[ 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, ]
[ Well. This conversation has solidly gone in a direction he did not expect.
Not that he feels any need to complain about it, considering he fully expected for the two of them to agree that while the other night was fantastic, they should under no circumstances ever do that again, and that he'd need to drown himself in whiskey afterward.
He lets out a quiet little laugh, almost relieved. ]
Again. More. Or possibly now, hypothetically speakin'.
[ Once again, Faraday forces himself to hide another grin before he drains what's left of his drink. He gets to his feet, nodding for Vasquez to follow.
Vasquez did, after all, get the first couple of rounds. Faraday is too much of a miser to pay off the whole tab on his own, eager as he may be to get the show on the road. ]
[ As Faraday downs his drink, Vasquez quickly does the same. The gin burns his throat, warms his chest as excitement makes his insides dance with nerves.
Without the thrum of adrenaline, with the concreteness of this brief (and arguably bare-bones) decision, this feels more... real.
Vasquez rises to his feet with Faraday, and rather than try to worm his way out of his tab, he reaches for his wallet, producing a handful of bills – honestly, enough for his tab, Faraday’s, and a tip.
(Faster than the both of them trying to settle up separately.) ]
He starts heading out before Vasquez, offering a polite nod to the bartender as he heads out. She studies him, watching the rhythm of his gait and the relative steadiness of his step, and she calls out to him, "Be careful, huh?"
He answers with a grin, a wink, and a brisk salute.
In the brief time he's on his own in the car, he wonders if they're making yet another goddamn mistake. And he wonders if they ought to put a stop to this before things really become complicated – but Faraday, by his own admission, tends to live moment to moment, only planning far enough ahead to keep himself from getting killed.
Right now, this sounds like a goddamn excellent idea. And maybe later, the consequences of this will bite him in the ass, but that's something he'll deal with when he has to.
The car is already started by the time Vasquez slides into the passenger seat, and Faraday only waits long enough for him to settle and buckle in before he's pulling out into the street. ]
[ Vasquez is— distracted while he’s settling up, but only because he knows this evening is about to get far more exciting.
(Jenny gives him a cautious look.
”He’s driving, right?”
“Of course.” And Vasquez just flashes her a charming grin.)
Just as promptly, Vasquez drops himself into the seat beside Faraday, with barely time to buckle up before his partner hits the road. ]
Whatever is closer.
[ The sooner, the better.
But as Vasquez makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat, he still reaches out to rest a hand on Faraday’s thigh – bold, really, but Vasquez is nothing if not reckless, at times. ]
[ Vasquez casts Faraday an unimpressed look at the mention of Jack. By this point, he doesn’t say anything directly unkind about the dog, but he’ll be damned if he can honestly understand what Faraday likes about that temperamental creature.
(At least Faraday loves that animal; he’s probably the only one in the world who does.)
Vasquez half expects Faraday to nudge his hand off with some long-suffering sigh, but much to his delight, Faraday hardly seems inclined to actually tell Vasquez to stop. ]
We’ll only get pulled over if your driving is terrible, guerito.
[ And even now, Vasquez lives to make Faraday’s life that much harder; as if to punctuate the thought, his hand slides higher, lazily squeezing muscle. ]
Did you miss the part of your training where you are supposed to keep your focus, even if something is distracting?
[ It’s that lazy sort of taunt that comes so easily between them, and Vasquez emphasizes it by finally finding Faraday’s cock through his jeans. He keeps the pressure light, mercifully, but it’s still a pointed gesture. ]
But for me – you know I’m not always a very patient man.
[ ... Patience is often overrated, by Vasquez’s standards. ]
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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 ].
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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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Not that he feels any need to complain about it, considering he fully expected for the two of them to agree that while the other night was fantastic, they should under no circumstances ever do that again, and that he'd need to drown himself in whiskey afterward.
He lets out a quiet little laugh, almost relieved. ]
Again. More. Or possibly now, hypothetically speakin'.
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Oh. ]
... Now?
[ Vasquez tries to keep his grin under control (to not look too excited by this prospect). ]
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Hypothetically speaking.
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Hypothetically speaking.
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Vasquez did, after all, get the first couple of rounds. Faraday is too much of a miser to pay off the whole tab on his own, eager as he may be to get the show on the road. ]
C'mon.
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Without the thrum of adrenaline, with the concreteness of this brief (and arguably bare-bones) decision, this feels more... real.
Vasquez rises to his feet with Faraday, and rather than try to worm his way out of his tab, he reaches for his wallet, producing a handful of bills – honestly, enough for his tab, Faraday’s, and a tip.
(Faster than the both of them trying to settle up separately.) ]
I’ll meet you at your car.
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He starts heading out before Vasquez, offering a polite nod to the bartender as he heads out. She studies him, watching the rhythm of his gait and the relative steadiness of his step, and she calls out to him, "Be careful, huh?"
He answers with a grin, a wink, and a brisk salute.
In the brief time he's on his own in the car, he wonders if they're making yet another goddamn mistake. And he wonders if they ought to put a stop to this before things really become complicated – but Faraday, by his own admission, tends to live moment to moment, only planning far enough ahead to keep himself from getting killed.
Right now, this sounds like a goddamn excellent idea. And maybe later, the consequences of this will bite him in the ass, but that's something he'll deal with when he has to.
The car is already started by the time Vasquez slides into the passenger seat, and Faraday only waits long enough for him to settle and buckle in before he's pulling out into the street. ]
My place or yours?
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(Jenny gives him a cautious look.
”He’s driving, right?”
“Of course.” And Vasquez just flashes her a charming grin.)
Just as promptly, Vasquez drops himself into the seat beside Faraday, with barely time to buckle up before his partner hits the road. ]
Whatever is closer.
[ The sooner, the better.
But as Vasquez makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat, he still reaches out to rest a hand on Faraday’s thigh – bold, really, but Vasquez is nothing if not reckless, at times. ]
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[ And while he keeps his focus on the road, he flicks a glance at Vasquez, smirking impishly. ]
You can say hi to Jack.
[ Which will probably go as poorly as it ever does. Jack hates everyone, as an absolute rule.
He tenses a little in surprise when Vasquez's hand rests on his thigh, though he makes no move to push him off. Instead, he chuckles a little. ]
Sweetheart, you'd better not be doin' anything that might get us pulled over.
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(At least Faraday loves that animal; he’s probably the only one in the world who does.)
Vasquez half expects Faraday to nudge his hand off with some long-suffering sigh, but much to his delight, Faraday hardly seems inclined to actually tell Vasquez to stop. ]
We’ll only get pulled over if your driving is terrible, guerito.
[ And even now, Vasquez lives to make Faraday’s life that much harder; as if to punctuate the thought, his hand slides higher, lazily squeezing muscle. ]
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[ Though he says it as more of a suggestion than a rebuke.
... Still, though, considering they've both had a fair amount to drink, he'd much rather not give anyone cause to stop them. ]
Can't wait ten minutes, huh?
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[ It’s that lazy sort of taunt that comes so easily between them, and Vasquez emphasizes it by finally finding Faraday’s cock through his jeans. He keeps the pressure light, mercifully, but it’s still a pointed gesture. ]
But for me – you know I’m not always a very patient man.
[ ... Patience is often overrated, by Vasquez’s standards. ]
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