Faraday can’t help it – his grin grows wider, far more genuine, once his gaze settles on Vasquez, on the almost shy but unmistakably affectionate look the man gives him. His chest clenches sweetly, the warm twist magnified by the liquor, for reasons he couldn’t possibly name and doesn’t much care to, and he breathes out a quiet laugh.
(Fuck, he thinks. Beneath all the anger and frustration at being abandoned, ditched like a sack of rotted wheat on the side of the road, beneath the worry and the bone-deep hurt, Faraday has missed this infuriating, gorgeous bastard.)
To his right, Teddy Q glances between the two of them, the familiarity of that look seemingly clicking in his head. He’s seen that sort of look before, of course. (Billy Rocks and Goodnight Robicheaux were subtle, but neither did they care to be subtle enough.) While the other men and women try to coax Faraday into staying for another round, another story, Teddy Q takes up the cause. He clears his throat a little awkwardly and says over the clamor, “We oughta let Mr. Faraday get his rest. I’m sure he’s had a long day.”
Faraday startles a little, casting Teddy an owlish, confused look before nodding with gratitude. He promises, “I’ll be hangin’ around a while yet. Wouldn’t want you all gettin’ your fill of me too soon.”
He retreats, then, to a minimal amount of good-natured grumbling. His steps are only a little unsteady thanks to the alcohol swimming in his system, and he returns to Vasquez. He doesn’t reclaim a seat, though, opting instead to rest his arm on the chair’s top rail and lean against it.
His smile turns a little crooked, eyebrow quirking upward. “Now, then. I believe you were shelterin’ me from the cold?”
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(Fuck, he thinks. Beneath all the anger and frustration at being abandoned, ditched like a sack of rotted wheat on the side of the road, beneath the worry and the bone-deep hurt, Faraday has missed this infuriating, gorgeous bastard.)
To his right, Teddy Q glances between the two of them, the familiarity of that look seemingly clicking in his head. He’s seen that sort of look before, of course. (Billy Rocks and Goodnight Robicheaux were subtle, but neither did they care to be subtle enough.) While the other men and women try to coax Faraday into staying for another round, another story, Teddy Q takes up the cause. He clears his throat a little awkwardly and says over the clamor, “We oughta let Mr. Faraday get his rest. I’m sure he’s had a long day.”
Faraday startles a little, casting Teddy an owlish, confused look before nodding with gratitude. He promises, “I’ll be hangin’ around a while yet. Wouldn’t want you all gettin’ your fill of me too soon.”
He retreats, then, to a minimal amount of good-natured grumbling. His steps are only a little unsteady thanks to the alcohol swimming in his system, and he returns to Vasquez. He doesn’t reclaim a seat, though, opting instead to rest his arm on the chair’s top rail and lean against it.
His smile turns a little crooked, eyebrow quirking upward. “Now, then. I believe you were shelterin’ me from the cold?”