A/N: This chapter includes Nadja vomiting, if that's not your thing, skip the section that begins 'If Nandor hadn't already been dead' to the paragraph that begins 'Nadja slumped against the wall'.
"Laszlo, my sweet, are you sure you can't find a guitar teacher here?" Nadja pouted as the pair stood in the doorway of their grand Staten Island mansion. Laszlo's suitcase was already in the carriage waiting to be taken to the train station, where he would travel onward to the Devil's Crossroads, which he was pretty sure were in California.
"Nadja, dearest, just think of the ballads, the anthems, the hymns I shall compose for you -" He paused for a fraction of a second to put on his best Southern drawl, "Once I master this here six-string!" Laszlo brandished his guitar case for emphasis.
"And you'll write every day?" Nadja's eyes were beginning to well up with bloody tears.
"Of course." Laszlo promised, clasping his wife's hands tightly within his own. "And now, Nadja - my darkest princess, my vampiric angel, my unholy goddess - I love you more than all of the stars in our eternal night, and I shall be back again before you know it!"
And with one final, passionate kiss to Nadja's lips, her husband was gone.
"Yeesh..." Nandor muttered as he watched Laszlo's carriage pull away.
He'd heard every disgustingly sweet word of their drawn-out goodbyes from his vantage point atop the stairs; Nadja and Laszlo had been far too wrapped up in each other to notice, he could've stood between them to eavesdrop and they would have been none the wiser. Nadja had still been standing in the doorway, dabbing at her eyes with a black silk handkerchief, when Nandor retired to his crypt.
Dawn was still a few hours away, and Nandor wasn't opposed to the idea of a hunt, but he hated going alone, and Nadja wouldn't be any fun at the moment. Normally, Nandor quite enjoyed her company - they frequently hunted together when Laszlo was otherwise occupied, but she'd been so clingy in the weeks leading up to her husband's departure, he couldn't remember the last time they'd gone out together. They would have plenty of time to catch up, he supposed, now that Laszlo had fucked off.
Sighing, Nandor opened his coffin, and was about to climb in for an early slumber when something caught his eye. Lying on the fur lining was a small, off-white piece of parchment bearing his name in elaborate handwriting. He snatched it up and tore open the wax seal, hoping it wasn't another cursed sigil from witches looking to steal his semen.
Nandor,
I'll be headed for the sunny shores of California by the time you read this. Do take care of my good lady wife while I'm gone. We both know that my Nadja is more than capable of looking after herself, but she's never been good at asking for help if she needs it. I trust you'll do anything you can for her should the occasion arise with the devotion and attention she deserves.
Dark wishes,
Laszlo Cravensworth
P.S. And I do mean anything, I can't expect my darling to endure a year of celibacy!
"Fucking guy…" Nandor crumpled the note and let it burn to ash in his fist before climbing into his coffin and slamming the lid shut.
It took about three weeks for Laszlo's first letter to arrive, and almost a month of daily letters sent between the couple by raven for Nadja to finally stop moping. But soon after that, both Nadja and Nandor actually started enjoying themselves.
Nandor generally got on fine with Laszlo, but Nadja was far closer to him in age, so they had much more common ground: plenty of stories from centuries past to share and laugh at.
Besides, Laszlo never wanted to go to any of the good vampire clubs that New York City boasted. He was too proud to set aside his long standing rivalry with Simon the Devious and just enjoy a night out. Even mentioning Simon was enough to set Laszlo off, which would in turn remind Nadja of That Bloody Hat. Nandor would be forced to pick sides (Nadja's, he knew how best to pick alliances) and before long the whole house would be so busy arguing that the invitation to the Sassy Cat Club would be forgotten altogether.
Fortunately for Nandor, Laszlo had taken That Bloody Hat on his trip and Nadja was too busy fussing over what cape she would wear, so she was in an usually good mood in the days leading up to Simon's party. Without Laszlo to match with, Nadja instead put her energy into helping Nandor prepare. They were down a familiar - their last one had died suspiciously soon after suggesting Laszlo's trip - so they helped each other dress for the event instead.
Nadja selected an embroidered robe in red and gold for him, and she chose one of her own dark purple dresses - a rare item that didn't have a complimentary waistcoat or ascot for Laszlo. Nandor had offered to fix her hair, but ended up with his fingers tangled in it and left her to it instead. Laszlo was usually the one to help Nadja get ready since his wife lacked a reflection, so his absence showed in her slightly lopsided bun. Still, she looked put-together and powerful, a stark contrast to the first few days of Laszlo's absence.
"You look great." Nandor said.
"I know." Nadja smiled, sharp fangs on full display. "Well, Simon's party awaits us."
They had barely walked into the club when Simon, in all his deviousness, spotted them. He threw an arm around each of them and grinned.
"Nadja, Nandor! What a pleasant surprise."
"You invited us." Nandor said. He wiggled out of Simon's grasp.
"No Laszlo then?" Simon asked. All his attention was on Nadja, who was openly scowling at him. "Well, I always knew it wouldn't last."
Now it was Nadja's turn to pull away, albeit a lot more aggressively than Nandor had. "We're still married, dipshit!" She snapped.
Simon rolled his eyes. "Of course. I was merely joking, my good lady."
"Well, your sense of humor hasn't changed," Nadja said. "Lovely to catch up Simon, we are going to dance now."
She brushed him off and headed towards the dance floor. Nandor followed her. He was glad, it would be a shame to waste the night talking to Simon. The band was playing a lively song and Nandor spun Nadja under his arm before pulling her close.
Simon walked past, looking sulky. "Yeesh," Nandor said, nodding in Simon's direction, "What a sad-sack."
"I can't believe I slept with that prick." Nadja said.
"You did?" Nandor asked. He wasn't sure why he was surprised, but then again, Nadja was usually pickier with her lovers. "Yikes."
"Tell me about it," She replied. "Laszlo made fun of me for months after."
"Is that why he dislikes Simon?"
Nadja's expression soured. "No, that's all about that fucking hat. Hideous bloody thing, not to mention, so bloody cursed-"
Sensing yet another rant was coming, Nandor quickly interrupted. "I wonder if that red-faced little familiar of Simon's is still around? I fancy a snack."
Nadja cackled. "Nandor, you are full of good suggestions lately."
They stalked off together as the band switched to another energetic song. Nadja smiled brighter than she had since Laszlo announced his departure, and Nandor was certain they had a good night ahead of them.
If Nandor hadn't already been dead, the sight of Nadja covered in blood and standing silently above his open coffin most certainly would have given him a fatal heart attack.
"Where do we keep the towels?"
"Nadja, what the fuck?" Nandor cursed, sitting up in his coffin with a start and banging his head when Nadja let go of the lid. "You cannot be scaring me like that!" He pointed at her accusingly.
"Towels you bloody oaf!" Nadja repeated, as if she didn't look like she had just crawled from hell. "I'd make my darling Laszlo fetch them, but…" She sniffled.
Well, Nandor was certainly wide awake now. He climbed out of his coffin completely, careful to sidestep Nadja and the trail of blood she had left in her wake.
As they stepped into the hallway, Nandor was able to make out more of her disheveled appearance under the improved lighting. Nadja was a mess. Her hair was down and tangled, her makeup was smudged beyond belief (probably by the bloody tears that had dried on her cheeks), and her clothes were ruined. There was blood all down her front, staining her dress and leaving red marks on the floor - had she been sick? Only idiotic baby vampires who overate or tried to consume human food did that. But Nadja was neither young nor stupid.
"Nadja, are you…" Nandor trailed off when she glared daggers at him. "Yes, towels, sorry - uh, closet in the bathroom." Nadja was already striding away as he gestured vaguely down the hallway. "Top shelf!" He called after her.
Nandor heard the bathroom door slam as stood there with his mouth agape, trying to figure out just what in the hell was going on. He was about to return to his coffin and write the whole thing off as some sort of incredibly strange dream when he heard something that sounded like… gagging? There was no way he could go back to sleep now.
He followed the sound down the hallway into the master bathroom, where he found Nadja hunched over the washstand, coughing up what was left of her last victim. Droplets of red ran down her chin.
"Nad…ja? Eesh."
"Go away Nandor!" She barked.
Nandor hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before coming up behind Nadja and carefully gathering her hair in one hand. He rubbed her back with his other hand - just like he had on the rare occasions where he'd been the one to comfort one of his children - wincing in sympathy when she made another unpleasant choking noise and spat into the basin.
"Okay?" He asked quietly.
"What do you bloody think?!" Nadja snapped, glaring up at him. The effect was lessened by her teary eyes and makeup-streaked face.
"Sorry! Sorry."
"Stupid bloody man…" She muttered.
Nadja slumped against the wall and sank down to the tiled floor. Nandor was still struggling for the right thing to say when she groaned in pain and doubled over, clutching her stomach. Nandor sighed and sat opposite her with his back to the bathtub. Two mighty vampires, sitting on a bloody floor in the early hours of the morning.
"How come you're not sick?" She demanded. "We shared all the same victims!"
"I don't know! Depressed humans have never really bothered me." Nandor said with a shrug. Over the years he had heard of vampires who became ill after draining victims of a certain emotional state, but he had never suffered in the same way. Apart from a sour aftertaste, the emotional state of the human hardly mattered.
"What?" Nadja groaned.
"You didn't have to finish him off, you know!" Nandor crossed his arms, suddenly defensive. Nadja was always boasting about her discerning fucking tastes, the way some humans cared about fine wines. As far as Nandor was concerned for both, the result was the same.
Nadja looked up, some of her usual fierceness returned. "Nandor, what the fuck are you talking about?"
"The sad guy! Simon's red-faced little familiar!"
"How was I supposed to know I was going to feel like shit?" She was growing increasingly frustrated.
"He tasted all sour!" Nandor exclaimed, as if that was supposed to explain anything.
"What the hell does that have to do with it?" Nadja asked.
"Sour blood comes from miserable victims." Nandor stared at her, completely dumbfounded. "Nadja, how are you almost five hundred years old and you - hadn't you realized that the sad people don't agree with some vampires?" Nandor could see the gears turning in her mind as her brows knitted together.
So, choosing the right victim had never been just about taste. The realization settled over her with such force that Nadja thought she might be sick again. Suddenly it all made sense, those seemingly random stomach upsets - they were rare, but they had always come after draining some depressed human. How could she have been so stupid as to miss such an obvious connection?
Under any other circumstances, Nadja would have been furious, but there on the cold tile floor, exhausted and in pain, she simply started to cry. Nandor looked mildly panicked.
"Shit… Wait here."
He left the bathroom, leaving Nadja aching and alone. She only sobbed harder.
Back in his room, Nandor rummaged through his dresser until he found one of his seldom-used nightshirts. It would be huge on Nadja, but much more comfortable than that red-stained dress she was still wearing. He also grabbed one of the scraps of ribbon that he used to tie back his hair, and found a clean handkerchief, which he dampened in the small basin that stood in his room.
Nadja was still sniffling when Nandor returned. She looked utterly wretched, but surprisingly relieved to see him. He set everything down on the vanity before extending a hand to Nadja and carefully helping her to her feet. Then, with her sitting on the edge of the ornate clawfoot bathtub, Nandor took the handkerchief and set to work gently scrubbing the smudged makeup and bloody tears from her pale face. Once he was satisfied, he passed her the clean nightshirt, respectfully turning his back while she peeled off her soiled gown and dropped it in the tub to be dealt with later. (They really did need a new familiar, because he wasn't dealing with that shit.) Finally, Nandor combed through her long, dark locks with his fingers and pulled her hair back into a messy braid, which he tied off with an equally sloppy bow.
"Better?" He asked.
Nadja nodded stiffly, not looking him in the eye. She crossed her arms, as if to shield herself.
"Nadjaaa, you don't have to be feeling embarrassed." Nandor chided. She shrugged and then he remembered Laszlo's advice - she's never been good at asking for help if she needs it.
"Does your stomach still hurt?" He asked in the gentle tone he once used when his children had nightmares, or the rare occasions when he could sit with his beloved horse, John.
"Of course it fucking does," Nadja replied. "I doubt you can help. Even my beloved Laszlo can't take the pain away."
"What does Laszlo do?" Nandor asked.
"He stays with me," She said. "Where is that arsehole now that I need him?"
"Playing the guitar with the devil?" Nandor guessed. It didn't seem to comfort her much. "Look, I will stay with you until you feel better."
He half-expected her to resist but instead, Nadja nodded. "Okay. But no cuddling, that is for my sweet baby only." She wanted her husband, but for now her big brother would just have to do.
"I will stay with you, at a distance, until you feel better." He clarified.
Nandor extended a hand. Nadja reluctantly accepted, and allowed herself to be led down to the fancy room. There, Nandor used his pyrokinetic powers to ignite the logs in the fireplace and gestured for Nadja to make herself comfortable on the antique sofa. Once she was settled, Nandor found a heavy fur throw and draped it over her shoulders before planting himself in the armchair opposite her.
They sat in companionable silence until the crackling of the fireplace and the steady patter of rain against the blacked-out windows lulled Nadja into a dreamless sleep. Nandor, on the other hand, was far too worried to go back to bed. He stared at the flames, brow furrowed as questions ran through his mind.
Had a drink from an unhappy familiar really made Nadja this sick? Had this ever happened before? Was it always this bad? How had Nadja gone so long without making the connection? And, most importantly, did her husband know?
Laszlo was, of course, beside himself with worry when Nandor contacted him through the ether and informed him of his wife's illness.
"I have half a mind to return home on the first available train, guitar lessons be damned!" He declared.
"What would Nadja say?" Nandor asked. "She'd think you didn't trust her to look after herself."
"My darling wife needs me!" Laszlo hissed.
"She just needs rest." Nandor huffed. "But Nadja is getting that now. I have everything under control. If you left now, she'd be completely fine by the time you came home!"
Laszlo looked like he was going to argue further, but Nandor cut him off.
"And then, you'd have to explain that you left early because you were assuming that-"
"Yes, alright!" Laszlo snapped. "You've made your point. She'd never let me forget about offending her so…"
Nandor mentally congratulated himself, glad he'd managed to steer Laszlo away from full-blown hysteria. Laszlo ended the call with a grandiose declaration that he would fly home himself if anything else happened to his wife in his absence, and forced Nandor to swear that he would contact Laszlo immediately if Nadja so much as broke a nail.
Nandor sighed and let his head drop back onto the chair. He'd have to teach Nadja what little he understood about her sensitivities later when she woke up. For now, though, Nadja was still sound asleep, and Nandor was struck by how vulnerable she appeared - Nadja was by no means a petite woman, but she seemed so small wrapped up in her blanket. Had she really always looked so young? Without her dramatic makeup, it was easy to see that Nadja was turned before her life had really begun. Nandor was still watching her intently when she twitched in her sleep, letting out a pained whine and curling in on herself.
Poor Nadja… Nandor thought. He was certain that she would have much preferred the company of her husband while she wasn't feeling well, but Nandor was still glad that he'd been there - he hated to think of his friend dealing with this all by herself.
True to Nandor's predictions, Nadja recovered completely within three days. Despite this, and Nandor's regular written - and ethereal! - reports that his good lady wife was perfectly fine, Laszlo still returned home a full month early.
He told everyone it was because the Devil's Crossroads were actually in Mississippi. This was technically true, but Laszlo and Nandor shared a knowing look as soon as he walked in the door. It spoke of their shared experience taking care of Nadja, and created a silent pact that one of them would always be there should she need them.
A/N: This was our favorite chapter, Nandor really has big brother energy here! Don't forget to leave a review!
