[ 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. ]
[ 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, ]
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 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.
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ 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. ]
[ Vasquez just sips at his drink, waiting patiently for Faraday to finish his search. Unlike before, he grins instead of bolting when Faraday turns back to him. ]
I just thought it was funny how you kept getting so riled up because of it.
[ For once, Faraday doesn't escalate – mostly because he likes this bar, and the bartenders here know them well enough that they tend to be generous with their pours; he'd rather not cause any trouble with his and Vasquez's usual roughhousing.
Still, he shoots Vasquez another sour look, and maybe he's feeling a little petty, now, considering he's realized that half the team has been keeping that mundane little nickname a secret from him for shits and giggles. It's why he blurts out, ]
Now, what's that mean? Or are you just tryin' to use Spanish again to hide shit, like how you think I'm cute?
[ Vasquez is used to Faraday griping and complaining (sulking, though he probably wouldn’t actually say that to his partner’s face), so he expects much of the same. But that particular snipe knocks Vasquez’s grin right off his lips.
It— stings, even if it probably shouldn’t.
(Because it’s embarrassing. It leaves Vasquez feeling exposed when he and Faraday haven’t discussed that night they tumbled into bed together. Vasquez doesn’t know where they stand, and part of him is convinced Faraday has seen it for the mistake it probably was, so it’s better not to mention it again.
But Vasquez had slipped, and now he feels like he’s at a disadvantage. Rarely does that truly bother him with Faraday, because even when they’re competitive with each other, the stakes never feel that steep. Right now, however, the high ground looks awful high when something more personal is on display.)
The tease in his tone is gone, and his words are snapped out more than Vasquez intends. ]
[ He snorts out a derisive breath, pulling up his glass again to sip from it.
If he's honest, the comment isn't too far from the norm, even if Vasquez did spout it off in Spanish, and he's not as offended as he probably should be.
And for as much as Faraday may play the fool, he can be insightful, when he wants to be. It's why he notices how Vasquez's voice sharpens, his tone and posture becoming almost defensive, and how Vasquez only responds to half of what Faraday pointed out.
He sips at his drink for a second. Then, slowly, ]
[ Vasquez drums his fingers along the line of his glass – fidgeting, but not quite; his fingers have to tap out a rhythm or else risk clenching into a fist around something fragile.
One small tightening and tick of his jaw muscle, before, ]
And?
[ He says it expectantly, like he’s prompting Faraday for a point. He’s not evading the statement, despite the defensive response; there’s no point trying to convince Faraday that he’d misspoken or Google had turned up a mistranslation.
Better to meet Faraday with a challenge.
A familiar ”so what are you going to do about it?” provocation ].
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no subject
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. ]
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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. ]
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Ay, lindo, you know you're very funny sometimes.
"Old age." [ And he snorts on another laugh. ]
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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." ]
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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.
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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.
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Where's the fun in that?
[ He sets his glass back down, nudging it away with his fingertip. ]
Don't be lazy, guerito.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
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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?
no subject
You think I need more than six shots, guero?
[ ... Considering he’s gone through three doubles already. ]
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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?
no subject
(Fortunately, this is less damning.) ]
Really?
[ He snorts as he takes a slow sip from the glass. ]
Why are you bothering now?
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[ "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.
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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. ]
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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.
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I just thought it was funny how you kept getting so riled up because of it.
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Its' why he merely kicks at Vasquez's shoe. ]
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... actually, that’s utterly false, because he doesn’t hesitate to kick Faraday right back – lightly, given how hard he could kick. ]
No seas tan bebe, guero.
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Still, he shoots Vasquez another sour look, and maybe he's feeling a little petty, now, considering he's realized that half the team has been keeping that mundane little nickname a secret from him for shits and giggles. It's why he blurts out, ]
Now, what's that mean? Or are you just tryin' to use Spanish again to hide shit, like how you think I'm cute?
no subject
It— stings, even if it probably shouldn’t.
(Because it’s embarrassing. It leaves Vasquez feeling exposed when he and Faraday haven’t discussed that night they tumbled into bed together. Vasquez doesn’t know where they stand, and part of him is convinced Faraday has seen it for the mistake it probably was, so it’s better not to mention it again.
But Vasquez had slipped, and now he feels like he’s at a disadvantage. Rarely does that truly bother him with Faraday, because even when they’re competitive with each other, the stakes never feel that steep. Right now, however, the high ground looks awful high when something more personal is on display.)
The tease in his tone is gone, and his words are snapped out more than Vasquez intends. ]
I said not to be such a baby about it.
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If he's honest, the comment isn't too far from the norm, even if Vasquez did spout it off in Spanish, and he's not as offended as he probably should be.
And for as much as Faraday may play the fool, he can be insightful, when he wants to be. It's why he notices how Vasquez's voice sharpens, his tone and posture becoming almost defensive, and how Vasquez only responds to half of what Faraday pointed out.
He sips at his drink for a second. Then, slowly, ]
And you think I'm cute.
[ Or handsome? Google was slightly unhelpful. ]
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One small tightening and tick of his jaw muscle, before, ]
And?
[ He says it expectantly, like he’s prompting Faraday for a point. He’s not evading the statement, despite the defensive response; there’s no point trying to convince Faraday that he’d misspoken or Google had turned up a mistranslation.
Better to meet Faraday with a challenge.
A familiar ”so what are you going to do about it?” provocation ].
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