Geralt stared unblinkingly at the pregnancy test. Glared at it, really. The first line had already turned pink, and he was willing it with every fibre of his being to stay that way.

"Come on, come on, come on…" he muttered under his breath, but within twenty seconds, a second faint strip of pink began to appear parallel to the first one. "Fuck!"

Geralt tossed the test across the bathroom in frustration and buried his face in his hands. Positive. Again. That made six positives in a row, now. There was a soft knock at the bathroom door then.

"Geralt, love," Yen called. "Are you alright?"

"No," he admitted feebly.

There was a long pause before she asked, "Would you mind if I come in?"

Geralt sighed and his hands slid from his face. "Yeah, the door's unlocked."

Yen popped her head through the door and gave him a sad smile. "I take that it wasn't the result that you were hoping for?" Geralt drew her a withering look, not even dignifying that comment with a response. She entered the room and perched herself on the edge of the bath. "Alright, so you're pregnant. Not an ideal situation but don't worry about it—everything's going to be fine."

Geralt shook his head in disbelief. "I just can't believe this is happening. I did everything right! I used protection, and when that fucked up, I took the morning after pill. How can I be pregnant? Maybe the tests aren't working properly."

"Six in a row?" she said sceptically.

Geralt's shoulders sagged. "Okay, when you put it like that…but I still don't understand where I went wrong."

"Out of curiosity, how soon after did you take the morning after pill?"

"The next morning."

Yen frowned. "It should have worked, then. Unless...well, unless you were already ovulating."

"And how the hell am I supposed to know when that's happening?"

"Oh, I don't know," she replied sarcastically. "Maybe every month when you go through your heat? That's when Omegas are at their most fertile."

"But I was taking suppressants!" he cried. "Shouldn't that have helped?"

"Suppressants only help to control your desire, they don't affect your fertility," she explained. "The morning after pill works by delaying your ovulation. If you've already started ovulating, the pill won't work. Seriously, Geralt, how could you not know this?"

"Because I've never actually tried to get pregnant before, have I?" he snapped.

Yen sighed and pressed the palms of her hands into her eyes. "I don't suppose it matters either way now, does it? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know," he admitted.

Yen looked up sharply at him with a surprised expression. "Are you considering keeping it?"

"I said that I don't know," he repeated. "You've known about it for about as long as I have; I'm still trying to wrap my head around this."

Yen held her hands up in mock surrender. "Okay. You've still got time to consider your options. If you don't mind me asking—"

"I probably will," he cut in. "But ask me anyway."

"Who's the father?"

Geralt's stomach dropped. Christ, he'd gotten so caught up on being pregnant, he had neglected to spare a thought for the other responsible party in this mess. "Urgh...you remember that guy I met in White Orchard a few weeks back?"

"The twink in the see-through shirt?" she asked incredulously. "Him? You're joking."

"Don't make me feel worse than I already do!"

"Do you at least remember his name?"

"Yes!" he replied defensively. "It was...Jasper, or something."

"Jesus Christ…"

"Hold on a minute!" Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he scrolled through his messages until he found one from an unsaved number. "Jaskier. His name's Jaskier."

"So, not Jasper."

"They sound very similar!"

Yen rolled her eyes. "Alright, we have a name. Do we know anything else about this guy?"

Geralt hesitated. "Well, he lives in Camden, I think."

"Uh huh. What else?"

"And um...he likes music."

Yen didn't look impressed. "That's it?"

"Well, we weren't doing a lot of talking that night, Yen!" he bristled. "And it wasn't like I'd planned on ever seeing him again."

"Fair point," she mumbled. "Well, if you do decide to keep it, you're going to have to tell him."

"Why?"

"Because he has a right to know!" she cried. "Wouldn't you want to know?"

Geralt shook his head. "I dunno about that. I mean, he's probably not going to be all that interested, is he?"

"If he isn't interested in knowing the kid that he had a hand in making, that's his loss," said Yen fiercely. "But you should at least give him the chance to decide that for himself."

"I can't tell him."

"Why not?" she challenged.

"Because I don't want to. It's so embarrassing," he admitted lamely. His face crumpled and he hung his head in shame. "Oh god, I've really fucked up this time."

Yen's expression softened. Rising to her feet, she pulled Geralt onto his and hugged him tightly. Slowly, Geralt wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on her shoulder, feeling exhausted by the whole situation. Yen stroked his hair reassuringly and said, "This is a shitty state of affairs but you're going to get through this. And you won't have to do it alone. I know that it goes without saying, but please remember that whatever you decide to do, I'll be there to support you."

Geralt nodded and mumbled his thanks. He knew that Yen would be there for him no matter what, but it was still reassuring to hear her say it. Taking advantage of the fact that he could avoid looking directly at her, he said quietly, "Before I decide on anything, I'm going to call my mum and talk to her about it."

Yen's body tensed. "Are you sure about that?"

"Positive." Geralt pulled away from her. "Don't try to talk me out of it."

"There'd be no point, would there?" she sighed. "Since you've obviously already made up your mind. I hope for your sake that she doesn't let you down again, but..."

"Maybe it'll be different this time," he said hopefully.

Yen turned on her heel and left the bathroom, muttering under her breath, "Yeah. You say that every time."

Arranging a time and place to meet his mother proved to be predictably awkward. Visenna always seemed to be out wining and dining with some new socialite friends of hers, especially on those rare occasions that Geralt asked to meet with her. He counted his blessings that when he called her this time that she was even in the country, and as luck would have it, he managed to pin her down for breakfast the next morning. Despite the cold weather, they arranged to meet at one of the outdoor restaurants in Covent Garden so that she would be able to smoke with her meal, and Geralt assured her that he wouldn't take up too much of her time. He sat in the outdoor dining area of Chez Antoinette waiting patiently for her to arrive while nursing a tea with ginger and lemon. Apparently, ginger helped to ease the symptoms of morning sickness, although he hadn't noticed any difference. He glanced at his watch again and sighed: she was now twenty minutes late. He should have known that she wouldn't turn up on time, if at all. He decided to give her another ten minutes before calling it quits.

Just as he drained the last of his cold tea and was ready to give up, he spotted a woman with familiar flaming red hair approaching from across the street. Visenna walked up to the restaurant at a leisurely pace, as though she had all the time in the world, and when she spotted Geralt she smiled slightly at him and took her seat at the table.

"Hello darling," she simpered, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray and immediately lighting a fresh one. After arranging herself in her chair, she picked up the menu and began scanning the drinks section. "You're looking well. Have you lost weight?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "You're late."

"Am I?" she replied lazily. "God, I haven't been here in ages . I'm afraid that I can't eat too much, darling, Eugenie's booked us a table at Alain Ducasse this afternoon. I might just have avocado on toast...oh! How about we share a bottle of Petit Chablis? My treat."

"Isn't it a bit early for that?" he mused.

"It's twelve o'clock somewhere," she chuckled.

Geralt shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

"Still on the clock?" she asked, taking a long drag from her cigarette.

"Not today."

Visenna's eyes flitted from the menu towards Geralt. "Then surely you'll have something with me. Have a beer, if you'd prefer, although it won't go very well with French cuisine."

"I'd rather not drink," he insisted.

Visenna's eyes narrowed and she lowered the menu. "Why not?"

Geralt shuffled nervously in his seat. "That's sort of why I asked to speak to you. I have some news."

"Good or bad?"

"That depends," he replied evasively.

"Well, don't leave me in suspense any longer," she drawled. "I'm assuming it's bad news. Otherwise, you wouldn't have asked to see me. Don't tell me that you're pregnant, that'd be the last thing we need."

She had said it in jest, but when Geralt didn't immediately answer, her eyes widened with shock. He cleared his throat and stared at the empty teacup on the table when he spoke again, unable to maintain his mother's sharp gaze.

"Your keen observation skills never fail you, do they?" he replied lightly. Visenna didn't immediately respond. It felt as though the chatter and laughter of the surrounding patrons were coming from a far off distance, entirely disconnected from the tense atmosphere that seemed to permeate from Geralt's table like an invisible forcefield. As the silence dragged on, Geralt's insides squirmed. The lingering smell of his mother's Silk Cuts made his head swim with nausea. Unable to take it any longer, he looked up at Visenna and half-begged, "For god's sake, say something."

"What do you want me to say?" she replied tersely, puffing out a stream of smoke through her nostrils like an angry dragon. "I won't insult you by congratulating you."

Shame crept up Geralt's face, turning it a deep shade of pink. "I was hoping that I could count on you to support me through this. Clearly, even that is expecting too much from you."

"Support you?" she laughed. "Surely you're not thinking of keeping it?"

"What if I was?" he replied defensively.

"Then you're even more foolish than I thought," she retorted. "Think about your job—think about your life. How is this going to affect your career?"

"It's my bloody business, I can do what I like," he argued.

"What, are you going to set up a little nursery in your office?" she challenged. "Discuss security details with your clients with the baby in a sling? Don't be ridiculous, Geralt. It's just not practical."

"What's so ridiculous about it?" he argued. "It's not like finances are going to be an issue: the company's doing well, so I can take a step back and focus on myself and the baby for a bit. Then, if and when I feel ready to go back to work—"

"What about the father, then?" she cut in. "Where's he in all of this? I noticed that you haven't bothered to mention him."

Geralt hesitated. "I haven't told him yet."

"And what do you think he'll have to say about it?"

"It doesn't matter what he thinks," he argued.

Visenna huffed out a derisive laugh. "You say that now, but just you wait. When he turns around and says that he's not interested in you or that baby, trust me, you'll think differently about it. Personally, I think the wisest thing is to just take care of it. You can always have another baby when you're ready."

"But I'm ready now," Geralt shot back.

"With the right man," she countered.

"I don't need a man to be able to do this!" he snapped. "Whether or not he wants to be involved has no bearing on my decision."

Visenna shook her head in disbelief. "You've already made up your mind about this, haven't you?"

"Yeah, I have," he replied. "I don't understand why you're so against this." Visenna pulled a face and took another drag of her cigarette. "You don't think that I can do this, can you?"

Visenna clicked her tongue. "I didn't say that. It's just...well…"

"What?"

"You're not exactly the parenting type, are you?" she shrugged.

Her words struck Geralt like a physical blow to the chest. His mouth fell open and he slouched back in his seat. How naive had he been to think that she would be happy for him about this? How foolish of him to hope that she would somehow flip a switch in her head and realise that this wasn't about her at all—that her son might actually want her help in dealing with this life-changing decision. No. A leopard never changes its spots, and his mother would never change either. Geralt set his face into a stony expression and placed his clenched fists on his lap.

"Well, you would know about that, wouldn't you?" he sneered. "You wrote the bloody handbook on poor parenting."

Visenna bristled at Geralt's slight. "You've got a cheek saying that to me—you didn't make my job of raising you easy, but I always tried my best with you. I never intended on having children, so when I had you, I had to put my whole life on hold! Everything I had planned was thrown out of the window, but I just had to get on with it, didn't I?"

"Not without complaint," he countered. "You never let me forget what a burden I was. Even as a child, I was constantly reminded of how much better your life would have been without me. Well, thank you mother, for martyring yourself on my behalf. You really shouldn't have bothered."

"Don't take that tone with me," she warned in a low voice. "You've wanted for nothing your whole life, I worked like a mule to provide for you! After all the sacrifices I've made for you, this is the thanks I get? God, you've always been so selfish— you're just like your father."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" he snapped. "Since you never bothered to tell me anything about him either."

Visenna stabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray and snarled, "I don't have to listen to this."

"No, you have a luncheon at the Dorchester to attend," he sneered. "Glad to see that you've got your priorities in order."

Visenna rose to her feet and slung her handbag over her shoulder. "You know what? Do whatever you like. But when that baby comes and you realise that you've made the biggest mistake of your life, don't come crying to me about it."

"Don't worry, I won't," he assured her. "Enjoy your lunch."

Visenna turned on her heel and left without another word, leaving a visible trail of cigarette smoke in her wake. Geralt tossed some money onto the table for the tea and left, making sure to head in the opposite direction as his mother. The few times they met each other these days, the meeting often ended the same way—with one or both of them angrily storming off. Yen had been right—this had been a terrible idea. But Geralt had (perhaps foolishly) hoped that this time, given the circumstances, things would be different. But his mother was nothing if not consistent.

Bringing up his absentee father during the argument had probably been a low blow on his part, but he couldn't feel too guilty about it. It had been something else that Visenna had used as a weapon to guilt-trip Geralt about over the years. Somehow, she had convinced herself that his decision to abandon her while she was pregnant was Geralt's fault, as though he'd had any say in the matter. In truth, Geralt had felt responsible for it, for a very long time. It was only as he'd grown older that he'd realised his mother was far from infallible and that not everything she said was entirely truthful.

Thinking about his own father, his thoughts naturally turned towards Jaskier. Geralt dreaded the thought of telling him about this, but he knew all too well what it was like not to have a father in his life. In the off-chance that Jaskier was, in fact, interested in being a part of this child's life, he couldn't deny them that opportunity, no matter how embarrassing or awkward it was for him. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and scrolled through it until he found Jaskier's number. His mother was probably right about one thing—the chances that Jaskier would have any interest in this child's upbringing were slim to none. Steeling himself, Geralt hit the dial button and raised the phone to his ear. He supposed that there was only one way to find out.