Returning to Rose Creek is a bittersweet sort of relief that Faraday hardly expected. The town looks a sight better from his last time here – and that feels like ages ago, by now. The buildings have been repaired and rebuilt, and the bloodstained patches of dirt, the ruined stretches of earth, have all healed over, with tall grass concealing the ugly history. It’s practically a new town, with all the life that victory has breathed into it.
He rides down the hill, and a few farmers glance up to watch his coming. He garners more than a few shouts of greeting, and Faraday is startled to realize how genuinely pleased they are to see him. Showman that he is, he manages to flash them all his customary crooked grin, even if below it all, he’s miserable. Angrier than a shaken hornet’s nest that’s been lit aflame. The townsfolk are none the wiser, though, and the small crowd happily guides him to the livery stable, then points him toward the inn, now under new ownership.
“You’ll tell us how you been at supper,” one of the men tells him, in that particular tone that brooks no arguments.
Faraday laughs, lowering his head in a truncated bow. “I’ll do just that.”
The men return to their work, and Faraday moves to offer Jack’s reins to a stablehand, but he freezes immediately, spotting a familiar horse. The stablehand, yet another survivor of the battle, crows with delight when he spots Faraday, rushing over and clapping Faraday on the shoulder. The stablehand delights in how good Faraday looks, how improved his health appears to be, and Faraday only nods along, forcing a small, polite smile.
“Mr. Vasquez beat you here by a good while,” the stablehand says, when he notices the way Faraday’s gaze keeps dragging itself to Vasquez’s mare. “He’ll be glad to see you, I think.”
For a few seconds, Faraday can only nod. Soon enough, he shakes himself back to life, and offers the stablehand a smile and yet another promise to see him at supper.
He’s far too stunned to know what to do with this new information, and Faraday moves automatically, climbing the porch steps and pushing past the batwing doors into the saloon. This early in the day, there aren’t too many patrons, but once again, he’s caught completely off-guard by the chorus of thrilled shouts that greet him. There are a fair number of new faces, obviously, but those that he recognizes are all wearing grins as they crowd around him. They usher him to the bar, offer him glasses of their top shelf alcohol, and ply him with questions. “How the hell have you been, you son of a bitch?” are chief among them. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” comes in a close second.
“You here to see Mr. Vasquez?” comes at a distant third.
“I might be,” Faraday says, much too brightly, with a far too sharp smile.
They give him a vague direction, and Faraday thanks them for their hospitality after he finishes his drink. The booze sits like a leaden weight in his gut, sloshing uncomfortably in his empty stomach. He straightens, adjusting his scarf and coat – both newly acquired for the turning weather – and steps out onto the street—
—to be greeted by Joan of Arc.
Faraday’s fingers brush the rim of his hat, and he inclines his head slightly. “Miss Emma,” he says by way of greeting.
Emma’s always been sharp, and she gives him a piercing once-over. They go through the niceties – “You’re looking well.” “Likewise.” – because Emma has manners, and she gestures for him to follow. He walks alongside her along the wooden walkways, until she’s guiding him to the edges of town. She tells him about how the town has been, how well they’ve done since the battle with Bogue, and while Rose Creek hasn’t exactly flourished, they’re still working, still slowly growing and making a life for themselves.
“All thanks to you and the others,” Emma says.
Faraday snorts. “More thanks to you and the balls of steel you’ve got, I’d wager.”
And Emma startles them both by laughing. Faraday doesn’t think he’s ever heard her laugh before. Before he can comment, however, she shakes her head. “You and Mr. Vasquez left town together. Is that right?”
“That we did,” Faraday says.
Emma casts him a sidelong glance. “But you two didn’t return together.”
Faraday clears his throat, tries to keep his expression from turning thunderous. “That we did not.”
She nods slowly, and even if Faraday tries to keep his fury off his face, Emma seems to have a sense for it. He can practically hear something click in her head. “You didn’t know he was here, did you?”
Faraday clenches his jaw and can only shake his head. Emma nods one last time before lifting her chin toward a barn, its double doors propped open to let in sunlight. When he stands frozen to the spot, Emma plants her hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him, mumbling something about “stubborn fools.” A little louder, she says, “Don’t leave a mess,” before taking her leave. For his part, Faraday stays rooted where he stands for a second or two, before he takes a lurching step forward, then another, then another. And with each step, he feels all that pent-up rage boiling over, bursting through him, setting every nerve on fire.
He spots Vasquez seated next to a milk cow, and his hands clench into fists. He grits his teeth as he storms over, making no effort to hide his coming.
Vasquez hadn't been expecting this at yet. He'd known that at some point, Faraday would track him down. If not track him down, he would have found him from coincidence. It looks like that time is now. What he hates himself most for is the fact that Faraday looks so damn good.
The scarf and the coat draw his eye, making that ache in his heart worsen for the sight of him, at least until he sees Faraday starts storming his way. His hand slicks and slides off the cow's udder, stumbling off the stool and kicking it over in his haste.
He backs up, swallowing hard and putting a hand up, his shirt billowing as he keeps back, knowing that this is a consequence that's coming, but he hadn't wanted it so soon.
"Faraday," he ekes out, not his first name, because he doesn't think that he deserves to use his first name.
He knows that the people in town have been dealing with him the whole time, knows that while he's earned some of their affection and care, he still doesn't think that they like him as much as they do Faraday for his actions and they never will. He swallows back that lump and stands, as defiant as a man can, almost backed up against a wall.
Should he instantly get defiant? Should he stand his ground?
"What are you doing here?" he asks instead, roughly, trying to convince himself not to flinch or show how much he's missed Faraday. He wants him and he hates himself for still wanting him so badly, because he has no right to this man, especially not now.
He gives Vasquez a quick once over, taking in the longer beard, the shaggier, curling hair. Skinnier than he remembers, too, but he doesn’t seem to be missing any limbs, doesn’t seem to be sporting any new limps or strange leans that would signal an old wound.
Whole, then, if not hale.
The relief is short-lived, however, when Vasquez stands and starts backing up, though the other man seems to think better of it as he straightens his back, as he tries to inject steel in his voice. The reaction just sparks Faraday’s fury all over again.
Faraday barks out a disbelieving laugh, stomping forward until there’s only a pace of empty air between them.
“That’s all you gotta say to me?” He pitches his voice low – the warning hiss of a snake about to strike. Quite a few men tend to get louder as they grow angrier, tend to shout and wave their arms around, make themselves bigger for intimidation purposes. Faraday, however, just gets quieter. “All this time you been hidin’ goddamn your face in this town, and you’ve got the nerve to ask me what I’m doin’ here?”
This close, he can reach out and grab the scarf by both hands, tear at Faraday until he's taking the man apart and pretending that nothing happened. Here, he can smell how Faraday smells and he wants to kiss him and bite his lip until it bleeds, but Faraday's right.
He's the one who ran, he's the one who's in hiding, and he's the one who doesn't get the right to actually do anything but grovel. This close, he can see how angry Faraday is and it hurts him because he'd been the one to make it happen.
"I left you a note," is his reply, feeling strangely like they've done this before and they have, only the last time they did, it had been a much happier time. "Have you been well? Your leg, are you okay?" He has no right to ask, but he will, anyway.
That draws another laugh from Faraday, loud and bitter.
"Yeah," he snaps back. "I got your goddamn note."
In fact, it's currently burning a hole in his vest pocket. He had folded it carefully and tucked behind his deck of cards. Time and time again, he had held the note in his hand and urged himself to throw the damned thing away, but even as much as he wanted to, he never could. He always ended up slipping it back into its place in his pocket – and he refuses to give Vasquez the satisfaction of that knowledge.
"'I'm sorry,'" he recites, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Vasquez's scrawl is practically burned into his memory. "'It's better like this.' Didn't even have the decency to say goodbye to my face."
And when Vasquez starts asking after his health, Faraday stares at him incredulously, almost outraged by the audacity of the question. The bastard does not get to ask after his goddamn health like they're distant relatives seeing one another after years apart.
"What do you want me to say?" Even his words are drained of their anger and their former fury. This is a fight that would have been spectacular before, but now it's just exhausted. There's a word for what he's been, but depressed isn't a thing that he can actively see himself being, because this heartbroken sadness is deserved, so how could he possibly have the right to be anything?
"It is better, you saw what happened in that town. Say what you want, but it would have been always like that. I couldn't live like this and I wouldn't make you stay with me the way I had to be. You made it very clear how you felt about staying here," he feels compelled to point out, a touch annoyed, because in all the time healing, Faraday's burning desire to get out had been clear.
His hand lifts and drops, doesn't touch Faraday's scarf or neck or face the way he wants to, but he almost tries.
"I did what was right for you, not for us," he says, stubborn on this point and having some fight in him on this. "It's better for you this way," he echoes his own words from the note.
It’s for the best that Vasquez doesn’t reach for him right now. Faraday’s still a writhing, snapping ball of anger, and he’s not entirely sure how he might have reacted had Vasquez tried to touch him. His eyes are sharp, expression thunderous, and when Vasquez drops his hand, Faraday feels a bitter curl of satisfaction.
“Oh, my sincerest apologies,” and his words are imbued with every ounce of derision he can muster. He presses his hand to his chest, feigning a contrite posture even while his gaze still burns. “I had no idea you know so much better than I do about what’s good for me. Why, if that’s the case, I reckon I oughta be grateful that you abandoned me on the side of the road.”
He snorts out a disgusted noise, shaking his head as he rocks back. “You’re full of so much shit, Vasquez.”
Vasquez rolls his eyes, feeling enough to be irritated at the bullshit that Faraday is feeding him in return. He knows he did a shitty thing in leaving him by the side of the road, but he's fucking annoyed that Faraday is insisting that he's full of shit. "I knew as soon as I had that black eye that my only life out there is hiding and violence and fear. My only actual life is in a protected village. Rose Creek," he says, gesturing to the space around him that he's called his.
He's claimed this, almost like he'd claimed the other piece of land with the corpse, but this time, he doesn't think any bounty hunters will be after him.
"You wanted out of here so badly," he reminds Faraday pointedly. "You didn't want to stay, you didn't want a small town life like this. So I tell you and what, you say yes? You come back here and you learn to hate me over time instead of now." He's learned to live with that ache, as much as he hates it. "It's not so good, knowing that you feel different, but at least it happened fast and not slow. Now you can go out there, find someone like an Ethel," he manages, as he burns with jealousy to even say it.
"I know you don't want this life," he reminds Faraday pointedly.
At least, he’s right about Faraday not wanting to live some simple farming life. He’d never had the constitution to stay in one place, if he’s honest. He could only stand rooting himself in a town for a few days, a week at best, before he felt that familiar itch to wander.
He keeps his jaw clenched as Vasquez rails, eyes still blazing with unruly anger. He’s mad as hell, that much is certain. He’s mad at Vasquez for pulling this shit on him. He’s mad at their pasts for putting them in this position. He’s even a little mad at himself, for not wanting to settle, for giving so much of a shit about Vasquez that this whole thing festers like an open wound, when he never gave a shit about folks leaving him before.
Faraday’s just— mad.
Vasquez finishes, and Faraday practically snarls, now that he can get a word in edgewise.
“Stop tryin’ to tell me what I want,” he snaps. And he’s almost sure they’ve been here before, have growled and postured and circled one another like wild animals. The familiarity of it does nothing to calm him. “You ever stop to think that maybe – just maybe – I wanted a say in all this? Instead, you just run off like a goddamn coward, pattin’ yourself on the back ‘cause you thought you were doin’ some noble thing.”
Finally, Faraday storms forward, closing the space between them. He jabs a finger into Vasquez’s chest.
“You keep sayin’ you did this ‘cause of me, but I didn’t ask you to do a single thing, did I? I didn’t ask you to go, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to hide from me. And if you’d just asked me, I would’a told you that I didn’t want some goddamn Ethel. I would’a told you I didn’t wanna be a farmer, sure, but you would’a known that I wanted you.”
"So then give me your say," Vasquez challenges, which is something that he probably shouldn't be demanding like this, especially when he doesn't want to hear Faraday's truth out loud. Hearing him talk about how he wants to leave is the last thing he wants to hear, but here he is, demanding it.
"So what do you want?" he insists, since that seems to be what Faraday wants to air out in the space between them, though Vasquez isn't so sure what needs to be said. "What did you want? Did you want me to come back to Rose Creek and you could be so miserable that you don't do anything but leave me? Do you want to tell me now, to my face?"
Because he can, as much as it's going to hurt him to hear.
Faraday can't help it – he deflates a little, rocks back to put space between them again.
God above, it's embarrassing how hurt he is by all this. It's ridiculous. He's not some lovesick puppy. He's not some child, mooning after the prettiest woman he's ever laid eyes on. He had convinced himself before now that Vasquez's leaving was the other man's own business. He clearly didn't want Faraday, after all was said and done, and Faraday had told himself he was happy to leave him to it. People come and people go, and Faraday had never been hurt by it before.
Until now.
"Is this what you want?" It's all he can think to snap back, trying to buy himself some time. "You're honestly gonna tell me you wanna stay here and— raise livestock? Milk cows and worry about unseasonable cold killin' your crops?"
Should Vasquez lie and say that this is what he'd wanted? There are layers of truth to his situation and why he's back in Rose Creek, but the truth is that he doesn't want this at all. The turmoil of the question sits poorly with him, reflected in his expression as he gapes at Faraday and wonders how he can ask that.
Then again, Vasquez is the one who left in the middle of the night, so it's no wonder that Faraday doesn't know. "I want you," he spits at him, annoyed and angry. Any romance is lost in the angry way the words come out. "But I don't want to stay outside of towns forever. I don't want to sleep on the ground for the rest of my life. I don't want to think the nice people in a town will hang me when they see the bounty on my head, and I don't want you to start fussing because it's not the kind of life that I want, so how could it be one you live without it being a kind of settling?"
Does he want this, though? "The cows, the land, all of this, it's not what I want," he says, "but it's what will protect me. Emma, the others, they'll make sure I stay alive. I sleep and I eat." And he misses Faraday with everything, because he doesn't sleep enough and he doesn't eat enough and he's cold and lonely and bitter at his past.
"What better life does an outlaw get than this? Protection, food, comfort," he lists, seeing as he'd been all but given the farm in exchange for his help. "No one gets everything they want from life. At least this way, I get to keep on living it."
It's the answer he expects, if he's in the habit of being honest, and for a brief, shining second, Faraday lets himself feel smug.
It only last for a moment, though, considering how angry Vasquez sounds, how genuinely torn he looks. Faraday has a tendency to cling to his anger like a well-worn coat on a blustery day, but even now, some of his fury crawls away. The tense set of his shoulders drops a little, and while he still certainly looks furious, some of that heat ebbs, softening his expression.
"You don't trust me to watch your back?" and usually Faraday is an expert in bluffing, can hide dismay behind a winning smile, but some of the truth still bleeds out. He's almost a little hurt, if he's honest. "What happened before – you don't that was bad business. But I got you outta there, didn't I?"
"You got me out, but look at how we were living," he protests. Every time they wanted to go into a town, they had to go through a production of changing Vasquez's appearance, hoping no one recognized him, and if they didn't, then it was the open road and this is fine for some time, but he'd squatted with a corpse because he's a man who craves comfort when you get down to it.
"I asked you what you wanted, you haven't said," he challenges, crossing his arms over his torso as he leans back against the wall, his body language screaming that he's protecting himself with both the space and the shift between them. "You want us to be out in the wilderness, always? Never seeing towns, only each other for company, not a comfortable mattress or good hot meals to speak of," he points out bluntly.
And the words are cast darkly, a little ruefully. Maybe another man could deal with that, but Faraday's always been something of a social creature. Before the business with Rose Creek, he always gravitated toward towns, moved from one place to the next, though he was always careful to never outstay his welcome.
He had adjusted with Vasquez, of course, and while he never admitted it aloud, a small part of him felt the trouble was worth it. Vasquez got on his last nerve more often than not, but there was a comfort in the companionship, along with some oddly-shaped, hazy sensation that he can't quite name.
"It was workin', wasn't it? Me, goin' into towns for supplies and you hangin' back? Why can't we go back to that?"
It's a bad thing to say. Vasquez's expression goes dark and cloudy, a reminder of why he was starting to go stir-crazy in the first place. "That was working," he echoes flatly, wondering if he would ruin all those feelings of being relieved and happy to see Faraday by spitting at his feet.
He'll consider it, but for now, he just grips the bucket of milk tightly and shoves himself out of Faraday's range, to remove the temptation. "Vete a la mierda," he says, and he does end up spitting on the ground. "What's the difference between you and the corpse I slept with? You both keep me safe, you both keep me trapped," he knows he's baiting Faraday at this point, but he's angry that his solution is being said to not work, when it's the one that keeps him alive and happier than someone trapped in the wilderness.
"And one day, you find people you like too much to play cards with, you stay late." Vasquez shakes his head, annoyed. "I'd rather be here, where I can ride out for a day to be alone and come back to safety than that." Even if that's how he would get to be with Faraday and have all the things he wants so badly.
He misses Faraday's body warm under his. He misses the press of his fingers into Faraday's body and the way he can make him open up with slow kisses. One day, in one of those towns, he knows he'll lose Faraday. Whether it's to women or drink or cards or boredom, he will, and he hates the idea that he should be a kept man in the wilderness until then.
"What do you want?" he demands again, angrily, setting the milk down at the door. He wants to her it in words, what he actually wants.
He lets Vasquez move away, and for a brief second, he wonders if he should have, wonders if he should have made a grab for the other man to keep him in place.
That inclination abruptly leaves him as Vasquez speaks, and Faraday's blood runs cold. His pulse pounds in his ears at those words, something like disgust and shock writhing in his gut, and maybe Vasquez expected the words to feel like a taunt, like a bait, like an easy jab to lure Faraday into a fight.
Instead, Faraday just feels like he's been gutshot.
It hits too close to home. It dredges up all those old fears he felt on the road – that eventually Vasquez would tire of him. That eventually he'd feel shackled by Faraday's infirmity, by the old wounds that still plagued him. That Faraday's mere presence would be like a ball and chain, slowing him down.
Vasquez poses that question to him once again, and Faraday just blinks at him, his expression a weird mixture of dismay and nausea and—
(heartbreak.)
—remorse.
For a long while, he's silent, ducking his head and scrubbing at his face, before he can finally muster his voice to speak.
"That's what this was to you?" he asks, voice little more than a bitter croak. "I trapped you?"
He takes off his hat to run his fingers through his hair, not so sure what to think or feel because he thought Faraday would come back swinging (maybe even literally). Instead, he looks like Vasquez has taken a knife to him and prodded at old wounds.
Faraday is also so wrong that it's almost comical. "My warrant trapped me," he wants to make that so very clear. "Being with you was what made all the danger and the trapping worth it." He needs Faraday to stop being so thickheaded and stupid about this, even if his feelings on this matter are so complicated.
It's true that what they were doing was trapping him, though. "I didn't like sitting by myself at a campsite while you fetched supplies, enjoyed the town. Joshua, you're no idiot, not really," he points out. "One day, those visits are going to get longer, longer, and then what?"
"I want a bed, I want meals, I want to not think that every time I go into a saloon, I could end up in a jail cell and you need to rescue me again," he says, sinking onto the milking stool when he feels so fucking tired, running both hands over his face as he hunches over.
I love you, he doesn't say, because it will hurt too much to admit. "Eres todo para mí," is said out loud, and it hurts just as much, but at least it's something Faraday won't understand how much it cuts him to be here, be safe and have all these things he wants, but lose out on the rest.
Faraday nearly snarls on instinct – he and insults never have met eye to eye, especially not when they came from Vasquez. But for once, he forces the distaste down, trying to keep a level head while everything seems to fall apart.
Stupid, really. Idiotic. He had told himself it was fine that Vasquez had left him behind like deadweight, that if the bastard didn't want to be found, he'd leave him to it. But now that Vasquez is here, looking like absolute shit, it's so much harder to just leave it be.
He forces himself to listen – to really listen – as Vasquez speaks. He visibly bristles at the implication that he would leave Vasquez behind as Vasquez had done to him, but he lets the man say his piece.
When Vasquez switches to his mother tongue, though, Faraday can't help it – he throws up his hands and lets out an aggravated grunt.
"You know that damn well ain't fair," he snaps, angrier and sharper than he intends. He winces at himself but after a pause, he presses on instead of apologizing. "You can't just keep sayin' shit in Spanish at me when you know I don't know what the hell you mean. Either talk to me or don't, Vasquez. This ain't gonna work otherwise."
At this point, what else is there left to lose? He's tired and he doesn't think that there's anything that he should withhold. He's said his piece about what he thinks and why he's here, so why not let Faraday know how well and truly it wrecked him to make this decision.
"Fine," he gets out, gesturing absently to him. "You get so mad at me, but you never learn it," he mutters to himself, because even if he's about to fully bare his heart, he can't help a small jibe. He wouldn't be himself and Faraday wouldn't be Faraday if not for it. Rising to his feet to hang up the milking bucket, he grabs his hat and settles it back on his head.
"I said that you are everything to me," he says flatly, keeping his voice steady, but not without emotion. "And I don't say it out loud, but I think it. Te amo, that I love you, you stubborn mule," he sighs, and shakes his head. "Which is why I want you to enjoy your life and not be stuck in Rose Creek with me, that I can't bear to think of you getting tired of me because of my warrant, that I don't want to run it to ruin on a dusty trail."
He's so tired. He's been up since dawn working and this has exhausted him. He's had a smoke, but he needs a drink. "I'm going to the saloon," he informs Faraday. "I'll buy a bottle, if you're planning to join and shout at me more."
Of all the answers Faraday expects to get, that certainly wasn't it.
And it shows, in the way his anger drains away to outright shock, shoulders dropping and eyes widening. The hands he had balled into fists go slack, and his mouth nearly drops open. He rocks back to make space as Vasquez moves, replacing his milk bucket, retrieving his hat.
For once, Faraday doesn't seem to know what to say.
He stands there, transfixed for a moment, letting Vasquez put more space between them as he makes his hasty retreat. Eventually, though, Faraday shakes himself out of his stunned silence as he hurries after the other man, limping slightly. (The turn in weather affects his wounds, and in particular it makes the scar in his thigh put up one hell of a fuss.)
"We're not done yet," he grits out, gathering his jacket a little closer around him. He pays it a bit more attention than strictly necessary, since he's not entirely sure if he can look Vasquez's way, still reeling as Faraday is. "But you sure as hell owe me a drink."
Vasquez nearly points to the nearest seat to insist that Faraday sits and they work on his leg before they continue, but he steadily steels himself not to. That's not his task, it's not his job, and it's not his right to lay hands on Faraday's body like this. He tenses every muscle in his body to force himself not to touch, grabbing his jacket as he heads towards the saloon.
He's been here long enough to have familiarity with folks, tipping his hat to the ones he sees, offering polite greetings. He has no fucking idea how they can't be done (what else is there left to say?), but he's also not wanting Faraday to leave.
He buys a bottle of whiskey instead of tequila and settles in his usual spot, a table in the corner near the card game. He sits here because he can imagine that they're Faraday, hustling someone out of their money. Today, he doesn't need to imagine that, though, because he's here.
The whole process is a reminder on its own about how safe he is here. He's able to buy a drink, he can talk and sit, he doesn't have to lie. Pouring two glasses, he slides one over to Faraday, not sure what's left to talk about. "There, I'll start working down my debt," he says sarcastically.
"You should take care of your leg more," he says, because apparently, he can't let that go. "Or you'll do something stupid and lose it."
Faraday falls a pace behind as Vasquez leads the way to the saloon. He offers up smiles and a few words of greeting to the faces he recognizes, and he’s still a little taken aback by the warm welcome he still receives. In the days before leaving, he recalls being a giant ass, remembers snapping at well-meaning folks asking after his wounds, offering their assistance in navigating stairs or a shoulder to lean on as he made the trek from the boarding house to the livery stable to check on Jack.
Apparently time has soothed away those sour memories, and Faraday isn’t likely to bring them back up again.
They sit at a corner table, and in a different moment, his attention might have been drawn to the card game not too far away. Now, though, he pulls of his hat, setting it on the table as he accepts the glass of whiskey. Naturally, he downs it all in one go, letting the familiar numbing burn travel its way down his throat. He slides it back over to Vasquez for a refill.
The nagging is familiar and not entirely welcome; he grimaces at Vasquez across the table and can’t help but snap back, “What, are you sayin’ it’s gonna get up and walk off in the middle of the night and leave behind scribbled note, too?”
He thinks that he probably deserves the jibe, but it still stings. He pours Faraday's drink a little closer to the rim this time and he sets the glass just before him, his fingers not lingering because he's stung to the point that he snaps back in his chair, back hitting it hard. "You think if I waited until you woke up, I could have gotten away?" He wouldn't have been able to.
"I'm not strong enough to be responsible, that weight, someone else that you love like this..." He's a coward, he knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear. Fuck, he misses Faraday though. He knows he's not allowed to, but he does.
Shrugging helplessly, he knocks back his whiskey, but doesn't refill. "What do you want me to do? I can't go back and undo it? I don't even think I should."
For a split second, when that hurt flashes across Vasquez’s face, Faraday feels like he should be sorry for the dig at Vasquez’s expense – feels like he should, but for all that he feels guilty about it, he’s not sorry in the slightest. Faraday can be petty as hell – one of the many flaws that make up his personality – and a part of him feels vindicated that the comment stung.
But any satisfaction he might have felt is swept away when Vasquez says that. “Love.” Hardly easy for the man to say, admittedly, but even less easy for Faraday to hear, and he quickly averts his gaze to the refilled glass.
He’s silent for a long while, the companionable noise of the bar filling the space for him. He can feel the weight of the townsfolks’ gazes on his shoulders, most of them curious and eager to speak with him, to goad him into spinning one of his many yarns like he used to, back when the pain of his injuries had faded to a dull ache and his mood had improved enough for it. But they’re either too polite or too aware of the tension snapping between Faraday and Vasquez to interrupt.
What do you want me to do? Vasquez asks, and Faraday’s brow furrows.
Faraday is thinking, as he sits there – an ability that many of his compatriots assumed he lacked the capacity for, despite how observant and insightful he can be. (Not that he always is.) His jaw clenches briefly before his gaze snaps up to Vasquez. He leans forward a little, elbows on the table, voice pitched low to ward off prying ears.
“I want you to leave with me,” he says, the words tumbling out a little clumsily, like he worries if he thinks about them much longer, they won’t come out at all. A muscle in his jaw tics before he forces himself to continue. “When the worst of the cold is done, leave with me. We’ll go up north, or down south, or wherever the hell you want. Anywhere they won’t recognize you.”
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winterfish
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Date: 2018-11-05 06:10 pm (UTC)He rides down the hill, and a few farmers glance up to watch his coming. He garners more than a few shouts of greeting, and Faraday is startled to realize how genuinely pleased they are to see him. Showman that he is, he manages to flash them all his customary crooked grin, even if below it all, he’s miserable. Angrier than a shaken hornet’s nest that’s been lit aflame. The townsfolk are none the wiser, though, and the small crowd happily guides him to the livery stable, then points him toward the inn, now under new ownership.
“You’ll tell us how you been at supper,” one of the men tells him, in that particular tone that brooks no arguments.
Faraday laughs, lowering his head in a truncated bow. “I’ll do just that.”
The men return to their work, and Faraday moves to offer Jack’s reins to a stablehand, but he freezes immediately, spotting a familiar horse. The stablehand, yet another survivor of the battle, crows with delight when he spots Faraday, rushing over and clapping Faraday on the shoulder. The stablehand delights in how good Faraday looks, how improved his health appears to be, and Faraday only nods along, forcing a small, polite smile.
“Mr. Vasquez beat you here by a good while,” the stablehand says, when he notices the way Faraday’s gaze keeps dragging itself to Vasquez’s mare. “He’ll be glad to see you, I think.”
For a few seconds, Faraday can only nod. Soon enough, he shakes himself back to life, and offers the stablehand a smile and yet another promise to see him at supper.
He’s far too stunned to know what to do with this new information, and Faraday moves automatically, climbing the porch steps and pushing past the batwing doors into the saloon. This early in the day, there aren’t too many patrons, but once again, he’s caught completely off-guard by the chorus of thrilled shouts that greet him. There are a fair number of new faces, obviously, but those that he recognizes are all wearing grins as they crowd around him. They usher him to the bar, offer him glasses of their top shelf alcohol, and ply him with questions. “How the hell have you been, you son of a bitch?” are chief among them. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” comes in a close second.
“You here to see Mr. Vasquez?” comes at a distant third.
“I might be,” Faraday says, much too brightly, with a far too sharp smile.
They give him a vague direction, and Faraday thanks them for their hospitality after he finishes his drink. The booze sits like a leaden weight in his gut, sloshing uncomfortably in his empty stomach. He straightens, adjusting his scarf and coat – both newly acquired for the turning weather – and steps out onto the street—
—to be greeted by Joan of Arc.
Faraday’s fingers brush the rim of his hat, and he inclines his head slightly. “Miss Emma,” he says by way of greeting.
Emma’s always been sharp, and she gives him a piercing once-over. They go through the niceties – “You’re looking well.” “Likewise.” – because Emma has manners, and she gestures for him to follow. He walks alongside her along the wooden walkways, until she’s guiding him to the edges of town. She tells him about how the town has been, how well they’ve done since the battle with Bogue, and while Rose Creek hasn’t exactly flourished, they’re still working, still slowly growing and making a life for themselves.
“All thanks to you and the others,” Emma says.
Faraday snorts. “More thanks to you and the balls of steel you’ve got, I’d wager.”
And Emma startles them both by laughing. Faraday doesn’t think he’s ever heard her laugh before. Before he can comment, however, she shakes her head. “You and Mr. Vasquez left town together. Is that right?”
“That we did,” Faraday says.
Emma casts him a sidelong glance. “But you two didn’t return together.”
Faraday clears his throat, tries to keep his expression from turning thunderous. “That we did not.”
She nods slowly, and even if Faraday tries to keep his fury off his face, Emma seems to have a sense for it. He can practically hear something click in her head. “You didn’t know he was here, did you?”
Faraday clenches his jaw and can only shake his head. Emma nods one last time before lifting her chin toward a barn, its double doors propped open to let in sunlight. When he stands frozen to the spot, Emma plants her hand between his shoulder blades and shoves him, mumbling something about “stubborn fools.” A little louder, she says, “Don’t leave a mess,” before taking her leave. For his part, Faraday stays rooted where he stands for a second or two, before he takes a lurching step forward, then another, then another. And with each step, he feels all that pent-up rage boiling over, bursting through him, setting every nerve on fire.
He spots Vasquez seated next to a milk cow, and his hands clench into fists. He grits his teeth as he storms over, making no effort to hide his coming.
“You goddamn son of a bitch.”
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Date: 2018-11-05 10:59 pm (UTC)The scarf and the coat draw his eye, making that ache in his heart worsen for the sight of him, at least until he sees Faraday starts storming his way. His hand slicks and slides off the cow's udder, stumbling off the stool and kicking it over in his haste.
He backs up, swallowing hard and putting a hand up, his shirt billowing as he keeps back, knowing that this is a consequence that's coming, but he hadn't wanted it so soon.
"Faraday," he ekes out, not his first name, because he doesn't think that he deserves to use his first name.
He knows that the people in town have been dealing with him the whole time, knows that while he's earned some of their affection and care, he still doesn't think that they like him as much as they do Faraday for his actions and they never will. He swallows back that lump and stands, as defiant as a man can, almost backed up against a wall.
Should he instantly get defiant? Should he stand his ground?
"What are you doing here?" he asks instead, roughly, trying to convince himself not to flinch or show how much he's missed Faraday. He wants him and he hates himself for still wanting him so badly, because he has no right to this man, especially not now.
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Date: 2018-11-05 11:28 pm (UTC)Whole, then, if not hale.
The relief is short-lived, however, when Vasquez stands and starts backing up, though the other man seems to think better of it as he straightens his back, as he tries to inject steel in his voice. The reaction just sparks Faraday’s fury all over again.
Faraday barks out a disbelieving laugh, stomping forward until there’s only a pace of empty air between them.
“That’s all you gotta say to me?” He pitches his voice low – the warning hiss of a snake about to strike. Quite a few men tend to get louder as they grow angrier, tend to shout and wave their arms around, make themselves bigger for intimidation purposes. Faraday, however, just gets quieter. “All this time you been hidin’ goddamn your face in this town, and you’ve got the nerve to ask me what I’m doin’ here?”
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Date: 2018-11-06 12:58 am (UTC)He's the one who ran, he's the one who's in hiding, and he's the one who doesn't get the right to actually do anything but grovel. This close, he can see how angry Faraday is and it hurts him because he'd been the one to make it happen.
"I left you a note," is his reply, feeling strangely like they've done this before and they have, only the last time they did, it had been a much happier time. "Have you been well? Your leg, are you okay?" He has no right to ask, but he will, anyway.
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Date: 2018-11-06 04:45 am (UTC)"Yeah," he snaps back. "I got your goddamn note."
In fact, it's currently burning a hole in his vest pocket. He had folded it carefully and tucked behind his deck of cards. Time and time again, he had held the note in his hand and urged himself to throw the damned thing away, but even as much as he wanted to, he never could. He always ended up slipping it back into its place in his pocket – and he refuses to give Vasquez the satisfaction of that knowledge.
"'I'm sorry,'" he recites, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Vasquez's scrawl is practically burned into his memory. "'It's better like this.' Didn't even have the decency to say goodbye to my face."
And when Vasquez starts asking after his health, Faraday stares at him incredulously, almost outraged by the audacity of the question. The bastard does not get to ask after his goddamn health like they're distant relatives seeing one another after years apart.
"Don't try to change the damn subject, you ass."
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Date: 2018-11-06 10:23 am (UTC)"It is better, you saw what happened in that town. Say what you want, but it would have been always like that. I couldn't live like this and I wouldn't make you stay with me the way I had to be. You made it very clear how you felt about staying here," he feels compelled to point out, a touch annoyed, because in all the time healing, Faraday's burning desire to get out had been clear.
His hand lifts and drops, doesn't touch Faraday's scarf or neck or face the way he wants to, but he almost tries.
"I did what was right for you, not for us," he says, stubborn on this point and having some fight in him on this. "It's better for you this way," he echoes his own words from the note.
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Date: 2018-11-06 06:02 pm (UTC)“Oh, my sincerest apologies,” and his words are imbued with every ounce of derision he can muster. He presses his hand to his chest, feigning a contrite posture even while his gaze still burns. “I had no idea you know so much better than I do about what’s good for me. Why, if that’s the case, I reckon I oughta be grateful that you abandoned me on the side of the road.”
He snorts out a disgusted noise, shaking his head as he rocks back. “You’re full of so much shit, Vasquez.”
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Date: 2018-11-06 10:30 pm (UTC)He's claimed this, almost like he'd claimed the other piece of land with the corpse, but this time, he doesn't think any bounty hunters will be after him.
"You wanted out of here so badly," he reminds Faraday pointedly. "You didn't want to stay, you didn't want a small town life like this. So I tell you and what, you say yes? You come back here and you learn to hate me over time instead of now." He's learned to live with that ache, as much as he hates it. "It's not so good, knowing that you feel different, but at least it happened fast and not slow. Now you can go out there, find someone like an Ethel," he manages, as he burns with jealousy to even say it.
"I know you don't want this life," he reminds Faraday pointedly.
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Date: 2018-11-06 11:40 pm (UTC)At least, he’s right about Faraday not wanting to live some simple farming life. He’d never had the constitution to stay in one place, if he’s honest. He could only stand rooting himself in a town for a few days, a week at best, before he felt that familiar itch to wander.
He keeps his jaw clenched as Vasquez rails, eyes still blazing with unruly anger. He’s mad as hell, that much is certain. He’s mad at Vasquez for pulling this shit on him. He’s mad at their pasts for putting them in this position. He’s even a little mad at himself, for not wanting to settle, for giving so much of a shit about Vasquez that this whole thing festers like an open wound, when he never gave a shit about folks leaving him before.
Faraday’s just— mad.
Vasquez finishes, and Faraday practically snarls, now that he can get a word in edgewise.
“Stop tryin’ to tell me what I want,” he snaps. And he’s almost sure they’ve been here before, have growled and postured and circled one another like wild animals. The familiarity of it does nothing to calm him. “You ever stop to think that maybe – just maybe – I wanted a say in all this? Instead, you just run off like a goddamn coward, pattin’ yourself on the back ‘cause you thought you were doin’ some noble thing.”
Finally, Faraday storms forward, closing the space between them. He jabs a finger into Vasquez’s chest.
“You keep sayin’ you did this ‘cause of me, but I didn’t ask you to do a single thing, did I? I didn’t ask you to go, and I sure as hell didn’t ask you to hide from me. And if you’d just asked me, I would’a told you that I didn’t want some goddamn Ethel. I would’a told you I didn’t wanna be a farmer, sure, but you would’a known that I wanted you.”
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Date: 2018-11-07 07:13 am (UTC)"So what do you want?" he insists, since that seems to be what Faraday wants to air out in the space between them, though Vasquez isn't so sure what needs to be said. "What did you want? Did you want me to come back to Rose Creek and you could be so miserable that you don't do anything but leave me? Do you want to tell me now, to my face?"
Because he can, as much as it's going to hurt him to hear.
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Date: 2018-11-11 04:23 am (UTC)God above, it's embarrassing how hurt he is by all this. It's ridiculous. He's not some lovesick puppy. He's not some child, mooning after the prettiest woman he's ever laid eyes on. He had convinced himself before now that Vasquez's leaving was the other man's own business. He clearly didn't want Faraday, after all was said and done, and Faraday had told himself he was happy to leave him to it. People come and people go, and Faraday had never been hurt by it before.
Until now.
"Is this what you want?" It's all he can think to snap back, trying to buy himself some time. "You're honestly gonna tell me you wanna stay here and— raise livestock? Milk cows and worry about unseasonable cold killin' your crops?"
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Date: 2018-11-11 04:41 am (UTC)Should Vasquez lie and say that this is what he'd wanted? There are layers of truth to his situation and why he's back in Rose Creek, but the truth is that he doesn't want this at all. The turmoil of the question sits poorly with him, reflected in his expression as he gapes at Faraday and wonders how he can ask that.
Then again, Vasquez is the one who left in the middle of the night, so it's no wonder that Faraday doesn't know. "I want you," he spits at him, annoyed and angry. Any romance is lost in the angry way the words come out. "But I don't want to stay outside of towns forever. I don't want to sleep on the ground for the rest of my life. I don't want to think the nice people in a town will hang me when they see the bounty on my head, and I don't want you to start fussing because it's not the kind of life that I want, so how could it be one you live without it being a kind of settling?"
Does he want this, though? "The cows, the land, all of this, it's not what I want," he says, "but it's what will protect me. Emma, the others, they'll make sure I stay alive. I sleep and I eat." And he misses Faraday with everything, because he doesn't sleep enough and he doesn't eat enough and he's cold and lonely and bitter at his past.
"What better life does an outlaw get than this? Protection, food, comfort," he lists, seeing as he'd been all but given the farm in exchange for his help. "No one gets everything they want from life. At least this way, I get to keep on living it."
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Date: 2018-11-11 04:48 am (UTC)It only last for a moment, though, considering how angry Vasquez sounds, how genuinely torn he looks. Faraday has a tendency to cling to his anger like a well-worn coat on a blustery day, but even now, some of his fury crawls away. The tense set of his shoulders drops a little, and while he still certainly looks furious, some of that heat ebbs, softening his expression.
"You don't trust me to watch your back?" and usually Faraday is an expert in bluffing, can hide dismay behind a winning smile, but some of the truth still bleeds out. He's almost a little hurt, if he's honest. "What happened before – you don't that was bad business. But I got you outta there, didn't I?"
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Date: 2018-11-11 05:04 am (UTC)"I asked you what you wanted, you haven't said," he challenges, crossing his arms over his torso as he leans back against the wall, his body language screaming that he's protecting himself with both the space and the shift between them. "You want us to be out in the wilderness, always? Never seeing towns, only each other for company, not a comfortable mattress or good hot meals to speak of," he points out bluntly.
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Date: 2018-11-29 10:00 am (UTC)And the words are cast darkly, a little ruefully. Maybe another man could deal with that, but Faraday's always been something of a social creature. Before the business with Rose Creek, he always gravitated toward towns, moved from one place to the next, though he was always careful to never outstay his welcome.
He had adjusted with Vasquez, of course, and while he never admitted it aloud, a small part of him felt the trouble was worth it. Vasquez got on his last nerve more often than not, but there was a comfort in the companionship, along with some oddly-shaped, hazy sensation that he can't quite name.
"It was workin', wasn't it? Me, goin' into towns for supplies and you hangin' back? Why can't we go back to that?"
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Date: 2018-11-29 11:40 am (UTC)He'll consider it, but for now, he just grips the bucket of milk tightly and shoves himself out of Faraday's range, to remove the temptation. "Vete a la mierda," he says, and he does end up spitting on the ground. "What's the difference between you and the corpse I slept with? You both keep me safe, you both keep me trapped," he knows he's baiting Faraday at this point, but he's angry that his solution is being said to not work, when it's the one that keeps him alive and happier than someone trapped in the wilderness.
"And one day, you find people you like too much to play cards with, you stay late." Vasquez shakes his head, annoyed. "I'd rather be here, where I can ride out for a day to be alone and come back to safety than that." Even if that's how he would get to be with Faraday and have all the things he wants so badly.
He misses Faraday's body warm under his. He misses the press of his fingers into Faraday's body and the way he can make him open up with slow kisses. One day, in one of those towns, he knows he'll lose Faraday. Whether it's to women or drink or cards or boredom, he will, and he hates the idea that he should be a kept man in the wilderness until then.
"What do you want?" he demands again, angrily, setting the milk down at the door. He wants to her it in words, what he actually wants.
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Date: 2018-12-11 09:38 am (UTC)That inclination abruptly leaves him as Vasquez speaks, and Faraday's blood runs cold. His pulse pounds in his ears at those words, something like disgust and shock writhing in his gut, and maybe Vasquez expected the words to feel like a taunt, like a bait, like an easy jab to lure Faraday into a fight.
Instead, Faraday just feels like he's been gutshot.
It hits too close to home. It dredges up all those old fears he felt on the road – that eventually Vasquez would tire of him. That eventually he'd feel shackled by Faraday's infirmity, by the old wounds that still plagued him. That Faraday's mere presence would be like a ball and chain, slowing him down.
Vasquez poses that question to him once again, and Faraday just blinks at him, his expression a weird mixture of dismay and nausea and—
(heartbreak.)
—remorse.
For a long while, he's silent, ducking his head and scrubbing at his face, before he can finally muster his voice to speak.
"That's what this was to you?" he asks, voice little more than a bitter croak. "I trapped you?"
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Date: 2018-12-11 11:30 am (UTC)Faraday is also so wrong that it's almost comical. "My warrant trapped me," he wants to make that so very clear. "Being with you was what made all the danger and the trapping worth it." He needs Faraday to stop being so thickheaded and stupid about this, even if his feelings on this matter are so complicated.
It's true that what they were doing was trapping him, though. "I didn't like sitting by myself at a campsite while you fetched supplies, enjoyed the town. Joshua, you're no idiot, not really," he points out. "One day, those visits are going to get longer, longer, and then what?"
"I want a bed, I want meals, I want to not think that every time I go into a saloon, I could end up in a jail cell and you need to rescue me again," he says, sinking onto the milking stool when he feels so fucking tired, running both hands over his face as he hunches over.
I love you, he doesn't say, because it will hurt too much to admit. "Eres todo para mí," is said out loud, and it hurts just as much, but at least it's something Faraday won't understand how much it cuts him to be here, be safe and have all these things he wants, but lose out on the rest.
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Date: 2018-12-25 08:06 am (UTC)Stupid, really. Idiotic. He had told himself it was fine that Vasquez had left him behind like deadweight, that if the bastard didn't want to be found, he'd leave him to it. But now that Vasquez is here, looking like absolute shit, it's so much harder to just leave it be.
He forces himself to listen – to really listen – as Vasquez speaks. He visibly bristles at the implication that he would leave Vasquez behind as Vasquez had done to him, but he lets the man say his piece.
When Vasquez switches to his mother tongue, though, Faraday can't help it – he throws up his hands and lets out an aggravated grunt.
"You know that damn well ain't fair," he snaps, angrier and sharper than he intends. He winces at himself but after a pause, he presses on instead of apologizing. "You can't just keep sayin' shit in Spanish at me when you know I don't know what the hell you mean. Either talk to me or don't, Vasquez. This ain't gonna work otherwise."
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Date: 2018-12-26 04:10 am (UTC)"Fine," he gets out, gesturing absently to him. "You get so mad at me, but you never learn it," he mutters to himself, because even if he's about to fully bare his heart, he can't help a small jibe. He wouldn't be himself and Faraday wouldn't be Faraday if not for it. Rising to his feet to hang up the milking bucket, he grabs his hat and settles it back on his head.
"I said that you are everything to me," he says flatly, keeping his voice steady, but not without emotion. "And I don't say it out loud, but I think it. Te amo, that I love you, you stubborn mule," he sighs, and shakes his head. "Which is why I want you to enjoy your life and not be stuck in Rose Creek with me, that I can't bear to think of you getting tired of me because of my warrant, that I don't want to run it to ruin on a dusty trail."
He's so tired. He's been up since dawn working and this has exhausted him. He's had a smoke, but he needs a drink. "I'm going to the saloon," he informs Faraday. "I'll buy a bottle, if you're planning to join and shout at me more."
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Date: 2019-01-09 05:28 am (UTC)And it shows, in the way his anger drains away to outright shock, shoulders dropping and eyes widening. The hands he had balled into fists go slack, and his mouth nearly drops open. He rocks back to make space as Vasquez moves, replacing his milk bucket, retrieving his hat.
For once, Faraday doesn't seem to know what to say.
He stands there, transfixed for a moment, letting Vasquez put more space between them as he makes his hasty retreat. Eventually, though, Faraday shakes himself out of his stunned silence as he hurries after the other man, limping slightly. (The turn in weather affects his wounds, and in particular it makes the scar in his thigh put up one hell of a fuss.)
"We're not done yet," he grits out, gathering his jacket a little closer around him. He pays it a bit more attention than strictly necessary, since he's not entirely sure if he can look Vasquez's way, still reeling as Faraday is. "But you sure as hell owe me a drink."
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Date: 2019-01-09 02:17 pm (UTC)He's been here long enough to have familiarity with folks, tipping his hat to the ones he sees, offering polite greetings. He has no fucking idea how they can't be done (what else is there left to say?), but he's also not wanting Faraday to leave.
He buys a bottle of whiskey instead of tequila and settles in his usual spot, a table in the corner near the card game. He sits here because he can imagine that they're Faraday, hustling someone out of their money. Today, he doesn't need to imagine that, though, because he's here.
The whole process is a reminder on its own about how safe he is here. He's able to buy a drink, he can talk and sit, he doesn't have to lie. Pouring two glasses, he slides one over to Faraday, not sure what's left to talk about. "There, I'll start working down my debt," he says sarcastically.
"You should take care of your leg more," he says, because apparently, he can't let that go. "Or you'll do something stupid and lose it."
no subject
Date: 2019-01-11 07:08 pm (UTC)Apparently time has soothed away those sour memories, and Faraday isn’t likely to bring them back up again.
They sit at a corner table, and in a different moment, his attention might have been drawn to the card game not too far away. Now, though, he pulls of his hat, setting it on the table as he accepts the glass of whiskey. Naturally, he downs it all in one go, letting the familiar numbing burn travel its way down his throat. He slides it back over to Vasquez for a refill.
The nagging is familiar and not entirely welcome; he grimaces at Vasquez across the table and can’t help but snap back, “What, are you sayin’ it’s gonna get up and walk off in the middle of the night and leave behind scribbled note, too?”
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Date: 2019-01-12 12:07 am (UTC)"I'm not strong enough to be responsible, that weight, someone else that you love like this..." He's a coward, he knows that, but it doesn't make it any easier to bear. Fuck, he misses Faraday though. He knows he's not allowed to, but he does.
Shrugging helplessly, he knocks back his whiskey, but doesn't refill. "What do you want me to do? I can't go back and undo it? I don't even think I should."
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Date: 2019-01-31 01:14 am (UTC)But any satisfaction he might have felt is swept away when Vasquez says that. “Love.” Hardly easy for the man to say, admittedly, but even less easy for Faraday to hear, and he quickly averts his gaze to the refilled glass.
He’s silent for a long while, the companionable noise of the bar filling the space for him. He can feel the weight of the townsfolks’ gazes on his shoulders, most of them curious and eager to speak with him, to goad him into spinning one of his many yarns like he used to, back when the pain of his injuries had faded to a dull ache and his mood had improved enough for it. But they’re either too polite or too aware of the tension snapping between Faraday and Vasquez to interrupt.
What do you want me to do? Vasquez asks, and Faraday’s brow furrows.
Faraday is thinking, as he sits there – an ability that many of his compatriots assumed he lacked the capacity for, despite how observant and insightful he can be. (Not that he always is.) His jaw clenches briefly before his gaze snaps up to Vasquez. He leans forward a little, elbows on the table, voice pitched low to ward off prying ears.
“I want you to leave with me,” he says, the words tumbling out a little clumsily, like he worries if he thinks about them much longer, they won’t come out at all. A muscle in his jaw tics before he forces himself to continue. “When the worst of the cold is done, leave with me. We’ll go up north, or down south, or wherever the hell you want. Anywhere they won’t recognize you.”
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