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It was a statement to how fucked up his life had a tendency to be that this wasn’t the first time Geralt had woken up strapped to a table.
Witchers were too well trained to do something stupid like gasp awake dramatically or begin straining against his bonds immediately after waking up. Instead, he waited for several long moments in silence, letting his breathing remain even and waiting for his senses to fill in the gaps of his hazy memory. The process was not helped along by the absolutely splitting headache currently throbbing at his temple.
If he had to guess, the cause of his new migraine was likely connected to the blood drying along his hairline and down his neck. It was probably how his attackers had been able to move him to whatever shithole was safe enough to store a Witcher in without attracting attention.
Carefully, he shifted in small increments to check for any other injuries that would prevent him from being able to fight when the time came. With any luck, he’d be able to get out of these chains before he was forced to listen to some ill-conceived monologue.
Once upon a time, he might have felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of seeing a familiar smirk waiting for him to open his eyes. He could look forward to a conversation full of clever barbs before they fell into the traditional battles connected to their individual callings. But Jaskier was waiting for him back at the cottage they’d bought after leaving Novigrad for good.
The thought of Jaskier’s reaction to Geralt being attacked–he refused to refer to this as a kidnapping since he was a Witcher, not some damsel in distress–made him wince. He could only imagine what sort of hell his villain of choice would raise when he found out. It was better for the city and his own pride if Jaskier never realized that Geralt was ever in any sort of danger.
He shifted in the chair and risked slitting open his eyes enough to scan the room around him for any clues as to where he was. His ears were sharp enough that he was relatively sure he was alone in the room, but he couldn’t tell if there were any cameras trained on him.
The room around him was enough to send a small wave of disappointment through him. This was not some random warehouse where some aspiring crime lord had decided to set up shop for the night. Instead, it looked similar to the small hospital rooms Jaskier had installed in several of his safe houses–if hospitals had drains placed in the center of floor with dark red stains still marring the tile. The table he was strapped on top of was situated in the center of the space and had a plastic coated cover already attached beneath him to ensure none of the same stains reached the thin mattress underneath.
Cracked green paint covered the walls and a set of cabinets with a broken door was in place along one wall. The countertop was split and discolored by what looked like years of chemical spills and bodily fluids. If he had to guess, the room had once been a part of one of the underground clinics favored by members of the gangs and various underworld elements of the city. He’d thought that most of them had been cleared out after Jaskier had taken over, but some must have slipped under his radar.
A small red light blinked at him from the corner.
That more than anything worried him. If his assailants intended to torture him and film it, there was no question who they planned to send that video to. It was also possible that the images would be livestreamed as a means of getting Eskel or Lambert to bow to whoever was behind this.
He tried not to think about Jaskier seeing him split open beneath someone else’s knife. Their rivalry had a level of possessiveness to it that he knew no one else could ever claim the same honor without an unholy level of vengeance. Geralt had been so proud of how easily Jaskier had settled into civilian life–he didn’t want to see him returning to the violence they’d tried to leave behind.
Geralt forced himself to focus on the problem at hand instead of sinking deeper beneath the waves of his worry. There were three thick straps across his chest and along the joints of his legs and arms. He tilted his head slightly to examine them and winced at the sigils that were inscribed in the leather. Whoever had prepared this room had been willing to pay a pretty price to make these capable of withstanding a Witcher’s strength. That would complicate his plans significantly.
There was no way to check if any of the weapons he kept hidden throughout his clothing were still there. Judging from how organized the attack must have been, he supposed he should be grateful that he was still wearing clothes at all. The chill of the room would have been even more miserable without them.
By now, whoever had taken him off the street must know he was awake. The camera in the corner was still streaming whatever minute evidence of his struggles were visible. Geralt fidgeted a little more openly against the straps and tried to settle in for a long wait.
___________________________________________
Eight Hours Earlier:
Geralt sighed as he stalked out of the new entrance to the Council Tower. In the months since the collapse of Vesemir and Stregobor’s control of the city, he’d been lucky to avoid the tedium of dealing with politics. It was only a matter of time before his luck had run out.
The end of his relative peace had come with a brief phone call from Eskel. Apparently, now that there was no longer a threat looming overhead from Nilfgaard, the new members of the Council wanted to hear Geralt’s testimony of all that had transpired. It was a polite enough summons, but it was obvious that he had no choice but to answer it. He couldn’t risk anyone to come looking for him and discover that the Dandelion was still alive and sharing his bed.
Jaskier hadn’t liked it, of course. It had taken hours of arguments before he’d finally begrudgingly relented. Even then, the villain had been unusually quiet in the days leading up to Geralt’s departure. It was obvious he didn’t trust any variation of the Council’s power.
“They’re going to try to blame you for Vesemir,” Jaskier had muttered that morning. “I won’t let them lock you away.”
A familiar affection had risen in Geralt’s chest at the possessive anger the villain still displayed as a reminder of that his moral compass had a tendency to lean towards gray. “I know you won’t.”
“Don’t look at me like that, you sap,” he’d grumbled, pushing the Witcher away with a poorly concealed grin. “I’m talking about murder and you’re going all soft.”
Geralt made a point to look down to where he was decidedly not soft and he felt the moment Jaskier’s attention went from plotting murder to plotting something far more delicious.
He was late to the meeting.
Even if it was difficult to leave Jaskier soft and sated in their bed, it was nice to see his brothers again. Eskel had settled into the position of leadership like it was something he was bred for while Lambert and Aiden seemed content to wander in and out of cities following whatever creature they were hunting. They’d come to visit Geralt and Jaskier a few times since they’d bought the cottage. It had been difficult to go from spending nearly every day together to only seeing one another only occasionally. He’d missed them more than he’d ever expected.
It was why he’d left Jaskier a day early so he’d have time to spend an evening in his old apartment with them, confirming for himself that they were alright. He hadn’t realized how much Lambert had changed in the years since Aiden’s ‘death’ until he watched him–smiling and teasing–across the dinner table from him. Eskel, too, was far more relaxed and open than the warrior he’d known a few months ago.
None of them mentioned the Vesemir-shaped hole in their midst.
The morning after Geralt had been summoned into the private conference rooms the Council members preferred when they did not want the public to witness their discussion. He’d been surprised to recognize most of the members. Tissaia was a given, but he’d been startled to see the familiar smirk of Yennefer in a flashy dress beside her.
“Geralt of Rivia,” Tissaia said, standing tall and proud at the center of the room, “you’ve been summoned here to bear witness as to the events that took place in Novigrad as well as the murder of Calanthe.”
Geralt fought to keep his expression blank against the sudden unease building in his gut. Perhaps Jaskier was right to be wary of this.
“He was cleared of the murder of Calanthe,” Eskel cut in briskly. “The charges were dropped after the confession from the Nilfgaardian spy.”
“And wasn’t that excellent timing?” someone else grumbled. Geralt glanced over in time to spot another politician leaning over to whisper to the woman at his side.
Tissaia frowned archly at the two other Council members until they quieted and looked down at their notes. Then she smiled slightly at Eskel. “We have not forgotten that Geralt was cleared of those charges. We simply would like to hear his story without interruptions.”
The last statement was clearly directed towards the new members of the Council and he watched them all go quiet and still with growing interest. He could feel their focus like the prickle of a sunburn against his skin. Gritting his teeth, he forced his mind away from the temptation to run back to Jaskier and their nice, warm bed.
He opened his mouth and began to speak.
Hours later, Geralt walked out of the Tower with a headache and the sort of exhaustion that promised to take days to recover from. All he wanted to do was go somewhere very, very quiet and try not to be perceived by anyone for a while. He wanted Jaskier to make the world fall away for a few hours.
The Witcher reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He’d been forced to turn it off while he was testifying, but it powered on quickly enough. Almost immediately, several notifications informed him that Jaskier had texted him. He quickly pulled up the messages and scrolled through them.
9:45 am: Yennefer tells me the Council members are being bitchy
9:50 am: idk why the fuck they think they have the right to question you. You’ve saved their asses for years
10:15 am: I did some recon–the fat one with the beard is cheating on his wife with his secretary. It’s all painfully cliche
10:18 am: How strange. It looks like someone sent an anonymous message to the wife. Wonder what will happen next
11:23 am: Do you think Yennefer and Tissaia are fucking? Or are they just friends with benefits?
12:13 pm: the new Council members are pretty dull tbh. Only a few misdemeanors between them. Barely any blackmail material.
3:45 pm: Is there a reason why there’s a broadsword hidden behind the couch?
It wasn’t until his cheeks started to ache that he realized he’d been grinning as he read. It was nice, he decided, to have someone waiting at home for him.
Geralt quickly typed out a response. It’s there for tactical purposes.
Immediately, the icon shifted to indicate that Jaskier was typing back. He must have been waiting for Geralt to contact him after the meeting was over. Well, it tactically stubbed my toe.
I’ll kiss it better.
You’d better. When are you heading back?
I have to check in with Eskel, he typed, then I should be on my way back.
His mind was so full of anticipation that he didn’t notice the man slipping behind him on the street, tailing him too closely for it to be happenstance. It wasn’t until a van pulled up to the curb right beside him that he paused, turning towards it on instinct. He started to ask a question, but it was cut off by a crowbar slamming into the back of his head.
He staggered. Reached for a weapon that he wasn’t carrying.
And then the world went black.
_______________________
By his best guess, it was around an hour after he woke up before his attacker finally made an appearance in the disgusting little cell where Geralt was still unfortunately trapped. He’d passed most of his time fidgeting against the straps binding him and trying to recite the lines of the latest movie Jaskier had forced him to watch. It was something about an ogre and a…
The thought fractured as soon as he heard the familiar sound of a key turning in the lock. That, more than anything, confirmed they were far from any well trafficked areas of the city. It sounded like the sort of security that he would have expected decades ago and was at odds with the relatively new camera staring down at him.
The man who stepped through the room had the brawny musculature of a man who had muscles for show rather than purpose. He was big enough that his flexibility must have taken a hit and proved that he came from the family of criminals that relied on brawn rather than brains. Showy tattoos peeked out from the sleeves of his tracksuit where it was pushed up to the elbow and thick rings lined his fingers.
He grinned when he noticed the Witcher looking him over and purposely flexed the muscles of his pecs, testing the limits of his tight shirt.
Geralt lost the fight against the urge to roll his eyes.
“Well well well,” the stranger said with the dramatic delivery of a stage performer at a community theatre. Jaskier would have been appalled . “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“I’d say the same, but I have no idea who you are.”
The man looked startled by the lack of pleading or alarm, but he rallied quickly. “They call me the Furnace….because I intend to burn this city to the ground.”
For a moment, Geralt could only gape at him and wait for him to explain that this was some elaborate prank. The man–the Furnace –continued to stare back at him, posing like he was on the front of some magazine. Was he, was he fucking wearing lipgloss ?
“Please, tell me you aren’t serious. I’m not calling you that,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Did the press give you that name or did you pick it out yourself?”
The Furnace frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“That’s the stupidest fucking name I’ve ever heard.” Something close to a giggle slipped out and he gritted his teeth against the urge to lose all control. Jaskier was going to have a field day with this. He just had to make sure Lambert never found out that he was kidnapped by this idiot. “Tell me you didn’t already claim credit for trying to kidnap me.”
Another smirk. “You and I will get to have some fun before your brothers show up with your ransom.”
Damn. It looked like he wasn’t going to be able to avoid Jaskier and the others finding out about this. There was no telling how long he’d been unconscious while this dipshit was alerting everyone in Novigrad that he’d been dumb enough to attack Geralt of Rivia.
Jaskier could already be on his way here.
Sighing, Geralt tried to keep his voice even. “Listen,” he said quickly, “you need to let me go before this gets worse.”
“You think I’m scared of you?” the Furnace mocked.
“You should be, but I doubt you’re capable of thinking of anything more complicated than your gym schedule.”
“There’s an app.” This time the man almost sounded confused.
Geralt closed his eyes and prayed for strength. “Let me out of these cuffs before someone figures out where you’ve taken me.”
“I’m not afraid of–”
“Yes, we’ve already covered that you aren’t intelligent enough to understand cause and effect,” Geralt interrupted impatiently. “Listen, I’m doing the kindest thing I’ve ever done and giving you a chance to run before he gets here.”
“You’re trying to psyche me out, hero–it won’t work. I’m the fuckin’ Furnace .”
“And I’ve already told you, I refuse to call you that dumb fucking name .”
By the gods, what had happened after Jaskier left the city? Were all villains this obnoxious or was this man exceptionally ridiculous? He was willing to bet that his real name was probably equally idiotic. Probably Chad or Brandon. Geralt looked at the exposed tattoos on his arms and chests for any clues. He was probably stupid enough to tattoo his name somewhere visible.
“--this city has ever seen. I’m going to–”
Was he really still talking? Geralt thought absently. Monologuing was a ridiculous choice. Geralt wondered if he thought this attempt at intimidation was working. The Dandelion would have at least pulled a knife on him by now.
“--meet my demands or I’ll mail them pieces of your body every day for a month.”
“Is that camera live streaming all of…this?” he asked without bothering to wait for the man to finish his rant. It sounded like he would be continuing for a while.
The Furnace looked just as confused by the fact that Geralt wasn’t cowering in fear as well as the unexpected interruption to his rant. He looked over to the small security camera and seemed to bolster his resolve. “Of course,” he said, cocky once more. “The Council will watch me break you.”
Fuck, Geralt thought.
“How long?”
“W-what?”
“ How long have you been streaming this? ” the Witcher snarled. A cold bead of sweat trickled down his neck.
“Uh…” The Furnace glanced down at the flashy watch on his wrist. “About five hours, I guess.”
“Oh fuck.” Geralt started bucking against the restraints more fiercely, ignoring the ache of new bruises. The table creaked dangerously at the sudden moves. “You got to let me out of these before —”
An explosion shook the building somewhere nearby.
Dust rained down from the ceiling as the foundations groaned in protest. The halogen light hanging above them flickered twice then went dark. Metal screeched and he heard the echoing thud of a wall collapsing on the outer edge of the building. A man screamed, but was cut off with a wet gurgle.
The Furnace gasped and spun towards the door, a small handgun with an elaborate design on it pointed towards it. “What the fuck was that?”
Without bothering to wait for Geralt’s response, the Furnace fumbled to pull his phone out of his pocket with the hand still holding the weapon. Geralt winced and flinched a little when the barrel pointed in his direction, but the man was too distracted by the noise outside to remember he was supposed to be threatening the Witcher. He tapped at the phone, clearly waiting for a response and growing increasingly frantic.
Another explosion rumbled nearby and the Furnace was beginning to look pale and panicked. He turned toward Geralt, gun waving through the air like he couldn’t decide what he should aim at. “Who the fuck is out there?”
Geralt settled more comfortably against the table, knowing it wouldn’t be long now.
“My boyfriend.”
The Furnace opened his mouth to shriek out another profanity, but was cut off by the door to the cell slamming open hard enough to nearly send it off its hinges. A plume of dust and smoke swept into the room followed by a familiar set of prowling footsteps.
Jaskier Pankratz, formally known as The Dandelion, strolled into the room like a king entering his throne room. His eyes swept over the room, barely pausing long enough to note the Furnace’s weapon with a curl of disdain, before settling on Geralt.
“Ah, there you are darling,” he told him. “Sorry I’m late. You wouldn’t believe the traffic.”
The Witcher gave him a smile that was far too affectionate to pass for appropriate in front of their audience. “I”m surprised you even bothered–I was heading home by the end of the day.”
“Oh, you know me–can’t pass up a chance to go back to my old stomping grounds.”
“Hey–”
Jaskier ignored the Furnace’s attempt at interrupting their conversation to continue chatting with Geralt. “How did the meeting go?”
“Same old bullshit,” Geralt groused. “I don’t think they’ll ask me to come back to testify again. With any luck they’ll only want me back for a few hunts.”
“ Excuse me,” the Furnace tried again.
“Wait your turn, boy. The adults are talking.” Jaskier shot the other villain a sharp look that actually appeared to cow him for a moment. “I was thinking we might stop by the Tower before we head back–it’s been far too long since I’ve pestered Yenn in person.”
“ I said that’s enough! ”
Jaskier went still, his eyes connecting with the gun that was now pointed at Geralt’s head from less than a foot away. It appeared the open disrespect between them had been enough to trigger the Furnace’s fury. He’d apparently decided that the best way to regain control of the room was through threatening the Witcher.
“What do you intend to do with that?” Jaskier asked in a low, dangerous voice.
“Tell your men to surrender,” the Furnace demanded, “or I’ll kill him.”
“And if I tell you I’m here alone?”
The Furnace sneered. “There’s no way you got through my men on your own. Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Very much.”
This time the man pressed the barrel of the gun against Geralt’s temple, hard enough to bruise. Geralt refused to look away from Jaskier’s eyes, recognizing the growing darkness lurking there. “If you want your boyfriend to survive the night, you will do what I say.”
Tension sizzled through the room until it felt painful just to breathe.
“Don’t go overboard, Jas,” Geralt warned.
“Your boyfriend should watch his mouth and sit down before I get violent,” the Furnace snapped. He shifted the gun in his hand to point toward Jaskier and several things happened at once.
First, Jaskier lunged to the side, drawing a weapon that flashed through the air.
Then, a gunshot ripped through the air.
It ended with a scream of pain and blood splattering across Geralt’s face.
He winced, unable to do anything to wipe away the warm liquid, and turned in time to watch the Furnace hunch forward over his bleeding hand. The handle of the knife was sticking out of the palm while the gun was dropped onto the ground. The shock and pain on the villain’s face made it clear that the Furnace had not experienced this level of pain before–despite his tough appearance.
Jaskier didn’t give the man time to recover his weapon. He prowled across the room like a jungle cat, kicking away the gun out of his reach. Another knife seemed to manifest in one clever hand between one heartbeat and the next.
The Furnace sucked in a startled breath when that knife blade pressed against the skin of his throat.
“Do you know who I am?” Jaskier asked in a deceptively even voice. It was at odds with the violence simmering in his eyes.
The other man whimpered and shook his head. “L-listen,” he tried, “you can take the Witcher if you want–I’ll give him to you.”
“Why would I want something that already belongs to me?”
Geralt felt something low in his gut simmer to life at the open possession in his tone.
Jaskier must have pressed the knife against his throat because he made another terrified noise. “Wait! I don’t– who are you ? Why do you care so much about some retired Witcher?”
There was a pause where Jaskier watched the man through narrowed eyes. Then he smiled, glancing briefly over at Geralt. “My name is Jaskier Pankratz–though you’d probably remember me best as the Dandelion.”
He watched the moment the Furnace realized the danger he was in.
“Who I am hardly matters though,” Jaskier continued. “What really matters is who he is.” He gestured towards Geralt without letting the knife shift its place away from the Furnace’s neck. “That man who you took, you stole from me –without ever truly understanding the treasure you had in your hands.”
“Please, I-I didn’t know. I would never have–”
“Shh,” Jaskier soothed, straightening the collar of the other man’s shirt with careful movements, “I know you wouldn’t have. Only a fool would steal a monster’s lover.”
Geralt watched his grip on the knife shift minutely even as the Furnace sagged in relief.
“And only a fool would believe I would let such a thing go unpunished.”
A moment later, the knife dragged across skin and blood spilled across the dingy tile.
Jaskier didn’t wait to watch the Furnace’s body breathe its last or confirm the man was dead. He reached for the leather straps still trapping the Witcher and made a disparaging noise at the places where they’d rubbed Geralt’s skin raw. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.” He rubbed at his arms as Jaskier freed them, skin crawling after hours of being held in one place. “How’d you find me?”
“Essi traced the feed in minutes once the idiot released the tape.”
“I thought Lambert or Eskel would show up. Why’d you bother driving all this way?”
Jaskier glared at him, annoyed. “I was already heading to the city when you stopped responding to my texts. I knew something must have gone wrong. Then Eskel called me.”
Geralt sighed and leaned upright to untie his legs, wincing a little as blood rushed back into his limbs. His body ached like a bruise and his headache had only grown worse through the entire experience. Still, it was certainly a better end of the day than being forced to deal with whatever torments the Furnace could have come up with. He sent the carcass cooling on the floor a gimlet look.
“I have to admit that this might be the first time I’ve been disappointed in you,” Jaskier said. “How did an idiot like this manage to get the drop on a Witcher?”
“I was distracted. Texting a lover.”
“Better be your only lover,” the villain growled.
Geralt smiled at him, softening in a way he’d never allowed himself to do with anyone but Jaskier. “Of course.”
“Hmm,” Jaskier murmured, doing his best impression of a Witcher’s rumble. He glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Come on. Eskel and Lambert only gave me an hour to solve this before they blundered in if I agreed to keep the casualties to a minimum.”
“How long did it take you?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
Geralt followed Jaskier out of the warehouse where he’d found himself taken hostage, noting the details of the space absently. Along one way there was a gaping hole in the wall that was still smoking faintly from whatever explosives Jaskier had used to pry it open. He spotted a man’s legs peeking out from a pile of rubble and another one nearby. The villain ignored them all in favor of pushing open the side door where an expensive, but discreetly colored car was waiting for them.
“At least I have enough time to shower off the worst of this before dealing with them,” he said, gesturing to the blood and grime still staining his clothes as he slid into the backseat. The driver behind the wheel gave him a nod from the rearview mirror before sliding the privacy partition into place.
He turned to say something, but lost his train of thought when Jaskier pushed him back against the leather seat with a pointed look.
“Leave it,” Jaskier ordered in a dark tone of voice that sent a thrill of awareness through Geralt, “You know how I love to see you in the blood of our enemies.”
“How long will it take to reach the Tower?” Geralt asked breathlessly.
“Long enough for me to remind you why you shouldn’t leave me behind again.”