doesntsing | open post

Despite not knowing his father or the governess, Midge doesn’t really want to picture that. “Was he unfaithful to your mother?” she asks.

Reaching out, she puts her hand to Jaskier’s head. He’s warm. “You’re not dead yet, are you?”

"He fucked as many maids as she fucked stable boys." He doesn't even sound sad or mad. It was expected - they had been an arranged marriage for power. Their only responsibility was to keep up the smiles in public.

Jaskier instantly melts under her touch, and a little happy sigh escapes his lips. Her question goes unheard. "Pet my head?"

“I see…”

No wonder he has such problems with commitment; neither of his parents were committed to each other. “What was your childhood like?”

The request is sweet and she can’t deny it. Gently, her hand moves back, smoothing down his hair. It’s sweaty and unkempt but still soft.

"Stuffy. Restrictive." He wants to think of more adjectives, but he continues to melt under her petting. As usual, her nails make his whole body shiver. Although that may be the fever.

Unfortunately, another coughing fit comes, and this one is so bad that Jaskier needs to sit up. As the blankets fall, Midge will notice he's wearing pajama pants and a tanktop a little too big for his body - clearly Geralt's. There's a reason for such a choice in clothing: there's a bandage around his shoulder and part of his chest. The most upsetting part is the veins around that area, which look green.

Midge is getting the inkling that Jaskier’s childhood wasn’t just stuffy and restrictive, but rich. For some aspects of his personality, that actually makes a lot of sense.

She feels like a shrink asking about his childhood, though she doesn’t think hair stroking is part of psychotherapy. When he sits up, he moves away from her hand. That wound looks nasty and otherworldly, like nothing she’s ever seen before. This is why she doesn’t visit swamps.

Once the coughing fit passes, Midge moves to perch on the edge of his bed, then continues stroking his hair. She feels like his mother. Freud would be pleased.

“That looks painful.”

To be fair, his mother was never this caring, so at least there won't be any Freudian slips from him.

Jaskier's surprised to see her come this close, considering his current state, so he's truly touched. He barely blinks at her before he's resting his head on her shoulder. His body may be shivering, but he's craving human contact more, so he's happy to stay there and sigh again.

"It isn't so bad now that Yennefer sedated it. You should've seen it when it happened; I was a walking emerald." Meaning, the green veins were all over his body. "But at first? Yeah, hurt like fucking hell. My insides were burning."

Freudian or not, her mom instincts are kicking in. All men turn into little boys when they’re sick. Midge wouldn’t be here if she didn’t mind having him get close to her.

“You know, some people say green is the worst color, but I disagree. I’m sure you looked fantastic in green.”

That makes him smile. "I look fantastic in everything. Maybe we should both put on some green for our plans in the bushes." Just because he isn't in the mood to fuck now, it doesn't mean he can't think about it.

At that moment, Yennefer comes in without even knocking. Her hair is up in a bun, which wouldn't be a big deal for anyone else. But letting a visitor see her like this? Speaks volumes about how hard she's working to get Jaskier better.

"I could hear your lungs leaving your body from downstairs," she says before Jaskier sticks his tongue out at her. Very mature. His head doesn't leave Midge's shoulder until Yennefer touches his forehead... with her free hand. The other one has a glass with a black and gray potion. "This should help you breathe, at least." Jaskier reaches for it, but Yennefer moves it away. "Not with an empty stomach." She turns to Midge. "Would you mind bringing him some food?" She knows Midge brought something, just not what.

When Midge comes back, Jaskier is sitting against a pile of pillows and Yennefer's glowing hand is on his shoulder, making the green slip back under the bandage. "Thank you," she tells Midge with a nod. The potion is left on the night table, which is covered with used tissues and an empty tea mug. "Don't get any funny ideas," she warns Jaskier before leaving the room.

“So we match the nature around us?” she asks. “Before we take off our clothes at least.” Another thing about men, they can think about sex no matter what’s going on.

At Yennefer’s request, Midge goes downstairs to get Jaskier some soup. After finding a bowl and a tray, Midge ladles the soup into the bowl and then places the bowl on the tray. She finds a spoon and then walks carefully back upstairs with the tray.

She watches as Yennefer leaves, then carefully places the tray on Jaskier’s lap. “What are you getting funny ideas about?”

"Fucking," he replies as he follows every movement of Midge with a goofy smile on his face. He likes being pampered, but he also likes Midge simply being there. "She didn't believe me when I said my body is too sore to do anything now. She doesn't trust my hands." And for a good reason. Yennefer's magic has temporarily encapsulated the poison and therefore calmed the fever a little, but his body is still warm and his mind is still high on a bad combo of body temperature and toxins. His boundaries are still down.

The soup looks fantastic, and with the poison under control for now, his stomach has settled. The smell alone already makes him hungry. "Thank you, darling." He raises the spoon and tastes the broth, humming in delight. "Oh, this is good." He pokes at the matzo balls with the spoon. "What are these?"

“We’re not fucking,” Midge tells him. Sitting next to him and stroking his hair is as much as he’s getting today.

She sits back down in the chair. “Matzo balls. They’re made from unleavened bread called matzos, kind of like crackers. They can be broken down to a sort of corn meal that’s then mixed with eggs and oil and formed into balls. They become very soft when they’re cooked in the broth.”

"I know! I told her so! Is it my fault if she doesn't believe me?" Yes, Jaskier, you have a reputation. "Even if my body wasn't nasty and sore, I promised I wouldn't do any fucking in the house because of Ciri, who will come back from school at any moment. Funny enough, that has never stopped them." Meaning Geralt and Yennefer. But he doesn't really mean it, he's just teasing. A 'married couple' getting it on isn't the same as bringing random strangers. And Jaskier wouldn't want to share this with one-night stands either. Midge is different. "At least they've been careful since Ciri came into their lives. Do you have any idea how many times I've walked on them through the years?"

(Geralt would want to point out he's walked on Jaskier even more times, so they're even.)

As soon as she finishes listing the ingredients, Jaskier bites one of the balls. Another appreciative hum leaves his lips before he quickly finishes it. "This is delicious. Maybe we should hire you as our chef."

“I think your reputation proceeds you, my darling bard,” Midge tells him. This is the only time she hasn’t seen him horny, because he looks like he’s on death’s door. Whatever Yennefer did seems to have caused a bit of improvement though.

“I’m glad you like it.” She smiles. “I’ll make my brisket for you next time.”

Jaskier pouts at her teasing, and his fuzzy brain makes the wrong connection. "Fucking women on their monthlies is not the same as fucking while sick."

He eats another ball and sips more broth before finally grabbing the potion, only drinking half of it now. His nose wrinkles at the taste and he mumbles fucking witches before going back to the soup, which tastes a million times better.

"I can't wait," he replies between sips and bites. "Sorry I worried you this week. I know how hard it can be. When Geralt takes longer with a hunt than usual, it can get quite nerve-wracking as well. What Yennefer told you is true, however. Sometimes I won't be able to reply in the middle of a hunt." He looks at her with glazed but still soft eyes and a small smile. "So I hope you can be patient with me."

Part of his brain detects he's putting some extra weight under those words, but he can't tell what.

“You don’t let anything stop you, do you?” Midge asks, a smile playing at her lips. She’s never done that, and isn’t even sure if she’d want to. Joel was always very grossed out by that.

Midge removes the tray and sits back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s fine. I didn’t… think you technically owed me a reply anyway.”

That’s the nature of their relationship, isn’t it? But Midge cares enough about him to want to make sure he’s okay.

"Sickness is stopping me," he replies with another pout.

As soon as she sits on the bed, he puts his head on her shoulder again, bringing up a blanket to cover his shivering body. Her presence is really comforting. Her comment, though, makes him frown a little. "Are we not friends? It would be rude of me to ignore a friend's message. You don't have to drop whatever you're doing to answer my silly messages but... if you stopped talking to me, I'd miss you. I like chatting with you."

“Yes, you’re right,” Midge replies. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way.” She meant that they aren’t exclusive. This isn’t a relationship. How close he wants to allow her to get is entirely up to him, though it seems they’ve gotten very close in the short time that they’ve known each other.

“I like chatting with you too.”

"Good," he replies with a smile now. "I'd kiss your cheek right now, but I don't wanna leave snot on your pretty face." He's slurring his words again. "Geralt can't get sick, you know? It's not fair. I bet he'd look hilarious with a snotty nose." Suddenly he snickers. "I blew my nose with my brother's jacket once. It left a stain on his pants when he was riding. It was soooooo funny."

“You were a rascal weren’t you?” Midge asks, then furrows her brow slightly. “Did… your family have money?”

She knows he’s been loathe to talk about it, but he seemed to be opening up earlier. Maybe he won’t mind if she asks some questions.

"How dare you," he says in fake offense, just to tease. "Little Julian was an angel." Translation: he definitely was a rascal. "I'll take an apology in the form of head petting."

The question makes him squirm a bit, but he can't quite understand why. He isn't thinking clearly, but he knows Midge makes him comfortable. "I was disowned when I left," he clarifies as his mind still makes the wrong connections. "So your credit card still wins."

“Julian?” Midge grins, delighted that he told her his real name. She resumes the stroking of his hair.

There’s a bit of silence as Midge thinks about never seeing her family again. She can’t imagine it.

“It’s their loss,” she says quietly.

"Don't call me that." He's pouting again, but it quickly goes away when she starts stroking his hair. Once again, he sighs in the closest thing to content he can be while sick. "Can't be angry at you when you're petting me," he teases.

The silence makes him uncomfortable, even if he can't exactly tell why. He instantly relaxes when she answers, feeling as if he's passed some test.

"You can fucking bet it is," he replies as he searches for her free hand to squeeze it. His body is sore, yet in a weird way he feels-- at peace? Kind of? It's hard to tell anything right now. "Sometimes I like to imagine that me wandering around with a witcher gave father a good ol' heart attack. But I dunno if he realized the famous bard is his estranged son."

Edited 2025-08-16 01:47 (UTC)

“I like it,” she says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “but I won’t call you it if you don’t want me to.”

“He probably does. Parents know their own children. I can’t imagine my kids doing something that would make me never want to see them again. It’s hard to know how he feels, I guess.”

Maybe his parents regret running him off, or maybe they’re just assholes.

Oh, the kiss has him nuzzling closer. "It's not a bad name," he clarifies. "Better than fucking Alfred. But I left Julian behind when I left. I am Jaskier. The bard is the real me, not the viscount."

He doesn't think his family truly knew him, but before he can say anything, Midge talks about her own family, and Jaskier knows how hard it's been to juggle career and children. Jaskier squeezes her hand again.

"Your kids are lucky to have you." He tries for a soft, sincere tone of voice, but he's still slurring his words. "Not a single adult in this house had proper parental figures. We don't say it aloud, but I know we all worry about how we're raising Ciri."

Her eyes grow wide and Midge is glad that he can’t see her. “You’re a viscount?” So not just rich, gentry rich. Titled.

“I can let you know when I meet her,” Midge jokes. “Honestly, as long as you love her and protect her and accept her for who she is, then you’re doing just fine.”

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