Who: Cuddlefishes (Neal & Garrus) What: Taking Neal out on a night of Satan's Piss and Thai before baby #2 comes around When: Tonight Where: Their favored Thai place Rating/Warnings: Low, mostly Status: Complete!
Few Thai places compared to the homey vibe exuded by the joint Neal and his Cuddlefish tended to frequent - either by ordering a metric ton of takeout, or dining in and sitting at the bar. By this point, the guy making the Thai iced tea and the fruity cocktails with umbrellas knew their preferences - shots of Satan’s piss, especially when they came in with that look on their faces. The ‘fuck this place, I want to get hammered’’ look. Usually when these two upstanding gentleman crawled their way inside the dive, the bartender had the shots ready - a whole tray of them, in fact, and who knew if he was psychic or what but God bless him anyway.
Neal got there early, and it was just a matter of deciding what to order - the flavors were all just really intense, the spices as subtle as TNT, everything a veritable jungle for your tastebuds to differentiate between. Yet no peanut anything was as well known as the Satan’s piss concoction - no one wanted their best customer to swell up and die, that would just be awkward. Deciding on some chicken yellow curry in its murky coconut milk gravy and a side of rice which was so adhesive it rivaled one-thousand gluesticks, presented in an actual woven basket, he was content to sip a beer and wait.
Maybe he was doing this backwards, beer before liquor. But who cared, really. This was a special night.
May as well take advantage of those nights of freedom before Niko was born, and freedom vanished like a fart in the wind. Neal would take the trade-off though. He was ready for baby puke and spit-up and shit and piss with open arms. Bring it on, parenthood.
Taking advantage of time was the thing to toast to tonight. Soon, Neal would be bound by the necessities of an infant (which his friend knew he was ready to do, more than ever) and soon, Garrus himself wouldn’t really be benefiting much from the simple act of meeting someone for food and drinks – because soon, biology wouldn’t agree with human sustenance. Water was the common denominator between turians and humans and that, unfortunately, was the safest thing the two species could share.
Dietary changes were in the horizon, and thanks to the xenophile physiology expert (only in Orange County, wasn’t he lucky?) they could monitor the effects of human food on him - he’d get a better idea of when he’d have to convert fully to the dextro-amino foods, but for now, the human foods didn’t have deathly allergies to were still up for consumption. Garrus would take time to enjoy outings like this more, take his wife to dinner when they could still order from the same menu. Drink a couple more shots of Satan’s Piss before he couldn’t.
It was the death of his human self and the birth of a turian.
“I missed seeing that rugged mug of yours,” greeted the ever much taller Vakarian, with a dry affection that came from the span of moments making up their epic friendship. Or bromance, as others would put. Platonic soulmates, these two. His jacket was peeled off and draped over the chair before he settled down. “Also glad to see you’re back in one piece from your trip to Hades. Might as well mark that off your list of ‘destinations to visit.’”
“Oh, yeah, it was on that list for sure - a trip to the Underworld, right up there with ‘the Caribbean’ and ‘Australia,’” Neal snorted, sipping from the bottle - it was Thai beer, nice and chilled, because drinking it warm meant you didn’t get all that malty sweetness. Also meant that what you were drinking tasted like gasoline mixed with sugar.
As soon as Garrus sat down, their friendly bartender (a short, Asian man who could mix drinks like no one Neal had ever encountered, he was essentially a fucking Rembrandt of booze) came by and confirmed that they still did want that tray of shots. The answer was yes, god yes. “But hey, I missed your mug too - speaking of, change is on the horizon, yeah?”
He still had that selfie from the Halloween party. It was saved on Neal’s phone forever, so thank everything for the information age.
No beer for Garrus - he was content to go right into the rounds of poison prepared for them. Satan’s Piss was an acquired taste, a Neal Cassidy original preference, but their time together had endeared him to that specific, spicy taste that was equivalent to swallowing ten thousand balls of fire. He’d have to find a way to make a turian-friendly imitation of it, otherwise his mood would be comparable to a wall of text with just the teary-eyed emoji spamming the message.
“Thanks for making it sound like I’m going through menopause,” he snorted, but his smile was nonetheless crooked and amused. “But, yeah. It’s coming. I’m enjoying my last outings in which I can partake in the culture of human food.” He could eat it as a turian, technically, but it’d make him sick - too much would be outright poisonous, and he’d be excreting ten tons worth of alien diarrhea.
A scenario he’d like to avoid.
Before the conversation resumed, Garrus put in an order for something meaty with noodles that’d run no risk of coming in contact with peanut or peanut oil. “Guess my time of transition has finally come, but it’ll work out. Cindy already had a taste of me as an alien and liked it.”
A lot, but hey, he was lucky to have someone who loved him no matter what he was. Human or not human.
Any circumstances in which alien diarrhea was a thing, most sane people would just ‘nope’ the hell right out of there. Neal included. “Took awhile though, didn’t it?” he mused. He’d known Garrus for almost two years (had it really been that long? Man, time flew) and they’d sort of muddled through their dream experiences together, starting around the same time (in that sense it really did sound like menopause, or periods) and facing the whole gamut - war, death, creepy Peter Pan. Calibrations. Saving the galaxy. Yeah, they’d been through it all and life had thrown a few curveballs, but here they were. In a Thai restaurant about to down shots.
“But it’ll definitely work out, things always do. We can still get drunk but it’ll just be on two different types of booze, right? You’ve stocked up in preparation?” Plus, Neal had to admit he was curious about what alien liquor would taste like. Hopefully it wouldn’t kill him if he decided to experiment.
Maybe the cosmic forces that controlled this place did have an ounce of sympathy - wait until the resources became available before jumpstarting the transition to another species. Starving to death due to unavailable turian sustenance was as up there as ‘dying because my body hates mangos’ thing. “Different booze,” Garrus concurred. “I’m the eternal ‘bring your own beer’ guy. Or will be, at least. There’s some that are safe for human consumption - once all the intelligent species started merging, they came up with ways to make some drinks consumable across the board.”
Priorities, really.
But here came the primary focus of the night: shots, the tray of them. “I’ll bring the safe stuff for you,” he then added, taking one of the long shooter glasses. “One glass of Batarian ale can knock a human off their feet and faceplant them right into a toilet. Horosk is a hard turian drink, you can probably sip it but drinking it all and fast tends to put humans in a coma.”
All that and thensome was at the Citadel, some already on the Normandy, and he was sure now that Omega was discovered (known as the outlaw land in space, where he’d done his stunt of the galactic Batman) there’d be more to harvest. Hopefully before they destroyed it.
Daaaaaaaamn. Neal whistled, in both awe and appreciation. “So basically, what you’re saying is that humans are weaklings and extraterrestrials can hold their liquor better? If only NASA got ahold of that information. It’d answer so many questions,” he grinned. And sure, he considered himself someone who had a pretty high-level tolerance, built strong like bull and equipped with the knowledge of how to prevent hangovers, but a coma was something that he didn’t need to mess with. Thanks.
But now to toast! They always had an interesting one, depending on what was going on in their lives. Which, here, it tended to be tipping over the scales into ‘batshit insanity’ more often than not. “Here’s to faceplanting into a toilet?” he held up his glass for a clink. The first shot of the evening, mind you, and there were more to come.
“And here’s to the merging of species, I mean, hell. Alcohol brings everyone and everything together, doesn’t it?” He couldn’t blame them for those priorities. Waging war in the cosmos would be pretty difficult without a little liquid courage for all types to enjoy.
“I’m just saying some things are probably more poisonous to humans than they are to the rest of us unearthly types,” he clarified, much more nicely - but he looked forward to introducing his best pal here the world of alien liquor and cocktails. And here he thought they’d tried every kind of alcohol there was to try.
But a toast was definitely made, one of many, and after a clank of glass to glass, he downed the mixture in a gulp. Garrus was relieved his insides had been trained to the point where digesting this wasn’t an uncomfortable process anymore. “Anyway,” he continued after a refreshed sounding ahhhh. “How’s the family doing? I hear it’s just a matter of the waiting game now, isn’t it?”
Kudos to Emma for dealing with pregnancy in one of the most stressful places to live in on this planet, too. Spirits.
Neal’s refreshed sound, the burn of alcohol ‘soothing’ his parched throat, was actually more like a warm and tingly shudder. Oh, the fond memories of downing these shots in a skeezy bar - that was back when Garrus was still picking up contracts here and there for bounty hunting. Now look at him, fancy government job and FBI gig and everything. As for Neal, he’d sort of moved up in the world too - starting off with no job, moving to a new area and open to all possibilities, only to become a ranch hand and then be running the whole outreach center. It was a lot. But he was doing what he loved, and that was the most important thing.
“Family’s good, yeah. Really good.” If he sounded proud, well, that couldn’t be helped - he really did have the best family in the whole world, and that included extended aunts and uncles to Niko as well. “Em’s due end of June, and everything’s going fine - I know I tend to kind of hover a lot, and the doctor didn’t mean rest like she needs to be there lying down and ringing a silver bell if she wants anything, but...”
He shrugged sheepishly. Taking care of his family was top priority too, and he wanted to be there for Emma this time. To not miss anything. “It’s still good for her to not be on her feet? Mostly she’s been enjoying the pregnancy though, even if she’s way ready for it to be over.”
Neal’s infamous tale involving Emma and how Henry had been a (happy) product of an oops was something Garrus was familiar with - ever since he’d known him, fatherhood had always been the ‘holy grail’ of his life. Especially since dreaming he had a son, and finding out that the son existed in this world too. His story ended in death, but at least here it was continued. A happy ending in the horizon, too. Fingers crossed, knock on wood, throw salt over your shoulder, etcetera.
“Seems like hard work, carrying a constantly growing life in you,” he winced, sympathetic to the burden the women were forced to biologically bare. “I think after awhile women probably appreciate to be off their feet? I’ve seen what cankles look like on Google image, and it doesn’t look like anything comfortable.”
Don’t ask why he googled cankles, please. The Vakarian Google Search History was an odd thing to browse.
Wait, what? Why did the Vakarian Google Search History contain ‘cankles’? Neal guffawed, a suddenly surprised sound that nearly meant the unholy concoction known as Satan’s Piss was coming out his nose - but he refrained, because that would have hurt. Instead, he just coughed. Ow.
“I don’t talk about cankles with her, whether she has them or not - she’d probably hit me. And Em hits hard,” he continued, still snickering a little. “She’s the most beautiful pregnant lady ever. I tell her that instead.” Helped that it was true, at least in Neal’s besotted puppy eyes.
Oh, and thank the Heavens, here came the food. Something to sop up this booze was sorely needed. The fragrance of it was enough to clear your sinuses, provided you didn’t already burn holes in them thanks to your adult beverage of choice. Bon appetit! “Are people bugging you to reproduce yet, or what?” he asked as he unrolled his napkin. “You’ve been married over six months, must be time.”
Right. Cankles. Don’t discuss cankles. Garrus had no fucking clue how to proceed with infants and pregnant women, but through two of his closest friends he was learning - and he’d practice with their fragile infant creatures, considering he couldn’t even remember the last time he held a baby. Probably over ten years ago, and he couldn’t be sure or not if he dropped it on its head.
“It’s a topic with the families,” he chuckled, cutting his meat up - his plate was very simple. It was safer that way; more ingredients meant even more chances of them coming in contact with things that could kill him. The flavors made up for it, though. “But I’m not worried about it now. Our situation’s changing in the sense that -”
Would bringing up the fact that he had to ejaculate in a cup so they could preserve his human swimmers for whenever Cindy announced ‘inseminate me’ make him choke again?
Tempting. So tempting. A bite and swallow of his food came before he continued. “We’re not going to be biologically compatible to reproduce, so we’ll have to go about things differently. But it won’t be until later. I’d rather take the reigns of fatherhood while preparing to stop a genocide from space.” It was his and Shepard’s dream baggage threatening them. Right now, that had his focus more than anything.
Neal could kind of guess what not ‘biologically compatible’ meant - either they were adopting, there was going to be a sperm donor situation, or....it meant cleaning the snorkel beforehand, and saving some of those swimmers. “I seeeee,” he nodded sagely, and hey, nothing wrong with being prepared, right? Because with an apparent invasion on the horizon, that had to be first priority - save the world first, then worry about reproducing. They all wanted a planet to live on, to actually raise their children on.
“You know me and Em will help in any way we can with that too.” Niko was due very soon, yes, but pushing out a baby was some tough shit and Emma had done it once before - so she’d do it again, and once recovered they’d be up for helping to kick some evil alien ass. All Men in Black style. He wasn’t just going to sit back and let everyone else do the hard stuff. “I mean, the ranch has a bunker already? If you want it, it’s yours. For storage or as a safe zone, whatever you need.”
“The more the merrier,” Vakarian nodded, a little unsure on how much preparation Shepard was doing on this planet but he’d make sure the important things were touched on - he knew she was doing a couple patrols out in their galaxy, somewhere far, far away. “We’ve got weapons to supply an entire army and then some, so we’ll make sure every one’s armed.” From regular gunfire to the more supernatural things, they had a good arsenal under their belt here in Orange County.
At least time, at the moment, was on their side - he’d use as much as they got. “We’ll also need a big emergency one for...well, family members or friends that don’t want to get involved. Or can’t. Children, for example. Maybe somewhere outside of here? I’ve got a feeling if a Reaper hits land, the OC is going to be that bright red dot on its radar. It’s more likely to come here than anywhere else.”
Unless it threw them for a loop and the main event went down in London, like it did for them. Garrus didn’t think so, but it wasn’t a possibility he was ready to rule out either.
Arming up OC dreamer denizens to patrol the streets and keep them safe - that was going to be a clusterfuck, but Neal would do his best to help. “Yep, and you’ll also need people for damage control,” he grinned a bit, using chopsticks to go at his curry. It was almost time for another shot; he was sort of alternating between sipping on beer and sipping on water (keeping yourself hydrated while boozing it up was important>), but the beer just felt really refreshing with the spices and flavors of the dish. “To keep people calm. I don’t need to be out there with the heavy hitters, I can always be at whatever shelter you set up outside of here.”
Because uh, yeah. If any place was on the radar, it was gonna be Orange County. This place attracted the bizarre, the supernatural, and the freaky like flies to dog shit.
“Obviously someplace that’s not difficult to get to. Maybe a whole underground network, you never know. Or just cart people to a shelter when you get a tingly feeling something’s going to happen.”
Garrus chose to pace himself in between shots - the spiced liquor went fine with the meal, and no offense to this particular establishment but they lacked his favored liquified bread (Guinness, his one true love). “It’ll all come together,” he promised, since protection was as important as being out there in the fray of things too. Because the grim truth was, innocent civilians could die. Would die. It was inevitable. “But enough of that right now - this is to enjoy the last bit of freedom you have, Cassidy. You’ll call me when Emma’s in labor? I can always send encouraging texts or offer my encouraging presence. And bring brown plastic bags to breathe in.”
Passing out during those kind of life-changing events was a possibility, wasn’t it? According to most sources, and Wisdom’s living testimony. One father didn’t pass out and hit the floor face-first, and he’d help make sure this one wouldn’t. Somehow.
As long as they could try to prevent as many casualties as possible - it was definitely inevitable, in a time of war, but good prep was key. Not like anyone could really prepare for whatever extent the panicking masses would go to though - this was why there was ‘coverup.’ Honestly, Neal was a lot concerned about the fallout from everything. Because you couldn’t cover this up, it would legit be like an Independence Day remake come to life. What would become of Orange County after something so huge?
But no sense in beating those thoughts to death, not when he didn’t possess any psychic power to see the future. His own future, he had quite a bit to look forward to. “Of course I’m gonna call you, you’ll be one of the first I call,” he promised with a deep chuckle. Neal or Emma didn’t have much in the way of family - just the one they’d cobbled together here, with a mish-mosh of people. “I have a feeling I’m going to need those paper bags. Maybe smelling salts. I’ll be in the delivery room as long as she wants me - actually, I should probably ask her what she wants.”
Emma had been alone before, when she gave birth to Henry, and she didn’t even ask to hold him. With Niko, it was going to be a lot different.
Best to ask the person whose body was going to get awkwardly wrecked on what the ‘birth plan’ was, Garrus assumed - may the Spirits be with Neal in that regard. “Good luck,” he chuckled as well. “Paper bags and smelling salts, that’s something I can definitely do for you.” Whenever visitors were allowed, he and Cindy would be among the first. He was determined to be there for his Cuddlefish as much as he could; he’d stood right by his side during his nuptials, and the soon-to-be turian would be there for his second chance at full-blown fatherhood.
Hell, he even planned to get the ingredients for Satan’s Piss so Neal could have a stock at home. If he wasn’t able to peel away from his responsibilities, then they’d just take a shot under his roof - quietly, as to not wake up the baby?
Another tall glass of their spicy drink was picked up, and he raised it. “At least you’ll be chock-full of bedtime stories for the kid with what goes on around here - you’ll have to weave an impressive tale about how his parents and big brother survived an alien invasion while he was in diapers.”
A stock of Satan’s piss at home would honestly be the best thing ever. There would just be some sleepless nights where Neal would need to down a shot to keep his wits about him - caring for an infant was hard, and he was going to have the help, but there was still probably some truth to that ‘takes a village’ idiom. Which meant that numbing the ‘oops, I really hope I don’t drop this baby’ nerves couldn’t be a bad thing. He’d have to remember what it was like to relax.
“Seriously, right?” he wheezed a laugh, because no standard ‘once upon a time’ type things here. Their bedtime stories were the stuff of legends. “We should toast to that. Definitely. Here’s to...”
Neal raised his glass, mouth pursed thoughtfully. “Alien invasions. Just without the anal probing.”
Yeah, they could leave that out. Probably best in the long run, for all involved.
“I’m...not sure where the stereotype that aliens anal probe humans for experiments came from,” Garrus suppressed a laugh, doing his utmost to keep a straight face because really. “But, no, I think ours is more ‘let’s kill’ and less anal penetration.”
And that was a promise. Another toast, then, and there’d be plenty more after this - until they had to call Cindy and ask her to peel them off the concrete from alcoholic obliteration.