He sees a bit of spark return to Vasquez’s eyes, and he nearly sighs in relief. Instead, he just roughly grabs hold of the other man’s hand and moves.

He crouches, staying low to the ground despite the protests of the old injury in his leg. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any flicker or sound of movement. It’s late, and late enough that no other soul should bother them out here, unless they’re very, very unlucky. (Faraday occasionally thinks that he’s drained his well of luck ages ago, when that first shot in the back didn’t kill him, then and there.

Getting shot again and again, blowing up a Gatling gun, and surviving? That was just rubbing salt in the wound. He hopes Lady Luck doesn’t have it out for him, after exhausting all of her good will.)

But they make it to the horses, and Jack nickers impatiently as they approach. Faraday hisses at the stallion, gestures sharply with a hand to keep the horse quiet, and Jack reluctantly complies, tossing his head a little. Beside Jack, Vasquez’s relatively calm mare stands, waiting.

“Go on,” Faraday hisses at Vasquez, nodding toward the mare, as he prepares to haul himself into Jack’s saddle.