Faraday falls quiet at that, chewing over the words – and he feels a quiet curl of warmth, of pleasure, at Vasquez openly admitting that he trusts Faraday. Faraday’s actually startled at just how pleased he is hearing those words. So many folks Faraday ran with never had much faith in him, and admittedly, for good reason. Faraday was the type to make friends quickly, though he had a much more difficult time every keeping them. Many of those idiots Faraday was more than happy to leave in the dust, to abandon to their fates if their idiocy or their hotheadedness got them in deeper waters than they could handle.
It wasn’t until Sam found Faraday in Amador City that things changed, that he met men and women for whom Faraday found himself willing to stick out his neck. People he’d bleed for, people he’d die for, all because they treated him as an equal and had the same penchant for daredevilry as he did.
(And a small part of him, a part Faraday doesn’t bother to examine too closely, admits that after all this time with Vasquez at his side, he’s not entirely sure if he’ ready to let Vasquez go off on his own. Selfish of Faraday, maybe, but it seems his wishes align neatly with Vasquez’s.)
He knows his answer to Vasquez’s question, even before the outlaw finally asks it aloud. Still, natural showman that Faraday is, he hesitates, seems to turn the decision over in his head.
“Depends,” he says at length, contemplative and solemn. “How often can I expect to find you hoverin’ over me like a shadow? ‘Cause you cluckin’ over me like an anxious mama hen every hour of the day is gonna get real old, real fast.”
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It wasn’t until Sam found Faraday in Amador City that things changed, that he met men and women for whom Faraday found himself willing to stick out his neck. People he’d bleed for, people he’d die for, all because they treated him as an equal and had the same penchant for daredevilry as he did.
(And a small part of him, a part Faraday doesn’t bother to examine too closely, admits that after all this time with Vasquez at his side, he’s not entirely sure if he’ ready to let Vasquez go off on his own. Selfish of Faraday, maybe, but it seems his wishes align neatly with Vasquez’s.)
He knows his answer to Vasquez’s question, even before the outlaw finally asks it aloud. Still, natural showman that Faraday is, he hesitates, seems to turn the decision over in his head.
“Depends,” he says at length, contemplative and solemn. “How often can I expect to find you hoverin’ over me like a shadow? ‘Cause you cluckin’ over me like an anxious mama hen every hour of the day is gonna get real old, real fast.”