cowbabes | you had jesus on your breath (and i caught him in mine)

[ Well, Faraday may not know a lot of Spanish, but the insults, apparently, he understands easily. It's why the observation draws out a quick, reluctant smile – reluctant, because Faraday tries his best to not let the other man know when he's hit the nail on the head.

The rest of it, though, earns a snort. ]

Oh, yeah, sure. [ Brightly, facetiously. ] If it weren't for you attached to my hip, I coulda just flirted my way through every guest and guard till I got to the prize.

[ Vasquez breathes past the bite of alcohol on his lips, offering a hum of agreement – though his sarcasm is only too obvious. ]

Exactly so. What guard can resist the world’s greatest lover?

Scoff all you want, but I don't recall you makin' any complaints.

[ The response is quick, thoughtless.

And he regrets it the instant the words have left his mouth. He freezes for a heartbeat before quickly downing a mouthful of his whiskey, just to shut himself up. ]

[ ... It's probably a good thing Vasquez already finished his tequila, because otherwise he might have choked on it. He still looks startled, if only because that's the first actual reference either of them has made to the... incident.

Vasquez clears his throat, rubbing his hand across his scruffy chin. ]

Well. There was nothing you were trying to get out of me, so that probably doesn't count as "flirting your way through."

Yeah.

[ He says it mildly, focusing on the glass in his hand, on the table in front of him – anywhere but Vasquez.

Absently, he rubs at his neck, right over the marks Vasquez had left the other night, before he straightens in his seat, moving back out of Vasquez's space. ]

Anyway. [ He nods towards Vasquez's empty glass. ] You want another drink?

[ Faraday may be avoiding Vasquez, but Vasquez watches Faraday's fidgeting, his eyes drawn to the marks still standing out starkly on Faraday's skin.

Fuck.

He refocuses when Faraday moves, when he speaks, and Vasquez just nods. ]

Si. As long as it's on you, guero.

I'm a man of my word, aren't I?

[ He drains the last of his whiskey before getting to his feet.

It's a tactical retreat, he tells himself. A moment to buy himself time to recompose himself, to figure out another topic to distract the two of them from this line of conversation.

Or maybe Faraday is making a mountain out of a molehill. There's a very real possibility that Vasquez saw the entire situation as a way of blowing off steam, and that Faraday is, uncharacteristically, taking things too seriously.

The bartender is ready for him before he even reaches the counter, and he plucks up the two new drinks with a quick, grateful nod. She casts him an amused look, tells him that the two of them ought to consider slowing down a little.

Faraday just smiles and shrugs.

He returns, setting the drinks down and sliding back into his seat. ]

Jenny suggests we be kinder to our livers.

[ Vasquez watches Faraday leave (maybe too intently, if he means to be honest with himself). It's hard not to appreciate his partner, given who Faraday is and how he looks, but for the sake of their professionalism, Vasquez has made a concentrated effort to cordon Faraday off somewhere outside of his own interest. Vasquez didn't have too much time on Faraday in Statesman, but Faraday is still the most effective partner Vasquez has ever worked with. They get each other, as much as they may gripe and harp on every small inconvenience. They're a well-oiled machine – and Faraday is surely the closest thing Vasquez has ever had to a real friend (a friend he legitimately trusts).

What kind of an idiot would fuck that up?

He's lost in the staring, tracking Faraday with his eyes as his partner retrieves the new pair of drinks. He straightens up more naturally when Faraday returns, drawing his tequila back in front of him. ]

I do not think it will be our livers that do us in one day.

[ Vasquez manages a crooked grin, trying to project ease instead of focusing on his tangled-up thoughts. ]

[ He nods, and his tone is lofty when he speaks, ]

You're absolutely right.

I plan on being done in by old age.

[ Which is absolute bullshit, and he betrays it by grinning. Statistically speaking, he's much more likely to be taken out when something blows up in his face than literally anything else. ]

[ —and Vasquez just bursts out laughing. It's sustained, too, for a good long moment, before he leans back in his seat, a hand resting on his side. ]

Ay, lindo, you know you're very funny sometimes.

"Old age." [ And he snorts on another laugh. ]

[ Just for show, Faraday casts Vasquez a sour look. ]

C'mon. It's not completely out of the question.

[ Though he gives up the act near instantly.

It is, in fact, completely out of the question, and he made his peace with that years and years ago. ]

What's that one mean? Lindo.

[ If Faraday had to hazard a guess based on the variety of insults Vasquez has thrown his way, it's probably "dumbass." ]

[ Vasquez doesn't seem to realize what he's tossed Faraday's way until the other man repeats it; the endearment came as easily now as it did when they'd fallen in bed together, as strange as that feels to realize.

Fortunately, he recovers quickly, shrugging as he lifts his glass. ]

Eh, more of the same.

[ Vague, as usual.

Vasquez throws back the full glass, this time, exhaling roughly as he speaks again, ]

Learn Spanish, you want to know so bad.

[ That's about what Faraday expected.

It doesn't stop him from cutting the other man an annoyed sneer. ]

You could just tell me when you're slanderin' me. [ Granted, he hardly sounds affronted about the possibility that Vasquez might be insulting him – it is, like the other man said, just more of the same. ] Get us both on the same page.

[ Vasquez's grin is more of a smirk, now. ]

Where's the fun in that?

[ He sets his glass back down, nudging it away with his fingertip. ]

Don't be lazy, guerito.

[ He scoffs again, reaching for his phone in his back pocket. ]

Fine, fine. Makin' me turn to my old friend, the internet.

[ This time, at least, he's reasonably confident he'll be able to figure out how to spell the word. ]

[ ... Oh. Wait. Shit.

Vasquez didn't think Faraday would actually try to look it up, considering how he never does.

(To Vasquez's knowledge.)

He also doubts it'll be difficult for Faraday to find that translation, so— ]

... I'm going to get something else to drink.

[ Something that's not a shot (and allows him to leave the table).

He gets to his feet, surprisingly steady for a man who just downed six shots of tequila. ]

Vuelvo enseguida.

[ —as he beats a hasty retreat. ]

[ Vasquez's abrupt exit is met with a quick, confused glance, but otherwise, Faraday lets him take his leave, frowning at his retreating back. And whatever the hell Vasquez just said in Spanish was far too quick for Faraday to catch. That phrase, at least, will have to remain a mystery for now.

He searches the word, managing to get the spelling right on the first try.

The results, though, are miles away from what he expects – mostly because the translations are far more flattering than their usual insult volleys. Sure, Faraday had jokingly asked if some of the Spanish nicknames Vasquez used on him had meant things like "handsome" or "debonair," but he never expected any of that to be true.

... Jesus wept, he doesn't know how to process this.

He quickly downs a mouthful of whiskey. ]

[ Honestly, Vasquez is partially debating heading right for the door instead of just the bar (but that's probably thanks to the tequila in his system). The unnerving part of this is that he usually is tossing some sort of well-meaning insult Faraday's way, endearing as they may be intended, but rarely (ever?) does he give himself over to something so... affectionate. Their latest mission was the exception, obviously, but that had been part of the role.

This? Far less so.

Jenny gives him a scrutinizing look as he reaches the bar, but since he's not visibly wobbling or slurring his words, she takes his order. She seems comforted when he asks for a gin and tonic instead of more tequila.

The drink takes a little longer than the simple shots, and it gives Vasquez time to sort through his thoughts a little more coherently. If he's lucky, Faraday won't find the right translation. However, since that seems highly improbable, he just has to hope that Faraday will... leave it alone.

(Or maybe they should discuss what happened? Wouldn't that be for the best?

Fuck.)

Vasquez runs a hand back through messy curls, leaning against the bar as he waits for his cocktail. Promptly, Jenny presents him with his drink, offering a sympathetic smile. ]

Don't finish this one too quick, huh?

[ He flashes her a reassuring smile, then (almost reluctantly) goes back to join Faraday at the table. ]

[ Vasquez leaves him alone long enough that Faraday probably has time enough to think things over.

Which he doesn't do. Not really, anyway.

The easiest explanation, he supposes, or at least the easiest one to swallow, is that Vasquez meant it to be patronizing, like saying "bless your heart" when someone's done something profoundly pigheaded.

When Vasquez finally wanders back, Faraday is still a little pensive, a little uncertain – and that becomes more pronounced when Vasquez returns without his usual drink of choice. ]

What happened to the tequila?

[ Vasquez takes his spot across from Faraday again, his broad palms curling around his glass. He offers a dry little laugh and a skeptical lift of his brow. ]

You think I need more than six shots, guero?

[ ... Considering he’s gone through three doubles already. ]

[ An excellent point, admittedly, but Faraday is still skeptical. ]

I've seen you drink more and walk away just fine.

[ It is still closer to daytime than nighttime, though, and regardless of his past life where drinking was done at all hours of the day, he knows that sometimes – most of the time, really – most folks would rather not be shitfaced by sunset.

He still has his phone out, still has his search results up, but while the opportunity presents itself – and because he isn't quite in the right mood to start picking apart Vasquez's intentions behind calling him cute or handsome or whatever the hell lindo actually means, he grasps at the low-hanging fruit. ]

Guero.

[ He echoes it back with surprising precision, given how often he delights in butchering the Spanish words he borrows. ]

How do you spell that?

[ That’s... a shockingly decent pronunciation, given how much Faraday usually fucks up general Spanish, but Vasquez is startled again that Faraday means to google this word, too.

(Fortunately, this is less damning.) ]

Really?

[ He snorts as he takes a slow sip from the glass. ]

Why are you bothering now?

Been tryin' for months to figure it out.

[ "Years" is more accurate. He more or less set to searching the night after Vasquez used the nickname on him. ]

And Sam's been a real pill about it.

[ All right, that’s just... funny, really.

And since this nickname isn’t going to embarrass Vasquez, he finally offers, ]

G-u-e-r-o.

[ Because he’s obviously not going to tell Faraday outright. ]

[ He cuts Vasquez yet another flat look at his obvious amusement before typing it in.

And yet again, he was expecting something pejorative instead of something as mild as this, which is why his expression sours. ]

Seriously? That's all?

Hell. The way you've all been carryin' on tryin' to keep it a secret, I thought you were callin' me something vile.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject