Chapter Text
Four Months Later
"Thirteen individuals," Yennefer says, reading off her tablet as she and Geralt stand outside the newly raided store-front. "Two wights and one noon-wraith— I'm not even going to ask how they managed that— dispatched; three nekkers, a juvenile gryphon, and a clutch of baby wyvern, already en route to the nature reserve in Aedirn, a siren being shipped off to Skellige, a rock troll for the colony outside of Hagge, and one alicorn."
"Eskel's got a contact coming up with a trailer to get it settled til we can find it a herd," Geralt says, watching his brothers bicker over the crating of the nekkers. "Nobles used to keep 'em as pets, so that one I get, but the rest—"
"Bloody idiots," Yen agrees. "Why you would want a nekker as a house pet is beyond me."
"And me."
There's something of a crowd gathered beyond the caution tape, gawkers and tourists intent on getting the latest bit of gossip, as well as a few certified press. The flash of a photographer draws Geralt's eye and one figure stands out in the crowd.
He knows that jacket. That feather soft brown hair.
Jaskier gives him a wink and spins on his heel, disappearing into the surge of people.
"I've got to follow up on something," Geralt says, giving Yennefer a distracted nod and heading after him at a quick clip.
The thief slips through the crowd like a fish and it's all Geralt can do to keep him in sight. He's not wearing his swords today, which people usually give way for. Instead everyone seems intent on dawdling right in his path, despite his glower.
He shoulders through a final burst of people only to find Jaskier has gone. He's not up ahead, but there is an alley on his right.
Stepping cautiously, he moves into the cool shade of the mouth of the alley. No one jumps out at him or assaults him. Senses on high alert, he steps forward, looking both ways with every step. There's no one behind the dumpsters, no one lingering beneath the fire escape, no one—
Something small and metallic presses into his lower back, a figure appearing behind him just a half second after his last check over his shoulders.
"Well, fancy meeting you—"
He spins, striking his assailant's wrist with one hand and grabbing for his throat with the other. He pushes the man bodily against the nearest wall with a growl, when he registers that Jaskier is laughing.
"It was a pen," the thief says, holding up the silver writing implement in evidence as Geralt loosens the grasp on his throat. "Just a pen, Geralt."
"I could have killed you," Geralt growls, moving his hand to Jaskier's shoulder instead and giving him a shove. "What the fuck are you playing at."
"Oh, I merely assumed your superb training and incredible witcher-y instincts would allow you to evaluate the threat properly before you did anything that couldn't be undone," Jaskier replies, a grin on his lips. "And given the fact that I'm not already in handcuffs, can I safely assume I needn't worry about your team chasing me down for the rest of my life?"
Geralt gives him another shove, heart still beating a tad too fast for his liking.
"Not our jurisdiction what you get up to," he says, giving Jaskier a good look. He looks well, if a bit smug. Miles better than when Geralt had last looked his fill. "The only people at the Bureau who still have it out for you are in Art Theft, and as none of them have gotten shot for me, I don't feel much like doing them any favors."
"Well," Jaskier says, tipping his head back against the brick. "You understand I needed to make absolutely sure."
There's a moment of quiet between them, save for the rumble of the city in the background. A group of tourists, chattering and laughing loudly, walk past along the main road.
"You left," Geralt says. His hands are still on Jaskier's shoulders, not to push him this time, but holding on, as though Jaskier might disappear into thin air again.
"I wasn't sure what you intended to do with me," Jaskier admits. "Thought I should do my recuperating elsewhere. But I'm fine. See?"
He untucks his t-shirt and pulls up the hem to reveal the scar, a shiny pink star positioned just above his hip.
"You left," Geralt says again, brow furrowed as he runs a thumb over the star. He's spent months imagining, dreaming of all the horrors that could have occurred after Jaskier had sneaked out of the hospital, angry at the man and at himself.
"I'm sorry." Jaskier lays a palm against his cheek. "Shall I apologize properly?"
"You'd better." He kisses him before he can overthink it, pressing their mouths together and crowding Jaskier even closer to the wall. He brackets the man, pleasure zinging through him as Jaskier returns the kiss with fervor. The rest of the world ceases to exist for several long moments, until the sound of a car horn startles them apart.
They both grin.
"Maybe we should continue this somewhere else?" Jaskier suggests, biting his lip in a mockery of uncertainty. Geralt swallows heavily, watching the movement.
"Roach is parked down the street." He grabs Jaskier's hand and pulls him toward the mouth of the alley.
~
"I should get going," Jaskier murmurs later, after they've cleaned up. He runs a hand down Geralt's chest, touching him just to touch. Geralt rolls onto his side to watch him, feeling contentment all the way to his bones. "I'm on a train this evening to—"
Geralt presses a hand to his mouth, stopping him. "It's better if I don't know. You're a wanted man."
"You certainly wanted me. You're a hazard to my wardrobe." Jaskier nods to his t-shirt on the floor. There's a tear from collar to hem, where Geralt had yanked it apart in his need to get his hands on skin. "I'm taking one of yours."
Amused, Geralt lets him get up and watches as Jaskier digs through his chest of drawers. He tucks an arm beneath his head, enjoying the view. "Always knew you were a petty thief."
Jaskier gives him a look over his shoulder and sticks his tongue out.
"Petty theft is just a hobby. There's no money in stealing your clothes." He picks out an old band tee, faded and soft from use. "This one alright?"
"Depends." Geralt tips up his chin. "Will you bring it back?" He's rewarded with a peck of a kiss before Jaskier pulls the shirt over his head.
"Next time I'm in town, don't see why not." He offers Geralt a lopsided smile. "I'll pack better then."
Geralt rolls his eyes. "For all I know your shirt's still in Temeria." He sits up and captures the thief in his arms, nuzzling a kiss behind his jaw. "You're welcome to go demand it back."
"I'm afraid I haven't the time," Jaskier says, relaxing into his embrace. "For that or for another round."
"How about I buy you a coffee then, before you go?" He slides his hands up beneath the shirt, giving in to the urge to mouth at Jaskier's neck. "For old time's sake?"
"Mm." Jaskier rolls his head back. "I won't even charge you for the pleasure. But you will have to get dressed."
Geralt rumbles his discontent. "Or, I have a coffee maker."
"Let me guess, you have the cheapest name brand grounds, don't you? I already put out. No need to butter me up." He squirms away to find his briefs and trousers, and Geralt lets him.
"Probably safer to stay in, anyway," he says, frowning up at the ceiling. "Art Theft really is after your ass, and I'm not looking forward to explaining you to my brothers."
"Brothers?" Jaskier asks, surprised. He's half into his trousers, balanced on one leg and looking up at Geralt as though in shock. Geralt raises a brow at him. "I just— that is, I know about witchers. Some. You're made, not… born."
"You think in over three hundred years I never had any brothers?" Geralt asks. "I've lost more than have survived, but of course I've got a family." Nevermind that Jaskier has literally met half his family and just doesn't know it.
"Three hundred— how old are you?" Jaskier demands. Geralt chuckles and finally gets out of bed. He kisses Jaskier's pouting lips.
"I'll tell you when you return my shirt."
He begins to get dressed himself, and doesn't need to look to know Jaskier is scheming. He tries to hold onto this feeling, this— happiness. Jaskier is so unafraid of him, so interested in him. In him , not just in the fact that he's a witcher. He can't remember the last partner he'd had that truly saw him. It was probably Yen, and it's been over a century since they decided they were better off as friends.
Then, of course, someone bangs on his door and, because it's his brother, the banging is accompanied by shouting. His neighbors already hate him and now Lambert is yelling at him from the hall.
"You in there, pretty boy? Where the fuck do you get off bailing early?"
"That's Lambert," Jaskier observes, looking far too calm, given the alarm ratcheting up in Geralt's chest. He crosses the room quickly and presses a kiss to Geralt's mouth. "A rain check, then."
"What are you going to—"
"This isn't the first time I've escaped through a window," Jaskier tells him, pushing the curtains aside. "Ooh, my lucky day. There's even a fire escape. Til next time, dear!"
He slips outside with barely a whisper, leaving no evidence of his presence but the faintest scent of flowers and the destroyed shirt. Geralt snatches it up and tucks it into his laundry basket, before moving back to the window and peering out. Jaskier is already on the ground, walking away with his hands in his pockets and looking pleased with himself.
Geralt waits for him to look back, for some reason he can't quite name, but Jaskier doesn't.
"If you're in there hiding an injury again, I will end you myself," Lambert shouts, throwing him from his reverie. "No one would even blame me. Geralt?"
Geralt sighs and heads to the door before Lambert can break his lock again. Next time, he thinks. They'll get coffee again next time, even if the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Vesemir tells him he shouldn't.