Who: Cuddlefishes (Neal & Garrus) What: Neal's asks Garrus the Big Question, then they discuss the perks of marriage. When: Let's say last night? Where: Bar where they first met, it's very romantic, apologies extended to Ruby and Cindy~ Rating/Warnings: Bromance worthy of novels Status: Complete!
It was like old times, everything come full circle. Back at the bar. The bar. Lina-Approved Shitty Dive Bar #3 or #7, really, Neal couldn’t keep track. But each of them was special to him, and it was at this particular dive bar where he’d first met Garrus - he’d been working, tracking a skip that didn’t seem to want to cooperate and stay in one spot enough to nail, and Neal was simply drowning his sorrows due to the dreambox being opened, his head shoved into it. Look how far he’d come! He’d been to hell and back, and so had his very best Cuddlefish - they’d weathered a few storms, and now were all the better for it. Garrus was in a new job, about to move into a new house, and Neal was engaged and spitting in the face of death whom he continued to hold at bay. Maybe dying sort of gave him a new lease on life - it had during the crime wave debacle, which thankfully came to an end.
Shit, could they actually be normal for two seconds? Say it ain’t so.
This bar was a great bar. Dusty, smelly, neon red. It glowed. It was smoke-stained and whiskey and unwashed leather. Oh, and cheap stuff. You couldn’t go wrong, really. Neal arrived a bit early, and did them both a favor by ordering the drink of choice - Satan’s Piss shots - since it was happy hour, and they’d need to double up anyway.
Then he waited. Patiently. Completely not bouncing off the walls, sort of.
It’d taken Garrus a bit to realize what bar this was, honestly. He’d been in plenty, some more distinguishable than others. Watering holes, if picked right, were wells of information ready to be gleaned from the mouth of scum and often fronts for filthy business - a pattern. Sometimes it’d be changed up (massage parlors, dry cleaners, strip clubs, so forth) and his eyes and ears were trained to pick up the tell-tale signs of bullshit.
There wasn’t much in this one, not anymore. Instead it held the memory of his tongue being burnt and him almost spitting up the strange concoction Neal had so generously ordered for him, and his lips tugged into a half-grin at the sight of him at the bar - it all came back.
“Nostalgic, I see,” Garrus pointed out and grabbed a stool. “Watch it, Neal. You’re practically glowing like someone knocked up.” Luckily he was used to the taste of the shot now, though it’d been awhile since he knocked one back. But he was prepared for the fire-taste searing down his throat, and he picked up the glass fondly. “Congrats, again.”
Down the hatch after a gentle clank of glasses! The shot burned, standing too close to a flame – or swallowing it whole – and it touched every nerve ending, fanning out to his limbs and, aaaah, shiver. There it was. Gotta love a good, old-fashioned shot of something strong enough to put hair on your chest. "Thanks, you say the sweetest things," Neal chuckled, gearing up for the next go at it – he'd have to limit himself, and then go with a beer. Because if he stuck primarily with the hard stuff, he'd be on the floor and he wouldn't get to ask Garrus what he wanted to ask him. And that would be extremely counter-productive.
"So it's not like we picked a date or anything yet, but…" He shrugged. ‘I'll need a best man." Obviously, he was asking his best friend to be his best man – and he wouldn't want anyone else to be there in that capacity for him on 'the big day.' Nor would he trust anyone else with the reigns of the bachelor party. If he was going to do this, why not ask someone whom he actually trusted with his life. "You interested?"
Down it went, the taste harsher than what he remembered, and his only look of disdain was a one-eyed wince. And a short cough, maybe, but that was it - his reaction to it now was ten times better than the first time at the very least. Garrus wouldn’t feel the swimmy buzz until maybe after the second round and a couple beers in; it took a lot for him to even get to the point of drunk, and he had no intention of letting himself fall on his ass in intoxicated stupor.
He’d let Neal, though. And maybe even carry him off and tuck him into bed should he drink to the point of no return, because that’s just what bros did.
Or what a best man did, apparently. Because this was a conversation, officially, and it admittedly caught Garrus off-guard. Hence those ice blue eyes blinking wide. “Wait.” Blinkblink. “You serious?” Not like he wouldn’t, because fuck, Neal and him got run over together and dealt with the physical trauma by drinking beer in the parking lot. A bond cemented by going through displays of violence was a bond that would last forever. “I mean, that’s a yes, by the way. Just shrouded in shock.”
Was it really that much of a surprise? Neal laughed, and it was a half-cough because of his currently seared vocal cords, and his eyes watered only slightly. Tears of something acidic thanks to the shot, not of joy - at least not quite yet. “We talked about it, right? Kinda?” He grinned crookedly, finding Garrus’s shock and awe to be pretty comical. “I mean, jokingly. But of course I’m serious now. Who else would I ask?”
No one. And he knew it was kind of a time commitment, and in all actuality, was a big favor. So he didn’t wanted his friend to feel obligated to accept - instead, just would be fine with him knowing that Neal wanted him to be a part of his wedding day no matter what, even if he just attended.
Maybe not so much shock as how it all felt awfully surreal. Talks about marriage and commitment shit were fun and laugh-worthy until they became reality and it hit Garrus like a ton of bricks almost literally. Hell, he even recalled visiting Neal in the hospital, talking about tying knots, getting roots. How long ago even was that?
A hand scrubbed over his face. Garrus laughed a bit. “We did kinda talk about it, yeah. I’ve always had the best speech in the back burner in case this moment ever actually showed up. And it finally has. I feel monumentally old.” Not that he even was; he was only in his early thirties, but he’d seen enough shit worthy of multiple lifetimes. Literally. He held the second shot up, another clank - this time for a different toast. “Honor’s all mine, Cassidy.”
The expression on Neal’s face could probably charm Scrooge before he came to his senses on Christmas. It was a combo of grateful puppy eyes and a blazing smile that rivaled the sun. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, toasting with the tiny glass and clinking it against Garrus’s own. The second shot was taken and it burned just as good as the first, giving him a pleasant shiver and a warmth down to his toes.
“I get you on the feeling old thing.” But Neal too, had seen and done more than what someone his age should have - he’d also been left and let down more times than was necessary, yet still maintained the shred of optimism that whispered at him to keep trying, something better was in the works. “But I guess this means we’re real grownups now, right? Kinda scary, but then again, I kinda like it too.”
Okay, time to order a beer. If he kept doing shots at the bar he’d end up bloodshot and bleary-eyed.
Second time around was better, in Garrus’ opinion. But he was more than happy to abandon the shots and transition over to beer. His standard Guinness, dark and malty, with the cascade visible from the frosted glass, and a thin ivory foam on top. If beer was a work of art, this was it.
It also did wonders in soothing his burnt tongue.
“I’ll take old age and weddings over getting potentially shot in the ass any day now, thanks,” he snorted, a laugh mixed with it. Glass tipped, he took the first gulp - you just don’t sip beer. “You’re an engaged man, Cassidy. Soon you’ll be married and do whatever shit married couples do.” Get a house - make babies? Not everyone made babies, but Garrus himself wanted one - one day. Maybe. One baby one day sounded nice, somewhere in the horizon of their future.
It was no secret that Neal wanted babies too. One or two or three, whatever, he just had so many fatherly feels he was practically exploding from them. The kids at the ranch were great, in that chip-on-your-shoulder, parents-just-don’t-understand way, and it was always a good feeling when he managed to connect with them. He also loved spending time with Sev’s kids, whenever he could - but he wanted babies of his own to love and nurture and all that, the way his own parents had never done. Had failed spectacularly at, actually.
“Besides driving each other crazy? I’m not really sure what they do,” he shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of beer the manly way. No, it was not for dainty sipping. “Didn’t have much to go on for my own parents.” But did he ever, with anything? Only with what not to do. “Figure the tax breaks will be nice, if nothing else. Uh, and...I dunno. Knowing you’ll always have someone there who gets you.”
“Car insurance goes down,” Garrus mused, because listing all the hilariously mundane things married couples did sound pleasantly foreign. Not like he sat around with his friends talking about bills and mortgages and things of the sort - it was often about the supernatural or whatever gang of scum that decided to cross their territory. Guns to calibrate, polishing Cindy’s war worthy fairytale carriage. But the normal crap still existed, and it was nice to focus on that rather than the things that made them go what the fuck is wrong with our lives.
So, marriage. They’d discuss that. Because now that Ruby literally had a ruby with diamonds on her finger, it was as real as ever. “Man. It’s a damn miracle we’ve survived what we’ve survived, you know?” One of his brows rose, as if he was tempting fate. “Survived long enough to actually even have weddings be a reality. I have a damn bachelor party to plan.”
And he wouldn’t let his buddy down, hell no. He’d brainstorm and plot and still make it somehow respectable, as Ruby was a lady and he wouldn’t do anything against her wishes either.
Oh, hey, the car insurance! Did it really go down? He didn’t even think of that. Good point, Cuddlefish. This marriage thing was just getting better and better - at some point, Neal wouldn’t even be seized with terror whenever he thought of it. Not like he was anyway, at least not a lot. Only a little. But that was perfectly natural, wasn’t it?
“You ain’t kidding,” he snorted a laugh at Garrus’s assessment. “Guess neither of us were ready to be lowered into the ground yet. We’ve still got things to do. It helps us remember what it was like when our lives weren’t sci-fi movies, before we moved to the OC.” But it wasn’t as if he’d change it at all. Obviously he wouldn’t.
The mention of a bachelor party made it all the more real too. Now that was gonna be a hell of a schindig - alcohol, strippers, illicit substances, gambling, maybe staying up all night and greeting the dawn? “You do, and as soon as Ruby and I set a date you’ll be the first to know,” he promised. “That way we can make a countdown and plan for that one last hoorah. Before I get married.”
Oh, shit, he was getting married.
Even in the dreams, Garrus had been a tough son of a bitch to kill, even after taking a missile to the face. He counted his lucky stars, thanked whatever Spirits were out there (based on Turian theology, anyway) that he didn’t receive the face damage for that; it’d scarred half of his face there, made that turtle-bird head a shitload more hideous than normal. Not that he didn’t think he could pull off the scarred badass look with his human body, but human flesh was typically a lot more sensitive than hard Turian scale and that would hurt ten times worse, he imagined.
But most of that shit was (hopefully) in the past. Where he hoped it would stay, anyway, even if his new career with Cindy wasn’t exactly the safest either. They were good at what they did. Might as well use the skillset.
“You’ll have to give me a rundown of what’s allowed and what isn’t, anyway,” he said, another gulp of his beer to finish it off. A second one was soon slid to him. Garrus knew how to pack the Guinness away. “A list of people you want there. And I’ll take care of your last night of debauchery, even reel you out of a toilet bowl at the end of the night. I’m a nice guy like that.”
Neal wasn't usually a Guinness fan, but for his brofessor he made an exception – because there was something about drinking bread with a friend, as opposed to doing it alone. It added that extra bit of solidarity. So the second beer arrived and he lifted the mug to gulp gratefully; maybe a burger was also in order because you kind of had to pair it with something to make it work. "Uh…not allowed? Yeah, that's a good question," he mused, stroking his scruffy chin. He wasn't one to really get ridiculously off the chain anyway, no impromptu trips to Taiwan for crazy nights with hookers or anything, but wouldn't want to create long-lasting memories that would just end up forever under Ruby's skin.
"I'll find out. Can't guarantee that you won't have to pull me from the toilet, though." In fact, Neal was pretty sure that would happen. But it wouldn't be a party otherwise, right? "Just know that I will definitely return the favor. Someday."
It wasn’t a bachelor party if said bachelor didn’t go exorcist in a bathroom. Preferably a public one to make the employees miserable (Garrus wasn’t cleaning it, let it be known) - it seemed like acceptable tradition. He’d have to brainstorm. Get together with Wisdom for some ideas. Shepard, too - she’d come up with crazy ones they could work with.
“Whenever - if I ever--” He felt the need to add the ‘if,’ because his own wonderings of proposing to Cindy left him uneasy with the possibility of her telling him no, as slim as it might be. He didn’t just want to assume, “get engaged, you’ve got dibs on the best man position. And pulling my head out of one too. It’ll all come full circle one day, I’m not too worried.”
They’d joke about it, laugh about it, drink more about it. All the good stuff life was made out of.
There was no if about it, really, Neal knew that eventually Cindy would become Mrs. Cuddlefish - it was only a matter of time. But when that time came, he’d be more than happy to throw just as awesome of a bachelor party as what Garrus was sure to arrange for him. Definitely exorcist puke in a public place. Sorry, dutiful bar/restaurant/club/church workers.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he grinned, feeling lighter somehow. Of course, that would likely change because... “By the way, I heard this bar has awesome cheese fries.”
Grease to celebrate a lock into the best man position? Hey, why the hell not.
Cheesefries it was, then - Garrus placed the order for them. Spicy things added, because Neal sure liked his sinuses to be cleared at all times. Bros knew bros. He’d have to order one to-go that was just saturated in cheese anyway later on; he had a mouse to feed back home, apparently. Cindy would smell it on him. Call him a traitor and then some.
Drinking and eating carbs though, like men often did. “By the way--we’re going to be headed off to Georgia soon, Cindy and I. Family things.” Not his, of course - his blood was in Chicago. Cindy’s rested in the deep south with their bible-humping traditions, but Garrus hoped mending broken bonds was possible for her own peace of mind. “Apparently I’m meeting the parents.”
Oh, thank the lord. Cheesefries were like the crowning glory of this whole excursion. “Yeah?” He lifted his eyebrows a bit, letting out a low whistle. “Meeting the parents, that’s a big deal. She doesn’t get along with her family, I’m assuming?” he asked. Neither he nor Ruby had much family to speak of - dead or otherwise neglectful parents who checked out, then there was Granny on her side, and a foster sister Neal still occasionally kept in touch with. Nothing by blood for him, just the family he’d built for himself here, though a stupid sort of masochistic part of him wanted to get with Leliana and track down his stepfather. If the old man was still alive. She’d be the one to know, with her crazy network...
Well, anyway.
“I’m sure it’ll be okay though. Might even clear the air and be a fresh start for everyone?”
That was the hope, anyway. Making amends. Easier said than done. It was a continuous process, not something that simply happened overnight - but hopefully the visit would be the start of it. And Garrus wanted to know them anyway, especially if he wanted to be part of Cindy’s life. For good. Ring on her finger and white picket fences (well, maybe brick, brick was more sturdy and handled bullets better) and everything.
Out came those glorious cheesefries. Thin-sliced potato slithers covered in what could be considered a heart attack, but Garrus shamelessly contributed to its demise. “Both of us had rocky family issues. I--well, I started fixing things up with my dad. Over the holidays. Gave her hope that it was possible to fix things with her family, too. So here’s hoping for a fresh start, yeah. Would make uniting the families in matrimony a lot easier, if the time comes.”
Solana adored Cindy, on the bright side. When she wasn’t harassing him with cat texts it was questions about her, though he did his best to remain vague when she’d gone...missing. No need to give Baby Sister Vakarian a heart attack and a reason to yell at him over the phone again.
“It’s always easier when the families get along,” Neal agreed, or so he assumed. He too dove into the cheese fries, a whole greasy chunk on a bar napkin and he steadily worked his way through it before just saying to hell with it and taking from the heart attack on a plate and popping each calorie-covered piece into his mouth. “But, you know, if there’s been trouble it takes a lot of guts to want to get in there and fix it. And you’ve gotta start somewhere.”
Nothing worth accomplishing in that regard was easy - if it was, they’d have just hugged it out Full House style during a touching musical montage. But that wasn’t real life, unfortunately. “Bring me back something from the south,” he grinned. “Moonshine, maybe?”
“Moonshine,” Garrus repeated, squinting at him. “You mean paint thinner in a mason jar? Yeah, sure. I saw your face when you drank it at Rogue’s shindig - I’ll make sure to completely scar your taste buds by getting you authentic southern moonshine made in the authentic south.” Moonshine came in far too many flavors, apparently. People swore over the apple pie one. Cindy did too, if he recalled correctly. It all tasted like fermented asshole, but hey, to each their own.
He never stayed in the south too long. It ought to be an interesting experience regardless of family situation, anyway. So long as they weren’t going cow tipping or anything - did people do that in Georgia? Or was that just a Mississippi thing?
Garrus needed to google this.
Fermented asshole. Why yes, Neal apparently wanted some of that in his life in the form of moonshine. “You’re the best,” he drawled, all grumbling and growling - close to a purr, after washing down that satisfying chomp of fried potatoes with a mouthful of beer. “And you just let me know when you’re gonna hop on a plane, I’ll do you a favor and house sit for you. Water all your plants and shit.”
It was the least he could do now that Garrus was officially locked into the best man role. Or they were for each other, rather. Kind of like they were almost married themselves, but ain’t no one breaking up this bromance. Oh hell no. It was as good as law.
“Water my plants, fold my laundry - I’ll leave you a list,” Garrus smirked. Sounded like a plan to him. A nice change of pace from rescue missions and getting run over at a grocery store parking lot - there bond would be just as strong if they somehow ended up changing diapers for the rest of their lives. Shit, was life changing.