He's glad that Faraday had been nowhere near the church when Vasquez had wound up spilling his guts to the teacher's son, letting slip how scared and cowardly he is when it comes to responsibility. For him to want to take any now, on someone like Faraday, it's telling -- too telling -- and he doesn't know that he's any less scared of that weight on his chest, but the alternative is worse.
Losing Faraday, like he thought he had when McCann had shot him, then the rest of the pinche cabron puta de madre bastards, finding him in the field with barely any life in him, it made him want something to be responsible for, ached for it, maybe not so generally.
"Don't give me reason to worry, I won't," he says plainly; means it, too, but right now, Faraday needs a little extra help that he's willing to give.
The question about his arm makes him grimace and he wishes he could ignore it, but he shrugs with his good side. "Always been able to use both," he points out. "Now, it's just..." He frowns and thinks it's better to show than say, taking two of his guns from his holster to spin them the way he knows how, but they're no longer in sync, the left lagging. His shooting is the same, he fears.
"Sam asked me not to kill you, you know," Vasquez informs him. "You were too drunk to remember, I think, but right after we met, he asked very politely not to shoot the idiot drunk." He might be exaggerating a little (a lot), because Sam easing him away from the situation isn't the same, but to Vasquez, it's as good as a request.
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Losing Faraday, like he thought he had when McCann had shot him, then the rest of the pinche cabron puta de madre bastards, finding him in the field with barely any life in him, it made him want something to be responsible for, ached for it, maybe not so generally.
"Don't give me reason to worry, I won't," he says plainly; means it, too, but right now, Faraday needs a little extra help that he's willing to give.
The question about his arm makes him grimace and he wishes he could ignore it, but he shrugs with his good side. "Always been able to use both," he points out. "Now, it's just..." He frowns and thinks it's better to show than say, taking two of his guns from his holster to spin them the way he knows how, but they're no longer in sync, the left lagging. His shooting is the same, he fears.
"Sam asked me not to kill you, you know," Vasquez informs him. "You were too drunk to remember, I think, but right after we met, he asked very politely not to shoot the idiot drunk." He might be exaggerating a little (a lot), because Sam easing him away from the situation isn't the same, but to Vasquez, it's as good as a request.