That request startles the hell out of him, and Faraday straightens, hand dropping away from his face.
“Why the hell would I—?”
Faraday cuts himself off, and for a second, he looks insulted, glaring at Vasquez like the man had just punched him across the face. After all this time, after everything they’d gone through together, and Vasquez honestly thinks Faraday would throw all of that aside for a quick chunk of cash? His jaw clenches again, and he rocks back more firmly against the door – a strong indicator that he’s acting as a barrier between Vasquez and a quick escape.
“I’m not gonna shoot you, you goddamn idiot,” he grits out, and Faraday can hardly believe how angered he is by the suggestion. Something dark writhes in his chest at the very thought of it – something that he might recognize as a long-buried sense of protectiveness in a better moment – but Faraday tries to ignore it. “And you don’t get to go nowhere till we talk about this.”
Except, by his own admission, Faraday hardly knows what to say, nor does he know where to start, and with that command out of the way, he realizes hasn’t a single clue where to go from there. He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it, and he licks his lips, studying Vasquez as if that might spark some sort of inspiration. He flounders for a few seconds, eyes searching the other man.
Slowly, he starts, “How long have you...” But he winces at the phrasing, realizes he doesn’t know how to end that question except with had feelings for me? And it feels too— flowery, too maudlin. Faraday has never been a sentimental man – there’s little room for it in the type of life he leads – and asking it in such a manner feels disingenuous.
So he corrects himself and asks, “How long has it been?”
no subject
“Why the hell would I—?”
Faraday cuts himself off, and for a second, he looks insulted, glaring at Vasquez like the man had just punched him across the face. After all this time, after everything they’d gone through together, and Vasquez honestly thinks Faraday would throw all of that aside for a quick chunk of cash? His jaw clenches again, and he rocks back more firmly against the door – a strong indicator that he’s acting as a barrier between Vasquez and a quick escape.
“I’m not gonna shoot you, you goddamn idiot,” he grits out, and Faraday can hardly believe how angered he is by the suggestion. Something dark writhes in his chest at the very thought of it – something that he might recognize as a long-buried sense of protectiveness in a better moment – but Faraday tries to ignore it. “And you don’t get to go nowhere till we talk about this.”
Except, by his own admission, Faraday hardly knows what to say, nor does he know where to start, and with that command out of the way, he realizes hasn’t a single clue where to go from there. He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with it, and he licks his lips, studying Vasquez as if that might spark some sort of inspiration. He flounders for a few seconds, eyes searching the other man.
Slowly, he starts, “How long have you...” But he winces at the phrasing, realizes he doesn’t know how to end that question except with had feelings for me? And it feels too— flowery, too maudlin. Faraday has never been a sentimental man – there’s little room for it in the type of life he leads – and asking it in such a manner feels disingenuous.
So he corrects himself and asks, “How long has it been?”