uhhh surprise here's an early chapter, hopefully the shit at the end makes up for all the backstory stuff lol –Bel

A Wolf Among Lilacs
Part One: Longing/Regret
Chapter Fifteen: Waiting For the Moment to Turn

It took nearly a week for Ciri to get the apartment to herself for a night. Triss had been reluctant to leave her alone—understandably, Ciri supposed, given the circumstances, but it was more than a little annoying. Finally, though, she managed to get her out, and ironically enough, Triss herself had given her all the material she needed for a convincing argument. "You could've at least told me you wouldn't be here," she said as Triss walked in that morning, hair loose, yawning and rubbing the side of her neck. Ciri watched smugly as she stuttered, as her face turned a very interesting shade of red, and she eventually agreed to stay out another night, and most of the day as well. Ciri suspected it was mostly due to guilt—Triss knew how she felt about what they were doing; she'd never exactly made it a secret—but she wasn't going to complain. She had too much to do.

She spent the vast majority of the day cleaning the apartment more thoroughly than either of them had in months. Usually most of the straightening up was done by Yennefer, who had always made sure that wherever Ciri was staying was cleaner than her own house, which was in a perpetual state of disarray. Yennefer was in Novigrad, though, so Ciri took matters into her own hands, and by the time the evening rolled around and a knock came at the door, the apartment was nearly spotless. Ciri herself had been standing in front of the bathroom mirror for ten minutes, methodically trying to darken her eyebrows in the most natural-looking way she could. Her hands had been shaking so much it was nearly impossible to concentrate, and when she heard the knock she was so startled she dropped the pencil she'd been using. She swore quietly as she picked it up, tucked it away in the cabinet and anxiously made her way to the door.

Bea was smiling when she opened the door, but Ciri saw how the smile changed as she saw her, how she tried to hide her surprise. "You look…nice," she said, her voice straining just the slightest bit. Ciri suddenly felt worried about how she'd spent perhaps a bit too much time lining her eyes, worn a shirt a little tighter than she what she usually did, been especially careful about the way she tucked up her hair. Had she been reading things wrong the whole time? They'd been messaging back and forth since they met—gods, she'd feel so stupid if she hadn't meant what she thought. But that reaction gave her confidence—enough, at least, to smile back unaffectedly, though she realized a second too late that she was blocking the door.

"Oh—I—you can come in," she stammered, trying not to let the grin falter as she stepped aside and let Bea pass, closing the door behind her. Ciri watched her eyes sweep the room and followed her gaze, afraid she'd missed something. She'd tried to remove anything that could give even the slightest indication of who she really was, especially photos. Most of Triss's things had been left alone, but there had been some she had to move. She was starting to wonder, as Bea shrugged her coat off and hung it over the back of a chair, if this had actually been a good idea, but it was too late for that now. Hopefully she wouldn't be this nervous all night.

"You've got a nice place," Bea said, thankfully interrupting Ciri's current train of thought. She sounded as if she meant it, too, and it wasn't just idle small talk. "Roomy, for just two of you. You're lucky—I still live with my family. Including three brothers." She frowned. "Haven't saved up enough to leave just yet."

"I'm sorry." Ciri sat down on the couch and motioned for Bea to join her, making sure to keep just enough distance between them, trying to disguise her nervousness. "I used to live in an RV for a while. There were seven of us total. I know all about not having personal space." She laughed a little, hoping she didn't sound insensitive. She couldn't remember the last time she'd found it so difficult to simply talk to someone. With Mistle, things had always been effortless.

"Really?" Bea's eyes widened; she tilted her head to the side inquisitively. "Why? Were they your family?"

Ciri shook her head. "No, just friends. I haven't lived with either of my parents for a few years now."

"So you're an only child? And your parents aren't together?"

Ciri knew she didn't mean to pry, but she hadn't thought this far ahead either, and she hoped Bea couldn't tell how anxious the questions were making her. "Yes to both. They were never together, actually. I was…something of a surprise."

That much was true, at least. Neither had exactly been expecting her, though one had certainly been ready for it. She couldn't help but notice that, when she'd looked out the window earlier, Geralt's truck had mysteriously vanished, on the same day Yennefer left for Novigrad—and her car was still in the lot. She wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she could hazard a guess, and she hoped desperately she was right. They'd only all three been in the same room once before, but it was enough for her to see how they looked at each other. That is, if it wasn't just wishful thinking on her part.

Bea must have realized Ciri didn't want to talk about it, because she didn't pursue that line of questioning any further. Instead she asked for a glass of water, and Ciri was all too happy to oblige, if for no other reason than a chance to turn her back for a moment, to compose herself. She tried not to look over her shoulder as she stood at the sink waiting for the glasses to fill, not wanting to give off the wrong impression. But she heard movement from the living room and when she finally did look, Bea had stood and walked over to the bookshelf in the corner, and was examining the photos on it.

"Who're they?" she asked, gesturing to one of a clearly much younger Yennefer and Triss. (It was easy to date photos of Yennefer, based on how much she was smiling in them.) Ciri was secretly relieved she didn't seem to recognize them. Still, the idea of saying it out loud gave her pause, though there was no way of avoiding the question now. She took the cups over to the shelf and gave her one.

"That's my roommate there," she said, indicating Triss in the picture. She wasn't certain, but she thought it had been taken when Triss graduated from Aretuza, or around that time. They both looked young enough, and Yennefer's hair was far longer than she wore it now—the way it had been when Ciri first met her. "And, uh…my mum."

She hadn't thought it was possible for Bea's eyes to get any wider, but they did. "Really?" she asked incredulously, and Ciri nodded. "Huh. I see where you got your looks from."

Ciri smiled and hoped she wasn't blushing too much. Wait until Yennefer heard that.

"I—sorry." Bea was smiling casually, but either Ciri was imagining things or she was just as nervous as she was; it was evident in the way she tugged at the end of her braid. "If I'm being too nosy, you can tell me to stop. I've had it happen before." She laughed.

She was, but Ciri didn't want to say it out loud. What she actually said was "No, you're fine," accompanied by a nonchalant wave of her hand. This wasn't how things were supposed to be going. They were supposed to be watching a movie—Bea had expressed a great deal of surprise at how few Ciri had seen and insisted on showing her one of her favorites. Ciri didn't get what the appeal of staring at a screen for ninety minutes was, but she agreed, mostly because it meant they would get to sit next to each other in a dark room the whole time, and she couldn't say no to that.

They sat less than a foot away from each other, but they didn't touch, and Ciri was too afraid to breach that gap. If she held her hand, Bea would see her white knuckles; if she put her arm around her, Bea would feel her shaking. Mostly they watched in silence, though Bea would occasionally make a comment or point out her favorite parts. By the time they reached the end of the movie, Ciri realized she'd barely paid attention to it, though she remembered nearly everything Bea had said.

"Well?" she asked, looking at Ciri expectantly. There was a pit of guilt forming in her stomach. She shouldn't have let herself get so distracted by her. "What did you think?"

Ciri swallowed thickly and grinned. She couldn't let Bea know she didn't remember a thing. "It was good," she said weakly. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

Trying not to register the surprise and hurt on Bea's face. Ciri stood and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her and leaning heavily on the counter, her face in her hands. She was beginning to feel as if she had no idea what she was doing, even more so than she had earlier. But she couldn't do anything about it now. If Yennefer were here, she'd say Ciri was being ridiculous, that she was better than her self-doubt. Ciri had never once seen her plagued by that same self-doubt, though she knew it was there. It had to be. And if Yennefer could hide it that well, so could she.

Ciri turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face, hoping to get rid of any redness caused by her nerves. When she stepped back into the living room, it was empty, and her bedroom door was open. Her stomach dropped as she hurried over to it. Bea was standing inside, looking at a string that Ciri had hung all her pictures from. She turned to her with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Apparently there's a lot of things you haven't told me," she said.

Ciri felt as if someone was gripping her throat tightly. The only thing she could think to do was turn it into a challenge. It had always worked before. "Yeah? Like what?"

Taking Ciri completely by surprise, Bea stepped over until they were only inches apart—then reached up and pulled Ciri's hat off. It took the pin underneath with it, and her hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her fists were tightly clenched at her sides. Bea took one pale strand in her fingers, examining it for a moment.

"Like this," she said, and kissed her.

~oOo~

Night had nearly fallen by the time the nurse that had spoken to Geralt that morning returned and motioned him out of the room. He felt a weight lift off his chest as he closed the book he'd been reading and stood, pulling his bag over one shoulder and Yennefer's on the other. True to their word, someone had brought her things to him less than an hour after they parted, and he'd been resisting the urge to look in her bag ever since. It would have, at least, been some small distraction from the worry that steadily ate away at him the whole time, but he wouldn't let himself do it. The relief he felt when he was called away was enormous, but it didn't entirely eclipse that worry.

"Did something happen?" he asked as soon as they were in the hall, pitching his voice low enough for no one else to be able to hear. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine." The smile on her face was clearly meant to reassure Geralt, but it was doing the opposite. When it became clear he wasn't convinced, she added "She's awake, and asking for you" as he trailed her through the halls. The idea of her waking up and asking where he was in a soft, raspy tone made him tighten his grip on the bags, but he didn't say anything. What would he even say?

The hospital's recovery room looked more or less the same as the one they'd been taken to when they arrived, though there were only curtained-off areas instead of actual smaller rooms. The nurse gestured to one near the back whose curtain was partially open and said "She's in there. You can go on ahead. We'll have you both moved within the hour." He pulled out his phone and sent a message to Eskel, updating him on the situation (though he doubted he actually wanted to know), then stepped inside, pulling the curtain all the way shut.

She looked, somehow, even smaller and more fragile than usual lying there, as if the place itself had sapped the vitality from her. The gown, patterned with an unfortunate combination of off-white and pea green, was clearly too large and had slipped slightly off one shoulder, enough for him to see clearly how her collarbones jutted out. There was a tube across her nose, and another snaking out of the back of her left hand, taped firmly in place. A grey blanket was pulled up over her stomach, and the fingers of her free hand drummed over it lightly. Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them when she heard the curtain close. He couldn't tell whether or not she was happy to see him.

"Geralt of Rivia." She smiled a little, but it looked pained, and he understood why, though he couldn't tell what about her had changed. "Fancy seeing you here."

He set all the bags down on the floor and pulled one of the chairs up near the bed before sitting in it. He wanted to be able to see her up close, as if that would somehow reassure him that she was really okay. "How are you?"

"I've been better. But all things considered…" She sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry to keep you so long. There were…some complications. Not ones we weren't prepared for, but they took extra time to resolve nonetheless."

"That's not very reassuring." She turned to look at him, and her hair spilled heavy over her shoulder. It seemed she'd only just noticed it wasn't covered, because she pulled her sleeve up slowly, wincing when the movement tugged at the needle in her hand. "Did it go alright besides that, though?"

"Yes. Though there's a very high chance it didn't actually work." Her expression didn't change, but out of the corner of his eye he saw her fingers tighten, and he knew how much the idea upset her.

"I'm sorry," he said, but she let go of the fabric to wave the words away in a gesture that clearly took a great deal of effort.

"Don't apologize. It might turn out I'm wrong, and then where would we be?" She was doing an impressive job of sounding nonchalant, but after what he'd just seen, he didn't buy it. It would be insensitive of him to call her out on it, though, so he chose to ignore the comment. They could revisit it later. Her eyes were drifting shut like the simple conversation had sapped all her energy, so he sat back and waited. If it would take a while for her to talk about it, he didn't mind.

~oOo~

True to her word, the nurse returned twenty minutes later to move Yennefer to a private room, and Geralt followed with their bags. Yennefer herself slept through both the transition and most of the next day, only waking when someone came in to check on her. Geralt settled on one of the uncomfortable armchairs and tried to read, but ended up spending most of the time observing her instead. He found something about her endlessly fascinating, even when she wasn't doing much of anything. And while he was looking, he noticed a lot of things.

He noticed how her nose was just the slightest bit too long, her top lip a little too thin, how the way she laid accentuated her uneven shoulders just enough. How her brows furrowed just the slightest bit when she slept, like it took all her effort, and sometimes her finger would twitch, or she'd turn her head restlessly. He noticed how she had far more beauty marks scattered across her face than he was normally able to see, and he catalogued the location of every one. He found it nearly impossible to take his eyes off her.

Near the end of the second day, he was interrupted by Philippa Eilhart showing up quite unexpectedly in the latter part of vising hours. He made no secret of his surprise, and it seemed as though Yennefer hadn't known she was going to be there either, because the first thing out of her mouth was "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Look. I know I said a lot of things about how this procedure was a terrible idea and you would regret having it done and I wouldn't support your decision if you went through with it. I still stand by all of that." Yennefer rolled her eyes as Philippa unceremoniously pushed the blankets aside to sit next to her legs. "But I've got news, and I'd rather give it to you in person than have you find out about it when you get home."

"Why?" Yennefer narrowed her eyes, and Geralt was confused by the gesture until he saw the guilt in Philippa's expression. It threw him off guard. He never thought he'd see the day she felt guilty about anything.

"To explain myself," she said, then abruptly turned to Geralt. "Could you wait outside for a moment?"

"Having him wait outside won't do any good," Yennefer said. "He'll be able to hear us anyway."

Geralt felt awkward watching the two of them talk about him when he was sitting right there. "I can leave if you want," he offered. "Take a walk or something. Just tell me and I'll go."

Yennefer looked at him for a very long time, and Philippa's eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. "You can stay," she said finally. "But not a word of what we say leaves this room."

Geralt nodded, and Philippa took it as a cue to reach into her jacket and pull out a thick, cream-colored envelope, addressed to Yennefer in perfect script. She took it cautiously, as if she expected it to bite her, and pulled out a letter written on the same paper. As she read farther down, her expression became more and more distraught, and when she finished she set it face-up on her lap. Geralt couldn't make out the words from the angle he was at, but he saw several large signatures scrawled across the bottom.

Yennefer stared down at the letter for several minutes. Her hands, though she was clearly trying to control it, were shaking. "This," she said slowly, "is a nomination for a seat on the Supreme Council."

Though he kept his facial expression neutral, Geralt couldn't help but be surprised. He knew enough about how the Brotherhood of Sorcerers was structured to know the Council was one of the highest-ranked bodies within it, second only to the Chapter of the Gift and the Art. That Yennefer, at such a young age, was even being considered for a position in it was no small feat. He didn't understand why she looked like Philippa just told her someone had died.

"I know it is." Yennefer clenched her hands around the blanket as Philippa spoke. "I know. But you've got to let me explain—"

"There's nothing to explain." Yennefer tilted her head back, eyes shut, and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "And you didn't even try to say anything about it, did you? Even though you know I want to stay as far away as possible from—"

"How would I have done anything?" Philippa interrupted, trying to defend herself. Every word either of them said only confused Geralt more. "How was I supposed to tell them you would want to reject the nomination without telling them why?"

When Yennefer opened her eyes again, she was looking at Geralt. He'd never seen her look so nervous—he'd never seen her look so anything. Whatever it was, it was bad, if she was truly afraid of it. But a moment later the expression was gone, and she seemed mainly indignant again. "Allow me to venture a guess—Tissaia didn't say anything either."

"No. For the same reasons." Frowning, Philippa picked up the letter and folded it back into its envelope. Yennefer seemed glad to see her do it. "Besides, that would also involve admitting her perfect system failed, which she would never do."

For a while, no one said anything. Geralt felt very much as if he were intruding on someone's private grief—the way Yennefer laid her hands over her stomach, arms draped loosely around herself, said far more than any words. "I'm sorry," Philippa eventually sighed. "If I'd known things would play out this way, I wouldn't have talked you up so much in previous years."

"This would've happened whether or not you did that," Yennefer said, but she didn't look directly at her, and it was clear she was still upset. "But…I think you should go now. I need time to process this." Philippa nodded and went to grab the letter, but Yennefer stopped her. "Leave it."

She stood resignedly, like she didn't want to actually go, like something terrible would happen if she did. Before she left, she stopped just inside the door and stared at Geralt for several long seconds. It felt like she was asking him to do something, but he didn't know what the something was. She was gone before he could figure it out.

Geralt turned back to Yennefer, who was staring at the wall with an unreadable expression. "What now?" he asked, and she slumped down in the bed without looking at him.

"Now I'm going to sleep." The way she said it brokered no argument. It would probably be a good time for him to try and get some sleep as well, or at least meditate for a while. He forced her gaze away, closed his eyes, and unsuccessfully tried to think of anything but her.

When he woke up a few hours later, she was shivering.

It was a small movement—barely perceptible, but just enough for his eyes to make out. As for why, that he couldn't tell. She could be cold; it wasn't exactly the warmest room, though they brought her heated blankets every couple hours. It seemed far more likely to him that she was having a nightmare. After what had happened earlier, he wouldn't be surprised, because whatever they'd been talking about had clearly distressed her a great deal. No matter the cause, it was almost painful to watch, and he found himself unable to do nothing about it.

There was still room on the bed from where she'd moved to accommodate Philippa, and it was just enough for him to lay down on his side, facing her. He draped one of his arms over her, and the other rested between them awkwardly, pressed up against her side. She was freezing, at least compared to him; the skin of her arm, when he touched it, was like ice. His head was above her, so he couldn't see if the look on her face had changed. He hoped it had.

She stirred under his arm, and when he looked down she'd tilted her head up so she could see him, her eyes half-open. "You're warm," she said drowsily, and closed them again, though he knew she was still awake.

"And you're beautiful." He didn't realize he'd said it out loud until he heard her laugh softly, saw the corners of her lips turn up. Suddenly, he was very glad he couldn't blush.

"Flattery will get you nowhere. Especially now. Don't move, though." She turned her head, pressing her forehead against his chest. He could hear her heartbeat thrumming somewhere under his arm, perhaps slightly faster than normal. "Good night, Geralt of Rivia," she murmured, and he could feel her lips moving over his shirt.

He didn't know what to do with himself. The reason he'd agreed to this in the first place—why he'd offered himself up for it—was starting to make itself clear, and he didn't like where it was going at all. It was messy. It was complicated. And he couldn't bring himself to stop.

He pressed his face to the top of her head, inhaling the scent that had somehow managed to linger, feeling the silk of her hair. He'd have to move soon. She'd wake up and she wouldn't want him there. But he was there now, the only place he wanted to be, consequences be damned. And he'd stay until she told him to go. "Night, Yen."

i don't want to say for sure there's more stuff i have planned very soon, but there kind of is even though it's still up in the air right now. also that (the yen thing) wasn't supposed to happen until the end of part 2 but it kinda snuck in as i was writing and i didn't have the heart to take it out - she didn't hear it though