context: guess what? it’s Nira and Oleander being soft! who would’ve guessed. Also Nira thinking about having a soft spot for humans
Her siblings used to tease her for the soft spot she sometimes developed for humans. On the whole, humans were an irksome nuisance, but sometimes, sometimes she would find one that would soften her heart.
The first one to win her over was Judas. Something about the way he spoke had caught her attention. He wasn’t a poet by any means, (she had never particularly cared for poets), but he could get people to do things for him. He could convince people he was something he wasn’t. People would give him their faith, their money, their food, expecting him to deliver on his promises. He would take all of it. And then he would abandon them. Weasel his way out and scam them. Nira hadn’t cared. Those people were nothing to her. But Judas was everything.
And then he’d tried to scam an ancient deity of chaos. A being so old that his name had been lost to time. He’d seen and caused more death, more havoc, more pain than Judas could ever imagine. When he offered Judas great things, Judas, in his greed, had sold his life away. And Nira, because she loved him, because he meant the world to her, because she would do anything for him, and despite knowing he would never do the same for her, she took over the contract.
She wasn’t surprised when Judas left.
There had been others. Blips in her eternal life that left marks on her heart before she moved on, unwilling to let another human fall prey to The Hidden One. He would’ve taken them all if he could, just to see her suffer. And when he had them, he would’ve spun new contracts. Contracts that would’ve indebted her further but would’ve saved her beloved human. Would she have saved them? Hadn’t she learned her lesson with Judas? It didn’t matter. She never stuck around long enough to find out.
Then she met Oleander.
When they first met, he was as irksome as any other human. Perhaps even more so. He fidgeted and stuttered. He never stood up for himself. He was so deeply fearful of, well, everything as far as Nira could tell at the time. He couldn’t fight, he was sensitive, and he ran away from his fears. She’d wanted nothing to do with him. But, The Hidden One was interested in the beast Oleander could turn into, and his insistence on Nira gaining the little human’s trust turned out to be the best thing the deity ever did for her.
It was Oleander’s kindness that won her over. Slowly, he chipped away at her armor, without intending to. His kindness was so intensely genuine, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. How to react to it. At first, she’d reacted with annoyance, but that, against her will, had evolved into admiration. No matter what life threw at him, her sweet human never grew bitter. Though people teased him and mocked him, though people were cruel and didn’t always appreciate his kindness, his goodwill never faltered. He was admirably tender-hearted, in a way that Nira could never emulate.
Now, in the comfort of the apartment they own together, Oleander sleeps curled up against her, his head resting on her shoulder, his arm draped over her stomach. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but it had been a long, grueling week, and when he got home from work, she’d wrapped herself protectively around him and ran her claws gently through his hair, massaging his scalp, lulling him to sleep. As he told her about his day, the pauses between his words grew longer, until he was softly snoring beside her.
Nira shifts slightly, allowing her a view of his face. His lips are slightly parted, and his round cheeks are flushed from the warmth of being curled up with a gorgon. She brushes his soft, feathery white hair out of his face, reveling at how it feels between her fingers. Everything about him is so soft. His hair, his sweet smile that makes her heart feel like bursting, his cheeks, his tummy, his thighs, his gentle hands, his giggle that always makes her smile. She wants to kiss every inch of him, make him aware of how much she loves him. She lifts his hand off her stomach and kisses his fingers, before holding his hand against her.
Sleepily, Oleander mumbles something incoherent, pulling himself out of his impromptu nap. He yawns, nuzzles his cheek against her shoulder, and lets out a heavy sigh. Nira doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just waits for him to wake up on his own. Minutes later, he nuzzles against her again and burrows into the beanbag.
“Mm, hello,” he says, his voice muffled against her skin.
“Hi,” she says.
He yawns again, and stretches, reaching an arm above his head. As he does so, his white t-shirt rides up, revealing his belly. Nira smiles and leans in to nuzzle her face against his neck.
“That t-tickles,” he giggles, squirming away as her snakes bump against his face and neck. Still smiling, she ignores his protest and peppers kisses on his neck and cheek, trying not to laugh too as he giggles and squirms.
“Nira, s-s-stop it,” he laughs.
She pulls back and says, “But, I love you.”
“I love you too!” he says. “But that t-tickles!”
“It’s not my fault you’re so ticklish,” Nira teases. She moves so she’s above him, then trails more kisses over his body, kissing above the fabric of his shirt, until she gets to where his shirt rode up. She kisses his bare skin and smiles again as he laughs.
Context: Nira’s experiences with parties are very different than the parties Teale throws and that, like most things, confuses her.
If it weren’t for Oleander’s delight anytime he and Nira got an invitation to one of Teale’s parties, and his subsequent concern of offending or upsetting Teale if they didn’t make an appearance, Nira wouldn’t intentionally go to any party, especially a party attended by mostly supernatural creatures. Even with everyone on the best behavior, it’s a situation that begs for chaos and disaster.
Aside from the events Teale hosts, Nira has been to very few parties. Where she grew up, parties were uncommon, and when they did happen, they weren’t considered a good time unless at least one gorgon ended up dead or severely maimed. She’d never attended a gorgon party as a guest, only as the hired entertainment, a gladiator who would either kill or get killed. In her case, she always ended up being the one killing.
After leaving Greece, the only parties she attended were on behalf of The Hidden One, usually to get information for him, and similar to the events of her youth, they resulted in her seriously maiming or killing someone.
No one has been maimed or killed at any of Teale’s parties, but with the guest list consisting of so many supernatural creatures known for violence against humans, Nira’s sure it’s only a matter of time. She glances around the room, tense and wary as she again makes note of where everyone is in Teale’s large, glamorous apartment, paying special attention to the vampires and vampire-like creatures, and the pale, wet-haired girl that tells stories of the men she’s drowned. Though she’s not personally threatened by any of them, they do pose a very real threat to Oleander, whether he recognizes that or not.
Nira turns her gaze to Oleander, who’s sitting next to her in a corner of the apartment on a pink suede loveseat. He’s watching the other guests with bright, curious eyes. Though he looks content, his expression neutral, Nira can tell he’s uncomfortable. She doesn’t know how to read anyone else, but she knows Oleander. He’s tapping his toe lightly against the floor, offbeat with the music that plays over a vintage record player, and he’s missing his usual smile as he observes the chatter of the other guests, unwilling to intrude on their conversations. His usual party buddy, Donna, with whom he socialized the most, had her attention seized some time ago by Anya, who dragged her into a conversation-turned-debate. The giantess is making polite attempts to escape, but in the meantime Oleander and Nira are left alone on the loveseat. Though Nira is far more out-of-place in this environment than Oleander is, she’s not uncomfortable. His comfort is more of a concern to her, and she has something she knows will put him at ease.
She reaches into the pocket of her joggers and says in a quiet voice, “Oleander, look.”
He turns his attention to her, his eyes clear and wide. When Nira looks down at what she’s pulled from her pocket, he follows her gaze, and then squeals with delight.
“Bucatini!” he says, a smile spreading across his face as he carefully takes a young ribbon snake from Nira’s hand. The snake begins to wind himself around Oleander’s fingers, and Oleander’s pure, childlike joy overwhelms Nira, hitting her with a surge of deep affection. Unable to help herself, she kisses his cheek.
With Oleander’s attention now absorbed by the snake that Nira had put in her pocket before they left the house, she looks back to the other guests, on alert. Bates, who had been talking with Orthanach, the leprechaun that Nira found confusingly endearing despite being loud and chaotic, crosses the room with a drink in his hand and plops down in one of the two armchairs across the coffee table from the loveseat.
Bates raises his eyebrows with muted interest when he catches sight of the snake slithering between Oleander’s fingers. He watches silently for a few seconds, then asks, “Where’d the snake come from?”
“My pocket,” Nira says.
The demon gives a small nod and tips his drink in response, then takes a sip.
“His name is Bucatini, like the noodle,” Oleander says, tilting his head to look at the snake’s face. “He’s a ribbon s-s-snake.”
“Nice to meet you, Bucatini,” Bates says.
Nira smiles. She likes Bates. He never talks too much, and he doesn’t ask her annoying questions and try to get to know her. And, most importantly, he’s kind to Oleander and listens to him with what seems to be legitimate interest. Maybe he’s just acting interested, but that doesn’t matter to Nira. He seems interested, and that’s enough.
“Wasn’t Langly over here with you guys?” Bates asks.
“Anya asked her to join a conversation,” Nira says.
“Oh,” he says, and turns in his chair to look for her. She’s with Anya and Wyatt Leslie, towering over both of them, yet managing to look so small as she nods politely. Bates sighs and throws back the rest of his drink. He puts the empty glass on the coffee table and says, “I should go rescue her.”
“Probably,” Nira says.
“Not—not because she needs rescuing,” he says. “She’s capable—”
“She needs rescuing,” Nira says flatly. “She is not capable of telling anyone she doesn’t give a fuck about what they have to say.”
“Nira!” Oleander says, briefly looking away from the snake. “That’s not nice to s-s-say to people.”
“Yeah, and that’s why Donna won’t say it,” she says. Oleander frowns a bit, but doesn’t argue, and returns his attention to Bucatini.
Bates looks at Nira for a second, his expression somewhere between bored and curious. He shrugs and says, “I guess.”
Nira watches as he gets up and approaches the giantess and her two opinionated friends. With an ease that Nira will never understand, he naturally slides into the conversation, nodding along and offering an occasional comment, before pulling both himself and Donna from the conversation. There’s no tension, no discomfort, just smooth conversation.
One of these days, the party will end in a fight, Nira thinks. That’s what happens at parties.
A sharp, echoing rap filled the apartment as someone struck their knuckles against the door, interrupting Nira and Oleander’s peaceful Sunday afternoon. Nira, lying on one of the two enormous beanbags while she listened to Oleander make up a song as he cooked, jerked upright, and glanced first at Oleander, then at the door. Oleander was in the kitchen, pulling open a drawer to retrieve a whisk, and the knock on the door made him yelp. He looked to the door, then to Nira, who was pushing herself off the beanbag and heading toward the closet. On the off chance that the person at the door was someone or something that she needed to deal with, she knew Oleander would prefer if she was clothed.
“I wonder who that could be!” he chirped. Whisk in hand, he called out to the mystery visitor, “Coming!” and crossed the apartment to answer the door.
The moment Oleander saw who stood in the doorway, his blood ran cold, and his heartbeat quickened. The figure loomed, more than a foot taller than Oleander, and the light in the hall caused his shadow to fall over Oleander’s much smaller form. Startled, Oleander yelped and tossed his hands up. The whisk he was holding clattered to the floor.
“Nira,” he said, his voice high and strained. “I th-th-think it’s for you.”
Suddenly, another large figure appeared beside Oleander, and he yelped again. He blinked twice and his fingers twitched as he took a step back.
It was only Nira.
His startled yelp when he opened the door had spurred her to move with unusual speed, bordering on superhuman. Now that she stood next to him, his fear was practically tangible. Whatever was causing that reaction in their home, their safe place away from the stresses of the outside world, needed to be eradicated immediately.
At first, she didn’t recognize the man in the doorway. He was tall and muscular, no more than an inch or two shorter than she was, and his skin was tan and ruddy. The athletic shorts and tank top he wore showed off his muscles and dozens of scars, both faded and fresh. He bore a startling resemblance to how she looked when she took her human form, hairless, with the same coal black eyes and dark glower that made strangers feel ill-at-ease.
Then, she realized who he was. Kleon. Her brother. The last time she saw him they’d been in the Ottoman Empire, and he certainly didn’t have legs at the time. In the two hundred years, give or take, that had passed since their last encounter, he must have gotten the ability to take on a human form.
There were few people she wanted to see less.
“Deianira,” he said.
“No,” she said and shut the door.
Kleon’s hand flew out, and he wedged his foot between the door and the doorframe.
“You’re not even going to say hello?” he asked, his thin lips spreading over a toothy grin. His voice was deep and hoarse and grated on her nerves.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed.
She took a step forward and put her hands on either side of the doorframe, using her body to block Oleander from Kleon’s view. The movement put her uncomfortably close to her brother, leaving less than a foot of space between them, but as long as Kleon was within a visible distance, she was going to do everything in her power to keep him from so much as looking at Oleander.
“I heard you were living in Chicago,” he said. His dark eyes flicked briefly to the space behind her. She leaned to the side, blocking his view. “I was in the country and thought I’d drop by.”
“Why?” she demanded. Her tone was venomous, a biting accusation.
“To catch up,” he shrugged.
Behind her, she heard Oleander’s quiet voice, “I’ll j-j-j-j—” He cleared his throat and tried again, “I’ll just be in the kitchen.”
“Are you going to invite me in?” Kleon asked.
There was something about his voice that made her want to punch him in the throat. Nothing specific. His voice had just always had that effect on her.
“Fuck. No.”
“I came all the way out here to say ‘hi’ to you, and you’re going to shut me out?” he asked. The bastard was smiling, like this was some kind of game to him. It probably was. He’d always been infuriatingly amused by her and her decisions.
“I have never asked you to contact me,” she said flatly.
“Don’t be like this, Deianira,” he said. “I only want to catch up a bit. It’s been—what? Two hundred years?”
Two hundred years. He always seemed to show up every two hundred years. It wasn’t enough time between visits.
She knew if she tried to make him leave, he’d get more persistent and try to force his way into the apartment. Which would mean Kleon being in an enclosed space with Oleander. She couldn’t have that.
Through gritted teeth, she said, “Fine. Let’s go for a walk.” She grabbed the slip-on shoes that laid by the entrance and pulled them over her heels. Turning to face the apartment she told Oleander, “O, I’ll be back later.”
“Okay!” he squeaked from behind one of the pillars that separated the kitchen from the rest of the apartment.
Nira pushed Kleon back with her forearm and closed the door behind her. They said nothing as Nira led them out of the apartment and onto the street. The air outside was turning cold, but winter hadn’t quite set in yet.
“Who was that?” Kleon asked, matching her brisk pace.
He spoke in Ancient Greek. She hadn’t had anyone, besides The Hidden One, speak to her in Ancient Greek since the last time she’d seen Kleon, and The Hidden One’s accent had always been a little bit off. She took a moment to process what he said.
“Hmm?”
“The scared, chubby man,” he said. “Is he your butler?”
“My bu—why the fuck would I have a butler?” she asked in English, looking at him like he had suddenly started speaking gibberish.
“I don’t know,” Kleon said, still in Ancient Greek. “I heard you got your freedom. Thought maybe you wanted to turn things around and be the boss of someone. You did get your freedom, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she said.
Kleon grinned, showing off sharp fangs, and switched to English after realizing she was going to keep responding in English, “Well, didn’t take you very long did it? Only, oooh, let’s see, almost 2,200 years? But, really, who’s counting?”
Nira said nothing. She wasn’t going to respond to his mocking. It would only encourage him.
“Is he your cook?” he asked.
“Why would I have a fucking cook?” she asked. “We don’t need to cook our food.”
“He was holding a what-do-you-call-it,” he said, moving his hand in a stirring motion. “If he’s not your butler or your cook, what is he? Don’t tell me he’s your fucking roommate. Even you wouldn’t live with someone like that, right?”
“Someone like what?” she asked, lowering her voice threateningly. A warning to tread lightly.
Kleon did not tread lightly.
“Small. Weak. Pathetic. Afraid of his own shadow. Would probably lose a fight to a—what do you call those again? σκῐ́ουρος?” he asked, pointing at a squirrel that perched on the rim of a trash can.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she snapped. She knew he was deliberately trying to provoke her, but she couldn’t prevent the anger bubbling up inside her.
“Damn, Deianira, calm down. I know you have a weird soft spot for humans, but even you have to admit, that man is a little bitch.”
“Watch your tongue or I’ll remove it,” she hissed, turning on him.
Kleon raised his non-existent brows, surprised by her malice. Then, his eyes widened, and a look of glee spread over his features.
“Oh my gods. Are you—? You’re not…are you dating him?”
“Yes,” she said, giving him a dark look.
She wasn’t ashamed of Oleander by any means. She would proudly announce to nearly anyone that he was her boyfriend. But she didn’t like Kleon knowing her business, and she didn’t like giving him another reason to mock her.
Kleon laughed sharply, tossing his head back. Nira had to stop walking and wait for him as he bent over, his hands on his knees. Her relationship with Oleander didn’t warrant this much laughter.
“Him? You’re dating him?” Kleon asked, incredulous. “How the fuck did you find someone worse than the last one? What was his name? Janus?”
“Judas,” Nira corrected thoughtlessly.
“Yeah, him,” he said. “Holy fuck, Deianira. I can’t believe you found someone worse. At least the last one could throw a punch. Seems like if you mentioned violence to this one, he might keel over. Where did you find him? What’s the appeal? He must be incredible at fucking. That’s the only explanation.”
“Ew,” she said. “Don’t talk to me about sex.”
“So, that’s not it? What else could he possibly have to offer?”
“Are you going to shut up, or do I have to force you to?” Nira growled, clenching her hands into fists.
She wasn’t going to get into the endless list of reasons she loved Oleander. It wouldn’t change Kleon’s opinion, and she really didn’t want Kleon knowing her business.
“Okay, okay, fine,” Kleon said, stifling his laughter.
They walked in silence, heading no where in particular. She wanted to put distance between them and the apartment, get Kleon as far away from Oleander as she could. And she didn’t want to talk to him. She’d been having a perfectly pleasant afternoon with Oleander, and Kleon showed up and ruined it.
Kleon snorted, unable to contain a burst of laughter. Nira glared at him.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” she warned. Whatever he had to say, she knew it would piss her off.
He didn’t heed her warning.
“You going to sign away your freedom for this one too?” he asked, shooting her a malicious grin.
That was the last straw.
His nose made a satisfying cra-ack as her hand collided with his face.
Fighting always gave her a thrill. There was nothing like the power of breaking another’s bones, the smell and heat of freshly spilt blood, the adrenaline of taking a blow. But fighting with her siblings added an additional level of excitement.
Kleon staggered back, his hand cupped over his bleeding nose. Nira had her hands up in loose fists, ready to block whatever swing he took at her. She ignored the people tittering around them. Fighting in the middle of the sidewalk was ill-advised, but she wasn’t worried about anyone interrupting them. Who would want to get in the middle of a fight between the likes of them?
His nose pouring streams of dark crimson, Kleon matched Nira’s stance, bringing his hands up. She blocked the first punch easily, and grabbed the second, using his momentum to knock him to the side. She was disappointed. The least he could do after mocking her was give her a fun fight.
He jabbed, a quick, rapid fake-out, then punched again, and this time his knuckles hit her jaw. She moved back fast enough that she didn’t feel the full force of the punch, but the contact was encouraging. Maybe this would be worth her time.
In an ideal world, Nira would be kicking Kleon’s ass with them both in their true gorgon forms. But the streets of Chicago were a poor fighting ground, and the SBI was liable to imprison or fine them for the amount of clean-up that exposing humans to the existence of gorgons would require, so she had to settle for this. A fight as humans. It almost seemed unfair for Kleon. Nira had over a millennium of practice and experience fighting as a human. Kleon had at most two centuries.
She would’ve won either way. She always did. He always got in a few good hits, making sure to leave her with bruises and wounds that would ache for at least a week, but she would always come out on top. She worked hard to be the best fighter among her siblings, and it showed whenever one of them provoked her.
When police sirens began to draw near, Nira put an abrupt end to the fight, throwing Kleon to the sidewalk and digging her knee into his back. She had no idea if the sirens were for them, but that wasn’t something she wanted to deal with. Police would take all the joy out of the impromptu brawl. Nira pulled Kleon’s arm back at an awkward angle until he tapped out, the blood from his nose staining the concrete.
She helped him to his feet and pleased to see that a look of unhappy acceptance had replaced his infuriating, provoking grin. He pulled his tank top off and held it to his bleeding nose as he followed Nira to the nearest convenience store. He waited outside while she bought him an ice pack.
“Here,” she said, tossing him a t-shirt as she exited the small store.
“What’s this?” he asked, catching it with ease.
“A shirt.”
“I have a shirt,” he said and pulled the bunched-up tank top away from his face.
“That shirt is covered in blood.”
“So?”
“Just put on the fucking shirt,” she said.
He handed her the blood-soaked tank top, then carefully pulled the t-shirt over his swollen face. A logo for a sports team she didn’t care about covered the chest. She handed his tank-top back to him, along with the ice pack.
“You eaten recently?” he asked, slipping into Ancient Greek out of habit.
“A couple days ago,” she said. The fight had cleared her mind, and she found it easier to respond in her native tongue.
“Want to go get something?”
“Sure.”
Nira led them to a small diner with dim yellow lights. The upholstery of the booth seats was faded and torn and smelled of cigarettes and old coffee. The waitress didn’t react to Kleon’s bruised face or the bloody shirt he held to his nose. With a deadened look in her eyes, she cheerfully took their orders.
“You heard from the family at all?” Kleon asked, again in Ancient Greek. He brought his cup of tea to his mouth and tried not to wince as the mug touched his swollen lip.
“No,” she said.
“Kleitos said you were back in Greece for a bit.”
“I was,” she said. “To give The Hidden One the Telmoros Tablet.”
“Yeah, about that,” he said. “Apparently a small plague has broken out in the area since you returned the tablet. Doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”
“That’s not my problem,” she said.
He shrugged, “Guess not. You didn’t visit anyone while you were in Greece?”
“Just Kleitos. I expected him to be dead.”
“He’s fucking old,” Kleon said. There was a beat of silence, then he said, “Mom had another clutch.”
“When?” Nira asked. She hadn’t thought much about her mother since she left Greece in BCE. She’d expected her to be dead, too.
“A couple centuries ago,” he said. “I traveled around with Admeta for a bit. She’s nearly as good at fighting as you.”
“Admeta? Admeta is dead. I would know,” she said, ignoring the compliment. She didn’t need anyone to tell her she was a good fighter. She knew that. She was more caught up on the traveling around with a gorgon she knew to be long dead. After all, she was the reason she was dead. Admeta had died with Nira crushing her windpipe.
“No, Admeta is from the most recent clutch,” Kleon explained.
“What? That’s fucking confusing. There are millions of names to choose from; why is Mom reusing names?” Nira asked.
“She’s always done this,” he rolled his eyes. “She’s waiting for you to die so she can reuse yours. Maybe the next Deianira won’t be such a disappointment.”
“Fuck off,” Nira said. She kicked him under the table, hitting a bruise she’d given him earlier. He winced.
For a few moments, they ate their eggs in silence.
“You think you’ll ever go back?” he asked.
“To Greece?”
“Yeah.”
Nira shrugged, “Maybe. I’m…fine in Chicago.”
She was fine in Chicago, because Oleander lived in Chicago, but if she was being honest with herself, she much preferred the weather of Greece. She didn’t miss the company she’d kept there, though.
“You’re not staying here for that human, are you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“So, what if I am?” she hissed.
“Pathetic,” he said, shaking his head. He took a bite of his eggs, then said, “There aren’t many gorgons left there. Not like when we were young. Most have moved to Saventhia.”
“To where?” she asked.
“Saventhia.”
“The fuck is Saventhia?”
“You know, the other realm where all those centaur herds moved to when we were in our two-hundreds and three-hundreds,” he said.
Nira stared at him blankly for a moment, searching for a memory of centaurs leaving en masse. She didn’t think about her youth often, and many of her memories had been lost to time. She could vaguely recall the dwindling herds of centaur.
“Nicodemus moved there with his wife. He got married. Like a legitimate wedding. A fae wedding, but still a wedding,” Kleon said. “I think he wants to have children.”
Nira balked. She tried to imagine any of her siblings getting married. She supposed if anyone was going to get married, it made sense that it was Nicodemus. He’d always been drawn toward stability and family.
For longer than Nira wanted to stay in the small diner with its subpar food and old booths, Kleon rambled on, telling her about their various siblings, updating her on which siblings were definitely dead, and telling her about the lives of siblings she’d never met. She didn’t care. She tried to make note of the siblings that she’d grown up with, because she knew it was information Oleander would be interested in, but for the most part, Kleon’s gossip went in one ear and out the other.
Outside the diner, Kleon and Nira exchanged a curt handshake and a nod, a silent agreement that it would be a good two centuries before they’d willingly see each other again. Limping slightly, Nira headed back to her apartment, feeling light and clear-headed. She had missed fighting with people who could come close to her skill level. There weren’t many good things she could say about Kleon, but at least he was fun to fight. The endorphins from the brawl would keep her in high spirits for at least a week.
Summary: Oleander is a nice person and wants to help out someone in need and Nira is Annoyed
Nira stares out the window, watching concrete walls and nondescript shrubs and grasses flit past on the side of the highway. She thinks of nothing in particular, her thoughts fragmented and absent.
“Oh no!” Oleander says, and Nira is immediately on alert, straightening in her seat as her gaze flicks across the front windshield and then to Oleander.
“What?” she asks.
She looks at him and then out toward the highway again. Oleander glances in his mirrors and changes lanes, moving right. Then she spots it. A car on the shoulder up ahead.
“Oleander,” she groans, tilting her head back against the headrest. “No, why are you slowing down?”
“They might need help!” Oleander says.
The trunk of the car on the shoulder is open, and a thin man behind the car holds a phone to his ear, gesturing emphatically. As Oleander pulls onto the shoulder behind the car, the man looks up.
“So? Let someone else help them,” she says.
“What if no one else h-helps them?”
Oleander puts the car in park and looks at her with an expression of deep concern, his eyebrows curved and his eyes wide. One of the things she loves about him is how kind he is, but she doesn’t understand why other people’s problems need to be fixed by the two of them.
“Not our problem,” she says.
“I’m j-just going to ask if he needs anything,” Oleander says.
He looks out the front window, then to Nira. Before he gets out of the car, he blinks hard, then puts his hand on top of Nira’s and gives it a gentle squeeze, a way of encouraging himself. He knows she’ll be closeby in the car, watching intently, ready to jump out and be there for him in seconds.
He’s right. Nira keeps her thumb on the buckle of her seatbelt and watches as he walks in front of their car, his lips moving as he asks the man if he needs help, keeping a decent distance between himself and the stranger. Though it seems unlikely that a carjacking or robbery would occur on the side of the highway in broad daylight, especially by this unimpressive twig of a man, Nira watches him with intense suspicion. If he steps toward Oleander, reaches into his pocket, or makes any movement that could possibly be construed as violent, she’ll be out of the car in a second.
After a brief couple minutes of talking, Oleander turns away from the man and returns to the driver’s side. He opens the door and tells Nira, “He has a flat tire.”
“Then he should change it.”
“He s-s-said he doesn’t have a jack in his car.”
“Who doesn’t keep a fucking jack in their car? Let him call a tow truck and maybe he’ll learn his lesson.”
Nira glowers at the man through the windshield. He looks obnoxious, with a perfectly groomed beard and a beanie that looks too big for his head. He’s wearing a flannel, scuffed up jeans, and work boots, but Nira’s not convinced he’s ever done anything harder than lifting a gallon of water in his life. Who doesn’t keep a jack in their car? Maybe he was born without a brain.
“Nira, please?” Oleander asks. She looks at him and regrets it. She can’t say no to him, especially when he’s looking at her with those pleading red eyes, like a sweet little bunny.
Nira hisses in annoyance and unbuckles her seatbelt, tossing the belt to the side with unnecessary violence. She slams her door closed, then stalks to the trunk of Oleander’s car, where she retrieves the jack and wrench. The idiot probably doesn’t have a wrench either.
The man gestures as Nira approaches, pointing at the spare tire lying beside the car.
“It’s the front tire on the pass—”
“Move,” Nira snaps.
The man obliges, putting his hands up deferentially.
She doesn’t really need the jack to change the tire. She could just lift the car on her own, but humans can’t usually do that, and she has to keep up appearances. At least, that’s what the SBI and most supernatural creatures she knows say.
“I really don’t know what happened to the jack,” the man says, watching as Nira loosens the lug nuts with ease. “They’re usually with the spare tire, right? I think my girlfriend might’ve—
“Ssstop speaking,” she interrupts.
It’s bad enough that she has to change a stranger’s tire. She shouldn’t be subjected to listening to his inane thoughts too. Oleander gives him an apologetic smile.
She gets the tire off with quick ease and replaces it with the spare, the whole while silently grumbling to herself. When she’s finished, she picks up the flat tire with one hand and the jack and wrench with the other.
“Damn,” the man says in a quiet voice. He clears his throat when she glares at him and says, “Hey, I really appreciate this. Is there—”
“I don’t care,” Nira says, not looking at him as she moves past him.
She chucks the flat tire into the trunk of the man’s car.
“She’s really nice!” she hears Oleander say as she returns the jack to its place in the back of their car. “She just doesn’t really trust strangers.”
“Yeah, I guess there are a lot of weirdos out there,” he says.
Nira snorts to herself. She is one of the ‘weirdos out there.’
She returns to her spot in the passenger’s seat, watching with no less suspicion than before as Oleander and the man wrap up their small talk. He may have really needed help, but that doesn’t mean he won’t try something now. When he reaches out to shake Oleander’s hand, she throws the car door open and puts one foot on the pavement, watching the man with a dark expression. He looks at Nira and drops his hand.
“Let’s go,” she says to Oleander, though she doesn’t take her eyes off the man.
Oleander smiles, waves to him, and says, “Have a nice day!”
He slides into the driver’s seat still smiling. As he starts the car, he says, “Thank you, Nira.”
“I did it for you. I don’t give a fuck about him,” she grumbles.
“I know!” Oleander says. “And I’m thankful! It was very nice of you.”
Nira feels her biting anger slip away, her glower melting into fondness for her sweet human boyfriend. The world doesn’t deserve Oleander’s kindness. He’s such a good person, and he puts up with her grumpy disagreeable attitude with a smile on his face. She looks at him, and he’s smiling at her.
Nira sighs, letting go of what’s left of her annoyance. She leans over the center console and presses a gentle kiss against his lips. “I love you,” she says.
The small man stands beside Nira, putting as much possible between them as possible while still making it clear that he’s with her. His red eyes are wide as his gaze flicks around the coffee shop. The shop is frequented by humans; it’s not a supernatural café by any means, and there’s certainly no reason to be nervous. Humans might as well be made of glass, given how breakable they are.
The line moves forward, and only one patron stands in front of Nira and Oleander. Nira looks at the man beside her. His head jerks to the side; she’s grown used to his tics and has decided they aren’t what make him a pitiful little human.
“What do you want? Coffee? A pastry?” Nira asks, turning her black eyes on him. “I am buying.”
“You don’t have to,” he says in a quiet voice. He looks to the left of her head, blinking hard twice.
“I am buying,” she repeats. She leaves no room for argument, her tone final. “What do you want?”
“Uhh, a white chocolate mocha?” He glances down at his hands, his fingers twitching, and adds, “With whipped cream.”
She nods and says, “Find a table for us.”
Oleander doesn’t have a chance to respond; Nira already has her eyes back on the man behind the register, and she reaches down the front of her shirt to fish out a small wad of folded bills. The woman in front of her finishes her order, and Nira is called up to the counter. She orders for Oleander, and orders tea for herself. Coffee is an unappealing drink for her, but coffee shops don’t sell wine, so she settles for tea.
Once Nira retrieves their drinks, her eyes scan the shop, until she spots Oleander in the far corner, looking out the window as people pass by outside. She makes her way to him, people staying out of her way as she weaves through the tables, though she takes no notice of them.
“Your mocha,” Nira says, placing the drink in front of him.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, his eyes flicking up to her for a moment. He blinks hard and glances nervously around the shop.
“Why are you nervous?” she asks, as she sits across from him. He’s always so uneasy. Such a meek little man. Looking at him with consideration, she says, “If you were born to a gorgon clutch, your siblings would have eaten you.”
She doesn’t mean it as an insult. It’s just an observation. But Oleander starts, his eyes widening.
