Faraday scowls on instinct when Vasquez snaps at him. He would never admit it, but it’s better that Vasquez respond with that same fire – if there had been anything approaching pity, he would have put a stop to all of this and kicked Vasquez out to tend to his wounded pride.
As it is, it’s Faraday clenches his jaw, fingers twisted so tightly into the sheets that his hand shake. He holds his breath in his lungs as the pain sharpens and fades with each pass of Vasquez’s ministrations. It’s better, he thinks, though it feels as though it’s ages before it reaches that point, and he slowly lets the breath out through his lips.
“It’s fine,” he repeats, though his voice isn’t quite as strained as it had been the last time he said those words. Exhausted, sure, but not nearly as pained. He licks his lips, props himself up on an elbow. “The hell’s that mean? ‘Guapo.’” And he repeats back the word with his usual clumsy accent. Naturally, he assumes it’s a brand new insult, and Faraday bristles at it.
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As it is, it’s Faraday clenches his jaw, fingers twisted so tightly into the sheets that his hand shake. He holds his breath in his lungs as the pain sharpens and fades with each pass of Vasquez’s ministrations. It’s better, he thinks, though it feels as though it’s ages before it reaches that point, and he slowly lets the breath out through his lips.
“It’s fine,” he repeats, though his voice isn’t quite as strained as it had been the last time he said those words. Exhausted, sure, but not nearly as pained. He licks his lips, props himself up on an elbow. “The hell’s that mean? ‘Guapo.’” And he repeats back the word with his usual clumsy accent. Naturally, he assumes it’s a brand new insult, and Faraday bristles at it.