Faraday stares stupidly as Vasquez moves around the room, as he speaks, as he formulates a plan of attack, and—

For the second time today, Faraday feels like the ground has opened up beneath him, like he’s falling and falling and falling, with no end in sight, and—

He has no idea what to do.

He’s only half-listening to Vasquez’s words, the majority of them drowned out by the way his pulse pounds in his ears, roaring and echoing, but he catches the gist of it. Vasquez is leaving. Vasquez is leaving, and Faraday knew this day would come eventually, but not now. It feels like they’ve only just set out together; Faraday expected them to part ways some weeks or months down the line, but not this soon.

Once Vasquez lifts up his saddlebags, Faraday snaps back to himself, like he’s blinking awake after dozing off, and he straightens, putting his back to the door.

“No.”

The word tears itself from his throat, escapes on a barely voiced rasp; he hardly realizes he’s said it until its fallen from his lips, but— well, he sure as hell isn’t taking it back.

(But what he really wants to say is Don’t go.)

“Hell, Vasquez. It’s been all of ten minutes of—” And he falters for the right word, the right phrasing. “—of me... knowing. We haven’t even tried.”