Vasquez heads to the bar to buy himself the largest bottle of tequila that he knows he can manage to drink without getting so blackout drunk that tonight will be a shitshow. The bartender looks like he might hold it back from him, but then again, he knows the maudlin moods he gets into when he's here usually.

"It's fine," Vasquez mutters, hearing the riotous laughter behind him. As much as he knows he should remain steady and keep his face muted, he can't help the private smile on his lips as he hears Faraday spin his yarns and be the storyteller he loves.

Whatever happiness washes over him must help to convince the man to give him his liquor, because Vasquez walks back to the table successful. He picks the seat that lets him have a direct line of sight to Faraday, watching him in this role that he loves best. It fills him with the absolute certainty that his feelings for Faraday haven't changed or diminished at all.

His fear had made him run, but equally, his desire to make sure Faraday had a good life. He thought that life meant being here, in California, where he knew the land and the people. Maybe he is thicker than he thought and he just hasn't been thinking through this.

No matter how much time passes, he waits out Faraday, waits for him to finish drinking, and when he hears him use the Spanish, he ducks his head down. It's how Faraday will find him, his head lowered, a fondly amused look on his face as he catches his gaze and holds it.

I'm still here, it says. I'm not going anywhere this time.