Jaskier wakes up curled against Geralt's chest.

It takes him a minute to figure out where he is, and why he feels so relaxed. He's woken from nightmares every morning since the attack, but today he feels… peaceful. There's something else behind it, something warm and contented, and eventually he realizes that he feels safe.

He stays perfectly still as his body slowly accepts the waking – little hurts coming back piece by piece until he's aching. He doesn't move, though, because Geralt is still asleep, and Jaskier wants to stay here as long as possible. Geralt smells like woodsmoke, and his arm around Jaskier's waist feels like a promise.

The moment can't last forever, though, and eventually Geralt shifts and yawns, kicking the blanket off and rolling onto his back. When he sees Jaskier next to him, he looks surprisingly unperturbed.

"Did you sleep all right?" he asks.

Jaskier goes to reply, and before he can remember that he can't speak, a raspy, "yes," makes it past his lips.

He sits up immediately, bringing his hand to his throat as his heart starts to race. Geralt looks at him, wide-eyed, and Jaskier swallows around the pain in his throat as he tries again.

"Yes."

It doesn't sound much like a word, but it's there.

"Don't hurt yourself," Geralt insists, sitting up and reaching out to touch the bandage. Jaskier winces and Geralt makes an apologetic face. "Let me check it."

Jaskier sits still as Geralt removes the bandage, making soft, apologetic sounds when it sticks to his skin. "It looks better," Geralt says. He takes a cloth and dips it in the water he's boiled, and uses it to dab at the skin around the cut. He repeats the motions with the bandage on Jaskier's wrist, and Jaskier's relieved to see that Geralt isn't just trying to mollify him. The skin has started to knit together, and while it will leave a nasty scar – that Jaskier will obviously use for poetic reasons in his storytelling – it looks like it's starting to get back to normal.

"Did you need more for the pain?" Geralt asks once he's re-bandaged both wounds and dumped the dirty water behind their bedroll.

Jaskier considers the question for a second, then shakes his head. Not bad, he signs. Hurt a bit to talk.

"Then don't," Geralt says sternly. "I know that's very difficult for you." Jaskier raises an eyebrow when he realizes that Geralt is teasing him.

Do you think… Jaskier trails off and only realizes it once Geralt pokes his thigh. Does this mean it'll heal? My voice?

Geralt shrugs, and the guilt that he's been carrying around flits across his face again. "I don't know much about medicine. Not for… for humans, anyway."

You are human, Jaskier tries to insist, but Geralt has already looked away to get something from their pack.

They spend the rest of the morning in a companionable silence, but Jaskier can feel the faint thrum of hope behind both of their movements. He's tempted to try to talk again, but as much as he's loathe to admit it, Geralt is right. He shouldn't push it.

"To Oxenfurt?" Geralt asks once they've packed up camp. He kicks more dirt over the remains of the fire, then looks down at where Jaskier is still sitting on one of the larger rocks. "We should make it in three days. Maybe two, if you don't slow us down."

He's teasing again, and it fills Jaskier with a warm sense of relief. I'm not the one we should be concerned about, old man, he responds, huffing out a quiet laugh at Geralt's indignant expression. Then he looks over at the road, chewing his lip in contemplation. The late afternoon light streams through the branches of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground, and it makes Jaskier's heart feel full.

Do we need to?

Geralt frowns. "Need to hurry?"

Jaskier shakes his head. Need to go, he clarifies. To Oxenfurt.

"You… don't want to?"

Jaskier doesn't answer right away. He tips his head back to catch glimpses of the bright blue sky through the trees, then brings his hand up to touch the bandage on his neck.

It's getting better, he says eventually. I'm getting better.

"But what if—"

What if? Jaskier agrees. What if we get waylaid by bandits? Or a werewolf attacks us? Or – gods forbid – we find another dragon?

"I don't understand," Geralt says, settling down on the log across from Jaskier's rock. His face is drawn in an expression of confusion that makes him look so much younger than he is.

I just mean… Jaskier sighs. Anything could happen. That's just how life works, and I don't want to spend it looking for a way to… to fix this. To fix me. He looks over at Geralt and gives him a soft smile. I'd rather spend it with you.

Guilt joins the confusion on Geralt's face and he shakes his head. "Jas… why would you—"

I forgive you, Jaskier insists. I'm still angry and upset, and frustrated, and it isn't fair, but none of it was your fault.

"But I—"

Jaskier shakes his head. A physicker isn't going to be able to make this heal faster, and we both know it. He digs the toes of his shoes into the dirt. We'll just have to wait and see. Geralt stares down at his hands, not saying anything, and Jaskier kicks a rock over toward him. Scars don't make us broken, he says, smiling at the way Geralt's eyes widen. I want to spend my life adventuring. With you.

"Why?" Geralt asks, voice low and uncertain.

You know why, Jaskier replies. At least, I hope you do. I know you're dense sometimes, but you can't possibly be that blind.

Geralt doesn't answer, and for a moment, Jaskier is terrified that he read everything wrong, and that they're back where they were before – frustrated and at odds. But then Geralt gives him a small smile – barely a quirk of his lips – and Jaskier exhales in relief.

"You offered something to me, before," Geralt says as he stands up and moves over to Jaskier. He reaches out a hand and pulls Jaskier to his feet.

I did?

"Mm." Geralt squeezes Jaskier's hand. "You wanted to go to the coast." Jaskier can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks, but he forces himself to keep looking at Geralt. "Do you still want that?"

Yes, Jaskier says without hesitation. I do.

"Then let me take you," Geralt says, and he pulls Jaskier in for a kiss.

Six Months Later

"You're going to fall from there and break your wrist again."

Jaskier cracks and eye open and looks down from his sunning spot to see Geralt next to the cottage, arms crossed over his chest. Jaskier is only about five feet up, tucked onto a small grassy outcropping that's perfectly situated to catch the last rays of the setting sun.

I'm fine, he signs. You worry too much.

"I worry exactly the right amount," Geralt insists, reaching out as Jaskier sits up. He helps Jaskier hop down to the ground, then pulls him close and presses a kiss to his forehead. "I don't want anything to happen to you."

"I'm all right," Jaskier says out loud, voice rough and muffled by Geralt's chest. "I've got you to take care of me."

Geralt laughs and the sound rumbles in his chest. It makes Jaskier feel warm and special – he's the only one who gets to see Geralt like this. He's the only one who gets Geralt's soft smiles, his ridiculous morning hair, his tipsy singing, his hands touching everywhere while Jaskier whispers, please, and, I love you.

"There are safer places to watch the sunset," Geralt says. He pulls back and brushes Jaskier's hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. It's grown out, almost to his shoulders, and covers most of the twisted scar that stretches down past his ear.

"Mm." Jaskier kisses Geralt's nose. "Like in your arms?" His voice is coming back, slowly but surely, and he played his lute for the first time last night, singing a quiet song that he'd learned many years ago. He'd pretended to ignore the tears in Geralt's eyes at the sound.

"You're ridiculous," Geralt says. He's highlighted by the late evening sun, hair almost tinged pink by the light, and Jaskier things he looks fierce and beautiful. "Does this please you?" Geralt asks. Jaskier sighs happily, closing his eyes as the summer wind ruffles his hair. Light sparkles off the ocean, and the only sound around them is the quiet cawing of seagulls in the distance.

"Yes," he says, smiling at Geralt and pulling him down for a kiss. "It pleases me very much."