A Bank Robber’s Nursery Rhyme
(faraday/vasquez, a bank robber’s nursery rhyme - goodnight, texas )
“Haven’t got a penny, haven’t got a dime
But I know how to have a good old time
Haven’t got a dollar, baby when I do
Gonna go and spend it all on you
When I get the money, we can run away
Sing a little song ‘bout yesterday
They’re never gonna catch me, long as I’m alive
You and me together, we’ll survive…”
The first time Joshua Faraday lays eyes on the man, even through the haze of his whiskey soaked brain, he knows that he’s in trouble. He’s drunk, but he’s not that drunk. He manages to get (somewhat) gracefully out of the saddle and onto the ground. It takes him a few seconds to catch up with the conversation, but he’s already introducing Billy to Chisolm again to care any more that he looks like an idiot.
“Oh great, we got a mexican,” he says, because he can’t shut up at the best of times, much less when he’s been marinating in whiskey for two days.
It’s Vasquez’s fault anyway, he tells himself. Man doesn’t have to be beautiful, but there he is, a gun on each hip and a shark like grin pointed his way around a cigar. Compared to this long, lean, filthy man, Emma Cullen who?
By the time night falls and Faraday has sobered up some more, he feels just a faint tickle of embarrassment, and a much larger inkling that he’s gonna be in big trouble by the time this is over. Maybe he’s spent too much time alone with Goodnight and Billy (it had taken him all of two minutes to realize they were, well them, he’s got eyes. Two of ‘em, and they work just fine.) but he doesn’t think that’s gonna necessarily be a bad thing.
Two days later and he’s pulling Teddy Q and his bottle of whiskey up onto his rock for an excuse to stop watching the man on the other side of the fire. Teddy’s fun. He wants to be a badass, really he does, but he doesn’t know enough about the world to pull it off. Messing with his head earns Faraday the entire whiskey bottle and an amused smirk from Vasquez.
They don’t really talk a hell of a lot, what, between Red Harvest offering Chisolm raw deer liver (and that will never not be funny) and reaching Rose Creek. Faraday isn’t sure how it happens, but he finds himself sneaking into town with Vasquez to flank Bogue’s goons when Chisolm makes his grand entrance with Billy.
“Don’t get shot, guero , eh?”
Faraday looks over at Vasquez, who crinkles a smile at him and he has to grin hopelessly back for a second. He knows it’s showing too much of what he’s been feeling for the better part of a week, but hell, he might die. Vasquez sees something in his expression, because the man winks at him and saunters away.
They take buildings opposite each other, and even in the seriousness of the situation, Faraday can’t help but feel a little bit grateful that he can see Vasquez out of the corner of his eye. Even as he clocks the footsteps of the rifleman over his head. He makes a point of shooting that guy first, and then everything becomes a haze of bullets and yelling and running.
Faraday grunts as his back hits the wall. He’s a little drunk, a lot tired, and turned on like nobody’s business. He doesn’t mind if this is what he gets for his trouble.
“Three Maria’s huh?” he mutters, then can’t say anything else because his lips are occupied. He fists one hand in the back of Vasquez’s shirt under his vest, the other his brings to his head, knocking his hat off his head and weaving his fingers into sweat-soaked hair. The kiss is brutal, a fierce clash of want and need that sends the blood boiling through Faraday’s body.
Vasquez pulls away just enough for both of them to breathe and lock eyes. Faraday with his green, Vasquez with his dark brown. Faraday blinks, slides one hand down grope at Vasquez’s ass and try to pull him closer.
“Joshua,” Faraday offers softly. The room is too quiet - or maybe not quiet enough. He can’t tell between the whiskey in his veins and his pulse pounding in his ears.
Vasquez is a long line of heat and strength pressed against him. They’re of a height, so there’s no leeway there to get what he wants. The darker man grins, and it’s both amused and dangerous and it makes heat pool in the pit of Faraday’s stomach as he says, “Vicente.”
Their teeth click together when they kiss before it gentles. Joshua grabs onto Vicente and starts backing him toward the bed. Neither of them is paying enough attention, and they overshoot, hitting the corner and tipping over it so that they roll onto the bed and crash onto the floor. Joshua gets all the air pressed out of his lungs when Vicente lands on him, but the second their eyes meet they start laughing.
It gets worse when the portrait on the wall starts to rattle as Goodnight bangs on the wall and yells about how they should shut it because he’s trying to sleep.
One glance and they’re both laughing again. Laughing and trading kisses and trying to strip each other from their prone position on the floor and it’s ridiculous and hilarious and amazing. And it doesn’t stop , and it’s fantastic .
It’s the best sex Joshua’s ever had. He’s never had that much fun in bed before. It’s entirely worth the absolute hell they get the next morning from the rest of the guys. It’s worth it because when Joshua looks over during breakfast, it’s not Vasquez looking back at him, it’s Vicente .
And for now, that’s enough.
“You alright guero ?”
Faraday flinches at the sharp cracks that bullets make as they punch holes in wood. His hands are steady as he reloads his weapon, and Vasquez is just a couple of feet away. He’s got a bullet in his side, and about three million more that have been fired at him, but he’s blown up two buildings, so, “I’m good.”
Vasquez scoots along the floor on his ass until their sides are pressed together. When Faraday looks up at him, they’re not two gunslingers in the middle of the biggest firefight either of them has ever seen. They’re Joshua and Vicente, who laugh during sex and don’t talk about tomorrow because tomorrow might not come.
“I’m good,” he repeats, but leans into the press of Vasquez along his side. “I’m gonna need a new vest though.”
Vasquez takes in his sweat soaked face and then his eyes flicker down to his blood soaked vest, eyebrows crinkling even as he rises up to fire off several pin-point accurate shots. “You better be alive when this is over, guero . I’ve got plans for you.”
“You do? Do they involve food and sleep?” Faraday cocks his weapon and readies himself to continue on to his next port of call. They’ve got to take out that gatling or they’re all dead.
“Only a little,” Vasquez replies, then pulls him around by his collar and kisses him in a way that makes him forget for a second that the idea brewing the in the back of his head is going to get him killed.
They don’t say goodbye. They never will, that’s not the type of men they are. They do share a cocky grin and Faraday winks before he’s bolting out the door, leaving Vasquez cussing after him.
“You owe me some cover.”
He sees it the moment that Chisolm realizes what he’s planning to do. He’s Joshua Faraday, gunslinger, magician, drunkard, and he’s about to do something stupid.
Stupid but for a cause that is bigger than money, and they both know it.
Sam ceases being Chisolm in his mind the moment he nods, expression serious. Joshua just quirks a faint smile at him, his eyes says a lot more than any words he can muster up would. And then they’re both running, and there are more bullets. He throws himself onto the horse, and he thinks briefly that he wishes it was Jack before he’s riding hell for leather toward that damn gatling gun and his death.
It’s poetic when it’s a one-eyed man that lights his last cigarello. It’s justice when, despite the bullet wounds littering his torso and leg, that he manages to light the fuse on that last stick of dynamite. He supposes that if he’s going to die, at least he gets to do it saving the day.
As Joshua is blasted through the air and lands on his back to peer up at the blue sky, his last thought is of Vicente and those laughing eyes.
Then the world goes black.
“You know, you ruined our exit.”
Joshua groans, or tries to. It comes out more of a faint grunt of protest than anything else. If this is death, he wants his money back. Death isn’t supposed to hurt this bad.
“Open your eyes, guero .”
They were closed? He follows the instruction, because he knows that voice. He opens his eyes, and he’d never realized how heavy his eyelids were before. It takes him a second to focus his vision, but when he does, there’s Vicente, looking down at him with a cocked eyebrow.
“There we go,” the man murmurs, and helps him sit up just enough to drink some water. Joshua coughs, his entire body one long line of pain. Vicente eases him back down and gestures over his shoulder with his head. “Well, you and them ruined our exit.”
Joshua blinks rapidly, focusing his vision past Vicente to the other beds in the room. Goodnight is sitting up and being fed some kind of broth by Emma. Billy is in the bed next to him, sleeping soundly.
“Wha’?” he slurs out, turning his head to look back at Vicente.
The mexican grins and pats his unwounded shoulder, “Gatling got ‘em.”
“Where’s the bear?” Joshua asks.
Vicente chuckles and gestures to the other side of Joshua, but he hasn’t got the energy to look, so he decides to believe him. Red Harvest comes into view carrying a tray and, despite the stone-like quality of his expression, still manages to look highly irritated.
“Horne is not a… good patient,” Vicente offers when all Red Harvest does upon noticing that Joshua is finally awake is nod briefly. As if he’d been waiting for his cue, Jack Horne starts cussing at the Comanche warrior.
It startles a laugh out of Joshua, which causes a lot of pain and a coughing fit. Vicente eases him through it, helps him take a few more sips of water, and just as he starts to let sleep take him again, the other man leans forward and whispers in his ear, “You’re not allowed to die, guero. mi corazón seguiría .”
“Not goin’ anywhere,” Joshua mutters.
And he doesn’t.