no subject

[ That reassurance draws another reluctant smile from him, albeit a smaller one, this time.

It's practically muscle memory – when Vasquez pushes his glass back over, Faraday picks up the bottle and pours out a generous share.

As he's pushing the glass back over, ]

I dunno how it's gonna be, this time.

[ Granted, he barely knows how it'll be any time, but this instance has a lot more variables than he's ever had to contend with before. ]

I've got no way of knowing if all this—

[ An honest warning, and he punctuates it by gesturing to himself, encompassing the partially-healed wounds and fading bruises. ]

—will calm it down, or just piss it the hell off.