Woo-hoo spooky writing wip for @catboymoments Lupus Automata! Tw for graphic injury and death
The procedure was messy in their haste, but it was done. Even through the local anesthesia they could feel the dull ache of the exposed nerves. Pulling them further sent shockwaves up their hip but it was manageable. It would make the connection smoother once they grabbed the prosthetic.
Juniper shifts to do just that, but their eyes linger on their leg resting on the table. It was a sloppy amputation by their standards, and they hadn't been able to stop the blood from pooling. It snagged at something in their frazzled mind.
Kiida had never argued with them. Scolded, certainly. But they'd never seen her angry in a way that wasn't easily resolved. It had gotten personal fast, with her infuriating skill to pick at their brain. Even now, her words echoed in their head.
"You can be so impulsive, Juniper. A sloppy eater who expects others to clean up the mess their hunger made."
Their hunger? THEIR hunger? The gall of her to lecture them over hunger when she kept that boy at her side to slobber over her. As if she hadn't been planning to do the same thing they did. She was just mad Juniper had gotten to him first!
Yes, that was it. She was so fucking selfish. Who does she think she is, ruining their fun? How were they supposed to get their results now?
Their vision blurs and their thoughts jumble, still staring daggers at their leg. There was blood dripping out of the pan and onto their pant leg, but it rushed like a waterfall in their ears.
She wants to see hunger? Well they're starving.
The flesh yields easily under their teeth, just as easy as he had. It was bitter and sharp but Juniper swallows it down. Again and again, they couldn't stop themselves, even as their stomach roils in protest.
"There you go, making a mess again. What am I going to do with you?"
Their next bite comes back up before they can stop it. They curl in on themselves, sick splattering over their front and stinging the severed end of their leg. A hand scrambles to wipe the area clean, but it catches on something else. There's another burst of warm fluid over their hand. Juniper looks down.
Blood. Even more of it. Too much to stop.
A hand scrambles for the tourniquet on the floor, but their balance is off and they fall hard. A gag wracks their frame but their stomach has nothing left to give. Numbing hands fumble for the tourniquet even as they know it won't help. They were dying.
Juniper laughs. It's so intense it hurts. There was nothing else to do. Even as they laid there on the floor, with their vision going spotty, it wasn't the first thing on their mind. No.
Pairing: Scully x Mulder
Warning(s): n/a
Rating: mature
Length: 4.8k
Summary: In the middle of a frustrating case, Scully ends up in an awkward situation with the suspect thinking he's Mulder.
ao3
In her years in the X-Files, Scully has worked on dozens of cases of varying believability and solvability, but the case they've been called in on this time is a new level of weird, even for her. It started with a home burglary, nothing stolen but some loose cash - and has now evolved to include a bank robbery and the theft of a classic Mustang from a well-off neighbourhood. Scully isn't even sure these crimes are related, but there is a singular commonality not even she can deny: all the suspects in these crimes have been caught on camera committing them, and have air-tight alibis elsewhere. None of them could have committed these crimes, despite the evidence pointing directly at them.
She and Mulder have been sifting through crime scene photos and evidence bags all afternoon and they're no closer to having a single clue what's going on than when they arrived. The local PD haven't been able to offer anything more than a that's why we called you in. Mulder seems to be getting along fine with them, but their habit of lingering and looking over her shoulder is making Scully claustrophobic and aggravated.
Sitting up straight, she stretches her arms, letting her hands bump against the officer standing behind her in a none-too-subtle gesture. He doesn't get the hint.
"Anything?" he asks.
"If we find anything, we'll tell you."
She knows she's being short with him, but she doesn't care right now - not even when Mulder shoots her a questioning look from across the room. She's tired and sore and frustrated and her head is killing her, and if this cop doesn't get out of her way, she's going to literally push him out of the room.
"Hey Scully, take a look at this-"
"Agents?"
The door opens just in time to interrupt Mulder, and Scully is relieved not to have to hear whatever half-baked theory he has come up with. She rubs the back of her neck, looking up at the newcomer.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says, "but we've got another one."
This new scene is no different from the others - it looks like any other crime scene they've been at, but she has no idea how it fits in with the rest of them. She's examining a pile of papers on the floor when Mulder comes over, tapping his credentials in the palm of his hand.
"Please tell me you have any link to the other cases," Scully pleads.
"Well, unless you count an airtight alibi and CCTV with his face on it."
She groans and drops her head back. Not at all what she was hoping for.
"You know, Scully, there are stories of twins being able to communicate over long distances-"
Scully stops listening. She might have patience for this on another day, but this case is getting to her and Mulder's theories are not helping.
"Evil twins, Mulder? Really?"
"Hey, it wouldn't be the weirdest thing we've ever seen."
"No," Scully admits, "it certainly wouldn't."
Right now, it doesn't matter how many weird things that she's seen in the past, she still has Skinner to answer to, and despite everything they've been through, he's not nearly as open-minded as Mulder. She can't really blame him, she supposes; she still doesn't believe half of it herself. Which is why writing her report on this case is going to be so damn difficult. If she believed it herself, she would at least feel like she could defend it to Skinner, but right now what they have to go on is evil twins or some sort of shapeshifter.
"Listen, Mulder. I'm going to go talk to our most recent suspect, see what he has to say about his alibi."
"Yeah, you do that," he says absently, "I'm gonna go check out this twin thing."
Scully nods and starts away. She doesn't even get back to the front door before Mulder is running up to her and grabbing her by the arm.
"What's wrong?" She asks.
"Local PD let the suspect from the second crime go. Said they have no evidence to hold him."
Scully can feel her shoulders tighten. "They don't," she says, "no one has enough evidence for anything."
She wants to tell him they have nothing at all, but he's already worked up, so she lets him drag her off to the police station to complain. Secretly, she's glad for a reprieve from trying to work out what the hell is going on here.
She regrets it as soon as they arrive.
The officer who let their suspect go has a chip on his shoulder about the FBI being involved, and Mulder immediately instigates a fight with him about his ability to do his job properly. Scully slips out while they argue, making her way out to the vending machine in the parking lot to grab a Coke. She'd like it better with rum or vodka, but nothing is going her way today and she's come to accept that.
Mulder comes out a few minutes later, shrugging back into his suit jacket. Scully can only imagine what he looked like before the argument was broken up. She doesn't mention it to Mulder, lest he regale her with a full retelling. Instead, she slides quietly into the passenger seat and waits for him to join her, which he does a moment later.
"I don't know about you," he says, "but I'm gonna go see if I can track him down."
Scully rolls her eyes. Of course he is.
"I think I'm gonna call it a night. Take a look at it again with fresh eyes in the morning."
"Yeah, good call. I'll drop you off on my way downtown."
Mulder pulls out of the parking lot and Scully quickly sips her coke so it doesn't spill into her lap. She gives Mulder a questioning look out of the corner of her eye; she wants to tell him to play nicely with the local PD, but knows all too well how futile that would be. Instead, when he drops her off at her apartment, she thanks him with a smile and leaves him the half can of coke for his stakeout.
For the first time today, she's feeling optimistic; she's going to go and have a glass or two of wine and sit in the bath and not think about aliens or shapeshifters or evil twins until tomorrow. She climbs the stairs to her apartment and breathes a sigh of relief as she unlocks the door. No more X-Files for tonight.
Scully drops her purse on the kitchen counter and pulls out a bottle of white from the fridge, setting it on the counter with an empty glass while she goes to run a bath. She collects the bottle again when the bath is full, bubbles already threatening to spill out the sides, and decides against the glass. The bathwater is just a hair too hot, but she sinks into it, one hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle. She lifts it to her lips and sighs as the first drops hit her tongue. This is where she belongs.
Scully has made it through a quarter of a bottle when she hears a knock at the door. She sits up, the few remaining bubbles sticking to her skin as she raises an eyebrow at the door. She's not expecting anyone, and it was already late when she got home. The only person it's likely to be at this time of night is Mulder, and as much as she enjoys his company regularly, she's not up for talking about the case right now.
"Just a second!" she calls.
She's disappointed to have been pulled away from her wine and her bath, but it could be important. She sets the bottle down on the floor, wraps herself in a towel and pads over to the door to peer through the peephole. It's Mulder, because of course it is.
"Just a sec, Mulder, I just got out of the bath."
She misses whatever witty remark he throws at her through the door and goes to her room. The first things she finds are a pair of silky pyjama shorts and a tank top. There's a proper top that matches the shorts, but it must have been misplaced in her rush to get to work this morning.
Mulder gives her a look when she opens the door, but she ignores him.
"What are you doing here? I thought you were chasing down our suspect?"
"Yeah," he says with a shrug, "about that."
"You know what, I don't want to know." She steps back to let him into the apartment. "Come in."
Mulder does as he's told, producing a paper bag that smells suspiciously like Chinese food. "I brought dinner."
"Dinner? It's midnight."
"Okay, so it's a late dinner." Mulder sits himself down on the couch, setting the bag on the coffee table and rifling through it.
He pulls out two to-go containers and pushes one over toward Scully. It has been a long time since she's eaten, and reluctantly she accepts the offering.
"Thanks."
"I'm just gonna go wash up, dig in."
Scully digs a pair of chopsticks out of the bottom of the bag and is just about to open her container when Mulder comes back, holding her opened bottle of wine in his hands.
"Starting without me?" he teases.
"I wasn't exactly expecting company."
Mulder takes a swig from the bottle and passes it back over to her. Scully smiles at him and follows suit. If she's going to have company, she might as well enjoy it. As she sets the bottle down, Mulder's hands settle on her shoulders. Scully doesn't think anything of it, even as he starts rubbing her shoulders. Mulder has always been touchy, especially with her, and it feels nice, and she's tense after the day she's had - and will likely have tomorrow.
She leans into it, sighing softly as she presses herself back into the cushions, letting her mind go blank as the wine settles in her belly. Mulder is surprisingly skilled with his hands, easily working out the tension in her shoulders, and every time he moves inward, his thumbs brush the sides of her neck. A soft smile works its way onto her lips, and Scully hums at the sensation, only vaguely aware that she's making sound.
"Jeez, you really are tense."
"Hm," Scully mumbles, "it's this case, I can't figure out what the hell is going on. Every time I think I have an idea what's happening, something comes along that completely contradicts it. It's like-"
"Hey," Mulder interrupts softly, "just relax. Don't think about it any more."
Scully agrees and as Mulder continues, she drops her head to her chest, shutting her eyes with a soft groan. Mulder huffs a quiet laugh and normally, she would want to hit him for it, but she's feeling relaxed for the first time since they started this case. Mulder distracts her, talking about the game he watched last night, and before she knows it, Scully is drowsy and dopey, and she smiles with every brush of Mulder's thumbs against her skin. That's the thing about Mulder, he always seems to know exactly what she needs in the moment, and if she wasn't so appreciative of it, it would drive her crazy.
It's intentional now, it couldn't not be, and as his breath ruffles her hair, she shudders. Everything in her feels warm and soft and comfortable, and when Mulder bends to kiss the top of her head, she nearly turns to meet him. He tips her head to the side and Mulder's lips brush against her skin, tracing a warm line up to press a kiss under her jaw. It surprises her at first, but the way he presses his nose into her skin sends a shiver down her spine.
If she was more sober, she might think twice about this, but it's something that's been hovering over them for years now, maybe for as long as they've known each other. It has for Scully, anyway. Mulder's lips press into her jaw, her neck, and collar bone. Scully hums softly and when Mulder's fingers drag down her cheek, she turns her head as guided, looking up into his eyes. There's a moment of pause before he kisses her properly, pressing his lips to hers and parting his lips eagerly. Scully responds immediately, reaching up and sliding her hand into his hair. She draws him closer and Mulder laughs as he pulls away.
For a second, Scully is worried she's pushed too far; she drank more than Mulder did and maybe- Her worries are quashed when Mulder hops over the back of the couch and kisses her again. He leans over her, shifting back to lay her down, and Scully's heart is racing. This is stupid and it's going to make things uncomfortable at work, but when Mulder presses between her legs, laying over her, all reasons to stop flee her mind. Instead, she pulls him down on top of her, kissing him hard and winding her fingers in his hair. Fuck whatever she was thinking before; she wants this, he wants this. There's no reason to deny herself now.
Mulder shifts and one of his hands slides up her stomach, easily unbuttoning her blouse and pushing it to the side. His mouth slides to her bare chest, pressing kisses into her skin. Scully drops her head back, arching into the touch. She's so engrossed in Mulder's gentle affection that she doesn't hear the footsteps coming down the hall, or the knock on her door.
"Oh," she breathes, "Fox..."
Behind her and out of sight, the front door opens and a man steps into the room.
"Scully?"
She freezes immediately, pulling herself out from under Mulder and turning toward the door. Standing there, wet from the rain, and looking possibly more confused than she feels, is Mulder. In an instant, the Mulder she was making out with rises to his feet and bolts for the window. In a state of shock, Scully can't do anything but pull the afghan from the back of the couch and wrap herself in it. She's not undressed - Mulder has seen her in much less besides - but she feels more naked now than ever.
When she finally snaps back to reality, she grabs her gun from the side table, relieved that she hadn't put it away, and shoots the escaping Mulder in the leg. He crumples to the ground with a groan and Mulder two drops next to him and cuffs his hands behind his back. Scully sits, frozen as Mulder hauls the other man to his feet and shoves him bodily toward the door. She wants to disappear, to simply cease to exist - or at least for Mulder to take not-Mulder to the police station so she can be alone to figure out what the hell happened here tonight. But Mulder comes over to her and kneels down to look her in the face.
"Hey," he says gently, "you okay?"
Scully wants to yell at him, to tell him to leave her alone, but she knows it's her own discomfort bubbling to the surface. Mulder didn't do any of this; she got herself into this own mess, and it's not his place to come and try to fix it.
"Yeah," she says, "Fine."
Mulder offers her a hand and she reluctantly takes it, her stomach roiling with guilt as soon as his fingers brush hers.
"They'll want to get a statement from you." He pauses. "You sure you're okay? He didn't hurt you?"
This time, he doesn't quite meet her eyes and Scully shakes her head. She hates this, all of it. As if the case wasn't bad enough before, now there's this thing between her and Mulder that feels insurmountable. She goes to her room to change, glad for the reprieve from the tension. In a weird way, she's glad not-Mulder is still there because it means she doesn't have to face her Mulder one-on-one. She doesn't have to tell him about what happened or face the fact that she was going to sleep with this man - but only because she thought it was him.
Once she's dressed, they take Mulder's rental car to the station and Scully is all too aware that this means she and Mulder will be riding back alone together, unless she can think of a good enough reason to catch a cab instead.
When they get to the station, not-Mulder is released into police custody and Scully drops onto a seat in the hall. She rests her elbows on her knees and holds her face in her hands. She can't quite calm her breathing, and she's so afraid of how this is going to go. It was fine when she thought Mulder was on the same wavelength, but now, knowing he wasn't? She doesn't know what it's going to do to their relationship. And she's still buzzed and it's well past midnight and she should have just told him to go home and go to bed. But she thought it was Mulder. And why would she send him home, even at two in the morning?
Something bumps her knee and she startles, looking up to find Mulder in front of her, down on one knee.
"Hey," he says softly, "you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"I tried to call you when I found out he was out - he must have gone after you."
Scully opens her mouth to ask why but shuts it again when she realizes what the follow up conversation will entail. Thankfully, or not, the officer they've been dealing with comes out just in time to interrupt and Mulder's attention is quickly redirected.
"What the hell were you thinking letting him go? Do you know what could have happened? This man is a danger to the general public-"
Scully tunes out his tirade.
She's glad for the shift of attention, but she doesn't want to hear whatever it is he will have to say about her. Instead, she waits for Mulder to finish berating the officer and quietly accompanies a second officer to the interrogation room. It's not something she's looking forward to, but she isn't upset at leaving Mulder to yell on her behalf. Normally, she would find it endearing, and it worries her a little that she's happy to get away from it tonight. She doesn't want to think too much about it, but she can't help thinking it's not just about defending her this time; maybe Mulder needs an excuse to let off some steam. Scully shuts her eyes, pushes the thought aside, and sits down in the chair offered to her.
By the time her questioning is done, Scully is exhausted. It's late and she feels like it's been days since she slept. In something of a haze, she leaves the police station with Mulder and climbs into his car like it's nothing. But it's not. There's a lingering uneasiness that reminds Scully of when she was a child; she feels like she's about to get in trouble for something and it's uncomfortable. She can only hope that Mulder doesn't feel the need to bring it up tonight.
The drive is quiet, and by the time they reach her apartment, Scully wants to cry. This whole thing is ridiculous, and could have been prevented if she had just been honest with Mulder about how she felt years ago. If she had said something earlier, she wouldn't be in this position. And right now, she wants comfort that she only gets from Mulder.
As he pulls up to the curb, Mulder casts a glance in her direction, eyes flicking up to her floor and then back down to her.
"You gonna be okay alone tonight?" he asks. "I could stay, if you want."
She does. More than anything. She needs this to be a normal night where Mulder stays to protect her despite her saying she'll be fine alone. But more than that, she needs to be alone. She needs to just go to bed and pass out and wake up in the morning and have this all be over and done with.
"I'll be okay."
She offers a smile to sell it, but Mulder doesn't ask again. He always asks again. If she's done something to fuck this up, she'll never forgive herself. That was the reason she never told him, after all, because what if it made things weird? She thanks Mulder for the ride, tells him she'll see him in the morning, and climbs out of the car, shutting the door without looking back.
Her apartment is dark when she gets in, but she knows the mess she'll see if she turns on the light, so instead she hangs her coat up and makes for bed, throwing herself onto it dramatically.
"This is so stupid," she says to herself, "so, so stupid."
In the morning, Scully gets dressed and styles her hair and puts on makeup without letting herself think about the night before. She's barely slept, and feels like shit because of it, but at least she can go into work, finish her report, and leave this fucking case behind her forever.What she's going to put in her report, she doesn't know, but she's written up many other unexplained things in the past.
The commute in is loud and as far from as peaceful as one could hope, but Scully appreciates the noise today. It's soothing in a way quiet wouldn't be and she's feeling almost normal again by the time she gets to the Bureau. She's preparing herself to go down to the basement and meet Mulder, when he surprises her in the hallway, startling her with a hand on her shoulder.
"Hey, sorry Scully. How'd you sleep?"
"Terrible, but I'm awake now. Have you spoken to Skinner?"
"No, that's where I'm headed. He'll want to see you, too, I'm sure."
"I haven't typed up my report-"
"Can I talk to you?"
"Before we see Skinner? Mulder, I still-"
"Don't worry about your report," he says, gesturing with one hand.
"Don't worry about it?"
"Look, Scully, I really want to talk to you about Dale Wilson."
"And I really want to get my report done so Skinner doesn't send someone to oversee mywork." It's a low blow and she knows it, but Mulder isn't listening anyway; he continues.
"Which is why we need to talk, listen, I think you should-"
Scully inhales deeply, trying to steady herself. "Mulder, I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh," he says so nonchalantly she could deck him. "Why not?"
At this, Scully stops, dropping her arms to the sides with a huff. She tries desperately to control her voice, but she can practically hear herself wavering already.
"Why not, Mulder? Why not?"She looks at him and he stares back, but gives no answer. "I'm humiliated," she hisses, glancing around to confirm they're still alone. "We both know what happened last night and if it's all the same to you I'd rather pretend it didn't and put this case behind us, where it belongs." She emphasizes the last word but Mulder's expression changes only slightly.
"But," she says, exasperated, "for some reason, you won't let me do that. Fine, Mulder, what is so important that you think we should talk about it right here and now? Why don't we go downstairs and tell everyone about it, hm? I'm sure someone's put money on this kind of thing-"
Mulder steps forward and takes her hand, looking quickly down the hall before pulling her into an empty office and shutting the door. He takes another quick look around, and finding the room empty, continues. "Hey," he says gently, "it was only me, no one else was even there. What do you have to be embarrassed about?"
The fact that he doesn't know the answer to that question just makes Scully feel stupider and she scrubs her hands over her face. What is she supposed to say to that?:Well Mulder I don't know if you noticed, but I was very much intending to have sex with a man who was notyou, but only because I thought he was you.Or maybe I've been wary of sharing my feelings with you because of work and because I'm afraid you wouldn't feel the same and it would ruin the best friendship I've ever had but now that cat's out of the bag and so far you've said nothing, which makes me think I am alone in this and I'd rather pretend this never happened than lose you over it.
"Oh, stop it Mulder. You were there, you saw everything. You can't tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed in the same situation."
Mulder takes a step forward, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear. "I'd count myself lucky to be in that situation." He smiles his stupid little smile and cocks his head at her. "Any man would."
"Mulder," she groans.
"Scully, you're a smart woman, you have to know there's more here than just our flawless partnership."
He smiles. Scully huffs a humourless laugh and rolls her eyes at him, but she feels lighter at the thought of it.
"Now," Mulder continues, "if you tell me to, I'd be happy to forget this ever happened, let you hand in your report and never speak of it again. But I think," he says softly, "we'd be missing out on something great."
Scully flicks her eyes up to meet his, and is surprised, despite his words, to find only sincerity there. She wants to tell him yes, to nod, to show him in any way that she wants to take the chance at something great if he'd be willing. But she only manages to lick her lips and stare at him. Evidently, Mulder can read her better than she knew, and he smiles that stupid smile of his again and presses a kiss to her forehead. When he draws back, she tilts her head up and his breath dusts lightly over her lips before he leans in and kisses her.
Her breath catches and her eyes drop shut of their own volition as Mulder's hands slide over her hips. Her heart is beating too quickly, and as Mulder breaks the kiss, her head snaps up, afraid to find someone who is not him looking back at her, but all she finds is him. Mulder smiles softly and presses in until his nose bumps against her cheek.
"Hey," he breathes, "it's okay, it's just me."
Scully pulls back just far enough to take in his face, the familiar affection in his eyes, the curve of his smile. Looking at him now, she doesn't know how she could ever have thought anyone else was him. Before the guilt and shame can creep in again, she slides her fingers into his hair and pulls him down against her. She's confident this time, leading Mulder in a kiss that leaves her breathless, pulling him in so they stumble backward until he bends and lifts her onto the table behind them.
Mulder fits himself between her thighs, placing his hands on the table to brace himself and for a minute, Scully can forget that they're in the FBI building, that she has a report to file about a man who appeared to be her partner and most certainly was not. She can forget about Skinner and the X-Files and anything apart from Mulder's body pressing against hers. She feels stupid all over again for not thinking Mulder would feel this way, for worrying about what he would think in any way. This is Mulder; her partner, her best friend, and maybe something more. She doesn't know how should could have doubted him.
A door creaks and she nearly has to push Mulder off of her, but when he steps back, the door to the room is still closed tightly. She gives Mulder an embarrassed shrug and huffs a laugh as he holds out a hand to help her down.
"Come on," he smiles, "I think you still have a report to write."
If Skinner hadn't been through half the things he had with them, he would have likely written Scully up for failure to write a complete report. As it is, he sighs with a heavy reluctance she knows well, and accepts it, muttering under his breath about how he'll have to file it. Scully lets out a breath and releases the tension in her shoulders. She can feel Mulder next to her, poised to defend her report if need be, to take on the bulk of Skinner's scrutiny, but it doesn't happen.
"I assume this is the truth as it happened?" Skinner asks.
"Yes, sir," Scully says, the faintest hint of doubt creeping back in.
"Alright." He sighs heavily, "you're dismissed."
They both turn, and just as Scully reaches for the door, Skinner pipes up again.
"Oh, and Agent Mulder?"
They both turn, but Skinner doesn't so much as look up at them.
Throwing this out into the ether so I can stop agonizing over it. The ending was kicking my ass for some reason T-T Miss Kiida I need to write you moreeee
Tw for discussion of a dead body/murder? It's not graphic but just in case
☆~☆~☆~☆
There truly was something beautiful about the body failing.
Edmund didn't often get poisonings in this jurisdiction- violent crime was common, but it was typically more… blunt. But, well, when a trade executive is found in a Gorven back alley with high levels of caffeine in his system, one can allow for exceptions.
It didn't help that he was getting the woman's assistants popping in every other day trying to keep things under wraps. They didn't care if the scene suggested foul play, they just wanted to avoid a scandal at whatever cost. As if even stepping foot on Gorven was a crime. Then again, some did think that way. Even Edmund had at first.
Thankfully, it seems the officers have finally learned to do their jobs and keep people out of his office. Autopsies were delicate enough when you weren't dealing with chitin. He needed to examine the victim, not mangle her.
The screen hovering beside him had a link to the camera down her throat. Definite signs of abrasion- she must've gone out into the dunes at some point. There hadn't been any sandstorms in the area she'd been found.
His ear flicks back when he hears a distant door open. Standard issue hoof pads, and dress shoes with a muffled heel. One of the chunnyik officers and- presumably- a human. They weren't talking, or if they were it wasn't loud enough to carry this far. If it's another one of this woman's damned associates he was going to start welding the entrance shut before his shifts.
Edmund removes the camera probe in the time it takes his guests to reach the doorway. Officer Eesrii enters, eyes already averted from the holoscreen. She was one of the more squeamish recruits, if he remembers right. "Doctor Shelley, you have another visitor."
Well, it wouldn't do to snap at the poor thing. He takes a breath before replying. "I could tell. Whoever it is can wait until I'm available." His eyes flit to the doorway where the visitor lingered-
"Professor Callaghan?"
His former teacher smiles, looking just the same as she had nearly a decade ago. She really did look like she could be someone's mother now- the way she'd always acted. He didn't want to think on why that unsettled him.
"I'm sorry for interrupting your work, Edmund. I didn't realize you were busy." Her hands were clasped tight at her front. Tense shoulders, tired eyes. Stress, and some level of sorrow. It wasn't a look he'd seen her wear often.
Edmund shakes his head, having to jog his memory on a proper polite smile. He thinks he manages. "It's alright professor, these things happen. Particularly when new recruits forget that civilians aren't allowed back here." Officer Eesrii puffs up at the realization- it's hard not to be amused. "Well, since you're here already, I'll get cleaned up and step out to speak with you."
Once he's deployed and the patient is back in cold storage, he does just that. The hallway's LEDs are just this side of irritating. "So, to what do I owe the visit, Professor?"
"Please, call me Kiida," Professor Callaghan- Kiida, apparently, is all smiles again. He'd admire her ability to put on a brave face if it wasn't so unsettling. "You haven't been my student in quite some time."
"I haven't, have I?" He hums to himself. It was strange to think about how much time had passed. He'd never expected to live this long. "Here, how's about we walk and talk? I've got some things to file."
She falls in stride with him without much issue. Edmund tries not to linger on the few inches she has on him. Despite the friendliness of the interaction so far, he couldn't help but feel hunted. Had he truly become so paranoid working here?
Kiida's the first to speak. "How many sophonts have you worked on, if I may ask?" Looking her way doesn't betray anything.
"All but neasles and that recently discovered species, I believe. Though personally I consider the subtypes of chronomorphs and Kroolie to be their own groups at times, which how much they can vary. I still have yet to examine a basal kroolie- doubt I ever will..." Edmund trails off. Maybe hes more tired than he thought, going on like that.
To her credit, Kiida just nods. "And you'd consider yourself well versed in the anatomy of those you've worked on?" He wasn't sure he liked where this was going. "Why the sudden interest in my skillset?" Why the hell is she here??
The tension is back, but barely. Edmund stops walking when she doesn't follow. "Have you heard of the ECLPS program, Edmund?"
ECLPS… He thinks he heard about large robots that were a result of that program, but little else. "The name's familiar. I'm not one for advanced technologies."
Kiida's looking out one of the windows now. The asteroid housing the station was just barely large enough to have a visible atmosphere, the distant star painting verdant greens across the horizon. "Our pilot program has been growing steadily, but the work is dangerous. We'd anticipated injuries, but… there's been deaths. Sooner than expected."
Ah. "You want me to process them then?" Or replace them, but he doubts that. No sane person would look at him and think he'd be safe in heavy machinery. "Why me, if I might ask? Not that I'm not flattered by the visit, but I'm hardly your only student versed in anatomy."
Her smile returns, but it lacks warmth. "You have a… reverence for the dead others don't. You care, and you're all the more meticulous for it. That's what I need."
Edmund… isn't sure what to say to that. It had something in the back of his mind raising hackles. Ridiculous. She wasn't some looming predator. "Well then. I'll see about finishing up my current case, and contact you about a transfer then."
"Oh, there's no need! I had a feeling you'd agree, it's all taken care of." That makes him stiffen visibly. Kiida just laughs. "Oh come now, I meant nothing by it! Just being proactive."
Hopefully, this new job was far from her jurisdiction. "I assume you have transportation prepared as well, then?" He sighs, glancing back at the dark expanse outside. Working so closely with those… collosals, even if just through examining the victims? It excited him, he couldn't deny that. And yet he had the strangest sense of dread.
Edmund shakes it off and follows behind her. Perhaps he just needed to get used to Kiida again. She'd be the only ghost of his past to deal with, at least.
"I'm so glad you agreed to this. Juniper was doubtful, but I knew you've always wanted to do the right thing. I can't begin to tell you how much this means for our organization."
... great.
☆~☆~☆~☆
Universe and Kiida Callaghan belong to @catboymoments!
More Lumata fic!! This one's kinda sad sorry (lie <3)
☆~☆~☆~☆
This never got any easier.
Ed switches out his gloves one last time, tossing the soiled ones into the trash. He'd had to do a lot more restoration work this time around- five dead, and each family wanted open caskets. It's not like he could blame them, but sympathy didn't clean up the mess.
Five more dead. Miss Kiida had said one of those things had torn through the mech's midsection before anyone could react. He never understood why she gave him those sorts of details- he certainly never wanted them.
"Well, no more delaying," His voice sounded hollow even to himself. It's a little better when he flicks on the speakers- ancient music tinny through the morgue's low budget system. Ed couldn't remember when he'd started this tradition of his, but it kept him in the moment. Ike had good taste.
Gods, poor Ike. He was nineteen. Two days ago he'd been laughing with the rest of his crew loud enough to fill the galley. It was awful to see him silent. Ed could call his expression peaceful, at least- they weren't always.
One breath.
Two.
His patient needed him.
He would not break.
Ed moves through the procedures on autopilot (hah). Wiring the jaw, emptying and replacing the fluids, cleaning up the scratches on his face. He lets the tears fall freely, for once. Ike wouldn't have minded.
Breath in.
Breath out.
It was still too quiet, so Ed turns up the music. His hands were shaking as he helps the kid into the outfit his mother had sent- a truly lovely set of traditional garb. He ignores how cold Ike feels in his hands. With a few final touch ups, he looks…
Well. No one could say Ed wasn't good at his job.
He lifts and moves Ike into the coffin with only a bit of difficulty. The gloves come off, his coat gets tossed into the basket for the wash, and he washes off the remnants of the day. It's a loop he gets lost in often, and tonight was no exception. His hands are raw by the time he centers back in.
His reflection stares back with empty eyes, ears pinned back against his head. There was more than enough reason for him to leave this job. It was bad enough being the only coroner on site. He'd seen more deaths in the few years he'd spent on this blasted station than his entire career before then. You weren't supposed to work on people you were close to if you could help it, not alone. His teacher said once that it would eat at some part of you- your heart, or your mind.
He hadn't much of a mind left to lose.
In.
Out.
In.
Ed was going to deliver the coffin to where it would need to be later in the week, and then he was going to medbay. Just to visit.
The silence lingers long after he shuts off the music. He doubts it will ever go away.
No more. He can't grieve any more.
☆~☆~☆~☆
Universe is by @catboymoments, check out his comic!
Ike belongs to @orangepopart! Hope you like his little cameo (is it a cameo if he's there but dead? Lol)
Two fics in one night? From moi? It's more likely than you think ;3
☆~☆~☆~☆
The funerals never got easier to sit through.
Another coffin, another round of eulogies, another light show. It was a closed casket, all things considered. That poor boy down in the morgue couldn't do much with what was left. Danny hadn't written anything specific for the ceremony itself. Hadn't expected to go out so soon. They never did.
Truthfully, Otto hadn't known him as well as others had. He knew he was Lucy's boy, of course. Danny had been the one to convince him to finally stop by the work bay to get his knee joints realigned, and that's when he'd met the engineer. He had an allergy with stone fruits, just like his ma, and always ate double on wing nights. He'd been a good kid.
Lucy wasnt in the hall anymore. He saw her leave after the lights started blooming outside the station. Couldn't say he blamed her. If it had been Fi… shit, he'd have done much worse. It would be a blessing he didn't have his guns anymore.
When folks start filing out, Otto heads to the kitchens. Moving through the steps helped him think. He could take out as much anger as he wanted on the sauce. There's a small plate of wings once he's done, and he grabs a bottle of the "good stuff" on the way out.
He finds Lucy in the hangar hunched over a mess of scrap and wires. In all his years of knowing her, he'd never seen her look so small.
"Callaghan wanted to talk to you," He keeps his voice low for her sake. No point in startling her. "I told her to fuck off and let you breathe before dragging you through corporate bullshit."
Lucy's mouth twitches at the edge, glancing at the plate and the bottle of bourbon. "I hope not in those words. You know how she can get." Otto makes a show of rolling the shutters of his lens. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a stern talking to."
He nudges the plate closer but lets the silence linger. Neither of them were talkers on a good day. Lucy was still looking at whatever she was tinkering on. It takes him a moment to recognize the insignia carved into the metal.
"You know it ain't your fault, right?" It was loud in the empty hangar. The shine of her eyes is enough of an answer. He wished he knew something, anything to say.
Instead, he settles his suit down and disengages the link. It was dark enough in here that the transition's faster than usual. Otto settles against Lucy's side. "Sorry if I'm a bit damp," He croaks, "can't quite help it."
The two of them sit there in silence until the dam finally breaks. Lucy's tears are silent but her whole body shakes with them. Otto just sticks close, body humming with a gentle vibration.
Eventually, her breathing evens out again. She reaches for one of the wings. "Why'd you bring these, anyways?" Otto gives his best imitation of a shrug. "Figured you hadn't eaten in a while, what with you having to plan everything. And uh… they were his favorite."
Lucy finally gives him a watery smile. "You really are a big old sap under all that scrap." She takes a bite of the wing to ignore Otto's offended hissing. They'd definitely gone cold by now, but she didn't seem to mind. "… Thanks, Otto."
"Anytime." He slips back into the cavity of his suit, frame shuddering as he reconnects. "Oh, I almost forgot!" His chassis opens up and he pulls out the bottle. "I'm told this is the good stuff, but uh… I ain't got a way to tell that."
Turns out it's terrible. The last time he trusts Rhian's opinions on human liquor, in any case. Still, they sit and exchange stories until Lucy's near tipping over in her chair. Neither bring it up the next day, or any time after really, but whenever Otto can spot her slipping too deep into work he'll stop by with a plate of wings.
☆~☆~☆~☆
Lupus Automata is, of course, by @catboymoments!
Lucy and Danny belong to @wowa-bublord (this had me teary eyed I hope you know)
Otto doesnt look up from his len's new home on the counter. "I can't even taste it to check the seasonings. She's going to hate it."
Apf, bless him, just pats the old bot on the shoulder. "I'm sure she'll appreciate the effort! Ga'ang's a nice lady, she wouldn't be harsh about it." That was true. The Lupus crew had certainly made an impression, but they were good folk. Otto was still a bit wary of the bug, hard light swords had never done him good.
It didn't look too bad, honestly. Every group had a meat and vegetable soup of some kind, this wasn't anything new. He was just nervous! These were ingredients he'd never worked with regardless of how familiar they seemed, and Ga'ang had been living off scannar food for longer than Otto would've liked. He'd have made it sooner if Kiida hadn't hemmed and hawwed so damn long about supply…
Otto straightens up and sets his detached tools in the sink. This was a dish he wanted to deliver personally. He pops the lid on the bowl and slides it into his new compartment- Lucy had managed to turn his old ammo storage into a little mini-fridge! That reminds him, he stills owes her something good for that. Maybe he'll sneak her a-
Focus. It's delivery time. "I'll be back. Make sure no one sets things on fire." He taps Apf's forearm with his grasper as he walks past. "You got it! Take your time, we can handle it."
His timing was right for once- Otto spots the Lupus crew coming into the mess hall as he steps out of the kitchen. He catches Ga'ang before she can walk over to the scanner. "I got something for you. Let me know if I gotta make any adjustments." He pulls out the bowl and hands it to her before walking at a perfectly normal pace (rushing) back to the kitchen.
He goes right back to working on orders to resist the urge to stare. His lens still flicks over to where she's sitting with the others. Did she like it? Had he put too much salt? Oh stars, he should have left the seasonings for her to use! What a rookie mistake-
She's stopped eating.
Oh no.
Otto looks back down at the tomatoes he had smushed, scraping the residue off into the compost and starting over. He knew he shouldn't have added that much kelp, it must've set the texture off. Or maybe he hadn't cooked the fish long enough? Could she eat raw meat? Oh stars he might have poisoned her by accident.
His panicked mutterings last until lunch is being cleaned up. Taps echo from the service window and he looks up. Ga'Ga'ang still looked a bit teary, but she'd cleaned up. "You made the soup?" Well, here it goes. Otto straightens his servos, wringing the rag he'd been cleaning with in his hands. "Yeah. Uh… look, I'm so-"
Her hand is on what would be his shoulder. She's smiling. "Thank you. It… I can't imagine how much work that would have taken." His graspers creak as he relaxes. "It's not a problem, really. We should've been properly accommodating your diet sooner. It'll be a while before the rest is added to the supply rotation but I remembered you mentioning that soup-"
Ga'ang's chuckle cuts off his muttering. "I hadn't expected to ever taste home again. You did well, Otto. Thank you." Thank goodness his suit hides his buzzing. "Gosh, well, you're very welcome. It's the least I could do for you."
He rides the high of that praise for the next week.
☆~☆~☆~☆
Lupus Automata and Ga'ang belong to @catboymoments!
I'd love 8 and 19 for the cuddling prompts!! Bonus points if you could combine them 🥺👉👈💖
I'm sorry this is so so so late 😅 but I looove some sick fic, so this was a delight!
also featuring adorable art by @spielzeugkaiser (see end of the fic) <3 thank you sooo much for doing this with me
pls go send some love to Conny because they deserve it! I adore this piece ❤︎❤︎
To Have and To Hold || ao3
It's not often lately that Geralt and Jaskier manage to find an available room at an inn, never mind one with two beds, but tonight they have been lucky. Well, Geralt has been lucky. In the three weeks it's been since they were last in town, Jaskier has managed to pick up a head cold and it's gotten bad enough that sleeping outside isn't really an option for them anymore - not at least in the cool autumn weather. So Geralt has done his best to find them a decent town with a decent room and Jaskier seems to be doing a little better already.
He's sitting by the fire in the common area, wrapped up in a blanket that the innkeeper's wife brought down for him especially. He looks small and sad and miserable and Geralt's chest aches at his helplessness. As a Witcher, Geralt doesn't get sick and it's been too long since he was truly human to even remember what it was like. He doesn't know what to do to help and he feels rather out of place trying to figure it out. But he starts with a room at an inn and he's ordered stew and rolls for supper.
While they're waiting for their food, Geralt heads up to their room, accidentally interrupting the chambermaid as she finishes filling the bath.
"The bath is ready for you," she says quietly, ducking her head as Geralt approaches, "is there anything else you need?"
Geralt opens his mouth to ask for… he doesn't know. What do people want when they're sick? What do they need?
"I- my friend is sick," he sighs, shoulders slumping, "I don't know how to help him. What do you do for someone who's sick?"
"Oh," the chambermaid says, surprised. "How sick is he?"
"He has a cold, it's not serious."
"Well, um, when my sister is ill, I make her soup and hot tea to drink. A little bit of honey helps if your friend has a sore throat."
"He has been complaining about not being able to sing," Geralt muses, "that might help."
"Then I would definitely recommend some tea and honey. I'll bring some up for you. And I'll see if I can't find a few extra blankets, they don't call it a cold for nothing." She smiles tentatively up at Geralt and he offers a forced grin in return.
"You don't need to worry about him," she says, "my name is Penelope and if you need anything at all feel free to come and find me. As for you," Penelope adds, rising to her feet, "just keep him warm and fed and I'm sure he'll be much happier after he's had a bath."
"I hope so," Geralt mumbles.
"I'm just downstairs if you need anything."
Penelope crosses to the door, closing it gently behind her and Geralt hums to himself. He appreciates Penelope's help, but he's still got to try and keep Jaskier warm and comfortable and so far he's been doing a shit job of it.
Geralt spends a short time organizing, piling the blankets from his own bed onto Jaskier's, and readying Jaskier's salts and oils for his bath. Geralt leaves them on a stool next to the tub and just as he's about to go back downstairs to collect Jaskier, Penelope comes back. Geralt holds the door for her and she smiles as she brings in a tray with a steaming mug and some honey.
"For your friend," she says, "and I found this-" she holds out a bed stone and Geralt takes it from her. It's warm to the touch and he frowns down at it. "Put it in his bed and it will keep him warm," Penelope explains. "I'll be right back with your supper."
"Thank you," Geralt says, looking up from the rock to offer her a genuine smile as she slips from the room once more.
Before he heads down after her, Geralt takes the stone to Jaskier's bed, tucking it under the covers and pulling them up to keep in the heat. He runs a hand over the top blanket before pulling himself away and heading down to the common area to collect Jaskier. He finds him still curled up in a chair by the fire, head tucked into the corner of his chair and Geralt can't help the soft smile that crosses his face, though he does his best not to acknowledge the accompanying tightness in his chest.
"Jask," he says gently, coming up behind, "supper's upstairs for you and there's a bath ready."
"Don't wanna," Jaskier mumbles, "so cold."
"Your stew and your bath will warm you. Come on."
Somewhat reluctantly, Jaskier tugs his blanket tighter around himself and slips off the chair. He stumbles a little and Geralt instinctively reaches out to him, catching him with one arm and steadying him. Jaskier offers up a weak smile and straightens up a little, but Geralt follows closely behind him as he crosses toward the stairs.
Jaskier stumbles again on the stairs and Geralt aches with his entire being to scoop him up and press him against his chest. He has never feared for Jaskier before despite his human frailty in comparison to a Witcher's lifestyle, but seeing him like this, Geralt is struck with the need to protect. And if that means bringing Jaskier against his chest and holding him until his breathing returns to normal and his chest loses that terrifying rattling sound, he'll do it.
Except he won't. He won't hold him and he won't tell him because Geralt is a coward.
So he just watches Jaskier climb the stairs, reaching out when he needs to be steadied and otherwise keeping his hands to himself. When they reach the room, Penelope is just leaving again and she offers a shy smile to Geralt as she slips past them in the hall. Geralt suspects she knows about the ache in his chest and the twitching of his muscles to hold and soothe. Why else would she offer such care?
Jaskier makes directly for the bath, but Geralt stops him before he can shed his blanket.
"Eat first," he says gently, pulling his hand back a little too quickly, "I'll warm the water for you if it cools. The chambermaid brought tea as well, she said it might help your throat."
Jaskier offers him another half smile and Geralt turns away, taking a deep breath as quietly as he can manage. He fiddles with his swords, cleaning and sharpening them while Jaskier eats because he needs to do something with his hands. By now, Jaskier must think he's paranoid about intruders because he does this so often when they're in town. But the truth is that when they're like this, just the two of them alone in a firelit room, Geralt struggles to keep his hands to himself. Now more than ever.
He's finished before Jaskier has eaten all his supper, so Geralt lines his potion bottles up and pulls out his herb satchel in preparation to mix up more. Out of the corner of his eyes, Geralt catches Jaskier rising to his feet and crossing back to the tub.
"Warm enough?" Geralt asks without raiding his eyes.
"Mmhm."
"Alright. Let me know if you need it warmed."
"Thank you, Geralt," Jaskier says quietly.
Geralt ducks his head again, focusing hard on his herbs instead of the fact that Jaskier is naked and sick a few feet away and so, so vulnerable. Geralt has never really worried too much about bandits - or anyone else, for that matter - sneaking into their room, but tonight he's on edge, twitching at every little sound.
When Jaskier finally gets out of the bath, he bundles himself up in his blanket again and shuffles over to his bed. Geralt is only half paying attention, careful to give Jaskier his privacy while also remaining on guard. But a little gasp catches him off guard and he turns to find Jaskier peering under the sheets of his bed.
"What is this?" Jaskier asks and Geralt shifts a little anxiously, looking over at the bed, all his distractions long since put away.
"A bed warming stone," he explains, "Penelope brought it up for you. To keep your bed warm. It's… important for you to keep warm."
"Penelope?" Jaskier asks.
"The chambermaid."
"Ah." Jaskier sounds a little disappointed, but when he climbs into bed, Geralt can hear the little contented sounds he makes while he gets comfortable.
Geralt rises up to his feet and crosses to the other side of the room, blowing out the candles one by one until the only light in the room is the still-crackling fire. Geralt pulls the screen across it and retreats to his own bed, shucking his trousers and shirt before climbing into the bed that suddenly seems far too large for one person on their own.
He's just used to sharing, he tells himself, but when he climbs under the covers, he knows it's more than that. He misses the warmth of another body against him, misses the way Jaskier shuffles too close when it's cold, sucking up all of Geralt's body heat. He even misses the idiot's cold toes against the backs of his legs. For the first time ever, Geralt wishes they didn't have the luxury of two beds.
But he's not about to go and climb into Jaskier's space, least of all when he's not well. He's so focused on his own thoughts he almost misses the tiny voice in the dark.
"Geralt?"
"Jaskier?"
"Could you- it's just I'm so- I fear this may be the end," he says and Geralt doesn't like the change in his voice, the forced humour in that last sentence. He knows Jaskier is not that sick, but the fake humour worries him.
"You'll be fine," Geralt responds, playing along as he normally would.
"I don't think so," Jaskier says, rolling over to face Geralt across the expanse of the room, "I may very well perish." He sounds more genuine this time, at least and the tight ball in Geralt's chest gives a little.
"I'd know if you were dying," he says simply, clinging on to this little bit of forced normalcy by his fingernails.
"You wouldn't," Jaskier says, "or you'd come over here right now."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because I need you," Jaskeir says and Geralt's heart stops beating for a moment. He's used to silence, has learned to settle his own body so that he can hear everything around him for miles. But the silence that follows those four words is nothing he's ever experienced.
"For what?" The silence that follows is somehow longer and heavier than before.
"Come cuddle me?"
"What?" Geralt asks before he can think better of it.
"I just- I sleep better with you here," Jaskier breathes, so quietly Geralt almost doesn't catch it. "I know we finally have two beds and it's more comfortable for you, but I'm- I'm cold and you're always so warm."
"Jaskier-" it's a warning, for Geralt more than anyone. That this is dangerous, that he shouldn't let himself get up right now, but he wants to. Too much.
"You'd never forgive yourself if I died when you could have easily stopped my suffering-"
"Jaskier, you're not dying."
"I might be."
Another long pause lingers between them and Geralt's heart pounds so heavily in his chest that he's sure Jaskier will hear it. He struggles with himself about the decision before he sighs and pushes the blankets back. He's already halfway across the room before he really realizes what he's doing, but Jaskier lifts the blankets up for him and Geralt slips in as Jaskier rolls away from him.
Geralt shudders as Jaskier's feet press to the front of his legs, somehow still frozen, but he settles remarkably quickly. A chill goes through him, but Geralt drapes an arm over Jaskier's middle, pulling him tighter against his chest and Jaskier lets out a soft contented sigh. This… despite Geralt's hesitation, his fears, feels right.
"Better?" he asks and Jaskier elbows him as he readjusts, mumbling a soft sorry.
"Yeah," Jaskier breathes, "you're warm."
"Mm."
"Thank you," Jaskier mumbles and Geralt can already hear his breath evening out, the steady pace of his heart. He's already falling asleep.
"For what?"
"For taking care of me. Know it wasn't Penelope."
"It was."
"'S not her now," Jaskier yawns, wiggling back against Geralt's chest. "G'night Geralt."
Geralt lets go of the tightly coiled control for a moment, pressing his nose into Jaskier's neck and pressing a soft kiss in his hair.
Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier
Warning(s): drunk touching, sickness
Rating: mature
Fic Summary: Jaskier is sick, Geralt comes to comfort him (among other things)
For @julek. Hope you’re feeling better soon, darling <3
Jaskier shivers again and buries himself deeper into the covers, but every time he moves, his body aches. He should have known coming to Kaer Morhen wouldn't be all sunshine and roses - Geralt had assured him there was plenty of work to be done - but no one expected Jaskier to fall ill before they even got there. It was stupid, too; he'd dropped his cloak whilst trying to refasten it and the wind had caught it. In the ensuing chase, Jaskier had slipped and fallen through the ice of a shallow pond.
He's fine now, for the most part, but it had scared him, scared all of them. As the only human in their party, Geralt and Yen weren't quite sure what to do with him, but they'd huddled together and kept him warm, leaving him with nothing worse than a cold. But it's a cold he can't seem to shake.
For days now, he's been bedridden with chills and full-body aches, and he longs to be able to get up and do something. Even his voice has betrayed him, low and scratchy and unappealing in every way. He's been brought soup and soft vegetables to eat, but even that hurts his throat most of the time and he's just miserable. And he understands why Geralt isn't around often, he's got work to do around the keep and Ciri to take care of, but it still makes Jaskier feel lonelier than he's used to.
So tonight, he's going to bed early. Vesemir had come in to check on him and brought him extra soup and herbal tea to help with his throat. Jaskier had been glad for the company, even just for a little while, but Vesemir is in charge of tidying the kitchen and hall tonight, so he couldn't stay long. So after Vesemir left and Jaskier finished his soup, he curled up under his quilts and shut his eyes.
But lying on his back makes him cough and lying on his side makes his nose plug up and he just feels miserable. He feels like a small child who just wants their mother to come and coddle them while they're sick. He wants to be coddled, but a Witcher keep is not the place for that. So he keeps his complaints to himself. Which is why it's so surprising when his door creaks open in the middle of the night.
It has to be early morning at this point, but Jaskier has no sense of time other than the dark, moonless sky outside his window. He sits up, but when he sees Geralt's form in the doorway, Jaskier flops back down, pushing his covers down enough to look out at Geralt.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, "shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Mm, missed you," Geralt mumbles, dropping onto his hands and knees on the end of the bed. He crawls closer and it's clear to Jaskier that Geralt is drunk.
Geralt flops down next to him, wrapping an arm around Jaskier's waist over the covers and shuffles himself forward against him. His breath is soft and warm despite the reek of vodka, and Jaskier wants to let himself give in to the affection, but he doesn't think Geralt would appreciate that when he wakes up.
"Sorry I haven't been around much," Geralt hums, "been busy with the kid."
"Don't blame you," Jaskier huffs a forced laugh, "I'm awful and snotty and gross and I sound like a rock troll swallowed a mouthful of gravel."
Geralt doesn't so much as laugh, just looks up at Jaskier with the most sincere expression in his eyes and whispers, "think it's sexy." For a moment, Jaskier thinks his ears are plugged again, but when he asks Geralt to repeat himself, Geralt nuzzles against his neck, breath hot against Jaskier's skin.
"You sound sexy like this."
"Are you-" Jaskier huffs, mind whirling, "are you coming on to me? When I'm sick?"
"Wanna take care of you. Like taking care of you-" Geralt presses an open-mouthed kiss to Jaskier's throat and goosebumps break out all over his body, spreading out from that point. "You always take care of me, 's my turn now."
Jaskier resists the urge to push Geralt away, certain now that Geralt will regret this in the morning. But he wants to believe it, wants Geralt to want to care for him, to bundle him up and let Jaskier fall asleep in his arms. It's all he's ever wanted, but now that he's sick and feeling particularly miserable, he wants it more than ever.
"You're only saying that because you're drunk," he scoffs, withdrawing a little.
"'S not true. Always want you." Geralt's hand shifts, pressing against Jaskier's stomach and slipping it up under his sleep shirt. Geralt's fingers tangle in Jaskier's chest hair, twisting it around his fingertips.
Jaskier sighs, working up the courage to push him away. Because if he does, will Geralt be offended? But if he doesn't, what will Geralt think of him in the morning?
Then Geralt's hand slips lower, sliding over Jaskier's shorts and toying with the waistband, and Jaskier knows he has to do something.
"Oh," he whispers, realizing exactly what take care of you means. "My love, as much as I hate to do this I… can't. You're drunk, darling, and I don't want you to do something you'll regret tomorrow."
"Won't regret it," Geralt mumbles, but when Jaskier pulls Geralt's hand away, Geralt just curls his fingers around them, tangling their hands together.
"Maybe not, but still-"
"Tomorrow?" Geralt asks hopefully, tipping his head up to look at Jaskier.
"If you still want a sick, sweaty mess, I would never say no to you."
"Not a mess," Geralt mumbles, but he does pull away. He's about to get out of bed, but at the last minute, Jaskier squeezes his hand and Geralt stops himself from getting up.
"Stay?" Jaskier asks him, "just to sleep?"
Geralt smiles dopily at him and immediately flops back down. He slips his hand away, but only to tug the blankets over himself and get his arm around Jaskier's waist. Geralt pulls himself closer, nuzzling against Jaskier's forehead, and Jaskier shuts his eyes. Maybe for a moment, just for tonight, he can let himself have this.
When Jaskier wakes up in the morning, his head feels like a solid mass and he can barely breathe through his nose, but the scent of burning wood makes its way through. Jaskier pulls himself up and crosses his legs beneath the covers, blinking around the room. As his vision focuses, he spots Geralt coming toward him, brushing something off his hands. He's dressed in nothing but his trousers and Jaskier is sure he must still be dreaming.
"Morning," he mumbles and Geralt comes to sit next to him. "How are you feeling?"
"Ah," Geralt says, ducking his head, "I'm sorry about last night."
"So that did happen?" Jaskier smiles, "I was afraid it might have been a fever dream."
"Afraid?" Geralt frowns at him.
"It's not every night a big strong Witcher crawls into bed with you and tries to get you out of your clothes. Certainly not when you're disgusting and ill."
Geralt's cheeks turn rosy and Jaskier reaches a hand up to brush his thumb over the coloured skin.
"We can forget all about it, if you want," he offers, "I was sick, I imagined the whole thing."
"Except you didn't. And I do miss you. I feel like I've hardly seen you since we got here."
"Well, perhaps if I hadn't fallen into a pond, I could be writing of your progress with Ciri-"
"Jaskier, I'm serious." Jaskier's hand slips and Geralt lifts his own to catch it, turning Jaskier's hand palm up. "I haven't even checked in on your injuries."
"Oh, er, they're fine."
"Hmm. And now you're sick on top of it."
"Also not your fault-"
Geralt lifts the burned fingertips to his lips and Jaskier's breath catches in his chest for a moment. Just as Geralt kisses his fingers, Jaskier breaks into a coughing fit, struggling to catch his breath. Geralt moves immediately, rubbing a hand down his back until the fit passes and Jaskier slumps into his lap.
"Sorry," he mumbles and Geralt hums softly. He raises a hand, lifting Jaskier's chin to look at him and dips down until his nose bumps against Jaskier's.
"'M sick," Jaskier reminds him, but his voice fails him and comes out as a whisper.
"Witcher," Geralt adds and swiftly catches Jaskier's lips in a gentle kiss.
It's wonderful and terrible and Jaskier can hardly breathe, but he's willing to forgo that to get Geralt closer. But Geralt takes control, laying Jaskier down on his back and pushing the blankets out of the way so he can lie alongside him, reaching up to brush his fingers down the side of Jaskier's cheek.
The kiss only lasts a moment before Jaskier regretfully has to pull away to breathe, but when he looks up at Geralt, Geralt is wearing the softest smile, looking down at him like he's something precious and Jaskier has to go and ruin the moment again by coughing until he chokes.
Groaning, he rolls away from Geralt, embarrassed and sore and gross. But Geralt just curls himself around Jaskier's back, nuzzling against the back of his neck.
"I know you promised I could have you if I still wanted you this morning, but maybe we should wait." Jaskier just lets out a long groan, burying his face in the pillow and Geralt laughs softly, bringing his arm around to slide a hand up Jaskier's chest. "Maybe, for now, some ginger tea? And I'll bring you one of Yen's heat stones for the bed?"
