Which is to say, Faraday and Vasquez are a little too destructive, a little too volatile, a little too prone to egging each other on, but if the goal was to bring the house to the ground? Man alive, can they do it well.
They're daredevils, and more than once they've both received reprimands for their recklessness, but they're good at what they do, have worked together enough that they've fallen into a comfortable rhythm. They know when the other means to head left, and they go right to compensate; when one goes high, the other goes low. They spur each other to move faster, to do better.
For as infuriating as they both can surely be, and for as quickly as they stomp on one another's last nerve, they know they work well together – and more to the point, their handlers know they work well together, too. And the two of them are— well. Faraday thinks they're about as close as two folks can get – even closer, probably, given how often they put their lives in each other's hands. They know each other well – probably too well, sometimes.
(One of these days, Faraday will figure out how to rumple up all those stray feelings and thoughts on the matter and hurl them straight into the trash.)
It's why when Statesman need to send two agents in, they usually send—
... well, okay. If they need two agents, they usually send Sazerac and Munbae-ju – Goodnight and Billy. But if they're not available and the mission doesn't call for patience and even tempers, or if literally no one better is available, then Bourbon and Mezcal go in.
Which, after Billy is stabbed in the line of duty and forced to take leave to recover and all other agents are occupied with other assignments, is exactly what happens.
Cognac, otherwise known as Sam Chisolm, calls them in, briefs them on their latest mission: a charity gala.
Or more specifically, a charity gala acting as a cover for an illicit auction of illicitly-acquired nerve gas, which, anyone can tell you, is very, very bad. Even if the irony of it all is, in Faraday's opinion, very, very good. Their objective is to either secure the nerve gas or, failing that, to somehow plant a tracker on it for future recovery.
A couple of intercepted invitations and one plane ride later, Faraday and Vasquez are on site a few days in advance, posing as partners – in a professional and personal sense. Two lovebirds evidently on a much needed vacation. Acting as business partners isn't difficult to do – they've certainly acted that part in the past, made all the easier by their real life partnership.
Pretending to be lovers, though, is a new wrinkle, but a mildly necessary one, given that Statesman decided to put them up in single suite to stakeout the area, to watch the preparations of the party meant to take place in the hotel's ballroom and adjoining spaces.
Faraday, given his experience in drinking himself into a stupor and landing on the first soft surface available to him when stumbling home, elects to sleep on the suite's plush couch.
The days pass and despite their searches, they still can't figure out where the auction is being held.
The night of the party arrives, and so do Faraday and Vasquez, cleaned up and dressed to the nines. It's all exactly as Faraday feared.
Fancy.
Granted, they've been trained for this – for blending in and rubbing elbows with high society – but Faraday has always preferred assignments where he posed as a criminal. Given his humble beginnings as a card shark and conman, that's probably no surprise.
He sighs to himself, hiding his mouth behind a glass of red wine.
Discreetly, ]
We could just shoot the head honcho. That'd end things real quick.
[ Until his dying day, Vasquez will maintain that Faraday is – and always will be – a pain in the ass.
But after working together this long, after pulling each other out of the fire time and again, Vasquez might grudgingly admit that Faraday is at least his pain in the ass.
Vasquez would readily fight alongside any of his fellow Statesman, and he knows they're all capable, strong people who'd see him through any mission. However, years of service has, at this point, revealed that Faraday is the only one of the lot whose friction with Vasquez sets them both ablaze, instead of resulting in some sort of horrendous explosion. Vasquez is difficult, stubborn, prickly, arrogant – plenty of qualities that rub folks the wrong way; with Faraday, they just feed into each other until something gets thrown across a room.
Somehow, it usually manages to devolve into drinks and laughter and good-natured insults.
Recipe for disaster? Maybe. But at this point, Cognac has accepted the hitches that come with Vasquez and Faraday, because they get the job done. Not many Statesman in the world, and for whatever grief they may bring, the two of them are loyal agents, dedicated to their cause.
Vasquez might be hard pressed to say it to Faraday, but if ever given the choice, Faraday is his first pick.
Always has been, always will be.
Going in together is far from new for these two. Posing as friends, business partners, colleagues – par for the course. Incorporating "romance" into that shouldn't be too hard. Considering that interactions with targets can easily require familiarity in the biblical sense, squeamishness around sexual preferences isn't exactly a professional look for a Statesman; Vasquez has swept more than his fair share of women and men off their feet for a job.
He's less accustomed to passing off the same with Faraday.
All that aside, he's not worried. They're both good at what they do, and they're professionals; they can handle the mild public affection with ease.
(Though if Vasquez is more honest with himself, understanding that does little to quell the odd fluttering in his stomach that accompanies winding his arm around Faraday's waist for the first time.
Not important. Not. Relevant.)
When the night the party arrives, time is no longer on their side.
Fancy as can be, Vasquez forces himself at ease as he stands with Faraday in the low bustle of the party, absently watching servers move elegantly between attendees. His eyes don't flick over to Faraday as his partner speaks, but he has to hide his little smirk behind his own wine. ]
It would end our evening, but wouldn't get us any closer to our goal, cariño.
[ They still have to get their hands on the nerve gas, at the very least so it can be tracked. Shooting the boss doesn't get them a location. ]
[ Faraday's eyebrow quirks at the nickname – it's not the first time Vasquez has said it to him since the job started, but Lord knows the man refuses to tell him what it means.
Not that he ever tells Faraday what those stupid nicknames mean. Faraday has no idea whether guero is an insult or not, though not for lack of trying; he's made several unsuccessful attempts at Googling it (how do you spell it, anyway?), and the other Statesman fluent in Spanish refuse to let him in on the joke.
Annoying bastards, the lot of them.
He at least gets the idea, this time around, that it's meant as an endearment, given the context. Probably "sweetheart" or something.
He sips delicately at his wine. It's good, admittedly, or at least he assumes it's good; he'll take a good whiskey over a good wine any day of the week, and he sorely misses his flask.
Vasquez, goddamn him, makes a very excellent point, but, contrarian that Faraday naturally is, he still mumbles, ]
Not the way I'd do it.
[ Which would probably involve getting their illustrious host into a side room, or at least waiting for him to use the john, and providing him a quick end.
But he lets out a sigh, conceding the point at last. ]
See anyone interesting, darlin'?
[ And if Faraday puts a little stink on the pet name, he's at least a little subtle about it. ]
[ The muttering under Faraday's breath is satisfying (and telling), and if Vasquez seems just a touch smug, it's probably only seen by an overactive imagination.
He scans the crowds casually, a hand in the pocket of his slacks, the set in his shoulders relaxed.
He's just a man enjoying the company of his lover, a glass of fine wine, and a delightful gala. ]
Far corner, four o'clock.
[ Again, quiet without giving off the impression of conspiratorial whispering. ]
See the man with an iPad? Looks like a weasel with that pinched face.
[ There is, at least, a reason Vasquez is drawing attention to the man with the iPad: he's surrounded by two large men in suits, and as people approach him, he consults his tablet and seems to direct them one way or the other. ]
[ Faraday makes it a point to look a little absentminded as he scans the crowd – nothing more suspicious than a far too eagle-eyed guest, after all. It takes a moment, but his gaze finally falls on the weaselly man Vasquez pointed out. ]
Lookin' a bit harried, isn't he?
[ Faraday pauses for a second, considering, then as subtly as he can manage, he finishes his glass of wine at a speed that would make a sommelier openly weep.
He lets out a small, artificially dismayed noise. ]
Oh, would you look at that? I need to refresh my glass.
[ And lucky for Faraday, there's a helpful waiter with a tray laden with glasses hovering in that area. ]
I’m plenty focused. I am nothing if not a consummate professional.
[ A pause, then, ]
But I won’t say no to that drink.
[ He nods toward the waiter offering to replace empty wine glasses for full ones near the weasel-faced man – close enough by Faraday’s reckoning that they should be able to eavesdrop without too much difficulty and without attracting too much attention.
If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to overhear where these folks are being sent to. ]
[ Faraday is laying it on thick, but fortunately for their evening, Vasquez finds it more humorous than obnoxious. They may be as close as two people can get in their line of work, but this is a far cry from their goodnatured ribbing. Difficult as they are, Faraday and Vasquez were historically more likely to end up in a friendly fistfight than be caught exchanging endearments.
So it's just kind of funny.
Which is why Vasquez can't help but toss it right back. ]
Of course, mi amor.
[ And just to mess with Faraday a little more, Vasquez reaches out with his free hand to rest it on the small of Faraday's back, giving him a guiding nudge in the right direction. ]
[ To Faraday’s credit, he doesn’t tense, exactly, but he does look at Vasquez askance, an eyebrow quirking.
If he treats it like their usual missions, if he just pretends that it’s a matter of one-upmanship, then it’s not really all that different from the norm, right? Just a series of poking and prodding and waiting eagerly for the other to come up short.
So after the barest of hesitations – mostly because Faraday is considering his next move – he subtly shifts into Vasquez’s space, very nearly putting himself beneath Vasquez’s arm. He flashes the other man a winning smile – your move, hombre – before heading toward the waiter.
His eyeballing wasn’t too off the mark, thankfully, and they do get relatively close to the man with the tablet and his two guards, though not quite close enough to make out what they’re saying beyond a distant murmur. With his new wine glass in hand, he starts to wander idly in their direction.
[ That seems to surprise Vasquez, though he manages not to let it slip too badly. He also doesn't pull away as they wander in the other direction, letting Faraday stay wedged close to him. ]
Not a bad plan. We can get back in touch as soon as we get a sense of the layout, sí?
[ And because Faraday clearly left the ball in Vasquez's court, he leans across the space between them to brush his lips ever so lightly to Faraday's cheek. It's quick but pointed, and he draws back with his own smile, dropping his arm from around Faraday and stepping away. ]
I'm going to find the restroom.
[ Finishing his own wine, he leaves his glass with a passing server, then glances back at Faraday. ]
[ Once again, it takes a great deal of will, but Faraday manages to not go rigid under Vasquez’s touch. It’s hardly anything, really – about as chaste as a quick peck from an elderly but affectionate aunt.
Faraday winks at him as he pulls away. ]
Don’t forget your glasses, babe. You know you can’t see a thing without them.
[ Once he sees Vasquez following at his leisurely pace after the first men sent away by iPad Man. It takes a while – or maybe it feels like a while, given Faraday’s natural inclination for impatience – but eventually an older gentleman is sent off in the opposite direction.
Faraday waits a few moments before pulling out his phone, idly scrolling through – an excuse, mostly, to set aside his wine and pull out his own pair of gold wireframe glasses – Statesman issue, horribly expensive, and thanks to Faraday’s cavalier treatment of them, probably his twentieth pair in the past six months. He slips them on as he pretends to read, waiting to ensure the transmission is active. Once that’s done, he collects his wine again (because even if wine isn’t his preference, Faraday will never turn down free booze) and starts wandering away after the man.
He follows the man out of the ballroom into the lobby – where partygoers are still mingling and chatting, filling the space with the low din of conversation over classy music. Faraday pauses, smiling and winking at a passing waitress before meandering off after the man again. They turn down into a dark little hallway, and while the crowd has thinned considerably, it’s not nearly as empty as Faraday expected.
The reason becomes clear enough when Faraday spots the row of suites with their doors flung wide open, admitting a modest stream of guests and offering a clear view of the goings on inside. He sighs to himself, starting to wander back to the ballroom. ]
Nothing this way.
[ This, murmured into their shared line, and he hides the movement of his lips behind his wine glass again. ]
Unless you want me to write in some bids for you at this silent auction. I know what a sucker you are for postmodern art.
[ Vasquez dismissively waves back at Faraday, though he's reaching into his jacket with his other hand to pull out his own pair of glasses. He unfolds them, slips them on, and the HUD flickers into view. Faraday's feed pops up in the corner once his partner has done the same, and Vasquez bothers glancing up only once before he refocuses on the men he's trying to follow.
Fortunately for Vasquez, the party still seems to continue down the halls, so he isn't conspicuously tailing after these men. They go a little deeper into the hotel, and now, the rate of attendees has dwindled, but the pair keep going down a hall. Vasquez can see another large man in a suit at the end, standing in front of a closed door.
Mierda.
He glances to Faraday's display as his partner speaks, and he only offers a token snort in response. ]
Give me a second.
[ Because he disregards Faraday, reaching into the pocket of his suit to find the tiny metal nodule tucked away in there, and without another word of explanation, he speeds up his pace and calls out to the men ahead of him. ]
Roberto! David!
[ The men turn just as Vasquez jogs up to them, and he claps a friendly hand on the shoulder of one man.
(The ridiculously small bug catches on the fabric of his jacket.) ]
Mis amigos, es tan bueno—
[ But he stops himself quickly, dropping his hand and immediately adopting an abashed and confused expression.
Back to English: ]
Ah, you are not Roberto and David.
[ The two men look utterly baffled, but mercifully show no signs of outrage.
The man Vasquez made contact with opens his mouth to speak, a rolling Welsh accent accompanying his tone. ]
No, I'm afraid we're neither Roberto nor David.
[ He offers Vasquez a small, tight smile, patting his arm reassuringly. ]
No harm done. Just enjoy the party, and perhaps go a bit easier on the drink.
[ Vasquez gives a courteous nod, taking a few steps back down the way he'd come. ]
Enjoy your night, my friends.
[ He gives a small, conspiratorial lift of his chin towards the end of the hall, where the guard is watching the exchange closely.
The two men trade a weighty look, then glance back to Vasquez with somewhat... knowing grins.
A bit more pleased. ]
Same to you, friend.
[ The Welsh man puts just enough emphasis on the last word for Vasquez to find it interesting.
Finally, Vasquez turns away from the hall, making his way back towards the throngs of people.
With no one around to hear him, ]
We'll see if we pick up anything interesting in that room.
[ Faraday watches the exchange in his periphery, letting his gaze wander a little as he makes his way back to the main party, unhurried. The conversation is— odd. Not odd enough to send up warning flags, mind, but odd enough that it sticks a little in his mind like a tiny, nagging splinter. ]
Knowing our luck, they're heading back there for some kinda swinger party.
I'm afraid I'll leave you to that one on your own, guerito.
[ This, at least, is conversational and light, but it's all he offers before he's back among people. He follows the cues of Faraday's display, glancing around the main throng of the party until he spots his partner. He makes his way through the crowd to Faraday, plucking off his glasses to tuck them back into his jacket. ]
[ He sees Vasquez getting close in the display, but when the other man arrives, he keeps his glasses on. Just to be safe, he supposes. If a fight spontaneously broke out, at least they'll have video evidence that they didn't start it. ]
I've been enjoying it as much as anyone should, darlin'.
[ Granted, all the subtle nuances are completely lost on him, but he hasn't thrown this one back like the first glass, at least.
Then, he deadpans, ]
Glad you're back, by the way. I was so lost without you.
I know how you get when you can't see my handsome face.
[ His tone, however, doesn't have the flat quality of Faraday's – if only to annoy his partner a little more.
He plucks up a glass of wine from a passing waiter, resituating himself at Faraday's side. He rests a hand again at Faraday's back, leaning over to murmur in his ear – for the appearance of teasing his lover, instead of what he actually says, ]
You let me know if you hear anything interesting from our friends down the hall, hm?
[ This, a little sarcastically, as he ducks his head a little toward Vasquez, adjusting his glasses. The motion almost looks bashful, the shy turn of someone appreciative of their partner's teasing, but mostly, he's trying to conceal the way his gaze darts around the heads-up display.
A few breaths later, and he taps into the bug Vasquez had planted on the Welsh man. ]
Make me do all the work. Don't see why you took your glasses off.
[ Oh, absolutely not the case, but he can still give Faraday shit. ]
I was going to keep an eye on the party, but I can put them back on, if you want to complain so much.
[ His hand moves from Faraday's back to rest on his shoulder as he stays close – not quite so intimate, but still with the appearance of a private conversation, instead of conspiratorial sniping at each other. ]
[ With the sort of wooden delivery that would make a tree proud.
He shifts back into a more natural position, though not nearly far enough to dislodge Vasquez's hand. This, at least, is a little closer to normal; they have a habit of leaning on one another, of eating up each other's space in meetings – mostly to annoy the shit out each other, but also because it's comfortable, and the other doesn't mind nearly as much as he says he does.
He listens intently to the bug for a second – for now, nothing more interesting than idle small talk between the Welshman and whoever it is he's chatting up. The weather, compliments to the hotel and its staff, blah, blah, blah. ]
I can't believe people come to these things for fun.
[ Vasquez watches the party idly, still with his hand on Faraday's shoulder as he sips at his wine. He's not trying to actively get on Faraday's nerves for now; really, the absent contact comes naturally to him, in their odd, tenuous peace. ]
Not our sort of people, cariño.
[ Because Vasquez wouldn't be caught dead at one of these places on his downtime. Only his training with Statesman keeps him at ease here.
He comes from little, and his interests haven't changed much, even with access to the lavish perks of his job.
On the other end of the bug, the smalltalk continues. It's the same boring chitchat, where the folks involved somehow manage to use so many words and still say nothing at all. It's all normal, uninteresting, until—
[ Vasquez uses that nickname again, and Faraday frowns to himself as he calls up the heads up display. Under the guise of looking around the party, he works at the HUD again, typing in the word.
Or, at least, his best approximation of how to spell the word.
He gets as far as typing in "cari" before that odd little phrase catches him by surprise. He gently nudges Vasquez with his elbow. ]
[ Vasquez straightens with the nudge, and he at least realizes that this means he can't leave Faraday to the surveillance on his own.
He doesn't scramble to get his glasses out, but he pulls them back from his jacket, flicking out the hinges. He slides them onto his face, and the HUD reappears, the feed of the bug filtering into his ear. ]
Maybe we'll have to look for a little privacy later.
[ As in: maybe we'll have to investigate whatever room those men disappeared into.
He sips at his wine, still leaning on Faraday as he focuses more intently on the audio.
"I thought we were starting earlier, Mihael."
"I believe our host was delayed."
"So now we're left killing time?"
"Felix, just enjoy the drinks and the hors d'oeuvres. This should still be worth our while." ]
[ Faraday makes note of the names – largely unnecessary, considering the glasses are recording everything the bug is picking up, but it's better than simply listening.
Once they know the auction, such as it is, seems to be delayed, Faraday licks his lips, considering. Then, quietly, ]
I think you mentioned something about privacy, sweetheart?
[ Faraday follows suit, depositing his glass – Lord above, he could really use something with more of a kick – but he leads the way out of the ballroom. ]
Couple of options.
[ This, as they're slipping away from the main crowd. ]
Back up to the room? Or should we find ourselves a shadowy corner?
[ Faraday doesn't have to force the suggestiveness in that particular proposal, at least – cover or no, he likely would have delivered it in the exact same manner, because he's nothing if not a twelve year old. ]
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idk idk idk
Which is to say, Faraday and Vasquez are a little too destructive, a little too volatile, a little too prone to egging each other on, but if the goal was to bring the house to the ground? Man alive, can they do it well.
They're daredevils, and more than once they've both received reprimands for their recklessness, but they're good at what they do, have worked together enough that they've fallen into a comfortable rhythm. They know when the other means to head left, and they go right to compensate; when one goes high, the other goes low. They spur each other to move faster, to do better.
For as infuriating as they both can surely be, and for as quickly as they stomp on one another's last nerve, they know they work well together – and more to the point, their handlers know they work well together, too. And the two of them are— well. Faraday thinks they're about as close as two folks can get – even closer, probably, given how often they put their lives in each other's hands. They know each other well – probably too well, sometimes.
(One of these days, Faraday will figure out how to rumple up all those stray feelings and thoughts on the matter and hurl them straight into the trash.)
It's why when Statesman need to send two agents in, they usually send—
... well, okay. If they need two agents, they usually send Sazerac and Munbae-ju – Goodnight and Billy. But if they're not available and the mission doesn't call for patience and even tempers, or if literally no one better is available, then Bourbon and Mezcal go in.
Which, after Billy is stabbed in the line of duty and forced to take leave to recover and all other agents are occupied with other assignments, is exactly what happens.
Cognac, otherwise known as Sam Chisolm, calls them in, briefs them on their latest mission: a charity gala.
Or more specifically, a charity gala acting as a cover for an illicit auction of illicitly-acquired nerve gas, which, anyone can tell you, is very, very bad. Even if the irony of it all is, in Faraday's opinion, very, very good. Their objective is to either secure the nerve gas or, failing that, to somehow plant a tracker on it for future recovery.
A couple of intercepted invitations and one plane ride later, Faraday and Vasquez are on site a few days in advance, posing as partners – in a professional and personal sense. Two lovebirds evidently on a much needed vacation. Acting as business partners isn't difficult to do – they've certainly acted that part in the past, made all the easier by their real life partnership.
Pretending to be lovers, though, is a new wrinkle, but a mildly necessary one, given that Statesman decided to put them up in single suite to stakeout the area, to watch the preparations of the party meant to take place in the hotel's ballroom and adjoining spaces.
Faraday, given his experience in drinking himself into a stupor and landing on the first soft surface available to him when stumbling home, elects to sleep on the suite's plush couch.
The days pass and despite their searches, they still can't figure out where the auction is being held.
The night of the party arrives, and so do Faraday and Vasquez, cleaned up and dressed to the nines. It's all exactly as Faraday feared.
Fancy.
Granted, they've been trained for this – for blending in and rubbing elbows with high society – but Faraday has always preferred assignments where he posed as a criminal. Given his humble beginnings as a card shark and conman, that's probably no surprise.
He sighs to himself, hiding his mouth behind a glass of red wine.
Discreetly, ]
We could just shoot the head honcho. That'd end things real quick.
no subject
But after working together this long, after pulling each other out of the fire time and again, Vasquez might grudgingly admit that Faraday is at least his pain in the ass.
Vasquez would readily fight alongside any of his fellow Statesman, and he knows they're all capable, strong people who'd see him through any mission. However, years of service has, at this point, revealed that Faraday is the only one of the lot whose friction with Vasquez sets them both ablaze, instead of resulting in some sort of horrendous explosion. Vasquez is difficult, stubborn, prickly, arrogant – plenty of qualities that rub folks the wrong way; with Faraday, they just feed into each other until something gets thrown across a room.
Somehow, it usually manages to devolve into drinks and laughter and good-natured insults.
Recipe for disaster? Maybe. But at this point, Cognac has accepted the hitches that come with Vasquez and Faraday, because they get the job done. Not many Statesman in the world, and for whatever grief they may bring, the two of them are loyal agents, dedicated to their cause.
Vasquez might be hard pressed to say it to Faraday, but if ever given the choice, Faraday is his first pick.
Always has been, always will be.
Going in together is far from new for these two. Posing as friends, business partners, colleagues – par for the course. Incorporating "romance" into that shouldn't be too hard. Considering that interactions with targets can easily require familiarity in the biblical sense, squeamishness around sexual preferences isn't exactly a professional look for a Statesman; Vasquez has swept more than his fair share of women and men off their feet for a job.
He's less accustomed to passing off the same with Faraday.
All that aside, he's not worried. They're both good at what they do, and they're professionals; they can handle the mild public affection with ease.
(Though if Vasquez is more honest with himself, understanding that does little to quell the odd fluttering in his stomach that accompanies winding his arm around Faraday's waist for the first time.
Not important. Not. Relevant.)
When the night the party arrives, time is no longer on their side.
Fancy as can be, Vasquez forces himself at ease as he stands with Faraday in the low bustle of the party, absently watching servers move elegantly between attendees. His eyes don't flick over to Faraday as his partner speaks, but he has to hide his little smirk behind his own wine. ]
It would end our evening, but wouldn't get us any closer to our goal, cariño.
[ They still have to get their hands on the nerve gas, at the very least so it can be tracked. Shooting the boss doesn't get them a location. ]
Besides.
[ He takes another sip from his wine. ]
Too many witnesses.
no subject
Not that he ever tells Faraday what those stupid nicknames mean. Faraday has no idea whether guero is an insult or not, though not for lack of trying; he's made several unsuccessful attempts at Googling it (how do you spell it, anyway?), and the other Statesman fluent in Spanish refuse to let him in on the joke.
Annoying bastards, the lot of them.
He at least gets the idea, this time around, that it's meant as an endearment, given the context. Probably "sweetheart" or something.
He sips delicately at his wine. It's good, admittedly, or at least he assumes it's good; he'll take a good whiskey over a good wine any day of the week, and he sorely misses his flask.
Vasquez, goddamn him, makes a very excellent point, but, contrarian that Faraday naturally is, he still mumbles, ]
Not the way I'd do it.
[ Which would probably involve getting their illustrious host into a side room, or at least waiting for him to use the john, and providing him a quick end.
But he lets out a sigh, conceding the point at last. ]
See anyone interesting, darlin'?
[ And if Faraday puts a little stink on the pet name, he's at least a little subtle about it. ]
no subject
He scans the crowds casually, a hand in the pocket of his slacks, the set in his shoulders relaxed.
He's just a man enjoying the company of his lover, a glass of fine wine, and a delightful gala. ]
Far corner, four o'clock.
[ Again, quiet without giving off the impression of conspiratorial whispering. ]
See the man with an iPad? Looks like a weasel with that pinched face.
[ There is, at least, a reason Vasquez is drawing attention to the man with the iPad: he's surrounded by two large men in suits, and as people approach him, he consults his tablet and seems to direct them one way or the other. ]
no subject
Lookin' a bit harried, isn't he?
[ Faraday pauses for a second, considering, then as subtly as he can manage, he finishes his glass of wine at a speed that would make a sommelier openly weep.
He lets out a small, artificially dismayed noise. ]
Oh, would you look at that? I need to refresh my glass.
[ And lucky for Faraday, there's a helpful waiter with a tray laden with glasses hovering in that area. ]
no subject
You're wasting a good vintage drinking it so fast.
[ At least there seems to be no shortage. ]
I'll get you a real drink after this, if you focus a little more.
[ Like offering a candy bar to a child to keep them from throwing a tantrum in a store. ]
no subject
I’m plenty focused. I am nothing if not a consummate professional.
[ A pause, then, ]
But I won’t say no to that drink.
[ He nods toward the waiter offering to replace empty wine glasses for full ones near the weasel-faced man – close enough by Faraday’s reckoning that they should be able to eavesdrop without too much difficulty and without attracting too much attention.
If they’re lucky, they’ll be able to overhear where these folks are being sent to. ]
Care to join me, sweetheart?
no subject
So it's just kind of funny.
Which is why Vasquez can't help but toss it right back. ]
Of course, mi amor.
[ And just to mess with Faraday a little more, Vasquez reaches out with his free hand to rest it on the small of Faraday's back, giving him a guiding nudge in the right direction. ]
no subject
If he treats it like their usual missions, if he just pretends that it’s a matter of one-upmanship, then it’s not really all that different from the norm, right? Just a series of poking and prodding and waiting eagerly for the other to come up short.
So after the barest of hesitations – mostly because Faraday is considering his next move – he subtly shifts into Vasquez’s space, very nearly putting himself beneath Vasquez’s arm. He flashes the other man a winning smile – your move, hombre – before heading toward the waiter.
His eyeballing wasn’t too off the mark, thankfully, and they do get relatively close to the man with the tablet and his two guards, though not quite close enough to make out what they’re saying beyond a distant murmur. With his new wine glass in hand, he starts to wander idly in their direction.
Quietly, ]
Split up? See who’s heading where?
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Not a bad plan. We can get back in touch as soon as we get a sense of the layout, sí?
[ And because Faraday clearly left the ball in Vasquez's court, he leans across the space between them to brush his lips ever so lightly to Faraday's cheek. It's quick but pointed, and he draws back with his own smile, dropping his arm from around Faraday and stepping away. ]
I'm going to find the restroom.
[ Finishing his own wine, he leaves his glass with a passing server, then glances back at Faraday. ]
Don't enjoy yourself too much without me, eh?
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Faraday winks at him as he pulls away. ]
Don’t forget your glasses, babe. You know you can’t see a thing without them.
[ Once he sees Vasquez following at his leisurely pace after the first men sent away by iPad Man. It takes a while – or maybe it feels like a while, given Faraday’s natural inclination for impatience – but eventually an older gentleman is sent off in the opposite direction.
Faraday waits a few moments before pulling out his phone, idly scrolling through – an excuse, mostly, to set aside his wine and pull out his own pair of gold wireframe glasses – Statesman issue, horribly expensive, and thanks to Faraday’s cavalier treatment of them, probably his twentieth pair in the past six months. He slips them on as he pretends to read, waiting to ensure the transmission is active. Once that’s done, he collects his wine again (because even if wine isn’t his preference, Faraday will never turn down free booze) and starts wandering away after the man.
He follows the man out of the ballroom into the lobby – where partygoers are still mingling and chatting, filling the space with the low din of conversation over classy music. Faraday pauses, smiling and winking at a passing waitress before meandering off after the man again. They turn down into a dark little hallway, and while the crowd has thinned considerably, it’s not nearly as empty as Faraday expected.
The reason becomes clear enough when Faraday spots the row of suites with their doors flung wide open, admitting a modest stream of guests and offering a clear view of the goings on inside. He sighs to himself, starting to wander back to the ballroom. ]
Nothing this way.
[ This, murmured into their shared line, and he hides the movement of his lips behind his wine glass again. ]
Unless you want me to write in some bids for you at this silent auction. I know what a sucker you are for postmodern art.
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Fortunately for Vasquez, the party still seems to continue down the halls, so he isn't conspicuously tailing after these men. They go a little deeper into the hotel, and now, the rate of attendees has dwindled, but the pair keep going down a hall. Vasquez can see another large man in a suit at the end, standing in front of a closed door.
Mierda.
He glances to Faraday's display as his partner speaks, and he only offers a token snort in response. ]
Give me a second.
[ Because he disregards Faraday, reaching into the pocket of his suit to find the tiny metal nodule tucked away in there, and without another word of explanation, he speeds up his pace and calls out to the men ahead of him. ]
Roberto! David!
[ The men turn just as Vasquez jogs up to them, and he claps a friendly hand on the shoulder of one man.
(The ridiculously small bug catches on the fabric of his jacket.) ]
Mis amigos, es tan bueno—
[ But he stops himself quickly, dropping his hand and immediately adopting an abashed and confused expression.
Back to English: ]
Ah, you are not Roberto and David.
[ The two men look utterly baffled, but mercifully show no signs of outrage.
The man Vasquez made contact with opens his mouth to speak, a rolling Welsh accent accompanying his tone. ]
No, I'm afraid we're neither Roberto nor David.
[ He offers Vasquez a small, tight smile, patting his arm reassuringly. ]
No harm done. Just enjoy the party, and perhaps go a bit easier on the drink.
[ Vasquez gives a courteous nod, taking a few steps back down the way he'd come. ]
Enjoy your night, my friends.
[ He gives a small, conspiratorial lift of his chin towards the end of the hall, where the guard is watching the exchange closely.
The two men trade a weighty look, then glance back to Vasquez with somewhat... knowing grins.
A bit more pleased. ]
Same to you, friend.
[ The Welsh man puts just enough emphasis on the last word for Vasquez to find it interesting.
Finally, Vasquez turns away from the hall, making his way back towards the throngs of people.
With no one around to hear him, ]
We'll see if we pick up anything interesting in that room.
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Knowing our luck, they're heading back there for some kinda swinger party.
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I'm afraid I'll leave you to that one on your own, guerito.
[ This, at least, is conversational and light, but it's all he offers before he's back among people. He follows the cues of Faraday's display, glancing around the main throng of the party until he spots his partner. He makes his way through the crowd to Faraday, plucking off his glasses to tuck them back into his jacket. ]
I hope you haven't been wasting more wine, amor.
[ He nods to Faraday's glass with a grin. ]
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I've been enjoying it as much as anyone should, darlin'.
[ Granted, all the subtle nuances are completely lost on him, but he hasn't thrown this one back like the first glass, at least.
Then, he deadpans, ]
Glad you're back, by the way. I was so lost without you.
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I know how you get when you can't see my handsome face.
[ His tone, however, doesn't have the flat quality of Faraday's – if only to annoy his partner a little more.
He plucks up a glass of wine from a passing waiter, resituating himself at Faraday's side. He rests a hand again at Faraday's back, leaning over to murmur in his ear – for the appearance of teasing his lover, instead of what he actually says, ]
You let me know if you hear anything interesting from our friends down the hall, hm?
[ ... Since he removed his glasses. ]
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[ This, a little sarcastically, as he ducks his head a little toward Vasquez, adjusting his glasses. The motion almost looks bashful, the shy turn of someone appreciative of their partner's teasing, but mostly, he's trying to conceal the way his gaze darts around the heads-up display.
A few breaths later, and he taps into the bug Vasquez had planted on the Welsh man. ]
Make me do all the work. Don't see why you took your glasses off.
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[ Oh, absolutely not the case, but he can still give Faraday shit. ]
I was going to keep an eye on the party, but I can put them back on, if you want to complain so much.
[ His hand moves from Faraday's back to rest on his shoulder as he stays close – not quite so intimate, but still with the appearance of a private conversation, instead of conspiratorial sniping at each other. ]
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[ With the sort of wooden delivery that would make a tree proud.
He shifts back into a more natural position, though not nearly far enough to dislodge Vasquez's hand. This, at least, is a little closer to normal; they have a habit of leaning on one another, of eating up each other's space in meetings – mostly to annoy the shit out each other, but also because it's comfortable, and the other doesn't mind nearly as much as he says he does.
He listens intently to the bug for a second – for now, nothing more interesting than idle small talk between the Welshman and whoever it is he's chatting up. The weather, compliments to the hotel and its staff, blah, blah, blah. ]
I can't believe people come to these things for fun.
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Not our sort of people, cariño.
[ Because Vasquez wouldn't be caught dead at one of these places on his downtime. Only his training with Statesman keeps him at ease here.
He comes from little, and his interests haven't changed much, even with access to the lavish perks of his job.
On the other end of the bug, the smalltalk continues. It's the same boring chitchat, where the folks involved somehow manage to use so many words and still say nothing at all. It's all normal, uninteresting, until—
"The hound walks at midnight." ]
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Or, at least, his best approximation of how to spell the word.
He gets as far as typing in "cari" before that odd little phrase catches him by surprise. He gently nudges Vasquez with his elbow. ]
Might finally be gettin' somewhere.
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He doesn't scramble to get his glasses out, but he pulls them back from his jacket, flicking out the hinges. He slides them onto his face, and the HUD reappears, the feed of the bug filtering into his ear. ]
Maybe we'll have to look for a little privacy later.
[ As in: maybe we'll have to investigate whatever room those men disappeared into.
He sips at his wine, still leaning on Faraday as he focuses more intently on the audio.
"I thought we were starting earlier, Mihael."
"I believe our host was delayed."
"So now we're left killing time?"
"Felix, just enjoy the drinks and the hors d'oeuvres. This should still be worth our while." ]
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Once they know the auction, such as it is, seems to be delayed, Faraday licks his lips, considering. Then, quietly, ]
I think you mentioned something about privacy, sweetheart?
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[ Vasquez chuckles under his breath, but he takes another sip of his wine before leaving the half-empty glass with a passing server.
He and Faraday need to regroup, figure out their next move, especially if they have a few more hours on their side. ]
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Couple of options.
[ This, as they're slipping away from the main crowd. ]
Back up to the room? Or should we find ourselves a shadowy corner?
[ Faraday doesn't have to force the suggestiveness in that particular proposal, at least – cover or no, he likely would have delivered it in the exact same manner, because he's nothing if not a twelve year old. ]
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