Geralt restlessly turns on his bed.

His thoughts have developed a mind of their own, drifting and moving like the tide, washing all kinds of things ashore.

He thinks of Yen whom he hasn't seen since their break-up. Remembering that day still stings like a barb in his chest, though the pain is duller now. He hasn't thought much about her in the past weeks, but what happened to Jaskier has brought it all back. The unfairness of it. The helplessness he had felt when she had turned her back and left. In his pain, he had lashed out at the one person who had offered comfort. He hates himself for it. Now even more that he knows what it led to. But he can't take it back.

One more piece to add to the giant heap of shit that has gone down recently. Ciri. Eskel. Roach. Unfamiliar monsters behind every corner. It's piling up, and he feels less in control than ever. Knowing that his recent streak of bad luck has bled out to others, makes it worse.

He has left the girl in Nenneke's care. There aren't many people who know that she is in Ellander at the Temple School, and the ones who do are trustworthy. Vesemir, Lambert, Triss. Nenneke herself, of course. He would trust every single one of them with his life. They won't tell. However, Ciri and he have traveled on foot, and a white-haired witcher with a girl attracts attention. It's really just a matter of time until Rience talks to someone who remembers and is pointed in the right direction.

So as much as he hates to deprive Jaskier of his rest, they need to leave as soon as they can. Geralt knows that he suffers. But he also knows that there is not much he can do about it. Much like trying to help Ciri deal with her losses and nightmares, all he can do is just try to be there. Lend an ear if Jaskier is willing to talk. But talking about stuff like that isn't easy, Geralt knows that only too well.

As he lies on his bed, gazing at the ceiling that is shrouded in tints of blue and black, his mind travels back to his childhood days at Kaer Morhen. There are things that he'd give anything to forget, but he knows that they'll stay with him until the last of his days. Like the friends he lost, children barely older than him. It has happened a lifetime ago, but their faces still haunt his dreams.

He remembers the day when it was his turn. The way his veins burned when they pumped the mutagens into his body. The fear that nearly ate him alive. Up till then, he had never seen a child going through the mutations, the older witchers had spared them that much, but there were stories that the boys told each other at night. Horrible stories about purpling skin and bulging eyes, fingernails digging into palms until they drew blood.

Thankfully, he doesn't remember much of the trials himself. Most of it was lost in the red haze of delirium. The only thing he really remembers is calling for Visenna. He called for her until his throat ached and his voice gave out. She never came, and he has never forgiven her for that.

He wonders if Jaskier screamed for help when Rience burned his flesh. Who he called for. He shudders to think that maybe Jaskier called for him.

He turns restlessly, staring at the bag with his swords, a dark shape against the blueish shine of the window. Somewhere in the building, a couple makes love. He can hear the soft moans and the creak of the bed. If he focuses, he can make out the sounds of someone cleaning up in the kitchen.

Maybe he should have stayed with Jaskier tonight. He needs a friend now, someone who makes him feel safe. But Jaskier didn't ask, and Geralt didn't want to impose. The unspoken rules of their relationship have changed, and what was okay a year back isn't necessarily okay now. Maybe it's better to sleep in separate rooms for the time being. There will be enough time to find a new normal when they're back on the road.

There is something else that worries him though, and he hasn't had the nerve to bring it up yet. It's the flask on Jaskier's nightstand, the one that his gaze had been drawn to like a moth to a flame. Jaskier has taken quite a bit before lying back down, and Geralt has easily identified it by its bitter smell. Poppy sap. It's a powerful drug, one that Geralt has taken himself on occasion, and he understands why Jaskier needs it. Burn wounds are painful, and the injuries he suffered are extensive.

But it's not a drug one should use to aid sleep. Nenneke has always been cautious with it, and Geralt has heard of people who have become obsessed with it. Who would have sold their loved ones for another dose.

Jaskier's flask was almost empty. How much has he been taking during the past weeks?

Geralt rubs his face and turns to face the wall. Worrying doesn't help, and even if it becomes a problem, Nenneke will know how to deal with it. For now, he should focus on getting to Ellander and making the trip as easy on Jaskier as he can. Be there for him and work on mending their broken relationship. Maybe there is something he can do to lift his spirits. Jaskier has always found comfort in his music and that has been taken away from him. Has there been anything else that he used to like?

Geralt frowns as he ponders his options. Food and wine come to mind, but he isn't sure if the latter will go well with the drugs. However, Jaskier has always enjoyed the comforts of civilization, and they do have a long journey before them. Maybe he should just make his last day in Oxenfurt enjoyable. Or maybe he should get him a little something when he visits the docks tomorrow. He still has to find a ship that will take them and the market is on the way.

Whatever it is, he's sure he'll find a way to support him. He will make this right somehow. He turns again and the thought stays with him as he finally falls asleep.

***

"Bathing salts?"

Jaskier eyes the pouch that Geralt has dumped into his lap, feeling a little lost. It's way past noon and he is aware that he is wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. He also hasn't bathed in a while. He has washed though, so the gift surely isn't a polite way of saying that he smells.

"Thank you?" He raises his brows in question.

"They're lavender scented. I thought you might like a bath before we set out on the road, and this is lavender from Toussaint. The one you like."

"Oh."

"You don't have to use them if you don't want to." Geralt gives a vague shrug, but his expression is soft. Compassionate. He really wants to help, Jaskier can tell. "I just thought it might lift your spirits. And a hot bath does wonders for sore muscles. I should know."

"Thank you. That's -" Jaskier licks his lips. "That's thoughtful."

Jaskier loosens the leather band that ties the pouch and inhales the fragrance. It's fresh and soothing, and it conjures up images of sunlit fields under an endless blue sky. He can almost see the lilac flowers stretch towards the horizon, an ocean of blossoms rippling in the breeze.

"If you want, I'll have a tub set up for you," Geralt says.

It sounds nice. The idea of soaking in steaming hot water, to finally rid himself of the lingering smell of old blood and sweat in his hair. He has barely left his bed in the past weeks, and his back hurts from lack of movement. It would be wonderful to have that dealt with before swapping his comparatively comfortable lodgings for a hammock on board of a ship.

Sadly, as of now, bathing is out of the question.

"I can't."

He smiles in chagrin and holds up his injured hand. It's still wrapped in thick layers of bandages, and Shani has warned him against getting it wet. Maybe he'll be able to heft himself into the tub despite his cracked ribs and countless bruises, but he doubts he'll be able to get out again. Not to think of the contortions he'll have to perform to wash his hair.

"I'll help you."

"You - what?"

Jaskier blinks. He hasn't intended to sound this surprised, but now that it's out, he can't take it back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say it like that. I wouldn't mind. At all. It's just -" He rolls his eyes at himself, fumbling for the right words. He likes the idea a lot, more than he is willing to let on. But he'd rather not make a fool of himself. "I didn't expect it. It's nice of you to offer."

He can't count all the times he has helped Geralt in and out of tubs, how often he has cleaned hard-to-reach cuts on his back. It's just that in all those years, Geralt has never returned the favor.

"I take that as a yes?"

Jaskier nods, and it appears that is all the incentive Geralt needs.

"Alright then, I'll let the innkeeper know."

Geralt disappears and before long, Jaskier finds himself standing before a wooden tub with steaming hot water. The scent of lavender hangs in the room, fresh and inviting. He casts a grateful glance at Geralt, who hovers close, ready to lend him a hand.

"Should I help you with the clothes?"

Jaskier shakes his head. "No need."

Although it might feel nice. But he doesn't want this to be awkward, and some part of him is still stuck in what went down in Caingorn. He is wary although he doesn't want to be.

He starts to single-handedly work at the buttons of his shirt, silently cursing himself that he bothered to close them in the first place. But he has wanted to say goodbye to his band this morning, and he has standards. He swears under his breath when the blasted thing refuses to open. He feels Geralt's gaze rest on him, half expecting an impatient remark. What he doesn't expect is for Geralt to step up and reach for his hand, gently pulling it away.

"I said I can do it myself," Jaskier protests weakly.

"I know what you said. Please don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not -"

Geralt raises an eyebrow at him, and that makes him shut up. Maybe he is being a little ridiculous, insisting on doing this himself when it'll be much easier to just let Geralt help him. After all, he has unbuckled Geralt's armor more often than he can count. Jaskier sighs and lets go of his shirt, allowing Geralt to undo the buttons for him. He is efficient about it, too, deftly slipping the buttons through the holes, and Jaskier holds his breath when he feels calloused fingers scrape lightly over his chest. Geralt is standing so close that he can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him. Gods, why is it suddenly so hot in here?

"Hands up," Geralt prompts, and Jaskier obediently lifts his arms over his head, suppressing a wince when the movement pulls on sore muscles and bone-deep bruises. Geralt gently maneuvers the sleeve over Jaskier's injured hand and slips the shirt over his head. Surprisingly, it barely hurts at all.

"You're good at this."

"What, at undoing buttons?"

Jaskier feels his face heat when he realizes what he has said.

"When you phrase it like that, it sounds kind of stupid."

"It is a kind of stupid thing to say," Geralt points out. His eyes skim over the tuning fork around Jaskier's neck, then drop, taking in the extensive bruises along Jaskier's ribcage. His lips tighten in disapproval. "You look like hell."

"Yeah," Jaskier mutters quietly. "I know."

He has seen himself in the mirror; he knows he looks like he has been hit by a stagecoach. It's painful, too, especially when the medicine wears off. But in contrast to his hand, this will heal. Geralt turns him towards the light and the frown on his face deepens.

"Anything broken?"

"Two ribs. Just mind the right side."

Geralt nods. He turns his attention to getting Jaskier's breeches off, and Jaskier instinctively flings out a hand to steady himself on the rim of the tub. He is feeling dizzy, and he isn't sure if it's the long time he spent in bed or a side effect of the poppy. Maybe it's neither.

He is glad when his clothes are finally off and he can step into the tub with Geralt's help. The hand around his elbow is steady, and he carefully lowers himself into the scented water, almost groaning at how good it feels. Warmth envelopes his body and seeps into his sore muscles, while velvet bands of lavender wrap around his senses. He floats. He sinks. Beside him, Geralt settles close to the tub, and his presence does the rest. For a long moment, everything is alright.

He is here. Safe. Warm. His hand barely hurts anymore.

Melitele, he wants to stay like this forever.

"You okay?"

He feels a hand on his arm and pries open an eye. He hasn't realized he has started to drift off.

"Yeah, I'm good. Just enjoying this."

He smiles tentatively, and it's his first honest smile in weeks. This has been the right call. Geralt has made the right call. He has never expected this to feel so good.

"Want me to help wash your hair?"

Maybe it's the warmth that has gone to his head, but Jaskier just nods. Whatever concerns he has had about letting Geralt get close again, they are washed away. He doesn't care anymore. For some reason, Geralt has decided to be nice today, and he likes nice Geralt.

"Yes, I'd like that. Thank you."

Geralt gets the pitcher from the nightstand and fills it with warm bathing water before kneeling beside the tub. Jaskier slides a little lower into the blessed warmth and closes his eyes when he feels a strong hand wrap around the back of his head, guiding it to rest against the rim of the tub. It is a strangely intimate gesture, and it makes him feel cared for. Protected. The tightness inside his chest loosens and he breathes a sigh of relief. Gods, he didn't know he had been so tense.

"Ready?"

Geralt's voice is low as if not to disturb his relaxed state of mind, and Jaskier hums his consent. Geralt's hand shifts to shield his eyes from the water as he starts to slowly pour it over his head. Warmth trickles over his scalp, soft and soothing, and he exhales another long breath. Geralt finishes the motion by smoothing his hair back.

"Fuck, you are good at this."

Geralt chuckles, and it's the most beautiful sound that Jaskier has ever heard.

"I've had plenty of experience at grooming others."

"Like whom?"

"Roach, for instance."

The answer comes so unexpected that Jaskier cannot help but huff a laugh. He has never been compared to a horse before, but with this comment coming from Geralt, he knows it's a compliment. Geralt values his horse more than he does most people, and Jaskier is fairly sure that he even sees it as a trusted friend. Hell, he talks to her, sometimes more than with actual humans.

"I guess I should thank her then."

Geralt's hand stops in mid-motion before resuming to work the soap in.

"What is it?" Jaskier asks without turning his head. He doesn't want to accidentally get soap into his eyes. Geralt's silence has a tense quality to it though. Something is off.

"You can't."

"Why? What happened, Geralt?"

This time he turns his head a little to catch a glance at Geralt's face, ignoring the painful pull at his ribs. Geralt's expression is blank, but he can see the careful control behind it.

"She died," he says simply. "A few weeks back. It's okay."

All the warmth flees him at the words, and Jaskier instinctively reaches for his arm.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, searching Geralt's eyes. If he had known he would never have brought it up. He knows what Roach meant to him. "How did she - ?"

"A draconide." The way Geralt shakes his head, he knows he won't share any details. He can't blame him. Sharing details about painful memories is hard, he knows that only too well. "As I said, it's okay."

It's not okay, Jaskier can hear it in his voice, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he sinks back into the tub, allowing Geralt to resume his ministrations. Geralt massages the soap in, then carefully rinses the lather from Jaskier's hair. It still feels good, but the peace he had floated in is gone. He wonders what else has happened in the time they were apart. On the path. At Kaer Morhen. There are many things Geralt doesn't talk about, even when asked.

On the other hand, he hasn't told him about Yennefer either. That he ran into her mere weeks ago. That she lost her magic. He knows that Geralt would probably be interested, but he'd rather not address it. Maybe it's selfish but he doesn't want Geralt to think of her.

"There, all done." Geralt moves into Jaskier's field of vision, placing the pitcher on the floor next to him. The careful blankness has left his face. Now he just looks tired. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a bit?"

"No." Jaskier shakes his head. Even the idea of Geralt leaving makes his heart constrict. "If you don't mind, I'd like you to stay."

"Alright."

Geralt gets comfortable beside him, and Jaskier reaches for the sponge to start scrubbing at his skin. The left arm is easy, as is his chest, but the right one is impossible to do. Wordlessly, Geralt takes the sponge from his hand and takes care of it for him.

"I found a ship that will take us," Geralt says as he washes Jaskier's arm. "A merchant ship. They hired me for protection, so the trip is free of charge."

That's good news. Jaskier has feared that with the masses of fugitives it would be difficult to find a ride. Still, he has to ask.

"Protection?"

"There's talk of pirates further up the Yaruga."

"Oh."

It's not what he expected, and the information makes him instinctively tense up. It's silly, of course, but he can't help it. Ever since his assault, he has been nervous. He hopes one day it'll go away.

"Don't worry about it. I have dealt with similar contracts before. You'll be safe." Geralt gently turns his hand in his, running the sponge over his palm and between his fingers. There's a pale band of skin around one of his fingers and Jaskier sees Geralt's brows constrict. "What happened to your ring?"

Of course, he'd notice. Geralt can be damned perceptive at times. But there's no reason to lie about this. He knows already that Jaskier is out of money.

"I had to pay Shani."

"The girl who tended to your wounds?"

Jaskier nods. He doesn't mention that it was for the poppy sap, but he figures Geralt already knows that, too. The way his eyes trail to the nightstand reveals his thoughts.

"You could have said something, you know."

"I didn't want to be a burden." He casts Geralt a quick glance. "It's okay. It's just a ring."

Geralt nods, but the frown still stays on his face. It wasn't just any ring, of course, but he'd be damned before he'd leave Shani without payment. The girl deserves better than that.

He half expects Geralt to chide him for giving away his belongings, but Geralt just finishes washing his hand and drops the sponge into the bathing water.

"I hope you're all set for tomorrow?" He asks quietly. "We'll leave early, so if there's anything else you need -"

Jaskier shakes his head. "I'm fine."

"Alright."

Geralt gives him a soft smile, but his voice betrays his worry. Something is bothering him, and Jaskier instinctively knows that it's not about the ring. Not directly. But he suspects that asking him probably won't get him anywhere. Well, Geralt will tell him when he's ready. Until then, he'll just try and hold himself together. After all, there's a long journey ahead of them, and that's enough of a challenge as it is.