Who: Cuddlefishes (Neal & Garrus) What: Mini-bonfire with discussions of wives dying and the next generation When: Last night, probs Where: The Vakarian Abode Rating/Warnings: Relatively low, unless you're squeamish about alien testicles Status: Complete!
Man, it was colder than a witch’s tit (in a brass bra) these days in Orange County. It could be easily solved, however, if you had a warm coat, Cuddlefishes to cuddle with, and roaring flames which radiated precious heat. Oh, and hot chocolate. Neal had all of those things, currently, at Garrus and Cindy’s place, by their infamous fire pit. There were no frozen drinks or tiki torches though, nothing for a summer barbecue, just a little something going in the backyard - but actually, winter grilling was pretty smart. It was a lot more pleasant to stand next to all that smoking meat when it was chilly as opposed to sweltering hot, and the biggest benefit?
The snow beside Neal kept his beer cold, all tucked nicely in there. Ahh, that was the life.
Cindy left them to their own devices while they stuck hot dogs on skewers and sat by the fire to cook everything; Neal also had supplies for s’mores, because you really needed that ooey, gooey burnt marshmallow taste to complete an outdoor cookout adventure, even in the wintertime.
“So, you know, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away that Emma was pregnant,” he said, turning the hot dog over, to get it bubbling and browned - perfectly done. There was an art to this. “But we wanted to pass the three month mark to get the all-clear on health stuff.” Not that he thought Garrus would really mind, but he still wanted to apologize anyway.
Garrus didn’t like the cold. Didn’t like the snow. Liked it even less when he was in it, but it wasn’t often that he was able to fully put the glory of that firepit to use. California climate was usually hot anyway, it made more sense for them to have a pool (too much maintenance, he also wasn’t the best swimmer). He’d use the thing, Spirits be damned, and this sort of activity seemed up Neal’s ally anyway - everything they had to catch up about would distract him from the OC’s wintry wonderland bullshit.
Mostly.
“That’s big news, Neal, I don’t blame you for waiting,” he assured with a smile, a crooked one. His defense against the weather was a trench coat that looked awfully thin, but the material was insulated and gave him the luxury of warmth without dressed equivalent to an eskimo. “You’ve got all our congratulations, though. It’s baby-making season, I’m glad I missed the memo for now.”
Well. Not that he was against fatherhood, that wasn’t it. He didn’t think he was ready; he never really handled an infant, didn’t even know how to talk to a toddler - helping with the two along the way would probably be practice for that, on the bright side. “One hell of a Christmas present, isn’t it?”
The scenery was kind of nice, at least Neal thought so. Nicer than it was in New York, when the black snow began to wane into black puddles and all the sins of the world revealed itself in the muck - meaning endless amounts of garbage and debris, indulgences of a city that had been battered by arctic winds. Here, it was just ‘magical’ weird-ass OC snow - the kind that people were used to by now.
“I don’t know, Regina said babies come in three’s. Maybe you’ll be next,” Neal chuckled. Garrus probably felt like he needed the practice first, yeah. Neal would happily trust him with the newest member of the Cassidy family, if he wanted to get some diaper changing in. “But, true...a really great Christmas present. I’ve wanted this, you know I did.”
For awhile too. And then everything seemed to fall into place, and he couldn’t be happier. Hopefully nothing would come along and fuck it all up.
Oh, he’d be next. Eventually. Garrus had all intentions of it, whether it be done on purpose or an accident - he hoped to plan it, stubbornly so, but these types of things just had a way of happening on their own. Planning them wasn’t supposed to be possible. “Thanks for the jinx - we’d look good, drinking beer in the park and pushing strollers together, wouldn’t we?” Sunglasses on, looking dapper than ever. With vomit stains on their shirt and the cologne of baby powder clinging to them.
Marshmallow impaled on the skewer, he stuck it out in front of him for the flames to take a lick, blackening the surface. “You’ve had Henry on your mind ever since we met. Now you’ve got him, a second one on the way to actually be there for in the beginning - I’m happy for you, I really am.” And again, no apologies needed about waiting on announcing the pregnancy thing. It was sensitive news, theirs to share when they were ready; it shouldn’t be about anyone else but them. “Big change from how life was last year, isn’t it?”
All the violence from every corner, not just from his own gang of flattery descending upon the OC. Neal’s bleed over from the dreams, with his father making an unwelcome debut. Things back then were grim, and now…
Meat and sweets roasting on an open fire with beer. No guns, no blood, no magical exorcism.
“Yeah,” Neal snorted a laugh. “I think around this time last year, I was possessed. And then magically barricaded in Regina’s guest room, while you brought me Chinese food.” It had been a dark time, literally, especially when all of that evil was purged from him - but Neal knew that whatever had been in his head, that wasn’t his father. It was a warped version reeling from the Dark One’s curse, which ate away at your soul, and also from the torture he’d endured as Zelena’s slave for a year or so.
Reason #791 why he hated the Dark One’s curse. And his father hadn’t even given in completely - he had the voices of all the previous Dark Ones in his head, whispering, beckoning, telling him to do what must be done (Neal heard it too, and it was tempting to let that darkness protect him) and yet he’d never given in fully. He’d even managed to make one or two decent decisions here and there, but now he was gone. And hopefully the Dark One’s curse was too.
“I’m glad I stuck it out though.” That was said thoughtfully, after he removed the correctly-blistered hot dog from the fire to let it cool a little. “Would have missed your wedding of the century otherwise.” Marriage. That was something he thought about with Emma, but maybe they should get through having the baby first, since it was a lot of stress preparing for parenthood without having a wedding to plan on top of it - he went back and forth on it.
Garrus had a fireball-mallow on his end - he raised it away from the contained inferno, let the fire sink in. He liked the crispy-black thinness right before biting into the gooey shit, anyway. “I would have dragged your ass back for the wedding,” he insisted, those baby blues eyeing his best man; no one else had ever gotten run over with him after buying beer. It was an unbreakable bond over bloody asphalt. And beer. That they insisted on drinking, despite the extent of their injuries.
And speaking of beer he raised that dark Guinness (or ‘liquid bread,’ a term affectionately coined by his wife) bottle to his mouth for a gulp. No sipping. He had plans to plow through this pack. “Just keep your guard up, alright? This place has a way knocking you on your ass when you’ve gotten too comfortable,” Garrus added, grumbling with a pinch of his nose’s bridge. No, he was still not okay watching Cindy die in his arms - no one would be, and it was something he shouldn’t dwell on but that was one image he couldn’t forget overnight. Or ever.
“All too true,” Neal sighed, and now that his hot dog was somewhat cooler (or he could eat it without burning his tongue, actually), he chowed down - and would go for the marshmallows in a minute, maybe stick that oozing thing between a couple of graham crackers, slap on a little bit of chocolate. Heaven. “You and Cindy okay though? I know things have settled - “ After the incident involving Cindy’s actual death; and Neal understood, he did, he’d died too even if he hadn’t been dead as long as Cindy had (and he’d bit the dust on a concrete slab in Regina’s crypt, not in the arms of a loved one here), “...but it lingers, doesn’t it?”
He was worried about his best friend. And his would-be best man, if Neal ever tied the knot someday. There was no question about it.
It lingered. There was no fighting it; it happened, he had to accept it, and they were moving on - there wasn’t any other choice, considering she had lived. Garrus did his best to focus on that. Nothing else would - or should - bleed over now, considering Cinderella’s tale was officially over and all his were repeats of a war that ravaged an entire galaxy (even made other races extinct).
But it didn’t stop him from losing sleep at night. That’s when it all happened, didn’t it? At your most vulnerable, in bed, when you would least suspect something happening. He held her closer now, tighter, when they went to bed. It was something he didn’t think he would ever quit doing.
“We’re getting there,” he smiled. Half-forced, sorta. Time would make it easier. “Nothing to really harp on about; she came back. She’s here.” In the house, probably spending time with their adolescent dick of a kitten with a bowtie bigger than his head. “I’ve seen just about everything in the past decade, even more in the dreams - but you don’t ever get used to seeing something like that. Just another reminder that we’re just mortal pawns in a game where everything goes, and nothing’s sacred.”
Cynicism, maybe. He’d argue at it being realism. The OC didn’t discriminate, even if it gave you everything you loved about life - it could take it away just as quick if you didn’t react fast enough.
“Yeah, I definitely think there’s a lot of shit that’s bigger than us at play.” Neal believed in Fate, he believed in the concept of it - of Destiny, of all that being a path to traverse, of things happening for a reason. Maybe we didn’t like the reason, or it didn’t make sense to us - but at the end of the day, those reasons were there. “Doesn’t mean we just sit back and let the chips fall where they will, we’re all fighters - but there are some things we just can’t change.” No one could stop Cindy dreaming of her own death, or even himself - but it was so hard for him sometimes, when he remembered that he’d died in Storybrooke for seemingly no reason at all.
Neal struggled with that too; he had to remind himself that maybe the reason was so he wouldn’t have to be around to witness the weekly fuckery his family was forced to endure.
“I guess living here...” He took another sip of beer, thoughtfully, “We know those risks, we accept them, and we decide that they’re worth taking.”
Because of the people who crossed their paths, whom they might not have ever met otherwise. People were drawn to this area for a reason - Neal knew that much, at least.
Resistance wasn’t entirely futile here. Death had carried over for multiple people, and there were ways to cheat the laws of life; mainly in the form of magic, a concept still foreign to him despite being surrounded by it. “You never stop being so damn optimistic, do you,” Garrus chuckled. The marshmallow was popped into his mouth, sweet and gooey, and went on for the next edible thing of his desire; one of those hotdogs, the non-tofu kind that was hardly ever kept in their fridge. “This place actually killed you and you’ve still got all these wise things to say about it.”
Ah, a good attitude to have, though. Better than his. Neal had always been a good balance with him; he was a fucking ray of sunshine, Garrus was an awkward stormy cloud with an angry pouty face. “Depressing shit aside, can we go back to celebrating the miracle of the next generation? If you ever need help building crib, I’m well-versed in taking shit apart and putting it together. I hear those things are the rubix cubes of parenthood.”
“I blame my father for that, ironically enough,” Neal laughed. “He always...in the dreams, I mean...spoke about Fate. Things and how they were meant to be. Most of the time he’s full of shit, but that? I definitely hold some stock in that.”
However, he’d agree with moving on to talks of happy things - namely, the next generation. He began putting together a s’more, squishing down marshmallows onto a graham cracker with the essential ingredient - chocolate. This was going to be the biggest damn s’more this side of the Mississippi too. “Henry’s pretty excited about being a big brother though.” His grin was so proud. “Though I doubt he’ll wanna help build the crib - or if he does, he’ll be interested for about five seconds before wanting to go play video games. So I’ll definitely have you do some calibrations there.”
Ah, the wonders of the twelve-year-old attention span. It was a beautiful thing.
Garrus pointed a flaming weiner impaled by a stick (a man’s worst nightmare) at Neal. “You guys poke fun of my calibrations, but they matter,” he insisted - because maintenance and upgrades and testing all that was important, goddamnit. “I’ll help with specialized baby maintenance gadgets. Surveillance cameras, monitors.” Actually, that’s exactly all the stuff he’d get them. High-tech baby gear that he’d modify himself. Increase the ranges on them, give them multiple functions.
Extreme precautions, maybe, but extra safety certainly didn’t hurt considering where they lived. That’s what he planned for his own whenever the day came. Accessible surveillance at all times and extreme babyproofing, considering various mundane household items were programmed for other outcomes in case of emergencies.
Other outcomes, like ones that required the egg beaters with razors? Yeah, Neal was well aware of those. He wouldn’t dispute the necessity of all that. “I’ll tell Em, I’m sure she’ll be tickled pink,” he laughed. Right before gently smacking his wiener stick against Garrus’ wiener stick - en guard!
“Because I’m aiming to do this right. Honestly, there’s too much baby bullshit in our dreamworld. It’s either I don’t even get to know she’s pregnant, or there’s some crazy-ass witch around wanting to use a baby in a sacrifice for a spell.” The baby in question happened to be Neal Nolan (Prince Neal, whatever - his name just didn’t sound royal, probably because he was destined to be a pauper always), which was also super weird - and he was kind of glad he wasn’t around to see that.
Weiner fight. How remarkably gay of them, but never fear - him and Neal were so confident in their bromance they cared not the judgment. Garrus settled back into his chair, sinking into it like as if it were a cloud (they dished out some decent money for good outdoor furniture in lieu of this pit of fire) and emptied the last of his Guinness. Onto the next he went.
“Odd to think this place gives you the best chance you’ll have at giving you a family to be there for,” he mused. “I dunno, I don’t think I ever procreated in mine. I ended up with a comrade of mine. A quarian. There’s a couple similarities but cross-species babies don’t exist.” Quarians seemed like that alien species somewhat between humans and turians; same hands, same diet, but their physiology was more humanoid, wrapped in highly sophisticated enviro-suits for their shit immune system. “We talked about adopting little krogan babies. Think t-rex turtles with hedgehog faces that have four testicles, and who like to fight. A lot.”
He only knew about that because Wrex loved to boast about their plentiful nutsacks. Not that he ever saw them in person. And never cared to. Krogan genitalia must be terrifying.
Guinness, no thank you. Neal stuck with Newcastle for the time being - he liked it just fine, rather than liquid bread. Though he nearly spit out a mouthful of that Newcastle when he heard four testicles. What the actual fuck? “That sounds like the stuff nightmares are made of,” he chuckled. “But I’d bet you’d be a good dad to...a Krogan baby. You’d adore that little face only a mother could love.”
Or a father, in this case. A picture-perfect family, up in space.
“You’ll procreate in this one though. And even if you don’t, you might get godfather status with mine,” Neal squinted over at his friend. “It’d be an offer you couldn’t refuse. Guess we’ll see what the future holds.”
Imagine changing those diapers and facing four balls. Or not. Really, he’d rather not, and was perfectly content with a little human baby with all its human attributes down the road, whenever the time came for them to hop on the baby train - in the meantime he was content learning from Baby Cassidy and Baby Wisdom. Spirits. His friends didn’t waste time, did they?
“Godfather status.” Garrus blinked those ice blue eyes. “Well, damn. That’s an honorable position to be in. I’ll have to test for it; make sure I know how to hold a baby right without dropping it and hone my diaper changing skill set. I’ll practice on the cat,” he smirked.
Hell, a title like that meant he’d be a willing casualty for baby sharting and pissing and whatever other bodily secretion those things liked to get on adults, but he was fine with it. And when the years aged them and canes were the only way they could walk around, he and Neal could regale them with tales of getting run over and salvaging beer together. A true test of friendship and alcoholism.
“I’m sure the cat will be a docile experiment,” Neal rolled his eyes, having a good snicker at the thought of claws coming out and fur flying if someone tried to put a diaper on that thing. Polka-dotted bowties were fine, but something to catch the poop probably wasn’t. Be free, Bigby, and take a dump in your litter box.
Baby sharting was some serious business though. Neal wouldn’t trust that responsibility to just anyone, Garrus should be flattered.
He also wouldn’t trust the role of godfather to just anyone either. He had other good friends, of course, but they either weren’t ready, seized up at the thought of reproducing and/or relationships, or were too busy for such things. Plus, he knew he could count on his best friend protecting the littlest Cassidy, keeping him or her safe if anything were to happen to Neal or Emma (spirits forbid). He’d have to talk to his other half about it, but she’d probably agree with his line of thought - and with Regina officially being the baby’s godmother. They had time to decide.
Even if time did go quickly. Seemed like only yesterday they were getting run over during beer quests. Never would Neal forget that - and hey, it’d be a good story to tell the kids. Someday.