Vasquez has faced down much worse things than what's in front of him, surely, but right now, he can't bring himself to think of any of them. The way Faraday looks at him makes him want to flinch, but he remains steady and true, doesn't let the wariness or the devastation show on his face, because he knows what comes next.
His cowardly instincts tell him to run when Faraday's back is to him, but he'll never make it out of town like that without calling attention to himself and between an uncomfortable ending of a friendship and being shot in the back, he'll still take the former.
Trudging towards the inn as slowly as he can, Vasquez chides himself mentally. He should have known this day would come, because he couldn't make himself shut up when it had come to those stupid nicknames for Faraday. He'd hidden behind the Spanish as he let his affections flow freely, hidden under a thin guise. It's time to face the consequences of this, but he has to wonder if the translations haven't unearthed everything else.
All those things that Faraday hadn't been seeing because he wasn't looking -- Vasquez's jealousy, his willingness to get his hands on him to help, the pathetic way he stares at him in the embers of a fire. Smarter men would keep a hand on their gun, but Vasquez feels chastised and guilty, but not ashamed and not regretful. While Faraday knows now, Vasquez wouldn't change anything. Shame it has to come to an end like this.
Ignoring the woman at the inn when he arrives, ten steps behind Faraday, he takes the stairs and follows him into the room where he makes a point of unclipping his gun belt and setting it on the table. It's a deliberate showing, a pointed gesture that says he's an unarmed man. From there, he sinks down to sit on the corner of the bed, burying his head in his hands while he waits for Faraday to start shouting.
"So?" he prompts, hoarse and wanting to get this over with. "You said we needed to talk. Let's talk."
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His cowardly instincts tell him to run when Faraday's back is to him, but he'll never make it out of town like that without calling attention to himself and between an uncomfortable ending of a friendship and being shot in the back, he'll still take the former.
Trudging towards the inn as slowly as he can, Vasquez chides himself mentally. He should have known this day would come, because he couldn't make himself shut up when it had come to those stupid nicknames for Faraday. He'd hidden behind the Spanish as he let his affections flow freely, hidden under a thin guise. It's time to face the consequences of this, but he has to wonder if the translations haven't unearthed everything else.
All those things that Faraday hadn't been seeing because he wasn't looking -- Vasquez's jealousy, his willingness to get his hands on him to help, the pathetic way he stares at him in the embers of a fire. Smarter men would keep a hand on their gun, but Vasquez feels chastised and guilty, but not ashamed and not regretful. While Faraday knows now, Vasquez wouldn't change anything. Shame it has to come to an end like this.
Ignoring the woman at the inn when he arrives, ten steps behind Faraday, he takes the stairs and follows him into the room where he makes a point of unclipping his gun belt and setting it on the table. It's a deliberate showing, a pointed gesture that says he's an unarmed man. From there, he sinks down to sit on the corner of the bed, burying his head in his hands while he waits for Faraday to start shouting.
"So?" he prompts, hoarse and wanting to get this over with. "You said we needed to talk. Let's talk."