Suddenly, he's forty again, and he's being abandoned on top of a mountain. Never before in his life had someone broken his heart like Geralt did that day, not even the Countess. Now it's happening again - a heart shattered in tiny pieces, his legs frozen and unable to go home because he doesn't know what home is anymore. The same song plays...
I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting
Jaskier collapses on the couch and cries his heart out. He doesn't even register Perdita's voice, not that he would've followed her command if he had. Moments later, a thick pale hand is petting his head. Perdita must've called him.
"Don't you dare fucking say it."
"Mmh."
He asks Geralt to drive him around the city for a few hours, even if it's late. He claims he needs the distraction and the fresh air, which isn't a completely bad idea, but mostly he wants an excuse to hold his best friend for a while.
The family works together to hide all the alcohol in the house. Bastards.
It's a good thing that he's been so busy lately, because he needs those things to keep him distracted. Ironically, one of those things is the rehearsal for the wedding. Jaskier doesn't cancel it - he needs such a gig, and he won't take this away from the band. Heartbreak makes the ballads sound better anyway.
A different man fucks him every night, because he knows that he'll need some time before he'll be able to pick up a woman without thinking about her. And being pounded into oblivion is part of the not thinking process - or it should be, anyway. It's not the same. There's no spark. He wants his lovely, witty spark back.
If orgasms won't silence his brain, then he'll get the alcohol (and the mushrooms) himself. That's how, on Tuesday evening, Geralt will be carrying an unconscious Jaskier on his back out of a bar. He's done this many times before and knows how to fit the bard perfectly between his shoulder blades.
Her parents can tell that something is wrong, and she can only put them off for so long. Sometimes, she really wishes that she lived alone. After crying all night in her room, Midge confesses to them that she and Jaskier had a fight. How else can she explain it? She can’t say that they broke up if they were never together. More and more, she’s starting to think that what they had meant nothing to him, that his words of affection and looks of love were lies.
She’s numb, and sad, and bitter.
Midge goes through the motions of her week, running errands and taking care of her kids. She lets herself get sloshed on wine. On Tuesday, she has a gig and she really lets everything out. All of her frustrations with men. Some of the men in the audience actually look a bit uncomfortable and Midge figures that means what she’s saying is hitting home. Good.
Nobody buys her a drink afterwards. Not that she can even think about sleeping with another man right now. She’s still too heartbroken.
Outside the club, Midge is waiting for a cab when she notices a familiar motorcycle parked by the curb. She turns at the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Geralt…” Jaskier’s head is flopped on his shoulder, passed out. Her brow furrows in concern. “Is he okay?”
Geralt stops walking when he sees her, and he doesn't know what to expect. Jaskier's lovers have put him in dumb situations before, but this is different. He's not exactly the best choice when it comes to comforting people.
"Passed out drunk," he explains. He doesn't want to answer yes or no, since that's kind of relative. Healthy? Sure. Emotionally? Not so much. But he doesn't want to get caught in the middle of their argument.
He's still Geralt, though. So when he starts walking again and brushes past her, he just--
That’s not really what she wants to hear right now, from him or from anyone. Midge feels a stab of anger.
“All he wanted me for was sex anyway,” she says bitterly. “He’s free to go fuck everyone in the world now if he wants to.”
Tears roll down her cheeks and she wipes them away. Midge guesses that Jaskier’s dealing with the loss of their relationship badly, as evidenced by the state of him. A little voice in the back of her head wonders if she has reason to hope, but a louder one says she’s just fooling herself.
Jaskier is an idiot, a cad, a slut, a dramatic hedonist. Geralt is the first one to call him all those things, the first one to just sigh when others complain about the bard, because they're right. He's also one of the most important people in his life, and Geralt learned the hard way what happens what you take him for granted. Jaskier has trouble being taken seriously, yet Midge learned his birth name. So much for that, huh?
"We brought you to our home," he growls at her. The only woman Jaskier brought home, the only one who heard his story. "I thought you were smart. I was wrong."
“I thought he cared about me,” she says, looking at Jaskier’s passed out form. Midge has never seen him get that drunk. Is it possible that he’s struggling as much as she is?
Nobody knows Jaskier as well as Geralt does.
“He said he loved me too,” Midge admits. “Or, at least, he didn’t deny it. Why is he so scared to only be with me?”
“I do see him for more than that,” Midge says, getting annoyed now. “I love him. If it was just about sex we wouldn’t have spent as much time together not having sex as we did.”
She sighs, knowing what Geralt is saying is right. Jaskier warned her.
“I can’t sleep with him anymore then. He doesn’t want emotions and I’m emotionally involved now.” Midge hangs her head. It’s killing her, but she can’t be what he wants. She can’t keep it casual anymore.
Geralt smirks. "So you do know he didn't only want you for sex." Which is, you know, what she just said, and why it had annoyed him. Good to know she isn't fully blind at least.
(But even if it had only been about sex, well, Jaskier always warns his lovers. Geralt saw him learn that lesson when he was still a young brat. People are stupid for not listening to him.)
"Did he say he doesn't want emotions?" Geralt asks, clearly skeptical. "You still don't understand him. How he separates love, sex, and commitment. And that's fine - call him an idiot if you will, and I'll agree. But don't doubt his love. I'm not carrying him because he's tired."
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no subject
I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting
Jaskier collapses on the couch and cries his heart out. He doesn't even register Perdita's voice, not that he would've followed her command if he had. Moments later, a thick pale hand is petting his head. Perdita must've called him.
"Don't you dare fucking say it."
"Mmh."
He asks Geralt to drive him around the city for a few hours, even if it's late. He claims he needs the distraction and the fresh air, which isn't a completely bad idea, but mostly he wants an excuse to hold his best friend for a while.
The family works together to hide all the alcohol in the house. Bastards.
It's a good thing that he's been so busy lately, because he needs those things to keep him distracted. Ironically, one of those things is the rehearsal for the wedding. Jaskier doesn't cancel it - he needs such a gig, and he won't take this away from the band. Heartbreak makes the ballads sound better anyway.
A different man fucks him every night, because he knows that he'll need some time before he'll be able to pick up a woman without thinking about her. And being pounded into oblivion is part of the not thinking process - or it should be, anyway. It's not the same. There's no spark. He wants his lovely, witty spark back.
If orgasms won't silence his brain, then he'll get the alcohol (and the mushrooms) himself. That's how, on Tuesday evening, Geralt will be carrying an unconscious Jaskier on his back out of a bar. He's done this many times before and knows how to fit the bard perfectly between his shoulder blades.
no subject
She’s numb, and sad, and bitter.
Midge goes through the motions of her week, running errands and taking care of her kids. She lets herself get sloshed on wine. On Tuesday, she has a gig and she really lets everything out. All of her frustrations with men. Some of the men in the audience actually look a bit uncomfortable and Midge figures that means what she’s saying is hitting home. Good.
Nobody buys her a drink afterwards. Not that she can even think about sleeping with another man right now. She’s still too heartbroken.
Outside the club, Midge is waiting for a cab when she notices a familiar motorcycle parked by the curb. She turns at the sound of heavy footsteps.
“Geralt…” Jaskier’s head is flopped on his shoulder, passed out. Her brow furrows in concern. “Is he okay?”
no subject
"Passed out drunk," he explains. He doesn't want to answer yes or no, since that's kind of relative. Healthy? Sure. Emotionally? Not so much. But he doesn't want to get caught in the middle of their argument.
He's still Geralt, though. So when he starts walking again and brushes past her, he just--
"Told you so."
no subject
That’s not really what she wants to hear right now, from him or from anyone. Midge feels a stab of anger.
“All he wanted me for was sex anyway,” she says bitterly. “He’s free to go fuck everyone in the world now if he wants to.”
Tears roll down her cheeks and she wipes them away. Midge guesses that Jaskier’s dealing with the loss of their relationship badly, as evidenced by the state of him. A little voice in the back of her head wonders if she has reason to hope, but a louder one says she’s just fooling herself.
no subject
Jaskier is an idiot, a cad, a slut, a dramatic hedonist. Geralt is the first one to call him all those things, the first one to just sigh when others complain about the bard, because they're right. He's also one of the most important people in his life, and Geralt learned the hard way what happens what you take him for granted. Jaskier has trouble being taken seriously, yet Midge learned his birth name. So much for that, huh?
"We brought you to our home," he growls at her. The only woman Jaskier brought home, the only one who heard his story. "I thought you were smart. I was wrong."
no subject
“I thought he cared about me,” she says, looking at Jaskier’s passed out form. Midge has never seen him get that drunk. Is it possible that he’s struggling as much as she is?
Nobody knows Jaskier as well as Geralt does.
“He said he loved me too,” Midge admits. “Or, at least, he didn’t deny it. Why is he so scared to only be with me?”
no subject
Geralt sighs. How did he end up stuck in this conversation? If Midge would only call Jaskier an idiot, he could simply agree and leave.
"He didn't lie to you. He's a good debaucher, but not a good boyfriend. Cages kill free birds."
no subject
She sighs, knowing what Geralt is saying is right. Jaskier warned her.
“I can’t sleep with him anymore then. He doesn’t want emotions and I’m emotionally involved now.” Midge hangs her head. It’s killing her, but she can’t be what he wants. She can’t keep it casual anymore.
no subject
(But even if it had only been about sex, well, Jaskier always warns his lovers. Geralt saw him learn that lesson when he was still a young brat. People are stupid for not listening to him.)
"Did he say he doesn't want emotions?" Geralt asks, clearly skeptical. "You still don't understand him. How he separates love, sex, and commitment. And that's fine - call him an idiot if you will, and I'll agree. But don't doubt his love. I'm not carrying him because he's tired."
He's carrying a broken heart.