Chapter Text
Geralt slept poorly that night. He thought about calling Jaskier during one of the long episodes of tossing and turning, but he doubted there was anything he could do over the phone to help.
He’d badly messed up his sleep schedule since coming here, and although it wasn’t his fault, Geralt kicked himself for sleeping so much during the day today. He didn’t fall into a deep sleep until the early hours of the morning. The only upside to this was that at least this way he slept late enough to not have to wait for Jaskier to arrive the next day.
He came straight from taking Ciri to preschool, and was filled with all of the positivity Geralt was lacking.
“Good morning!” He entered Geralt’s room with a coffee in hand, and judging by his enthusiasm, it was not his first. “Was last night okay? How are you feeling?”
“Couldn’t sleep very well, but other than that it was fine,” he replied. His throat was still sore and cracking, but Jaskier didn’t let this discourage him either.
“Good, I’m glad nothing happened while I was gone,” he said. “How are you feeling now?”
“Sore, tired, nauseous.”
“I’m sorry, baby,” Jaskier replied. “Do you at least feel a bit better than you did yesterday?”
“I guess.” He honestly couldn’t tell. “I don’t think I’ll feel good until they let me go home.”
“Well hopefully that’ll happen here before too long.”
Sure enough, the nurse came in less than an hour later, with instructions for his MRI.
“Since we had consistent success introducing clear liquids yesterday, the doctor feels good about trying the contrast solution.” Sure enough, she had a bottle of something in her hand. “But don’t worry. We’re going to make sure you’ve got plenty of antiemetics just to be safe.”
She handed him the bottle. It looked about as appealing as the electrolyte drink had, and it was hard to tell, but he thought this might be more volume than he’d been expected to get down before.
“The main thing is, you need to drink all of the solution within an hour, so we can make sure we get some really good pictures.”
Okay, he got a full hour. He’d spent about that much on the Gatorade and that had worked out for him.
He broke the seal on the bottle and took a drink, grimacing. The immediate image in his mind when he tasted the contrast liquid was highlighters. The electrolyte drink had tasted artificial and salty. This was downright chemical. He could already tell it was going to be tough to get all of it down.
“I know.” She acknowledged the face he was making. “It’s not the tastiest, but you’ve just got to get through it. I’ll be back in twenty minutes to check in and bring you the next bottle.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve got to drink a whole liter,” she clarified. “This is the first third.”
Geralt was horrified.
“We’ll do one bottle every twenty minutes, and then take you straight away to do the MRI.”
“What if I can’t finish it?” he asked. He felt like he’d be lucky to make it past the first bottle without losing it.
She gave him a sympathetic, but ultimately unhelpful smile. “Just do your best, okay.”
“Yeah.” Geralt didn’t make eye contact, looking defeated at the bottle in his hand. “Okay.”
“Hey, you’ve just got to try,” Jaskier reminded him after the nurse left. “If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out. Nobody is going to be angry with you.”
That was comforting to hear, but it didn’t change the fact that failing would mean being ill again, which he would really rather avoid.
Physically, he felt like he’d be able to handle it better now than he would’ve a day or two ago, but emotionally he knew it would wreck him—to get through all of yesterday just to be sick again today. He didn’t have time to worry though. He needed to get through this damned bottle.
“Is it easier on your throat at least?” Jaskier asked, when Geralt took another drink and failed to avoid making a face. “Or is it just as bad as the electrolytes?”
“It definitely doesn’t feel good.” Pretty much everything still felt like swallowing broken glass. “But it’s not making it worse like the salt.”
“Well that’s good at least.”
Jaskier kept up this relentless stream of optimism while Geralt continued to drink the contrast as quickly as he could without puking.
As it was, he still had about a quarter of the bottle left when the nurse returned. She stood there and watched while he drank the last of it in two painfully large swigs, before trading his empty bottle for a full one.
Despite his time limit, Geralt sat with the bottle open for a minute after the nurse left, taking deep breaths and looking at it, as if that might be enough to get the liquid to disappear. He was definitely feeling nauseous, and he didn’t want to think about how much more nauseous he’d be at the end of this bottle.
“Nearly halfway there,” his husband encouraged.
Geralt went to respond, but ended up stifling a belch and clapping a hand over his mouth. Jaskier didn’t hesitate to hand him the basin, asking if he needed it only after it was already securely in his lap.
“I’m okay,” Geralt said, taking his hand off his mouth, handing Jaskier back the basin, and returning his hand to his belly. “Feel a bit better now actually.”
“Good,” Jaskier replied, relieved.
“How much time do I have?”
Jaskier consulted his phone. “Seventeen minutes.”
Better get to it then.
He looked pitiful enough after the second bottle that the nurse gave him an extra two minutes to get through the end of it. Unfortunately, not pitiful enough to spare him the misery of the third bottle.
“How are you holding up, love?”
“Don’t think I’m about to puke, but don’t quote me on that,” he mumbled, breaking the seal on the last bottle. “Cheers.”
“You’re almost there,” Jaskier encouraged.
He was not almost there. He was barely over halfway there, and he felt much sicker now than he had when he’d started the first two bottles.
“This really does taste awful,” he complained.
At first there had been at least a little sweetness to counteract the harsh chemical taste. Two bottles in, his taste buds were either burned, or they’d learned to ignore everything but the bitter contrast. It felt a lot like taking that last shot of vodka at a party, after he’d already had too much to drink and started feeling nauseous. He wanted to gag on every swallow.
When he looked down to see that his first five minutes of diligent sipping had barely gotten him a quarter of the way through, he let his head fall back on the pillow, momentarily overwhelmed by his frustration.
“You’re doing great, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “You’re so close.”
“I don’t feel good.”
“I know, baby.” Jaskier brushed a hand over his forehead, and then let Geralt rest his cheek in his palm.
“This stuff is gonna suck to throw up,” he said, a very weak attempt at a joke.
“Do you really think you’re going to throw up again?” Jaskier turned, hand hovering over the basin.
“Not this second,” he replied, noncommittally. He did feel like it was coming though, and he worried this third bottle was going to be the nail in the coffin.
“Do you think you should call it?” he asked. “Or do you think you can finish?”
Geralt was surprised at how genuine he sounded. He must look as pitiful as he felt. “Would you really let me?”
“I mean, I’d like for you to take the test, but I’d hate to see you sick again.”
If he was sick again though, puking up three bottles wouldn’t be much different than puking up two, and if he could get the MRI done they might let him go home.
“I think I can manage it.”
His decision was reinforced by how relieved Jaskier looked to see him take a drink. He took the biggest swig he could manage, hoping that somehow the bottle would be half empty when he pulled back.
Not even close. And he’d wasted several of his minutes talking with Jaskier rather than sticking to his slow and steady pace. Now he had to rush. The horrible sloshy feeling was back, and a part of Geralt wondered if this was just how his body would be from now on—how his stomach would feel whenever he filled it.
The thought of it made his stomach turn with anxiety, and he nearly lost it right then. Thankfully, he was able to swallow hard and take a deep breath through his nose, because there was no way he’d have gotten to the basin in time. He would have absolutely flooded the bed, throwing up nearly a liter of liquid onto himself.
“You okay?” Jaskier asked.
“Mhmm.” He took another deep breath.
“Okay, the nurse is here, love.” He broke the news as gently as possible, but it still was an unpleasant surprise. He’d thought he had a little more time. He hadn’t even heard her enter.
“Can I just have another minute?” he asked, his voice weak and cracking.
“I’ve got one more patient I need to go check on,” she said, taking pity on him. “You can have until I get back. Won’t be long though, don’t get too comfortable.”
Geralt thought getting comfortable was a completely unrealistic goal at the moment, but he was very grateful not to have to chug the last half a bottle. As it was, he still had to rush, and barely got it down before she returned, ready to take him to the MRI.
“Do you know how long this will take?” he asked, trying not to sound too whiny or desperate, although he felt like he was both at the moment.
He’d gotten the contrast liquid down. By some miracle of the gods, yes. But he had no idea how long he would be able to keep it down, and that wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to find out while inside a very expensive piece of medical equipment.
“These usually take about an hour,” she told him. “It doesn’t usually take much longer than that, but it depends. You’ve got complete control though. If you feel like you need to stop you just let them know, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Sometimes if it looks like it’s going to be on the longer side, the technician will let you take a break halfway through.”
Neither of those things did much for his confidence, but his confidence didn’t matter. Those accommodations would have to be enough. At least he’d have Jaskier back in his room to meet him afterward, whatever shape he was in.
Selfishly he regretted not seeing if Jaskier could come with him. He had to tell himself that this was good. Jaskier deserved to go get a coffee, or a pastry, or answer an email, or just scroll on his phone mindlessly for an hour.
He’d practically lived here the last three days, on top of taking care of Ciri. He hadn’t had a moment to himself in quite a while. This would be good for him, unfortunately it promised to be horrible for Geralt.