Vasquez's arguments (even his little insult) sloughs off Faraday easily enough, and he keeps his gaze steady, continues to study the other man for tells, for tics, for the little gestures that betray his true meaning. Faraday heard the story of how Sam and Emma found Vasquez, tracking him down to a little cabin in the mountains, a corpse festering against a wall.
And what sort of life is that? Faraday wants to ask, but something in the set of Vasquez's shoulders tells him the thought has already crossed the other man's mind.
When Vasquez lifts his head, when he looks at Faraday like that, Faraday is almost a little startled, and he pays a little more attention – to the pointed way the man meets his eyes, to the tenseness in his voice. Something hidden in the words, and Faraday almost wishes the son of a bitch would come out and say what he means to say, if only to take the guesswork out of things.
He takes the flask, still holding Vasquez's gaze, eyebrows knitting together a little as he takes a pull. When the burn of the alcohol passes, Faraday licks his lips, looking Vasquez over from head to toe, sizing him up.
Slowly, carefully, like he's testing the waters, "Who says that's gotta change?"
His jaw ticks once as he picks over his words, and at length, he holds the flask out to the other man.
"Seems to me you've got plenty of folks around here willin' to keep an eye on you."
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2017-08-04 07:19 am (UTC)And what sort of life is that? Faraday wants to ask, but something in the set of Vasquez's shoulders tells him the thought has already crossed the other man's mind.
When Vasquez lifts his head, when he looks at Faraday like that, Faraday is almost a little startled, and he pays a little more attention – to the pointed way the man meets his eyes, to the tenseness in his voice. Something hidden in the words, and Faraday almost wishes the son of a bitch would come out and say what he means to say, if only to take the guesswork out of things.
He takes the flask, still holding Vasquez's gaze, eyebrows knitting together a little as he takes a pull. When the burn of the alcohol passes, Faraday licks his lips, looking Vasquez over from head to toe, sizing him up.
Slowly, carefully, like he's testing the waters, "Who says that's gotta change?"
His jaw ticks once as he picks over his words, and at length, he holds the flask out to the other man.
"Seems to me you've got plenty of folks around here willin' to keep an eye on you."