They head into the general store, first, but Faraday can feel Vasquez’s discomfort rolling from him like thick, oily waves. He casts the other man a concerned sidelong glance.
“If you keep looking so guilty,” he murmurs, “folks are gonna think you’re guilty.”
Faraday has survived this long on his confidence – and failing that, on his uncanny knack for misdirection. He knows when and how to draw or divert attention, and in this case, Vasquez might as well be shouting at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around with the way he’s going on.
“Quit lookin’ like you’re sorry for just breathin’, would you?”
He's not sorry for it, he's just on his guard. It's not like he's been living the way he had been before Rose Creek, but there's an uneasiness that Vasquez hasn't felt in a long time and it's all because of this town. He still keeps his head ducked down, trying not to call attention to himself.
He does linger closer to Faraday, partly because he wants the cover, but also because he just likes being close. Although, this close, he can smell the man. Reaching for some soaps, he puts it in Faraday's hand. "Make sure we bring this and find a bucket of water. I probably don't smell much better."
After all, how can they? They're on the road so often. He aimlessly wanders, tense as he notices someone outside talking to another man and pointing to him, making like he's going into his pocket for something.
That's not a good sign.
"Querido, I'm going to go wait in the back and smoke, okay?"
Faraday rolls his eyes as Vasquez presses the soap into his hands, but he grumbles good-naturedly under his breath. He similarly moves through the aisles, picking up only a few few other supplies. His and Vasquez’s stores are reasonably well-stocked as is, and while he knows they shouldn’t take too much advantage, he knows they’re liable to get a steep discount at Rose Creek.
The store clerk watches the two of them warily, but Faraday only offers the man a bright, sunny smile. He takes a step toward him, but Vasquez’s words interrupt him. He frowns, items in hand.
“Can’t it wait?” he asks. “We’re nearly done here as is.”
Vasquez has a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach that if he decides to wait much longer, they're going to come in with guns and a warrant and then he's going to have to shoot his way out, which is the furthest thing from what he actually wants. Still, he tries to exhale and breathe calm, thinking that acting suspicious will only get someone after him.
"Can't help being eager for a bath," he jokes, trying to sound casual and warm, trying to make it so that his voice isn't as accented as normal, emulating Faraday's patter in his words. Prying off his hat, he tucks it under his arm and fiddles with his hair, trying to make the curls more prominent to make him look different from the poster.
Unfortunately, he can't shake the feeling that maybe his greed for a bed had been a bad idea.
Faraday maintains his poker face for a breath or two, watching Vasquez act wholly out of character. There’s a reason for it, Faraday knows. Something’s wrong. And rather than push Vasquez too much further on it, Faraday nods, forces his expression to smooth out.
“Go on, then,” he says evenly, with his usual lilt in place. He tips his head toward the store’s other exit. “I’ll meet you out there. I’ll be quick.”
And even as he’s saying it, he’s moving toward the clerk. His pace is calm, seemingly leisurely, but there’s a purpose to his step, a brevity of movement that speaks to some level of urgency. If Vasquez feels the need to beat a hasty retreat, then Faraday doesn’t plan on being too far behind. (He can only move so fast these days, after all.)
Vasquez doesn't know how to shake the bad feeling, but he thinks slipping out the other door and taking cover ought to be a good start. No one is waiting for him out there, so he thinks maybe he's made it in the clear. Lighting up a cigarette, Vasquez slides his hat back on his head and leans himself up against the nearest wall until Faraday can join him.
"Hey," comes a voice, from nearby. "You there."
Tense, but trying not to let his hand slide to his gun just yet, Vasquez lifts his gaze to find one of the two men that had been lurking outside the store approaching him. What's worse is that there's a slip of paper out of his pocket, which means that this is going to be bad.
There's only two ways out of this. Three, maybe, if he's lucky.
In every single version, though, someone ends up dead. "I'm just waiting for my friend," he says, trying to sound plenty American. "I don't want any trouble."
There's a click of a gun right by his ear and Vasquez feels the barrel of it against his neck, cold and daunting. There's the second man, then. "You should've thought of that before you killed that ranger," he snaps, glaring up at him from where he stands.
Cigarette still between his lips, Vasquez raises both hands in the air. He's a fast shot, but he's not Billy. If he tried to go for his gun, he'd be dead within seconds. The best he's got to hope for now is that they decide to take him in alive and he can figure out an escape strategy when Faraday realizes what's happened.
"Tie him," the first insists, so it looks like he is going to a jail cell after all. Maybe he should've gone for his gun. Maybe there's not a shred of bloodlust between the two, but that's not a risk to take. He lets them shove and pull him around, scraping coarse ropes over his hands as he spits out the cigarette, hoping that at least Faraday is out in time to see where he's been taken.
True to his word, Faraday is quick about paying for their items. The clerk, either wary of strangers or wary of the company that Faraday keeps, despite the open, friendly smile Faraday offers him, offers him little in the way of chit-chat, taking his coin and returning Faradays, “Thank you kindly,” with only a curt nod.
This town just keeps getting friendlier and friendlier, Faraday thinks.
But he takes his little burlap bag with their items, slinging it over his shoulder as he steps outside. He couldn’t possibly be more than a few moments after Vasquez, but when he steps into the fading sunlight, glancing around, he doesn’t see Vasquez. What he does see is a fallen cigarette and far too many footprints for one man, and his stomach drops straight to the center of the Earth.
He curses, following the tracks; he might not have Jack Horne’s skill for it, but the footprints are clear enough, considering the men didn’t bother to hide themselves. He’s at least mindful enough of the situation that rather than go barreling after whoever has taken Vasquez, like his instinct is screaming at him to do, he goes about it slowly, maintains that easy pace.
He catches sight of the men just in time to watch the two of them, with Vasquez tied between them, stepping into the little ramshackle building they call the local jail. Faraday curses under his breath, casting around and getting his bearings. A part of him wants to rush in, guns blazing, and pull Vasquez the hell out of there, but even Faraday knows he has to go about this smart. If he starts dropping men, then that would surely leave a trail.
For a second, he wishes Chisolm was here. Scary bastard would have a plan in a goddamn instant, Faraday thinks.
Breathing out a sharp sigh, his hands clenching into tight fists, he tries to come up with an idea.
... all things considered, it’s not an amazing plan, if one can call it a plan at all.
It mostly involves sneaking into the jailhouse in the dead of night, while its guard – one of the men who had taken Vasquez in earlier, Faraday thinks – quietly dozes by the light of a single oil lamp. As he suspected, the jail isn’t much of anything; a town as small as this wasn’t bound to have anything fancy. It appears to be a one-room building, with a guard on one side and a narrow, barred jail cell in a corner. The guard sits in his chair, feet kicked up on a nearby bench and his face covered by his hat.
And Faraday creeps in, furious, staying low to the ground and moving slowly, testing each step against the wooden planks to avoid causing the floorboards to creak under his weight.
When he gets to the jail cell, Vasquez quickly starts to think about strategy. They clearly want the money for his head alive, or maybe they want to sell him for an even higher price to someone who wants him dead. Whatever it is, they shoved him into the cell with his hands still tied, depriving him of water and the comfort of his hands being free. Lucky for him, he's got a few loose pieces of metal wire in his gun belt to help him in a jam with his guns and it's in the right place to start pushing to try and saw the rope.
Of course, the way it's going, it will take hours. He stays quiet, knowing that antagonizing his captors is a bad idea, no matter how badly he wants to do it. The last thing he needs is one of them to decide to shoot.
It's a shame Vasquez has to go and ruin it, though. He doesn't mean to piss anyone off, but after a few hours of sitting here, he complains about his throat being dry and asks for some water. Big mistake, it turns out, because the burly one enters the cell and instead of water, what Vasques gets is a new black eye that doesn't go with his colouring at all.
"So, no?"
"Not for Mexican scum like you."
Definitely a no. Vasquez didn't even manage to steal a key or a weapon off him while he'd been so helpfully mauled, which is his own fault for not being prepared. As the eye starts to swell, he settles his back against the wall and keeps working at his ropes, eyes on the door. He's telling himself that Faraday wouldn't have just taken off, that he's coming. Maybe if he keeps telling himself this, he'll even believe it.
It takes time, but then, when the guard has gone to sleep, he hears the door. Shifting to his knees while trying not to rustle, Vasquez tries to work a little harder to start tearing his bonds.
Nodding to the desk, he wants to get Faraday's attention to hope that maybe he'll see the gun that's been on the desk. He doesn't want Faraday to shoot, but he doesn't think pistolwhipping the guard into unconsciousness is such a bad idea.
With as dim as the lamp is set, Vasquez’s cell sits just at the edge of the ring of light. From here, Faraday can’t get a good look at the man, but he doesn’t smell the telltale stench of blood, doesn’t spot anything particularly worrisome about Vasquez’s stance. He’s... well, not fine considering he’s locked up in a goddamn jail cell, but not in much need of patching up.
That’s something, he supposes, not much, but something. It does little for the rage writhing in his belly like some ugly, caged animal.
He catches sight of Vasquez’s nod, follows the other man’s gaze to the gun on the desk, resting in its holster. Apparently the guard had taken off his gun belt while he napped. Slowly, he takes hold of the gun, watching the dozing man for signs of waking, and once it’s fully in his grasp, he reels back, slamming the butt of the gun against the man’s temple.
The man only grunts, crumbling, but Faraday grabs hold of the man’s elbow with his free hand, easing him slowly to the ground to minimize the noise. He freezes, listening, waiting, before he searches the man’s unconscious form for a set of keys.
He finally snags the ring, tucked away inside the man's vest, and he lets out out a small, triumphant sound. Faraday hurries to the cell as quietly and as quickly as he dares.
"Just so long as we're both clear," he hisses, "comin' back here was your idea."
The murderous glare on Vasquez's face tells Faraday that he already knows how bad of an idea this was. He's not dwelling on it consciously, but it's in the back of his head simmering that if they can't trust any town apart from Rose Creek, then what the hell does his life look like and is it worth it, being on the road like this. He can't get to his feet, awkwardly tied up the way he is, but at least he can glare.
"Cut me free now, blame me later," he snipes back at Faraday, his joy and relief at seeing him overwhelmed at this specific moment with the irritation that Faraday's words have left in him, rubbing raw like a bad wound. He wishes that the guard had been hit harder, but if he'd died, it would've been worse.
Holding out his tied hands, he shifts to his knees and one foot to stagger to his feet clumsily, waiting to be cut loose, trying to stay somewhat in the shadows. "They took my guns, my lasso," he says. "My hat," he adds, and the bag had gone too. All his worldly possessions, which probably would've been rifled through and sold if he'd been shot, hung, or arrested.
There's a terrifying swoop in his stomach and he closes his eyes briefly, wondering what future he has. It's not a good thought, but right now, he's full of bad ones.
Faraday duly ignores the death glare Vasquez sends his way – it’s nothing too different from the norm, at any rate – and he shoves the door open. Slipping the key ring over his wrist, he enters the cell and looks Vasquez over. Nothing life-threatening, that he can see, which tells him his captors intended to keep Vasquez alive and well for transport.
Hardly a comfort, honestly.
He slips his knife from its sheath, examining Vasquez’s wrists for the easiest section to cut. Looks like Vasquez got something of a head start, and Faraday carefully moves to work at the same section. He lets Vasquez speak, but he pauses when he hears a strange quality to the other man’s voice, a strange little hitch in his breath, and Faraday looks up from his work, startled.
“Vas,” he murmurs, an worry flares in his gut, cold and bitter. He reaches up his free hand, resting a rough palm against Vasquez’s cheek. His thumb gently brushes just beneath the worst of the bruising around Vasquez’s eye. “Hey, darlin’. C’mon. Look at me.”
Vasquez tenses his jaw, aware that this isn't something they should be doing in a jail cell, not when the other guard could be coming at any minute. He draws away from Faraday's hand, even if that's all he currently wants nothing more than to sink into the warmth of his hand and coax Faraday into kissing the bruising until it burns, trying to replace these feelings. "Come on, we shouldn't stay here."
The last thing he needs is for them to come back and arrest Faraday with him. Not only would it make their chances of rescue slim to nothing, but he's not sure he could bear to see Faraday in a cell and awaiting punishment because of him.
He still squeezes Faraday's hand as he passes, starting to rifle through the possessions. He takes back his things, but steals more than belongs to him, feeling owed. It's a rapid business, but it helps to calm his mind a little, though the panic still is there, making him breathe harder and his vision feels like it's blurry in a haze of trying to understand what's going to happen next.
"You got the supplies, yes? Because we're definitely leaving," he says bluntly, no matter how badly he'd wanted a firm bed under his back tonight.
When Vasquez pulls away, Faraday’s startled by how much it smarts, and he stills for a long moment. The quick squeeze of his hand mollifies him, but only a little, and his expression is grim as Vasquez takes back his belongings and then some.
He’s not great at this. Navigating this... romance thing, because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A courtship. Only they’ve skip straight past the literal courting to the good part – which is for the best, considering Faraday’s relationship with patience has always been fraught. But worrying for someone, feeling terrified for someone, spending the whole day, blaming himself for being so slow, for letting this happen—
It's new to him. And he’s not entirely sure how to— do this.
As Vasquez rummages through the guard’s pockets, Faraday plucks down a pair of shackles hanging from the wall.
“Yeah,” a little gruffly, because Faraday’s still feeling the sting from Vasquez’s earlier snub. “I got the supplies.”
Faraday kneels down to cuff one of the man’s wrists to the man’s ankle. He yanks off the guard’s wild rag, while he’s at it, winding it up and tying it tightly around the man’s mouth. A tactic to slow the man down and buy them time, if they need it.
He feels a little wild and untethered, even as he tries desperately to reach towards the anchor that he wants. It's Faraday and he's so close, but that edge of desperation is killing him, making him want to be close and far at the same time. He's looming above the guard and debating whether he wants to hit him a little more, but he wants so badly to be at the horses.
Buckling his gun belt, he yanks his bag up and finds that his breath is still a little too sharp for his liking. It's dark outside and he lingers at the door because he doesn't want to go just yet.
"It was supposed to be a nice time," he says, defeated and feeling the fight starting to sink out of him. "You and I, we were supposed to get a break and I ruined it. This awful price on my head."
Faraday watches Vasquez stomp and huff around – and reasonably, Faraday is in more or less the same mood. He hardly has room to comment. But when the other man pauses in the door, looks so damnably lost, something twists in Faraday’s gut.
He closes the distance again, and though he hesitates, he rests his hand against the back of Vasquez’s neck – all the warning he offers before he yanks Vasquez in close for a bruising, desperate kiss.
There’s no argument from Faraday that Vasquez surely had the short end of the stick, here, but Faraday had spent the whole evening terrified in an ugly, visceral way – a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a skinny snot of a thing, too green for the hard life out west. He didn’t feel this way even on the eve of Rose Creek or the morning before the battle, not even after getting shot or blowing himself up to kingdom come, and not even when he had blearily blinked up at a too-blue sky and Vasquez’s blurry form slipped into view before unconsciousness took him.
No, it took those bastards hauling Vasquez away to who the hell knows where to make Faraday feel real, genuine fear for the first time in ages.
When Faraday pulls back, a second or two later, his thumb brushes over the line of Vasquez’s jaw.
“We’ll get it sorted,” he promises quietly. “But first thing we gotta do is get the hell outta here.”
The kiss brings some of the fight back into him. It's like Faraday is breathing the life back into him with a kiss, like a fairytale he wants to indulge in. He grabs at Faraday's shirt, scraping his blunt nails down the fabric of his shirt, tugging him in and letting out a sound like he never expected to be rescued.
Maybe a part of him had honestly thought that he wouldn't make it in time. The adrenaline of being rescued is warring with that worry and it's pumping through his veins now, which means that they need to get out. Still, not until he gets at least a little more of a kiss, leaning in for a second round as he tells himself not to push himself on Faraday and demand more.
He sees a bit of spark return to Vasquez’s eyes, and he nearly sighs in relief. Instead, he just roughly grabs hold of the other man’s hand and moves.
He crouches, staying low to the ground despite the protests of the old injury in his leg. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any flicker or sound of movement. It’s late, and late enough that no other soul should bother them out here, unless they’re very, very unlucky. (Faraday occasionally thinks that he’s drained his well of luck ages ago, when that first shot in the back didn’t kill him, then and there.
Getting shot again and again, blowing up a Gatling gun, and surviving? That was just rubbing salt in the wound. He hopes Lady Luck doesn’t have it out for him, after exhausting all of her good will.)
But they make it to the horses, and Jack nickers impatiently as they approach. Faraday hisses at the stallion, gestures sharply with a hand to keep the horse quiet, and Jack reluctantly complies, tossing his head a little. Beside Jack, Vasquez’s relatively calm mare stands, waiting.
“Go on,” Faraday hisses at Vasquez, nodding toward the mare, as he prepares to haul himself into Jack’s saddle.
He doesn't need to be told twice to get on the horse now that he's here. He's in such a hurry to get on that he nearly falls off the other side, struggling to make sure that he stays right. It's a mixture of the adrenaline, the panic, and the relief, but he's a little dizzy. Kicking the mare into a canter, he thinks sourly that their plans definitely went awry.
No bed, no comfort, but at least Faraday was able to get supplies while Vasquez was being waylaid in order to get him hung for killing one ranger (who deserved it). His stomach feels like it aches, but nowhere near as badly as his heart as he rides, picking up the pace.
He only stops when he can hear the horse struggling, hating that his own breathing is no longer masked and when there's miles between them and the town, he veers off course suddenly, taking his horse and guiding them to where there's a copse of trees. As soon as he's dismounted, he yanks his hat off and rubs his hands over his face again and again.
"Todo está arruinado, ¿verdad? Nunca será arreglado, esta es mi vida para siempre," he's rambling, babbling, knowing Faraday won't understand, but he'll hear the undercurrent of panic and frustration as he fumbles for a cigarette, striking match after match unsuccessfully.
Faraday is hardly bothered by their waylaid plans, but he is concerned about Vasquez, about the desperation and barely contained panic as he rides. Jack keeps up well enough, and Faraday grits his teeth as it jostles his sore leg. Still, he doesn’t fault the other man for wanting to put as much distance between themselves and the town as they can. Even if it is reckless to ride this hard in the dark.
When Vasquez takes his horse off the road, Faraday pulls Jack up short, alarmed.
“Vas,” he hisses in the dark, but when Vasquez doesn’t stop, Faraday spares only a second to look after him in concern before clicking his tongue, guiding Jack into the wooded area.
He dismounts once Vasquez does, his leg twinging but deigning to hold his weight, and he gives Jack an affectionate pat on the neck before looking to the other man. In the dim light of the moon, Vasquez sounds like a man possessed, moves around like one, too, and Faraday closes the distance between them.
“I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’,” Faraday tells him with a hint of exasperation. When Vasquez goes for another match, Faraday captures his hand, looking at him meaningfully before taking it and the box from him. His own hands are far steadier by comparison, and the match finally catches fire. The little flame glows between them, casting the two of them in a low, flickering glow.
Calming down isn't exactly what Vasquez feels capable of, but he leans in to light up the cigarette, breathing out raggedly once he's had a few puffs. He doesn't want to have to think too hard, so instead of repeating what he's been saying in Spanish, he instead keeps on smoking until he's done, putting it out on his trousers and tucking it behind his ear.
If he sags forward, if he allows himself this weakness, he knows it won't get better. Then again, none of this is going to get better. Life on the road is one thing, but a punishing life where you can never have comforts, that's another.
The trouble is, he sees the future for what it is. There are two options. He either keeps on like he was, never stopping, always hiding. Or, he goes to Rose Creek and he settles where it's safe. If he does that, he thinks he'll be losing Faraday, because he can't see the man settling. He can barely see himself settling, it's just that it's his only option.
"There's nothing to be calm about," he heatedly insists. "I nearly got killed because all I wanted was a soft bed."
Faraday leans against Jack as he waits for Vasquez to work his way through whatever the hell the man has going through his head. As a rule, Faraday isn’t a patient man, but he manages it for now. They’ve both had a hell of a day, Vasquez especially, and he can’t blame the man for needing a moment to unwind.
... Except he hardly seems to be unwinding. Hell, he looks like he’s getting even more twisted up in the reprieve Faraday offers him, and Faraday frowns in the dark, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting together.
When Vasquez finally speaks, Faraday feels himself softening a little with sympathy.
“I hear you,” he says quietly, one hand up in a placating gesture, like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. “But we got out, didn’t we? We’re fine. It’s over. We’ll just be more careful about keepin’ our heads down.”
That's the problem. They keep their heads down, they run. They do it again and again, until they die because they get exhausted. "Joshua," he breathes out, aching for touch and relief and a promise that it will all get better, but he screwed that up the moment that he'd shot that ranger. "What kind of life is that?"
What kind of life for him, but what kind of life for Faraday, too? Selfishly, Vasquez is a man infatuated and in love, he wants to protect him and to please him. This setback does neither.
"What if you'd been later? What if they'd decided to shoot?" He grunts, stroking his fingers over his mare's hair, feeling really strained. "We got lucky. I already am very lucky, I know," he swears. "I tricked myself, I think. I thought it would be different."
“Quit it,” he says quietly, without heat. “Quit thinkin’ about what might’ve happened. That won’t do neither of us any good.”
He closes the space between them again, resting a rough hand against Vasquez’s neck. Faraday keeps his touch gentle but firm in an effort to keep Vasquez from winding himself up more and more. His thumb brushes over the other man’s pulse point.
“I got there when I got there, which was just in time,” he says, certainty putting steel in his voice. “That’s all that matters, and that’s all there is to it. If this happens again? Then I’ll just keep comin’ after you. I’ll get there when I need to, and you’ll pace a trench into the ground over it, like you’re liable to do now, until you get it outta your system.”
He glares back at Faraday when he tells him to stop, because he thinks he's due for some irritation and panic, despite the fact that he doesn't want to do anything other than lean into Faraday's body, wrapping both hands around his neck like he might strangle him.
Instead, he buries his fingers in Faraday's hair and holds on tight, staring at him and trying to tell himself that Faraday's right, that they'll be fine, but they won't be. "Fuck me," he insists sharply. If he's going to calm down from this, if he's going to have half a chance at it, then he needs to be distracted.
Otherwise, he'll just think about how close he came, or he'll be stuck thinking about what his life turns into after this.
The demand startles the hell out of him, and Faraday can hardly help the bark of startled laughter that escapes him. His eyes widen, and his smile is small but disbelieving.
“What,” he asks, almost incredulous. “Now?”
Not that Faraday has any specific qualms on it, but after all the shit that just happened, he almost can’t believe what he heard. He expected at least twenty more minutes of Vasquez raging and panicking and speaking to him in tongues, but— well, if they can cut that bit out, Faraday won’t mind the loss.
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winterfish
no subject
Date: 2018-06-12 06:33 pm (UTC)“If you keep looking so guilty,” he murmurs, “folks are gonna think you’re guilty.”
Faraday has survived this long on his confidence – and failing that, on his uncanny knack for misdirection. He knows when and how to draw or divert attention, and in this case, Vasquez might as well be shouting at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around with the way he’s going on.
“Quit lookin’ like you’re sorry for just breathin’, would you?”
no subject
Date: 2018-06-13 01:39 am (UTC)He does linger closer to Faraday, partly because he wants the cover, but also because he just likes being close. Although, this close, he can smell the man. Reaching for some soaps, he puts it in Faraday's hand. "Make sure we bring this and find a bucket of water. I probably don't smell much better."
After all, how can they? They're on the road so often. He aimlessly wanders, tense as he notices someone outside talking to another man and pointing to him, making like he's going into his pocket for something.
That's not a good sign.
"Querido, I'm going to go wait in the back and smoke, okay?"
no subject
Date: 2018-06-13 06:13 pm (UTC)The store clerk watches the two of them warily, but Faraday only offers the man a bright, sunny smile. He takes a step toward him, but Vasquez’s words interrupt him. He frowns, items in hand.
“Can’t it wait?” he asks. “We’re nearly done here as is.”
no subject
Date: 2018-06-14 12:06 am (UTC)"Can't help being eager for a bath," he jokes, trying to sound casual and warm, trying to make it so that his voice isn't as accented as normal, emulating Faraday's patter in his words. Prying off his hat, he tucks it under his arm and fiddles with his hair, trying to make the curls more prominent to make him look different from the poster.
Unfortunately, he can't shake the feeling that maybe his greed for a bed had been a bad idea.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-14 07:37 pm (UTC)“Go on, then,” he says evenly, with his usual lilt in place. He tips his head toward the store’s other exit. “I’ll meet you out there. I’ll be quick.”
And even as he’s saying it, he’s moving toward the clerk. His pace is calm, seemingly leisurely, but there’s a purpose to his step, a brevity of movement that speaks to some level of urgency. If Vasquez feels the need to beat a hasty retreat, then Faraday doesn’t plan on being too far behind. (He can only move so fast these days, after all.)
no subject
Date: 2018-06-15 12:41 am (UTC)"Hey," comes a voice, from nearby. "You there."
Tense, but trying not to let his hand slide to his gun just yet, Vasquez lifts his gaze to find one of the two men that had been lurking outside the store approaching him. What's worse is that there's a slip of paper out of his pocket, which means that this is going to be bad.
There's only two ways out of this. Three, maybe, if he's lucky.
In every single version, though, someone ends up dead. "I'm just waiting for my friend," he says, trying to sound plenty American. "I don't want any trouble."
There's a click of a gun right by his ear and Vasquez feels the barrel of it against his neck, cold and daunting. There's the second man, then. "You should've thought of that before you killed that ranger," he snaps, glaring up at him from where he stands.
Cigarette still between his lips, Vasquez raises both hands in the air. He's a fast shot, but he's not Billy. If he tried to go for his gun, he'd be dead within seconds. The best he's got to hope for now is that they decide to take him in alive and he can figure out an escape strategy when Faraday realizes what's happened.
"Tie him," the first insists, so it looks like he is going to a jail cell after all. Maybe he should've gone for his gun. Maybe there's not a shred of bloodlust between the two, but that's not a risk to take. He lets them shove and pull him around, scraping coarse ropes over his hands as he spits out the cigarette, hoping that at least Faraday is out in time to see where he's been taken.
no subject
Date: 2018-06-20 07:48 pm (UTC)This town just keeps getting friendlier and friendlier, Faraday thinks.
But he takes his little burlap bag with their items, slinging it over his shoulder as he steps outside. He couldn’t possibly be more than a few moments after Vasquez, but when he steps into the fading sunlight, glancing around, he doesn’t see Vasquez. What he does see is a fallen cigarette and far too many footprints for one man, and his stomach drops straight to the center of the Earth.
He curses, following the tracks; he might not have Jack Horne’s skill for it, but the footprints are clear enough, considering the men didn’t bother to hide themselves. He’s at least mindful enough of the situation that rather than go barreling after whoever has taken Vasquez, like his instinct is screaming at him to do, he goes about it slowly, maintains that easy pace.
He catches sight of the men just in time to watch the two of them, with Vasquez tied between them, stepping into the little ramshackle building they call the local jail. Faraday curses under his breath, casting around and getting his bearings. A part of him wants to rush in, guns blazing, and pull Vasquez the hell out of there, but even Faraday knows he has to go about this smart. If he starts dropping men, then that would surely leave a trail.
For a second, he wishes Chisolm was here. Scary bastard would have a plan in a goddamn instant, Faraday thinks.
Breathing out a sharp sigh, his hands clenching into tight fists, he tries to come up with an idea.
... all things considered, it’s not an amazing plan, if one can call it a plan at all.
It mostly involves sneaking into the jailhouse in the dead of night, while its guard – one of the men who had taken Vasquez in earlier, Faraday thinks – quietly dozes by the light of a single oil lamp. As he suspected, the jail isn’t much of anything; a town as small as this wasn’t bound to have anything fancy. It appears to be a one-room building, with a guard on one side and a narrow, barred jail cell in a corner. The guard sits in his chair, feet kicked up on a nearby bench and his face covered by his hat.
And Faraday creeps in, furious, staying low to the ground and moving slowly, testing each step against the wooden planks to avoid causing the floorboards to creak under his weight.
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Date: 2018-06-21 12:50 am (UTC)Of course, the way it's going, it will take hours. He stays quiet, knowing that antagonizing his captors is a bad idea, no matter how badly he wants to do it. The last thing he needs is one of them to decide to shoot.
It's a shame Vasquez has to go and ruin it, though. He doesn't mean to piss anyone off, but after a few hours of sitting here, he complains about his throat being dry and asks for some water. Big mistake, it turns out, because the burly one enters the cell and instead of water, what Vasques gets is a new black eye that doesn't go with his colouring at all.
"So, no?"
"Not for Mexican scum like you."
Definitely a no. Vasquez didn't even manage to steal a key or a weapon off him while he'd been so helpfully mauled, which is his own fault for not being prepared. As the eye starts to swell, he settles his back against the wall and keeps working at his ropes, eyes on the door. He's telling himself that Faraday wouldn't have just taken off, that he's coming. Maybe if he keeps telling himself this, he'll even believe it.
It takes time, but then, when the guard has gone to sleep, he hears the door. Shifting to his knees while trying not to rustle, Vasquez tries to work a little harder to start tearing his bonds.
Nodding to the desk, he wants to get Faraday's attention to hope that maybe he'll see the gun that's been on the desk. He doesn't want Faraday to shoot, but he doesn't think pistolwhipping the guard into unconsciousness is such a bad idea.
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Date: 2018-06-21 04:48 am (UTC)That’s something, he supposes, not much, but something. It does little for the rage writhing in his belly like some ugly, caged animal.
He catches sight of Vasquez’s nod, follows the other man’s gaze to the gun on the desk, resting in its holster. Apparently the guard had taken off his gun belt while he napped. Slowly, he takes hold of the gun, watching the dozing man for signs of waking, and once it’s fully in his grasp, he reels back, slamming the butt of the gun against the man’s temple.
The man only grunts, crumbling, but Faraday grabs hold of the man’s elbow with his free hand, easing him slowly to the ground to minimize the noise. He freezes, listening, waiting, before he searches the man’s unconscious form for a set of keys.
He finally snags the ring, tucked away inside the man's vest, and he lets out out a small, triumphant sound. Faraday hurries to the cell as quietly and as quickly as he dares.
"Just so long as we're both clear," he hisses, "comin' back here was your idea."
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Date: 2018-06-21 10:48 am (UTC)"Cut me free now, blame me later," he snipes back at Faraday, his joy and relief at seeing him overwhelmed at this specific moment with the irritation that Faraday's words have left in him, rubbing raw like a bad wound. He wishes that the guard had been hit harder, but if he'd died, it would've been worse.
Holding out his tied hands, he shifts to his knees and one foot to stagger to his feet clumsily, waiting to be cut loose, trying to stay somewhat in the shadows. "They took my guns, my lasso," he says. "My hat," he adds, and the bag had gone too. All his worldly possessions, which probably would've been rifled through and sold if he'd been shot, hung, or arrested.
There's a terrifying swoop in his stomach and he closes his eyes briefly, wondering what future he has. It's not a good thought, but right now, he's full of bad ones.
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Date: 2018-06-22 03:46 pm (UTC)Hardly a comfort, honestly.
He slips his knife from its sheath, examining Vasquez’s wrists for the easiest section to cut. Looks like Vasquez got something of a head start, and Faraday carefully moves to work at the same section. He lets Vasquez speak, but he pauses when he hears a strange quality to the other man’s voice, a strange little hitch in his breath, and Faraday looks up from his work, startled.
“Vas,” he murmurs, an worry flares in his gut, cold and bitter. He reaches up his free hand, resting a rough palm against Vasquez’s cheek. His thumb gently brushes just beneath the worst of the bruising around Vasquez’s eye. “Hey, darlin’. C’mon. Look at me.”
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Date: 2018-06-22 05:17 pm (UTC)The last thing he needs is for them to come back and arrest Faraday with him. Not only would it make their chances of rescue slim to nothing, but he's not sure he could bear to see Faraday in a cell and awaiting punishment because of him.
He still squeezes Faraday's hand as he passes, starting to rifle through the possessions. He takes back his things, but steals more than belongs to him, feeling owed. It's a rapid business, but it helps to calm his mind a little, though the panic still is there, making him breathe harder and his vision feels like it's blurry in a haze of trying to understand what's going to happen next.
"You got the supplies, yes? Because we're definitely leaving," he says bluntly, no matter how badly he'd wanted a firm bed under his back tonight.
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Date: 2018-06-22 05:36 pm (UTC)He’s not great at this. Navigating this... romance thing, because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A courtship. Only they’ve skip straight past the literal courting to the good part – which is for the best, considering Faraday’s relationship with patience has always been fraught. But worrying for someone, feeling terrified for someone, spending the whole day, blaming himself for being so slow, for letting this happen—
It's new to him. And he’s not entirely sure how to— do this.
As Vasquez rummages through the guard’s pockets, Faraday plucks down a pair of shackles hanging from the wall.
“Yeah,” a little gruffly, because Faraday’s still feeling the sting from Vasquez’s earlier snub. “I got the supplies.”
Faraday kneels down to cuff one of the man’s wrists to the man’s ankle. He yanks off the guard’s wild rag, while he’s at it, winding it up and tying it tightly around the man’s mouth. A tactic to slow the man down and buy them time, if they need it.
“Horses are waiting for us down the road.”
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Date: 2018-06-22 06:25 pm (UTC)Buckling his gun belt, he yanks his bag up and finds that his breath is still a little too sharp for his liking. It's dark outside and he lingers at the door because he doesn't want to go just yet.
"It was supposed to be a nice time," he says, defeated and feeling the fight starting to sink out of him. "You and I, we were supposed to get a break and I ruined it. This awful price on my head."
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Date: 2018-06-22 06:54 pm (UTC)He closes the distance again, and though he hesitates, he rests his hand against the back of Vasquez’s neck – all the warning he offers before he yanks Vasquez in close for a bruising, desperate kiss.
There’s no argument from Faraday that Vasquez surely had the short end of the stick, here, but Faraday had spent the whole evening terrified in an ugly, visceral way – a feeling he hadn’t experienced since he was a skinny snot of a thing, too green for the hard life out west. He didn’t feel this way even on the eve of Rose Creek or the morning before the battle, not even after getting shot or blowing himself up to kingdom come, and not even when he had blearily blinked up at a too-blue sky and Vasquez’s blurry form slipped into view before unconsciousness took him.
No, it took those bastards hauling Vasquez away to who the hell knows where to make Faraday feel real, genuine fear for the first time in ages.
When Faraday pulls back, a second or two later, his thumb brushes over the line of Vasquez’s jaw.
“We’ll get it sorted,” he promises quietly. “But first thing we gotta do is get the hell outta here.”
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Date: 2018-06-22 07:17 pm (UTC)Maybe a part of him had honestly thought that he wouldn't make it in time. The adrenaline of being rescued is warring with that worry and it's pumping through his veins now, which means that they need to get out. Still, not until he gets at least a little more of a kiss, leaning in for a second round as he tells himself not to push himself on Faraday and demand more.
"Lead the way, querido, I'll follow you."
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Date: 2018-06-26 05:00 pm (UTC)He crouches, staying low to the ground despite the protests of the old injury in his leg. He keeps his eyes and ears peeled for any flicker or sound of movement. It’s late, and late enough that no other soul should bother them out here, unless they’re very, very unlucky. (Faraday occasionally thinks that he’s drained his well of luck ages ago, when that first shot in the back didn’t kill him, then and there.
Getting shot again and again, blowing up a Gatling gun, and surviving? That was just rubbing salt in the wound. He hopes Lady Luck doesn’t have it out for him, after exhausting all of her good will.)
But they make it to the horses, and Jack nickers impatiently as they approach. Faraday hisses at the stallion, gestures sharply with a hand to keep the horse quiet, and Jack reluctantly complies, tossing his head a little. Beside Jack, Vasquez’s relatively calm mare stands, waiting.
“Go on,” Faraday hisses at Vasquez, nodding toward the mare, as he prepares to haul himself into Jack’s saddle.
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Date: 2018-06-26 06:11 pm (UTC)No bed, no comfort, but at least Faraday was able to get supplies while Vasquez was being waylaid in order to get him hung for killing one ranger (who deserved it). His stomach feels like it aches, but nowhere near as badly as his heart as he rides, picking up the pace.
He only stops when he can hear the horse struggling, hating that his own breathing is no longer masked and when there's miles between them and the town, he veers off course suddenly, taking his horse and guiding them to where there's a copse of trees. As soon as he's dismounted, he yanks his hat off and rubs his hands over his face again and again.
"Todo está arruinado, ¿verdad? Nunca será arreglado, esta es mi vida para siempre," he's rambling, babbling, knowing Faraday won't understand, but he'll hear the undercurrent of panic and frustration as he fumbles for a cigarette, striking match after match unsuccessfully.
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Date: 2018-06-26 06:28 pm (UTC)When Vasquez takes his horse off the road, Faraday pulls Jack up short, alarmed.
“Vas,” he hisses in the dark, but when Vasquez doesn’t stop, Faraday spares only a second to look after him in concern before clicking his tongue, guiding Jack into the wooded area.
He dismounts once Vasquez does, his leg twinging but deigning to hold his weight, and he gives Jack an affectionate pat on the neck before looking to the other man. In the dim light of the moon, Vasquez sounds like a man possessed, moves around like one, too, and Faraday closes the distance between them.
“I can’t understand a word you’re sayin’,” Faraday tells him with a hint of exasperation. When Vasquez goes for another match, Faraday captures his hand, looking at him meaningfully before taking it and the box from him. His own hands are far steadier by comparison, and the match finally catches fire. The little flame glows between them, casting the two of them in a low, flickering glow.
“You gotta calm down.”
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Date: 2018-06-26 06:55 pm (UTC)If he sags forward, if he allows himself this weakness, he knows it won't get better. Then again, none of this is going to get better. Life on the road is one thing, but a punishing life where you can never have comforts, that's another.
The trouble is, he sees the future for what it is. There are two options. He either keeps on like he was, never stopping, always hiding. Or, he goes to Rose Creek and he settles where it's safe. If he does that, he thinks he'll be losing Faraday, because he can't see the man settling. He can barely see himself settling, it's just that it's his only option.
"There's nothing to be calm about," he heatedly insists. "I nearly got killed because all I wanted was a soft bed."
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Date: 2018-06-26 07:56 pm (UTC)... Except he hardly seems to be unwinding. Hell, he looks like he’s getting even more twisted up in the reprieve Faraday offers him, and Faraday frowns in the dark, eyes narrowing and eyebrows knitting together.
When Vasquez finally speaks, Faraday feels himself softening a little with sympathy.
“I hear you,” he says quietly, one hand up in a placating gesture, like he’s speaking to a spooked horse. “But we got out, didn’t we? We’re fine. It’s over. We’ll just be more careful about keepin’ our heads down.”
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Date: 2018-06-26 08:17 pm (UTC)What kind of life for him, but what kind of life for Faraday, too? Selfishly, Vasquez is a man infatuated and in love, he wants to protect him and to please him. This setback does neither.
"What if you'd been later? What if they'd decided to shoot?" He grunts, stroking his fingers over his mare's hair, feeling really strained. "We got lucky. I already am very lucky, I know," he swears. "I tricked myself, I think. I thought it would be different."
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Date: 2018-06-27 12:30 am (UTC)He closes the space between them again, resting a rough hand against Vasquez’s neck. Faraday keeps his touch gentle but firm in an effort to keep Vasquez from winding himself up more and more. His thumb brushes over the other man’s pulse point.
“I got there when I got there, which was just in time,” he says, certainty putting steel in his voice. “That’s all that matters, and that’s all there is to it. If this happens again? Then I’ll just keep comin’ after you. I’ll get there when I need to, and you’ll pace a trench into the ground over it, like you’re liable to do now, until you get it outta your system.”
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Date: 2018-06-27 01:30 am (UTC)Instead, he buries his fingers in Faraday's hair and holds on tight, staring at him and trying to tell himself that Faraday's right, that they'll be fine, but they won't be. "Fuck me," he insists sharply. If he's going to calm down from this, if he's going to have half a chance at it, then he needs to be distracted.
Otherwise, he'll just think about how close he came, or he'll be stuck thinking about what his life turns into after this.
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Date: 2018-06-29 06:41 pm (UTC)“What,” he asks, almost incredulous. “Now?”
Not that Faraday has any specific qualms on it, but after all the shit that just happened, he almost can’t believe what he heard. He expected at least twenty more minutes of Vasquez raging and panicking and speaking to him in tongues, but— well, if they can cut that bit out, Faraday won’t mind the loss.
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From:i'm so sorry this took so long; this month has been awful work-wise
From:<333 I'm very happy for the tag! I will reply and then link to a new one with a mini time jump
From:new link!
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