abraxaslogs | [ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

[ There's nothing he hates more than having to mend and mend again wounds that keep opening, tearing, twisting. If he needs to be stitched and bandaged one more time, he'll pitch himself off the roof. It's for that reason that Geralt does not argue about keeping off his feet; he knows better than anyone what he needs to heal properly and he isn't interested in doing anything to slow the process down. Now that he finally can rest. He hopes. That's the idea.

He's got a bowl on a tray next to him, half a piece of bread broken up beside it. Ciri has yet to poke her head in since he's woken and he knows she will soon. Knows he owes her an explanation. Several of them. Which he does want to give her. It's just...complicated, where Yennefer is involved. And it's hard to avoid speaking of Yennfer's involvement without lying. He doesn't want to lie to Ciri. That's the last thing he wants to do; Ciri has trusted him this far. He's no intention of shattering that. But how does he explain without making Ciri feel even worse about being what she can't help? How does he say we were protecting you without invoking the guilt Ciri carries inside her, the frustrated anger she often bears over the entire situation?

Perhaps he's worrying over nothing. Perhaps Ciri already knows, already put it together long before he reappeared in Cadens. The girl is hardly oblivious. Still. It isn't a conversation he wants to have, even if they need to have it.

He also doesn't want Ciri to think he's avoiding her. So when he sees her—either passing by or about to step into the room—he leans forward to catch her attention. ] Ciri.

Edited 2021-12-03 18:49 (UTC)

[ It had been night already when Jaskier sent her that message. He's alive. At Sam's. Jaskier had left hours ago. The liar.

But Ciri couldn't find it in her to be angry. She made her way to Sam's place as soon as she could, though by then it was even later, and Geralt was already asleep (passed out, more like) sprawled on Sam's newly bloody couch. Bandaged up to hell and looking completely worn down even in his unconscious state, but breathing. Safe. He was so lost in exhaustion and recovery, he didn't even stir when she came near. Nor when she reached out and smoothed a cool palm over his forehead, rubbed away a bit of blood from his temple with the backs of her fingers. For a minute, Ciri had watched him, the tension of the worry and stress of the past couple of weeks easing by degrees, washing away under the wave of relief.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait. Not wanting to sleep in Alina's bed, Ciri had told Sam they should keep it open to move Geralt to and decided, with difficulty, to return to the apartment and get some rest. Rinwell deserved an explanation too. And she'll be needed tomorrow.

Ciri returns to Sam's shortly after she wakes up, not so early in the morning that nobody there would be awake. Though she hopes Geralt will. It is with this hope that she gently opens the door to the room, glad to see he's made it to a proper bed at least. Ciri cracks it open as quietly as she can, just in case, but the caution turns out to be unnecessary; Geralt's voice comes through, gruff and quiet and wonderful. When he leans forward, she can catch a glimpse of white hair and a golden eye. She feels her face struggle through several expressions, landing on a smile that hurts her throat with the urge to cry. ]

Geralt!

[ Pushing the door open too hard, Ciri crosses the room in a blink, plants a knee on the edge of the bed to lean over far enough to reach, and throws her arms around Geralt's neck. Gently. Mostly. ]

[ Uncertainty lingers in his expression when Ciri peers in. Geralt can't predict what reaction he'll be getting—and then she's on the bed, arms around him, and he doesn't give a damn that she's squeezing his tender side. He winces, lifting one arm to carefully hold her in return. The same relief washes over him. His concern had been for a dozen things—Jaskier, Yennefer, his own mind, whether he was ever even going to make it out in one piece—but most of all, it'd been for Ciri. ]

I'm here. [ He peers at her. She looks as exhausted as he feels. He knows he doesn't have the full story of what happened while he was away. That Ciri must've tried to find him, despite Jaskier's best efforts. He'll ask, eventually, but for the moment he's just glad to see her. Whole. Safe. (He'd do it all over again for her.)

A brief pause passes. He catches her gaze, a slight knit between his brows. ] I'm sorry I didn't tell you.

[ He doesn't explain beyond that, his reasons why. Ciri must already know, whether she agrees with them or not. And he'd have done it no differently given the chance. But he's still sorry it came to it. That it came to any of this. ]

[ Her grip gentles, but she holds on like that for a while, face buried in the space between her arm and the side of Geralt's neck. For a few moments, that is all that matters. For a few moments, they are quiet, only breathing. Ciri closes her eyes and lets the weight of it settle like a blanket around her. Belonging.

When she pulls back, Ciri dabs at her wet eyelashes with a knuckle as she readjusts how she's sitting to a more comfortable position for both of them, perched on the edge of the bed. She tucks one knee up to face him better, other foot on the floor. Meeting Geralt's eyes again almost feels like too much.

But she hadn't expected him to apologize.

Ciri's eyes widen, caught up for a breath in the expression on Geralt's face. It makes her want to shove him and hug him again in equal measure. ]

I know why you didn't.

[ Every part of him still hurts, soaked bone-deep in fatigue, but laying his eyes on her, it's been worth it. He's never experienced this feeling before—as though nothing else in the world mattered except this one thing. And it isn't like he'd not sworn to keep Ciri safe from the start, or that he'd harboured doubts over what he was willing to do for her. But after all the times he'd believed he failed her, he thinks for once, maybe he'd done something right.

Maybe.

He's quiet. For a few minutes, he just watches Ciri. Her wet eyes, red and tired. It's not easy, to see how much his disappearance has impacted everyone. His shoulder brushes hers. ] I'm told Roach made it home that day.

[ Had they...? Found his equipment? His sword, in particular. He noticed his bag had been on Roach when Jaskier had rode out to him in the desert. What happened to his equipment was not at the forefront of his mind before, but now that he's here, back—fuck, does he miss it. A blade in his grip. He'd gone this long with hardly anything except the clothes on his back. Not even a knife in his boot. ]

[ She leans in, just a little, just enough to keep the contact without putting weight on his already overly strained body. The questions, stinging burrs clinging in the back of her mind all this time, suddenly seem to fall away now when she can finally ask them. It occurs to Ciri, in this moment, that she doesn't need to know everything all at once. Not now. Not yet.

It will be difficult, and the answers will probably frighten and upset her, and she's had enough of being frightened and upset.

So she lets Geralt change the subject, and she does not press. He'll say he did it to protect her. She'll hate and love him for it. She'll wish she didn't need protecting. She'll be grateful he's doing it anyway. It's the same, each time.

But today, here and now, it doesn't have to end in a goodbye.

Ciri pulls herself back into this moment, swallowing hard, and manages a nod. ]

I found her in the streets near the stable. She was exhausted. But she knew where to come home.

[ She's the reason Ciri and Jaskier even knew something was wrong. It might have been another week at least before either of them thought Geralt's absence suspicious. Maybe not until Julie had reached out, in fact -- and maybe it would have been less stressful and painful, but maybe it's better this way, Ciri thinks. She's not sure how she could have forgiven herself for not noticing. For not trying.

At least she'd tried. And, if nothing else, there are a few things of import she and Jaskier had managed to find, even if they'd never quite found Geralt. ]

We both knew you'd never turn her out on her own like that. So Jaskier and I went looking. Found your camp.

[ She hesitates a fraction of a moment here, gaze sliding away, thinking on what had happened there. She doesn't say it. ]

I brought your sword. It's in the other room.

[ It both surprises and worries him that Ciri isn't pressing or prodding him about his obvious change in topic. Either he looks that awful or she's feeling that awful. Maybe both.

He supposes there's time enough later to say what needs to be said. For now, if she's content to let it go, then so is he.

He listens while she explains, piecing the words into a picture, a sequence of events, in his head. Roach returned without her rider. His camp where blood had spilled on the sand, his weapons scattered. A residual hum of magic, perhaps. That's what Jaskier and her would've found: a horse, signs of a fight, him missing.

Ciri's gaze cutting away, her tone, makes Geralt turn to look at her. Her frowns. Perhaps if he'd known her for all those missing years, he'd be able to tell more. Read more on her face. As it is, he doesn't push. They're both burnt out.

Instead, he nods. That's good. His sword nearby. He could use it again. ]

I thought they might've killed her. [ He's still skirting the topic, exactly who he means by "they." ] I'm glad she returned.

Rinwell's been spoiling her rotten.

[ There are gaps in the conversation, missing questions, silences left a little too long. Not yet, she thinks. She'd been in such a rush. She'd wanted to know exactly what had happened, what he was keeping from her, specifically, but the truth is that Ciri already has a suspicion. As it turns out, she's not quite so much in a hurry to hear it confirmed as she'd thought.

Something about the way Geralt had looked at her earlier. The furrow in his brow and the weight in his eyes when he'd said I'm sorry.

Ciri scoots a little closer. ]

She'll have certain expectations these days. Best bring along more apples next you take her out.

She's still there? [ Hm. That's good to hear. Rinwell had seemed hesitant for that first week or so, a bit uncertain, and he'd have not been surprised if she'd decided to go elsewhere after a time. She seems to have stayed, though. Perhaps that means she's settled.

Or she's smitten with Roach. Geralt can understand that. Roach and Rinwell make for a simple topic of conversation, so he stays with it. ]

I disappear for three weeks and my horse is already being wooed away from me.

[ He doesn't mind, naturally. (Geralt is not yet aware that Rinwell only knows of horses to be food in her world.) He stretches his leg out. Whatever Jaskier has done to his knee, it's no longer swollen. A light ache remains, but nothing more. Given a few days, he thinks he can return home. He just wants the space for the time being. Somewhere he can be alone without having to leave the room. ]

Edited 2021-12-07 18:32 (UTC)

[ Ciri lets out a huff through her nose, shaking her head. ]

That's what you get. [ It's said lightly, with no real anger. He hadn't meant to be gone so long. But teasing feels easier than dwelling. It isn't really him she's angry with, not exactly. It's just... everything.

She watches him shift, stretching a leg out stiffly. He looks a little better than he had last night, at which point he'd looked at least half, maybe about two-thirds dead. (And Ciri doesn't even want to think about the state Julie must have found him in, recalling the haggard look of her even in the Horizon, putting together that this is Geralt after he's been cared for and stitched up, twice.) The blood is still flecked at his temples, dried streaks of it making a disgusting mess of his hair. His back is a swath of bandages, and his front a mass of bruises. ]

Stay put and finish your food, [ Ciri says firmly, and unfolds herself from the edge of the bed to disappear outside the room somewhere, leaving the door cracked open. ]

[ He smiles faintly. Apparently.

He lets Ciri look him over. She's seen him worse off, he imagines, if she's known him as long as she has, but he's aware it doesn't make this better. There's a reason he'd come to Sam first. She has not, at least, spotted the lashes that mostly lay beneath the bandages on his back nor the lesion that splits right down it. Geralt would prefer to keep it that way.

His head tilts as she leaves, but he's in no shape to chase after her. Geralt does as he's told, returning to his bowl of soup. Food and sleep has helped. He hasn't had much of either lately. When Ciri returns, she'll find him where she left him, stuffing what's remains of the bread into his mouth. ]

[ She returns after a few minutes with a large bowl of hot water containing a bar of soap, as well as an armful of fresh, clean washcloths and towels. Geralt's empty soup dish gets an approving look before Ciri grabs it off the side table, moving things around in a complicated balancing act until she's gathered up everything that needs to be brought back to the kitchen and left the new supplies she's brought with the obvious intent of helping Geralt freshen up.

Again, she ducks out, more briefly this time, and comes back with a new glass of water for him for good measure. ]

Your punishment for making me worry. Sit up.

[ Considering how many bandages there are around his torso and the spots of blood, now dried, that had seeped through them in places, Ciri can tell he's probably not keen to drag himself into a proper bath yet. But she knows also that just cleaning up and feeling fresher can bolster a heart and make one feel less like vaguely sentient shit in situations like these.

She smiles, sitting with him again when he's made himself comfortable, soaping up the washcloth. ]

[ Is that what this is? Geralt sighs, but it's not without a note of fondness. If it were anyone else, he'd have waved them off—he's had more than enough fussing lately—but he finds he can't say no to Ciri. So he sits up, leaning forward.

He takes the water. His fingers have grown less stiff, though the nails are just beginning to heal from where they've torn. ]

I'm not the only one who needs rest.

[ He knows she's been up day and night, worrying about him. She's right, though: dragging himself into a bath is a monumental effort he's yet to want to exert. Especially because it means someone will have to redo his bandages afterwards. He'll take care of it later. After he's dosed on some pain relievers, or a good amount of liquor. ]

[ Her smile softens. She wrings out the cloth to keep it from unruly dripping. ]

Please, Geralt. What kind of argument is that? I'm not the one being bullied into bedrest right now.

[ He really is a mess, smeared with previous attempts at washing, or just sort of wiping away blood and grime. Ciri dabs at his brow and temples, working the dried blood out of his hairline. For a while, she is quiet, focusing on her task -- water, washcloth, fingers brushing out his hair and getting as much of the grime out of it as possible without a proper bath. The back of his neck. The tops of his shoulders, avoiding the bandages.

It's true; she has seen him in far worse shape. This doesn't even come close, but in truth, she does not wish to see him that way ever again. ]

I'm glad you're home, Geralt.

[ The words leave her lips almost on accident, so soft a normal human might not have been able to hear without straining. It's not Sam's house she means. ]

[ His expression says there is truth to that, but also: they can both be bullied into bedrest. He tilts his head for her to wipe at his neck, and he reaches up with a thumb to scrub at what he can feel clinging to his skin on the other side. He looks forward to when he can get to his feet without his entire body protesting each time.

He softens, placing a hand on her knee. ] I'd never leave you for long. [ Not if he can help it. It's a promise, one that almost sits too heavy in the air. He pauses before adding, ] And Jaskier is a terrible menace to be alone with.

[ He's glad, actually, that Jaskier was here. He's not certain what he'd have done if he hadn't been able to rely on Jaskier, to know that at least someone he trusted was looking out for Ciri. Someone she had a chance of listening to. ]

[ Ciri is quiet for a moment, swallowing several times against the lump stubbornly lodged in her throat. She does not question Geralt's promise. They both know the limits of it-- and the strength of conviction, care, and destiny behind it, too.

They will keep finding each other. ]

Mm.

[ It's a rough sound in her throat, of agreement perhaps. Or something else. Ciri gets more soap on the cloth to wipe around the edges of the bandages on Geralt's shoulders, careful not to get the dressings beneath wet.

The (affectionate; she can tell) dig at Jaskier tugs her lips into a smile, fond. ]

Indeed. He menaced me aplenty with words of encouragement and freshly-baked bread.

[ Ciri has no idea how she'd have managed alone. Far worse, that's for certain. ]

[ He grows quiet, too. He does not like making promises he can't keep. Sometimes it feels like this is one where he can't, and yet he knows he won't allow himself to not keep it, either.

His heart feels tight. There's a faint smile at the image of Jaskier anxiously baking bread. It fades quickly, half-hearted. He wants to feel better about being home, and in some ways he does. But in other ways, it opens...paths he does not wish to walk. Doors he'd forced shut while he'd been busy trying to make it through the night.

He pushes it aside once more. There are things she needs to know, things he will tell her. He just needs some time to think, and he suspects she needs it, too, before she attempts the questions that undoubtedly burn inside her. They will not be answers she wants to hear, but they both know he will not mince words with her. ] I'm expecting you saved me at least half a loaf.

[ Feels like circumstances call for freshly baked bread, at the very least. ]

Edited 2021-12-10 19:49 (UTC)

Still have several, in fact. I'll bring you some later. And again tomorrow, I suspect.

[ Considering the somewhat crowded situation in their home right now and how terribly beat-up and exhausted Geralt still looks, Ciri suspects he'll stay where there are fewer people and extra beds at least a little longer. It doesn't bother her; either way, he's safe. Where she can find him again.

She's just not used to being so worried for him.

For a few minutes, Ciri works in silence, rubbing away the blood where she can, drying off the damp spots with a fresh towel. Thinking about how many bandages there are. How worn Geralt looks. About Thorne, and how easy it had been for their mages to take him. About how no one would have known but for a small stroke of luck. (Is there really such a thing as luck? Or was it something more?)

There have been times, before (that she will not talk about and doesn't wish to linger on), reminders that he is as mortal as any man. They clash against her bone-deep belief in Geralt as a constant, no matter how far apart they are, the one person she can count on to return through the powers of a force as old as the universe. They have a fickle relationship, Destiny and her Child of the Elder Blood, but there is one thing Ciri believes, no matter how hypocritical it may seem to anyone else. She is meant to be here because he is here.

The idea that he could simply disappear, that he could perish alone thousands of miles away in a foreign world without her even knowing--

It scares her. Very much.

Ciri's hand stills, then drops away, tossing the cloth somewhere off to the side. Her forehead presses into Geralt's shoulder. ]

I love you.

[ Barely a whisper, as though it is a secret, but though they're often shown the words are rarely spoken. Rarely needed. This feels needed now. ]

You don't... have to say anything.

[ He doesn't remember. But that's all right. ]

Edited 2021-12-12 08:15 (UTC)

[ She isn't wrong, that he would prefer to be here where it's quieter, with more room. He knows Sam will not mind. It's a knowledge he isn't used to having, or accepting, but one which is...not unwelcome. He stays silent with a hundred words on his tongue he does not yet want to put out into the open. For awhile, it's enough to just be here, knowing she's safe, knowing that she can rest easy with him home again. Or as much as she will be able to, after everything.

He almost doesn't hear the words—not because they're too softly spoken, but because they catch him off guard. His heart is painfully heavy. He's never meant this much to anyone before. Deep down, he knows he's always wanted it, this feeling, maybe has been searching for it his entire life as much as he avoided having it, afraid it would slip from his grasp like everything else. But despite it all, Ciri has wound up here with him here in this foreign world. And ever since she has, he's wanted to...try again. With her. To be what she needs. Even if it leaves him feeling far too exposed, beyond what he's ever allowed himself to be.

He swallows hard. His fingers curl around Ciri's hand. They are rough, like his own; he's thought about it sometimes, what happened in those absent years between them that pushed her into the life of a Witcher. If she'd really chosen it or not. He knows it's not what he would've wanted for her, but at the same time, he can see how much it suits her, too. How much she finds her purpose in it. Isn't that all any of them can ask for? To have a reason to live through this shit world? ]

You are important to me. More than anything. [ More than anyone, no matter where they are. It makes no difference, that there are things he doesn't remember, that they are separated by time. Not anymore. Not if she feels the same in return. He wants her to know that. ]

[ Her hand turns in his, squeezes around his fingers in return. Ciri breathes out, closing her eyes. Letting the silence settle around his words.

More than anything.

It's strange. He doesn't even remember, and yet--

She believes him. Completely. The same way she believed in him when she was a child, searching for a safe harbor when she'd been unmoored from her life and all those who had loved her growing up. Not because he is bound to her by Destiny. Because he is her family. ]

...I know. [ Ciri murmurs, letting the moment stretch on.

She will resume her work shortly. She'll make sure he has what he needs, get him some food (one of Jaskier's loaves of bread, which have remained surprisingly fresh). When he needs to rest, she'll leave, and when he wakes up, she will come back to do it all again tomorrow, until he can stand on his own two feet once more.

He would do the same for her. ]

Edited 2021-12-15 05:06 (UTC)

[ CLOSED ] hands like skeleton bones

ciri.

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