Mae govannen!

once again: A big thank you to Rangerluvn for taking the time to comment on this story. I hope your heart is alright because there is more to come!

again: WARNING: do not read if you don't ship Geralt and Jaskier- you have been cautioned ;)

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the WitcherVerse, all of it is the work of the amazing Andrejzi Sapkowski

Please reveiw!

Namarïe!

Geralt was beginning to think that 'smart casual' wasn't a word in Jaskier's inner vocabulary.

He was sitting in his car, idling on the curb outside the singer's house, mulling over the fiasco of four days ago. Finally healed, he had a new lot of scars that curled about his middle, and a deep loathing of harpies.

Geralt would never have thought himself a mean person...but watching Jaskier hover in his doorway, peering down the road- clearly searching for him- was an amusing sight. Perhaps he had thought that the witcher was walking to fetch him?

He held in a laugh and felt a small, fond smile tug at his lips. Jaskier had style, he had to admit. Dressed in worn boots over a pastel purple pair of jeans. A long, flaring overcoat of teal, decorated with golden embroidery hung over a white button-up shirt.

Geralt looked much the same as usual, in black jeans, boots and his silver-studded leather jacket. The only colors in his scheme were his golden eyes, and the blood-red scarf wound once about his neck.

Feeling he had tortured Jaskier enough, he wound down his window. "Oi!"

Jaskier deflated with relief. Then became indignant as he hurried over. "You bastard! You've been here the whole time?"

Geralt laughed. "It's hardly my fault if you didn't see the car."

Jaskier huffed, lent through the window to give Geralt a quick kiss, and slid in on the passenger's side. "And you're early. Damn you."

"Happy belated birthday," replied the witcher.

Jaskier struggled with his seatbelt, his face scrunched with concentration. "Thanks." He got it in, and instantly rounded on Geralt. "Where are we going?"

The witcher ignored him, pulling away from the curb and cruising into the tangle of Novigrad's streets. The glow of the street lamps lit up the velvet evening, and he dilated his pupils to allow for better sight. The streets were busy, now that school had ended for the year. Families going out for dinners, to last minute parties. Graduation speeches...

Jaskier was humming to himself when Geralt heard the tell-tale buzzing.

Shit.

"Jaskier, can you grab my phone?"

The singer cast an eyes about. "Where is it?"

"Back seat."

Jaskier leant back to snatch the vibrating device, and Geralt caught a sudden scent of lemon verbena. Trust Jaskier to use such exotic soaps. The singer slid back into his seat, and answered the call. Before Geralt could protest, Jaskier had held the phone out against Geralt's ear. Silently praising the younger man's ingenuity, the witcher rumbled,

"Hello?"

"Geralt? Hey- look someone's hassling for your table. It's standing here empty, and the words reserved don't really seem to mean anything to them."

"I'm five minutes away, Fil. Can't you keep them off for that?"

"I'll try. But a bit of speeding would help, Witcher."

"This place has style," said Jaskier, contentedly sipping at his wine.

Geralt smiled. The Black Rose was artfully furnished with a hodgepodge of comfortable chairs and couches. The walls were detailed with wooden paneling, the fireplaces crackling merrily. The sound of chatter hummed in the air as couples made mundane conversation with one another. Normal people with normal lives.

Geralt could hardly remember what that felt like.

"I thought you'd like it." Geralt smirked, satisfied with himself. In the past four days, he had been forced to take it slowly, but that hadn't stopped him from visiting Jaskier to help him de-party his house. Among the buntings and glitter, Geralt had finally asked Jaskier if they could give being together a try.

He really shouldn't have worried.

"Earth to Geralt."

He looked up. "What?"

Jaskier grinned. "Were you daydreaming?"

"No." Geralt drew deep on his mug of ale. "I was debating introducing you to Fil."

"Your elf friend?"

"Mmm hmm."

Jaskier instantly craned his neck, peering around the room. "Why would he be here?"

"He works here." Geralt curled a strand of his white hair around a finger, thinking. "I mentioned you to him. He wants to meet you."

Jaskier looked embarrassed. "Exactly what did you say about me?"

"He knows how I felt- how I feel." Geralt scanned the menu. "You hungry yet?"

"Yeah," said Jaskier. He had a light blush on his cheeks. "Um. I'll have the pasta."

Geralt ambled over to the bar, casting a glance back over his shoulder to see Jaskier watching him, a hand under his chin, an expression of contentment on his boyish face. A wave of warmth settled in Geralt's heart.

His love had been returned.

That in itself was a miracle for a person like him.

Witchers tended to repel humans. It was their sense of otherness. The slightly inhuman air of their movements. The deep baritone of their voices.

"Geralt."

He turned, smiling. "Fil."

Filavandrel looked like any other human, with his pale skin and ragged blonde hair. A purple bandanna was bound about his ears to hide the spearlike points that Geralt knew they tapered to. His black pants and white polo shirt were immaculate as always when on a shift. Geralt wasn't fooled though. Thanks to his enhanced eyesight, he could see the shadows under the elf's eyes. See the slight tremble in those slender hands.

When Filavandrel had reached ten, his mother and his father had at long last begun to bring him along on their travels. One year, deep in the city of Kaedwen, the little elf had contacted a rare gutter disease. Fatalities were high for children who fell ill, and when he had pulled through there had been only joy and gratitude in his family. It was only later that his underlying problem came to the surface. The disease had triggered a rare blood disorder which had slumbered dormant in Filavandrel's body for years. It came on with devastating force. The elf was unable to exert himself without flooding his lungs with blood, thereby loosing the ability to breathe. Filavandrel had confided in Geralt one day, telling him that the attacks felt as though they were setting him aflame from within. He had been in and out of The Chapter's secret hospital ever since that day.

It had been last year when they had finally told him the worst of it.

He had three years left to live.

"I think the singer is in love with you," teased the elf now, voice slightly hoarse. "I've only ever seen that dreamy look on one other person before." He gave Geralt a suggestive look.

The witcher scowled. "Keep going like that and I'll forget to introduce you."

Filavandrel waved a hand. "As you wish, m'lord."

Geralt crooked a finger at him. "Come on then."

Jaskier looked up as the two of them approached the table, his gaze darting between them before it finally landed on Filavandrel. His gaze cleared with understanding, and he rose to his feet. "Filavandrel, I assume?"

"You assume correct," replied the elf with a small laugh. "You must be Jaskier. Geralt had a lot to say about you."

"Oh?"

Geralt snorted. "A lot to say about your annoying qualities, yes."

Jaskier huffed. "Those are my best parts!"

Geralt made his way back to the bar, planning on resuming the order. It was then that he saw the man.

Unremarkable, the man was. Average height, nondescript hair that seemed more grey than blonde. There was nothing about him that should have drawn attention.

But he drew Geralt's.

It was the cruel curl of his mouth, the familiar gleam in those dark eyes. The man caught Geralt's eye as he made for the door, and one lid closed in a mocking wink.

The witcher found the air hard to come by until the man was out the doors and gone. A chill that had nothing to do with cold ran up his spine.

Fuck. Why is he back?

Jaskier prided himself on being an observant person. But he wasn't nosy. Which was why he didn't ask Filavandrel what his ailment was.

When Geralt had departed to order the food, the elf had given Jaskier an apologetic smile. "It really is good to meet you, Jaskier, but would it bother you if we were to sit down, perhaps?"

"Not at all!"

He could see the shaking in the slender fingers. The paleness of his face. He had something, that was for sure. Block it out, Jaskier...prying is for old, nosy women...

"So, how long have you known Geralt?"

Filavandrel rested his chin on his hands, seemingly thinking. "About the same length as Yennefer and Triss, I think. I have never been friends with time." A flash of sorrow seared in his eyes, but vanished before Jaskier could form a guess as to why.

"Soooooooo..." How to ask this one... Jaskier bit his lip. "Ummmmm."

"I know he's a witcher," said Filavandrel softly. "If that is perchance the thing bothering you?"

"Yeah. It is." Jaskier sat back in relief, casting his gaze about to spy the white-haired man.

Geralt was standing near the bar, a perturbed look on his face. Something seemed to be bothering him. Jaskier would have gone over to ask what was the matter, but the witcher shook himself and moved to the bar counter.

"He looks happy," said Filavandrel, jolting the singer out of his concern.

"Does he?" Jaskier felt his cheeks growing warm.

Filavandrel stole a sip from out if Geralt's abandoned ale mug. "Geralt, usually, doesn't smile. He's always been to serious. His mother messed him up pretty bad. His father did too."

Jaskeir checked that Geralt was still at the bar, before he leant in. This was the chance he'd been waiting for. "Why?"

"She was a real controlling woman. Daddy was a drunkard who liked hitting things. Geralt moved out when he was fifteen. Says he's never been back since."

Jaskier fought to keep the anger off his face. No wonder Geralt hates opening up to people... "And then he went to...?"

"Kaer Morhen." Filavandrel had a sip more ale, rubbing his throat as though swallowing pained him. "Vesemir is the head of the witchers of Novigrad. He took Geralt in like a son." The elf broke down coughing into his hand. Once he'd gotten his breath back, he spied the look of concern he was being given. A smile graced his face. "I contacted a blood disorder as a child. "

"Oh. I'm so sorry- I didn't mean to-"

"It's quite alright, assured Filavandrel. "Everyone asks."

It was only later, lying alone in bed; feeling full of happiness, good food, love and laughter, that Jaskier realised that he had forgotten to ask Geralt what had disturbed him so.

It was a big mistake.

One he would regret with all his heart.

Always.

Note:

For those of you who love music, i have an inspirational playlist for this story on Spotify.

My username is Hobbit, and the name of the playlist is On The Streets of Novigrad.