Faraday keeps staring at him like this and Vasquez shifts, uncomfortable, knowing that if he keeps staring like this, then he might do something terrible. It's not terrible that worries him, but it's the idea that he might do something that Faraday won't approve of that keeps him steady.

Breathe in, don't think about those dreams, don't think about your regrets, or lips or hands or dirty words. Lucky for him, Faraday gets all Faraday about it and Vasquez chuckles lowly, shaking his head.

It really is him, isn't it?

Grinning, he digs out a cigarette and lights it while Faraday is butchering his accent, inhaling once, then twice, before he hands it over to Faraday, hitching his lasso back to his belt. "No horses here, guerito," he tells him, eyes sliding over Faraday now that they're even closer. "No Chisolm, either."