Chapter Text
If Geralt was late, Yen was going to murder him. She’d texted him a string of increasingly angry questions and orders--all variations of when are you leaving? Have you left yet? You better fucking be walking out the door this second --and he was only just now leaving with twenty minutes to spare. In the end, she sent him instructions to get to the school’s music room where they’d be meeting with the first of Ciri’s teachers.
You sent her to school ten minutes away from you just to make my life hard, Geralt texted back. Yennefer replied with a laughing emoji and a thumbs up.
The bus was late, and as he waited in the rain with only the hood of his sweatshirt for protection, he cursed himself for not just sucking it up and getting a cab. He hated England sometimes. It felt like the country just liked to take a piss on him whenever it could, like it knew he didn’t belong there.
By the time he arrived at the school and made his way inside the building--which he always thought looked like something out of those Harry Potter books Yen and Ciri liked so much--Yennefer was already sitting, arms crossed, in front of the teacher’s desk. Said teacher was leaning against the desk, chatting away as Yennefer looked on in bemused silence. When she spotted Geralt her gaze narrowed and she made a slicing motion against her throat.
The music teacher, who looked somewhat alarmed by Yennefer’s threatening gesture, followed her gaze to the door and his face broke into a wide grin. “Ah! You must be Geralt!”
The first thing Geralt noticed about him was his light-blue turtleneck and the second thing he noticed was how blue his eyes were, and the combination of these two things annoyed Geralt instantly.
Geralt nodded as he stepped inside the classroom.
“Jaskier Pankratz,” the teacher said, holding out his hand. Geralt gave it a firm shake and took the empty seat next to Yen.
“So nice of you to join us, darling. If only someone had reminded you how long the journey from South London takes.”
“It’s no trouble, really,” Jaskier assured them before Geralt could retort. “We were only just getting started. I was telling Yennefer what an utter delight Ciri is. Truly, you two have such a gifted daughter.”
Jaskier was too god damn friendly and cheerful. As he chattered on about the curriculum and Ciri’s performance, Geralt and Yen exchanged pointed looks and eye rolls no less than twelve times when Jaskier wasn’t looking (maybe a couple of times when he was). They may have divorced years ago, but they could still read each other’s minds with one look: Jaskier was irritating the shit out of both of them.
But he seemed to genuinely adore Ciri, and so did they, so Geralt forgave him just a little bit for his loud turtleneck and his sincere eyes and how much he fucking talked.
Two weeks later, Yennefer called and without any preamble said, “I hired Jaskier to give Ciri piano lessons on the weekends.”
Geralt put his mug of coffee down on his desk with a loud thump. “You did what?”
“He offers private lessons--Ciri told me. She’s rather fond of him, you know.”
Jaskier was Ciri’s favorite teacher, and most of her stories seemed to center around his classroom. She’d bragged on more than one occasion that she and Dara were his favorites, and Geralt had to tell her she was too small to have such a big head.
“Ciri quit piano two years ago.”
“She said she wanted to start playing again, and I never wanted her to quit in the first place.”
“You know we alternate weekends,” Geralt reminded her.
“He’s fine to come to you. Said he lives south anyway. So very lucky for you to have such an accommodating neighbor!”
Geralt groaned and said, “Couldn’t have asked me about this first? He’s fucking annoying.”
“Oh, Geralt. Suck it up and get over yourself.”
“You thought he was annoying too!”
“He’s sweet, and actually quite talented.”
Like most conversations they had, Geralt couldn’t tell how much Yen meant this and how much of it she was only saying to get a rise out of him. He wouldn’t put it past her to have convinced Jaskier to tutor Ciri on the weekends just to annoy Geralt.
“What’s he doing as a music teacher then?” Geralt retorted.
“It’s a prestigious school. Stop being an arse.”
“Fine. When do the lessons start?”
“He’ll come round yours next weekend when you’ve got Ciri.”
Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Great.”
“Right, I’ve got to pop off now. I’ll see you and Ciri for dinner on Thursday. Lots of love!”
Not for the first time, he wondered how Yennefer remained both his best friend and worst enemy.
“Mr. Pankratz is awesome,” Ciri said, bending forward to put her plate in the dishwasher. The light spilling in through the kitchen window haloed around her head, bleaching her blonde hair white. “The other day he finished class by having us play this game where we went around while he was playing his lute--”
“He has a lute ?” Geralt, who was still finishing up the last of his lunch, put his fork down and gave Ciri an incredulous look. “Why can’t he just play the guitar like everybody else?”
Ciri rolled her eyes like Geralt was the embarrassing one. “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “we each had to improvise a line, and Dara kept adding chipmunks to all of his lines. It was so random.”
“So random,” Geralt echoed dryly.
The ring of the buzzer interrupted them--not that Geralt was complaining--and Ciri rushed to the intercom. “Hiya! Come on up. We’re on floor 3.”
This time, Jaskier was wearing a salmon-colored button-down. Geralt was just as annoyed by it as the baby-blue turtleneck. He took Jaskier’s black peacoat and hung it up, listening as Ciri listed off some of the songs she wanted to learn.
Geralt had set up the electric keyboard--which had been gathering dust at the back of a closet for years--in the living room and dragged over a black ottoman that he figured could double as a makeshift piano bench. If Jaskier thought it was odd, he didn’t say anything. Figured he’d be too polite to give Geralt shit for the half-assed setup.
“It’s nice to see you again,” Jaskier said.
Geralt didn’t know what to say to that besides ‘why?’, which would have been too rude even by his standards.
“Thanks.” And then because that sounded even ruder somehow, he added, “For coming. Ciri’s been looking forward to this.”
“I’m glad. She has a particularly good ear for music, and I’ve been encouraging her to play again. I was surprised--good surprised,” he added hurriedly, “when Yennefer called.”
“Yes, Yennefer is full of...surprises.”
Jaskier laughed but then stopped himself abruptly, as though he weren’t sure he was allowed to find Geralt’s tone amusing.
“Can I get you a cup of tea, Mr. Pankratz?” Ciri offered with such sweetness that Geralt was sure that she was a changeling.
“Yes, please. That’d be brilliant.”
“How do you take it?”
“Milk and two sugars, thank you.”
“Be right back!” she said brightly. Then she added, less brightly, “Oh, uh, dad do you want one too?”
Geralt raised an eyebrow at her. “No, I’m good, thanks.” She had already left for the kitchen before he’d finished the sentence.
“Teenagers.” He shrugged at Jaskier. Fuck. He’d become one of those dads who said shit like that. “But you’re probably used to that.”
“Oh, they’re not so bad really.”
“Right. That’s because they all have a crush on you.”
Jaskier blinked at him.
“It’s the hair. You look like a member of that band,” Geralt said.
“What band?”
“The direction one.”
“One Direction?” Jaskier said slowly.
“Yeah.
Jaskier burst out laughing. “Mate, I think that the teens have long since moved on from One Direction.”
“I don’t fucking know.”
“And you’re one to talk about hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing. It’s just you don’t usually see men with long hair. It’s very--” Jaskier waved a hand in front of him. “Very metal of you. Or maybe a bit Legolas from Lord of the Rings. In any case, I’m sure all the teen girls would go wild over it.”
“Thank god I’m not a teacher then.”
Jaskier laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Geralt didn’t understand why Jaskier seemed so amused by him, but a small part of him was flattered.
Ciri returned with the tea, and Geralt retreated to his office where he could hear Ciri trying to impress Jaskier by playing bits of half-remembered songs and asking Jaskier to play various pop songs for her amusement.
More than once as he did a few pieces of the week’s leftover work, he found himself smiling at the intertwined sounds of the music and their laughter.
“Did my dad tell you he used to play too?” Ciri asked at the end of her second lesson with such feigned innocence and sweetness that Geralt clenched his jaw. He wished he had a legitimate reason to ground her, already knowing she was up to no good.
“Nope. Hasn’t come up,” Jaskier said, shooting a curious look at Geralt.
“It’s been a long time, I barely remember it. Probably can’t even read music anymore.”
“I could give you lessons after Ciri’s,” Jaskier offered. “I’ll give you a fabulous, one-in-a-lifetime buy-one-get-the-second-one-half-off deal. You Americans love a good bargain, don’t you?”
Today Jaskier was wearing some sort of awful blue floral-print jacket with olive green sleeves. Geralt was not about to let this man teach him anything.
“Thank you, but no,” Geralt said, and wondered if he imagined a flicker of disappointment in Jaskier’s eyes.
He repeated this offer to Yen later that night on the phone.
“The man is ridiculous,” Geralt said. “I know he’s her favorite teacher, but the kids must tear him a new asshole for the way he dresses.”
“Geralt, just because you only wear black--”
“Like you’re better because you dress in black and white.”
“As I was saying. Just because you only wear black doesn’t mean the rest of the world can’t exercise their own fashion choices.”
“Who the fuck am I even talking to?” He could always count on Yennefer to be merciless.
“I think you should let him give you lessons. You used to love to play when we first met, and Ciri said he offered them half-price, which is quite sweet. It would give you two something else to bond over.”
“I don’t need something else to bond over with him.”
“Darling, I was referring to you and your daughter.” Her voice was infuriatingly smug.
It wasn’t so fun when she was merciless at him and not with him. He hung up on her knowing full well he’d regret that decision later.
“Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the next time he arrived. He was wearing a beige button-down with--
“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.
Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”
“Not particularly.”
The smile swiftly disappeared.
“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”
Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.
“Erm, she paid for your lessons?” Jaskier said carefully, glancing around him as though looking for someone to help back him up. Ciri came through just then as if answering a silent alarm.
“Mum and I thought it would be nice for you!” she said to Geralt, having clearly overheard the beginning of the conversation.
“So you don’t want lessons?” Jaskier asked, looking between them. “And here I thought that my generous offer had been music to your ears and opened your heart to the possibility of letting your hands create sweet music once again.”
“Yeah, Dad! You can create sweet music once again!” Ciri chimed in before Geralt could point out how ridiculous Jaskier sounded.
He looked between the two of them and sighed.
“Fine. Why not.”
Geralt moped in his office through Ciri’s lesson, and then slunk back out to the living room once it was his turn.
Jaskier and Ciri were sitting on the cushioned bay window seats, flipping through the music books Ciri had pulled out from storage earlier that morning.
“Are you starting your lessons today?” Ciri asked.
“Dunno.” He looked at Jaskier.
“I blocked out the hour, so I’m happy to start today if you are.”
“Guess that settles it.”
The answer seemed to satisfy Ciri, and she thanked Jaskier before grabbing her soundproof headphones--which Geralt tried not to be offended by--from the coffee table and heading to her room.
“What sort of thing do you want to learn to play?” Jaskier asked. He was still sitting by the window, backdropped by the dull-grey London sky and the red and gold leaves of the ash trees growing in front of the building. “I’m happy to base the curriculum entirely around your specific interests and passions, Geralt. Think of this as your quest to find a muse.” Jaskier arced his hand through the air to emphasize his point.
“I didn’t even want to play in the first place,” he grumbled, but without much bite.
Jaskier lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Do you want me to just take the money and run?”
That wasn’t the worst idea.
“Geralt, no. I wasn’t being serious.” Jaskier shook his head when he saw Geralt considering the offer. “Come on, this could be fun. You know I’ve felt like we could be great friends, and this is fate intervening to make it so.”
Who said shit like that? What could have possibly given Jaskier the idea they’d make great friends? Geralt was certain that no one, not even Lambert and Eskel--maybe especially Lambert and Eskel--had ever had that thought about him.
“Fate did not intervene for you to give me piano lessons. That was Yennefer being Yennefer. Never mistake the two again.”
“And yet here we are.” Jaskier scanned Geralt’s face and it made him feel peculiarly, inexplicably vulnerable.
He narrowed his eyes but took a seat on the ottoman. Much to his chagrin Jaskier sat down beside him, so close their thighs were brushing and Geralt could smell the warm, appley scent of his aftershave.
“Since you used to play, why don’t we just start by seeing how much you remember? Can you still sight-read at all or is there anything you recall how to play?”
Geralt sighed and nodded. “Can probably still manage some ‘Chopsticks’.”
“That’s the spirit!” Jaskier looked far more delighted than the situation warranted, but Geralt snorted in spite of himself.
You should be thanking me, Yennefer texted him after Geralt sent her a series of angry messages. He’s just your type.
What? Annoying?
Annoyance is practically foreplay for you, Geralt <3
Fuck.