Vasquez keeps staring back, determined not to be the one to falter and be weak, not when his arm is just a bit of an ache. He'll get hot water on it, maybe have someone downstairs knead his shoulders for a while, and then he'll be fine again. No need for worry, not like the shots that Faraday's taken. Still, when he manages to sit up all the way and even gets his feet to the floor, there's no mistaking the way that his face actually brightens.
It's not a smile, really, just the way his eyes light up, the way his forehead smooths so lines no longer show. "New Mexico," he suggests. "Kansas, maybe? Nowhere north," he says, with a wrinkle of his nose as he shivers instantly to think of the cold. "Nowhere near Texas," is added after, spitting bitterness into three words with talent.
"Close enough to cities to get new alcohol, cigarettes. Well," he amends, "for you to get them," he points out, trying to ignore that press of nerves against his stomach as he thinks about the fact that even though he got a quick reprieve under Sam's protection, he's still going back out there to have men on his tail.
No cities or towns for him, not with his face on posters. It's his life, the one he has to live, even with Faraday's steady gun-hand for protection. It's a weary thought, one that has him reaching for his flask to drain it back, because now he wonders again, is he just running away from what will eventually happen?
"I thought you would have had a town in mind. Alcohol, cards, women," he lists, "isn't that how Sam found you?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
winterfish
no subject
Date: 2017-09-15 07:19 pm (UTC)It's not a smile, really, just the way his eyes light up, the way his forehead smooths so lines no longer show. "New Mexico," he suggests. "Kansas, maybe? Nowhere north," he says, with a wrinkle of his nose as he shivers instantly to think of the cold. "Nowhere near Texas," is added after, spitting bitterness into three words with talent.
"Close enough to cities to get new alcohol, cigarettes. Well," he amends, "for you to get them," he points out, trying to ignore that press of nerves against his stomach as he thinks about the fact that even though he got a quick reprieve under Sam's protection, he's still going back out there to have men on his tail.
No cities or towns for him, not with his face on posters. It's his life, the one he has to live, even with Faraday's steady gun-hand for protection. It's a weary thought, one that has him reaching for his flask to drain it back, because now he wonders again, is he just running away from what will eventually happen?
"I thought you would have had a town in mind. Alcohol, cards, women," he lists, "isn't that how Sam found you?"