Faraday bites down on any protests that rise up in his throat. He ought to insist that Vasquez move on without him; a man looking to keep out of the noose shouldn't stand still long enough to let it settle around his neck. But Faraday has always been a selfish man, and when it hardly seems to occur to Vasquez that leaving on his own is an option, Faraday keeps his trap shut.

He follows suit in finishing off his glass of whiskey, and he deposits the empty tumbler back on the table. Vasquez's offer earns a slightly uncertain look.

"Most of me's healed up," Faraday reminds the other man. A few parts of him are still sewn shut, but even those bits are more healed than not; the wounds were unlikely to open up again, unless Faraday really set his mind to it (which he absolutely could, given it's Faraday.) It's the lingering aches and pains that are proving difficult to handle, even if Faraday refuses to admit as much aloud. It's the weakness that's settled into his bones that's holding him back.

He peers at Vasquez for a second, studying him. Then cautiously, he asks, "What is it the doctor showed you how to do, exactly?"