"You know I love you."
A/N: Akela's about 17.
Summary: Geralt says something he regrets.
"You know I love you."
"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 a bard 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 grown 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 in shock for the briefest of moments, but she'd forced herself and him forward all the same and sat awake while he slept. Awake and thinking. He'd woken quite 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. Everyone said things they regretted, everyone had shitty days and let falsities spill from their lips without meaning to and without meaning them.
"Sure?"
"Promise."
It still hurt a little.
