Faraday flashes the other man a sort of self-satisfied smile, glad to have drawn a laugh from him. Hopefully that ought to chase away whatever remained of Vasquez’s sour mood from earlier. He finishes off his beans, leaving the empty tin beside the edge of the fire, as Vasquez continues rummaging through the day’s purchases. But when Vasquez stares at him with mortification written on his face, plain even in the dimming sunlight and the flickering fire, Faraday fidgets in his seat.

And that tone of voice Vasquez takes with him just makes him bristle even further.

“What’s with that look?” he snaps defensively. Faraday’s never enjoyed when folks made him feel dull, and that look Vasquez gives him certainly makes him feel like he’s missed something obvious. “Quit starin’ at me like I’m stupid.”