Vasquez has to work not to react to Faraday's voice when it's so thick and rough, but it does things to him that force him to turn away and think about any number of things that can dump cold water on all these thoughts or that voice, that mouth, and all the other things that have gotten him into this mess in the first place.

"Maybe if you asked nicely, I would," is his retort. "Besides, dressing up for you doesn't get me anything," is an added point, a touch sharp. Faraday is awake quicker than usual; Vasquez had been ready to get the pail of water to dump on him, not that getting the man soaking wet would've helped his cause, either.

Tucking the shirt in absently, he gestures to the food, breaking a piece of bread for himself as he settles on a rock, chewing thoughtfully as he stares just beyond Faraday to keep himself from thinking about Faraday saying his name with that voice.

"What does the winner get?" he asks. "I don't think we decided."