abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] though my feet my rest

[ In truth, if they were someplace isolated, close to thicker woods and distant mountains, he'd have an easier time settling. The city will eternally make him restless after too long, though. And yet, he likes coming home to Julie. She's one of the reasons he returns within—what is to him—a short few weeks. Without her or Ciri, he'd likely remain in the desert far longer. Perhaps built himself a little shelter as Alucard has done.

But that's not where his people are. So the city it is.

He smiles back. Reaches over to wipe the smear of paint on Julie's cheek with his thumb. ] Someone's hard at work. They're nice.

[ They are. The colours suit her. And it's good, two summers on, to see her and Nadine settling into a proper home at last. More and more, their life feels permanent in this land. And that's how he prefers it.

The wood he lays out is rich and sturdy. It's a simple shelf—three tiers high, no trim, varnished surface. Nicer than the ones he built for his home. Less rough around the edges.

He tips his head towards a gap by the far wall. ] There?

[ She knows that it's just one of the pitfalls of being with someone from a world so different, from a life so different. She doesn't expect him to change, doesn't want him to feel trapped. And before the kidnappings, it had been... easier for her. When he was gone.

Julie feels somewhat stupid, for getting too accustomed to a situation that she knew was only temporary. He'd stayed so close for so long, in Geralt terms. It was easy to fall into the routine. She can get used to him leaving again, she just needs time.

(Focusing on the reunion part helps a lot.) ]

Thanks. I started with one and then, well. Here we are. [ She beams at him, head turning a bit into his touch.

Resting her paintbrush on a piece of thick paper next to her, alongside other sizes of brushes, she wipes her hands on a towel and rises to her feet. She runs her hand along one of the shelves. ] Yeah, there's good. These look great, baby.

They should. [ His lips quirk. ] Two Howlers paid for this wood.

[ What else has he got to spend the coin he earns on? He'd sold the stingers, gave what was due to the stablehand, bought the lumber, and then Jaskier pocketed what remained to do...whatever he does with the extra money. Gifts for Nadine? Funding projects? Geralt never asks; he doesn't especially give a damn so long as they keep a roof over their head.

He sets the supports down and lines the first shelf up. There's more care to it than he's used to. Repairs done at Kaer Morhen had been crude at best—meant to do little more than hold an already crumbling home together for a handful of Witchers who couldn't give less of a fuck how pretty things looked. But Julie's place is new, vibrant, and he wants her to have something nice. ]

Here. [ He reaches for the hammer and lets Julie take over the shelf. ] Hold that steady.

Ooh, big spender. [ With a chuckle, she kisses his cheek as she passes, standing on her bare toes. ] Thank you, baby.

[ She holds the shelf in place, watching him. Not only is Julie not a particularly handy person, but she also suffers from the unique curse of only knowing how to do most things in a way that it turns out is pretty specific to modern American standards. Drywall, power tools, stud finders, laser-sighted levels, and for anything she didn't know, there was always a quick video online to explain it all. Seeing other people just know how to do things is fascinating to her. ]

If you ever get tired of runnin' around after monsters, you can have a second career as a carpenter. I've seen Mog's little bed. You made one for the leosylph yet?

[ He laughs, a quiet huff. Right. That thing. ] Coram? I did, actually.

[ He'll tell nearly anyone who asks that Ciri named it, which is partially true. They'd sort of...chosen together. If he's to keep the damn thing, it may as well have a name. And a bed.

And a blanket. ]

The first time I built a shelf, [ he moves onto the turnscrew, fitting the joints, ] it was after we'd shattered one brawling at bedtime. Vesemir sent us out in the snow to saw the logs ourselves.

[ She's not wrong; he likes working with his hands. Making things when he has a spare moment. The Free Cities' magic and improvements means he has more time than he knows what to do with. Only so often he can sharpen his sword or climb a rock. He's turned to building furniture and whittling little animals to fill the rest of the hours. Occasionally, in the Horizon, he fiddles with his bike. ]

Coram. [ She repeats it, smiling. Not for one second does she think Geralt actually named the thing -- she thinks it was either Ciri or Jaskier, and of course Geralt would not be bothered enough to ever change it. Probably the creature is lucky it wasn't named Tiny Roach or something. ] You're such a softie.

[ Nothing in the way she says it indicates that she would have it any other way.

His story brings a laugh. She can picture it so clearly, despite having no idea what any of them may have looked like. It's the kind of childhood event that seems to transcend space and time; no matter where and when they're from, kids will be kids. ]

And did y'all learn a lesson, or did y'all just do it again the next week?

[ Julie will be unsurprised to learn, probably, that Coram An simply means "little lion." Unfortunately, Ciri seems to have inherited her inventiveness from Geralt.

The assertion brings a grunt out of him. Maybe. (He is.) ]

Mm. We learned it for about three days.

[ He'd say he wasn't a part of that nonsense and was only there to break up the chaos, but. He was involved. Occasionally. Not all of the time.

He works in silence for a bit; it isn't long before most of the frame's fitted together. He flips the shelf upright, lifting it into place against the wall.

He offers Julie the turnscrew. She's been watching closely, and Geralt figures there's always room to do something yourself. ] Want to finish it off?

[ He grunts and she just grins. Much like the heroic tendencies he hates to admit to, she finds his secret softness very attractive. And his reluctant acceptance of these traits is very funny to her. ]

Poor Vesemir. Sounds like the worst monsters he squared up with were right at home the whole time.

[ Julie, someone who generally hates silence, goes quiet as she leans her head against the shelf. With other people, silence makes her feel alone. Ignored. Like she's back in that horrible place after Captain Trips, losing her mind. But Geralt's silence doesn't bring her there, doesn't make her want to scream to fill the empty air.

With him, it just feels like quiet.

He offers her the turnscrew and she takes it, stepping over to peer at the screw. While she isn't handy by any means, she also isn't unfamiliar with simply using a screwdriver, and she tightens the final piece quickly. ]

There. [ Taking a step back, she wraps her arms around his waist, turnscrew held loosely in one hand. ] Good job, team.

[ He snorts softly. That's not an untrue observation. He can speak from experience when he says monsters are far less complicated to manage than your children.

Geralt straightens the shelf when she's finished, then steps back with her. Hmm. It looks good. He can imagine it filled with her trinkets. He's never owned muc; furniture carries little use to him beyond a trunk to store his things. He likes seeing others display their possessions, as a result. It remains something of a novelty to him.

Though he's accumulated enough for a single shelf of his own—mostly gifts from Julie. The little rubber animals continue to sit, now surrounding the glass snow globe. ]

I'd say we deserve a drink.

[ And then, maybe, they can talk about what has her...unsettled. She's hiding it, he knows, and though he often tries not to pry—mostly trusting she will talk to him when she's ready—this time, it's different. ]

[ Julie wouldn't call herself a packrat, exactly, but she does have some magpie-like tendencies, collecting little baubles and shiny knickknacks that make her happy. Souvenirs from the places she's gotten to visit in Abraxas, gifts that people have given her. She has a loose shark tooth that needs to be displayed properly. So Geralt can rest assured that the shelves will be full soon. ]

Okay. Here, go sit, I'll get it. [ She hands him back the turnscrew, then goes to the kitchen. The yellowed cream tile is cool against her bare feet -- she's considering replacing it with something a bit more decorative, but hasn't made up her mind yet.

When she follows him into the sitting room, it's with a bottle in one hand and two glasses in the other, which she sets down on the table to pour. ]

Y'know, in my world, people had to build their furniture all the time. Like, it was just a thing you did. They'd sell the whole piece flat, then you'd take it home and follow the directions. But I never got to do that.

[ She didn't get the chance to be a real adult in her own world; there was no moving out and filling a cheap apartment with Ikea furniture. Julie had gone straight from her parents' home to New Vegas. And Sam had found most of the furniture for their flat secondhand, before Julie and Nadine got to Cadens. This is the first time she has ever had the opportunity to actually do these things for herself. ]

[ Geralt makes minor adjustments on the shelf first, then settles on the couch. He can hear her in the kitchen: her footsteps, the clink of glass, the opening cupboards.

He accepts the wine. Sell it flat? He supposes it's a little like what he did—bringing the pieces he sanded and carved to her home, but the idea that one can commonly purchase it that way without having worked on it first is...interesting. Poor folk will make do with what they can build with their own hands and tools. At best, they might find a neighbouring carpenter to trade. The nobility commission skilled craftsmen. There isn't anything in between like what she describes. ]

Any time you you feel like doing more, just ask.

[ He's handy by necessity. Should she ever uncover the desire to build a chair, or similar, he could likely show her.

A pause passes. Perhaps she can sense he's been building up to it from the moment he arrived at her door. He leans forward towards her. There's no easy way to broach the subject. ] I know you've had...things weighing on your mind. Since the demon. You can talk to me.

[ Well, technically Julie is from somewhere that it would be more common to buy secondhand or inherit your furniture from someone else, but that's not always an option when you need to furnish an entire place. Wal-Mart and Amazon and Wayfair were there to fill the gap.

She sits next to him on the sofa, her legs tucked to the side, clutching her glass. It's true, there's been a tangible sense that he wanted to speak to her, but the topic truly catches her off-guard. Enough so that she reacts before she can control her expression; her eyes go wide, as if he's caught her with her hand in a cookie jar, her smiling falling. Her heart leaps into her throat, and she feels like she can barely breathe.

The demon. He's mad. Mad that she's so stupid, that she's so weak, that she caused problems for him. Gave the demon ammo. He doesn't want her anymore.

(Other thoughts rattle the cages she keeps them in in her mind. The thoughts that are so heavy and dark that she cannot bear to acknowledge them, has to keep them locked away from herself, they begin to rouse and try to escape.) ]

No. [ It comes out automatically, denial that's almost comical coming from such obvious fear. ] I'm --

[ For a second, she seems lost for words. Fine? Okay? He already doesn't believe it. Shame and pain prickle at behind her eyes like needles, aggravating the part of her that's so averse to negative emotions. Her voice drops as she looks down at her wine. ]

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you.

[ Julie had assured him the demon did not physically harm her, but the intensity of her reaction worries him. Something about the encounter is painful to her, and he doesn't know if it's because of what the demon may have said to her, that the demon preyed on her in the first place—lying to her about what it was—or something deeper he cannot yet fully understand.

He waits while she gathers her thoughts, searching her face. His brows wrinkle. ]

Julie. [ He cups her cheek. ] You didn't. You have nothing to apologize for.

[ If anything, the responsibility lies on him. He should've been more careful. Quicker, perhaps. Noticed that something was wrong before it was too late. He knows Jaskier will tell him that isn't realistic—that he'd been abducted for a handful of weeks and spent a handful more recovering while the demon surfaced. That may be true. It still doesn't lessen the sense that he hadn't done enough. For her or for Ciri.

He hesitates. ]

Why do you think you hurt me?

[ She can't look at him, can't meet his eye. She's afraid that if she does, the dam she's been building will begin crack and she won't be able to stop it.

You weren't touched by him the way Lloyd and I were, I don't think he ever worked any magic on you. You don't have that darkness in you, Nadine had said, before they left Nott. For a while, Julie had believed her. Months later, Julie herself told Stephen Strange, when demons touch things, they leave stains.

Now she knows that she was right all along. She's poisoned, tainted. Broken. And too fucking dumb to see it except in hindsight.

Julie leans into Geralt's touch again, but she keeps her eyes cast down. Her eyes sting. Her chest hurts. It feels like she has an anvil on her shoulders. ]

He told me. He told me he was a demon. It just -- I'm so stupid. There's something wrong with me, Geralt. I heard him, I understood him, but it was like it didn't matter. Like somethin' else just took the wheel in my head. Somethin' I can't control. And if I wasn't so fucked up, then maybe... he wouldn't have been able to use me against you.

[ She takes a sharp, shuddering breath and closes her eyes tightly. ]

He showed me his eyes. They looked... they looked like yours.

[ He what? Geralt blinks. Somehow, it did not cross his mind Julie knew the truth from the start. He'd assumed, like with the others, the demon had pretended to be Dean.

For a moment, he isn't certain how he feels. That she wasn't lied to is...good isn't the word he's looking for, but it at least means she knew what choice she was making. Or did she? Her description of how she felt is concerning. Especially in the Horizon, where reality shifts with your mind. He knows the demon cannot control or influence. He'd faced it. It was capable of many things, but not that.

He thinks of their shared nightmare. The ooze that dripped and coated your every pore. Is that what seeped through her when the demon made itself known? A subconscious memory spilling through the cracks? One that even the demon must've been unaware of. ]

He used you because of what you mean to me. [ He takes a breath. In truth, he isn't sure what may have happened. Only that he doesn't want her going through it again. ] Whatever came over you, it is not your fault. I'm sorry he hurt you. I should've protected you better.

[ The demon had, for a short bit, pretended to be Dean. It hadn't corrected her when she initially addressed him as Dean, had tried to wave away the idea that he should be dead. But the demon had been able to sense it, that something was taking hold of her mind, and then had no reason to keep hiding -- she asked him point blank if he was still Dean, and the answer was I'm something more fun now, with those eyes.

He didn't suddenly morph into a Witcher, and Flagg's, a demon's, possession is the only other thing she's heard of with that effect. She knew what she was dealing with.

It just didn't feel wrong. The same way it stopped feeling wrong to see crucifixions and beheadings. Like being in a trance.

Geralt apologizes to her, and she doesn't quite know what to do with that. She has spent so many weeks feeling so terrible, so worthless; she would almost rather he be angry, so at least she could justify the pain she's in. ]

I don't... [ She sniffs and sighs. Her eyes roll to the ceiling, both searching for words and trying to keep the watery line along her bottom lashes from spilling over. ] I don't want to be a burden to you. I don't -- I don't want you to get tired of me. To decide I just make your life harder.

[ Swallowing hard, her shoulders shake a little. She clutches her wine glass. ] I don't want to be a bad person.

[ Some part of him, he can admit, had not anticipated her confession. He'd thought—he wasn't sure what was on her mind, precisely. Not this. Not that she's afraid he'll leave her over something she'd not even done.

Gently, he removes her wineglass before it can spill and takes her hand in his. ]

You aren't. [ He supposes, like Nadine, it's impossible for the question to lie dormant. He gets it. He does. It's one he's asked himself, too. Perhaps no straightforward answer exists. But they can't solely be defined by a past that haunts them nor a fear of what they could become. There has to be more. To him, she's more. ] And I will not abandon the people I love because it's difficult.

[ He didn't choose the easy road. He's here. With her, with Ciri. Dean. If others would call it a burden, then so be it. They've carried his as much as he's carried theirs, and he means to keep doing so. It feels especially important now after all they've been through together.

He doesn't care what cost to his life. How painful. He's paid it before. He'll do it again. ]

[ There was a time where Julie wasn't this insecure. A time when it didn't matter to her whether people stayed or went. But she cannot bear to be left alone again, abandoned again. It's happened too many times now, the trauma compounding on itself, topped off by the fact that God, the God she had been raised to believe in, struck her down specifically. That's one way to start believing that maybe she is the problem, isn't it?

No one has limitless patience. He has already had to save her so many times.

She looks at their hands, hers trembling. ]

But what if I'm too difficult? [ She feels too difficult. ] I don't want to be the weight you drop when it's too much. I don't think I know how to be without you anymore.

[ A quiet settles between them. It is hard, he knows, to stay with someone like him. Life refuses to let him settle, to allow him more than a few brief moments to breathe. There's always something he needs to do, something he can't help doing, whether because of Ciri or his inability to turn his back. But she's remained with him nonetheless. It means more to him than she realizes. ]

When you met me, I was alone. I thought remaining so would mean I'd have nothing more that could be taken from me. [ Rediscovering his family was new. A slow, unsteady process disrupted by his uncertainties. The absence of memories and lingering fears of what it might mean. ]

After Thorne, when I needed you, you were there. I know I wasn't...easy. And I started— [ Started accepting people in his life again. Julie isn't the sole person who helped him do so, but she's a vital part of it. ] I shouldn't like to lose you any more than you want to lose me.

[ He nearly has enough times as it is. The last thing he'd do is give her up willingly. Maybe whatever entity that serves as her god did forsake her. He can't answer that. But he won't do the same. ]

[ For a single, terrible second, there is quiet, and she closes her eyes against it. The part of her that has survived this long by being detached is howling in her head, furious that she dare not only have these emotions, but also voice them. Let him know her weakness, that she needs him. Geralt is the anthesis of every relationship she's ever had, and it is difficult to reconcile that with the way she understands how to navigate the world.

She's not expecting him to explain his feelings, if only because he so rarely does. As he speaks, she is able to meet his eye again, her own still shining and wet. She has learned to read volumes out of just a sentence, because that is how he communicates, but sometimes, things do need to be said out loud. Actually heard. Made real by virtue of being in the air, instead of held inside.

I shouldn't like to lose you any more than you want to lose me, he says, immediately after she has laid bare exactly how petrified of that she truly is. And no one has ever said anything like that to her before, never wanted her that much before. Maybe it's why she was so scared to begin with.

Geralt only says what he means. Really means. She does trust that, with all of her heart.

The sound that escapes her is an accident, somewhere between a choked gasp and a sob, and she wraps her arms around him tightly. Her face presses into the hollow of his neck, her cheeks hot and damp, eyes screwed shut. ]

[ A year or two ago, he might not have said it out loud. Not so starkly. He won't admit it, but he's aware he's different. That his time with Ciri has changed him for what Jaskier would say is the better.

He wouldn't disagree.

He folds Julie into his arms. Her heart thunders in his ears. He's allowed in so many since he arrived in this world. Friends, family. He's afraid of losing each of them, and yet a part of him knows the inevitability that awaits. That no matter how he struggles, how tightly he clutches, they will be taken from him as the others have.

But he refuses to simply let it happen. For as long as he can protect them, he will.

He says nothing further, just holds her. Only when she stirs does he release her a little. His fingers rest gently in her hair. ]

[ Minutes pass and she stays tucked against him, letting him envelope her. His warmth, his smell, the solidness of his frame. She has always found his presence comforting -- since basically their first meeting, he has radiated a sense of calm that keeps her grounded. It's not related to their actual relationship, though that has magnified the effect; he is just, as she has told him multiple times, very even-keeled. She finds that soothing, given her own much more erratic temperament. Right now, she sinks into that.

When she does finally lift her head, she remains just as close, barely a few inches from his face. Her face is still flushed pink from crying (as well as embarrassment from doing so). She puts one hand to his face. Her voice is almost a whisper. ]

I love you. [ It's something she has no difficulty saying to other people on a frequent basis. But this love makes her feel exposed in ways she never has before, and so she has mostly held it back. A defense mechanism that takes a toll. ] You make me better.

[ As much as he hadn't wanted to provoke any shitty memories, he's glad they spoke. Mostly, he wants to make sure Julie is okay. All of this, it feels as if it falls on his shoulders. Not even in the sense that he holds any particular blame for what happened—he knows it isn't as simple as that—but because this is his family.

For a few moments, he watches her. Like him, he thinks she's changed, as well. Maybe in ways neither of them is fully conscious of. More and more, he feels solid where he stands. The people he left behind no longer weigh as much on his mind.

They'll be fine without him. The ones who need him most, they're here now. And he would be lying if he said he didn't need them in turn.

He doesn't answer in words. Instead, he closes the distance between them, lips brushing hers. Their foreheads touch, and he lets his fingers curl around her wrist. She smells faintly sweet as always. The wine sits forgotten. ]

Edited 2023-08-13 18:10 (UTC)

[ It's a sword that cuts both ways. Geralt feels responsible for his family, but Julie feels responsible for hers, and that includes both him and Ciri. It all still feels like her fault -- if she had just been able to stop herself, if she had told Geralt immediately instead of getting twisted up in the shame and confusion, then maybe things would have gone differently. One less pawn for the demon, and possibly less incentive for it to snatch Ciri.

Geralt doesn't blame her. He doesn't want to be rid of her. That's all she can want from the situation. But she still wishes she could have done everything differently.

She kisses him softly, her thumb running over his cheek, then peeks up at him from under low lids. Her free hand is placed flat against his chest, over his heart. ]

[ Everyone, he thinks, wishes they'd done things differently in the events that led up to the confrontation. He knows Sam feels responsible for Ciri going missing under his nose. Castiel believes he should've seen the signs sooner.

Hindsight is hindsight. In the end, it's over. They aren't unscathed, but they are alive. That's enough.

His heart beats the same slow, steady pace it often does. He's a touch bronzed from all that time under the desert sun, and being home in the city means he's a bit more put-together than he is when travelling. His hair was brushed, at least, sometime within the past 24 hours.

When he draws back, his fingers linger around her wrist. ]

[ CLOSED ] though my feet my rest

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