In a surprising show of patience, Faraday waits for Vasquez to share his piece, though he goes right back to pacing like a caged animal. The heels of his boots clunk dully against the wooden slats, filling the silence between Vasquez’s words. He scowls briefly, once Vasquez admits that he would have gladly kept his trap shut about all this. Faraday knew Vasquez slipped into his native tongue to annoy Faraday, to say things so he wouldn’t understand, of course, but he had always figured it was because Vasquez was being an asshole, not because he was hiding something as big as all this.
It's the mention of their friendship that finally halts Faraday’s pacing, that finally makes him stop and think, and his anger gutters and dims – though it doesn’t entirely fade. He falls quiet, still as a statue as his mind races.
He supposes he can’t blame the other man, all things considered. The two of them were lonely – though Faraday would never admit as much aloud – and they found unlikely company in one another. And who would have thought with the way they met, the two of them would become friendly with one another, much less friends? But— that’s what they are now, and even if Faraday had always figured it would end one day, either because Vasquez got sick of the company or because Faraday did or said something particularly senseless to drive the other man off, he hadn’t figured it would end because of something like this.
That something twists in his chest again, something he partially recognizes as panic, but there’s a note of something else, there, too. Something sweet and warm and fluttery, and he can’t put a name to it.
Faraday is confused and angry, and he’s startled to realize it’s not because of this, not because of— whatever feelings Vasquez may have for him (and Faraday would be the first to tell the other man that those feelings aree frankly ill-advised, that he was better off with someone, anyone, else). He’s angry because Vasquez would keep him in the dark for this long, would never say, and it’s the shock of it all that’s left him in this state.
“I’m mad that you lied to me, you dumb bastard,” he finally grits out – which was rich, coming from Faraday, who dealt in half-truths and tall-tales most hours of the day. Faraday shakes his head sharply, before giving Vasquez a flat, unimpressed look.
“You been callin’ me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darlin’’ and ‘dear,’ and you honestly thought I wouldn’t put it all together? How stupid do you think I am?”
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It's the mention of their friendship that finally halts Faraday’s pacing, that finally makes him stop and think, and his anger gutters and dims – though it doesn’t entirely fade. He falls quiet, still as a statue as his mind races.
He supposes he can’t blame the other man, all things considered. The two of them were lonely – though Faraday would never admit as much aloud – and they found unlikely company in one another. And who would have thought with the way they met, the two of them would become friendly with one another, much less friends? But— that’s what they are now, and even if Faraday had always figured it would end one day, either because Vasquez got sick of the company or because Faraday did or said something particularly senseless to drive the other man off, he hadn’t figured it would end because of something like this.
That something twists in his chest again, something he partially recognizes as panic, but there’s a note of something else, there, too. Something sweet and warm and fluttery, and he can’t put a name to it.
Faraday is confused and angry, and he’s startled to realize it’s not because of this, not because of— whatever feelings Vasquez may have for him (and Faraday would be the first to tell the other man that those feelings aree frankly ill-advised, that he was better off with someone, anyone, else). He’s angry because Vasquez would keep him in the dark for this long, would never say, and it’s the shock of it all that’s left him in this state.
“I’m mad that you lied to me, you dumb bastard,” he finally grits out – which was rich, coming from Faraday, who dealt in half-truths and tall-tales most hours of the day. Faraday shakes his head sharply, before giving Vasquez a flat, unimpressed look.
“You been callin’ me ‘sweetheart’ and ‘darlin’’ and ‘dear,’ and you honestly thought I wouldn’t put it all together? How stupid do you think I am?”