’t find one here, I’ve no idea how she got here. She’s from far away, galaxies away even. Poor thing.”
Jaskier raised a hand, as if asking permission to interrupt. “Who exactly is this ‘she’?”
“She’s a galamarain. Her species lives slightly out of phase with the time stream, that’s why we can’t see her. But it’s only a tiny fraction of a second, a piece of time too small for you to even imagine, so her effect is still seen here: the scratches, the missing things, even the passengers being knocked down. She pushes air out of the way in her time stream, the air knocks someone down here. It’s as simple as that.”
Jaskier nodded. “So I can keep my new outfit on, then?”
Geralt pulled him close, then moved so his lips were brushing Jaskier’s ear. “I’m for it,” he whispered. “You sparkle like the sun on water.”
“That’s what’s been haunting the ship?” Jaskier shrieked with both laughter and disbelief.
They were all wearing spectacles with orange-tinted lenses that made Geralt feel slightly queasy, spectacles that allowed them to see the knee-high creature now sequestered in her own room in the TARDIS. She looked like a mouse. A very big mouse. Only not exactly like a mouse, maybe like if a mouse and a hummingbird had a child–minus the wings–and that child mated with a rabbit. Only not like those things at all, but that was the closest Geralt’s brain could come to explaining the creature in front of him.
But Jaskier was right, the thing looked harmless. Like it was more likely to climb on your lap and demand pets than to attack.
“She wasn’t haunting anything, Jaskier,” the Doctor said. “She was frightened, and very far from home. She didn’t want to be alone.”
A palpable stillness fell over the quartet. After a long moment Geralt saw the Doctor and Yaz twine their fingers together. He turned to Jaskier, still covered in stardust. Inside he felt something important shift, and he no longer felt the ache to return to land. With Jaskier, anywhere was home.
CODA
Jaskier kept his new outfit, much to Geralt’s delight. A few months later he wore it to a masquerade, and when the lady of the house saw him, she fainted. Jaskier didn’t mind, he kept performing and was the center of attention, fawned on by women and men alike. He started a new fashion trend, though no one could get the soft fabric of what Yaz had called his t-shirt right. Nor could they replicate his shoes. On the continent, Jaskier remained one-of-a-kind.