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Geralt was waist deep in Roach's engine, staring grimly at several small but important bits of machinery that had, of course, decided to wait until they were halfway up the path to Kaer Morhen before giving out. The sky was roiling with gray stormclouds and the light was golden green, and night was coming on quickly.
He missed horses.
His oily wrench slipped off the oily bolt he was trying to loosen, and he grunted in frustration around the penlight clenched between his teeth. The wrench was the only way he could get at the stupid thing, the space being too small for his hand, but it was a terrible angle either way.
He was just about to make another attempt when he became aware of a rhythmic thumping noise. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk.
Geralt scowled with bemusement, spitting the penlight into his hand. Roach was off. He knew she was off. And furthermore, she wasn't even fucking working at the moment, so what the fuck the noise was—
He didn't figure it out until he'd rounded the edge of the truck and saw Ciri, sitting in the camper-shell-covered bed of the truck, staring at the ground and kicking her feet disaffectedly against the tailgate.
Shit. Good job, Geralt, forget the kid exists entirely.
She'd been having trouble trying to sleep in the cab, so while the road had been relatively flat and he could still dodge the potholes he'd tucked her into the truck bed with some of the cleaner blankets and told her to rest while she could.
He was a little surprised that she hadn't wandered around to the front of Roach looking for him; she'd been nearly glued to his heels since he'd found her. He'd had to promise to keep the sliding window in the cab open before she'd agreed to try to rest in the bed. Not unusual for a kid who'd been through what she had, not unusual in the least, although it had made a few encounters a little more awkward than they could have been. Thankfully their hair looked enough alike that nobody had assumed he was a kidnapper.
She looked up, then, scrubbing the back of her hand across the tear tracks and snot on her face, and everything clicked.
“Hey,” Geralt said awkwardly, trying to draw on his mostly-forgotten skills of ‘talking to traumatized children’.
Ciri jumped slightly, as though she hadn’t seen him or hadn’t expected him to talk. She looked wary, more than anything else, and Geralt figured this probably wasn’t the time to talk about her feelings.
“Roach broke down,” he said instead, watching as Ciri’s eyes widened in dismay. “I have replacement parts and tools, but we’ve got one hell— heck of a storm rolling in. Probably safest to stay here overnight and get her fixed in the morning.”
“I’m not a baby,” Ciri said.
Geralt just blinked, waiting for a clearer response. He didn’t get one, as such, but Ciri looked out at the stormclouds and shivered, groping for a blanket against the chill wind.
“You said the path up was really narrow,” Ciri said, wrapping the blanket around herself.
“I did,” Geralt allowed, and watched as Ciri chewed on her lip. She winced as she opened up the scab there. “It might get washed out in the storm, but it getting washed out while we’re on it…” he trailed off. “And if I’d managed to get the d— darn bolt off an hour ago we might’ve been able to beat the storm.”
“I said I’m not a baby. I know about swearing,” Ciri said, rolling her eyes, but then she glanced back up at the sky. “So we should… stay here for tonight.” She huddled a little deeper into the blanket as a gust of wind swirled by, rattling the bushes and the tree branches, and her wide eyes darted from shape to shape.
"Yeah," Geralt said, and walked closer. Ciri didn't flinch away, which he was still surprised at. “Hand me that tarp, will you?”
It took a little to get Roach storm-ready, but Geralt got everything in place before the first real downpour began.
“D’you want some hot chocolate?” Geralt asked, as the first drops began to hit the ground.
Ciri’s response was drowned out as the skies opened up. The wind howled, sending extra dense downpours of rain spattering off Roach’s roof and the tarp Geralt had pinned up so that they wouldn’t get soaked when they had to pee during the night. She leaned into Geralt’s side, her hair flying everywhere in the wind, and looked up at him.
“We can make hot chocolate? With magic, right?”
“Yup,” Geralt said, pitching his voice to be heard over the rain. “But no magic required.”
Ciri narrowed her eyes. “Show me.”
Geralt held back a snort of laughter—Ciri wouldn’t appreciate a comparison to Lambert, who she hadn't met—and pulled out his camping stove and the stand he used when he was worried about melting the surface the stove was sitting on. Ciri’s mouth opened in a little ‘o’ and she watched avidly as Geralt boiled water, poured it into two mugs, and added a packet of hot chocolate mix (with mini marshmallows) to each.
“The stand is smart,” she said as Geralt handed her her cup. "My—" her lip wobbled and she took a gulp of her hot chocolate, grimacing and then blowing on it. "Grandma— she liked telling me about the time they went camping and papa melted the stove to the back of the truck."
Geralt snorted. He could picture Calanthe enjoying telling that story. He took a sip of hot chocolate himself and nudged Ciri’s knee with his own. “I’ve got all the little tricks down. Mostly because I’ve experienced all the possible ways to screw up before.”
Ciri laughed at that, wobbly and short, and took another sip of her hot chocolate, staring out at the pouring rain. Lighting shot through the sky and thunder cracked, and she moved a little closer, until she was pressed against Geralt’s side. He let his arm settle on her shoulders, and she sighed and relaxed slightly. He had no idea why Ciri trusted him so much—a complete stranger who she’d been tied to without any say by the Law of Surprise—but all he could do was try not to fuck it up.
Eventually he rescued Ciri’s mug as she drifted off back to sleep, listening to the storm. He drained the last few dregs and set both mugs down on the tailgate, shifting back to find a comfortable spot to lean his head.
Geralt would swear that he’d intended to meditate only, but he opened his eyes to brilliant rays of sunlight and grunted in disdain. He had to nudge Ciri off of his leg, where she’d been drooling onto his pants, and she made several grumbling noises of her own, scrubbing at her face and pulling her blanket over her face.
Geralt didn’t disturb her, just set about washing his face in the bucket he’d set out to collect rainwater and digging through their supplies for breakfast food. Ciri still hadn’t emerged by the time he was done, but they weren’t going anywhere until Roach was fixed anyway.
Although—
“Want to help me fix the truck?”
Ciri poked her head out and squinted at him. “Yes.”