Chapter Text
“Are you staying?” Geralt said once the two of them were alone again.
He looked so feeble, curled up in the fetal position in the middle of the mattress, soaked in sweat, shivering, and clutching his belly as tightly as ever. Jaskier wanted to tell him yes, to say that he’d be here at his side every second until he was discharged and they could go home, but that wasn’t how things were anymore. They had a child now, and she needed him too.
“I’ll stay until we can talk to the doctor.” Jaskier was happy to see Geralt relax when he said this. “Then I’ll go pick up Ciri and get her to bed.”
“Okay.” He let his eyes fall shut.
He probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep, still in far too much pain to rest, but even if he could’ve, the doctor didn’t give him time. She was in only minutes after he was transferred over to the bed, and to Jaskier’s great relief, she looked ready to help.
“Mr. Bellegarde.” She greeted him the same way she had before. “I’m sorry to hear you’re still so uncomfortable. I’d like to get you a bit more stable before we send you off for the ultrasound, okay?”
“Hmm.” Geralt was in no shape for conversation.
“He’s still having pretty severe symptoms,” Jaskier spoke up for him. “The vomiting hasn’t stopped and the stomach pain is just getting worse.”
The doctor nodded, as if she knew this. “I’d like to start him on an antispasmodic, and some painkillers. I also think it’s time for some more aggressive treatment for the fever. We can keep on with the ice if it helps him rest more comfortably, but I don’t think we can rely on that alone to get it lower.”
Jaskier wished he’d peeked when the nurse had taken his temperature the last time. He didn’t like the way the doctor was talking about it.
“Is there anything else you can do about the vomiting?” Jaskier asked once more. “He’s so exhausted, and it just makes everything else so much worse.”
“We’ve got him on a pretty strong antiemetic already,” the doctor said. “I don’t feel comfortable upping the dose until we have a better idea of what’s causing the gastrointestinal distress, but hopefully once the other symptoms are managed a bit better, it won’t be so severe.”
“Okay.” Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand. For his sake he hoped she was right, but considering the way things usually went, the vomiting would be the last symptom to leave him. “Thank you.”
Jaskier waited until the nurse came in and adjusted his meds, but he couldn’t stay to watch the morphine take effect. Not if he wanted Ciri to get home in time for bed.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get some rest while I’m gone?” He asked.
“Mhmm,” Geralt replied unconvincingly.
This was the best he was going to get, and the longer he waited the harder it would be. Anyway, the sooner he left, the sooner he’d be able to come back.
“Okay.” He kissed Geralt on his scorching forehead. “I love you,” he told him. “I’ll be back soon.”
***
“Daddy!” Ciri squealed as soon as Susan opened the front door, running up to him and letting him scoop her up.
“Hey, lovebug. I missed you! Did you have fun with Susan and Elaine?”
She nodded, smiling sheepishly and hiding her face in his shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her and held her tight. He really had missed her horribly. He hated the position they were in.
Geralt will be home soon, he told himself. We’ll all be back at the house together soon.
“Thank you so much for babysitting so last minute,” Jaskier said, trying and failing to reach his wallet without moving Ciri. “I’m sorry. I meant to come here earlier but things at the hospital got delayed.”
“It’s our pleasure,” Susan assured him.
Elaine gave him a pointed look as he continued to fumble awkwardly for his pocket. “You don’t owe us anything. We’re happy to do it.”
“Are you sure?” He blushed.
“Positive,” Susan confirmed. “How is Geralt doing?”
Jaskier adjusted Ciri so she could rest her head on his shoulder.
“They’ve admitted him,” Jaskier explained. “So far they’re still just trying to get his symptoms under control before they can start doing tests to figure out what’s going on.”
“But they haven’t said what they thought is happening?” Elaine pressed.
“They aren’t letting him have anything orally because they’re worried about his kidneys, and they’re worried about his fever, but other than that we’re not sure,” he continued. “I think the current theory is still just the bug hitting him harder than the rest of us.”
“Some bug.”
Some bug indeed. Jaskier had all but forgotten he’d been sick at all. There had to be something else going on. The question was what.
“Are you going back to the hospital now?” Susan said.
“I’ve got to get this one to bed.” At the reference to bed time, Ciri lifted her head and looked at him. “Yes, you.” He kissed her cheek. “It’s bed time. Are you ready to go?”
“Do you think Geralt would mind if I paid him a visit before visiting hours are over?” Elaine spoke up.
It was as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders.
“That would be lovely.”
***
Geralt laid curled up on the bed, staring absentmindedly at the little plastic tube snaking into his vein, watching the fluids flowing into his body.
When he’d been in the hospital before, he’d always disliked IV’s, but he hardly even noticed this one. Perhaps it was because it had been placed when he was unconscious, or maybe it had just been placed more expertly than his others. He suspected though, that it had more to do with the other, much greater pains which were overshadowing it.
They were fading though, with each cc of whatever they were pumping into him. He tried to remember all the ingredients to the cocktail in his IV bag. Morphine, saline… There was something else the doctor had mentioned, at least one other thing, but he couldn’t get his brain to work hard enough to figure out the rest. In fact, it was getting foggier by the minute.
He didn’t feel terribly different than earlier when he’d been stoned. But this time, instead of erasing his nausea, the drugs were erasing his pain. He’d prefer if it would do both—the nausea was as present as ever—but he felt like he could bear it better than those horrible, excruciating cramps.
Anyway, weed as an antiemetic had yet to work for him today, and who knows, maybe it would work like the doctor said, and getting the fever and the pain under control would ease the sick feeling in his stomach as well.
He ought to sleep. His body was desperate for rest, and he worried if he didn’t get some soon his body would start demanding it, and he had no desire to faint again. But just like everything else today, things didn’t come easy.
Geralt was certainly tired enough, but he still couldn’t get comfortable. The morphine was working, and it felt like it was still kicking in, but his back was too sore to let him lay comfortably in one position for more than a few minutes.
He was about to press the call button and see if he couldn’t get another ice pack when he heard someone knock on his door.
“Come in,” he projected his voice as best as he could.
He expected it to be a nurse, or maybe the doctor, but when he turned his head, he was met with a lovely surprise.
“Mom,” he sighed, sinking back into his pillow and giving her a weak smile. “Hi.”