“You sure as hell haven’t been tellin’ me the truth!” Faraday snaps back, heedless of the way his voice rises. He refuses to be cowed once Vasquez gets to his feet – in fact, Faraday draws himself to his full height, expression nearly thunderous with his irritation. “You’ve been sidesteppin’ me, changin’ the subject, tellin’ me all that shit don’t matter when it obviously does.”
If it didn’t, then they wouldn’t be having this argument. If it didn’t, then Vasquez would be laughing at how completely gullible Faraday is, would be teasing and joking about how Faraday is jumping to wild conclusions instead of arguing right back.
When Vasquez tries to turn the tables on him, Faraday scowls. “You damn well know that’s different.”
Because as Vasquez is suggesting, that’s all meaningless, empty flirtation, things that slipped easily from Faraday’s lips with hardly a thought. They were practically part of his regular vocabulary. Vasquez, on the other hand, didn’t call anyone else by those names back at Rose Creek – at least, never that Faraday heard. In fact, Faraday had always been the focal point of those foreign nicknames. Guero, first, then guerito, and initially, Faraday had taken offense to the treatment – up until he recognized a note of fondness in Vasquez’s voice whenever he cast them out.
It was an easier pill to swallow after that, thanks to the way something curled in Faraday’s chest for it, warm and sweet.
Maybe back at the saloon, immediately after Josiah had translated those words, Faraday could have been led to believe that Vasquez had intended the same as Faraday would have, if he were using the endearments. If Vasquez had come out of the kitchen with that easy smile of his, that little chuckle and a good-natured insult, he could have convinced Faraday that he meant nothing by the nicknames.
But in Faraday’s experience, Vasquez has never been able to bluff worth a damn.
Instead, Vasquez had reacted like a man being led to the gallows. Guilty and heavy and full of regret. He had followed Faraday back to the inn, shamefaced and mortified, offering to leave, and—
Faraday had been too insulted by Vasquez implying he might shoot the other man for all of this, too busy covering his confusion with anger. Otherwise, he might have recognized the dread that had plummeted in his gut like a heavy stone at the thought of Vasquez leaving him behind.
no subject
If it didn’t, then they wouldn’t be having this argument. If it didn’t, then Vasquez would be laughing at how completely gullible Faraday is, would be teasing and joking about how Faraday is jumping to wild conclusions instead of arguing right back.
When Vasquez tries to turn the tables on him, Faraday scowls. “You damn well know that’s different.”
Because as Vasquez is suggesting, that’s all meaningless, empty flirtation, things that slipped easily from Faraday’s lips with hardly a thought. They were practically part of his regular vocabulary. Vasquez, on the other hand, didn’t call anyone else by those names back at Rose Creek – at least, never that Faraday heard. In fact, Faraday had always been the focal point of those foreign nicknames. Guero, first, then guerito, and initially, Faraday had taken offense to the treatment – up until he recognized a note of fondness in Vasquez’s voice whenever he cast them out.
It was an easier pill to swallow after that, thanks to the way something curled in Faraday’s chest for it, warm and sweet.
Maybe back at the saloon, immediately after Josiah had translated those words, Faraday could have been led to believe that Vasquez had intended the same as Faraday would have, if he were using the endearments. If Vasquez had come out of the kitchen with that easy smile of his, that little chuckle and a good-natured insult, he could have convinced Faraday that he meant nothing by the nicknames.
But in Faraday’s experience, Vasquez has never been able to bluff worth a damn.
Instead, Vasquez had reacted like a man being led to the gallows. Guilty and heavy and full of regret. He had followed Faraday back to the inn, shamefaced and mortified, offering to leave, and—
Faraday had been too insulted by Vasquez implying he might shoot the other man for all of this, too busy covering his confusion with anger. Otherwise, he might have recognized the dread that had plummeted in his gut like a heavy stone at the thought of Vasquez leaving him behind.