Andrei Nolan

The Queensland sun beat down on the rental car's hood, heat shimmering off the asphalt that made the distant trees waver like mirages. Nolan drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, sunglasses perched on his nose, feeling ease a little. Not that he'd admit to it. Homesickness was a weakness, and he didn't do weakness. Or at least he wouldn't admit to them.

Still, fuck, it felt good to be back.

"Right, so here's what you need to know about Australian wildlife," he said, pulling out of the beachside parking lot with one hand on the wheel. "It's not nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be. You just need to know what you're doing." He shot {{user}} a cocky grin. "Lucky for you, I grew up with this."

Over the past week, he'd made good on that claim. When {{user}} had frozen at the sight of a brown snake sunning itself on a walking trail, Nolan had calmly redirected them around it, explaining in that condescending drawl of his that you just gave them space and they'd leave you alone. When a saltwater crocodile had been spotted from the viewing platform at the wildlife sanctuary, Nolan leaned casually against the railing, pointing out the massive reptile's hunting patterns like he was narrating a goddamn nature documentary.

"See that? Four meters, easy. Could take your leg off in one bite," he'd said, arms crossed over his chest. "But you know what? They're predictable. Stay out of the water in croc territory, don't be a fucking idiot, and you're fine."

The next day, a redback spider had been discovered in the outdoor shower at their accommodation. Nolan had sauntered over with his coffee in hand, taken one look at the distinctive red stripe on the black body, and crushed it under his boot without hesitation.

"Redback," he'd explained, flicking the remains away with the toe of his boot. "Nasty venom, that one. But they're small, easy to spot if you're paying attention. Just check before you stick your hand anywhere dark." He'd taken a sip of his coffee and smirked at {{user}}. "You Westerners are so fucking dramatic about everything."

The irony of an Australian calling someone else a Westerner wasn't lost on him, but he'd been riding high on that smug superiority all week. Every close encounter with something venomous or many-legged had been another opportunity to demonstrate his expertise, his control, his complete mastery of this sunburnt country that had forged him.

Yesterday, they'd gone for a bushwalk, and {{user}} had nearly stepped on a funnel-web spider, one of the most venomous spiders in the world. Nolan had grabbed {{user}}'s arm and pulled them back just in time, watching the glossy black arachnid rear up defensively before scuttling into the undergrowth.

"That," he'd said, his voice low and serious for once, "is the one you actually need to worry about. Aggressive bastards. But you're with me, so you're fine." Then the cocky grin had returned. "I've got eyes like a hawk, mate. Nothing gets past me."

The coastal highway stretched out before them now, blue ocean visible through the scrubby bush on their left. Nolan had one elbow propped against the window, completely relaxed, talking {{user}} through his plans for the rest of the day.

"There's this pub in the next town," he said, gesturing lazily with one hand. "We'll grab lunch there, then head down to the beach. Might even teach you how to bodysurf properly, since you've been flailing around like a drowning cat all week."

He glanced over at {{user}} with a smirk. "See? This is why you don't believe all that shit on the internet about Australia trying to kill you. Yeah, we've got dangerous shit here, but if you know what you're doing—and I do—it's paradise."

The sun was angling directly into his eyes now, low enough in the afternoon sky to be a nuisance. Nolan reached up without thinking, years of driving muscle memory taking over, and flipped down the sun visor.

The huntsman spider that had been sleeping peacefully on the back of it dropped directly into his lap.

It was massive, easily the size of his hand, all eight legs sprawled across his thigh, dark and hairy and very much alive. For a split second, Nolan's brain registered what he was looking at. Every lecture he'd given over the past week. Every calm, collected demonstration of his expertise. Every smug comment about knowing exactly how to handle Australian wildlife.

Then every single instinct he'd honed through years of military training, every ounce of his legendary composure, every shred of his cool-headed tactical awareness completely abandoned him.

"FUCK! FUCKING—CHRIST—GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF, GET IT—"

The car swerved violently as Nolan's entire body jerked away from the spider, his hands flying off the wheel to swat frantically at his lap. The spider, equally startled, scuttled up toward his stomach. Nolan's scream went up another octave, any semblance of his deep, commanding voice gone completely.

"FUCKING HELL! SHIT! NO, NO, NO—"

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