Recap for game only readers: this is set during a part in the books where Geralt, Triss and Ciri are on the road with a company of dwarves and Triss has some horrible kind of stomach virus meaning she needs Geralt to take almost constant care of her. She also keeps trying to make a pass at him, and keeps getting gently but firmly rebuffed.

"I can hear your heartbeat. It's very slow. Can you control how much adrenaline you secrete? Oh, forgive my professional curiosity. Apparently, you're touchy about the qualities of your own body." - Yennefer of Vengerberg, "The Last Wish"

"If someone shows you compassion, sympathy and dedication, if they surprise you with integrity of character, value it but don't mistake it for...something else." - Yarpen Zigrin, "Blood of Elves"

"Five more minutes," Geralt says softly. "Then we need to get back."

Triss nestles closer to him, shifts her weight in his lap and rests her head against his chest. His arms wrap around her and hold her close. "We could stay here," she murmurs. "Just the two of us."

"Triss…"

"I know." She spares him having to say it. She doesn't want to hear it again, either. "I'm kidding."

A sigh strong enough to move her entire body heaves his chest, but he holds her no less tightly or gently. Triss shivers.

Around them, the sounds of the forest seem unnaturally loud in the darkness: a rustle of something in the undergrowth, water trickling in the nearby stream, the hoot of an owl, maybe. Triss doesn't want to hear any of it. She presses an ear to his chest and snuggles closer.

His heart beats, and it's a comfort.

She doesn't think she'll throw up again. The vise gripping her stomach seems to have eased, and whatever claws had been brutally trying to turn her guts inside out have done their damage. She feels hollowed out. Spent.

Geralt had held her through the worst of it, cleaned her up, bathed her, then done up her dress neatly, and it's obvious he's had practice at that last part. She knows where from. Ciri had helped. The girl had heated water for her to wash, brought her towels, combed her hair, then Geralt had sent her back to camp before night fell and it became too dark to see.

It's dark now. Too dark for Triss to make out anything even when she has the energy to open her eyes, but that doesn't matter. All she wants is to stay here, spend the rest of the night with Geralt's strong arms around her and her ear against his warm chest. It's a foolish dream, maybe. She's allowed to want it.

Five minutes pass.

"Geralt," Triss says quietly, fearing he's about to move. "I can hear your heartbeat."

Silence. If she's not mistaken, he tenses, but then his embrace is soft again, and tender as before. She can't read his thoughts. Not like Yennefer, but she doesn't need to. She knows who he's thinking of.

"How, Triss?" Geralt murmurs, and it's so quiet she isn't even sure she's supposed to hear. "How did you know she'd said that to me?"

"I...I didn't."

It comes as a surprise to them both. Other than a sigh, Geralt doesn't respond.

"It's very slow."

He sucks in a breath. His heartbeat has suddenly become less so, and she marvels at the effect the words have had. She thinks she can guess why.

"I could say all the things she once said to you, if you wanted?"

"Don't, Triss. Please."

"I'm sorry."

She is. Suddenly, she's embarrassed and filled with regret.

I'm a fool, she thinks. I should learn to stop asking. But she's sick, terribly, and maybe delirious isn't a stretch. For now, she's allowed to indulge in her stupid hopes and dreams and keep mistaking compassion for something else.

As Geralt picks her up and begins to carry her back to the trail, the gentle thumping of his heart keeps the illusion alive just enough that when she falls asleep, she dreams that it's hers.