every_blossom_blooming | Don't you see that lonesome dove sitting on an ivy tree

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Don't you see that lonesome dove sitting on an ivy tree

Nina sat at a booth near the back of the bar, staring at the bottle of liquor on the table. A glass sat next to it, though she hadn't touched either just yet. She wasn't even sure how long she'd been sitting there anymore.

It had been a day or two since Geralt disappeared. Maybe two, now, she thought. She'd spent the first day on the floor of Kaz and Inej's apartment, and she'd managed to leave, but she wasn't sure where to go or what to do with herself. And that was probably how she found herself in a bar, sitting in front of a bottle that she'd like very much to drown in. Her eyes were still red-rimmed from crying, her hair limp from the lack of a shower in the last few days.

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts, barely focused as the tears threatened to overflow again.

Come sit with me? I'm at Tintern.

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It's a bad idea, he knows, letting himself get attached, but he seems to keep doing it and so when Nina asks if he wants to feel the baby, he holds his hand out toward her. She can place it where she likes, where he's most likely to feel movement, and all the while he thinks he ought to get out of here.

But that remains the obstacle at the end of each day. There's nowhere for him to go. He can't get out of Darrow itself and so, no matter how many flats he leaves, no matter how many conversations he refuses to have, he's still here. And no one can live without any human connection.

She moves Sweeney's hand until it's over a little flutter of movement. His hand is huge and it makes her smile. She's quiet for a moment, listening to Sweeney's big heart behind her and the tiny little heart inside her.

"Will you stay? Even if it's just til I fall asleep. I won't keep you if you've somewhere you need to go, but-- the company would be nice."

She'd gotten used to sleeping next to someone, and maybe she needs to get used to being alone again but it still feels new and lonely.

With a shake of his head, he dismisses the idea that there's anywhere else he needs to be. Whatever they're doing, he and Spike are shit at making plans, and if he doesn't text or show up, it won't be a complete surprise. They spend nights together, but they spend them apart, too, and neither asks the other what they've been doing.

This is beyond innocent anyway.

He's focusing on that movement, though, the press and shift he can feel just beyond Nina's skin.

"I'll stay," he says. Then, in a lower voice, to the baby, he adds, "Bealtaine airm láidre agat. Tá claonadh aireach ort. Ádh mór chun tú a charm."

"Sounds like Kaelish," she murmurs, smiling. "Something about strength and luck?"

The language reminds her of better days, all of which feel long ago and far away now. Geralt had told her she's done far too much living for a girl her age, in the same breath knowing sometimes it couldn't be helped. Nina sniffs, intent on avoiding any more tears tonight. She can't cry herself into a husk.

"Somethin' like that," he agrees, not wanting to translate it directly. It's bad enough when people know all the soft spots he hides without him giving them a direct line to them with his words.

It would've been better for him to say nothing at all. But if there's one person in this goddamn city to give the child a proper Irish blessing, he's the one to do it.

"I'll take it." Nina smiles and carefully tries to get herself off the couch without looking too ridiculous. She can't imagine getting bigger than she is now, but she knows it's coming. She offers Sweeney her hand.

"Come on. Let's fall into bed and pretend everything is alright."

If he were a different sort of asshole, he knows he's take advantage of this, of her state, of the situation. And Mad Sweeney might be a piece of shit, but he's not that piece of shit. Nina doesn't need some asshole trying to get his hands on her when all she needs is some fucking comfort.

Besides which, he hasn't put his hands on anyone but Spike in awhile. Which it its own bit of fucked up trouble.

"Everything's alright enough," he says. "Or it will be eventually. It's the way of the world, lass, the good and bad balance out in the end. Like the wind, it's always changing."

Nina drifts back to the bedroom. She's pushed evidence of Geralt to the margins, or into the closet. She doesn't know what to do with most of what's been left behind, even if there isn't much of it to start with.

She remembers to kick her flats off and sits on the edge of the bed, feeling the weight of her pregnancy again. It was easy to think about when she had a partner. She knows she won't have to do this alone, but it's still different. She puts a smile on.

"I'll try not to kick you terribly. And no one's ever complained about me talking in my sleep or snoring, so you'll not have that either."

Nina thinks, for a moment, that she's talking to much. But she isn't exactly trying to seduce Sweeney or she'd be wearing something much nicer and she certainly would have washed her hair. She probably should do that anyway, but all she wants tonight is to feel someone breathing next to her, and to listen to a heart much older than hers.

"C'mon now," he coaches gently as he kicks off his boots. "Into bed, stop apologizing for things you haven't done."

He goes around to the other side as he speaks, pushing back the covers and stretching out, his hands behind his head. He's still fully clothed, but Sweeney has slept in clothes more often than he's slept in his altogether, so it's not even something he notices. His feet hang off the end, but that's to be expected.

"Lie back, lass," he says. "I'll put out the light."

Nina settles into bed and moves herself close so she can tuck against Sweeney, using him as a body pillow. She rests her head against his shoulder and she feels a bit bad that the bed's not quite long enough. She'd upgraded herself to a king-sized at some point, not long after Kaz had come into an obscene amount of money.

"We could move," she muses as she gives his leg a little nudge with her own. She's still in her dress, but it's soft enough to be a nightgown and she's too tired to change. "Nothing says you can't sleep diagonal across a bed."

"Slept far more uncomfortable places than a bed where my feet hang off a little," he answers, dropping one arm around her, fingers stroking light against her shoulder. He'd never call himself a gentle man, doesn't think most other people would either, but he's capable of it, every now and again. With the right people and the right times.

"Suppose you weren't prepared to drag home a giant, I'll forgive you this time," he teases gently. "Don't worry yourself, lass. Not about me, anyway."

He's not worth the worry. Not even a little bit that might come his way over the smallest things. She has bigger things to think about.

Nina smiles and tucks her head against Sweeney's shoulder. "You are the tallest man I've had in bed by at least six inches. When I worked and lived in the White Rose, I didn't have a bed, just a settee."

She sighs and closes her eyes, listening to the great, steady thud of his heart. A far cry from the strange, nearly inhuman rhythm of Geralt's, but a comfort none the less.

"Is it silly to wonder if anyone will want a witch with a baby in tow?" she murmurs. She can be alone, she knows that she can, but after all this, she isn't sure she wants to be.

"Not such a silly thing to wonder," he answers, because people and gods and everything in between are nearly drowning in their fears and insecurities. He'd be surprised if she wasn't wondering something like that, even with him having just disappeared. Upheaval makes people afraid.

"Think you'll find you don't have to worry about it in the long run," he continues. "People aren't all such pieces of shit that babies will throw 'em off all that much."

He might be one of them, but only out of self-preservation. Sweeney can't stomach the thought of getting attached to another child and then watching them die.

"I've seen enough men turn tail at the idea of being father to their own children," she says with a roll of her eyes.

Nina's quiet for a moment, staring off at some space between them. "Now and then his age would come up. He was nearing or just over a hundred, you know. Sometimes I think caring for someone like me was a little frightening. I'll live a long life, thanks to being what I am, but even I'd be looking old at a hundred. I'd die eventually."

She knows, from Geralt, that witchers are hardly immortal, but their changes their bodies go through make them terribly long-lived. Centuries of life, provided they aren't killed in the course of their work.

Sweeney tilts his head in acknowledgement of what she's saying. There's a lot in there that he's felt himself in the past and it's not as if he can tell her not to concern herself with something like that, because here he is, so many years past his last true and real relationship, unable to let himself go down that path again.

"Folks like us, it's a choice we make," he says. "We know the risk of it, what we have to live through. Have to lose. He knew it, whether it was frightening or not, and he chose it."

Sweeney doesn't know if that will be a comfort to her, but it's the truth. And he can give her that, if nothing else.

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Don't you see that lonesome dove sitting on an ivy tree

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