Geralt was exhausted. He hadn't intended to spend the entire night negotiating with Aldert Geert, but the man's awkward personality more than preceded him. He had foolishly thought that taking the renowned author out for a swanky meal and a few drinks would butter him up enough to sign onto Dark Horse Publishers, but it had been an all-or-nothing game of Gwent in the wee hours of the morning that had finally convinced the elusive writer to come aboard. Geralt would never admit that to the board of directors, of course. Not that they would ask; they didn't much care how you did your job, so long as you did it well.
Geralt stifled a yawn as the lift ascended to the top floor of the building. He had been in desperate need of that coffee Jaskier failed to provide. A peppermint hot chocolate was not enough to ward off the tiredness that seemed to seep into his bones. Gods, when was the last time he had taken a holiday? Not that he ever had time for that sort of thing. Or anywhere to go...or anyone to go with.
When the lift pinged and the doors slid open to the floor where his superior, Radovid, resided, Geralt stepped onto the floor and walked past his boss's assistant without so much as a passing glance. He knocked politely but firmly on the door to Radovid's office and waited patiently to be summoned. Still, it was nice to get some recognition for all of the hard work he had put in, especially from the board of directors. Now was probably a good time to mention that promotion he'd been after.
When Geralt heard the muffled voice of his superior call him through, he stood to his full height and pulled his shoulders back before entering the room. Carefully closing the door behind him, he nodded towards Radovid and Troyden, the two most senior members of the board of directors. "Good morning, gentlemen."
"Geralt, congratulations on securing Aldert Geert's next novel." Radovid motioned for Geralt to take the leather armchair in front of his desk. "Quite the accomplishment."
"Thank you, sir," he replied, taking his seat.
Troyden, a wizened-looking gentleman in a light grey suit, stood at his usual place behind Radovid's left shoulder like an old vulture. He smiled at Geralt and gave him a nod in greeting, but as per usual, he left Radovid to do most of the talking. Radovid, on the other hand, looked strikingly authoritative by comparison: his face and head were always clean-shaven, making his deep-set eyebrows all the more prominent. He always dressed well, today favouring a handsome charcoal pinstripe suit that Geralt would happily have worn himself.
"Geralt," Radovid began slowly. "Do you remember when we agreed that you wouldn't attend the Vizima Book Fair because you weren't allowed out of the country while your visa application was being processed?"
"Yes, I do."
There was a long, drawn-out pause before Radovid added, "But you went to Vizima."
"Yes, I did," he confirmed. "We were going to lose Premethine Shakeslock to the Fantastyka Publishing House, so I didn't really have much of a choice. I had to go."
"Well, it seems that the government doesn't much care who publishes Shakeslock's theories on Black Magic," Radovid muttered, pulling a folder towards him and flipping it open to the first page.
"We just spoke to your immigration lawyer," Troyden chipped in. Geralt frowned.
"Okay...does that mean that my visa application has been approved?"
"I'm afraid it isn't good news. Your visa application has been denied," Radovid informed him. Geralt stared back at him blankly for a few moments.
"Excuse me?"
"Your application has been denied," Radovid repeated evenly. "And you are being deported."
"Deported?" Geralt exclaimed.
"Apparently, there was also some paperwork that you didn't fill out on time," Radovid added, his dark grey eyes scanning the folder. Geralt let out a nervous laugh.
"Is this some kind of joke or prank?"
"I'm afraid not," said Radovid quietly, looking up at him with a mournful expression. "I am sorry about this Geralt, but our hands are tied."
Geralt shook his head in disbelief. "No. There must be something that we can do."
"We can reapply but you'll have to leave the country for at least a year," Troyden informed him.
"A year?" Geralt rubbed his tired face and sighed. "Okay, that's not ideal, but we can work around it. I can manage everything from Rivia, through video conferencing and—"
"Geralt," Troyden interrupted. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. If you're deported, you can't work for a Redanian company."
"Until this is resolved, I'm going to be turning operations over to Emmerich Gottschalk," said Radovid. Geralt gaped at him.
"Emmerich Gottschalk?" he asked flatly. "The guy I just fired?"
"We need an editor-in-chief to run operations here in Tretogor, and he's the only person in the entire building with enough experience to do the job," Radovid explained. "Look, I'm really sorry about this. We are desperate to have you stay, and if there was any way, any way at all, of making this work, we would be doing it."
Radovid kept speaking but Geralt was no longer listening. He was too busy wracking his brain trying to figure out how the hell to get himself out of this mess. The first thing that sprang to mind was to sack his immigration lawyer, but that wouldn't do anything to help his current predicament. The next equally useless and insane thought that crossed his mind was if he were to have a child, he could apply for the right to remain. Ethics and insanity aside, logistically that plan was impossible to execute.
There was a polite knock at the door and Radovid's assistant popped her head through the door. "I'm sorry to interrupt you sir, but you have an important call waiting…"
"Not now, Milva, we're in the middle of an important meeting," Radovid chastised.
"I know that, sir, I told Mr La Voisier that you were otherwise engaged but he insists that he speaks to you right away."
Geralt's ears pricked up then. Suddenly, he had an idea. A terrible, desperate and diabolical idea.
"I don't know how many times I have to say it before you believe me, but I'm really sorry," Jaskier implored. "It's not my fault, it's Geralt! He's the one making me work over my annual leave."
"I don't want to hear it," his mother's voice hissed over the phone. "It's always one excuse after another with you. If you don't want to come home, I'd rather you just told us than getting your poor grandmother's hopes up just to let her down again."
"Please, don't use granny to guilt-trip me," he groaned, thudding his head against his desk. "I feel bad enough as it is."
"And so you should," his mother replied testily. "So, when are you planning on visiting us?"
"I don't know," he sighed. "I'll try and visit in time for Christmas."
There was a long pause before his mother spoke again, more softly this time. "I do miss you, you know."
Jaskier clenched his eyes shut. "I miss you too."
Jaskier ended the phone call and let out a weary sigh. Breaking the bad news to his mother that his trip home was cancelled had gone over as well as he had thought it would. She was furious, his grandmother was heartbroken, and his father...well, he'd rather not think about him right now. Jaskier pocketed his phone just as Geralt returned to the office, looking angrier and more ashen-faced than usual. He watched with mounting curiosity and concern as Geralt strode past his desk without bothering to summon him, closed the door to his office and drew the curtains, blocking the rest of the office floor from view. Evidently, the meeting with the head honchos had not gone well.
Jaskier suddenly felt a twinge of panic. Had Geralt been reprimanded for firing Emmerich? Surely not...unless he had been sacked as well. If that were the case, then that would mean Jaskier was out of a job, too. No, it couldn't be that. Geralt was a lot of things, but he was a hard worker and invaluable to the company. So what in the world would have Geralt, the infamous Butcher of Blaviken, so riled up? Jaskier nervously chewed his thumbnail, trying to decide what to do. He knew that he ought to go and check up on Geralt, see how the meeting went. He was his assistant, after all; he should be in there assisting. But he also didn't fancy getting his head bitten off, either.
Thankfully, Jaskier didn't have to decide either way because a moment later, Geralt's office door opened and he beckoned him inside.
"Based on your expression, I take that your meeting with the bosses went well," he joked, sitting in the chair opposite Geralt's desk. Geralt sank into his own chair without answering, but the look on his face spoke a thousand words, none of them good. Geralt cleared his throat and laced his fingers together on the table. He seemed reluctant to meet Jaskier's eye as he spoke.
"A situation has arisen," he began. "As you are probably aware, I'm originally from Rivia."
"Yes," Jaskier replied slowly.
"Well, it seems that there has been a problem processing my visa application," he continued. "Actually...my application was denied and I'm being threatened with deportation."
Jaskier's stomach sank. "What? Why?"
"Apparently, I violated the terms of my work visa when I attended the Vizima Book Fair," Geralt explained with a note of bitterness in his voice.
"Well, you had to go," Jaskier argued. "You saved more than a few people's jobs by attending that Fair!"
"You're damn right, I did," Geralt snarled. "I put my arse on the line for them and this is how they repay me. Typical."
"What happens now?"
Geralt sighed. "I can reapply but it'll take months for the application process to go through. It's ridiculous if you ask me, it's not even like I'm a proper immigrant. I'm Rivian, for fuck sake!"
"So, what does this mean?" Jaskier pressed. "Are you going to work from Rivia until they can get all of this straightened out, or..?"
Geralt shook his head. "Without a valid visa, I can't work for a Redanian company. The way things are right now, I couldn't even get a job as a fucking barista in a coffee shop."
"Does that mean that you're being replaced?" asked Jaskier cautiously. Geralt's expression darkened.
"They want Emmerich Gottschalk to take on the role as editor-in-chief in my absence," he grumbled.
"Emmerich?" Geralt nodded. "Emmerich Gottschalk?" Jaskier repeated, unable to believe what he was hearing. "The bloke that you just fired?"
Geralt grunted and Jaskier sank back into his seat, trying to process the news. It was strange, knowing that Geralt was going to leave. Jaskier had spent the last three years wishing for just that to happen, for Geralt to find another job or to choke on his coffee, anything to see the back of him. But now that it was finally happening, Jaskier was surprised how deflated he felt about it. He looked up at Geralt; his handsome face was etched with worry. Despite how much he disliked his boss, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the man.
"Is there anything that I can do to help?" he heard himself saying. "I can go back to Roosters and get you a coffee, if you like."
Geralt worried his lip in silent contemplation for a moment before saying, "There is one thing that you could do."
"Name it."
Geralt hesitated. "I uh...I might have told Radovid that I was getting married."
Jaskier frowned. "I didn't know that you were in a relationship."
"I'm not."
"Then why would you tell Radovid that you were?"
"Because if I get married to a Redanian, I'll have legal status to remain," Geralt explained.
"Okay, I suppose that makes sense. But how do you propose that you get married when you are currently single?" asked Jaskier curiously.
"Like I said, there is one thing—quite a big thing—that you could do to help," said Geralt slowly, giving Jaskier an expectant look. Jaskier, however, had absolutely no idea how he could possibly help in this situation.
Then, the penny dropped.
"You are joking," said Jaskier without a trace of humour.
"When do I joke about anything?" Geralt replied honestly.
"Never in your life," he retorted. "Oh gods, you're being serious, aren't you? You really expect me to marry you?"
"Why not?" Geralt shrugged. "It's not like you have to do anything other than sign some legal papers. Once my legal status to remain is ensured, we'll get divorced and everything can go back to normal."
"Asking your assistant to marry you isn't normal, Geralt!" Jaskier raged. "And it's illegal, apart from anything else. Have you considered that?"
"I won't tell anyone if you won't."
"Now is not the time to joke!" Jaskier crossed his arms and shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. I refuse to marry you."
"You will if you want to keep your job."
Jaskier snorted. "Excuse me, but it's not my job that's on the line here. Sorry Geralt, I will gladly grab you a cup of coffee and do your paperwork—I'll even pick up your dog from the vet's—but I will not, under any circumstances, marry you."
"I wouldn't make any rash decisions before assessing all of the facts," Geralt warned. "If I lose my job, what does that mean for you? Do you really think Emmerich will take you on as his assistant?"
Jaskier hesitated. "Well...I don't know. He might!"
"You and I both know that he won't," Geralt argued. "The second I'm out of the door, you won't be far behind. As shitty as this situation is—particularly for me—the outcome will impact both of us. Believe me, marrying you is the last thing in the world that I want to do."
"The feeling is entirely mutual," Jaskier bristled.
"It might not be what we want, but it's what we need to do if we're going to have any chance of saving our jobs and stopping me from being deported. It's the only way."
Geralt spoke with a hint of desperation that Jaskier had never heard before. Jaskier ran his hand through his hair and looked out of the large office windows that overlooked the city of Tretogor. He knew that Geralt was right: there was no way that Emmerich would want to take him on as an assistant. He'd want any and all trace of Geralt eradicated from the office, and that included him. Jaskier's mind was spinning. He told himself that there must be some other way of fixing this, but deep down, he knew that there was no other alternative. If he wanted to keep his job at Dark Horse Publishers, he'd have to marry Geralt.
But was any job worth that? He could always apply for work at another publishing house. He had an impressive resume and would surely get something with another company…
No. Jaskier had worked too damn hard and given up too much already to get to the position that he was in now. He thought of all of the missed birthdays and Christmases over the past three years, all of the late nights at the office, of running around like a headless chicken to fulfill Geralt's every whim. He had thrown everything into this job, sacrificed so much to get to where he is now, and all of that was to be for nothing because Geralt had been negligent with filing some paperwork. It wasn't fair. And Jaskier wasn't going to let that happen.
"If we're going to do this, I want something in return," he finally said.
Geralt's head snapped up with a shocked expression as though he hadn't really expected Jaskier to agree to this. Still, he managed to suppress the surprise from his voice when he replied, "Well, that depends on what you want."
"I want you to publish my manuscript."
"No," Geralt replied quickly. "That's not possible."
"Fine," said Jaskier lightly, rising to his feet. "Good luck finding someone else crazy enough to marry you."
"Wait!" Geralt blurted out and Jaskier paused. "Just hold on a second. I...yes, we can publish your manuscript. Ten thousand copies first run."
"Twenty thousand," Jaskier shot back.
Geralt's eyes narrowed. "Fifteen."
"Seventeen."
Geralt clenched his jaw in frustration but gave a curt nod in agreement. Jaskier grinned broadly and thrust out his hand for Geralt to shake, which he did so reluctantly.
"Alright, now that we're in agreement, we need to head back upstairs and speak to Radovid," said Geralt.
Jaskier's smile faltered. "Why do I need to come with you?"
"He just wants to have a word with you about the situation," Geralt replied evasively, rising to his feet and running his hands over his charcoal suit to smooth it out. Jaskier suddenly felt a spike of anger rise up in him and he pointed accusingly at Jaskier.
"You already told him that we were getting married, didn't you?" he shouted. "Before you even spoke to me about it!"
"Well, I had to give him someone's name!" Geralt argued, confirming Jaskier's suspicions.
"And you couldn't think of anyone else," he cried. "Of the billions of people in the world that you could have chosen from, you decided to drag me into this! Why?"
"Because I trust you!" Geralt shouted before admitting more quietly, "You're the only person that I trust." Jaskier stared at him, gobsmacked by Geralt's brazenness and his admission. Geralt squared his shoulders and said, "Look, I didn't wake up this morning thinking that I was going to be announcing my marriage to my assistant either. I was put on the spot and I had to think fast. I panicked, alright?"
"No, it's not alright. Far bloody from it!" Jaskier bit back. "Not only are you twisting my arm into doing this, you have the gall to lie to me as well! How dare you be so presumptive to think that I would marry you!"
"You just did!" Geralt retorted. "And I'm hardly twisting your arm. You're the one that's using my predicament to your advantage to get your manuscript published!"
"Don't pretend that you're the victim here! If you had bothered to fill in your visa application properly in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Jaskier shot back.
"Keep your voice down!" Geralt hissed, glancing towards the office door. "You want everyone on the floor to know what we're doing?"
"Unbelievable," Jaskier seethed. "Actually, no. This sort of behaviour is entirely believable where you're concerned."
"Are you quite done shouting at me?" Geralt grumbled, holding the office door open for Jaskier to follow.
"No!" Jaskier marched past Geralt muttering under his breath, "I'm going to continue shouting at you until this is all over."
Geralt gritted his teeth in frustration but kept his mouth shut as they walked past their colleagues. Jaskier welcomed the momentary pause in their row. He still hadn't processed what the hell was happening and this gave him a minute to think about everything that was unfolding. When he had overslept that morning, he knew that it was going to be an off day, and he had been right. From the moment he had gotten out of bed, nothing had gone right for him. Who'd have thought that making his grandmother cry was only the second-worst thing to have happened to him today?
As he and Geralt entered the lift and it began its ascent, he tried to convince himself that his situation could be worse. Right now he couldn't think how that could be possible, but to an optimist like Jaskier, that was some comfort, however small.
