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Chapter Text

You have been cordially invited to Ciri’s 18^th birthday party!

We hope to see you on this night that will be full of music, dancing, and good food so that we can celebrate her birthday and wish her well as she leaves for university.

Date: 5^th June

Location: The Kaer Morhen Hotel

I know it’s been a long time, but it would be nice to see you. If you’re able to arrive before the date it would be great to catch up. Also, any help with sorting the party would be greatly appreciated. I’m still not great at parties - Geralt

***

Ciri had never been one to care much about what other people thought of her. She’d always done what she wanted and ignored anyone trying to tell her not to, much to her dad’s dismay. And yet, waiting for Dara to finish reading through the starting pieces of her latest scheme, the light summer breeze ruffling the paper, his eyebrows drawn in what could either be confusion or concern, Ciri worried that he might not get it. And this time she really needed him not to try and stop her.

Eventually, he sighed deeply, resting the three invites on his knees.

“Did you seriously write on this pretending to be your dad?”

That wasn’t the thing Ciri had been expecting him to protest to.

“Well yeah,” she replied, picking at the grooves between the pale stones they were sat on. “They don’t know me, why would they listen to some stranger?”

“And you want strangers at your birthday party because…?”

“I already told you.”

“Indulge me, tell me again.”

“I found Dad’s old planner,” she said, holding up the planner in question. “It’s from the year before I was born. During the time when I could have theoretically been conceived which, gross I don’t want to think about, there are three women he meets with regularly so could therefore potentially be my mum.”

“Which is all well and good, but why do you want to use your birthday to find out if they are when you’re about to leave?”

They’ve been through this before. Several times.

“It’s not about me knowing.” Dara gave her a hard stare and she feels her resolve crumble. “Ok fine, I kind of want to know, but like, asking Dad directly will get me nowhere. Getting him to talk normally is like pulling teeth, let alone anything about before I was born. But this is actually about him. It’s just been us and Roach for so long, I’m worried when I leave, he’ll be alone.”

“And you think reuniting him with three people who could be his exes will help that?”

“Rekindle the spark!”

Gently taking the invites from where they rested on Dara’s lap, she ran her thumb over the hand written message written by “Geralt”. If any of them remembered what Geralt’s handwriting looked like, this endeavour would be over before it even got a chance to start.

“He’s going to hate this,” Dara muttered.

“What? No!” Ciri suddenly felt very defensive about her plan. What would Dara know about it?

“You know he hates addressing his feelings, and bringing in these people will be his worst nightmare.”

Slowly, one by one, Ciri placed each slip of paper into envelopes. It had taken her so long to find all of these women, it had to work.

“Dara, I think he’s been waiting for someone. Call me crazy all you want, but for as long as I can remember he’s never dated anyone, says he doesn’t need anyone, but I can tell. Maybe it’s my mum, maybe it’s not. Either way, it’s a very strong possibility that one of these three people could be the one. And if I can give him his happy ending after all he’s done for me, I’ll be able to move away in peace.”

Dara’s silence once again settled over them, and Ciri would be worried, if she didn’t know him well enough to see that the way he was squinting his eyes meant he was close to giving in.

“Ugh, fine.” At that his face split into a full smile and finally Ciri felt 100% sure about her plan. If Dara was in on it then it would all be fine. “But if your dad finds out and gets mad, I will be denying all knowledge about this.”

“If all of this goes to plan, even when he finds out our involvement, he’ll be too distracted by his true love to be mad.”

One last time, Ciri looked at all of the names, neatly written on the envelopes in her hands. Renfri Vellga. Yennefer Vengerberg. Jaskier Pankratz.

Each invite slid with a faint thud into the post-box. Come Monday, they’d be on route to the intended recipients, and Geralt would unknowingly be one step closer to happiness.

***

Yennefer wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing here.

When the invite from Geralt had arrived in the post, she’d taken one look at who it was signed by and nearly chucked it straight out. Triss had been the one to convince her to at least read it before throwing it away. And then when she had read it, and decided that there was no way in hell she was going to go, again it was Triss who convinced her otherwise.

“Maybe you can finally get closure,” she’d said.

Closure. Yennefer didn’t need closure.

It was a summer romance 19 years ago that had ended in the most spectacular fashion, in the long run, it meant nothing. Was Yen still mad at Geralt? Maybe, but that was just another reason not to go.

And yet, Yennefer found herself arguing with the guy sat in his air-conditioned ticket booth whilst she sweltered in the insufferable heat. He lazily processed her ticket information and payment, drawing out every last moment as she watched the ferry make its final preparations to leave for the island.

“Can we hurry this along?” she snapped, hoping that maybe she could scare him into moving faster. If anything, he went slower out of spite.

Just as the ticket and her credit card were pushed back through the hole in the booth, the ferry’s engine rattled to life, and it began to pull out of the port.

The fact that this trip was already turning out so disastrous probably didn’t bode well for the rest of Yen’s stay, and not for the first time, she wondered if satisfying her curiosity was enough to make up for the absolute shit show that everything else was inevitably going to be.

Taking a few last steps in a half-hearted attempt to catch up to the boat, Yennefer was almost knocked off of her feet as someone else ran to the edge of the dock, yelling for the ferry to stop. When it became clear that he had well and truly missed it, he dropped his backpack to the ground and cursed.

“Fuck!” He screamed, dramatically whipping his sunglasses off of his face. “Jaskier, you moron!”

Jaskier. Of all of the people she’d been expecting to see on this trip, he wasn’t one of them. Why was he here? For the same reason Yen was? Did Geralt ask for his help too? Why would he need both of them, especially knowing their mutual dislike of each other?

“Don’t tell me you’re heading to the Island too.” She walked over to stand next to him as she spoke, and as he heard her voice, his head snapped around to face her.

The laughter started small and quiet, but it bubbled up into something hysterical and loud, drawing the attention of locals and tourists alike.

“Why am I not surprised?” he said, turning to face her fully. “Of course, you’re here too. Part of me expected to find you there already, you and Geralt happily settled and raising your daughter.”

“Oh god no,” Yen snorted, the idea so ludicrous she couldn’t contain her derision. “You expected us to last? Please. I bet you’re pleased to hear that.”

“I won’t deny that the idea that your relationship also crashed, burned, and died a terrible death brings me a little bit of joy. You missing the ferry would also greatly entertain me, if I wasn’t stranded here with you.”

“And the next ferry isn’t until tomorrow.”

He brushed his hair back from his face, it now being significantly longer than the last time Yennefer had seen him, to glance at the board with the ferry times on it to confirm Yennefer’s statement.

“Bollocks.”

“For once, we’re in agreement.”

“I feel like this is the universe telling me I shouldn’t be here. I haven’t been home in nearly 20 years, why am I breaking that streak?”

“My wife would say closure.”

“No offense to your wife but that’s bullshit.”

Yen chuckled under her breath. “That’s what I said.”

“I don’t like how much we seem to be agreeing on right now.”

Once again, Yen found herself thinking the same, but kept it to herself. Jaskier looked as uncomfortable she felt but as his eyes drifted down the bay, his mouth turned up at the corner, a spark of hope igniting in his eyes.

“If you missed the ferry, I could take you to the island, I’m heading over there myself.”

Following Jaskier’s gaze, Yen found the source of the voice, a woman securing the sail rigging of a small boat, uneven brown hair flying in the wind coming off of the sea.

“Oh, that would be most wonderful,” Jaskier accepted the offer on their behalf, not even stopping to think of the many ways this could be a bad idea. It was a nice offer sure, but for all they knew, this lady could be a murderer and they would be her next victims. “How very kind of you! Don’t look now Yennefer, our day is looking up!”

“Is now a bad time to mention I saw a particularly muscly red head on the ferry we missed, with an equally burly travel companion?” Yen muttered. Undoubtedly the two were Geralt’s brothers, who would certainly make this very awkward trip even worse.

“I don’t even want to think about it. In fact, I refuse to until I step foot on dry land once again and look one of them in the eyes.”

Moving with a new reluctance, Jaskier walked over to the boat and wobbled his way across the gangplank, hesitating half way. Yen gave him a gentle shove for good luck, and followed him across.

For better or worse, they really were on their way now.

***

“I’ve said it once and I will say it again, why did Geralt have to choose a remote island to settle down on? This commute is the worst.”

Eskel sighed as Lambert lamented loudly enough for the whole ferry to hear him complaining, perhaps even the dock workers both on the aforementioned remote island and the mainland as well.

“Can you please keep it down,” he hissed. “People are staring at us.”

“Oh, they’re not staring because I’m loud, they’re staring because I’m fucking gorgeous.” Despite the protest brewing on Eskel’s lips, Lambert ploughed on. “Anyway, I know Geralt’s been stuck in some kind of quart-to-midlife crisis for nearly twenty years now, but I thought he’d have gotten over it and come home already.”

The reason he hadn’t done that was obvious to both of them. Eskel knew that Lambert was well aware of the fact, he was just choosing to be petulant as usual.

“Ciri.”

“Yeah, I know, but he could have raised her just as well somewhere that didn’t require us to get on a boat. Do you think now she’s leaving for uni he’ll finally drag himself away from here?”

“Fat chance. The hotel for one.”

“He doesn’t even need to leave forever, just a holiday. He’s never taken a single holiday since he took over the hotel!”

“Somehow I still think that’s a no.”

Lambert cursed, slumping back into his seat even further, jostling the person sat next to them, setting off a domino effect of cramped passengers shifting to once again get comfortable. To be fair to Lambert, having to be surrounded by this many people in incredibly close quarters for the entirety of their journey always grated on Eskel’s nerves too. Not that he’d tell him that. No, he’d rather sit and suffer in silence than admit his brother was right, even if that meant enduring the increasingly intense stare from one of the locals stood not too far in front of them.

As Lambert continued to ramble on, the man’s eyes widened in recognition and he shuffled slightly closer to them. Eskel felt every muscle in his body tense in anticipation.

“You,” he said, gesturing to Lambert. “You do those videos!”

“Oh! A fan, how nice!”

And suddenly, Lambert perked up, no longer scowling or complaining. How typical. As soon as his ego was stroked that was it.

“Your videos helped me get fit for my wife! Could you, maybe, sign something for me?”

Lambert beamed, and God, was he going to be insufferable after this. Maybe Eskel and Geralt teasing him would be enough to knock him back down a peg. If Geralt wasn’t too busy stressing over Ciri’s birthday to join in that is.

***

Not usually one for dramatics, Geralt hadn’t planned to make a big deal out of his brothers’ arrival. Normally, he’d meet them at the dock, they’d go back to the hotel where Geralt would pretend there was nothing wrong with it and it wasn’t a mess, then they’d sit in his room and drink until Ciri got back from galivanting around the island and they shifted their attention to her, ever the doting uncles.

But this time, with the pressure of getting ready for Ciri’s birthday next week, he’d been tidying every inch of the place, fixing what he could, making the place generally much more presentable than normal, and he knew the ribbing he was likely to get about making more of an effort.

Whatever, he could give as good as he got.

The crowd coming off of the ferry pushed past his spot on the dock in waves, and Geralt paused his solemn stare at the horizon to look for his brothers. At the back of the crowd, lingering to talk to one specific passenger, he saw a very smug looking Lambert being coaxed into moving faster by Eskel, a scowl so entrenched on his face that Geralt could tell from the other end of the pier just how much he wished he was somewhere else.

As the other man peeled off, Lambert finally looked up and caught Geralt’s eye, digging an elbow into Eskel’s side to get his attention.

“Would you look at what the tide washed in,” Geralt half yelled, quietly revelling in the indignation that passed across their faces.

“What the fuck have you been up to,” Lambert squawked, taking in the state of Geralt’s overalls, splattered in paint and plaster and a fine shaving of builder’s dust.

“DIY. Didn’t have time to change.”

“You didn’t have time to change before your favourite people in the whole wide world arrived?” Eskel chirped in. “Geralt, you wound us. Right Lambert, we’re leaving.”

Without hesitating, Geralt ducked down, bracketing his arms around both of his brothers’ waists before tackling them to the pier, the three of them landing in a pile of limbs, undoubtedly a few bruises now shared between them all.

After a few minutes more of rough housing and several exclamations of ‘get off’, they all finally managed to untangle themselves and stand up again.

“Alright, where’s the cub?” Eskel asked, stretching himself with a slight frown on his face. Geralt could sympathise, his back now twinging slightly in pain from the tussle. They really were getting too old for this.

“Out. With Dara, I think. We can go back to the hotel and wait.” He paused, not yet walking back towards the hotel yet, feeling like something else needed to be said first. “It’s all tidy, but as usual, be gentle with things. Nearly everything here is at breaking point and I don’t have time to fix it all.”

“Does that include you?” Lambert gave Geralt a light shove as they all began to head out together.

Geralt frowned, his usual response to this kind of teasing from his brothers, but he was secretly happy to have both of them back for a little bit again. Not that he’d ever tell either of them that.

“Fuck off,” he said instead, making sure to hide his smile.

***

It hadn’t taken Jaskier long to figure out that the lady whose boat they were on was, in fact, Renfri. The Renfri that broke Geralt’s heart all those years ago that had started this whole saga off, leaving Jaskier to pick up the pieces. The Renfri that had been using one of the island’s many coves as a base for smuggling. The very same Renfri that Geralt had reported to the local law enforcement, and then kicked himself over the decision for weeks after.

To say that Jaskier was happy with this new discovery would be the biggest lie he’d ever told, and as a songwriter, he’d told many a lie in his story telling over the years.

Sure, the boat was nice, and it was definitely good that they didn’t need to wait another 24 hours for the next ferry, but that didn’t mean that Jaskier had to be pleased with how this whole thing had turned out.

“I’m sorry but what year is this,” he huffed out at one point as Renfri yelled at him to tighten the section of the rigging he was in charge of. “The fact that all three of us are here in the same place at the same time can’t be weird just to me, can it?”

“I don’t even know who either of you are,” Renfri replied, snatching the rope back from him to tie it off properly. At Jaskier’s over dramatic gasp, she smirked a little to herself. “Well, not in this context. When I got out of prison your music was one of the first things I was recommended to check out. Makes me wonder what you’re doing all the way out here, Mr World-Famous-Musician.”

“Same thing that brought us all here,” Yen said, looking as perfect and put together as always, even when doing something as physically demanding as helping to sail a boat. “Fucking Geralt.”

“Oh shit, is that what connects us all? We all fucked Geralt?”

“I don’t know, did we?”

Yennefer looked pointedly at Jaskier as he spluttered at how blatantly it had been stated, and after a quick no comment, they all elected not to continue that vein of conversation. The silence that descended onto the boat was not exactly a comfortable one, but at least the sound of the ocean stopped Jaskier’s mind from spiralling completely. Here were the facts: all of them were heading to the Island at the same time, which meant they probably all received an invite to his daughter’s birthday. All of them were technically exes of Geralt’s and hadn’t spoken to him in 19 years. The invites had asked for them to arrive early because Geralt was useless at party planning for his daughter. But why, of all people, would he ask this collection of people? It seemed very unlike him. The fact that none of them even knew of the existence of his daughter further solidified the idea that something seemed a little bit dodgy here.

“So, he needs help arranging a party? Seems like a weird reason for a reunion.” It seemed like Renfri was going to be the one to voice what they were all thinking.

“No offense to either of you,” Jaskier began, shifting slightly to keep his balance and not go flying overboard, “but I really don’t think either of you would be ideal candidates for planning an 18^th birthday party.”

“You say no offence, then immediately insult us,” Yen snapped, but there was a slight twinkle of mirth in her eyes. “I think you may need to consult a dictionary before you make such bold statements.”

“I really didn’t mean it as an insult, although I could make it one if you’d prefer. I was going to say you seem particularly ill-suited due to your usual penchant for black which would only be suitable if the kid is a goth, but I could instead say that with your permanently dour expression, one would assume you’d never had a lick of fun in your life, and would therefore not be able to tell me what an 18-year-old would find fun if your life depended on it.”

This time the silence was more stunned as Yennefer stared at Jaskier, eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, a comeback on the tip of her tongue, and Renfri looking delighted at how it was all unfolding, a laugh threatening to escape her tightly clamped lips.

“Fair play,” Yen eventually said, the corner of her mouth ticking up.

“I can see there’s no love lost between you two,” Renfri chuckled. “I’d ask what happened, but I don’t really care enough to know.”

The rest of their journey passed with minimal conversation after that, Renfri barking orders, Yennefer taking it all in her stride and succeeding, and Jaskier more focussed on not falling overboard than the task at hand. The work itself definitely seemed to take Jaskier’s mind off of his impending doom now that their conversations weren’t doing that, but he found that the closer they got, and the more he could see of the Island, the more that anxious knot lodged itself in his throat.

This wasn’t even about Geralt. Seeing him would be hard obviously, but what worried him more was finally being back home. Having to face his family. He hadn’t spoken to them since… It had probably been about 15 years, but even longer since he’d seen them in person. Jaskier’s plan had always been to leave and to never look back, get out from under his family’s thumb, but the circumstances under which he’d finally cut the final tie were less than ideal. If he could avoid his family the whole time he was here, he would. But as it stood, someone was definitely going to cry before the week was out. Probably him.

As the boat finally pulled into the dock and the three of them tied it up, Jaskier stumbled back onto dry land before dumping his bags on the ground and clutching his knees to stop himself from collapsing straight away.

“Hi,” a young voice called from a few metres away. “Can I help you?”

He looked up to see who was talking to them, and who he saw there made him pause. A girl in her late teens stood there with a hand half reaching out to aid them, and a small cheeky smile on her face. Her skin was sun kissed, a mix between sun burn turning to tan and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Strands of pale blonde hair fell from her ponytail into her eyes, so blue they looked like they contained the sky itself.

Something about her felt very familiar, but Jaskier couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe this was Geralt’s daughter. Her hair was definitely light enough. He couldn’t think of any other explanation as to why her appearance tugged on faint memories he’d locked deep in his brain.

“Oh,” he eventually found his voice again, straightening up and suddenly aware of his two travel companions joining him at his side. “Hi, we’re here for Geralt’s daughter’s birthday. Do you know them?”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, gaze flicking between the three of them. “Sorry, I’m Ciri, his daughter. Who are you?”

There was a moment as they all took that information in, now looking at her differently. Geralt’s daughter. He was right then. But there was something else about her that he still couldn’t place. Maybe Jaskier knew her mum if she had been a local that he knew all those years ago.

“I’m Yennefer Vengerberg,” Yen started, the first of them to recover.

“Renfri Vellga.”

It seemed everyone else had found use of their vocal cords before Jaskier was ready. Eventually he snapped out of his reverie.

“And I’m Jaskier.”

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked, taking a small step back, eyebrows drawn down in what was obviously confusion. Why did she only react to his name? This didn’t bode well. “You’re a man.”

What?

“What?”

***

To employ one of Ciri’s dad’s favourite phrases: fuck.

She hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

It’s just that seeing all three of Ciri’s potential mums in one place threw her off, and then one of them was a man, and she felt stupid for assuming in the first place when reading her dad’s planner. Dara was right, this was all a very bad idea.

“Sorry,” Ciri blurted. “It’s just I thought the name Jaskier sounded sort of feminine since it’s a flower. I looked up what your name meant after my dad first mentioned you, because I’d never heard that name before.”

“Geralt’s told you about me?” Jaskier practically whispered, a faraway look in his eye.

No. “Yeah!”

“Oh… Anyway, no harm done! I understand, my dear. You see, my birth name is Julian Alfred Pankratz. I changed my name to Jaskier, but I also have the stage name Dandelion. What can I say, I like flowers.”

Wait. Dandelion. Like the CD dad had in the truck? Like the famous musician Ciri read about online all the time? So not only had she gotten it wrong about Jaskier maybe being her mum, she’d invited a literal celebrity to her birthday party. Fuck indeed.

Evidently noticing her surprise, Jaskier smiled and reached out a hand in front of him to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Ciri.”

“Not that this isn’t charming,” Yen interrupted, looking up from where she’d been inspecting her nails, “but could we be shown to our rooms now?”

“Oh sure!” Ciri nodded enthusiastically, already planning the most discrete way to get them around the island. Sure, things weren’t going great so far, but if Geralt spotted all of them now, this would be over before it had even begun. “Follow me!”

As they walked around the island, Ciri taking them down several winding streets and behind buildings under the guise of giving them a particularly weird tour instead of keeping them out of view, she thought about her two remaining candidates for her mum. She’d thought she’d know when she saw them, but currently she was more confused than ever. The main thing she had to go on were her eyes; Geralt’s were a shade of amber that was almost yellow, and hers were blue so evidently, they must have come from her mum. But looking at Renfri, who’s eyes were a deep brown, and Yennefer, with a strange shade of blue that somehow looked purple and colouring that was so vastly different to the rest of Ciri, she struggled to picture either of them as her biological mother. Nothing else matched. It was too bad Jaskier had turned out to be a man and not a woman. He was the only one that bore any kind of resemblance to Ciri with his pale cornflower blue eyes.

It made no sense. According to Geralt’s planner there weren’t any other candidates for Ciri’s mum, unless there was a one-night stand that obviously wouldn’t be in there. But again, that didn’t make sense. How would this mystery lady have tracked him down 9 months later to give her over to him?

It looked like Ciri was back to the drawing board for now.

Eventually she led them into the goat house and up the stairs, stepping aside so they could all take it in. Obviously, it wasn’t the ideal accommodation, but until she broke it to Geralt that his three exes were here, there was nowhere better for them to be.

“This has been a very thorough tour,” Yen started, that same stern picture of indifference on her face. “But I’d like to go to my room now.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Renfri laughed, making herself comfortable on the old chair in the corner. “I think this is your room. Our room.”

“You mean I have to share with him?” Yennefer sent an angry glare to Jaskier, who was beginning to look a little panicked. “Geralt is literally running this hotel yet we have to stay in a goat house, three to a room?”

To once again quote her dad: hmmm.

This was a dilemma. Yennefer definitely did look like she had a taste for the finer things in life with her designer dress, sharp makeup, and sleek hair that barely looked out of place after their journey. Of course, she wouldn’t like the accommodation. And it appeared that she wasn’t overly fond of at least one of her roommates.

Ciri had two options. Tell them all the truth, or at least parts of it, and risk them leaving. Or lie her little socks off in hopes that they stayed long enough for her to figure something else out.

“Dad doesn’t know you’re here.” Honesty was the best policy her dad would say. Hopefully it would pay off this time. “I sent the invites.”

“Ciri, my dear,” Jaskier said, his face paler than it was before. “I don’t think he’d like us being here.”

“No, please, you have to stay! He’s always talking about how much he misses back then and you guys.”

“Geralt?” Renfri scoffed. “Talking about his feelings? Bullshit.”

“I just thought it would be a nice surprise for him to have you all here so he can reconnect with some old friends before I leave for university.”

Yennefer muttered ‘old friends’ under her breath before beginning to laugh, slow and low. Ciri supposed it was funny, calling them old friends when she was pretty sure they’d all been something more. Maybe the touch of humour would help swing them to her side.

“Promise to stay? Just let me talk to him first, then we can sort this all out.”

As if perfectly on cue, the sound of scuffles from below them drifted up into the attic area, along with the low rumblings of Geralt talking to the goats. Renfri and Yennefer’s eyes lit up as they drifted towards the hatch. On the other hand, Jaskier seemed ready to escape out of the window. Not a bad plan.

“No, you can’t talk to him yet. If he finds out before I tell him I’ll be grounded forever,” Ciri whispered. She picked up a box of goat feed and gently placed it over the hatch before eyeing the window again. “I’m going to go. You stay here, I’ll be back later.”

Tiptoeing across the room, Ciri gently opened the window and climbed out, shimmying down the wall. As she landed on the ground, she looked up to see Jaskier clumsily following her route down.

“Jaskier, please,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving leaving, I just need a walk to clear my head,” he said as he stumbled on his dismount off the wall. Ciri looked into those blue eyes, wide with panic, and flickering around the surroundings. He then looked directly back at Ciri, holding her eye contact, and brushing a hand against her shoulder. “Things just got a little close for comfort there. I’ll walk around for a bit, calm down a little and go back. Don’t worry. I’d have to be a particularly rude brand of moron to turn down the hospitality of such a wonderful young lady.”

“Ok, ok, cool, sorry. I’ll lead you somewhere quiet to walk then leave you to it.”

Now to put off the conversation with her dad for as long as possible before her guests got antsy.

Chapter Text

The goat house was fucking haunted. His brothers must have brought a ghost with them. It was the only explanation as to why the goats were so spooked right now. And why there was wind that sounded like whispers and light thuds coming from the attic.

Or there are people up there. That would make more sense.

“Did you see anything, Lil Bleater?” Geralt asked, sprinkling some feed in front of Eskel’s favourite goat. Eskel had been visiting when Geralt had bought Lil Bleater and had immediately formed an attachment to her, leading to his attempt to smuggle her home with him. Geralt might have even let him if he knew he’d be able to get through customs with a goat. “Are there people up there? Or maybe a ghost?”

Lil Bleater, true to her name, just bleated before going back to munching on her food. Smoothing the fur down between her ears, Geralt gave her one last fuss before deciding he should just look in the attic himself to check what was going on instead of trying to converse with a goat.

Slowly, he climbed the ladder up to the attic, and tried to open the hatch a crack, only for it to resist. Suspicious. Putting a bit more force behind the push this time, the hatch actually lifted, only to fall back down immediately and, with a not insignificant amount of force, landed on his forehead with a thud. However, through that small gap he’d made, before it closed, he saw two sets of feet. One wearing fancy high-heels, probably designer, and very inappropriate for the terrain, the other wearing beat up trainers.

With one last almighty shove, the hatch opened fully, dislodging the box that had been sat on top of it and revealing the two people hiding in his attic. Two very familiar people. His first guess had been right, there were ghosts here.

“What the fuck,” he mumbled, taking in the sight of Yennefer lounging in his chair and Renfri setting up the camp bed he kept stored up here, like some scene from one of his nightmares 19 years ago.

He climbed fully into the attic, feet now on the solid wood flooring to prevent him from falling down the ladder in shock.

“Good to see you too, Geralt,” Yennefer said, casually glancing at him like this was nothing.

“Why are you here?”

“Fancied a holiday here. I remembered it being a lovely place from when you took me all those years ago. Imagine my surprise when I find out you’re still here.”

“And you?” He gestured to Renfri, who also seemed far too calm about this.

“She needed a boat to get here, didn’t she?” she shrugged.

“Could have gotten the ferry.”

“Please, Geralt, I know it’s been a long time but when have you ever known me to take public transport.” Yennefer laughed, cold and aloof as she’d always been. Once upon a time that had been what Geralt liked about her, but now it just put him on edge.

“And of all the boats, you got on hers?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Of course, this would be happening. Both of them here, together. Any other time, Geralt wouldn’t have minded much. In fact, having this opportunity to right past wrongs and exorcise old ghosts would be welcomed, but with his brothers here, and this close to Ciri’s birthday and departure, he didn’t have time for this.

“You both need to leave. Now isn’t a good time. I don’t know why you’re here. On the island, in my goat house, I don’t care. My… I have an event at the hotel. You can’t be here.”

Nodding to himself, he moved to leave the goat house and hopefully Renfri and Yennefer for the last time. But as he tried to hastily retreat, his foot landed in an empty bucket with a loud crack. He stumbled, narrowly avoiding falling through the hole in the floor and onto some goats, only to crash into one of the shelves he’d put up for storage years ago (and only recently repaired), pulling it off the wall, a bag of goat feed coming down over his head as he landed in a heap on the floor.

Geralt shoved away the now empty food bag and wrenched the bucket off of his foot to the sound of Renfri’s cackles and Yennefer’s quiet huffs of laughter.

As he trudged down the ladder and out of the goat house, Lil Bleater and the others all nipping at his clothes and headbutting his knees, he thought, more like he hoped, that at least the day couldn’t get any worse. Bump into two of your exes? Embarrass yourself in front of them? Become a chew toy for goats? Nothing could be worse than that combination.

Brushing off a few stray food pellets, Geralt decided to take the quiet route back to the hotel to avoid the staring masses. He’d go in through the back entrance and sneak up to his room to clean off before re-joining Eskel and Lambert, and then the three of them could drink until he didn’t have to think of this bizarre situation anymore.

As he continued down the alleyway taking him more towards the beach before it looped back around to the hotel, he spotted Ciri, nervously looking around, her eyes widening as she spotted him before they darted back around the corner to where she had come from. That was a guilty look if ever he’d seen one.

“Hey Dad!” she exclaimed, voice high and squeaky. She stuffed her hands into her pockets, then immediately removed them to place one on her hip and lean against the wall with her other. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Uncle Eskel and Lambert?”

“Ciri,” Geralt sighed, increasing his walking speed to catch up with her. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

She scoffed. “No. Nothing going on here?”

“Because if you had anything to do with the unexpected guests I just found in our goat house I’ll- Jaskier…”

He stopped short as yet another face from his past came back to haunt him.

Jaskier.

There, rounding the corner to join his daughter, was the biggest regret of Geralt’s life.

Jaskier looked exactly the same as Geralt remembered; eye-wateringly colourful floral shirt, pastel lavender shorts stopping well above his knees, those startling eyes staring straight at him, a deep panic set in them. That was new, Geralt supposed. They’d always had such an easy relationship before Geralt fucked it up, he’d never had to see an expression so broken on Jaskier’s face (except on the day it all ended).

Geralt’s brain screeched to a halt and he pulled himself back from the past to see that really Jaskier had changed a lot. His warm brown hair was longer, just longer than his shoulders, tickling his collar bone through where his shirt was low buttoned as usual. It was such a drastic change to the youthful cut he’d had 19 years ago, close cut except for the fringe that dramatically fell into his eyes. He certainly looked more mature like this, with the hair combined with the light shadow of stubble on his jaw, and faint crow’s feet by his eyes, but he still looked as devilishly handsome as he did back then. Geralt immediately felt bad thinking that, he’d lost all rights to think about Jaskier like that when he ruined what they had, but he couldn’t help it.

Jaskier looked good, and Geralt’s heart ached with it.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said his name on an exhale, with that same gentleness he always said it with. “What a coincidence to see you here.”

“What are you doing here?” There were so many things to say, but that was the only thing Geralt could verbalise at that moment.

“I should ask you the same question. My family lives here.”

“I… own the hotel now.”

“Oh. That’s nice.” Jaskier nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot, ready to make a break for it.

“Don’t tell me you’re here with them,” Geralt blurted. “Yen and Renfri.”

“Would you believe me if I said that this was one of life’s many happy coincidences?”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed quietly and just managed to catch Jaskier’s eyeroll, and the slight quirk of his lips into a smile before he wiped the slate clean and went back to his neutral expression.

“Well,” he said eventually. “I have family and… friends… to visit. See you around.”

Watching him walk away again twinged something in Geralt’s chest and he just stood and breathed through it, shifting his eyes to Ciri when Jaskier was fully out of view.

“If this has anything to do with you-”

“Me?” Ciri shrieked, the sound piercing Geralt’s eardrum. “I don’t even know him! Or whoever those people are in the goat house.”

“Hmm.”

“Ok, well I need to go meet with Dara so-”

“Go say hi to your uncles then do your chores first.”

“Ugh, fine, let’s go.”

They walked back to the hotel in relative quiet, Ciri dragging her feet behind Geralt before she started chuckling.

“Dad, why are you covered in goat food?”

Very bad day. Geralt needed a drink.

***

It had been a flying visit from Ciri to say hello to them, but as soon as she left, Geralt grabbed some beer from the fridge and collapsed onto the sofa, one of his more brooding expressions on his face. Lambert had seen him like this a few times over the years, but it had certainly been a while since the last time.

Both him and Eskel settled down on either side of him on the sofa, making eye contact over Geralt’s head. There were different ways they could approach this, but without knowing what set him off it was hard to know where to start. Well, the obvious place to start would be to actually get Geralt to talk but that had never been Lambert’s strong point. Eskel always seemed to have more of a way with him.

Raising an eyebrow at Eskel, Lambert tried to urge him to do something, work his usual magic, but instead of the sympathetic smile he usually adopted for this, Eskel smirked, his eyes crinkled with the promise of mischief.

“Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong?” Eskel sang.

ABBA? Really? Sure.

He waited for the song to continue, but when he looked up to see why Eskel had stopped singing, he reached around behind Geralt to hit Lambert on the arm. So, they were going to tag team it. Fine.

“I have never seen such sorrow.”

Geralt’s scowl increased which only hardened Eskel’s resolve and Lambert had to stop himself from laughing outright. Together they sang the next section.

“In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow.”

“Fuck off,” Geralt huffed, taking another swig of his beer.

“How I hate to see you like this,” Lambert continued obnoxiously, gesturing wildly at Geralt and earning himself a shove.

“There is no way you can deny it.” Eskel pushed Geralt back, and Geralt put his beer down in response. They were starting to stray into dangerous territory.

Again, they sang the next line together, the intended lyrics being I can see that you’re oh so sad, so quiet, but before they were even half way through, Geralt threw his arms around both of them and pulled them off of the sofa down onto the floor with an almighty thud, cutting off their singing with undignified yelling and swearing.

“You sound like dying cats.” The sound of Geralt’s complaint rumbled through them where he was crushing them.

“Where’s Jaskier when you need him,” Lambert muttered, earning a hiss from Eskel. Too far? Probably.

Sighing, Geralt abruptly sat up and off of them, once again picking up his beer and taking a very long drink from it.

“Here. He’s here. All of them are. Renfri. Yen. Jaskier.” His voice cracked subtly at the end before Geralt fell silent again.

That waver in his stoic façade was the only sign that either of them would ever get that Geralt wasn’t ok. Even after everything that happened back then he’d never cried or yelled. He’d shut them out sure, but he hadn’t emoted so to speak.

“How?” Eskel asked, sounding as shocked as Lambert felt. There’s got to be some kind of conspiracy going on. Otherwise, this was one hell of a coincidence.

“Yen apparently just wanted a holiday here, not knowing I was here and got on Renfri’s boat. Jaskier is visiting family.”

“Bullshit,” Lambert laughed, but not in a funny way. “Jaskier hasn’t been to see his family this entire time and now he’s here when the other two are?”

Geralt hummed and Eskel sighed, knowing they were already going back to Geralt being non-communicative.

“And Yen and Renfri are in the goat house for some fucking reason.”

“The goat house, you say?” Eskel asked, his face lighting up and Lambert was sure he’s thinking about that dumb goat he likes so much instead of what they should be thinking about.

Standing abruptly and simultaneously shoving Geralt back to the floor, Lambert took several large steps towards the door before loudly declaring his intentions.

“I think someone needs to go and give them a piece of their mind.”

Before Geralt could fully process what it was that Lambert had said and the implications of it, he’d already ran out of the door and down the stairs of the hotel to the street he was pretty sure would take him to the goat house.

He skidded into the building, startling the goats and nearly falling into the hay, then scrambled up the ladder to throw open the hatch, ready to yell at Geralt’s evil exes… only to find the attic empty.

“Lambert!” Geralt growled, trying to pull Lambert down the ladder and push himself up it.

“They’re not here, calm the fuck down. Are you sure you saw them? You’re not going mad?”

“I told them to leave.”

“And they listened? Wow you must have been mad when you spoke to them.”

“Hmm.”

“I think we just need to have some fun to take your mind off of things,” Eskel said from down the ladder, drawing both of his brothers’ gazes to where he was cradling Lil Bleater in his arms. “We could always sing more ABBA at you. Like Dancing Queen.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Geralt stormed out, not bothering to check to see if they were following, which of course they were, but he didn’t know that.

“God you’re such a grumpy git these days, Geralt. You’re turning into Vesemir,” Lambert said, skipping to catch up with him.

“I am not.”

“Then have some fun. Be the Dancing Queen!” Eskel ran up in between them both, wrapping his arms around their shoulders.

“If you’re going to be singing more, I need to have another drink.”

***

“You look miserable,” Dara said, plopping down onto the pier to sit beside Ciri, legs dangling over the edge. It was true, she was feeling dejected and had decided to mope.

“I am,” Ciri replied, not turning to face him from where she was watching the sun sink below the horizon. “It was a bust.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean none of them can be my mum! One of them is a man for starters.”

Dara laughed loudly at that, the absolute audacity of it, and Ciri glared fiercely at him. Yes, she could see how this could be humorous, but right now it was too fresh to laugh at.

“And the other two look nothing like me,” Ciri barrelled on. “Renfri’s eyes are the wrong colour, and I am far too white to be Yennefer’s daughter.”

“Well it’s not a total bust though, right?”

“What do you mean?”

“This plan had two objectives. You failed at finding your mum. Big deal. But you could still set one of them up with your dad.”

“He found Renfri and Yennefer in the goat house and he looked so mad about it. And then he saw Jaskier and God, Dara it was so awkward. This might be something I shouldn’t get involved in.”

Dara scoffed looking at Ciri with one of those fond smiles he used when he pretended to be exasperated with her. She’d seen it many times over the years when her plans backfired and she sulked about it and Dara said I told you so.

“Too late for that,” he gently nudged her shoulder with his. “You already involved yourself, the least you could do is find out what happened back then. If it’s too much of a mess, leave it there. But maybe you could help, even if you don’t find your dad a new partner, you could help these people get closure for what sounds like a complicated part of their lives.”

“I’m 17, I don’t have the life experience to untangle this mess.”

“Well it doesn’t look like they’re going to do it themselves.”

He pointed to somewhere further down the beach where three people, two women and one man, were getting on a boat. It looked like them and it looked like they were leaving, which absolutely would not do.

“Shit!” Ciri scrambled to her feet, already running down the beach to them, the sound of Dara shouting and running after her forgotten to the wind. She couldn’t stop to worry about him without the possibility of letting them go. Once she got close enough, she started yelling. “Wait!”

All three of them turned to look at her as she skidded to a stop in front of the gangplank leading up to Renfri’s boat.

“You can’t leave!”

“Oh we’re not,” Yennefer said, looking far too smug for what the situation called for. “Your dad doesn’t want us in the goat house, so we’re going to stay on the boat instead.”

“And I am definitely not going to go and stay with my family even though that’s what Geralt thinks is going on. Nothing could make me go back there.” Jaskier shuddered.

“I just would really like to get to know you all. Maybe find out what my dad was like when he was younger. Help him reconnect with some friends before I leave.”

Again, they all laughed, and Ciri was getting sick and tired of people laughing at her expense today. Although, the idea that the three of them had ever just been friends of Geralt’s was actually funny, she supposed she couldn’t fault them that.

“If you really want to open that can of worms and learn about what happened 19 years ago, I suppose we could educate you,” Renfri said from where she was checking her mooring.

“Tomorrow though,” Jaskier cut in. “I’m too jetlagged for this right now.”

“Ok tomorrow,” Ciri agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ll hold you to that. No leaving in the night.”

Chapter Text

Jaskier awoke the next day to a beam of light shining directly over his eyes from a crack in the curtains. It was oddly quiet considering he was supposed to be sharing the space with two other people. Slowly, he got out of bed, made a cup of tea, and then braved the outside world.

There was a gentle breeze blowing off of the ocean that ruffled the delicate material of his shirt, and calmed his mind. Suddenly it didn’t matter that he’d been away for years or that he wasn’t the biggest fan of his family, and they weren’t his biggest fans either. Standing here, staring out at the ocean, Jaskier finally felt that feeling of home.

“Good morning!”

He looked down to where a small blonde girl was sat on the pier, finally realising Ciri must have been waiting here for someone.

“Yennefer gave me this to give you when she left,” she said, handing him a note that he unfolded find the words: you snooze you lose.

That absolute witch. Abandoning Jaskier to deal with this kid and her questions alone. And Renfri too. Traitors the both of them.

Jaskier didn’t know how to deal with kids, even though young Ciri was on the cusp of being an adult. And yet, it looked like he’d be the one to entertain Ciri for the day. But Jaskier was nothing except stubborn in the face of hardship. He could do this. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by spending time one-on-one with a teenager.

“I suppose that means it’s just you and me,” Jaskier said lightly, offering her a hand up.

“Looks like it,” she shrugged. “I’ll be honest I wasn’t sure any of you would actually meet me today. I was fully prepared to spend the day alone. That’s why I brought this.”

Ciri bent down to pick up a previously unseen guitar, and suddenly Jaskier’s breath got caught in his throat. The guitar wasn’t just any guitar. It had a faded and frayed rainbow shoulder strap, various stickers stuck on the body and when he gently, silently, requested a further look from Ciri, he took it from her hands and checked the back of its neck to find a crudely engraved buttercup. It was a little worse for wear than he remembered, but it was undoubtedly his old guitar. Why did Ciri have his guitar?! Did this mean that Geralt’s had it this whole time?

“Where did you get this,” he barely whispered, handing the instrument back to Ciri.

She just smiled back at him, oblivious to the internal crisis Jaskier was going through. “Oh, it’s just always been sat somewhere in the hotel for as long as I can remember. It’s nice, isn’t it? It needed a little bit of work when dad finally let me learn to play on it, replace the strings, clean the fingerboard, empty out the junk that accumulated in the acoustic chamber, but I’ve been playing since I was eight.”

“I always wondered what happened to this,” Jaskier continued, feeling inexplicably emotional all of a sudden as he noticed a few new stickers added to his collection. “I’m glad it’s not been sat with no one to play it all of this time, it’s too beautiful for that.”

Ciri froze, giving Jaskier a curious look as she absent-mindedly plucked at the strings in a way so reminiscent of his younger self that Jaskier felt like his emotions were bound to well up and spill out of his eyes at any moment.

“What do you mean?” she asked, having led them back onto the beach without Jaskier even noticing and plopping down into the sand.

“I thought I lost that guitar 19 years ago.” He sat down rather heavily next to Ciri, sand already appearing in every nook and cranny of his outfit. That certainly wasn’t something he’d missed about home. “From before anybody knew who I was. I played so many gigs in dodgy pubs and seedy clubs with that guitar. Ironic that the first performance I did without it ended up being the one I got scouted at.”

When Ciri didn’t respond to that, Jaskier turned fully to face her and saw her eyes wide in shock and a small smile on her face. She cradled the guitar even closer to her chest before whipping her head back around to look Jaskier in the eyes.

“I learned to play on Dandelion’s old guitar?!”

In the face of Ciri’s unadulterated excitement at learning this new information, Jaskier couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at the fact that Geralt essentially stole his guitar. If him losing his favourite guitar almost two decades ago, with all of the panic and sadness that came with it at the time, led Ciri to finding joy in music then so be it. He’d lose a thousand more guitars for the same cause.

“Play something for me?”

Ciri spluttered at that, shaking her head wildly and her blonde hair going everywhere. “No, I can’t play anything in front of a world-famous musician! I’m not good enough for that.”

“Would it help if I played you something first?”

“No! That would make it worse!”

Jaskier laughed quietly as Ciri buried her face into her hands, clearly embarrassed. There was one more thing he could try to encourage her to play for him. It was sneaky, but sometimes shy, young creatives just needed an extra push to show off their talents.

“Ok then,” he smirked. “How about I tell you all about that summer 19 years ago, if you play something for me.”

Ciri gaped at him and Jaskier openly cackled at that. “Did you play this dirty with my dad when you were friends?”

“Maybe. There’s only one way to find out.”

“Fine, you win.”

Despite the huff in her voice that only a teenager could pull off, Ciri smiled and readied her guitar, taking one last deep breath before starting to sing Our Last Summer.

Her voice was light and beautiful with an air of grace to it, and as the song went on, Jaskier pushed down the tears that pricked at his eyes as he remembered the other blonde haired, ABBA singing girl he’d known.

***

Jaskier would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t tarted himself up just a little bit more than usual in the hopes of seeing Geralt again at his gig. That’s not to say that he didn’t normally dress just a little bit sexier than the regular person, but tonight, he’d undone one more button on his shirt, styled his hair just right, picked out his best rings, and done a subtle make up look topped off by the lip-gloss Pavetta had once said made Jaskier’s lips look sumptuous, and he was really feeling it. He could feel the confidence oozing out of his pores, putting a seductive swing in his hips, and he knew it was working as he walked by the bar and he drew the gaze of a gorgeous dark-haired woman. When she finally looked up at his face, having ogled the rest of him, Jaskier winked, and her eyes took on a glint that he knew well. If Geralt didn’t show up, at least the outfit wouldn’t be a complete waste.

Deciding that he didn’t need to do any more set up on the stage, Jaskier stopped by the woman, ordered a drink for them both and then struck up a conversation. All his usual tricks were working, she’d leant into his space, foot dragging up his calf, but then over her shoulder, he spotted Geralt coming through the door. A spike of guilt went through Jaskier at that moment as all of his attention shifted from his current company to Geralt. But really, how could he not be distracted by him.

Geralt looked even better than yesterday, his pale hair in a neater half up, half down style, and a leather jacket pulled taught across his broad shoulders. He approached where Jaskier was stood, eyeing the woman with a slight wariness, and Jaskier felt that dangerous tug in his chest. The tug that meant that he wanted, that one step just above the initial infatuation. But that didn’t change the fact that Geralt was most definitely unattainable for many reasons, first and foremost was that he hadn’t actually shown any interest in Jaskier yet. He had a much safer option right in front of him anyway.

“Geralt,” he exclaimed, surprising the woman. “You came.”

“I did,” he rumbled. After a brief pause where he just looked from Jaskier to the woman to their close proximity, he looked away and over to the stage. “Aren’t you due to start soon?”

Perplexed, Jaskier wasn’t sure what he meant, but as he caught sight of a clock out of the corner of his eye, he jolted upright and scrambled out of the bar stool. He had maybe two minutes until his set began.

“Shit,” he swore emphatically. “I’ll talk to you after?”

The woman smiled at him again, taking a slow sip from her glass and wished him good luck, but Geralt just hummed as seemed to be his way and nodded abruptly. This was all very strange, and as Jaskier ascended the stage and introduced himself to the audience, he contemplated what it meant that Geralt was actually here. That he was here alone, without his brothers to back him up. Was that because they didn’t want to come or because Geralt wanted one on one time? It’s not like Jaskier could just straight up ask, but he would take what he was given.

His set was distracted, but still good, it was always good, and as he looked out over the usual disinterested patrons of the bar, he spotted his new lady friend still looking interested and enthused, but also Geralt, looking uncomfortable and out of place, but paying attention. That was something.

He played and played, fingers moving with minimal thoughts to direct them and when his set finally finished Jaskier nearly leapt off of the stage and over to Geralt’s small table. In his best impression of someone who didn’t care about the answer to the question he was about to ask when in fact Jaskier was the opposite, he leaned against the wall, arms folded.

“Tell me,” Jaskier started, pulling Geralt’s attention away from the table, “what did you think of the performance? You must have some review for me, three words or less.”

Geralt shrugged, face blank except for a small glint of something in his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s hard to judge after yesterday, it all feels a little bit tame after that.”

“Tame?!” Well, that was just insulting. Geralt obviously didn’t know the first thing about talking to musicians. The audacity of this man. “Geralt, no offense but I’m not sure you’d know real talent if it smacked you in the face with its guitar case. This is slander.”

“Don’t worry, I think your music is simply divine,” a new voice said.

The woman from earlier suddenly appeared at his side, a brightly coloured cocktail dangling in one hand, the other reaching out to play with Jaskier’s collar. For a moment, he’d been so caught up in the start of a back and forth with Geralt that he’d almost forgotten about her. He turned back to Geralt for a moment, allowing a smile to cross his face that he had been reliably informed was insufferably smug.

“Why thank you,” he said. “See Geralt, that’s how you compliment a musician after a show.”

“I never said it was supposed to be a compliment,” Geralt replied, taking a sip of his beer and hiding what could have been the beginning of a smirk behind his glass.

Gasping in faux drama, Jaskier reeled back a little and balanced his hand on the lady’s waist, shooting her a charming look. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste. Some people have it, others sadly do not.”

The lady just giggled coyly, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, and Geralt just hummed, eyes narrowing at the woman. An uncomfortable silence settled over the trio and Jaskier began to wonder how he could salvage this encounter when Geralt gestured to the other glass on the table.

“I ordered you a drink while you were up there. It was Pinot Grigio you drank yesterday, so I got the same.”

Geralt said it with his usual stoicism, no inflection in his voice, but Jaskier saw the small tense of his shoulders as he declared this. Perhaps there was a twinge of nervousness behind this gesture but Jaskier couldn’t figure out for the life of him why. At all of that, Jaskier felt a small leap of hope in his chest though he couldn’t quite identify what it was he was hoping for.

Liar, he thought to himself. You want it to be a gesture to show that maybe he might be interested in pursuing something a little more than the friendship you offered yesterday.

“You remembered? Oh, Geralt,” he said, making sure to shift his tone from completely baffled to enthusiastic, letting no hint of his internal monologue leak outside. “You do know how to spoil a man. I think you and I are destined to be best friends after all.”

The conversation after that still flowed a little awkwardly with getting words out of Geralt like getting blood from a stone, and outright flirting from the lady on his other side, leaving Jaskier in a weird sort of No Mans Land of achieving a grand total of nothing with either of them, but it went. And when Jaskier finished his wine, he slowly put down the glass, trying to still be polite to Geralt as he felt an increasingly explorative hand from his other company trail from where it had rested on his arm to his lower back to the top of his tight trousers. Suddenly something in him snapped.

There was no denying that this woman was interested in him, and Jaskier couldn’t say that he was averse to the idea of letting her take him home for the night, but he’d finally let himself feel that rush of something more carnal flow through his blood. Maybe if he let this reach its natural conclusion, he could just get all of this lingering desire out of his system and he could interact with Geralt without wanting to climb him like a tree.

That made sense. Definitely. Decision made.

“Geralt,” he tried not to let out a squeak as the hand on his ass squeezed. “If I’ve still not managed to scare you off, perhaps I can meet you out front tomorrow at say 10am? Then I can show you around. But for now, it looks like I need to be going.”

“Hmm yes,” the woman whispered low in his ear. “Time to be going.”

Once again, rather than giving a verbal response, Geralt nodded, an eyebrow raised as he looked on at the ridiculous antics in front of him. He patted the right-hand pocket of his jacket before reaching in and taking out a small book. Before Jaskier could even ask what it was, he was being almost dragged out of the bar, and any curiosity about it vanished into the night air.

***

Jaskier was fun, Ciri had decided. His way of telling stories kept her laughing constantly, but he made sure that the conversation wasn’t just one sided. He asked about her childhood and made fun of her dad when she told him about how unprepared he really seemed to be when she turned 13 and became a menace of a teenage girl.

Hearing about both her dad as a young man and the start of Jaskier’s career, a musician she’d loved and idolised for years, it felt a little strange to find out how closely interlinked both of those stories were. Her dad and Jaskier seemed so different, but here was proof of their friendship. It was odd to see that this was the type of friend her dad had made. He’d never really had friends whilst Ciri was growing up. Jaskier had yet to mention why it had been so long since they’d spoken, but maybe she’d be able to push them back together. They’d been close once, they could be close again.

It was just after noon when the tell-tale sounds of Geralt’s heavy footsteps approaching reached their ears, and Ciri scrambled away to hide in the beach cliffs, hoping he wouldn’t spot her.

“Oh Geralt, hello,” she heard Jaskier say, his voice a little more strained than it had been only moments ago.

“Have you seen Ciri?” Geralt rumbled.

“No, I can’t say I have.”

“Hmm, I wasn’t sure if I heard her voice down here.”

“Sound travels down the bay. You should know that by now since it looks like you’ve lived here longer now than I did. Maybe she’s further down.”

Neither of them said anything for a while, and Ciri wished she could see what was going on, but if she revealed her position to her dad, she’d finally have to actually talk to him about all of this. Being caught twice with Jaskier wouldn’t be seen as a coincidence.

“It’s… good to see you…” Her dad said, sounding quieter and further away now.

“Don’t,” Jaskier said abruptly, his voice thick with some kind of emotion. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.

“I do. Mean it… I’m sorry.”

“Bit late, that is. I gave you the opportunity to apologise and fix this back then after you basically told me to fuck off. You didn’t take it. And even then, I’m not exactly a hard man to find these days.”

“Jaskier-”

“Don’t fucking Jaskier me, I’m talking to you. This is how this works.” The venom was suddenly very obvious in Jaskier’s voice, but still with that underlying sadness from earlier. “I didn’t want to leave after our fight, but I had to. And I hoped that you’d come, and we’d fix this but after two weeks with no sign of you, I thought that made it obvious how you felt after all of it. Glad to be rid of me. You can’t just waltz up and pretend like nothing ever happened.”

Geralt had never been particularly verbose, but now was one of the times Ciri really wished he’d use his words. She also knew that this was a very private conversation she absolutely shouldn’t be listening in on, but if she left now, it would be harder to know what she’s got to work with for her plan.

“I… hadn’t expected to see you. I still need the time to find the right words, but I did miss you.”

Once again, Ciri lamented over not being able to see their interaction. She heard the dry shuffle of sand moving followed by a soft ‘fuck it’ from Jaskier before a light thud, the sound of two bodies colliding. She really hoped that this was an aggressive hug and not Jaskier attempting to tackle her dad to the ground in a fit of anger.

“Go, find your daughter. If you’re serious about talking this through, I’ll be around. But I won’t wait forever.”

At that, Ciri made a hasty retreat so that she could be far enough away from the scene to no longer be suspicious, but she will still as confused as ever. What exactly had happened back then?

Chapter Text

“I need your help.”

Geralt entered their room in a whirlwind and much more emotional than either Eskel or Lambert were used to from him. Once again, he collapsed on the sofa and stared off into the middle distance.

“With what?” Eskel asked, already regretting asking. He knew that it would have something to do with the three unexpected guests.

“Talking to Jaskier. Apologising.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Lambert said, throwing a snack into his mouth. “First, you say you’re sorry about what you said, why it was wrong and why you never meant it. Then you tell him that you’ve been waiting here on this island refusing to leave for 19 years because you realised you were in love with him and you still are.”

Way to be tactful, Lambert.

Eskel rolled his eyes as Geralt grabbed one of the sofa cushions and viciously smacked Lambert in the face with it. It was what he deserved, and Eskel would have done the exact same thing.

“Maybe not those exact words,” Eskel said slowly, trying to fix this mess. “But something to that effect. He deserves to know what’s been going on in your head. About your feelings.”

“But there’s no point if he won’t return them. Can’t I just apologise and leave it there?” Geralt grumbled, still trying to getting at Lambert, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Why wouldn’t he return them?” Lambert interrupted before Eskel could continue, and shoving a hand into Geralt’s face.

“Because you said he was dating that countess or whatever.”

“You really need to keep up with pop culture, fucking hell Geralt. Firstly, she’s not a countess, The Countess is her stage name. Secondly, they had a very public, very messy break up years ago. It was everywhere, how do you not know this?!”

“I don’t like the internet.”

“Understatement of the century,” Eskel mumbled, pushing both of his brothers so that he could sit next to them on the sofa. “So, let’s brain storm: are you just talking to Jaskier, or do we need to come up with what to say to the others as well?”

Geralt frowned deeply at that, and Eskel knew that despite how much it would help him to talk to them, he wouldn’t want to be the one to make the first move, still too hurt by both of them. It was fine, they could work with what they had.

***

The next morning, Renfri woke up first again, and made to leave the boat only to once again come face to face with the kid, and someone she could only assume was her best friend. Ciri waved at her, and Renfri hesitated in heading straight to the cove.

“Who’s this?” she asked, at least trying to be polite.

“This is Dara!” Ciri said enthusiastically. “He’s my best friend. We’re trying to spend as much time together before we both leave for uni, but he’s getting anxious about it because he’s never left before.”

“Hey!” Dara glared at Ciri, and Renfri tried to hide her amusement. “Don’t just go telling people I don’t know about my issues!”

“I’m anxious too, it’s fine! But yeah, I brought him with me to speak with Jaskier so that we can still spend time together even if there’s other stuff I need to do.”

“Sounds like you’re both a little co-dependent,” Renfri said, trying for light-hearted and receiving a confused yet contemplative look in response from Dara.

“You know I’d agree if we hadn’t purposefully chosen to go to different universities to avoid that,” Dara said, still squinting at Renfri.

“Smart choice… You want to learn how to sail a boat?”

Dara once again gave Renfri a sceptical look whilst Ciri’s face lit up as she smiled so wide Renfri could practically see all of her teeth.

“Oh my god, are you serious? Yes!”

“We’ll have to wait for my ‘travel companions’-” Renfri emphasized this with over-the-top air quotation marks- “to wake up. Or at least Yen. We could be waiting hours for Jaskier.”

“Oh, I feel that,” Dara huffed a small laugh at that, finally seeming to relax around Renfri. “The fact that Ciri is awake this early is unheard of. She seems really enthusiastic about finding out all she can about back then. In fact-”

“Ok, that’s enough!” Ciri interrupted, slapping a hand over Dara’s mouth. “Let’s get on the boat, yes?”

Abruptly, Ciri pushed her way onto the boat, Dara following and shooting an amused look to Renfri. She’d never had so many people on her boat, and Renfri half thought that she’d hate it, but as she thought more about being surrounded by happy, smiling people and in her favourite place, after everything she’d been through, a small bubble of happiness settled in her chest.

“You kids had breakfast?” she said, trying to come off as nonchalant and probably failing. What could she say, she was excited.

“Yeah,” they both replied in unison, taking in the boat in its entirety.

“Also, uh, if you wanted, after teaching you to sail I could show both of you some self-defence, in case it would help you feel less anxious about leaving home.”

“Oh absolutely,” Ciri bounced on the deck. “Even if I wasn’t worried about strange people in strange places, I’d be down for that.”

A half hour later, Yennefer swanned onto the deck, eyed Renfri’s two young assistants loosening the ropes ready for them to cast off and then looked at where Renfri was ‘supervising’. She squinted then shrugged and went to lean over one of the railings.

“I see we’re going to be on the water today. Ciri,” she called. Ciri looked up from her work with a strange sort of squawk of acknowledgment. “Do you have something nice to wear to your party?”

“Uh, maybe?” She turned to look at Dara who only shrugged with a facial expression that clearly read ‘why are you asking me?’ “Depends what you mean by nice.”

“If it’s not a definite yes, I’m taking it as a no. I can’t exactly see your dad taking you clothes shopping. Fancy sailing to the mainland and doing some shopping? I’ll find you something.”

“Really?”

“I suppose we should find something for your friend too since I’m guessing he’s leaving as well?”

“Oh, uh,” Dara drew into himself again now there was another new person. “I’m sure I have something, don’t worry about me.”

“Nonsense,” Yennefer waved him off, brushing some sand off of another one of her black dresses. “I have a relative fortune, and no kids to spend it on, only my wife. If you refuse, I shall just have to guess your measurements and hope I pick out something that suits you.”

When neither Ciri or Dara protested further, Yen nodded, a satisfied smirk curling up her face.

“That’s what I thought. What do you think, Captain? Should we set off for the mainland?” She turned to Renfri then, a cheeky glint in her eye.

“I’m certainly ready to go.” Renfri pushed off from where she’d been leaning against the cabin of the boat.

“What about Jaskier?” Ciri asked, her face a little unsure, but also full of mischief.

“He’ll wake up when he wakes up,” Yennefer almost cackled. “Maybe if we make a sharp enough turn, he’ll fall out of bed.”

***

They were just under half way to the mainland when a man stumbled out of the cabin and onto the deck.

“We’re moving,” he stated obviously. “Why are we moving?”

As he brushed his hair out of his face and rubbed at his eyes, Dara finally got a good look at who must be Jaskier, and stopped in his tracks where he’d been belaying the lines just like Renfri showed him. Those eyes were unmistakeable, and so was that voice even though he was just talking. How had Ciri neglected to mention this?

“Oh, Ciri, you’re here too,” Jaskier, apparently also known as Dandelion (?!), said. “And you brought a friend. Julian Alfred Pankratz, but you can call me Jaskier. Nice to meet you.”

“Dara.” He was too shell shocked to introduce himself better than that. This was wild. Abruptly, he turned to Ciri, hissing in her ear. “You never mentioned-”

“Slipped my mind.” She was avoiding his eyes. Guilty conscience, much?

“Where are we going, and why wasn’t I informed before we set off,” Jaskier yawned.

“We’re going shopping,” Yennefer replied curtly, not even turning to look at him as she inspected her nails. “I would have woken you except I didn’t want to disturb your beauty sleep. You obviously need it.”

Jaskier physically recoiled at that, mouth agape and eyes wide, an accusatory finger pointing at Yennefer.

“You… need to learn some fucking manners,” he fumed. “Excuse my French, young’uns.”

“Don’t apologise to me for swearing,” Ciri snorted. “You know what my dad’s like.”

All three adults hummed in begrudging agreement at that, and finally Dara’s curiosity got the better of him.

“How do you all know Geralt anyway?” Of course, Ciri and Dara had their theories about them being exes of his, but he wanted to confirm it. Jaskier and Yennefer both looked to Renfri first who scoffed.

“When Geralt left the army he came here for a break. Needed a guide, I showed him around.”

“We met at a bar on the mainland when I came here for a holiday,” Yennefer added next, even though the chronology Ciri and Dara had figured out placed Geralt and Jaskier meeting before Yennefer’s arrival.

When it came to Jaskier’s turn to share, he just laughed, long and loud.

“Geralt was moping at one of my gigs after the whole mess with Renfri went down.” Now that intrigued Dara, but he didn’t know any of these people well enough to ask yet. “I mean who can possibly brood when listening to an ABBA tribute act? Of course, I had to go up to him.”

“The great Dandelion started out in an ABBA tribute act?” Renfri laughed.

“Ah, not just any ABBA tribute act. A drag ABBA tribute act.”

“Oh my god,” Ciri whispered and then immediately dug through her bag, finding Geralt’s planner and then rifling through the pages. Eventually she pulled out an old photograph. “Is this you?!”

She was pointing at one of the two people in the photograph. Both were wearing obnoxious 70s clothing, singing into one microphone. Upon first glance, Dara wouldn’t have noticed that either of the two subjects were in drag, but as he looked closer, he could see how fake the hair was, and the obvious attempts at contouring their faces to look like another gender. Written on the back of the photo was “P + J – DRABBA’s final show”. That would make the blonde woman that Ciri was jabbing her finger at Jaskier, right?

“Yes, that’s me,” he said casually as if this hadn’t rocked their entire world. “I do rather miss the blonde.”

The look of absolute bewilderment on Ciri’s face was enough to almost make Dara laugh, but he didn’t, because he knew that once again Ciri had been thrown into a crisis. She’d shown him this photo after lamenting that none of her candidates could possibly be her mum, pointed at the blonde woman and said ‘maybe it’s her.’ This new development would not be helping.

“I could sing you all some ABBA if you’d like,” Jaskier said unhelpfully.

“No,” Yennefer snapped in response.

“Suit yourself.”

***

Retirement was not all it’d cracked up to be so far. Geralt’s Supervising Officer had recommended a long rest somewhere warm before trying to enter back into society. He was three days into his holiday and he was already sick of it.

He was bored.

For years, his work had been everything, no time for anything else. And now, without it, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His brothers would arrive in a week, and they’d probably take the edge off, especially Lambert and his chaos. But for now, there wasn’t much for Geralt to do except sit in the local bar and drink.

“Good evening, sir,” the elderly barman said to him. “What can I get you?”

“A beer,” Geralt replied shortly. He wasn’t in the mood for idle chit-chat. “Please,” he added as an afterthought.

“You needn’t look so solemn,” the barman continued as he pulled the pint. “There’s a lot this part of the world can show you, if you let it. You could find everything you’ve been missing.”

“Sounds like a bunch of old hogwash to me.”

Taking the hint, the barman left him his drink then walked away, leaving him alone once again with his thoughts.

And with the dirty looks one particular group of men was giving him.

“Oi soldier,” one of them called, his tone clearly indicating he was itching for a fight.

Geralt ignored him. Maybe they weren’t even talking to him. It wasn’t like he was in uniform. So what, if Geralt could feel himself still standing with that posture that had been drilled into him at bootcamp.

“I’m talking to you, you white haired bastard.”

There went his plausible deniability. He turned away from the bar, drink still in hand to stare at the man, face impassive except for his single slightly raised eyebrow. He wouldn’t do this man the pleasure of reacting any more than that.

“We don’t want your kind here,” he snarled. “This ain’t no pub for soldiers to stick their nose in business which isn’t theirs.”

“I’m just here to drink,” Geralt rumbled, taking a sip to prove his point. “Nothing else.”

“You have two choices. Leave of your own free will, or we’ll drag you out.”

Geralt seriously doubted anyone from that group would be physically capable of dragging him out of the pub, but that didn’t matter. The whole point of retirement and the subsequent holiday was to not get into any more fights.

“Not a hard choice.” Putting his drink back on the bar, Geralt grabbed his jacket and tried to head out. He could do this, avoid trouble, end the night peacefully. He took two steps before someone else from the same corner as the man in front of him yelled out too.

“Fuck that! Teach him a lesson not to hang around here!”

Murmurs of agreement passed around their table and Geralt saw the first man’s fist clench, his stance settle, and eyed the door just behind him longingly. He was so close to a clean get away, and yet so far. A few more people stood and surrounded that first man, backing him up.

“Come on soldier,” he said, a snarl on his face. “You’re not scared of us, are you? Show us what you’ve got.”

“Can you not leave it alone for a moment,” a woman called from further down the bar before Geralt even had the chance to campaign for peace one more time.

The room went deadly silent, all patrons bending to the authority in the woman’s voice. The men didn’t stand down but they did look uneasy, glancing at each other before turning to her. No one dared to speak as she stared them all down, and as Geralt finally shifted his gaze, he could see why.

Her features were stern as she stared out at the mob blocking the door, cracking her knuckles, head tipped slightly to the side. Her dark brown eyes glinted with something dangerous in the low light as they flicked from the men to Geralt, and suddenly he felt pinned in place by her.

“I apologise for my man’s interference in your evening,” she said, and someone behind him grumbled at that, but Geralt couldn’t tear his eyes away from this woman to see who. “Hopefully he can improve his behaviour for tomorrow’s business.”

“Sorry, Renfri,” the first man said, completely insincerely.

As the men dispersed, their footsteps dragging across the floor back to their table, Geralt finally let his shoulders fall and the rest of him relax. He closed his eyes briefly and exhaled, grateful not to have to fight his way out of this one. Once he reopened them, he saw Renfri once again looking at him, but the intimidating stare was replaced with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked, picking at a plate of food sat in front of her. A wave of confusion washed over Geralt as he tried to consolidate the woman who had commanded an entire room with the one who now looked almost sweet. He was too tired to deal with this now.

“I should go,” Geralt responded, but still, Renfri smiled.

“Tomorrow evening then? Is this your diary here?”

She reached for the small black book that Geralt had been about to leave behind had he made his planned exit and opened it to the double page for the week. Leaning over the bar, she grabbed a pen before writing in the section for Thursday “Renfri Vellga – drinks 7pm”.

“Let me walk you home.” She handed him back the diary.

“I’m not a damsel,” he protested half-heartedly. Maybe it would be nice to have some company for the walk.

“I never said you were. Where are you staying?”

Which was how Geralt found himself standing outside of the hotel he was staying at, feeling a little awkward not knowing what to say to Renfri as she stood watching him, looking vaguely amused. Was he supposed to invite her in? Or would that be too much? It wasn’t that Geralt didn’t want to invite her up, he wasn’t blind after all, and Renfri was intimidatingly beautiful, especially in the light of the moon. Her dark eyes reflected the light of the stars back at him and her uneven hair grazed her bare collarbone as she tilted her head once more.

“Thank you,” he eventually said, clearing his throat. “I appreciate what you did back there.”

“Well,” Renfri shrugged and took a step closer to him. “Why don’t you invite me up and show me some of that appreciation.”

Well then.

Geralt blinked, slightly taken aback. But when Renfri didn’t back down, still smirking, he unlocked his door, and ushered her inside. Maybe the holiday wasn’t going as badly as he’d thought.

***

When Geralt woke up in the morning, Renfri was gone.

He went about his day, and when he returned to the same bar that evening, there she was, sat where she had been the previous evening with that same mischievous smile on her face. They ate, they drank, they talked. They went back to Geralt’s hotel room.

Over the next few days, it became a habit for them to spend their evenings getting to know each other.

Once, during the day, she’d sailed him over the neighbouring island with her crew. When they pulled up to shore, she had a whispered conversation with one of them before returning to Geralt, an easy smile on her face.

“Let me show you around,” she said, pulling him away from the boat. “I grew up round here, exploring all of the coves along the beach front. Now, I prefer to explore further inland. Come on, there’s lots I want to show you.”

They walked around for hours, Renfri telling him everything she knew about the Island that she’d learnt when she was younger, out wandering on her own when she wanted to get away from the home where she’d been branded a problem child.

By the time they sailed back to the mainland, Geralt felt more connected to Renfri than he had before their trip. And when they fell into bed together once more, Geralt felt the spark in his chest grow into something bigger, more meaningful. Maybe this could be more than just a bit of harmless fun.

But in the morning the bed was empty again.

When Geralt awoke from another nightmare, sweating and panting at 3am, he wasn’t sure whether he would have preferred company or not. He hadn’t been able to pin down exactly when Renfri left the previous nights, but as he looked around the dark room, and felt the cool sheets next to him, it was clear that she’d been gone for a while.

On a morning such as this one, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to care that he was alone. In fact, he was glad. The idea of someone seeing him like this, vulnerable and shaken, opened a pit of shame in his stomach.

Shadows of memories still clung to Geralt as he tried to pull himself back together, and he decided the only way to shake them off, was to take a walk in the cool early morning air, let the sound of the waves calm his mind.

Clambering out of bed, he shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed a light jacket and headed outside. Geralt had wanted to wander around for longer, end his meandering by the peer, but instead his feet took him straight to the water. He could smell the salt on the air before he reached the sea, and as he got to the end of the alleyway that led him there, he heard loud voices, making him stop in his tracks.

“Do you want to shout that any louder? I don’t think the whole town knows we’re smugglers yet,” someone hissed.

Slowly, Geralt peaked around the edge of the last building in the alleyway, seeing all the boats in the harbour, one of them surrounded by a small group of people taking boxes off of the boat. It was too dark for him to see many faces, but one person was stood with their back to him, an unfortunately familiar uneven haircut their only discernible feature.

“Sorry, Renfri,” one of the other men whispered, bowing his head.

Fuck. Of all the people doing all the things, of course Geralt had to bump into the woman he’d been growing attached to, partaking in criminal activities. Maybe, just maybe, Renfri was a more common name in this area than he’d thought. And the hairstyle was a new fashion trend.

“That’s what I thought. Now hurry up before someone sees.”

The woman turned and Geralt caught a glimpse of her under the moonlight. Renfri’s soft face had hardened into something more sinister, something reminiscent of the first night Geralt had met her. He really couldn’t manage to stay out of trouble, could he? Everywhere he went, there was always something.

Keeping his eyes on the scene as long as he could, Geralt slowly backed away from the dock and down the alley, tracing his route back to where he remembered there was a phone box. At least he could try to fix this problem he’d stumbled upon.

It didn’t take long for the police to arrive on the scene, rushing out of their cars to grab all of the smugglers they could, Renfri expertly dodging and punching several officers in the face, and shoving one into the sea. Bracing himself, Geralt saw Renfri moving in his direction, still seemingly unaware of his presence. He didn’t want it to come to blows, but he was ready if it did. As Renfri’s eyes finally landed on Geralt, her expression darkened even more and her stance shifted.

“Was it you?” she hissed. “Did you tell them?”

“If you come quietly, they’ll be easier on you,” Geralt tried, but he knew she was beyond reason already.

“I should have known all you’d do is cause me problems. Move.”

Geralt didn’t move. He stood firm.

When Renfri’s fist came flying, he tried to catch it, arm still reeling from the momentum, but she kept trying to fight him, getting more and more frenzied. Geralt grabbed her arm, pulling it up behind her back, but she just elbowed him in the diaphragm with her spare arm, forcing him to let go.

Winded, Geralt didn’t give in. Swings kept coming, stances changed, fists flew, their movements flowing like a dance, back and forth. Foot connecting with shin, Renfri was forced down on one knee, breathing hard, and taking advantage of the hesitation, Geralt moved behind her, pulling her arms back and shoving her face to the floor.

He held her down, Renfri struggling the whole time, until one of the police officers came over and put her in handcuffs, and as she was dragged away to the police car, her cold glare never left Geralt.

Had he done the right thing? His moral compass had always been strong, but the hatred being directed at him made Geralt doubt all of the decisions that had led him here.

“Don’t feel too bad,” said an old man coming to stand beside him. “From what I hear you grew close. It’s likely that she just saw you as a retired soldier and manipulated you to make sure you didn’t do what you did today.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Geralt growled.

“You’ve done a good thing. We’ve been trying to catch Renfri and her men red handed for a long time, we owe you a debt.”

“You don’t owe me a thing.”

“I had a feeling you’d say that, you were just doing your part, being a good citizen.”

Geralt hmmed lightly, still not taking his eyes off of the cars.

“Mr Rivia, was it? I’m the mayor of this town, Stregobor. Please let me repay you.”

“I need nothing. I just want to enjoy the rest of my holiday in peace.”

“Ah, of course. May I make a recommendation then? The bar you’ve been going to, we have a local lad from the island just across the water coming to perform. He could be worth a listen. But maybe steer clear of there tomorrow night. It’s a tribute band instead.”

Wordlessly, Geralt glanced over at Stregobor, his hair thinning, and a small white beard on his chin, and a long dressing gown on meaning he probably came straight here from his bed. Not a particularly good look for a mayor, Geralt thought. As Stregobor looked very pleased with himself as he watched the final police car leave, Geralt still felt a sense of unease.

But tomorrow his brothers would arrive, and they would drag him out of this mood he felt settling over him. For now, he left the scene in silence, nightmare forgotten, and ready to attempt sleep once more.

***

Jaskier sang sea shanties the entire way to the mainland, and if the kids weren’t enjoying it so much, Yennefer would have thrown him overboard 10 minutes in. When she’d objected to his suggestion of singing, she’d hoped that had meant he wouldn’t sing at all, and yet, as per usual, he couldn’t stay quiet for more than 30 seconds unless he was unconscious.

By the time they were back on dry land, Yennefer was in a mood. She tried to at least act like she tolerated Jaskier’s company more than she used to. When she’d seen him, Yen had decided to at least try and get on with him better than had previously, but he always ended up opening his mouth and ruining any thoughts of good will. The only thing they had in common, really, was being scorned by Geralt.

As they entered one of the mainland’s clothes shops, Yen knew this would be another source of contention. It would frustrate the ever living fuck out of her, but Ciri would probably find the bickering hilarious so that made up for it. Sort of.

Ciri stuck to her side as they walked around the shop, looking at some of the clothes, but nothing was really holding her interest at this point. If she was anything like Geralt, she’d probably be happy in combat trousers and a t-shirt, but that absolutely would not do for her 18^th birthday.

A sophisticated black dress caught Yennefer’s eye and she picked out a size she thought would fit Ciri to hold up to her before sending her off to the changing rooms. Only, of course, Jaskier had to raise a complaint before Ciri could even try it out.

“Black? Really?” He said, his tone as scathing as he could manage.

“Every young lady needs a black dress,” Yennefer replied, not even deigning to look at him, measuring the length of the sleeves on Ciri’s arms. “They can be worn for any occasion. And they’re stylish.”

“Any occasion except an event on a Mediterranean island. Not everyone is as cold hearted as you to be able to cope with black in that heat.”

Yennefer took a deep breath and counted to ten before opening her eyes and looking dead at Jaskier.

“I don’t see you making any suggestions,” she sniped, still handing the dress to Ciri. Even if Jaskier had a point about it not being suitable for this party, Ciri could definitely use it in the future.

“There’s plenty of nice outfits in brighter colours here, like this,” Jaskier put down a shirt he’d been showing to Dara before picking up a pink monstrosity and waving it in Yennefer’s vague direction.

“Oh dear lord, are you blind? That shade would completely wash her out. If you’re going to pick something pink, at least make it pastel to suit her complexion.”

“I wasn’t saying this exactly,” he spluttered, shoving it back on the railing. “It was an example of something with personality to it, rather than something you’d wear to a funeral.”

They continued arguing back and forth about different options for several minutes (“that cut would be lovely, if she were a 50-year-old woman” “stripes? Are we going for escaped-convict chic? No offence Renfri”) before Ciri cleared her throat loudly to get their attention.

“How about this?”

The dress she’d found and then proceeded to put on in the changing rooms without them even noticing was a pale blue, made of a light weight material coming to half way down her shins, with thin layers of netting covering the skirt with small flower details around the bottom, and a thin ribbon at the base of her ribs.

“I like it,” Renfri said into the quiet from where she was inspecting a truly hideously patterned button up.

“Yeah, looks like it’ll keep you cool,” Dara agreed, clinging on to the selection of shirts he’d found so far.

Jaskier just looked at Ciri for a moment, a smile smaller than his usual on his face, and when he spoke his voice was thick with an unidentifiable emotion. “It really suits you. Quite a timeless look might I add.”

Reluctantly, Yennefer had to agree. She really did look lovely. “If that’s the one you’d like, and not something you chose just to shut us up, then I’m happy with it.”

“I do like it,” Ciri beamed, swishing the skirt a little. “I’ll go get changed out of this and then we can focus on Dara’s outfit.”

***

When they returned to the island, their arms were laden with bags full of treasures that Jaskier and Yennefer argued over paying for. Jaskier had insisted on stopping for ice cream before walking Ciri and Dara back to the hotel, not taking no for an answer. It had been a long day, and despite the inherent risk of seeing Geralt or his brothers, he felt like he had a responsibility to see these kids home safe.

That and after seeing Ciri in her dress earlier, with all sorts of memories whirling around in his head, a walk around the streets of his childhood would clear his mind. He’d wallow in the places he’d once laughed in with her and then return to the boat, ready to pretend that nothing was wrong.

Ahead of him, Ciri abruptly dragged Dara down one of the side streets leaving Jaskier alone and confused before he saw the figure they must have been avoiding.

“Good evening, Geralt,” he said with faux cheer. “Where are you off to?”

Geralt looked up from where he’d been brushing some dirt off of his overalls, startled to hear the voice of another human.

“Home,” he replied, wiping his hands once more on his trouser legs. “I was just at the stables with Roach.”

“I didn’t know you were a horse guy.”

Geralt smiled small at that. “She’s been with me a long time.”

“Longer than Ciri’s mum?”

That was it. Finally, Jaskier had asked the question that had been burning at him since that damned invite had arrived in the post. Who was she? Were they still together? What had she done that the rest of them hadn’t to keep him?

“Not quite,” Geralt’s voice was tight with something resembling emotion, and once again Jaskier felt a distant twang of jealousy. “Didn’t you…? I thought… It was never like… she’s gone now anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier whispered, reaching out to settle a hand on his shoulder. It was a smaller gesture than their hug the other day, but no less profound. “For bringing up hard memories. Seems like it’s a day for it. Do you want to talk about it?”

Geralt gave Jaskier a look, one that he remembered meaning are you serious. Of course. He didn’t talk about feelings.

“My mistake, how could I forget. You’re a manly man and if you express a single emotion, you will simply die.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, but the corner of his mouth twitched up in a smile for the faintest of moments. “I’m still finding the words.”

“Ok, we don’t have to talk. Why don’t we just go for a drink, like the old days?”

Jaskier wasn’t not sure why he suggested that, but now that it had been said, he couldn’t take it back. And he didn’t want to. If they could cross this bridge then they were one step closer to finally putting the past behind them.

But Geralt was hesitating.

“I… can’t. My brothers already made plans for us for this evening.”

He inhaled, looked as though he was going to say something else, then just frowned, his eyebrows drawing together to highlight the deep crease that now lived between them.

“I have to go…”

And then he just left, and once again that piece of Jaskier’s heart that dared to hope crumbled under the weight of disappointment.

***

“What do you mean you just left him there?!” Eskel seethed after hearing why Geralt was sulking now.

“I had plans with you so I had to leave,” Geralt muttered. “I don’t see what’s so hard to understand about that.”

“He wanted to get a drink with you, Geralt!”

“And? I’m not going to cancel on you, I don’t see you often enough.”

Lambert laughed behind his pint as Eskel resisted the urge to literally slap some sense into Geralt. This was probably one of the stupidest things he’d done in recent memory.

“When was the last time you saw us?”

“Last year.”

“And when was the last time you saw the love of your life?”

“19 years a- wait hang on a second. He’s not-”

“-Deny it all you want, you’re a fucking idiot. Should have gone out with him.”

“There’ll be other opportunities.”

“Will there?” Lambert said cryptically, earning a glare from Geralt. Maybe if they were both as obnoxiously annoying as possible, he would finally get his head out of his arse.

“He’ll leave in a few days, go back to his life as a super famous musician, and then meet someone else again and then Never. Come. Back. And then you’ll be sad and alone forever,” Eskel tried to channel Jaskier himself and his dramatics for that.

“Or we’ll be forced to try and set you up on blind dates, and we’ll choose the worst people and you’ll have to sit through them because Ciri would be so disappointed to learn that her dad is sitting at home sad and alone and not even trying to put himself out there.”

Expression thunderous, Geralt downed the rest of his drink.

“You know, this is really none of your business. Or Ciri’s,” he said petulantly before stealing Lambert’s pint.

“You say that, but I think Ciri is making it her business.”

Geralt’s hand paused mid-air as his brain processed that statement, the blank expression reading to Eskel very much like a loading screen.

“What do you mean?”

“Why else would all of them be here? Why else would they be here now?”

It was a thought that had been rattling around in Eskel’s head since the unexpected guests had arrived, but he hadn’t been sure until now, seeing Geralt pine after Jaskier again, trying to pretend he preferred being alone. He wished Ciri had mentioned it to him and Lambert. They could have been helping from the start.

“Fuck off,” Geralt swore into the dregs of Lambert’s drink, effectively ending the conversation by flagging down the waitress for another round. “Why don’t we bully Lambert about his fitness videos for a while instead.”

“I object to this!” Lambert’s face changed rapidly from smirking to rising panic. “Teasing you about your love life is so much more fun!”

But Eskel didn’t listen. He’d let Geralt have this one.

They teased Lambert for the rest of the night, pointedly not mentioning Jaskier again.

Chapter Text

That night Jaskier couldn’t sleep.

He’d tried everything that normally worked for him; composing the most boring lullaby he possibly could in his head, counted sheep, timed his breath to the ebbing and flowing of the tide against the boat.

Nothing.

So, he hauled himself back out of bed and off the boat, heading up the cliff to the one place he’d always gone to calm down when he was younger.

As he sat, feet hanging over the cliff edge, staring at the horizon and the endless ocean reflecting all the stars he couldn’t see in the city, he tried to convince himself that he had no idea what was keeping him up. But even as he endeavoured to ignore the images he was pushing away, they swam back into the peripheries of his thoughts.

Silver hair, golden eyes, broad shoulders… a subtle smile that made Jaskier’s heart soar and break simultaneously.

The night dragged on and Jaskier did as he had done for the last two decades. He pretended he was over Geralt, pretended that when he thought about their last fight all he felt was indifference, maybe a twinge of anger. But he knew that wasn’t true.

God he was pathetic, still pining over someone he only really knew for a single summer almost half his entire life ago. Still feeling guilty for the part he had played in their falling out. Still wanting to forgive Geralt even though he absolutely didn’t deserve it and wouldn’t until he finally decided to apologise properly.

The problem was that he had cared (read: still cared) so much about Geralt in their time together, more than Geralt had ever cared for Jaskier. And he still treasured the memories of when he had made Geralt smile, when he’d been soft to Jaskier. Or when Geralt mumbled his way through a story about him and his brothers. When he had clapped a strong arm around Jaskier’s shoulders and pulled him close. All of these things had made Jaskier feel special. He’d managed to coax these feelings out of a man that previously seemed so closed off. Jaskier couldn’t not fall in love with him.

You’d expect this sort of infatuation to end when the object of your affection yelled at you and told you no one wanted you around, but alas not.

None of Jaskier’s relationships since could hold a candle to how brightly he’d burned for Geralt. Not that Jaskier hadn’t tried. He’d been in several relationships, fallen hard for people he couldn’t have, but one part of him always wondered about the what-if’s and the what-might-have-been’s.

And now all of that was right in front of him and staring him in the face again. Geralt running a hotel with a wonderful daughter right down the road from his family. If things had been different, how would Jaskier have fit into this picture? Would changing that one thing take all of this away from Geralt? Could Jaskier bring himself to wish away the past if it had brought Geralt a future where he was truly happy?

“Jaskier?”

Whipping around so fast he almost pulled a muscle in his neck, Jaskier tried to find the source of the voice that snapped him out of his reverie, his eyes landing on a sleep soft Ciri, dressed in her pyjamas and hair braided.

“Can’t sleep either?” he hedged a guess.

“How did you know?” she asked coming to sit down beside him.

“I used to come here when my mind was restless too.” For a moment, the only sound between them was the ocean lapping at the shore. “That and it’s late, why else would you be out here.”

“Why are you out here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Same as you.”

“What, you can’t sleep because you’re anxious about leaving for university?”

“You’re anxious for university?”

“Don’t dodge my question by turning this on me.”

Jaskier could definitely out stubborn Ciri with this. He grew up with four sisters, and Ciri was an only child. Sure, her dad was a surly, stubborn goat of a man, but Jaskier could be obnoxiously annoying with it. Not that that was the best tact for this. Ciri was obviously trying to brush off some serious feelings.

“We can talk about my problems when you tell me yours,” he gently nudged her in the side, trying for levity.

Ciri hesitated, her face scrunching up in a pout before she exhaled harshly and settled back to lean on her hands. “Fine. Yeah, I’m worried about going to university. I know most teenagers leave home to go to university at my age but they haven’t lived their whole life on this tiny little island. It’s important for me to do this, but I’ll miss dad. I keep saying I’m worried about leaving him behind, how he’ll cope, but I don’t think that’s the whole story. I’m worried about me. If I have a crisis, he’s not down the corridor to help and come hug me until I feel better.”

“Have you tried talking to him about this?”

The scathing look that Ciri sent him was definitely one she got from Geralt.

“If I tell him any of this he’ll try and talk me out of going, and despite all of my concerns I know that this is something I have to do. He’ll say I can wait one more year, but I don’t want to. What will stop me from putting this off indefinitely if I do that? On the other hand, I know that if I miss him, I can call him and we can try video call even though I know he’ll do terribly at it. And if I really need him to, he’ll come out to visit me. Doesn’t stop me being anxious though.”

“I understand. But I also think your dad might surprise you. Talk to him about this, it’ll put both your minds at ease, I’m sure.”

Humming quietly, Ciri sat for a moment before shuffling a little closer to Jaskier, and after a few more minutes of pondering, she gently rested her head on his shoulder. Jaskier didn’t dare move.

“Why are we here, Ciri?” Jaskier had to know. It had been bothering him since they’d arrived.

“Didn’t we just establish that it was because both of us can’t sleep?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he laughed. “Why did you invite us to this Island? I’d understand you not wanting your dad to be lonely when we leave, but we’re not exactly the best candidates for that.”

She was silent for a moment as she pondered her answer. “Promise you won’t get mad if I tell you?”

“I promise.”

“I was trying to find my mum. Dad never talks about her. I found his old diary, looked at the relevant time period to try and figure out who he was seeing, if any of them were my mum. Came up with you three. Obviously, that didn’t work out how I’d hoped. I just didn’t want to go into the next stage of my life still having this massive uncertainty hanging over me.”

“You probably aren’t going to like what I have to say,” Jaskier eventually replied after processing that answer.

“Say it anyway.”

“This is really another thing you need to talk to your dad about.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It could be.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. They just continued to sit together, letting that conversation sink in properly.

“What were you thinking about that kept you up then,” she eventually said.

“Your dad, actually,” he replied honestly and Ciri giggled softly.

“Of course. Could you tell me another story about you two? One that I can think of when we’re all separated to make me miss home less.”

“What sort of story?”

“How about how you met? You mentioned ABBA.”

That dragged an unexpected laugh out of Jaskier’s throat. Of course, that would be the tale she’d ask for when Jaskier was feeling his most nostalgic. Something from the very start of their friendship before it all got muddied by complicated feelings.

“Ok then. I guess I’ll tell you about DRABBA’s final performance and how we wowed the audience with our immense talent.”

***

Unbelievable. Jaskier was putting his whole soul into this performance, the others were too, and yet the audience had the audacity to look disinterested. This wasn’t the first time that their ABBA tribute band hadn’t been that well received. Their performances at university were constantly criticised, called inaccurate, disrespectful to the source material. These people were all wrong.

The glory of ABBA was their campness, their ability to make people smile. The obvious conclusion to take from this was that the best way to honour them with a tribute band would be through drag. And so what if they performed pieces inaccurately? It was always “Agnetha shouldn’t be playing the guitar” and “Björn shouldn’t be singing these songs, why isn’t it Anni-Frid” never, “wow Jaskier you’re such a talented musician” or “Pavetta’s voice is so beautiful, I’m so glad you decided to switch things up so she could show off”. Some people just didn’t seem to understand that sometimes compromises needed to be made for art.

But this was their last performance as DRABBA, and seeing a sea of bored faces barely paying attention to their performance set a righteous flame alight in Jaskier’s chest. He scanned the audience once more, trying to figure out a way to pique their interest again, and eventually his eyes landed on a table in the corner, three large men sat around one tiny table. Two were smiling and laughing, but they weren’t who his gaze snagged on, oh no.

There, sat between his friends, was one of the most captivating men he’d ever seen. His hair was long and silver, pulled up from his face carelessly, his eyes shining almost golden in the low light of the bar. His sculpted jaw was covered in a subtle 5 o’clock shadow, and his mouth was turned down, but unlike the other patrons, it wasn’t in boredom or distaste. He was brooding. Who in their right mind could ever brood whilst listening to ABBA? Jaskier wanted to find out.

Suddenly struck with a thought, Jaskier turned on his brightest smile and began to address the audience once again. A few people groaned, with a murmur of we’re not here to hear you talk, get on with the music, rustling somewhere left of the bar, but Jaskier didn’t care. If he played this right, maybe he could get the silver-haired man to break out of his mood.

“Good people, I would like now to take some audience requests!” he tried, making sure to look around the whole audience, not just the corner he wanted to.

“I’d like to request you shut up!” The shout was from the same place all of the other heckling had come from, but once again Jaskier paid it no mind, continuing to smile charmingly at everyone else.

“Does anyone have a favourite ABBA song they’d like us to play?”

No one really reacted, but after a few moments of nothing, there was movement by the table Jaskier had been eyeing, and the muscley ginger man raised his hand, a cocky grin on his face. This was going to be good.

“Yes, the foxy red head at the back?”

“Gimme Gimme Gimme,” he responded, a laugh in his voice.

“Ooh, looking for a man after midnight, are we?”

“No, but my brother could do with one.”

He nudged his brother, the broody one, who’s scowl then deepened as he swatted at the red-head. Their other companion, this one with shorter brown hair and a scar on one side of his face, laughed uproariously, also earning a shove. Laughing inwardly, Jaskier noted how this was going better than he could ever have expected.

“Stick around after the show, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Finally, golden eyes looked up at the stage to meet Jaskier’s, and as the man stared for a second, Jaskier’s stomach swooped to the floor. He’d been wanting to pull this man out of his sour mood, maybe get him to notice Jaskier, but having the full power of those eyes on him, he knew he was a goner. Recovering from his enchantment, Jaskier let himself smile cheekily and winked, causing the man to reel back a little, but the furrow between his brows had disappeared, so Jaskier counted it as a win.

Looking over his shoulder, ready to give everyone their cue to start playing, Jaskier and Pavetta locked eyes. Almost immediately she broke it, looking down and away as she grabbed her tambourine from her mic stand before wiping the beginning of a laugh off of her face. She knew him too well, knew exactly what he was doing. It was a good thing she found his antics entertaining, unlike Valdo, who was glaring at Jaskier from his place behind the keyboard.

Why can’t you just play the music, Jaskier? Why do you have to be so insufferable, Jaskier? Why can’t you take this more seriously, Jaskier?

Because, Valdo, firstly, it’s drag! If they were just going to play the music, they should have just started a regular cover band. And secondly, anyone can get on stage and sing a song, but it takes a certain kind of person to get up there and actually entertain. Valdo would argue, and had on several occasions, that they weren’t entertaining anyone. It was a wonder this band had lasted as long as it had.

With one last eyeroll Jaskier would be tempted to call fond if he didn’t know Valdo so well, Valdo flicked through the voice settings on his keyboard ready to play the opening riff, and Jaskier gestured at him to smile more, earning a grimace.

As much as they didn’t agree on showmanship, Valdo was a damned good musician, and when they played together with Pavetta’s voice and Priscilla on bass, it created a special kind of magic. An unappreciated magic, but magic nonetheless.

Jaskier and Pavetta weaved effortlessly around each other on the stage, alternating between singing at each other, sharing a mic, and singing out at the general audience. Of course, “general audience” actually meant Jaskier trying to sing to everyone but always ending up back at that corner table, looking at the brooding man who was suddenly paying attention to him, and Pavetta singing mostly to her actual husband, Duny.

The song came to an end, lacklustre applause from most, with Duny and the red head at the back hollering. How lucky they were to finally have at least one other fan before they disbanded forever! Sure, the red head was probably enjoying the show because they embarrassed his brother, but it counted!

With renewed vigour, Jaskier finished the set. The four of them stood at the edge of the stage and bowed low soaking up the scattered cheers, gripping each other’s hands perhaps a little too tightly. The end of an era. Jaskier almost didn’t want it to end. But they all had bigger and better things on the horizon, it was time to let go.

And it was time to finally meet his fans.

As they filed off of the stage, Jaskier thrust his guitar into Valdo’s empty arms, already stripping out of the top layers of his costume.

“Be a dear and put my guitar away for me, will you?” The wig came off next, unceremoniously dumped on top of Valdo’s own wig, still on his head.

“Um, no? Do it yourself, why should I?” he replied, but his actions betrayed his words as he opened Jaskier’s guitar case.

“Because, dearest Valdo, I have a man to woo!”

And with that, as Valdo stared on in confusion, Jaskier vanished into their dressing room with a flourish.

***

For someone that hadn’t done much so far that evening, Eskel was looking far too smug for Geralt’s liking. Sure, Lambert had been a little shit, as usual, and made a fool out of Geralt, but that didn’t give Eskel a reason to look so pleased with himself.

“This is the best idea I’ve ever had,” he said to himself as he sipped at his pint, watching the bar now that there was nothing on the stage to distract him.

“Your definition of ‘best idea ever’ and mine must be very different,” Geralt grumbled. “That,” he gestured to where the band had just been, “was a mess.”

“A fun mess.”

Lambert snorted and Geralt kicked him under the table.

“Got to say I agree with Eskel this time,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We got you out of your room, distracted you long enough that you’ve stopped moping, and you might get lucky tonight.”

“The fuck?”

“What do you mean ‘the fuck’? Dragnetha straight up flirted with you, and kept glancing at you whilst she was singing, give her the chance and she’ll climb you like a tree.”

“No, she’ll hear Geralt talk then run for the hills,” Eskel laughed. “Or one of his boorish grunts.”

“Performers are just like that,” Geralt ignored the insult. He didn’t want to start a fight in this bar and get banned on his brothers’ first night there. He’d been doing so well at avoiding that so far.

“Flirting is part of their act, and it looks like for this one more than most.”

“Suit yourself.”

They sat and drank in silence for a few minutes, Eskel still smug, Lambert still laughing under his breath every few moments. This was fine. Geralt was more than happy to ignore his brothers, finish his drink and then leave them to whatever it was they apparently found so amusing. But when Lambert spotted something over his shoulder, and gently hit Eskel in the arm to gain his attention, both of them giving Geralt matching looks, Geralt knew he wouldn’t be escaping without a fight this evening. Maybe if he pretended he was going to get another drink, he could sneak out whilst they weren’t looking.

Slowly he stood from his chair and turned around. But before his escape attempt could even begin in earnest, he stopped short of crashing into someone who had been approaching their table. The man that was in front of him quickly looked Geralt up and down before casually leaning against the wall next to them.

“Well,” he said, face pulling up into an overconfident smile. “Here I am, your man after midnight. Do I live up to the expectations?”

For fucks sake. This is why they’d been laughing at Geralt. He’d dismissed that statement, and yet here stood a man, brown hair swooping into his eyes lined in black, glitter twinkling on every bit of exposed skin, including on his chest where the top four buttons of his blue silk shirt were undone. Geralt blinked slowly, trying to take in this assault on his senses, and after a moment he came back to himself.

“It’s 11:50.”

Behind him there was a soft thud on the table, one of his brothers likely disappointed in his social skills once again, and the man’s smile wavered slightly, eyes darting to the side. Geralt could see when he mentally gathered himself together, game face back on, and he rolled his eyes internally.

“Close enough,” the man smirked. “What can I say, I just couldn’t wait any longer. You’re captivating, how you just sit in the corner and… brood.”

Taking one more deep breath Geralt moved past the man, careful not to brush him as he went. If he didn’t engage the man further, maybe he could still sneak out.

“Eager to get out of here, are we? Surprising, but I’m not complaining.”

Geralt sighed as quietly as he could and changed his trajectory. If he couldn’t leave, he’d at least get another drink.

“No,” he replied. “I’m going to the bar.”

“Oh! Allow me.”

Winding effortlessly through the small crowd to beat Geralt to the front, the man slammed both of his hands down on to the bar before pushing himself up and a little bit over the counter to wave someone down.

“Barkeep! 3 pints of your finest beer for this gorgeous specimen and his two brothers, and a glass of my usual Pinot Grigio please. And may I just say, you have the most incredibly neck, like a sexy goose!”

Barely acknowledging this man’s antics, the bartender quickly pulled three pints, a fond, familiar smile on her face, but Geralt couldn’t move past how he had draped himself over the bar, arse in the air, clad in ridiculously tight trousers. He glanced back over his shoulder, catching Geralt looking, and smirked like a cat who’d just got the cream.

“Like what you see, sir?” he said, his voice dropping down to a low, conspiratorial whisper.

Geralt just grunted in response, shifting his gaze back over to the now empty stage.

“A man of little words I see. That’s fine, I have enough for the both of us.”

“Some could say too many,” Geralt mumbled, and the man finally lowered himself back to the ground.

“And he bites back! You really are proving quite perfect already,” he shoved two pints into Geralt’s hands, patted him on the shoulder, then grabbed the last two drinks. “Don’t worry, once we’ve had this drink, I’ll let you escape.”

Sceptical, but accepting, Geralt led the way back to their table and refrained from slamming the drinks in front of his brothers like he so desperately wanted to. They looked up with twin amused expressions, the level of resemblance far too high for two people who didn’t share a drop of blood.

“Gentlemen, a beverage for you, as thanks for the audience participation!” He practically fell into the fourth and final chair of their table, yet still managed to maintain a level of grace with one of his legs hanging over the arm.

“Oh it was a batshit insane performance, I loved it. Kudos to you,” Lambert replied, reaching out to shake the man’s hand. This time it was Geralt’s turn to make bewildered eye contact with Eskel. Lambert never willingly complimented someone. Never.

But there was something bothering Geralt more than that. What was Lambert complimenting him about? Was this some kind of weird coincidence, and he’d seen the man perform somewhere before? It can’t have been anything they’d seen that night. It made no sense.

“What?” he eventually managed to say, and he could feel the faint furrow between his brows forming.

“His performance,” Eskel said slowly. “That we just watched.”

“Did we watch two different shows?” he huffed out.

“No, we watched a drag act, the performers tend to look quite different out of costume…”

“Dragnetha, my deepest apologies, this is Geralt, the dumbest brother. I’m Lambert, and this is Eskel.”

That made a lot more sense. The flirtatious performer.

Geralt squinted at him more closely, now seeing more resemblance between the two, but also noticing just how youthful he really looked. Just how young was this man? Was he even old enough to be drinking that wine he ordered? What even was the legal drinking age here?

Shaking his head, the man turned back to Geralt. “Oh please, when I’m off stage, please call me Jaskier.”

“Does your mother know you’re out, Jaskier?” Geralt sipped on his beer, still scrutinising him.

“Oh you really do know the way to a man’s heart,” he said instead of responding, fanning at his face with his hand. “Go on, quote more ABBA to me.”

“He’s being genuine,” Eskel sighed as Lambert once again started cackling. “He doesn’t know ABBA.”

Jaskier paused for a moment, mouth ajar, eyes wide before pulling that same smirk back into place.

“Blasphemous. Anyway, in that case, I choose to take it as a compliment that you think I look young enough to still need my mother’s permission to be out. Not that she could have done anything to stop me before. Although she probably does know what I’m up to and is very disappointed in me. Worry not, I am 23 entire years old, fresh out of university and with no prospects in life. Just the way I like it.”

Christ. Geralt had been that young once, but he’d never been that energetic, that bright. It hurt to look at him be so care-free when all life had given Geralt was hardships.

“Anyway, I’ve never seen you here before. Either I missed out on all the great people moving here after I moved away or you’re here to holiday your little hearts out.”

“Geralt needed a break. We’re here to make sure he gets one,” Eskel explained, sending a deadly look Geralt’s way, like it was his fault his break hadn’t been relaxing so far.

“Ease off Eskel,” Lambert said, and Geralt was once more suspicious of his brother being nice. “It’s not like Geralt purposefully banged a criminal when we left him unsupervised.”

And there it was. Airing his dirty laundry to strangers. Bastard.

“Fuck off,” Geralt hissed back. This entire evening seemed like it was pulled directly from Geralt’s nightmare situations. He should have stormed out when he had the chance.

“Oh, that was you?” Jaskier asked, his eyes sparkling at the prospect of gossip. “I’d say tell me all about it, but I feel like you’d bite my head off if I even tried to ask.”

Geralt just grunted in response, not confirming or denying that statement.

“You definitely need to make some better memories of this place.” Jaskier swirled his wine glass in his hand. “Tell you what, if by the end of our drink together tonight you don’t find me completely insufferable then come to my gig here tomorrow night. There’s no band this time, just me singing my own music, it’ll be a more relaxed setting hopefully, and it’d be nice to have some friendlier faces there. And then maybe, if you’re willing, I can show you my favourite spots, help you have some fun.”

Feeling Lambert’s eyeroll from next to him, Geralt gave a non-committal hum. But as the night continued, and Jaskier happily directed the conversation for the rest of them, with unlikely anecdote after unlikely anecdote, Geralt found himself feeling less reluctant to be there, and more intrigued by Jaskier. When the night finally ended and he dragged himself back to his hotel room after definitely more than just the one drink that was promised, Geralt only hesitated slightly before writing “Jaskier’s gig” in his planner for the next evening.

Chapter Text

Ciri hadn’t asked Renfri anymore questions about her time with Geralt since the morning on the boat, but it was easy enough to fit the rest of it together from context clues. Renfri and Geralt met and fooled around, then she committed some kind of crime, got arrested, possibly because Geralt had called the police, and went to prison leaving Geralt to mope. It felt like too much of an invasion to ask for more details on the end, but it was enough.

And Jaskier had told her a lot, even though he’d been purposefully dancing around whatever they’d fallen out about. She’d gotten the most information out of him so far.

The only person she hadn’t been able to talk to about all of this, so far, was Yennefer. But that was about to change. Yen had offered to do Ciri’s nails to match her new dress, and do other feminine things since, and this was a direct quote, “the only female influence you seem to have had growing up is Roach, and she’s a horse.” Upon hearing that they were having a ‘pamper day’ Renfri had practically run for the hills and Jaskier had asserted that he would also be joining them. There was no better moment than this to ask Yen about her time with Geralt.

“So,” Ciri started, as casually as she could. “How did you meet my dad?”

Yennefer scoffed, but Jaskier adjusted the grip he had on the plait he was giving Ciri and leaned forward in interest.

“Oh yes actually,” he said, trying and failing to feign disinterest. “I would like to know too. I never actually heard this story.”

“Tone down the salt levels, Jaskier,” Yennefer sniffed, dipping the brush back into the nail polish to continue. “I feel like I’m about to drown out at sea.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’d like to hear how you managed to bewitch Geralt-”

“-If you shut up for long enough maybe I could actually tell the story, hmm?”

Trying to hold back a laugh, Ciri let the sounds of Jaskier and Yen bickering wash over her, making a mental note of all the key points of Yen’s story to try and figure out the bigger picture later. There were points that Ciri wished she could see Jaskier’s face to know his reactions. She’d had a theory, seeing them interact, that Yen may have had something to do with why Jaskier’s… friendship… or whatever they were calling it, with Geralt ended, or possibly vice versa.

As Yennefer’s tale began to wrap up, Jaskier’s hand went stiff in Ciri’s grasp where they’d swapped positions, Ciri doing Jaskier’s nails, Yen doing his hair. This was obviously where things got properly complicated.

“I think,” Jaskier started before clearing his throat. “I think I’ve heard enough actually. I’ll leave you two ladies to it.”

Rather abruptly, he wrenched his half-painted fingers back and stood with all of his usual grace, before almost falling over his own feet in his haste to leave the boat, leaving Ciri and Yen in a vaguely stunned silence. Tutting, Yen gently took the nail polish bottle back from Ciri.

“Drama Queen,” she rolled her eyes. “Take off your socks, we’ll paint your toe nails too. Anyway, where were we?”

***

The day after Jaskier left, the wind changed. Geralt wasn’t superstitious enough to believe that it meant anything, but the chill in the air had put him in a strange mood. He’d had a nightmare again that night, but this time awoke to an empty room, and the confusion he felt after still lingered. He was almost glad to not have to be seen this time, but there was a vague feeling of loss after having someone there to calm him. It left him off kilter. When had things shifted so far from him being content being alone, to missing the presence of another human?

He didn’t want to think about it. But the distraction he’d come to rely on recently wasn’t there.

Thinking back to his childhood, Vesemir had taken them fishing a few times when he could tell that life was getting too much. Maybe it would help now like it did back then. When he actually considered it though, he knew he wouldn’t be inviting his brothers this time. He needed solitude.

With that decided, Geralt found somewhere to rent equipment and headed out to the water. There the wind coming off of the water made it feel more like a crisp Spring day than the height of Summer, but the bite of it kept him grounded in the moment.

Which was why he was surprised when he cast his line and felt a tug in his bicep as the hook lodged itself deep in the muscle. That hadn’t happened since he was a boy, but as he tried to tug the metal out, he felt it burrow deeper. Gritting his teeth, Geralt gave it an almighty pull and he managed to release it. But when he looked down, he knew that wasn’t the end. Blood dripped from the open gash down his forearms and fingers and began to pool on the floor.

Shit.

He needed to get to a pharmacy, bandage the wound up before it got worse. Or maybe go straight to a medical professional. That would make more sense. But he didn’t know where either of those were.

Walking down streets he was now starting to find familiar, Geralt tried to keep an eye out for any signs that would indicate he was on the right track, all the while leaving a trail of deep red drops behind him. It took him longer than he’d care to admit before he decided to give in and ask for help, eventually crashing into a small café with the intention of asking the person behind the till for directions.

But when he entered, no one was there. There were a few customers dotted about, but no staff. Sighing, Geralt resigned himself to wandering aimlessly, until one of the customers scoffed.

“I don’t think now is the time to be getting a coffee,” she said, her voice sharp but the sound of her putting her cup down was soft. “Don’t get blood on the floor.”

“I’m not…” he sighed. “I need directions.”

The woman brushed her dark curls over her shoulder, and fixed Geralt with a calculating stare. For a moment she just continued to look at him, leaning closer to him over the table. He could tell he was being scrutinized, but he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

“If you go right at the end of the street, there’ll be a pharmacy down the second road on the left. Don’t die on your way there.”

After one more beat, she finally looked away and reached for her coffee, dismissing him with that gesture.

Geralt almost hated that he found the pharmacy exactly where she said he would.

***

The Bleeding Man was everywhere. After that first day at the café, Yennefer hadn’t seen him there again, but all of the other places she’d been, he’d been there too. At the beach, in the restaurant she’d chosen on a whim, at the bar. Usually, she’d suspect something nefarious was going on, but every time they made eye contact across a crowded room, the man looked just as perplexed as she felt. Had Yennefer been a more superstitious person, she might have even assumed that the universe was trying to throw her a bone. A way to make up for the colossal shit show it had just finished putting her through.

Sorry for ruining your relationship with your childhood sweetheart. Here, have this brooding hunk of a man as an apology.

And maybe, for a moment, looking at him across the bar, Yennefer felt temptation thrum through her veins. She hadn’t gone on this holiday with the intention of hooking up with strangers, but there was no harm in seeing what might happen should she introduce herself to him, right?

Of course, she was supposed to be here with Istredd, but he wasn’t here. He’d shown her exactly how much harm taking a chance like this could do, breaking her heart right before the holiday that they’d been planning for months. But this didn’t have to mean anything. Maybe it was exactly what she needed to soothe that particular hurt.

Finishing her glass of wine, Yennefer rolled her shoulders back and confidently made her way across the bar towards The Bleeding man, the silk of her dress billowing behind her with every stride.

“You scrub up quite well when you’re not bleeding,” she said, coming up behind her mysterious stranger and pushing her way to the table, brushing up against him just enough to get a feel of the muscles undoubtedly hiding under his shirt. “I’m Yennefer.”

There were many tricks that Yennefer had in her arsenal that had men falling at her feet, but this time she kept it simple, demurely batting her eyelashes as she offered him her hand. For a moment, the man looked at it, eyes squinting slightly as his head cocked to the side. He looked back up into her eyes and swallowed thickly before speaking.

“Geralt,” he said, his low voice rumbling straight through Yennefer as he took her hand.

However, unlike the other men Yennefer had tried this with, instead of kissing the back of her hand Geralt shook it firmly before letting go, still looking slightly perplexed. She supposed it made sense. This wasn’t her usual playground, and he wasn’t her usual type of man. It was a pleasant surprise, and Yennefer could feel her lips forming a more genuine smile.

“Fucking hell,” one of the other men muttered into his pint. “Again?”

“Seeing as the last time we spoke was so thoroughly traumatic, what with all that blood, why don’t you make it up to me by buying me a drink and then maybe we can,” she paused, placing her hand on Geralt’s arm, “get to know each other better.”

The third man choked on his drink before there was a distinct sound of a bar stool scraping across the floor and a hurried time to go, Lambert, leaving the two of them alone. Tonight, at least, was going to be very interesting.

Very interesting indeed.

***

The next few days passed by with the same heady mix of too much alcohol and a fatal attraction. They talked, they drank, they tumbled into bed together, rinse and repeat. Eventually, Yennefer suggested they try an actual date, and despite his better judgement, Geralt agreed. And yet, when they once again found themselves wrapped up in each other, through the haze of pleasure Geralt couldn’t help but think that her silky hair was too long when he ran his fingers through it, perfectly manicured nails too sharp on his skin.

And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from crawling back to her. There was something addictive about her that drowned out his thoughts that it would all end in flames. Yen provided the much-needed distraction that Geralt had been looking for when he came all the way out here. At the same time, he felt he was doing the same for her, taking her mind off of something bigger. Maybe it wasn’t the most solid foundation to build a new relationship off of, but they both seemed keen to try.

Geralt had been pencilling in their next few dates in his diary, when Jaskier had re-entered the scene, shattering the fragile peace Geralt had been starting to make for himself.

He burst into their usual bar exactly a week after he’d left with a flourish, drawing everyone’s gaze. With much more drama than the situation demanded, he crashed down onto the spare stool at their table, greeting Eskel and Lambert before turning to Geralt and Yen, his eyes pausing on where their arms were interlinked.

“Hello Geralt,” he said, his smile taking on a slight strain. “I bet your past week was positively dull without me there to entertain you. Now do tell me, who is this new sexy… scary looking woman?”

“This is Yennefer,” Geralt replied, unsure how else to proceed. What exactly was she to him now?

“His girlfriend,” Yen clarified for him, curling her hand more possessively around his arm as she said it. “And who, exactly, are you?”

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt may have mentioned me? I’m his new best friend.”

Yennefer smiled in a way that was too saccharine before responding. “Funny, he’s never mentioned you.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened as his mouth flapped open and closed like a goldfish, unable to vocalise a response. This was maybe the first time Geralt had seen him speechless. But that wasn’t what Geralt was focussed on. Had he really never mentioned Jaskier to Yen? That felt like a massive oversight. One that it was too late to fix.

“Oh,” was all Jaskier responded with, his expression now turning dumbstruck. His gaze flicked down to the table where Geralt’s diary was still sat open. He swiped it over to his end of the table. “That’s no matter. Now that I’m back, we should really schedule something, Geralt. Although you do look awfully booked up. Surely you can spare an evening or two for your old pal Jaskier?”

He plucked the pencil out of Geralt’s hand and scored through one of his dates with Yennefer. Her eye twitched, but she refrained from saying anything.

“When I said ‘don’t miss me too much’ this isn’t what I meant,” Jaskier muttered under his breath as he wrote.

Fuck.

Geralt knew, watching this, that somewhere along the line he’d made a mistake. He didn’t know exactly what it was yet, but he damn well knew he regretted it.

Helplessly, he looked over to his brothers for help, but they were pointedly looking away, pretending they had no idea what was going on right in front of them. Useless, the both of them.

“I look forward to getting to know you better, Yennefer,” Jaskier said, reaching his hand out for her to shake.

“Oh,” she replied, grasping his hand firmly causing Jaskier to wince slightly. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

This was not going to end well.

***

Hate wasn’t a word that Yennefer used lightly. More often than not, it was too extreme of a word to use for something that was no more than a nuisance to her. Hate was reserved for special occasions. Why use a word like that when there were so many others that would suffice? Abhor, detest, loathe. Whilst arguably more extreme words, they often fitted the situation better.

But there was always an exception to the rules.

Yennefer hated Jaskier. Despised him with every fibre of her being.

Honestly, she hardly knew the man, but he was so deeply aggravating and had no obvious redeemable qualities that she had seen so far. He was vain, thought the world revolved around him. He wore the most garish colours that made Yen’s eyes hurt if she looked at them for too long. He never knew when to shut up, or when to fuck off for that matter.

Everything about him was deeply insufferable.

But if Yennefer was to continue dating Geralt, that meant she had to at least try to put up with Jaskier, despite what appeared to be his best efforts. And boy was he trying.

So far, he had crashed most of her and Geralt’s dates, feigning ignorance at every turn and refusing to leave no matter how many insults she hurled his way. Geralt wasn’t helping either. He just watched on with a faintly fond smile as Jaskier ruined any kind of romantic atmosphere they had been trying to enjoy before his arrival.

Everything about the way they interacted set off alarm bells in Yen’s head. When they’d been spending time with Eskel and Lambert on the beach and Jaskier had once again shown up unannounced, they’d eventually ended up play fighting. They shoved each other into the water, touches lingering in a way that would indicate a much longer friendship than they’d had the opportunity to cultivate yet. Or there was the other option which Yen barely wanted to think about, that they’d once known each intimately. But really, no matter how much she tried to deny it, Jaskier really had been acting the part of jealous ex-boyfriend. Well, not ex-boyfriend in the traditional sense. An ex-maybe, hung up on the things that they could have been.

It occurred to Yen, as she watched them splash about in the water completely oblivious to the many pairs of eyes on them, that maybe she wasn’t the only one using this relationship to try and forget someone else. She wasn’t sure why the idea stung so much when she knew well enough that the reason she’d first approached Geralt was to banish all thoughts of Istredd from her mind.

All of this to say, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Yen finally snapped at Jaskier.

When he came crashing into the café they were eating breakfast at one morning, he effortlessly pinched the remainder of Geralt’s toast from his hand and scoffed it, Yennefer already felt a headache coming on. Without blinking, Geralt picked up his next slice and continued eating as if nothing had happened.

“Yennefer,” Jaskier greeted. “Trapped, cooked and eaten any small children in the woods lately?”

“Oh look,” Yennefer replied, already done with this exchange. “The ever-present sign-songy twit is here.”

“Charming… And what are you both up to on this fine day?” Jaskier asked, obviously fishing for information.

“I thought I’d show Yen the Island,” Geralt replied, handing Jaskier exactly what he wanted. “It’s nice out there.”

“What a wonderful idea! Do you know what would make it even better?”

“Something tells me I already know,” Yen muttered, knowing there was already venom in her voice.

“A local to show you around! Geralt, I only showed you a handful of the best spots last time, I could show you both the rest too?”

“Has it occurred to you that we haven’t actually invited you?”

“A mistake you now have the chance to rectify.”

“Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘three’s a crowd’, Jaskier?”

“I assume you’ve never heard of ‘three is the magic number’. I’m sure I could show you both some magic later, if you catch my drift.”

“… Are you serious?”

“It doesn’t have to be serious. I’ll have you know I do casual very well.”

“Ok, enough!” Yen spat, unable to take it anymore. “Stop trying to insert yourself into situations where you don’t belong. We don’t want you there. Right, Geralt?”

They both looked to Geralt, who was sat watching them, eyebrows drawn into a deep frown.

“Yen’s right,” he said after a long moment and Jaskier’s expression crumpled in an instant. “We had planned this to be just us.”

“Right,” Jaskier managed to choke out after a moment. “Of course, my mistake. See you around, Geralt.”

With one last solid pat to Geralt’s arm, Jaskier left looking a lot smaller than he had when he’d come in.

***

The boat ride over to the Island was spent in tense silence. Normally, Geralt wouldn’t mind that, but the stony glare Yennefer had on her face to accompany it was not filling him with his usual peace. He wanted to say something to try and bring back the easy atmosphere they’d always had before, but he knew that whatever he said would likely make things worse.

Instead, he sat and tried to think about how this morning had gone so wrong. Jaskier and Yen had been at each other’s throats almost since they’d met, and whilst most of their sniping was passive aggressive and went over his head, it was hard not to notice how much they couldn’t stand each other. But until now, none of their interactions had left this much of a lasting impression on all of them.

If he knew why they didn’t seem to like each other it would make things a lot easier. He’d tried to ask his brothers, but Eskel was just as clueless as him and Lambert had just laughed saying “if you have to ask, there’s no hope for you.”

Now, they weren’t even here to ask. They’d gotten on the plane home yesterday, not being able to take more time off from work. Of course, it would be the day after they left that everything would start to go to shit again.

But Geralt could still redeem the day. He just had to make sure nothing else went wrong which shouldn’t be too hard, right? Of course, the very act of putting that thought out into the universe meant that whatever deity was watching over them took that as a personal challenge.

For a while, it seemed to be going well. Geralt had taken Yen’s hand as they got off the boat and in return, she had curled herself closer into his arm and they’d strolled along the beach moving as if one being not two. They eventually stopped for ice cream and ate it as they sat watching the waves ebb and flow against the shore. Taking a moment to just bask in the inherent romance of the moment, Geralt gently tilted Yen’s head to towards him before stealing a kiss from her.

Yen made a quiet noise of contentment as he pulled away, looking deep into Geralt’s eyes before the softness melted away into something more cunning, but still incredibly beautiful.

“How wonderfully spontaneous of you, Geralt,” she said, her smirk becoming more prominent with each word. “Although, maybe next time you want to kiss me after eating ice cream, you could pick something a little more exciting than vanilla.”

Vanilla hadn’t even been his first choice. He’d wanted pistachio but he’d known from last time, when he’d been here with Jaskier, that they didn’t have it, but Geralt was smart enough to know not to bring that up at that moment.

When Yen pulled Geralt back into another deeper kiss, he chased the lingering tang on her lips from her own berry flavoured ice cream with the renewed fervour of a man trying desperately not to let his mind wander back to his last time on this Island and everything that followed.

As the remainder of his ice cream slipped out of his hand, the sound of Yennefer’s surprised laugh as they pulled apart helped to further ground Geralt in the present and not the past. Her smile made it hard to even regret losing his cone to the sand as he got swept up in her joy, such a deep contrast to how the day had started.

Later, Geralt would think back and see it as the bad omen that it was.

The first sign of rain made itself known just as they got far enough away from civilisation that they knew that they wouldn’t make it back to any buildings before it started in earnest. It had snuck up on them, the sky had been so clear and blue when suddenly the grey clouds had rolled in and one drop of rain had turned into a full-on downpour within a matter of seconds. With nowhere else to turn, they rushed into a nearby cove that, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Geralt realised was probably Renfri’s.

Fuck. Another thing to absolutely not think about.

“For fucks sake,” Yennefer huffed, trying to wring water out of her dress. “Bloody typical that it rained today. It’s completely ruined my hair.

“Could be worse,” Geralt mumbled, barely thinking of his response before saying it. “You should have seen the state of Jaskier after he fell off the pier. He looked like a drowned rat.”

A cold that had nothing to do with the rain washed over Geralt.

He shouldn’t have said that.

This silence was so much worse than the one on the boat over. Geralt knew Yennefer was seething from beside him without even looking over at her, irritation rolling off of her in waves.

He’d been trying so hard not to think of Renfri this time that he’d forgotten that he really shouldn’t be bringing Jaskier up right now. The intention had been to help Yen feel better by comparing the situations, but in reality what had actually happened was that Geralt had put his foot in his mouth quite spectacularly. He really should just stop talking all together at this point.

“Here I thought we could have a day to ourselves without Jaskier fucking haunting me the whole time,” Yennefer seethed. “But even when he’s not here, he’s always three degrees of separation away. You say so little, Geralt, but when you do speak it feels like it’s always Jaskier this or Jaskier that. It always comes back to him!”

“I don’t have many friends,” Geralt said weakly. He knew it was a poor defence.

“Neither do I! And yet if any of them were here now I would be better at enforcing boundaries with them. It shouldn’t be hard for you to tell him to fuck off sometimes. He’s a grown adult, he should be able to understand that not everything revolves around him! I’m dating you, Geralt, not you and Jaskier. I don’t want him tagging along to everything we do, or coming up in every single conversation.”

Taking a breath, Yen visibly reeled her anger in. But as she turned her gaze back onto Geralt, her eyes were stony with a hurt that seemed older than their relationship.

“I am sick and fucking tired of playing second fiddle. First Istredd and his career, now you and your codependent dipshit of a best friend. I don’t want to be the type of woman who controls who you can and can’t see, but I also don’t want to waste my time on a man who doesn’t know what he wants.”

“I-” Geralt tried to cut in. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was he was going to say in his defence, but it turned out it didn’t matter as Yennefer just continued to speak over him again.

“No, I’m not interested in how you’re going to dig yourself a deeper hole right now. What I need you to do is think about whether we’re on the same path or not. Because if you think this could be more than a summer fling, something needs to change. And for once, it will not be me.”

She took two steps towards the opening of the cove before hesitating, looking out at where the rain was still coming down in sheets.

“There’s still an hour and a half until the boat.” Geralt hoped that would be enough to convince her not to leave him yet.

“I know that,” she sighed. “But I’m not going to sit here and wait with you whilst you figure stuff out. We will wait for the boat separately, and travel alone, and once you’ve done something about Jaskier, then we can talk.”

Belatedly, Geralt tried to reach for her just as she walked back out into the rain, his fingers closing around air as Yen’s skirts slipped out of his grasp. And for the first time since all of this start Geralt felt truly alone once more.

***

Things with Yennefer did not get better despite Geralt fixing the problem. Or more accurately, Geralt thought he had fixed the problem, and still nothing changed.

They spent more time alone together, but that time was spent mostly in terse silences with Geralt trying not to let a resentment for Yennefer build over what happened with Jaskier. It wasn’t her fault, not really. It was no one’s fault but his own. But Geralt had always been a stubborn soul, and admitting to that was proving to be difficult.

Eventually, after two weeks, Yen grew tired of Geralt’s moping and sat him down for a final talk.

“I think we’ve both been lying to ourselves about what it is we want from this relationship,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Geralt replied, genuinely clueless after this conversation came out of the blue.

“I mean that I was using you to get over my ex. To prove to myself that I was still desirable, still loveable. You were using me to forget. I’m not entirely sure what it is you’re trying to forget, but it’s clear to me now that that’s what was happening.”

Geralt frowned. He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t even know he’d been doing that.

“Oh, don’t think so hard you’ll hurt yourself,” Yen sighed, face still grave. “Either way, this isn’t healthy. I really hoped this could have grown into something good. But I think I need to be just me for a while. And you need to figure out what it is you want. So that you don’t hurt someone again, the way you’ve hurt me.”

She stood once more, bending to press a chaste kiss to Geralt’s cheek, then she left.

Once again left alone to contemplate his choices, Geralt was acutely aware of the barman watching, as he always was.

“You wanted me to see what I was missing,” Geralt grumbled, hoping the barman would know he was talking to him, calling back to their very first conversation. “There she goes.”

“What you’re missing is still out there.” The barman answered cryptically as always. “There is more for you out there. Your destiny, one might say. I know it. You know it.”

When Geralt didn’t say anything back, he expected the barman to leave him to drink in peace. Instead, he pulled out an envelope and slid it across the bar.

“I think you’re ready for this now. The local lad you spent time with left it with me the morning after you fought. I’ve kept it aside for fear that it would make things worse, but now is as good a time as any.”

Hesitantly, Geralt picked up the envelope from the bar and opened it roughly, eyes immediately skimming to the bottom to see Jaskier’s name. And didn’t that just add to the twisting pain in his chest.

Geralt,

I’m truly sorry things ended up the way they did. I never meant to put you in that position, I was just scared to lose the friendship we’d been carefully building. You’ve ended up meaning a lot to me in a very short time, and I’m willing to forgive the things you said when you were hurt because of my actions, and try to fix things if you are.

I’ll be at Pavetta’s for two weeks if you want to come and talk things through before I leave. The address is on the back of this letter.

I really hope to see you soon, but if not, I understand.

Yours ,
Jaskier

Two weeks. Their fight had been almost exactly two weeks ago.

Anger once again rising in his chest, this time at the barman for keeping this letter from him for so long, long enough that Geralt might miss Jaskier and his chance to apologise, he rose from his seat to give the barman a piece of his mind. Only, he was nowhere to be seen.

With nowhere to direct his frustration, and no boats to catch at this time of night, Geralt raced back to his hotel to pack his bags for the next morning, praying to any deity that would listen that he wasn’t too late.

Chapter Text

Jaskier was in a shit mood.

Admittedly, he knew that hearing about Yennefer and Geralt falling in love and pushing Jaskier to the side was going to hurt but he’d thought he could suck it up, finally hear how things actually went wrong. He hadn’t expected Yennefer to actually tell as much of the story as she did. Jaskier had certainly been avoiding the topic of the Great Big Fall Out.

But now, here he was, once again moping around the streets of his childhood. He hated that this was becoming a habit. The sooner he was out of here, the better.

As he walked, staring up at the clouds floating by, a very familiar rumble of deep voices drifted on the wind to his ears, and Jaskier tried to look for a place to hide or an alleyway to escape down. But alas, no such luck. He had mere seconds to wipe the inevitable look of panic off of his face before he came face to face with Eskel and Lambert.

They both stopped in their tracks, eyes wide in bewilderment, their conversation trailing off into nothing as they took him in. Eskel was the first to break the tentative silence that had settled in the air, a small smile on his face.

“You know I hadn’t quite believed Geralt when he said you were here,” he said, finally stepping closer, “and yet here you are. It’s good to see you.”

His tone and his words were soft, which wasn’t at all what Jaskier had expected. Afterall, they had been friends once, and when he’d fallen out with Geralt, he hadn’t even attempted to contact either of them again. But as Lambert beamed, taking Jaskier into his arms and lifting him off the ground in a hug, he felt some of that lingering tension dissipate away. 19 years and they both still treated him the same, he hadn’t ruined everything. He guessed that made Geralt the exception to the rule, as per usual.

“If it isn’t our favourite songbird,” Lambert joked, setting Jaskier’s feet back on the ground. “Hey so, not to jump straight into it, but you telling Geralt you’re here to see family is bullshit, right?”

“Uh…” Jaskier suddenly felt wary again. “Maybe?”

“You’re here because Ciri invited you.”

He sighed, massaging over his eyelids with his fingertips. “Yeah, I suppose I am. What are you getting at?”

“So it’s Ciri’s birthday soon, right, and as her uncles we wanted to do something special for her, so we were wondering if you might play a few songs for her?”

“We know that you’ve been spending time with her,” Eskel cut in. “She’d definitely want you there whether or not you perform, but as an extra thing, we could dig out some of the old audio equipment and hook you up.”

Had it been anyone else, Jaskier would probably be offended that after 19 years the first thing his friends did was try to hire him for a kid’s birthday party, but with this family, he knew what they were getting at, could hear the unsaid. We missed you and your music. Now that he was back, they evidently still trusted him enough to let him into their family and help to do something special for Ciri.

It was a lovely idea, but when he thought about it, Jaskier had an even better one.

“I think that would be lovely, but I have an idea to make it more special and unique to her. We’ll need you two to get involved, I’ll have to go home,” he shuddered dramatically, trying to hide how daunting he actually found that premise, “pick up some of my old gear, but your niece is going to have the best 18^th birthday performance.”

“I don’t trust that glint in your eyes,” Lambert narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but he was still smiling.

“We were thinking if you performed the night before her actual party, at her leaving dinner, rather than on the day, you’ll still get to enjoy the party.”

“Why don’t we get a drink and discuss it further?”

A small voice in the back of Jaskier’s head was yelling at him that this was obviously a bad plan, but being caught up in the moment he had no reasons to turn down such an offer.

Of course, 20 minutes later and half a drink in, he was suddenly reminded of why this had been such a terrible idea as he made eye contact with the bar’s newest patron across the room.

Shit.

***

The fact that Geralt didn’t see this coming was a surprise even to himself. When he thought about it, what surprised him even more was that it had taken his brothers this long to orchestrate this. Evidently, they were slipping.

Glancing across the room at his brothers’ table, eyes landing on a startled Jaskier desperately trying to avoid his gaze, Geralt added a glass of white wine to his order at the bar. Best to actually get this over and done with sooner rather than later, he could only run from his problems for so long.

When he reached the table, Geralt slid a pint to both of his brothers, and tried to repress a smile as Jaskier began to babble in a way that had always been so characteristic of him, hands fluttering about.

“Geralt, I hadn’t been expecting to see you, though I suppose it makes sense, you must have all planned to meet for a drink. It’s lovely you still get to spend time with your siblings, I never was close to mine.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said with a gentle force, trying to cut him off before he got to the inevitable.

“Anyway, I shouldn’t be intruding on family time, I should get going and leave you all to it. It was nice to catch up, I’ll just-”

“-Jaskier.”

As Jaskier stood to leave, Geralt put a heavy hand on his shoulder to try and keep him in his seat. He tried to give off a reassuring presence, but he knew a large man trying to prevent you from leaving was probably more than a little intimidating, so once again removed his hand, nudging the glass of wine in his direction.

“Stay,” he said with more confidence than he had. “You’re not intruding. Why don’t we have that drink you mentioned? Like old times.”

Squinting his eyes before taking a cautious sip, Jaskier lowered himself back onto his bar stool, the suspicion on his face making way for pleasant surprise.

“You remembered the wine I like,” he said, all soft and fond, sending a pang through Geralt’s chest.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Isn’t that what friends do? Remember these sorts of things?

“I mean… it’s been years. It’s just unexpected. Sweet though.”

“Oh my god,” Lambert mumbled into his drink. “The bar is so low.”

Geralt kicked him under the table.

The atmosphere remained that tense awkwardness that had hung over Geralt and Jaskier since reuniting, but this time, Geralt had his foot in the door. He’d asked Jaskier to stay. He just had to cross the next barrier now.

“So,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “How have you been these last few years?”

“Oh Geralt, I thought you’d never ask,” Jaskier replied, his smile now taking on a sly quality. “Would you like me to fill you in with regular speech or in song form?”

“Just regular speech, please.”

“Ugh, fine, spoil sport.”

With his usual pizazz, Jaskier took Geralt on a whistlestop tour of his life for the last 20ish years, from being signed by a big record label and producing his first album (the very same one that had lived in Geralt’s truck since it had come out) to being in the running to represent the UK in Eurovision, but Geralt noticed the distinct lack of any talk about partners.

“And what about relationships?” Geralt eventually asked. “I’ve been reliably informed that The Countess is no longer around, but has there been anyone else?”

“You had to be informed? Have you been living under a rock?”

“He’s not good at the internet,” Eskel contributed, the first thing him or Lambert had said for ages.

“My parents aren’t good at the internet and they still heard. The press dragged that story out for ages. Can’t a guy mourn his almost relationship in peace?”

“Wait, almost?”

“Oh, wow you really don’t know anything, do you?” Geralt frowned in offence as Jaskier ploughed on. “The relationship was a publicity stunt. But as I am wont to do, I still caught feelings, and I thought maybe we could try an actual relationship, but she didn’t want that, because turns out there was someone else she wanted to pursue. So, we publicly split up, and then some nosey paparazzi people found out the whole story and then I had no peace for almost a year.”

“Hmm,” was the only thing Geralt could think to respond with.

“Very eloquent, dear.”

“Did you sing to her before she decided she didn’t want to date you?”

It was a reference to a conversation they’d had once, that Jaskier constantly singing at the people he was trying to romance was scaring them away. It was a familiar way to tease him, continue to restore their old rapport, and if the dramatic gasp that Jaskier let out before shoving Geralt was enough to go by, they were getting closer to the norm.

“How dare you,” he whined, taking a large gulp of his wine. “My voice is maybe the only thing she liked about me.”

Geralt frowned. He hadn’t intended to make Jaskier more maudlin than he already was. However, the idea that someone had only like Jaskier for his voice, and none of the other things that made him who he was, was troubling Geralt even more. Jaskier was amazing, had always been the biggest presence in every room. He could brighten even the darkest day with his smile and his colourful wardrobe. Sure, he was flighty and obnoxious and flirted with anything that moved, but was always kind and considerate when it mattered. How anyone could look at him, really see him and still turn him away like that was baffling.

And yet, Geralt couldn’t voice any of that without Jaskier calling him a raging hypocrite. Geralt had turned him away, despite all of the good things. But he’d spent his life since regretting it.

“Oh, don’t frown so much,” Jaskier groused. “The wind will change and one day you’ll be stuck like that. Anyway, there’s no need to be offended on my behalf. I know my worth and in order to process my emotions I wrote such an iconic breakup anthem, that when I released it, it was at the number 1 spot for 2 months, a personal best at the time. They called me the New Taylor Swift, even though I’ve been making music since long before her rise to fame.”

Humming in acknowledgement, Geralt lay the matter to rest, a little more reassured about the situation, only for Jaskier to squint again.

“I mean, what you did to me was much worse so,” he sipped his wine in contemplation. There it was. Geralt should have expected the dig, but it hurt more than he could have anticipated, guilt swirling in his stomach. Yeah, he deserved that. “Being told nobody wants you around really does wonders for one’s self esteem.”

Distantly, Geralt was aware that Lambert was choking on the beer he’d just inhaled, but he didn’t turn to help his brother, he just tried not to visibly wince at the blow. Lambert could handle himself, he was a big boy.

“Enough about me! Tell me about what you’ve been up to,” Jaskier immediately straightened up, the serious expression on his face dropping to reveal a curious smile, leaving Geralt with emotional whiplash.

“I’ve… been running the hotel. Raising Ciri. Not much time for anything else.”

“What he means is,” Eskel interrupted, “that he’s become a shut in, hasn’t been on holiday, hasn’t gone on a date, nothing. He doesn’t leave.”

“Honestly I’m not surprised,” Jaskier chuckled. “You do seem like the type of person who needs a purpose, and won’t ever deviate from it. It does make me wonder how you ended up settling here of all places though.”

“I…” How does he not know? Geralt thought to himself. But it was best not to bring that up right now. They were fixing things. He wasn’t going to ruin that with his own lingering bitterness. “… just thought it was a nice place.”

A swift kick to the shins, likely from Lambert, alerted Geralt to the fact that this was the wrong answer. It wasn’t necessarily incorrect information, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

“I didn’t find the note you left until a few weeks after you’d gone. As soon as I saw it, I rushed to the address you left but you weren’t there. I thought I’d wait in case you came back, but you didn’t. I made friends, helped them set up this hotel and when they… I got the hotel.”

Jaskier was frowning again. “You can’t have possibly taken weeks to find my note. I left it with the barman to give to you.”

“He must have forgotten and I was… distracted.”

“Understatement,” Eskel muttered, and without taking his eyes off of Jaskier, Geralt reached back and whacked him on the arm. “Ow.”

“So… you did come to try and fix everything?”

He nodded mutely. “You didn’t deserve what I said. I lashed out at you after a bad argument with Yen. I didn’t mean any of it, and I didn’t feel like I deserved the kindness you were giving me. That’s no excuse, but I am sorry. For what I said. That it’s taken me so long to try and fix it. You’re still one of the best friends I’ve had… If you’ll let me make up for it, I’d like to do that.”

It was hard to get all of those words out, but as Geralt looked at a dumbstruck Jaskier, he knew that he shouldn’t have waited so long to say it.

Jaskier cleared his throat and blinked the brightness of tears out of his eyes. “That’s what you’ve been trying to find the words to say?”

“More or less,” Geralt admitted. There was definitely more to say.

“And you meant what you said about making it up to me?”

“Of course.”

“Ok. Shall we start with another round?”

“Yes absolutely,” Lambert agreed enthusiastically. “That was painful to watch.”

Geralt hummed in agreement, which turned into a growl of protest as Eskel snatched his wallet away from him.

“You stay here,” he said patting Geralt on the shoulder. “We’ll go up to the bar. Lambert?”

Practically leaping out of his seat, Lambert rushed to follow Eskel, leaving Geralt and Jaskier alone. He didn’t know what to do now. Should they go back to normal conversation? Did Jaskier have more questions? Would he want to leave?

“Tell me Geralt,” Jaskier started, leaning back on his bar stool, foot reaching over to rest on the bar of Geralt’s, a casual movement that was just like how they used to sit all the time. “Working in the hospitality industry for as long as you have now, you must have some horror stories.”

“Fucking tonnes of them,” he mumbled, feeling a headache coming on just thinking about some of them.

“I doubt your story telling abilities have improved much over the years, despite you raising a child, but tell me about them. I bet there are some really good ones.”

Hesitantly at first, Geralt began telling Jaskier about his customers, which eventually turned to them trading ridiculous stories from the last two decades, an easy back and forth that was so familiar but also so new to them both. Through the afternoon, Geralt finally felt things slide back into place, the world shift back into place. This was how life should have always been.

It was only when they parted ways in the early evening that Geralt let himself lament over the questions that he had left unanswered. He would manage, eventually.

***

Jaskier was running late, he knew he was, and yes, he felt bad about it, but when he’d tried to sneak out that morning his bedmate had awoken and been very reluctant to let him leave. So, to make up for this, Jaskier was running down the street, hoping that against all odds, he might beat Geralt to their meeting place.

But of course, that wasn’t the case. Geralt was already stood there, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leant against the wall glaring out at the world. Oh well, his chances were slim, but there was something else that the universe could give to Jaskier. If his exploits last night had been successful, when he caught up to Geralt, that pull Jaskier had been feeling towards the other man should be gone by now. Hopefully.

He slowed his pace to a quick walk as he approached Geralt, then ground to a halt a respectable distance away. In an attempt to make it less obvious that he’d ran almost all the way there, Jaskier dragged a hand through his hair to neaten it up, then tugged on his shirt.

“Ah Geralt,” he eventually said, one hand on his hip, the other gesticulating wildly as usual, and still sounding way too winded for his liking. “Fancy seeing you here.”

That intense gaze turned on him, Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed, a little divot in between them, and Jaskier silently cursed the universe. He didn’t understand it. Geralt wasn’t what most would call conventionally attractive, or even charismatic, but Jaskier was still being pulled into his orbit.

“You invited me,” Geralt rumbled in confusion, the sound sending a shiver straight through Jaskier. Though straight probably wouldn’t be the right word to use.

Jaskier chuckled quietly to himself then reached out to clap a hand on Geralt’s shoulder.

“Yes, but just because I invited you, that didn’t guarantee you’d actually show up. I appreciate it, my friend.”

The perturbed look on Geralt’s face didn’t shift, and Jaskier wondered whether it was him calling Geralt ‘friend’, the casual physical contact, or the implication that Geralt wouldn’t keep his word that had caused that look. Maybe it was all three. Gently, he nudged Geralt away from the wall with his hand that still lingered, and started to direct him down the street.

Eventually they arrived at a bus stop, and whilst Geralt squinted sceptically, Jaskier knew that in order to show him something new, they had to hop on the bus and go about twenty minutes further down the coast. He probably expected the worst, a strange man taking him to a secondary location, not that Jaskier would ever be able to overpower someone with that many muscles. But this would be worth it.

When they hopped off of the bus, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shirt sleeve and pulled him towards the sea and as their feet suddenly crunched into the skittering stones of this particular beach, Geralt’s eyes widened a little. Jaskier couldn’t tell if that was out of good surprise or bad surprise, but he’d take it as a win.

“I love a sandy beach as much as the next person,” he started, letting Geralt go so he could walk unassisted once more, “but there’s something about the sound the ocean makes as it washes over the rocks here that’s soothing.”

Geralt closed his eyes for a moment and hummed as was his way, Jaskier was quickly learning. They both stood in the quiet, listening to the ebb and flow of the sea, only occasionally interrupted by a far-off noise from other beach goers much further down.

That was another reason Jaskier had chosen to bring Geralt here. It was usually always quiet, less tourists down this end, and the people who they would come across would be much less raucous. He thought that Geralt would appreciate that.

Taking a deep breath, Geralt once again opened his eyes, and that ever present divot between his eyebrows seemed to lessen slightly, his shoulders falling out of tension. Jaskier mentally high-fived himself.

“I came here a lot when I was a teenager, got the boat over from the Island with Pavetta when we wanted to get away from our parents. They had a heart attack the first time they found out that we’d been sneaking off to the mainland without supervision.”

The rest of their day passed in a similar manner, Jaskier babbling away and Geralt seemingly happy to just listen. They walked the length of the beach, stopping to take in anything particularly interesting. Skipping over the stones, Jaskier spotted a large slab of rock and he knew what would be hiding underneath. Slowly he lifted it and made a grab for one of the small crabs scuttling towards some new shelter. He held it aloft triumphantly, looking between the crab and Geralt.

“Look Geralt, it’s you!”

He glared dangerously at Jaskier but didn’t say anything, almost daring Jaskier to elaborate, but Jaskier didn’t back down. His cheeky smile widened and he held the crab closer to Geralt for emphasis.

“You know,” he started, trying not to laugh, “because you’re so crabby.”

Turning his head away, a quick exhale and twitch of the lips was hidden by Geralt scrubbing a hand over his lower face, but Jaskier still noticed. That little flutter in his chest returned for a moment as Jaskier felt even more endeared to Geralt after seeing him almost laugh at a ridiculous pun.

“I’ll show you crabby,” he mumbled, gently connecting their shoulders together to shove Jaskier sideways. There was clearly no malice behind it, but as Jaskier stumbled slightly to the side, his foot caught on the slab of stone that had hidden the crabs and he lost his footing, arms spiralling to find his balance as he almost fell into the sea. He waded back out, his shoes now soaked through, all the while staring daggers at Geralt.

“You are going to pay for that,” he said eventually, finally placing the crab back down on the rocks.

“Am I really?” he chuckled.

“Yes! If you’ve ruined my shoes, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

He pulled off his shoes and socks, lying them out to dry in the sun, then marched right back into the sea. As he stared out at the horizon, Geralt eventually came to stand next to him, a selection of stones cradled in his hand. With careful consideration he selected one from the pile before throwing it across the calm waters. They both watched as it skimmed across the surface several times before making a satisfying plop as it dropped below the surface.

Grabbing his own stone from Geralt’s hand, Jaskier tried to follow suit but instead of skimming gracefully it immediately sank. Geralt huffed another half laugh and picked up a stone, this time showing Jaskier exactly how it was held.

“When Lambert first came to stay with us, he was difficult to handle and Eskel and I were much older than him. When he would mess around, we didn’t always have the energy to match him or even put up with him. But one day Vesemir took us to the beach and once he’d burned off some of his energy running around, he joined Eskel and I wading in the water. Eskel tried to skim a stone but he was only getting one or two jumps and was getting frustrated at it, but then Lambert excitedly told us he knew how to do it really well and he spent the rest of the afternoon teaching us. You need to wrap your index finger around the stone, holding it between your thumb and middle finger. Feet shoulders width apart. You also need to flick your wrist at the end of the throw.”

Jaskier would be the first to admit he had zoned out of the explanation of how to actually throw the stone. He’d listened to the lovely story about Geralt’s childhood, honoured that Geralt felt comfortable enough to share this story with him, but after that, when Geralt had drawn his attention to show him how to hold the rock, Jaskier’s eyes got stuck on his thick forearms. The way the tendons shifted as he tensed his fingers around the stone. He wondered how a man of such brutish nature could have so gentle a touch when it came to this stone. Jaskier’s imagination ran away from as he wondered what it would feel like if Geralt were to use that barely contained strength to manhandle him up against a wall, both soft and hard at the same time. How he would crowd against him and then grip him with those ha-

“Jaskier,” Geralt said and he immediately snapped out of that daydream. “Did you hear what I just said?”

He looked up into Geralt’s golden eyes, twinkling with mirth at catching Jaskier out. Subtly, he tried to cough to clear his tight throat. Right. Listening. Had he taken in any of what Geralt had said?

“Yes, flick the wrist.”

Jaskier breathed in deeply, crouching to pick up his own collection of rocks. He held it like Geralt had and threw it, flicking his wrist. It bounced once, twice, then fell.

Sighing, Geralt tried to explain again how it worked and this time Jaskier paid attention, but he still failed. Before the next attempt, Geralt nudged Jaskier’s feet further apart with his own, then stood behind Jaskier, his firm chest pressed up against Jaskier’s back.

He repressed a full body shiver as Geralt encased Jaskier’s right hand in his own, forcing him to hold the stone correctly, his left hand now on Jaskier’s waist to guide his weight down into his knees and angle his torso correctly.

“Follow the way my body moves,” Geralt breathed next to Jaskier’s ear, as though Jaskier wasn’t already aware of every miniscule movement Geralt was making. Like every nerve in his body wasn’t alight.

Slowly, Geralt pulled their arms back and they flung the stone forward. Holding his breath as he watched it bounce, Jaskier counted four skims before the stone sank. Pride swelled in his chest as he twisted round to smile at Geralt, looking up slightly into those amber eyes illuminated beautifully by the late afternoon sun and the subtle, but no less genuine, returning smile.

He pulled away reluctantly, breaking the eye contact that suddenly felt like too much, before heading away from the shore back to where he left his shoes. Scrambling to put them on, he tried to think of something to say.

“I hope that’s not how Lambert taught you,” he said with more lightness than he felt, the intensity of the moment still sitting heavy on him.

Geralt chuckled quietly, making his way back up the beach to be beside Jaskier again. “No, there was a lot more yelling.”

“Ah, siblings. Nice to know some things are universal.”

“Do you have brothers?”

“God no. Four sisters.”

“I feel like that explains a lot.”

Instead of choosing to be offended at that statement, Jaskier laughed loudly, bending at the middle to catch his breath after a moment.

“You’d be this feral too if you had to fight off four younger sisters from stealing all of your nice make-up. Anyway!” He clapped his hands together gesturing back to the town. “I’d love to stay here longer with you, but I have a gig to prepare for. Tell me you’ll come and watch again?”

That confused divot appeared between Geralt’s eyebrows again. “But I saw it yesterday.”

A beat to calm the frustration. It wasn’t Geralt’s fault he didn’t know these things. “If I sang the same set every night in that bar I’d be chased out. It’ll be completely different.”

Geralt hummed, but it was neither a positive or a negative noise. Insistently, Jaskier began to drag him back towards the bus stop. If they didn’t get a move on, Jaskier wouldn’t have enough time to set up for the night.

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun! Maybe you can bring your brothers this time. They definitely know how to appreciate good music unlike you.”

“Inviting my brothers isn’t the draw you think it’ll be to convince me to go.”

“Ok yes, not my finest idea. Invite them anyway though whilst I get ready and then I’ll treat you all to some good local cuisine after. You seem like the type where I can get to your heart through your stomach.”

Geralt was quiet for a few moments before speaking again. “This food better be worth it.”

Confident in the feeling that Geralt was just joking with him, Jaskier smiled wide and flagged down the bus that was just starting to pull up.

“I promise you won’t regret it.”

Chapter Text

In hindsight, sending Jaskier on the ice cream run wasn’t the smartest idea. Since living in each other’s pockets from the day they’d arrived, they had all established that he was the most easily distracted. And apparently also the most likely to not turn Geralt and his brothers away should they spot him.

Jaskier appeared on the beach, having taken half an hour longer than any of them had expected, and no sign of any ice creams or drinks, and Ciri was about to yell at him to turn right back around before her dad and uncles followed him onto the sand, two large cool boxes between them.

Shit, Ciri thought to herself, ducking into the water and attempting to hide behind Renfri who was watching the procession.

“Friends,” Jaskier exclaimed. “I come bearing strapping, young men to carry the refreshments for me.”

“Such a pleasant surprise,” Yennefer replied from where she lay on her towel on the shore, not sounding at all surprised. “Did you immediately outsource your work because you’re a lazy piece of shit, or did these men see you struggling and take pity on you?”

“I’m going to ignore that question and give you a drink anyway. Just here, gentlemen.”

Eskel and Lambert placed the two cool boxes where Jaskier gestured before he dug through one of them, producing a cold can. Yennefer, with her sunglasses on and eyes closed against the sun once again, was completely unsuspecting when Jaskier placed the can on her exposed stomach, eliciting a loud screech. She ripped her sunglasses off as she sat up violently, a fierce scowl on her face, and Ciri had to hold in a laugh as Jaskier fled back across the sand to her dad.

“Run away! Geralt!”

“This is your own fault,” Geralt mumbled, soft smile on his face, and that was certainly interesting. Very different to the last time Ciri had seen them together.

“Maybe so. Now let me take my shoes off before you ruin another pair.”

“You’re never going to drop that, are you?”

The shoes plopped unceremoniously onto the sand.

“Nope! Hold this.”

Without missing a beat, Jaskier whipped his shirt over his head and shoved it in Geralt’s direction, who just took it without complaint, before waltzing into the ocean. The movements were so familiar, like this had been something they had done thousands of times. Geralt’s eyes followed Jaskier the entire time.

“I see things are back to normal then,” Yennefer sighed as she returned to her sunbathing.

“Ciri, you can stop trying to hide,” Geralt said instead of responding to Yen. “I know you’re here. Trust me, we’ll be talking about this later.”

“Ok fine,” Ciri finally emerged from behind Renfri, not ashamed in the slightest at being caught. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “You better be joining us though. If you just came all the way out here to spoil my fun then that’s not cool of you.”

“Yeah, Geralt,” Renfri called. “Not cool.”

“… I still have work,” he grumbled.

“The hotel won’t fall to pieces if you take an afternoon off.” Eskel was getting ready to join them himself, Lambert following suit. “You took yesterday afternoon off.”

“Exactly, I can’t have another afternoon. And I had my phone in case of emergency.”

“I’ll look after your phone and yell at you if it goes off,” Yen offered.

The frown that Ciri recognised as her dad being conflicted was very present on Geralt’s face, but she knew with just a little more needling he’d give in. She had plenty of experience with this.

“I’m not going in the ocean in my overalls.” Got him, Ciri thought.

“Good thing I packed a spare pair of swim shorts in my bag then, isn’t it?” Lambert jabbed him in the side then shoved the spare shorts at him. “Get changed.”

“But-”

“No more excuses, Dad,” Ciri yelled from her place of relative safety in the water. “When was the last time you came in the ocean with me?”

“… Fine.”

He stalked off towards one of the beach cabins to change before promptly returning, scowl still present on his face. But as he waded into the water, his expression mellowed, that barely-there smile glinted in his eye again when he saw how much Ciri was beaming.

“Oh, Ciri,” Jaskier chirped, paddling his way through the deep water towards her. “Have I told you about the time your dad and I were at the beach here?”

Geralt’s head whipped around. “Jaskier,” he said sternly.

Jaskier’s smile only widened, unperturbed. “As with most of our shenanigans, we’d been drinking rather heavily, and Mr I’m-in-control-of-my-body-100%-of-the-time, swatted at a seagull and fe-”

Before Jaskier could finish telling his tale, Geralt rushed through the water towards him, sending water splashing everywhere, and tackled him into the sea. Ciri couldn’t do anything other than stare as her dad and Jaskier wrestled in the waves, Jaskier yelling obscenities the whole time.

“Should someone stop them,” Renfri questioned, but made no move to intervene.

“Let them get this out of their systems,” Lambert said, kicking water around his own ankles.

The thrashing let up a little bit, and Ciri noticed that Geralt had clamped a hand over Jaskier’s mouth to get him to shut up. Jaskier did not look put out by this at all, which was more than a little concerning.

“Stop licking me!” Geralt yelped, wrenching his hand back to the sound of Jaskier’s evil cackles.

“Is this normal for them?” Seeing her dad so animated was very weird, and Ciri didn’t know what to do with this information.

“Unfortunately,” Yen replied, still on the shore.

“He fell,” Jaskier continued, receiving a grunt from Geralt who then picked him up and threw him over his shoulder, “off of the pier, and into the sea! Looked like a disgruntled cat who’d been left out in a storm!”

The end of Jaskier’s sentence trailed off into a scream as Geralt dumped him into the deeper waters that he’d made his way into. Almost in slow motion, Jaskier emerged once more from the water, pushing his hair out of his face with both hands. His chest heaving and the look that her dad was giving him was so intense that Ciri wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. It was like watching a car crash.

“I’ll get you for this,” Jaskier grumbled insincerely, seemingly unaware of Geralt’s slack jawed gaze stuck on him.

Geralt ripped his eyes away, mouth gently clicking shut before he swallowed. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, it’s like that, is it? I’ll get you when you least expect it.”

“Is everyone else seeing this shit?” Renfri muttered. Hums of ascension passed through the group.

“I would think we were even now,” Geralt continued, oblivious to being observed like he was in an enclosure at the zoo. “But be my guest.”

“Oh-hoho, there are so many things that I can exact revenge for. The shoes, for one. We are nowhere near even.”

Without even a moment’s hesitation, Jaskier launched himself onto Geralt’s back in an attempt to knock him over, but Geralt stood fast, and barely wobbled on his feet. He laughed then, a rare sound, deep and warm, like the sea in the peak of the summer.

“When I least expect it, hm?”

“Patience never was my forte.”

***

The rest of the afternoon passed by in a blur of sunshine and smiles, and by the time the tide started coming in Jaskier was pleasantly exhausted. It had been a truly wonderful afternoon, something that he hadn’t expected to have at the start of this trip. A part of him felt like it was slowly beginning to heal.

Eventually everyone began to retreat for the evening, and as Jaskier went to follow, he noticed Geralt lingering, his face pensive.

“Everything alright?” Jaskier asked, confused by the stark difference between Geralt’s earlier mood and now.

Taking a breath, the words seemed to catch in Geralt’s throat momentarily before he squared his shoulders and looked directly at Jaskier.

“Why didn’t you ever come back?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. What did he mean? It wasn’t any of Geralt’s business why he hadn’t been home in 19 years. And why the hell was he asking now of all times?

“What?”

“I know you’re not close with your family, but I thought…”

“Funnily enough Geralt, you don’t fucking know the half of it. In fact, I would be happy to never see my parents again.”

“You said you were here to see family.”

Fucking shit. Jaskier knew their flimsy excuses would fall apart at some point. Had Ciri still not told him the truth?

“You got me there.”

“I know you don’t get along with your family, but your friends-”

“-are dead! My best friends are dead and I have nothing left here. So don’t you dare get on my back about not visiting my home town in twenty years. You can’t even begin to understand how painful it’s been to be back here.”

“I can!”

There he went, saying things that made no fucking sense again. Geralt really needed to start explaining to Jaskier because he was sick and tired of not understanding what was going on.

“I wrote to you,” Geralt said, his voice turning harsh. “And you never responded. These last few days you’re acting like the only one who was wronged, but when I tried to reach out, you blanked me. I understand that you were hurting, but so was I.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What letter?”

The longer this conversation went on, the less things made sense. Why couldn’t they just speak plainly with each other?

“Not only did you not reply, you forgot about the letter entirely? Did I mean so little to you that you’d forget something like that? It’s nice to finally know where we stand.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier pleaded. “I don’t understand. What letter?”

But Geralt’s face had already set into a stubborn frown, a frustrated growl all he got in response to his question. Before Jaskier could try to push for a proper answer, Geralt had already turned on his heel and stormed off.

The thing was, Jaskier would have remembered if he’d ever had a letter from Geralt. He wouldn’t have thrown it out without reading it. It didn’t matter when he’d sent it, Jaskier would have clung onto it like a lifeline. So the question remained, what had happened to it?

***

“Talk. Or you’re grounded.”

Geralt hated having to use such a stern tone of voice with his daughter, especially after they’d both had such a lovely day together, but this wasn’t something he could just let slide. And after he’d once again argued with Jaskier, he was running dangerously low on patience. He finally had undeniable proof that Ciri was involved in Renfri, Yen, and Jaskier turning up, watching them all spend time together today.

Ciri opened her mouth to speak, and he recognised that look of feigned ignorance and cut her off.

“Don’t. Tell me the truth.”

She huffed, eyebrows pulling down, and Geralt refused to let his face soften at the blatant similarity between them.

“Ok fine.” Slumping back on her bed, she pulled a book out from under her pillow. “I found one of your old diaries when I was clearing out the attic. From 19 years ago. I got curious and decided to check around the time that I would have…” Geralt and Ciri both cringed, “… come into being. See if I could maybe figure out who my mum is.”

“Ciri-” Geralt tried to cut in, but she ploughed on. He should have known this question would come eventually. It was his own fault for being too much of a coward to tell her before now. If he'd spoken up sooner, things wouldn’t have gotten so out of hand.

“No, you wanted my explanation so listen. You never talk about her, so I thought maybe I could just put it together myself. And I thought, maybe if I found her, I could help you to reconnect with her so that you wouldn’t be so alone when I leave. But there were three potential options I could see in your diary: Renfri, Jaskier, Yennefer. Obviously, I made mistakes since Jaskier is a man, not a woman like I assumed, but I decided to invite them here. Then I could see if there were any resemblances.”

A few tears slid down Ciri’s cheeks and Geralt settled on the bed next to her and pulled her up against him into a hug.

“There’s not, they look nothing like me, but I can deal with that. None of them are my mum, so what? But you seemed so angry to see them here, so I decided maybe I could try and fix it. These people obviously meant a lot to you once.”

“You don’t need to fix everything, Cub,” Geralt reassured her.

“But it’s working. You and Jaskier are apparently back to normal, maybe if you just spoke to the other two then you’d have some people other than Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert to rely on.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be ok.”

“I know, but I’m still not sorry that I did this.”

“You don’t have to be. But I am sorry.”

Pulling away, Ciri gave him a puzzled look, and Geralt steeled himself for the conversation. This was going to be a difficult one. He really wished he’d done this sooner. Pulling the photo out of his diary that he knew resided in the pages, he looked down at Jaskier and Pavetta’s faces, a pang of guilt and sadness running through him.

“This was your mother,” he said, pointing at her dressed in drag and singing with Jaskier. He’d have to find some better photos later. “Her name was Pavetta, and she loved you very much.”

The next part he could barely bring himself to say. Would this bring their life crashing down around them, change everything, or would Ciri take this new information and still accept him?

“Your father’s name was Duny. They took me in when I came over here with nowhere to go. I adopted you when you were 2 years old when they died in a car crash. I was only supposed to look after you whilst your grandma was deployed, but she never came back either.”

Ciri was deathly silent, tears falling from her eyes faster now, and Geralt began to panic even more.

“I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was worried it would change things,” he said, voice quieter now in shame. “I love you so much, and you’re my daughter. Nothing changes that, but I was worried you wouldn’t want to see me as your father after you found out.”

A loud sob ripped from Ciri’s throat at that, and just like when she was younger, she crawled into Geralt’s lap, legs and arms wrapped tightly around him, and nose nuzzled into his shoulder. He hugged her back just as tightly. This was his whole world right here, nothing else mattered.

“Of course, you’re still my dad,” she hiccupped. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Hmm, I know. But you’ve helped me to find my way, made me a better person, and I know I could have done better by you, but I will never regret what we’ve been through together.”

“Because we’re a team.”

“Yes, we are. And if you want to know more about your birth parents, I am happy to support that, just know that it won’t change us.”

Ciri leaned back to look at Geralt, her eyes red and puffy, but a small smile on her face. Geralt had never been a crier, but at that moment he felt dangerously close.

“Do you have more photos?”

“I do.”

As he stroked her hair behind her ear, pale but not like his, Geralt let himself voice the thought he’d kept to himself for nearly 18 years.

“You look so much like your mother.”

A watery smile bloomed on Ciri as she continued to cry, but Geralt gently cradled her to him. How long had this really been weighing on her? The guilt was back in full force, but mostly now he felt relief. It was all out in the open and Ciri hadn’t run screaming, she was still in his arms.

“Tell me about them,” she whispered, face hidden in his shirt again.

“Of course, and maybe tomorrow you can ask Jaskier about them too. He was their friend for longer.” Ciri nodded. “Let’s go get those photos, shall we?”

Lifting her just like he did when she was half the size she was now, one arm supporting her clinging on like a panda cub, the other arm for opening doors, they took their first steps towards their new normal, together, as they always would be.

***

To be fair to him, standing in the doorway and dripping water on the floor, being propped up by a hulking mass of a man whilst he tried to take off his shoes was not the weirdest thing that Pavetta had walked in to see Duny doing. But it was still up there.

She had never seen this man before in her life, but Duny was happily chatting away to him like he was an old friend. They were both also absolutely covered in mud which she really hoped they didn’t get onto her new rug in the hall.

“Oh, honey!” Duny looked up from where he had finally managed to unlace his boot. Pavetta grimaced at the squelch the boot made when he dropped it on the floor after he saw her. “You’ll never guess what just happened!”

“I don’t suppose it has anything to do with this stranger and what he’s doing in our house?” Truly, she was trying to come off as calm and unaffected, but she got the distinct feeling that she had failed in that endeavour when the man shied away from her words.

“He saved my life.”

“Next time, maybe lead with that.”

“Right you are, love. Anyway, this is,” he paused, turning to the man who was awkwardly looking around for somewhere to put his sodden backpack. “You know, I don’t think I actually caught your name.”

The man looked up, reminiscent of a deer caught in headlights. “Geralt.”

Oh, that motherfucker.

Righteous anger flared in her chest as she thought back to the last two weeks of Jaskier being a crying mess in her lap, all over a man called Geralt. It wasn’t exactly a common name. This had to be him.

“Ok, this is Geralt,” Duny introduced. Pavetta could tell from his complete and utter lack of a reaction that Duny hadn’t made the same connection she had. Had he really not been paying attention to Jaskier’s tales of woe? They’d be having words later about being a supportive friend. “Geralt, this is Pavetta,”

At the mention of her name, Geralt’s focus snapped from somewhere behind Pavetta to her face, his eyes widening slightly. So, he recognised her name. Good.

“Pavetta,” he practically whispered, rapidly pulling his bag around to his front and rummaging around in it. When he pulled out a letter, looking back up at her with a small spark of hope in his eyes, it took all Pavetta had not to crumble immediately at the sight of it.

Right there in front of her, was Jaskier’s handwriting. The note he said he’d left for Geralt, that he’d thought had gone ignored.

Softly, she shook her head. “Oh, Geralt. He left yesterday morning. He’ll be on the plane home by now.”

The letter crinkled loudly in the silence left behind by that statement as Geralt closed his fist around it. He looked so dejected. Jaskier had been so sure that Geralt wasn’t coming, that he didn’t care enough to come and fix their friendship. To have the proof that her best friend had been wrong stood right there in front of her, but too late for him to see it, that hurt. She couldn’t help but wonder why Geralt hadn’t come by sooner, when she could clearly tell by his face that he cared.

“I’m so sorry,” Pavetta said as she reached forward to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go and get you both cleaned up and then you can tell me all about how you saved my husband’s life.”

***

Duny continued to tell the story of how Geralt saved his life for years; how the rain had made the ground treacherously slippery. How he’d not been paying enough attention and had gone careening off the edge of the cliff, clinging on for dear life when his white-haired saviour had appeared. How they’d struggled in the rain and the mud for what felt like a lifetime before Duny was pulled up and they trudged home covered in all sorts of muck.

He’d insisted Geralt stay long enough to repay the debt, which then turned into them housing him in their spare room for a few months. And as they started to renovate the old family villa into the hotel that they’d always dreamed of starting, Geralt’s help became invaluable, especially when Pavetta became more heavily pregnant.

She liked having him here. Over the last few months, she’d begun to consider him a good friend and it was becoming difficult to picture their life without him. But even after all this time, the shadow of Jaskier still hovered over them.

They had tried to talk to Geralt about it early on, which he quickly shut down, not wanting to discuss it. Pavetta had offered to send Jaskier a letter on his behalf, still nothing. One evening over dinner, she’d suggested at least mentioning to Jaskier that Geralt was staying with them. Instead of replying, Geralt’s eyes just glazed over and he gently shook his head. He had stayed quiet for the rest of the evening.

After that, Pavetta never brought it up again.

Just after Cirilla was born, Jaskier released his first album, and Geralt tried his best to avoid both. He went out of his way to give them all space, which was greatly appreciated at the start, yet as the weeks went on, they found that they missed him.

It was a random Tuesday when Pavetta finally burst into Geralt’s room in the hotel, babe in arms.

“I really need a nap,” she announced. Geralt gave her a puzzled look in response. “Duny is working on hotel stuff and I’m really fucking tired.”

His expression shifted to wary, as he finally seemed to catch Pavetta’s drift. She rapid fire listed off all of the essential things Geralt would need to know to look after Cirilla before gently placing her in his arms. He held her hesitantly, like he thought he’d break her if he held too tightly, but after a moment Cirilla smiled at him and reached out to tug on a strand of his hair, and this absolute giant of a man melted.

“Oh, one more thing. If she starts crying, put this CD on. It helps to soothe her.”

The scepticism returned to his face as he took the Dandelion CD case from her as she left.

She managed almost two hours of precious nap time before she trudged back to Geralt’s room to relieve him from babysitting duties. Quietly, she approached the door, peaking in to see him stood in the middle of the room gently rocking a sleeping Cirilla in his arms to the penultimate track on Jaskier’s CD. As the song faded into the last one on the album, he stopped moving entirely, face distant as he listened to the melancholy song.

Pavetta understood the reaction. She’d been the same the first time she’d listened to this familiar song made new. Jaskier had told her how singing this cover at his first gig after getting home had ultimately been what got him signed by his new record label. The implications were not lost on her. She wondered if Geralt understood or if he just heard a sad song.

Sometimes when I'm lonely I sit and think about him
And it hurts to remember all the good times
When I thought I could never live without him
And I wonder does it have to be the same?
When I see him, will it bring back all the pain?
How can I forget that name?

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he listened, and Pavetta couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. The final notes of the song rang out as she curled her arms around both Geralt and baby, putting as much love into it as possible. Finished with his work, Duny joined them a moment later, them all staying there for a while, soaking up each other’s presence.

Silently, she prayed that time would eventually heal their wounds. And that no matter what happened, they would always have this, always be together looking after each other.

A sentiment that she carried with her, right up until her final moments.

A car skidded around a corner too fast. They spun out of control. The ground rose to meet them head on. And yet, one thought echoed through Pavetta’s mind until the very end.

Please.

Please let Geralt keep Cirilla safe. Love her enough for all of us.

Chapter Text

Jaskier had never been good with prolonged silences. His mind was overflowing with things to say, his limbs wanted to fidget, pick out a tune on his guitar, tap a rhythm on the table, he wanted to hum a little ditty. And usually, should a silence go on for too long, that’s exactly what Jaskier would do. But this time, sitting next to Ciri as she drove Geralt’s truck, he knew he should repress those urges and wait for Ciri to speak. It was obvious she had something to say by how she kept sneaking him glances, and biting her lips.

He was supposed to be singing for her tonight, and he was anxious with the implications. Not for the performance itself, that would be fine, but for where they were currently heading to get his gear. Ciri’s silence left him stewing and catastrophising over everything that could possibly happen in the next few hours.

Because Jaskier was going to his parents’ house.

The strange babblings of a seventeen-year-old was exactly what Jaskier had been counting on to distract him from that fact, but there was nothing.

Geralt had said he and Ciri would talk later. Was she in trouble over all of this? Had they argued? Was her impending departure weighing on her again?

“I asked Dad about my mum last night,” she finally said out of nowhere. Her hands had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white with it. So that was it.

“Oh?” Jaskier responded cautiously. He wasn’t surprised that learning information about her mum, who according to Geralt, was ‘gone’, had caused this melancholy aura to settle around Ciri. This was something to be handled with care.

“He said you knew her.”

That made sense, Jaskier thought. If it was someone from the island, it was a high possibility he’d known her.

“And my dad.”

That… was less expected.

“Of course, I know Geralt,” Jaskier laughed without humour. “I’ve been telling you stories about him since I got here.”

“No, I know. Sorry… Turns out I’m adopted.”

“And he only just told you?!”

Ciri huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s outburst, lifting some of the tension in the truck.

“Not the point of the conversation.”

“Apologies. Do go on.”

“He said you were friends with my birth parents.”

“Who were they?”

Jaskier asked, but he had a sick feeling in his stomach as he looked at Ciri with fresh eyes, recognising all of the familiar features he’d picked up on over the last few days, knowing exactly who they belonged to.

“Their names were Pavetta and Duny.”

There it was.

The world tilted on its axis, and suddenly Jaskier felt like he couldn’t breathe properly. How hadn’t he seen it before? All of the signs were there. This was Cirilla. And Geralt, of all people, had been the one to raise her.

And, oh.

The letter.

“Fuck,” he said with feeling.

“Sorry, I know this is a lot,” Ciri replied, like any of this was her fault.

“Don’t apologise, darling. It is a lot.”

He fumbled for something, anything to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Before he got into all of this, he needed to talk to his family.

“Change of plan,” he tried not to let his panic colour his voice. “When we stop at my parents’ house, I’m going to grab the stuff, put it in the back, and then you’re going to take it back to the hotel without me.”

“What, why?”

“I need to have a very long chat with my family, and when I’ve done that, then I’ll answer any questions you have.”

She nodded, obviously steeling herself, rolling her shoulders back in her chair. Jaskier wished he had her resolve.

“I didn’t mean you had to tell me about them now. This is a tricky situation, considering you just found out I’m your friends’ daughter and they’re… gone. There’ll be time tomorrow before the party? Maybe by then we’ll have both wrapped our heads around this a bit more.”

Doubtful, Jaskier thought. But whether or not he’d come to terms with it by then, he knew that it was important that Ciri heard what he had to say.

As she pulled up outside of his childhood home, he hesitated getting out of the truck for a moment longer and just decided fuck it.

Reaching out, he pulled Ciri into a hug, pouring everything he wasn’t yet ready to say into it when she hugged him right back. When he leaned back once more, he took another good look at her, then tucked a strand of her hair, blonde like Pavetta’s, behind her ear and gently patted her cheek.

***

“Where is all of my fucking post?!”

Jaskier practically kicked his old front door open after unlocking it with a set of keys that had been collecting dust for nearly two decades. His dad didn’t even look up from his newspaper at his entrance. Typical.

“Hello to you too, Julian. I didn’t know you were back.” He turned his page.

“Oh, we put all of your fan mail with your old gear,” His mum exited the kitchen also unsurprised to see him, still looking the same as she always did, the grey hairs he’d expected her to have accumulated by now obviously hidden by dye. Jaskier couldn’t blame her. He didn’t plan on aging gracefully either. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t care about the fan mail! I’m looking for a very specific letter from a man called Geralt Rivia.”

“You know Geralt?”

“Of course, I know Geralt!” Jaskier shrieked. “I was moping about here after we fought! Do none of you ever listen to me?”

“You know we don’t,” the oldest of his younger sisters, Darcy, said. “Dramatic as ever I see.”

“Still not left home I see.”

“The rest of your sisters are in the other room, say hello to them before you continue on your diatribe.” Jaskier sighed as his dad brushed off his emotional outburst, as he always did. Some things never changed.

Hoping he could do this quickly, he stuck his head around the door of the other room and saw his other three sisters lounging around chatting.

“Dad said I need to say hello before I have a go at him,” Jaskier announced as he fully entered the room, and all three of them immediately turned to face him.

“Julian!” Lilibet and Phillipa, the twins, exclaimed and rushed towards him, pulling him into a group hug. “You’re finally back!”

Over their shoulders, he watched Tamsyn, who used to be his mini-me, hunker down into the corner of the sofa. He knew if he ever came back that she would probably be the one least likely to be happy about that fact.

“Tammy,” he said softly. “You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

“No shit, I’ve grown,” she spat. “I was five last time you were here.”

If Jaskier had known any better, he would have thought she was a teenager with the snarky response and refusal of eye contact, rather than in her twenties. But honestly, he couldn’t blame her. They’d been close, then he’d just fucked off. That old guilt reared its head again.

She looked back at him briefly before pulling her headphones back on.

“Your new hair looks stupid.”

He deserved that. Maybe he had time to try and start fixing things before he left. At least the twins were happy to see him. Lilibet had dyed her hair a vibrant blue as opposed to the red she’d been experimenting with when he left, and had a stack of piercings up her left ear.

“Mum and Dad can’t have approved of this,” he gestured at her, keeping his voice down.

“They definitely don’t,” she replied, a sly smile on her face. “But they saw what happened last time they objected so vehemently to one of their kid’s lifestyle choices, so have evidently decided to keep it to themselves this time.”

“Not that it’s not nice to see you,” Phillipa started, clinging onto his arm, her curly hair tickling Jaskier’s ear. “But why are you here?”

“On the Island? That’s a long story. But back home? Let’s say I just found out that some incredibly important information has been kept from me. And I think someone tried to send me a letter about it which I never received.”

Phillipa winced and Lilibet exhaled all in one abrupt breath. So, they knew what he was talking about. Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to be shocked anymore.

“I also need some of my old performance kit, know where it is?”

The oldest of the three sisters grabbed the boxes of gear from Jaskier’s old room and took them out to Ciri’s truck whilst Jaskier rummaged through the pile of letters, keeping an eye out for Geralt’s chicken scratch handwriting. Once he found it, he went to check all of the right gear was in the truck, then told Ciri to go home. As she drove away, Jaskier wished he was still in the vehicle with her, driving far away from here again. But there were too many questions that needed answering, and only his family could do that.

Before going back inside, Jaskier tore open the envelope he’d been holding in a death grip since he’d found it. His hands shook as he tried to read it.

Dear Jaskier,

I’d like to apologise for how long it’s taken me to reach out. I thought it would probably be for the best if I never contacted you again. But this is important.

First, I need to say that I am so sorry for your loss. I know that you’d been friends with Pavetta since you were kids. They were good people.

After our fight 3 years ago, I went to the address you’d left me to find you, but you’d left already. Instead, I saved Duny’s life by complete coincidence and they asked me to stay with them for a while. Long enough that they became my friends too. They named me Cirilla’s godfather, a title I understand was supposed to go to you but Calanthe refused. She wasn’t very happy with me either.

I was only supposed to be Cirilla’s guardian until Calanthe came home, but we received the news last week about her too.

I am currently in the process of officially adopting Ciri. But we both still feel loss the loss of her parents keenly. It would mean a lot to us if you came to visit. I know this island must be filled with painful memories for you now so it doesn’t need to be right away, but I think Ciri will need you, as one last connection to her parents. And I think, if you let her, she could help you too.

We will wait here as long as it takes, for when you decide you’re ready to see her. I wouldn’t want to move her somewhere else and then you’d never be able to find her.

Pavetta always said that if I needed to contact you and she wasn’t around to do it, then I should go to your parents. I hope they get this to you.

Please visit soon.

Geralt

This was so much worse than Jaskier had thought. No wonder Geralt had been pissed at the idea that Jaskier had ignored his letter. He had been waiting for Jaskier for fifteen years.

Fuck.

Hastily scrubbing tears from his face, he re-entered the house with more grace and restraint this time, taking the time to close the door quietly instead of slamming it. His family were all sat with their dad now, who’d finally put down his paper and were watching him. Even Tamsyn had lifted one side of her headphones off to listen to it all. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Jaskier was ready to start again. Calmly this time.

“What the fuck,” he yelled. Fuck being calm. “This isn’t fucking fan mail!”

“Julian, calm down,” his father said. “There’s really no need for hysterics. How were we supposed to know it wasn’t another fan letter like everyone else on this island was giving us to pass onto you?”

“My hysterics are very needed! When were any of you planning on telling me that Geralt adopted Cirilla?! You said she had been taken in by her grandmother.”

“That was the plan,” his mother responded, not at all concerned with how frantic Jaskier was being.

“Calanthe died in action not long after Pavetta and Duny passed away,” his dad finished. The way he could say that so casually, after they’d been friends, after they’d fought together in the army, didn’t sit right with Jaskier. He still couldn’t talk about Pavetta without emotion clogging up his throat.

“And nobody thought to tell me?”

“I’ll be honest with you Julian, I didn’t think you’d care. You didn’t come and visit the three of them after Cirilla was born. You didn’t even ask after her when you thought she was being taken in by Calanthe. We were under the impression you wanted nothing to do with her.”

Nothing to do with her. Jaskier was seething now, his nails digging into his palms as he clenched his fists. How could they possibly think he wanted nothing to do with her? After everything.

“I foolishly assumed that with Ciri under Calanthe’s care I’d never get to see her, let alone hear about her. Calanthe had always hated my guts, thought I’d corrupted her daughter.” He took a deep breath to push more tears down. “It broke my heart to think that. I hated not being there for all of them at the start, I even said to Pavetta I’d put my career on hold, but she told me it didn’t matter, because I could be there when Ciri was older. That I should focus on getting my feet under me with my music first.”

“Julek,” his mum said gently, always the kinder of the two, with her endearing names for him. It just made her cruelty harder to bear. “You weren’t at the funeral. What did you expect us to think?”

“I visited their graves as soon as I could.”

His voice broke. That time of his life was what Jaskier regretted the most, even more so now that he knows Cirilla had never actually been out of reach. His manager had made him miss the funeral for a big gig, promised that he’d get as much time as he needed afterwards to mourn. It had never been enough. The pain of their death still lingered, that loss of Ciri too, even though she was still alive. It was one the reasons he’d never been able to bring himself to come back to the Island. And now Jaskier’s parents were trying to blame him for not being there for her even though he didn’t know it was an option.

“What are you even going to do with this information?” His father’s voice was harsh, unforgiving. Jaskier wished for some kindness to help lift this weight but he knew he wouldn’t get it from them.

“It’s not like you’re ever going to step up and take any responsibility. You’ve always tried so hard to avoid all of that, why stop now.”

“You know what, fuck you,” Jaskier hissed. “This is why I never come home. I’ve got the answers I need. Now kindly never contact me again.”

Without sparing a glance at his parents, Jaskier stormed out of the house, stopping only when he heard several sets of footsteps following him out. He turned to see his sisters all huddled under the canopy over the door, avoiding the rain that he hadn’t even noticed. They all stared at each other for a moment before Tamsyn ran out from the shelter and into Jaskier’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I understand why you never came back before, now.”

“And I’m so sorry for leaving you, Tammy.” Today really was a day for crying. Jaskier was sure by the time the day was over, he’d have cried more tears than there would be raindrops in this deluge.

“Just promise you won’t leave yet. At least not until we get to spend more time together.”

“I promise.”

Slowly, as he hugged Tamsyn, he felt more sets of arms wrap around them, and he relished in the feeling of being held by them all for the first time in almost twenty years.

“Is now a bad time to mention that I was invited to Ciri’s birthday?” Tamsyn said, muffled through all of the layers of people. “I used to tutor her and Dara sometimes. And I also asked if the rest of us could come. Not mum and dad though.”

“I guess I’ll see you all tomorrow then,” Jaskier replied, not even worrying about the implications of it all anymore. “And after that, we’ll have some time, just us Pankratz kids.”

“We’re hardly kids anymore,” Darcy quipped.

“Nonsense. We’ll always be kids at heart.”

With great effort, Jaskier pulled himself away from his sisters, wiping the remaining tears away. He had to get back to the hotel to set up for his performance after all.

“Will you be ok in the rain?” Phillipa asked as he took a few steps backwards, reluctant to take his eyes off of them all.

“I’ll be fine.” He dragged out the sound. “It’s just a drizzle.”

“If you say so.” Lilibet pointed to a particularly dark cloud rolling in.

“I don’t have far to go. I’ll be in before it hits. No need to worry.”

***

Roach hated storms. Geralt had first found her cowering in an abandoned shed seeking shelter from one when he was still new on the Island, and since then, whenever was a storm, Geralt went down to the stable to sit with her. She whinnied at a clap of thunder, pushing her snout into Geralt’s hand as he continued to brush her mane with care.

“There, there,” he rumbled to her, softer than anything he’d usually direct at any human.

Geralt’s peaceful time with his horse was disrupted by loud, squelching footsteps entering the stable. As he looked up at the intruder, prepared to tell them in no uncertain terms to fuck off, he saw Jaskier stood in the entranceway, soaked through to the bone. His clothes were stuck to his frame, hair lank and flat, dripping large droplets of water down his face, and puddles were already beginning to form at his feet.

“Why didn’t you say something,” Jaskier demanded, a crazed look in his eye.

“We need to get you inside,” Geralt said, ignoring whatever Jaskier was offended by today. “You’ll catch your death if you stay out like that.”

“No, no, I need someone to give me a straight fucking answer.” He gestured with his hand, drawing Geralt’s attention to a letter, ink running down the page, paper transparent from the water. His stomach sank at the sight of it. “I wouldn’t have ignored your letter! It was still at my family’s house. Why didn’t you just tell me about Ciri’s parents?”

Really, Geralt should have expected this. He had told Ciri to ask Jaskier about them, but he hadn’t thought they’d be having this confrontation now.

“It’s a difficult subject to bring up. I thought knew and were just pretending none of this existed. What did you want me to say? Long time, no see, Jaskier, I know you never replied to my letter so you obviously don’t care, but here’s your dead best friend’s daughter that I raised.” Getting defensive and relying heavily on sarcasm was probably not the route Geralt should have chosen for this conversation, but he never was very good at dealing tactfully with emotions.

“Something like that would have been nice, yes!”

Jaskier’s spare hand went to his hair, pushing it back, tugging at it slightly, and he began to pace the length of the stable, frustration practically leaking out of his pores.

“This situation is so much more complicated than you can possibly begin to comprehend,” Jaskier practically muttered, eyes wide.

“Then uncomplicate it for me. I’m not a mind reader, I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“God you’ve turned into such a dad.” Jaskier smiled a little to himself before coming to a stop in front of Geralt, serious face back on and staring dead into Geralt’s eyes. “Duny couldn’t have kids.”

“… I don’t understand…”

It certainly was complicated information, but Geralt wasn’t entirely sure what Jaskier wanted him to do with it. Jaskier sighed deeply, screwing his eyes shut as it turned into a groan.

“So, they really wanted a kid… And they needed help with that…”

“And?”

“Christ alive, I’m going to have to spell it out for you, aren’t I?”

Looking heavenward once more, Jaskier brought his hands down onto Geralt’s shoulders and brought their faces closer together so that Geralt couldn’t look anywhere other than into Jaskier’s eyes.

“And I helped them.”

Wait. What the fuck?!

“Ciri’s my daughter, Geralt.”

Chapter Text

It was a rare quiet morning and Geralt had finally found some time to read the book he’d brought with him. He was sat at an outdoor table of a café that Jaskier had shown him, the early morning sun warming his skin but not yet bright enough to blind him when it bounced off of the pages. A soft breeze blew down the alley the café was tucked in, and Geralt breathed in the faint scent of salt that it carried from the sea.

Now that he was actually able to sit and think about it, maybe his Supervising Offier had been right. Everything felt a little bit easier now. Not perfect, that would take a lot longer to achieve. But he’d been here for nearly two weeks, and it felt like a lifetime. The horrors of war so distant from the life he’d been living since arriving. It was a life he wouldn’t mind getting used to.

His serenity was broken when a mess of colours crashed around the corner and into the seat across from him. He knew who it was before looking up from his book.

“Ah, Geralt,” Jaskier said, feigning composure. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

“What have you done this time?” Geralt skipped the preamble.

“Why do you assume I’m the one who did something?”

Instead of replying, Geralt shot him a look and Jaskier crumbled right in front of him.

“Fine, now hurry up and help me hide!”

Once upon a time, Geralt would have hesitated before helping someone with such a vague request, but he barely questioned the situation as he handed over the newspaper he’d long finished and his jacket from when there had still been a chill to the morning air. Jaskier scrambled to put the jacket on over his floral shirt then held the newspaper up in front of his face, just as a very angry man rounded the same corner Jaskier had appeared from minutes before.

“Fucking musicians,” he seethed under his breath as he stalked past them. “You’re all the same! Fuck someone else’s wife and then run away like a coward!”

Apparently not spotting Jaskier, he stomped off down another alleyway, yelling all the while. Once he was out of sight, Geralt pulled down the newspaper to see Jaskier’s face screwed up in what was probably his best approximation of shame.

“It’s not what you think!” He shoved the newspaper away, gesturing wildly with his hands.

“Oh, so you just tripped and fell into her bed with your pants around your ankles?” Geralt deadpanned.

“It’s hardly my fault if his wife went out and flirted with another man without wearing her wedding ring. How was I supposed to know?”

Geralt shrugged. “Carry out a detailed background search on everyone you intend to bed.”

There was a beat of silence as Jaskier just stared at him

“The terrifying thing is that I don’t even know if you’re joking or not.”

When Geralt continued to say nothing, keeping his usual blank expression, Jaskier began to shift in his seat, and Geralt repressed the urge to laugh at the sight.

“Anyway, I need to get away from here for a day, so we’re going to the Island today.”

“We are, are we?”

“Yes, grab your stuff, the boat leaves in 20 minutes.”

Knowing better than to argue at this point, Geralt closed his book and stood. They walked down to the docks together, Jaskier babbling away, and stopping by Geralt’s hotel so that he could grab his ‘go bag’. When they were buying the tickets, the man in the booth moved slowly, Jaskier looking over his shoulder every few seconds, and when they were eventually handed their tickets, they jumped on the boat mere seconds before it left.

“Right,” Jaskier said abruptly. “Once we get off of this boat, we’re going to buy some kind of alcoholic beverage and then settle on the beach furthest from my family for the day.”

“The plan is day drinking?”

“That would be your plan too if you were running away from a vengeful husband back to the Island that you grew up on and you’re now known as the family disappointment because you ran away to music college instead of following in your father’s footsteps and joining the army!”

That was a lot. For all of Jaskier’s blustering and ego and talking, they’d never touched on this sore spot. Geralt had sensed some tension when they spoke about family before, but this had seemingly come out of nowhere. He didn’t know how to handle this.

“You would have been terrible in the army.” This was unfamiliar territory. If they hadn’t been on a boat in the middle of the ocean, Geralt would have been tempted to run away from the conversation. Instead, he held back his more vulnerable response. You would have hated it. I did.

“I know! Tell my father that. I would have been eaten alive.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, neither knowing how to continue this conversation.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to go back?” he asked. See, he could be considerate when he wanted to be.

“Yes! You deserve to see this beautiful island.”

Refraining from saying that he had actually been once before with Renfri, Geralt hummed in agreement. Hopefully this day could have nicer memories attached to it in the future, instead of being tinged with the guilt and disappointment of how that had turned out.

“It’s fine, Geralt, I’m a big boy. We’ll get there and we will have fun!”

***

Geralt was not having fun.

He was wet, covered in sand, down on dignity, and Jaskier wouldn’t stop fucking laughing.

“I’m sorry Geralt, but it is kind of funny.” Jaskier tried to take a deep breath to compose himself before once again cackling loudly. Geralt just glared at him as he felt water drip down the back of his neck and down his sodden shirt. “I’m Geralt Rivia and I’m so big and tough but I lost a fight to a seagull and fell into the sea.”

That impression was horribly inaccurate. He didn’t sound like that and that’s not what happened. But Jaskier’s faux deep voice fell away again to his usual tone as he started laughing even harder, gripping his stomach.

“You’ll lose a fight with me in a moment,” Geralt grumbled, knocking their shoulders together. “See how you like falling into the sea.”

“You just want to see me dripping wet, don’t you?” Jaskier winked. “My shirt transparent, water rolling down my glorious chest, all sexy. Naughty.”

He didn’t waste another moment. Geralt pushed Jaskier off of the pier they were sat on waiting for the boat and smirked at the satisfying splash sound as he hit the water. Seconds later Jaskier emerged, now just as soggy as Geralt. He shook his arms, water droplets flying off of the ends of his fingers, then tried to brush his fringe away from where it had plastered itself over his eyes, all while blowing the salty water out of his mouth.

“Not quite as sexy as you thought, is it?” Geralt teased as Jaskier struggled back to the shore and then onto the pier. Plopping down with a with a wet plap, Jaskier sat back next to Geralt, maybe a little closer than he had been before.

“Oh, ha ha,” he said dryly. “Jokes on you, I can still rock this look. Salt water gives me lovely beachy waves when my hair dries.”

They sat there in the sun for almost an hour waiting for the boat to arrive, still making harmless barbs at each other as they let the warmth dry them off. By the time they’d made it back to the mainland bystanders would hardly have been able to tell that they’d both taken a tumble into the sea.

“Geralt,” Jaskier started as they disembarked. “As it is my last night here before I depart for a week, I have a proposition for you.”

“That’s never good.” He was only half joking. Over the last week Jaskier’s plans had been well thought out about half of the time, with the others being unmitigated disasters. With how today had gone so far, Geralt wasn’t sure what the outcome of this would be.

“Rude,” Jaskier snapped back before continuing as if Geralt hadn’t said anything. “One of my old haunts is doing an ABBA night tonight. It’s probably not your scene but I remembered what your brothers said that first night about you not really knowing their music. Maybe I can educate you. It’s at the local queer club-”

“No.”

“Right yes, my bad. Should have seen that coming Mr Hyper-Masculine-”

“Jaskier.”

He stopped walking away from the boat then, turning to face Geralt, hands on his hips.

“What,” he said, voice rising in what Geralt knew was the early stages of hysteria. “Message received loud and clear.”

“I don’t get on with clubs. Straight or gay.” Geralt crossed his arms, feeling oddly defensive, but Jaskier visibly relaxed at that.

“Ah yes, I should have seen that coming. Stupid suggestion anyway.”

Jaskier’s eyes softened as he stared off into the middle distance, a surprisingly common occurrence during their time together, before he cleared his throat and moved his focus back to Geralt with a small smile.

“I can come up with another plan for us. Something quieter. Less… lights and glitter.”

Walking away from the dock once more, Geralt followed Jaskier as he babbled on about other ideas for what they could do, but Geralt wasn’t really paying attention. He let himself actually think about that first suggestion. Sure, Geralt and clubs never seemed like a good combination, but it was something Jaskier had seemed excited about. Everything they’d done so far had been Jaskier coming up with things Geralt would enjoy. Maybe this time they should do what Jaskier wanted. Maybe Geralt should follow more of his SO’s advice. Do something new. Lambert would probably say it would do Geralt some good to let his hair down, though he could already hear Eskel’s laugh.

“No,” he said, not entirely aware what he was disagreeing to.

“Fuck’s sake, Geralt,” Jaskier sighed. “I’m trying to brainstorm, don’t just shoot the ideas down immediately.”

“I mean, no, we should go to your place.”

“What?”

“It sounds” – he pushed the next word out of his mouth – “fun.”

Jaskier laughed. “I’m not completely convinced you believe that statement, but if that’s what you want to do, it’s what we’ll do. And if you want to leave, we’ll leave.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. That sounded reasonable. He had a ready-made out if things proved too much, but hopefully it wouldn’t be unbearable. Jaskier dropped him off at the hotel so he could shower off the lingering sand and salt from their earlier tumble with the agreement to meet him again in an hour.

It turned out to be an hour and a half later when Jaskier reappeared, and when Geralt looked at him, he understood why. More dolled up than usual, Jaskier was sporting a bold eye makeup look and dressed so brightly that had he been found in the rainforest and not in the Mediterranean, Geralt would have thought he was poisonous. Despite that impression, Geralt thought he looked good, though that may have been because of the absolutely delighted look on his face more than the actual clothes he was wearing.

“Sorry I’m late,” he beamed. “Can’t rush looking this good. Though you’ve mastered the art of looking effortlessly gorgeous. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Geralt hadn’t actually done anything special. He’d just brushed his hair then put it up and then picked out a slightly nicer black shirt than usual. They couldn’t be more different, in more ways than one, but Jaskier didn’t seem to mind, so Geralt decided he didn’t either.

When they got to the club, Geralt felt even more out of place, surrounded by even more glitter and colourful flashing lights, and people dancing around without a care in the world, but Jaskier still smiled at him, manoeuvring them over to the bar to order. He could barely hear what the bartender was saying over the loud thumping music, but the next moment he was presented with a pint of beer, and Jaskier held a cocktail that clashed horribly with his clothes. The image brought a small laugh up to the surface and Jaskier’s eyes widened a little in surprise before he gestured to the far wall where there were some crowded standing tables.

They made their way through the crowd, being jostled side to side the whole time, but eventually they got there mostly unscathed. Taking a large swig of his drink before setting it on the small bit of table they managed to claim, Geralt took in the rest of his surroundings. It was all very overwhelming, but seeing such a diverse group of people all united by a love of dancing and ABBA, he felt some of the tension in his shoulders bleed out.

Next to him Jaskier was immediately in the zone, moving fluidly to the music and belting out the lyrics. That alone made Geralt sure that this was the right choice for the evening. A few songs in, Jaskier turned and leant in close to Geralt.

“Dance with me,” he yelled over the music into Geralt’s ear.

“I don’t think so.”

Pouting slightly, Jaskier put down his drink and instead lightly held Geralt’s wrists between his thumb and middle finger. He swayed them both side to side, occasionally knocking the hands together in an approximation of a clap.

“You are the dancing queen,” Jaskier sang along, continuing to gesture with Geralt’s hands. “Young and sweet, only seventeen!”

It was all completely ridiculous, and Geralt was very glad his brothers weren’t there to witness it, but he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through his chest at it all. No one had ever treated him this softly, and for the second time that day, Geralt found himself thinking it was something he could get used to.

More songs passed like that, with Jaskier occasionally twirling himself under Geralt’s arm, and when Geralt pulled one of his hands away to take a sip of his drink, he then willingly gave the hand back. They traded going up to the bar each time, and it never took long after they returned to their space for Jaskier to take up Geralt’s hands again.

On one of those bar trips, Geralt heard the start of a song that he knew he recognised from the other night. That lyric, give me a man after midnight, had been Jaskier’s rather unsuccessful attempt at flirting with Geralt that first time. He turned, trying to spot Jaskier in what had become their spot so he could acknowledge that he knew this song, but there was no sign of him. Scanning the crowd for Jaskier’s bright clothes proved to be a harder chore than usual, but eventually he spotted him, someone dragging him onto the dancefloor.

That alone shouldn’t have been enough for concern, but as Geralt continued to watch he saw the man crowd up against Jaskier, dancing with no space left between them. Any other night, Geralt might just have let this run its course, but as he watched, a sudden urge to intervene coursed through him.

Abandoning his place in the queue, he shoved his way through the other dancers to get to his friend earning a few rotten looks as he went. When he eventually reached Jaskier, he clamped a hand onto his hip, pulling Jaskier back into his chest, just like when they’d been skimming stones, and away from his dance partner. Jaskier let out a surprised noise but then leant his weight back into Geralt.

“Now, now, darling, play nice.”

Geralt didn’t want to play nice.

He glared at the other guy. Jaskier would not be going home with him tonight. He wouldn’t be leaving Geralt alone in this place he wouldn’t want to be in without Jaskier to make it bearable.

The man backed away, a stupid smirk still on his face, and slipped away.

Good.

Jaskier span around to face Geralt, careful to keep himself inside the curve of Geralt’s arm. He was still smiling, as he had been all night, but there was a hint of confusion there now too. The crowd kept them pushed close together and Geralt found there was nowhere to look except into those cornflower blue eyes.

“What was that about?” Jaskier leant forwards to speak directly into Geralt’s ear.

Geralt hesitated a moment before speaking. “You’re not going home with him.”

“And why is that?”

Fuck.

Geralt had never considered himself to be an impulsive man, but in that moment, when Jaskier pulled back to look right at Geralt, eyes half lidded, his pulse thrumming rapidly under Geralt’s thumb where he was still gripping Jaskier’s hip, he barely let himself think before moving.

He brought up his other hand, bracing it on the back of Jaskier’s neck before leaning in to kiss him soundly. Almost immediately, Jaskier reciprocated, hands skimming up Geralt’s arms to lie flat against his chest. That softness Geralt had gotten so used to was all around him then, the light touches from Jaskier, the grittiness of sand and glitter under his fingertips barely registering as he caressed the smooth skin of Jaskier’s neck. He finally let himself feel that attraction that had been bubbling under the surface for days now, no longer scared of this blowing up in his face like last time. It didn’t have to mean anything they didn’t want it to mean, and Geralt wasn’t going to fight it.

Loath to break the kiss so soon, Geralt pulled away slightly, mumbling against Jaskier’s lips.

“Because you’re coming home with me.”

Jaskier shuddered against him, taking a deep breath before kissing him again, less gentle this time but his lips still so soft.

“You said we could leave when I wanted to,” he said just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. He made a small noise of protest as he tried to chase Geralt’s lips.

“Now? Absolutely, yes, let’s go.”

With one final kiss, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and tugged him towards the exit, then down the street. He clung to Geralt’s arm the whole time and when they arrived at the hotel, Geralt led them down the hallways to his room. Unlocking the door with a click he slammed it closed behind them with a solid thud.

***

A small sliver of golden sunshine sneaking through the curtains and falling right into Jaskier’s eye was what woke him in the morning. It started subtle and warm, but eventually became bright enough that when he opened his eyes, he was blinded by the intensity of it. Turning his face away from the window, he looked up from where his head was still resting on Geralt’s chest to see him slowly opening his eyes and coming to. He looked surprisingly well rested. Surprising in that… well.

Geralt had woken up rather fitfully in the early hours of the morning, chasing away the tail end of a nightmare. Jaskier knew the type, had bumped into his dad staying up late to avoid them when he tried to sneak back in late at night. But he still didn’t know what to do when it happened. He knew not to reach out and touch, to not push too far. All he could think to do was ask how to help.

What do you need? he’d asked.

He hadn’t gotten a response as Geralt tried to hide his face in his hands, pulling away from Jaskier. It had seemed like space was a good idea.

Do you want me to leave?

Shaking his head imperceptibly, Geralt had tried to slow his breathing, before he whispered a response.

No.

It had taken a while longer before he’d fully calmed down, but once Geralt had come back to himself, he’d stared at Jaskier for a moment, that little divot between his eyebrows returning in the way that Jaskier recognised as being more out of confusion than concern or annoyance. Jaskier then repeated that first question, what do you need, and Geralt had reached out so slowly across the mattress, almost caressing Jaskier’s fingers with his own. Eventually, as the final tension seeped back out of Geralt’s body, they drifted closer once more and when they lay back down, there was no other word to describe what they did other than cuddling. Though Jaskier was sure Geralt would deny it if asked.

Then, they’d slept, and the sun had risen, and even now when they were awake, Geralt’s arm was still gently slung over Jaskier’s waist. It was enough to make his heart squeeze painfully as he thought about how he had to leave. Too many times Jaskier had run out in the morning when he’d wanted to stay, a little piece of his heart left there in the sheets. He wanted nothing more than to stay nestled up against Geralt, learning all of his scars, or every shade of gold hidden in his eyes. To make sure he was ok and not still haunted by the images from his nightmares now the sun had come up.

But this time he had to go, not because he was being chased out by a spurned partner or because he knew he wouldn’t be wanted in the light of day, but because he had to help Pavetta. It was the whole reason he’d come back here, after all.

“Morning,” Geralt said, the low timbre of his voice rumbling through both their chests.

“How did you sleep,” Jaskier replied, leaving out the crucial part of the question. Did he sleep well after the nightmare? Was he feeling better now?

When Geralt hummed back, eyes shutting again briefly, Jaskier assumed that meant yes. But still, he couldn’t quite tell. He wanted to stay, just to be sure. Maybe he could…

“If you need me to,” Jaskier started, “I could stay another day.”

Do you want me to leave?

No.

“Don’t change your plans for me, Jask,” Geralt said, sitting up now, Jaskier’s head falling from his shoulder. He swung his legs out over the edge of the bed, his back now facing Jaskier, his expression hidden. “I’m fine.”

It stung a little, being so clearly brushed off, but one thing that Jaskier had learned within the last week, was that Geralt wasn’t particularly comfortable with vulnerability. It was hard not to take it that way, but it wasn’t personal. He knew that.

Sitting up himself, Jaskier then leant forward and draped himself over Geralt’s back, arms slung over his shoulders. He savoured these moments, trying not to think of them as their last, but attempting not to build expectations of more, that could then be crushed. Maybe if they were lucky, they could pick this up where they left off when Jaskier got back.

“Try not to miss me too much,” he said softly, kissing Geralt’s temple quickly before hauling himself out of the bed to get changed.

As he shuffled his clothes back on, Jaskier turned back to Geralt and winked. Within moments, he was ready to go, and he allowed himself one more long look at Geralt, reaching out to skim the tips of his fingers over hiss sharp jawline, his rough stubble. Steeling himself, Jaskier headed towards the door and as he finally closed it behind him, he tried not to feel the ominous finality of the action.

He would only be gone for a week, what was the worst that could happen?

Chapter Text

Geralt wasn’t saying anything. Jaskier had told him the whole story, and yes, it was a lot, but he’d expected at least some kind of response, but so far there was nothing, and Jaskier was beginning to panic. They’d only just fixed things, would this ruin it all again?

“For Christ’s sake, just say something, Geralt,” he said, trying very hard not to start crying again. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

“Are you going to…” Something flashed over Geralt’s face, blink and you’ll miss it fast, pinching his features together, and Jaskier understood immediately what he was thinking. Shit.

“I’m not going to take her away from you Geralt, fuck. I signed away my parental rights, legally I wouldn’t have a leg to stand on. Besides! She’s your daughter, you raised her. Hence why I’m telling you this so you can decide how best to approach this.”

Never in their time of knowing each other had Jaskier cursed Geralt for being taciturn as much as he was in that moment. His face was as hard to read as ever, only a slight crinkle in his brow giving away that he was feeling any emotion. If Jaskier were to guess, that emotion was probably not a positive one. But it wasn’t necessarily a negative one either. Nevertheless, the chill from Jaskier’s rain-soaked clothes started to properly set in, and he knew they needed to wrap this up before he got hypothermia and died.

“Use your words, Geralt,” Jaskier huffed.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and didn’t Jaskier just feel that right in his very soul. “I don’t know what words to use. I don’t know where to go from here.”

“Well, you need to figure it out. She wants to ask questions, tomorrow before the party, and I don’t think I can bring myself to lie to her. Now excuse me, I have wet clothes to get out of, and a performance to prep for.”

As Jaskier stomped out of the stable, he sighed, wishing this had ended on a better note. But he pushed it out of his mind, he had a show to put on after all.

***

To say that the afternoon had been weird would be an understatement.

Of all the things Geralt had expected Jaskier to say, it hadn’t been that. It had sent Geralt into a tail spin and he hadn’t really been useful for the rest of the conversation. All he could think about was Ciri’s eyes, a pale cornflower blue, that looked just like Jaskier’s. He’d dreamt of those eyes so many times over the years, how hadn’t he recognised them?

And just when he thought things couldn’t get any weirder, Yennefer swanned into the stable, large black umbrella protecting her from the rain, sat down on one of the spare stools and initiated a conversation about their past relationship that ended with them both apologising, like it was nothing, once again leaving Geralt lost and confused.

She then proceeded to call Geralt an idiot after claiming she definitely had not been eavesdropping on his chat with Jaskier, and lectured him for almost an hour about how he should correctly handle the situation.

“Present a united front.”

Thanks Yen, great advice.

By the time they were done, the storm had finally moved on, leaving sunshine in its wake once more, accompanied by a light breeze. Jaskier would be happy, he found himself thinking. They’d set up a small stage area in the courtyard for his performance, and everything would have been ruined had the weather continued the way it was. It was telling that he could clearly hear the tirade Jaskier would have gone on in his head. How can an artist be expected to thrive in these conditions, Geralt?

After all of that, as Geralt made his way to the courtyard to meet everyone before the mini concert, he felt anxious about how he would face Ciri now, knowing what he knew. He’d have to pull it together, tonight was supposed to be fun, and he wouldn’t allow himself to ruin it for Ciri. But would their conversation tomorrow ruin her actual birthday? With Ciri leaving early the next day, they couldn’t wait until after. It was all very complicated.

Hmm-ing out loud at his predicament, he didn’t notice immediately when Ciri appeared at his side.

“What’s got you in a mood?”

Had Geralt been a lesser man, her apparent sudden presence would have made him jump. As it was, he just turned to her, an eyebrow raised slightly before smiling and pulling her in to his side.

“Your uncles aren’t here,” he lied, although that was something he was concerned about. “I’m wondering how much I’ll need to yell at them for being rude if they’re late for Jaskier’s performance.”

“They won’t be late,” she giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Also, I’m pretty sure Uncle Eskel mentioned they were going to be helping him to get ready.”

Geralt huffed a quiet laugh at that. The idea of his brothers helping Jaskier prepare? Ridiculous.

As the start time drifted closer, Yennefer and Renfri arrived and sat at their table, knowing smiles on their faces. Not long after, Dara joined them, leading some of their other classmates through the courtyard to sit with them. Geralt found himself thinking that this was probably the smallest audience that Jaskier would have played in front of for a long time, but he’d still give it his all, put as much energy into it as he would a packed stadium. These kids were in for a treat.

There was still no sign of Eskel or Lambert as the time to start rolled around, and Geralt tried not to let it get to him, and as he heard shuffling from inside the hotel dining room, blocked off by a curtain they’d set up to give an illusion of a backstage area, he resigned himself to having to lecture his brothers later.

A loud whine of feedback echoed through the courtyard as a microphone switched on, members of the audience wincing and covering their ears.

“Sorry,” Jaskier said into the mic, still out of sight, only sounding slightly apologetic. He cleared his throat. “Ladies and Gentlemen, esteemed guests, get ready! For one night, and one night only, make some noise, for Buttercup and the Babes!”

What? Did Jaskier have some friends left on the Island he’d recruited? He hadn’t mentioned anything like that.

The curtain was pulled aside revealing the silhouettes of three people posing, and as the spotlight went on, Geralt felt his mouth drop open unbidden as Ciri squealed loudly.

Stood on the stage was Jaskier, of course, with Eskel and Lambert stood on either side of him, all three of them dressed in the most obnoxious 70’s costumes, platform shoes included, and over the top makeup, very reminiscent to the set up when they’d all seen Jaskier and his band perform for the first time. Jaskier had gotten his brothers into drag. He was never going to let them forget this.

Jaskier stood in the centre of their trio, blonde wig on just like the time they first met, and a vivid blue sparkling jumpsuit on with massive sleeves and flared trousers. His large earrings brushed the joint between his neck and shoulder where his neckline dipped low, leaving the skin exposed. Just below the wide legs of the trousers, Geralt could see shinning silver platform heeled boots, making Jaskier taller than Eskel, whose shoes were a more sensible height. Eskel himself was in a pink costume with a capelet draped over his shoulders. Of the three of them, his makeup was the tamest, but he was wearing a brunette wig that fell in waves down his back. Lambert was dressed in an emerald green outfit with tassels on the shoulder pads and thigh high boots. He was pouting his lips, which were painted a bright red, and there were twinkles of glitter running through his beard.

“Ciri, get some pictures,” he mumbled, and wordlessly, Ciri pulled out her phone.

The rest of the audience whispered in awe around them, and Jaskier smiled wickedly before nodding to someone off stage to start the music, the distinctive opening notes of Super Trouper by ABBA now filling the air.

As if the costumes weren’t unexpected enough, when Jaskier began to sing, Eskel and Lambert joined him, and all three of them began to dance in sync. Jaskier was the most natural with it of course, Eskel looking deeply uncomfortable with it all, and Lambert tripping over in his boots, and as he watched the disaster unfold, Geralt hid his smile behind his hand. Yennefer had no such qualms, cackling loudly, and Renfri was wolf whistling at them all.

When the song ended, with no major injuries occurring, and more surprisingly, no burst eardrums from the audience members, Buttercup and the Babes received a standing ovation and loud cheers. Jaskier sauntered off of the little stage and up to Ciri, gently held her cheeks and placed a kiss on her forehead, leaving a bright red lipstick mark behind. Winking at Geralt, he returned to the stage, and gestured grandly to Eskel and Lambert.

“The Babes everyone!” Whoops and cheers filled the air again. “Unfortunately, we only had time to rehearse one song for you, so we’re going to let them go and get changed now, but I have plenty more for you all tonight!”

Stumbling off of the stage, Eskel was already removing his wig, with Lambert trailing behind him trying and failing to brush glitter off of his arms. They really did look ridiculous and, if Geralt was reading Ciri’s maniacal smile correctly, Vesemir would definitely be shown the photos when he came to visit for Christmas.

It took a few songs, both a collection of ABBA and Jaskier’s own, before they both reappeared, this time in their normal clothes and sans make-up. Well, mostly.

Lambert was glaring up a storm, trying to reinforce his previous image of ‘big scary man’ instead of ‘big ginger drag queen’, an effect only slightly lessened by the glint of pride in his eyes at Ciri’s beaming face, and the twinkle of glitter still lingering in his beard.

“You missed a bit,” Geralt teased, pointing vaguely at Lambert’s chin.

“Fuck,” Lambert grumbled, aiming a swat at Geralt, who easily dodged, and scrubbing viciously at his beard with his other hand. “That’s never coming out.”

“Maybe you should just shave it all off,” Eskel suggested, his eyes surrounded by the black smudges of failed eyeliner removal.

“Maybe you should learn how to use a make-up wipe properly.”

Lunging over Geralt, Eskel made a grab for Lambert’s hair, reverting back to pulling pigtails just like when they were younger, Lambert catching the scruff of Eskel’s shirt, but as Jaskier started to speak again, Geralt pushed his hands between them and shoved them both back into their seats with a world-weary sigh.

“It’s like neither of you know how to behave in public,” Geralt murmured out the side of his mouth.

“Says you,” Lambert hissed.

“This next one,” Jaskier continued like he hadn’t even noticed the scuffle, “I performed a cover of 19 years ago after my last visit here, and it kickstarted my career, so I felt it would be prudent to perform it today. Technically, that cover was a more melancholy affair, the result of severe heart break”– Geralt winced– “so instead I will sing you the original version of the masterpiece that is: Angel Eyes.”

As Jaskier sang his little heart out, strumming a lively melody on his guitar at the same time, Geralt could only here the other version. The final track on Jaskier’s first CD that lived in Geralt’s truck. The one he hadn’t realised had probably been about him until now.

Fuck.

Really, he should have known. Jaskier had once told him no one could be sad listening to ABBA, and yet he’d sung ABBA in the most heart wrenching way possible, of course that had come from a place of heartbreak. Heartbreak that Geralt had caused.

But now, Jaskier sounded happy, and he had a wide smile on his face, only the smallest flicker of something else in his eyes. Something Geralt wasn’t sure of. Hurt? Doubt? Something more sinister? Or maybe something a little more positive. The only way he’d ever know what Jaskier was thinking in that moment as they made eye contact would be to ask, and like hell was Geralt doing that. It’d have to remain a mystery.

***

The air was still, and too quiet after Jaskier had finished his show. The sun had long set, and the cool breeze crept in through the open windows of the hotel. It had been a lovely night, one she wouldn’t forget anytime soon, but something wasn’t right.

“Dad,” she barrelled into Geralt’s side, causing his shoulder to graze against the banister next to him.

“What, Cub?” he rumbled back, and Ciri could tell that underneath his soft exasperation he was worried about something.

“You don’t need to be worried about whatever it is that’s on your mind.”

Scoffing quietly, Geralt threw his arm over Ciri’s shoulders, a classic deflecting move. So, it was like that, was it? Fine. Ciri could play dirty too.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Eskel hummed in agreement behind them before Geralt turned back to glare at him. “Even if I wasn’t, this isn’t something you can fix. Not this time.”

“I know, I don’t need to fix it because there’s nothing to fix! Jaskier winked at you whilst singing Kisses of Fire, of course he’s into you, no need for concern. There’s no way he’d react badly if you told him that any old feelings are resurfacing.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks, both of Ciri’s uncles crashing into him, one step below him and very displeased with this development.

“What?” he said, a look of wide-eyed confusion on his face.

“That’s why you’re moping, right? You realised Jaskier sang an angsty break-up song about you so you think you don’t have a chance.”

“I’m sorry, old feelings?”

“Ok fine, you may not have said anything to me, but I can make my own conclusions from Jaskier’s stories, and Yen’s comments, and Uncle Eskel and Uncle Lambert teasing you. Jaskier’s great, I can’t blame you for catching feelings. I’m just telling you to go for it, trying to be your wing-woman.”

Ciri’s surety in the situation faded as Geralt’s eyebrows drew even further together. Had she really read this all wrong? Geralt looked between his brothers, both of which were giving him unimpressed looks.

“You really think I’m-” he stopped and brushed his hand over the stubble on his chin. “Let’s say I am worried, that’s not what it would be about.”

“Because you know that he reciprocates your feelings.” Ciri smirked, and Geralt turned his stony glare on her.

“He can’t. It’s not even worth entertaining the idea. It’s so far down on my priorities list that it doesn’t even exist.”

Inhaling deeply, Ciri tried to channel her dad at his most frustrated. She frowned at him from where she towered over him at the top of the stairs. Nothing else was going to get a satisfactory response.

“And why the fuck not?”

“Language,” Geralt admonished. “You don’t know what happened back then. What I said. You can’t move past that.”

“Only because you’re a stubborn git! Maybe if someone finally told me what was so bad instead of dancing around it, I’d understand. But right now, from where I’m standing, I see two friends, who have matured a lot since their last interaction, who are clearly harbouring some deeply repressed feelings. I see two adults, who are capable of moving past the wrongs of their youth so they can be happy.”

“Here, here,” Lambert cheered, finally giving in and pushing Geralt to get him to start walking again.

They reached the landing and shuffled down the corridor in the quiet that now rang in Ciri’s ears in the absence of music, before Geralt exhaled, resigned.

“You want to know that badly, I’ll tell you how it all ended. But you might not like what you hear.”

“What did we establish yesterday? No matter what, we’re a team.”

Smiling subtly at Ciri, Geralt placed a hand on her back and guided her into her room, waving a brief goodbye at the other two over his shoulder. Once inside, they settled on the bed, the story finally ready to reach its conclusion.

***

Borch had seen a lot over his years of owning The Dragon’s Peak pub. People fell in and out of love here, started fights, celebrated all the milestones of life. Holiday makers, veterans who’d come to this corner of the world to retire, and locals all found their way through his doors. Some of his regulars had practically grown up in front of his very eyes, and then eventually they had started bringing their own kids. Truly, he saw the best and worst of humanity in his establishment. After a while, it all became fairly run of the mill, the same sort of stories passing through.

However, occasionally there was something or someone truly interesting that he couldn’t help but keep a closer eye on. Téa and Véa never understood why he took such an interest in his patrons. To put it simply, when you live as long as Borch has, you learn to find entertainment where you can.

This group of lovers were the latest to pique his interest. He’d been having a quiet night when the man with the white hair, Geralt he later learned, first arrived in his pub, holding himself ramrod straight, a haunted look in his eyes. Another soldier. When Borch served him his drink, he’d offered his usual wisdom and received a sceptical look in response.

He had then borne witness to the man and Renfri growing closer and then the inevitable downfall that followed. He had watched as that local boy also took an interest in Geralt, and their subsequent friendship. He’d been there the night that the lady in all black had taken him home. When the local boy had returned and the atmosphere had become tense and charged with the potential for heartbreak.

All the while, he observed and wondered if any of these people would be the one to help bring Geralt peace. Had different decisions been made by all of them, Borch would have anticipated the answer to be yes. But as it stood, he expected that all of them would end up just as lonely as they’d started.

It was as he was wiping down the bar where the boy, Jaskier, was nursing his glass of wine and moping that Borch got a distinct feeling that this chapter at The Dragon’s Peak was ending. Geralt opened the door with a thunderous expression, still sodden from the earlier downpour. Jaskier perked up from where he was previously slumped, before his expression fell almost immediately.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked and when he got no response, he sighed heavily. “That bad, eh?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what this is about, Jaskier.”

Busying himself preparing Geralt’s usual, Borch tried not to outwardly react to the vitriol in Geralt’s voice whilst still keeping an ear on the unfolding situation.

“Ok listen, I didn’t mean to ruffle any feathers this morning. But in my defence, Yennefer needs to lighten up a little.”

“It’s not just this morning.”

Jaskier stood from his seat to meet Geralt head on, neither of them pausing to acknowledge the glass that had just been placed on the bar beside them

“Fine. I admit that I may not have been handling this in the best way, but can you blame me? Before I went away, we… we were spending all day every day together. Sorry if I didn’t exactly like the concept of suddenly having that taken away. Don’t try and pretend like you would have made time for me, I saw how full your diary was.”

Subconsciously, Geralt reached to pat his pocket, likely where the aforementioned diary was kept. He paused for a moment, a response dying on his lips before he frowned deeply.

“Yen and I are dating, of course we’re spending a lot of time together. Time that should be just the two of us.”

“And that’s another thing!”

The sudden jump in volume in their discussion startled the only other patrons that were there currently. Borch gave them a reassuring smile and then continued his busy work. If this got any more heated, he knew he would have to ask them to take this elsewhere should they scare off his business for the night. For now, he left them to it. It was clear this was a conversation that needed to be had.  Whether or not it cleared up the apparent miscommunication or made it worse remained to be seen.

“I’d thought…”

“What?”

“I thought I’d made my feelings clear. That that night could maybe mean something, if you let us try.”

“It didn’t mean anything. I didn’t – don’t like you like that.”

Hurt flashed briefly through Jaskier’s eyes but he wasted no time in retorting, gesticulating wildly as he did.

“Oh, well you could have fooled me! But instead, I come back to find you in someone else’s arms. I think, maybe, I’m allowed to act a little irrationally,” Jaskier said, his voice pitching up in hysteria.

Geralt finally wheeled around to face Jaskier from where he’d been avoiding looking at him. “You keep inserting yourself into situations even though it’s clear no one wants you there.”

Reeling back as though he’d been slapped by Geralt’s words, Jaskier’s confidence blew out of him all at once leaving him looking like a pale copy of his usual boisterous self. “That’s not fair.”

“All you’ve done here is make things worse,” Geralt spat.

“Go on, Geralt, don’t hold back. Tell me what you really think…” All of the fight had gone out of Jaskier, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or better yet, I’ll give you what you really want. There’s no reason for me to stay anymore. I wish you both a long and happy relationship.”

As he went to leave, he hesitated, looking back over his shoulder, hoping Geralt would say something. But Geralt had already turned away, his stare resolutely focussed on the bar, not wavering for a single second. Resigned, Jaskier squared his shoulders and marched out of The Dragon’s Peak without any final glances.

Neither of them could see the matching expressions of regret they were both wearing. But Borch did. Once again, he was the only one that saw everything.

Silently, Geralt threw down some money for his untouched pint before also skulking out.

The two glasses sat abandoned on the bar - one empty, the other full and producing condensation - were the only sign that either of them had ever been there.

Chapter Text

The next morning, they laid everything out on the table.

Ciri descended the stairs and entered the kitchen to see Geralt and Jaskier both already waiting for her, which wasn’t entirely surprising. Jaskier looked sick to his stomach, and that worry was back in Geralt’s eyes even after their conversation last night. Maybe it really hadn’t been about reciprocated romantic feelings.

“Happy birthday,” they both said in unison, but neither of them seemed particularly happy.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, the waver in his voice the closest to full blown panic Ciri had ever heard him.

“No please, go ahead, I insist.”

She sat down at the table, flicking her gaze between the two of them trying to figure out what was going on. This was supposed to be a ‘Jaskier answers Ciri’s questions about her parents meeting’, so Ciri was more than a little confused when it seemed like Geralt would be the one to do the talking.

He tried and failed to get the words out of his mouth, but in the end all that made it out was a hum, and Jaskier tugged at his scalp, turning away from them to pace. Whatever this was about, it was big.

“Cub,” Geralt tried to start, coughing into his fist. “Before I tell you this, I need you to promise me you’ll listen to everything we have to say before you react.”

Ciri nodded, curious but also incredibly concerned as to what they were about to tell her.

“What I told you the other day was what I thought was the truth, but it recently came to light that it’s-”

“-Duny’s not your dad,” Jaskier blurted, wide eyed. “I am.”

Confusion and concern quickly gave way to a hot rage in Ciri’s chest, and she felt her face twist into something terrifying as she registered what had been said. She started to rise from her chair. That filthy rotten scoundrel-

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier chided, a tremor in his voice as he held his hands out in surrender before he pointed at her. “Let me finish! It’s not what you think, I promise.”

Glancing at her dad, Ciri waited for the confirmation from Geralt, a small nod, before sitting back down in her chair. Fine, she’d listen. But if she didn’t like what she heard, she was going to slap Jaskier so hard he’d be seeing stars until he got back to England.

“Duny couldn’t have kids.”

Wait.

“Oh my god,” Ciri whispered.

“So, I… donated my genes upon their request?”

Jaskier pulled a face as he tried to word it delicately. She understood anyway.

“Oh… my god…”

“I signed away my parental rights, and Duny was still technically your dad, I’m not saying he wasn’t, but biologically you’re my daughter.”

Those last words finally made everything else he’d said sink in, and suddenly, for the second time in the last few days, Ciri’s entire world flipped upside down.

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed.

“I know!”

“OH MY GOD!!”

Ciri knew her voice was getting shrill, but in this situation it seemed justified. This was earth shattering news, what was a few burst eardrums?

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

“I KNOW!”

“Hey,” Geralt said, quieter than both Jaskier and Ciri, but cutting straight through their bluster to be heard. “Keep it down, I have guests who don’t want to be disturbed. God, the family resemblance is so obvious now.”

“Well maybe we should have gone somewhere else for you to break this very big and lifechanging news to me, Dad.”

“Point taken.”

It was Ciri’s turn to pace now, one hand on her hip, and chewing her thumbnail on the other. How was she supposed to process all of this? It was all one damned thing after another right now. Could the universe just stop with the plot twists for a moment?

“Ok, so let me get this straight,” she eventually said, stopping to stand in front of her dad and… also her dad apparently. “I brought you here because I wanted to find my mum, which I technically did even if she isn’t with us anymore, and instead I’ve ended up with three dads?”

“That seems to be the long and short of it,” Jaskier agreed, his shoulders finally sinking back to their normal level. “I just need you to know, darling Cirilla, that this information doesn’t have to change anything. You’re still Geralt’s kid, you don’t have to call me dad. In fact, when you leave to explore the world, for university, and I go back to England, we don't have to ever talk again, just like it was probably always supposed to be before this all came out.”

“Never talk again?” Ciri scoffed. “Even before today that was never going to happen, I like you too much.”

Huffing out a breath of relief, Jaskier finally seemed much more like the person Ciri had been spending so much time with since he’d arrived in her life. Letting herself look at him properly now, she saw small reflections of herself; how he held himself, the shy smile, and the eyes. She’d been right to notice them when he first arrived. The only one of the three who’d born any resemblance to her. Funny how things turned out.

“Can I hug you?” After the yelling Ciri had done, she made a conscious effort to be quiet. This wasn’t a moment she wanted to break.

“Of course,” Jaskier replied, impossibly soft.

And then he enveloped her in his arms, a hesitant hold at first, before solidifying into something more real, something grounding. Her head rested at a similar height as when she hugged Geralt, but that was where the similarities ended. They both held her with love, but Jaskier held her like he was frightened to lose her. He never would if Ciri had anything to say about it.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to get to you,” he whispered into her hair. “I wish I’d known all of this sooner.”

“We can’t change the past,” she replied. “But we can still shape the future.”

Reluctantly drawing back from Jaskier, Ciri pointedly looked at Geralt over his shoulder. We can still shape the future. He’d better be listening too.

“Now you’re going to tell me all about mum,” Ciri asserted. “And my first dad. Second dad? Would you technically be the first or the third? Never mind! Duny! I want to know about him. And then we are going to celebrate my birthday properly! The logistics of the rest is a future problem to solve.”

“Anything for you, dear.”

As they settled back around the table, and Ciri sat between the two men, she knew that Jaskier meant that, with every fibre of his being.

***

Ciri caught Jaskier alone just before her party was due to start, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and looking him dead in the eye, expression more determined than he’d seen it this whole trip. Now he knew what to look for, he recognised that look. An almost perfect amalgamation of his and Pavetta’s features. The sort of face that would have given their parents a heart attack when they saw it. Currently, with that look trained on him, he was empathising with them, which wasn’t something that happened very often at all. It made him wonder what he could have possibly done this time to warrant such a look.

“Make a scene.”

What?

“What?” he squawked.

“I am giving you permission to make a scene at my party.” When Jaskier continued to just blink in confusion at her, she decided to elaborate. “Actually, I’m not just giving permission, I’m asking you to make a scene. Think of this as a birthday present of sorts. You need to tell my dad how you really feel before you miss your chance again and leave.”

Jaskier spluttered for a moment. “There is no scene that needs to be made, Dear Heart. Your dad and I are friends again now, in fact we’re rather out of scenes to give!”

Ciri raised her eyebrow.

“Christ, it’s like looking in a fucking mirror.” He scrubbed his hand down his face.

“Don’t try and act like there’s nothing going on there. I’ve heard all of your stories now-” Not quite all Jaskier thought, his cheeks flushing at the memory of certain details he’d left out of his recollections to Ciri “-and I’ve seen how you two act around each other now. That’s not nothing!”

“Fine, maybe some things still need to be said. But I don’t know if you recall, that didn’t exactly go well last I tried it.”

“You’ll be fine, I know you will. He wants this. Just… I know my dad, and I love him, I do, but he’s an idiot. Especially when it comes to emotions. So, you don’t need to just talk. You need to make it as obvious as you can to get it through his thick skull.”

“Right.”

“Make a scene. I don’t care what, or how. Just… Do it.”

Jaskier let himself truly ponder the idea for a while. It certainly had merit. And yet, the thought of being rejected a second time stung so much that old wounds felt fresh again. Could he really put that all behind him and let himself be vulnerable again?

In the end, it only came down to one thing.

He would not be leaving this god forsaken island with any regrets this time.

“A scene, you say?” he leaned forward conspiratorially and Ciri positively beamed. “Well, how can I deny you when you asked so nicely? They are my specialty, after all. I will make such a scene, dear Cirilla, that you will wish you had never asked me to do it. You will probably be deeply embarrassed, but really,” he hesitated before continuing his statement, that bravado fading into something more sincere, “what else are parents for?”

All the remaining air in Jaskier’s lungs was suddenly expelled as Ciri pulled him into a bone crushing hug. He was loathe to break their embrace, but there were still preparations that needed finishing for the party.

“I do have one thing to ask of you though,” he said to her, gently brushing her hair away from her face.

“Anything,” she replied, nodding enthusiastically.

“I will need to make use of your guitar.”

“You mean your guitar.”

“No, I meant what I said. You’ve had it almost as long as I did now. Though, if you wish to argue about it, we could maybe settle on our guitar.”

And, as promised, under the glow of the setting sun and the fairy lights draped around the courtyard, Yennefer’s touch Jaskier guessed, leaning against the far wall of the hotel was the guitar. At least that one thing would go right. The rest was still up in the air.

Though, Jaskier would have to admit, everything looked a lot nicer than he’d expected Geralt to be able to pull off, even with Yennefer’s influence. The décor was delicate and sophisticated, but with enough childish whimsy still thrown in that it didn’t feel like they were forcing Ciri to grow up faster than she was ready to. There were flowers everywhere, balloons tied to the posts of the marquee they’d set up just in case the rain returned. Small candles were bunched along the length of each of the long tables, the low light creating an intimate and warm ambience despite how many people were in attendance. And there were a lot of people. It wasn’t the whole Island, not by a long shot, but with the sheer amount of people from all of the different walks of life on the Island here, it certainly felt like it. This was the heart of a community. A few tables over, he saw his sisters enjoying the themselves, and Jaskier was struck with a deep sense of longing. He could have had this, he could have belonged here for years, but life had been cruel and pushed him away. Maybe now he could find a way back. If tonight went well.

Ciri was sat at the head of their table chatting excitedly with Yennefer, who was to her left, leaving Geralt, sat to her right, to watch on fondly. Every now and again, his gaze would flick from Ciri to Jaskier, where it would linger for a moment before he looked away once more. It was clear he wanted to say something. Whatever it was, he evidently needed to find the words. Jaskier hoped Geralt would find them before he executed his plan.

“I, um,” Geralt started then stopped immediately, not looking up from where he was fiddling with his hands. “Jaskier, there’s… Hmm…”

“Take your time,” Jaskier smiled, patting him on the arm reassuringly. “We wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself now, would we?”

“Very funny.”

“Thank you, I try.”

“Don’t make me regret what I’m about to say.”

“Sorry, do go on.”

“I’ve been thinking since our conversation yesterday, and I still mean what I wrote in that letter, maybe more now. It would really mean a lot to us, to me, if you were involved in Ciri’s life. I know it’s a bit late, since she’s about to leave for university, but whatever happens in the future, I want you to be a part of it, in whatever capacity you want. There will be a home for you here, if that’s what you’d like.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said on an exhale. “I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s a first.”

“Oh hush! Are you sure? Because there is nothing I’d want more. Although I don’t think any partner you find yourself with in the future would be particularly happy with the arrangement. We learnt that the hard way last time.”

“I haven’t dated in nearly twenty years, I don’t plan on doing that again any time soon.”

And wasn’t that just the perfect set up.

Subtly, Jaskier made eye contact with Ciri and when she looked back, he nodded. He hoped she understood what he meant.

It was time to end this the way it had all started.

With ABBA.

“Well,” Jaskier tried to hide the smug smirk that he could feel blooming on his face. “If you change your mind, I’m the first in line. Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me.”

As Jaskier began to sing quietly, Geralt turned to look at him, an expression of complete and utter bewilderment on his face.

“Is this… ABBA?”

“If you need me, let me know, I’m gonna be around. If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feeling down. SCENE! I’m going to make a scene, everybody!”

The next moment, the guitar was being thrust into Jaskier’s arms and he was clambering up on top of the table, carefully avoiding the decorations in the process. He pointed dramatically at Geralt before strumming at his guitar and picking up the rest of the song.

He wanted to direct as much of the song as he could at Geralt, so he really got the message, but Jaskier was a performer, and he started playing to the crowd as well, strutting up and down the table. Eventually they started clapping on beat, egging him on, and as Jaskier glanced at Ciri he saw her positively glowing, clinging to her father’s arm who was watching on, completely baffled. Next to her, Yennefer had buried her head in one hand, her phone in the other, pointing the camera at him. Good, he thought to himself. This performance deserves to be immortalised.

'Cause you know I've got
So much that I wanna do, when I dream I'm alone with you
It's magic

As he sang those lyrics, he made sure to send a salacious wink in Geralt’s direction and was pleased to be rewarded by his cheeks tinging pink. The rest of the song continued in the same sort of way, making intense eye contact with Geralt at any poignant lyrics, doing his level best to come across as suave and confident and sexy and not terrified by the idea that this wouldn’t work.

The song ended, and the guests burst into rapturous applause, but Jaskier wasn’t paying attention to them. He was taking off the guitar and shoving it off to the side hoping someone would take it, before dropping off the table and plopping himself into Geralt’s lap.

Except Geralt wasn’t expecting him to do that.

He landed. Geralt caught him. The chair groaned in protest and tilted dangerously backwards.

If this was to be the way that Julian Alfred Pankratz died, then what a way to go it was. In the arms of a gorgeous man after singing his heart out.

But really, as usual, there was no need to be melodramatic. Geralt grabbed the edge of the table, pulling them back upright, clutching Jaskier closer to his chest as he did so.

“Dramatic bastard,” he heard Yennefer mutter as she took another sip of her wine to hide her smile.

“Agreed,” Geralt rumbled, distinctly fond.

“Well,” Jaskier turned indignant, but it was all in jest. “I had it on good authority that if I was to get my message across it would take drastic measures.”

“And just what message was that?”

“Did you not pay any attention? I couldn’t have made that any clearer!” He pulled his hand down his face in frustration.

“Jaskier-”

“You completely oblivious man! Why do I even bother with grand gestures?”

“Jaskier.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier’s hand away from his face, then gently held his chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning Jaskier back to look at him. It had been years since he’d looked into Geralt’s eyes this closely and just like when they were nearly twenty years younger, their warm golden hue was enough to calm Jaskier’s mind.

“I was kidding,” Geralt chuckled. “I got the message loud and clear.”

“Oh. Well then. And? What do you think?”

“And you know that I’ve never been very good with words.”

That was true, Geralt never had been good with words but, oh, he was still good at kissing. They found their rhythm quickly, sinking into each other, and it was like no time at all had passed since the last time they’d been tangled up like this together.

Distantly, Jaskier was aware of the wolf whistle that had probably come from Lambert and the put upon sigh of ‘get a room’ from Yennefer, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not with the solid weight of Geralt’s hands on his waist, thumbs caressing the base of his ribcage. A pointed cough from Renfri was eventually what triggered them to pull apart, and Geralt looked the most sheepish Jaskier had ever seen him, but Jaskier himself was smiling unabashedly.

When he looked over at Ciri once again, she stood abruptly and came around the back of Geralt’s chair to hug them both, giggling all the while.

“You both worried me for a moment,” she laughed. “You’re cutting it fine! I was worried I’d have to bash your heads together before I leave tomorrow.”

“No bashing of heads required.” Jaskier ruffled a hand through her blonde hair, just like he would have done with Pavetta when they were young. “You don’t need to worry about us anymore, Princess. Go and enjoy your party, get everyone up and dancing!”

Nodding resolutely, Ciri ran off to put the music on whilst everyone else shuffled the tables to the side of the courtyard to create a makeshift dance floor. And when Jaskier dragged Geralt up to join the rest of them, they both refused to let go of each other, always connected by at least one point of contact. And as Jaskier danced into the night surrounded by the people most important to him, he sent up a thought to Pavetta and Duny.

I hope you’re watching. I hope you can see how amazing your daughter is. You would be so proud of her.

Chapter Text

Geralt knew this day would come. He’d been trying his best to prepare for it, but with all of the excitement over the last few weeks, he hadn’t really had time to stop and process the fact that Ciri was leaving home. But now the moment was here, and all he could do was watch as she whirled around her room, last minute packing.

Most of her stuff was boxed up to send onto university when the time came, but for now, she just needed enough of her stuff to get her through her travels with Dara. Late last night, when they were walking up to their rooms, Ciri had hesitantly suggested she cancelled the trip, stay a bit longer on the Island to make the most of her time with her dad, but Geralt had kindly but firmly shut that down.

She needed to go out and experience the world. Find out who she was outside of this small island community.

That didn’t mean that Geralt wasn’t going to miss her terribly though.

His every waking moment had been consumed by her ever since he’d adopted her. Everything he did, he did to make Ciri happy. Without her here, he wasn’t sure what he would do with himself besides run the hotel.

Well. That wasn’t true. There was someone else now who would keep him on his toes, even though it would be in a very different way.

“-can tell Renfri that if she’s going to be a bitch about it, she shouldn’t have offered to sail the kids to the main land!”

Speaking of.

Jaskier knocked loudly on Ciri’s bedroom door before bursting in anyway without an answer.

“Ciri, darling, are you nearly ready to go? Renfri’s getting impatient apparently.”

“Just a moment! I can’t find my walking boots!”

Resting his head against Geralt’s shoulder, Jaskier began to hum to himself as they waited for Ciri. Just having him there was enough to soothe some of the ache that was settling deep in Geralt’s chest.

Two minutes later, Ciri emerged triumphantly from underneath her bed with her boots, her hair an absolute mess. As she tried to shove them into her backpack, needing to rearrange things slightly to make them fit, Geralt sat behind her and started to comb the tangled mess she’d just made out of her hair, just like he used to do when she was a kid. Geralt tried to repress the tears that threatened to spill at the memory. He would not cry.

When she eventually declared she was ready, she rushed out of her door, leaving Geralt to cast his eye over the room to see if there was anything she’d missed. Just as he turned to leave, he spotted a plastic case on Ciri’s dresser, hidden underneath a few random items of clothes she’d flung in that general direction in her hasty packing. Had she left it behind on purpose?

“Dad!” Ciri yelled from down the stairs.

“Coming!”

He grabbed the case and quickly put it in his pocket before closing Ciri’s bedroom door behind him. Better to be safe than sorry.

***

Dara and his parents, Eskel, Lambert, Renfri and Yennefer were already at the pier when Ciri eventually got there, out of breath from running all the way from the hotel. She hadn’t wanted to be late, but the last few days had been rather distracting, and maybe she’d been putting off packing whilst focussing on… well, all of that.

“Sorry,” she wheezed out, dumping her backpack on the ground before resting her hands on her knees and just breathing for a moment.

“If we miss our flight because of you, I will never forgive you,” Dara called over from where his parents were still fussing over him.

“We’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

Wordlessly, Renfri hauled Ciri’s bag up and took it onto her boat, but Ciri could tell from her face that while she was putting on an air of annoyance, she wasn’t really mad. Ciri would find a way to make it up to her on the mainland before they headed to the airport. Buy her a coffee or something.

When her dad and Jaskier finally caught up to them, having walked instead of running, they greeted Dara’s parents before coming back over to Ciri.

“Did you remember your CD?” Geralt mock whispered.
Shit she thought internally. It was fine, they could post it to her. “Dad, no one listens to CDs anymore. I’ll just find the music online.”

“It’s not the same and you know it.”

“God, your such an old man.”

“An old man with better memory and better eyesight than you, apparently.”

He pulled the CD out of his pocket, holding it out to her. Snatching it out of his hand, Ciri quickly tried to shove it out of view. She did not need embarrassing right now.

“Hold on,” Jaskier piped up. “Is that-”

“NO!” Ciri shouted, knowing immediately how suspicious that sounded.

“-my first album?”

“Since she was a baby, it was the only thing that would calm her down and send her to sleep without fail,” Geralt supplied with a teasing lilt.

“DAD! You traitor! He has his own copy in the truck, too!”

Instead of laughing along at Ciri’s embarrassment at being caught out at being a Dandelion fangirl, Jaskier promptly burst into tears. He then pulled her into a tight hug, kissing the crown of her head.

“Let us know when you land,” he said with a watery smile. “Have fun, stay safe. And when you’re all settled in at uni, we’ll come and visit. I will drag your dad out of this hotel kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Geralt looked just as confused as Ciri felt at this emotional outburst.

When Jaskier finally let her go, Ciri went to her uncles next. Eskel lifted her off of the ground with the force of his hug and passed her off to Lambert without even putting her back on the ground first. Lambert gently put her down after a few seconds with a promise to see her at Christmas.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye to her dad. She knew, logically, it wouldn’t be that long until she saw him next, but the full weight of leaving was suddenly hitting her. She knew this was something she had to do, but part of her just wanted to forget the whole thing and stay right here.

Pulling her in close, Ciri knew that Geralt could sense her hesitation.

“You are going to flourish out there,” he said, giving her a careful squeeze. “The world isn’t ready for you yet, but you’re going to show them. And I will be cheering you on the whole time. And of course I’ll miss you, but I promise I’ll be ok. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Ok.” Ciri’s own tears had started to fall now.

But she knew it was time to go.

Reluctantly, she pulled out of her dad’s embrace and walked up the gangplank onto Renfri’s boat where Dara and Yen were already waiting for her. As Renfri began to unmoor the boat, Dara took Ciri’s hand and stood next to her by the railing, as Yen took her other side, circling her arm around Ciri’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort.

When the boat finally began to drift out of the harbour and Renfri started barking instructions for them, Ciri glanced back at her family still stood on the pier, and saw a single tear drop down Geralt’s face. Seeing him cry pulled at her heart once again, but whilst it hurt for now, she knew that this was the beginning of the rest of her life.

And she couldn’t wait to get started.