[ 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 ].
[ Faraday forces himself to watch Vasquez's reaction, for as much as he wants to look away or similarly fidget. He's learned, over the years, to maintain a careful nonchalance, to keep himself from straying too off-course when he's trying to conceal what he's thinking or feeling.
Of course, learning doesn't always translate into applying, but he manages it, on occasion.
He sits up to lean forward with his elbows on the table.
He echoes, ]
And.
[ Though he pauses, frowning at the other man. Faraday's posture is rigid, expression tense and serious.
Jesus wept, he's not good with uncertainty, and as much as he'd much rather be the exact last person to drag this topic kicking and screaming to the surface, Faraday also hates pussyfooting around. The latter wins out, eventually.
The tension drains from him on a sharp, frustrated exhale. ]
And. We gotta figure out what the hell we're doin'.
[ Somehow, it’s reassuring when Faraday squares up with him, leaning forward, gaze stony and unreadable. It’s more familiar to Vasquez than the feeling of a stark light casting away protective shadows; he knows how to fight far more than he does to be any real kind of vulnerable.
And then all of that tension just leaves like it’s swirling down an unplugged sink. Vasquez expected something sharp at the end of that scrutinizing stare, but Faraday knocks him on his ass by actually getting to the point.
Shit, that means they have to acknowledge this now.
(Vasquez almost wishes Faraday had just suckerpunched him instead.)
He finally deflates on his own side of the table, frowning down at his drink. ]
[ No, actually, that's a lie. Faraday knows exactly what he wants them to be doing, and it's paying off their tab, running back to one of their homes, and fucking till sunrise.
But that's probably not the most tactful answer, at the moment. ]
All I know is, it feels like we just put down a landmine, and we're both tryin' not to set it off.
[ Sure, Statesman may send them on more solo missions than paired, but when they do work together, things go fantastically smoothly – in spite of all their bickering and sniping.
He takes another fortifying sip of whiskey from his glass, licking his lips. He forces his voice to smooth out when he asks, ]
[ The responsible answer is “yes.” One indulgence and nothing more, for the sake of their work (and their friendship). But much like Faraday, self restraint isn’t Vasquez’s strongest suit, and he’s made a life of impulsive decisions and indulgence.
Except— maybe this isn’t as indulgent. Less recklessly so, at least. He’s genuinely agonizing over the best course of action, and he just wants to choose right.
[ The question startles Faraday – enough so that he loses some of his composure, ends up frowning in surprise at Vasquez.
A part of him had expected immediate agreement, or for Vasquez to smile in relief and admit he had made a mistake – and Faraday had been steeling himself for that, had been readying himself to keep the disappointment off his face.
To get that instead, though – for a second, he's not sure how to respond.
[ Vasquez can see that he catches Faraday off guard, and for a moment, he’s worried it’s for the worse (that Faraday was hoping Vasquez would agree to shut things down), but that careful allowance—
That’s good, isn’t it?
He’s still careful about his words and how he speaks, but he’s still hopeful enough to offer, ]
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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. ]
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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?
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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?
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(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?
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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 ].
no subject
Of course, learning doesn't always translate into applying, but he manages it, on occasion.
He sits up to lean forward with his elbows on the table.
He echoes, ]
And.
[ Though he pauses, frowning at the other man. Faraday's posture is rigid, expression tense and serious.
Jesus wept, he's not good with uncertainty, and as much as he'd much rather be the exact last person to drag this topic kicking and screaming to the surface, Faraday also hates pussyfooting around. The latter wins out, eventually.
The tension drains from him on a sharp, frustrated exhale. ]
And. We gotta figure out what the hell we're doin'.
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Vasquez keeps staring Faraday down, unmoving, waiting—
And then all of that tension just leaves like it’s swirling down an unplugged sink. Vasquez expected something sharp at the end of that scrutinizing stare, but Faraday knocks him on his ass by actually getting to the point.
Shit, that means they have to acknowledge this now.
(Vasquez almost wishes Faraday had just suckerpunched him instead.)
He finally deflates on his own side of the table, frowning down at his drink. ]
What do you want us to be doing?
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Shit, Vas, I don't know.
[ No, actually, that's a lie. Faraday knows exactly what he wants them to be doing, and it's paying off their tab, running back to one of their homes, and fucking till sunrise.
But that's probably not the most tactful answer, at the moment. ]
All I know is, it feels like we just put down a landmine, and we're both tryin' not to set it off.
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That is a good way to put it.
[ Because it sure feels like a landmine, just waiting for them.
But first— ]
I don’t want this changing our work together, si?
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[ Sure, Statesman may send them on more solo missions than paired, but when they do work together, things go fantastically smoothly – in spite of all their bickering and sniping.
He takes another fortifying sip of whiskey from his glass, licking his lips. He forces his voice to smooth out when he asks, ]
So, what. One and done?
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Except— maybe this isn’t as indulgent. Less recklessly so, at least. He’s genuinely agonizing over the best course of action, and he just wants to choose right.
But he still wants. ]
... Does it have to be?
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A part of him had expected immediate agreement, or for Vasquez to smile in relief and admit he had made a mistake – and Faraday had been steeling himself for that, had been readying himself to keep the disappointment off his face.
To get that instead, though – for a second, he's not sure how to respond.
Slowly, ]
No. I suppose it doesn't have to be.
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That’s good, isn’t it?
He’s still careful about his words and how he speaks, but he’s still hopeful enough to offer, ]
We could... do it again, I think. Do it more.
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