And there it is, that bit of clarification. Maybe a few moments ago, he could’ve been convinced that they were innocent endearments, like how Faraday was fond of calling folks “friend” or “amigo,” but with an explanation like that, he can hardly overlook things.
His pulse pounds in his ears, thunderous and near deafening, and he feels— wrong-footed. Off-balance. Almost light-headed, and isn’t that patently ridiculous, that he feels like he might faint like some delicate, swooning lady. He almost wants to laugh at himself for it, something panicked and helpless, but instead, he leans back against the door, using it to prop himself up.
Faraday drops the key onto the small table by the door, and it clatters dully against the worn wood. He scrubs his face with both hands, but when Vasquez starts to speak again, he glances up between his fingers. Studies him like he sitting across from Faraday at a card table.
Faraday calls him on the lie almost instantly, his voice accusing and annoyed. “Bullshit, Vasquez.”
His hands drop from his face, and he returns Vasquez’s gaze with a hardened, resolved expression. “I already told you not to lie to me.” His jaw clenches briefly, so tightly that he worries his teeth might shatter.
He doesn’t know what to do with this, if he’s honest. He had his suspicions, thought that maybe Vasquez might have flirted with him a bit in the months since the battle in Rose Creek, but Faraday had always assumed he was being absurd. Seeing things that weren’t there. Seeing things he wanted to see—
... Wait. “Wanted to see”?
Shit. What the hell is he thinking?
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Faraday exhales sharply.
“... I don’t know what the hell to say,” he finally admits.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-01-03 10:34 pm (UTC)His pulse pounds in his ears, thunderous and near deafening, and he feels— wrong-footed. Off-balance. Almost light-headed, and isn’t that patently ridiculous, that he feels like he might faint like some delicate, swooning lady. He almost wants to laugh at himself for it, something panicked and helpless, but instead, he leans back against the door, using it to prop himself up.
Faraday drops the key onto the small table by the door, and it clatters dully against the worn wood. He scrubs his face with both hands, but when Vasquez starts to speak again, he glances up between his fingers. Studies him like he sitting across from Faraday at a card table.
Faraday calls him on the lie almost instantly, his voice accusing and annoyed. “Bullshit, Vasquez.”
His hands drop from his face, and he returns Vasquez’s gaze with a hardened, resolved expression. “I already told you not to lie to me.” His jaw clenches briefly, so tightly that he worries his teeth might shatter.
He doesn’t know what to do with this, if he’s honest. He had his suspicions, thought that maybe Vasquez might have flirted with him a bit in the months since the battle in Rose Creek, but Faraday had always assumed he was being absurd. Seeing things that weren’t there. Seeing things he wanted to see—
... Wait. “Wanted to see”?
Shit. What the hell is he thinking?
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Faraday exhales sharply.
“... I don’t know what the hell to say,” he finally admits.