Summary: Geralt says something he regrets.
"You know I love you."
Akela hummed. "I know."
She knew he hadn't meant what he'd said. He was having a bad week, and he'd drunk himself to oblivion while she'd walked aimlessly around outside for an hour with Roach. He'd stumbled out of the tavern and she'd desperately tried to get him away from the village before he killed someone or gave someone the opportunity to write a song about a drunk Witcher.
It was the first time she'd been put in a situation like that - a situation where she had to step into the role of protector. And he'd gotten annoyed with her trying to pull him away, and he'd said it. "Should've left you in the fucking basket."
It'd hit her pretty hard, and she'd paused, surprised, for the briefest of moments, but she'd forced herself and him forward and sat awake while he slept. Awake and thinking. He'd woken pretty early though, and she could tell that if he remembered anything from last night, it was that sentence.
Akela was curled up beside him now. She could practically feel the guilt radiating off the arms wrapped tightly around her.
"I didn't mean it-"
"I know, Geralt." She did know. She was the only thing keeping him sane and the both of them knew that more than anything else.
"Sure?"
"Promise."
It still hurt a little.