"What's that face for, Geralt?" Jaskier asks, watching the Witcher currently washing up in a stream. It had been a successful hunt, but the Kikimora had gotten a few hits on him, too. Of course, Jaskier had taken care of the wounds as soon as Geralt had returned, quietly chastising Geralt for not being more careful during the fight. As usual, Geralt had ignored those words, but agreed to wash off the blood in the stream after. And now, he was watching Jaskier with his what-the-fuck-face as the bard was sitting on a tree stump, playing his lute.
"Hm."
"No, go on. Tell me. What is so terrible about my playing that you look downright befuddled?"
"Not the playing."
Jaskier raised his eyebrow and waited for an explanation for a beat, but when it became obvious that wasn't going to happen, he prodded: "Then what's got you all," he waves his hands around while searching for the right word, "perturbed."
"Perturbed?"
"You know what I mean."
A silently raised eyebrow is the only reaction the bard receives, indicating that once more, he can't follow that train of racing thought. Instead, with a heavy sigh, Geralt stands up and slowly puts on the clothes he'd laid out before on the riverbank, his eyes never leaving Jaskier who has his own eyes trained back on his instrument. Only when Geralt comes over to tower above the bard, blocking the sun effectively, did Jaskier look up at his travel companion.
"What?"
Geralt motions to the bloody drops covering Jaskier's forearms and coating his hands from stitching the Witcher up, some of it smeared across his forehead as well.
"Don't want a bath?"
Jaskier splutters for a moment, before breaking eye contact and glancing at the water below them. "You know, I might later, but first - I really need something to eat." With a blinding smile, Jaskier stands up and bends down to pick up his disregarded notebook from the ground. Shrugging, Geralt begins to turn around, only to stop dead in his tracks when behind him Jaskier's breath hitches. He spins back to the human who is taking a shallow breath as he straightens back up.
"You're hurt."
"Ah, no. Just a little sore from sleeping on the ground, I fear. It's not the best on my back."
Geralt shakes his head.
"Never bothered you before."
When he steps a little bit closer, Jaskier backs away, eyes firmly on the ground now. "Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. Maybe you just didn't listen."
"Don't believe it."
Jaskier tightens his grip on his lute, and tries to sidestep the Witcher, but Geralt uses the movement to his advantage and pushes the bard back hard enough so Jaskier sits back down on the stump he has been occupying before.
"Strip."
"Always such a charmer, Geralt. If you wanted to see me naked, all you need to do is ask."
He fiddles a bit with the strings of his shirt, but doesn't move to actually pull it off.
"Then why are you making a fuss?"
Now, a pink blush tinges Jaskier's cheeks, but he still makes no move to undress in front of Geralt. Instead of asking again, nicely, Geralt decides to take the other way. With a harsh pull, the fabric rips and the Witcher throws it to the ground. When he looks at the bard again, the human is tense. Not angry, not ashamed, what Geralt's nose picks up instead is... fear.
"Where are you hurt?"
Jaskier shakes his head, closing his eyes. His arms cross in front of his chest as he slumps over, but that won't do for the Witcher. Geralt pushes Jaskier's shoulder back a little to look at the upper body and inhales sharply. The chest is covered in constricting bandages, and there is purple bruising forming around the edges.
"Did you hurt your ribs on the last hunt? Why didn't you say?"
"Not injured," Jaskier mumbles, quiet enough to be overheard by anybody but a Witcher with superhuman hearing.
"Looks pretty bad to me. Let me take a look at those ribs."
He moves to unravel the bandages, but Jaskier stops him by clutching his wrist so tightly it hurts. "Please don't. I'm not hurt."
"I can tell when you lie."
Geralt frees his wrist easily, and holds both of Jaskier's hands in one of his, while unraveling the binding with the other. To his surprise, Jaskier doesn't fight him anymore. Instead, the bard has grown noticeably quiet. But before Geralt can really question this, the bandages fall down to reveal the full extent of the damage.
"Surprise, I have an amazing rack," Jaskier attempts to joke, but falls flat. Geralt however doesn't do as much as glance at the now revealed chest, fingers running over the bruising and humming to himself as he does so.
"Wait a second."
He walks over to where Roach is tied to a tree, rummaging through his satchels for a moment before returning with a small container with assumedly some salve in them. Jaskier has curled in on himself again, but looks up when Geralt returns, holding up the container.
"Should help with the bruising."
Before Jaskier can do anything about it, Geralt pushes the arms away from Jaskier's upper body and begins to lather the bruising with the cool salve. As soon as he is done, he picks up the bandages again, dusting them off, and begins to wrap Jaskier's chest back up - looser this time.
"Better?"
He looks up expectantly and for once, Jaskier is at a loss for words, barely able to nod in response. He expected... well, some reaction. Usually, people were disgusted, or intrigued, but they always have something to say about it. Always. But Geralt now gets up to his feet again, throwing a new shirt at Jaskier that he must have picked up when retrieving the salve.
"Let's camp here."
With that, he walks back over to Roach, grabbing the bedrolls and some rations to eat before setting up the camp. Jaskier hesitantly puts the shirt back on, glancing down at the chest that is now no longer flat enough in his opinion, and slowly follows the Witcher to help prepare for the night.
His stomach is full, the night is warm with just a light breeze, and the ground is a little softer than usual thanks to the grass. Usually, Jaskier would close his eyes now and let slumber overcome him slowly. But this time, he tosses and turns, opening his eyes to cast a quick glance at the infuriatingly calm Geralt that lays still on his back - apparently sleeping like nothing is wrong. Like Jaskier isn't losing his mind over here, trying to figure out if he will wake up tomorrow in an empty clearing, abandoned once again. Geralt still hasn't said a word. He hasn't pushed him away, but he hasn't accepted this revelation either. He has been just as quiet as usual, ignoring the intense stares coming from Jaskier over dinner.
With a huff, Jaskier gets to his feet and stalks over to where Geralt is lying. Of course, the Witcher's eyes shoot open - he has probably only been meditating before.
"You need to talk to me. Now, Geralt."
"Hm?"
"I don't care what you want to do. You can kick me, you can beat me - but don't go all silent on me only to be gone in the morning."
That has Geralt sitting up slowly, curious eyes watching as Jaskier begins to pace around camp.
"I know that I'm weird, probably a monster in your eyes, but... just say it and don't leave me clinging to that little bit of hope. Just- say it."
"Say what?"
Groaning, Jaskier spins around to look at Geralt.
"Oh, I don't know. That I'm disgusting. That you have no use for a girl to follow you. That-"
"I have no use for a bard following me. Hasn't stopped you."
"Geralt! Just take me seriously for a moment!"
After a beat of silence, Geralt nods and sits up straighter, looking Jaskier straight in the eye.
"I didn't comment on it because I don't think it matters. I don't care. Man, woman, whatever. I don't care."
Jaskier's mouth opens and closes for a few times as he tries to come up with a response, failing miserably. He trains his eyes down on the ground.
"So, you're not gonna leave me here."
"If you let me sleep, not tonight."
To underline his point, Geralt lays back down, closing his eyes. This conversation is over. With a huff, but also a small smile tucking on the corners of his lips, Jaskier goes over to his own bedroll and sits down. "Bit of an anticlimax."
He swears he hears a snort coming from Geralt, but ignores it, lying back down and closing his eyes. His mind is still on edge, but a lot calmer than before, and with a few deliberate deep breaths that don't hurt his rips this time, he relaxes. He hears Geralt moving around again and opens his eyes to see the Witcher settle into sitting position on his bedroll instead, closing his eyes but staying alert.
"Sleep."
And this time, Jaskier knows better than to fight him on the matter.