Fishy Business

A/N: A small something. Akela's 18.


Summary: Geralt teaches Akela to catch fish.


Akela wasn't sure how she and Geralt had gone almost twenty years without him teaching her how to catch fish.

Well, that was a lie.

He'd tried, once or twice, when she was younger, but the girl's patience was thin, and she always grew annoyed when her wooden spear ended up under a few feet of water instead of stuck in a fish. Geralt, of course, wouldn't make the situation any better by growing irritated himself and giving up.

She was eighteen now, becoming more and more independent by the day, and he worried each night that he'd wake up in the morning to her packing her bags to leave. He wasn't really helping his worries by teaching her how to hunt her own food—she'd likely be completely capable of living alone once she could successfully do that—but it was a bit of fun, too, and for all he was a witcher, fun with Akela was welcomed. Mostly.

"So… I do this… and then this…" Akela stood on a large, wet rock, leaning down a little, her sharp stick in her left hand. She was poised to send it straight in the water the moment her eyes found a fish. Even a small fish. A tiny fish. She just wanted to do it.

"Don't lean that much," Geralt called from his place on the bank. He crossed his arms, craning his neck. "Straighten your arm."

Akela did as she was told, her tongue poking out between her teeth. Her eyes were fixed on the rippling water below, waiting to catch sight of her prey. She'd seen Geralt do it many times, and he did it so effortlessly that she would have thought it easy had she not tried and given up herself over and over. But she was determined, now. Determined and ready.

"Like this?" She shifted her bare feet a little and tucked her hair behind her ear as she repositioned her grip on the stick.

Geralt quirked an eyebrow. "Yes," he said. "Go for it."

"I'm going for it." She narrowed her eyes, tuning in her senses, scanning below for any sign of movement that wasn't the wind on the water. She could hear the trees rustle around her, could feel the wetness of the rock beneath her, the damp wood of the spear. If she'd looked around, she would have seen the corners of Geralt's lips curl upward as he watched her ready herself, looking as resolved and set on her task as any. She was stone still—he'd told her any movement could scare the fish away, but he hadn't intended on her looking like her body had completely solidified.

"You can relax a bit, you know," he told her.

"Shut up," she said quietly, "I'm focusing."

"You can focus while not looking like a plank of wood."

Akela ignored him, though she took his words in and shuffled as daintily as possible along the rock. Geralt winced, seeing her stand at the very edge above the deep water. Something had been bound to happen, and he had about two seconds of premonition before revving the brain power to actually do something.

Akela had lifted her stick, probably in sight of a fish, and had just about gotten herself into position to throw it, when he noticed her foot slipping on the wet rock. His eyes widened, and he burst forward, but it wasn't enough time before Akela let out a screech, windmilled her arms wildly, and fell into the water with a splash.

Geralt drew his lips in a tight line, pausing in his quick steps, his arm outstretched. He closed his hand in defeat and stared at the water, waiting a moment before Akela emerged with a gasping breath. He opened his mouth to say something, but was quickly stopped by a guffawing laugh, totally unlike him, when he noticed the fish in the girl's hands.

"I got it!" she shouted, struggling with the wiggling thing and muttering all kinds of obscenities as she nearly dropped it.

"Yeah," Geralt choked out around a laugh, "I, uh, I can see that."

"I actually did it! I caught—oh, shit!"

Geralt had never grinned so openly for a long, long time. He was shaking his head at the show, watching his kid as she went between hanging onto the fish for dear life and diving under the water to get it back after it'd escaped. If anyone could find a way around a situation such as the art of spearfishing, it was her.

He stood a safe way away from getting splashed, simply enjoying the time, enjoying her ever-diminishing innocence, and wondered for a moment about going in to help her.

Right before she haphazardly threw the fish and hit him square in the face.

"Fuck, Akela!"

"Oops."