#josh faraday fanfiction

[ihadalovelytime]

Face The Dawn | Josh Faraday/OC {1/?}

Summary: She left him. He couldn’t protect her.

Author: MeanderingNovember (Britta)

Genre: Hurt/Comfort (Angst)

Word Count: 1492

“Ivy, focus...”

The memory pushed through the surface of the whole murky creek of her. Joshua Faraday’s words whispering along her skin, slow, full of the melodious south and too much to drink when he taught her to fight one night. They were young and for all the perils of their wild, a smattering of constellations still lingered in their eyes. His hands comfortably hovering over his guns, his lady and his whore, seeking solace in dregs of whisky, keeping childlike in the tales of foxes and card tricks and magic. Back then, Ivy’s solace was the promise of unraveling him thread by thread.

“...you’ve gotta be quick.”

His large hand grazed her stomach, comforting and warm. His voice held a smirk as his nose brushed her ear, his lips moved against the nape of her neck as he lilted husky instructions. When his fingers brushed against her waist, Ivy giggled, missing her target entirely.

“Looks like you’ve just lost your gunfight, Ms. Ivy,” Faraday said, pleasure in his voice.

Ivy grinned, elbowing him in his stomach, “For good reason, Faraday. You know there’s no stronger rival ‘round these hills than me.”

He grunted, rubbing his stomach, eying Ivy curiously as she turned to face him.

“Why are we doing this anyway? You know I never much appreciated the sight of you with a gun in your hand, darlin’.”

Ivy cleared her throat, “Well, with your sensibilities taking you wherever you hear howling over the mountains, it’s best I know something of how to take care of myself....And I wager you liked the sight of Hilly with a pistol in her hands.”

He frowned, “What are you talking about, Ivy?”

“We both know you’re not the settling kind, Faraday.”

“Nonsense, I’ve been here for...a while.”

“A month and a few days if that. I’m feeling it’s ‘bout that time you start itching for somethin’ new.”

A secret smile appeared on his face as he stalked over to her, “You countin’?”

Ivy glanced up at him for a moment, a soft look on her face, before cocking her pistol, aiming at the scarecrow a few feet ahead, and pulling the trigger. Smoke curled from the mouth of her pistol after the bullet pierced the scarecrow’s straw heart. Pleased with her work, Ivy kneeled to retrieve her carpet bag and banjo from the dirt path.

“I got you somethin’.”

Ivy’s mouth curved, “I don’t wanna see a magic trick, Faraday.”

“Ivy, I’m offended.  You’ll get a real hoot out of this one...pick a card.”

Ivy’s head rolled back on her shoulders, “How many years are we gonna do this? You never get my card.”

He looked down at his deck, shuffling them haphazardly. Ivy cocked her head in observance of his tense shoulders, the uncommon tinge of blush along his cheeks.

“I always get One Eyed Jacks’ card.”

“Guess I’m not as exciting to you as a one eyed jack,” Ivy smirked, making to  walk around him.

His hand shot out to grasp hers, “Please? I’m your oldest associate, surely you can grant me a moment of your time.”

Ivy grazed his thumb before taking the deck of cards out of his hand, and slipping one out of its soft worn middle.

Two of clubs.

“Commit it to memory, and slip it back into the deck.”

Ivy sighed theatrically before sliding it back into the deck, watching his fingers play those cards like his own fiddle or a woman he bed last night.

She gulped at the tangled turn of her thoughts.

Finally, he pulled a card from the bottom of the deck, “ A la your card!”

“Reckon’ not, no,” Ivy smiled.

“No? Okay,” he pulls another, “Your card!”

Ivy shook her head slowly.

He pulled another, “This one has to be your card!”

Ivy burst out laughing, and whatever smart retort he seemed to have for her faded into the evening breeze. He stared back at her with such a look as she had never seen trained on her before.

“All right,” he said huskily. “ One. Last. Try. Take my hand, please.”

Ivy complied. The feeling of his index finger grazing the center of her palm made her close her eyes and pocket the feeling of his fingers on her. His hand closed over hers, and when he let go, he left a card and a necklace.

The Queen of Hearts.

Ivy raised the delicate chain to the moonlight. It was an old brass locket, small and oval with a slip of embroidered blush colored wild flowers affixed to the top.

“Oh Joshua...”

He smiled out at the pasture land around them, “I got to thinkin’ that the next time I set out, it’d be nice to have some company.”

Ivy looked down at the locket now tucked in her fist, before settling on him, “Where’s all this comin’ from?”

He bent low to look her directly in the eyes, “Well, you’re certainly better company than all the One Eyed Jacks that come my way, don’t you think?”

“Joshua...well I should certainly hope so, I --“

He looked away from her, “Have you caught the eye of any of the gents ‘round here while I was gone?”

“There is one---“

“We’ve been our only companions since we were children. I reckon we could trail up that mountain up yonder, just keep on going, Ivy.”

Ivy’s heart pounded in her chest, her stature erect as she stepped closer to him. “Well that’s mighty convienient of you, to make a proposition on the heels of another man. That put the fire under your ass, Faraday, to know somone else might want me?”

“Do I need to introduce someone to Ethel and Maria, ‘Cause I have no problem doing so---“ His voice carried the same light tone, but his hands now wrapped around her forearms tightened in warning.

“I need you to be absolutely clear in what you’re askin’ me, that’ll help me to decide whether or not Cyrus’ offer’s still an option,” she said, keeping her eyes sternly focused on his chest.

His hands drifted to her waist and pulled her closer, “Remember our fires in the mountains? All those stars glitterin’ up there, all stubborn like you get when I try to boss you? All the hell we used to raise ‘round noon time? When we had all these high plans since we were children? I still want all those things, only now they’ll all end with you soft and warm under moonlight calling my name when I love you...I’m only Joshua with you, Darlin’.  And you won’t need to keep learning to shoot because I’ll take care of it. I’ll keep you safe, and I’ll need you at night when the ghosts come.”

That last was muttered so quietly she questioned it.

“The nightmares never go away, darlin’, and I’d do anything to keep you from knowing that.  Remembering your night songs have been the only thing to bring me back, and these curls” A soft smiled formed as he gazed down at her, and raised his hand to tug playfully at one of her curls. “I need you to trust me again.”

Ivy rubbed the spot over his heart thumping erratically, and betraying the usually smooth Faraday he sauntered with.

“You want to be my Joshua, and you want us to chase the stars in the mountains, and fish, and make love under moonlight, and keep each other safe,” Ivy mused.

“Your card was Two of clubs,” he smirked.

For a moment, it was as if all that life had of made him, a fox outsmarting the world, fell away. He looked like the boy she met in the woods when she had a hard time hunting that nights meal, and he had already made his fire, keeping warm, doing what ever magic he could to make her crack a smile. Two orphaned fools.

Ivy’s lips trembled as she slid her hand around the nape of his neck, pulled him closer, and kissed his forehead like she used to during the worst of his nightmares.

His fingers contracted around her shoulders, he whispered her name, and proceeded to kiss away all hesitance caused by time apart.

_____________

Pushing the memory deep deep down into the far depths of her, Ivy fired at the copse of willows in front of her, their leaves hanging limp in the humid night air. X marked her target with each bit of steel.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

The months between she and Faraday.

Bogue would arrive with his band of demons any day now, and the nagging pain roving up her back as she moved...the hollow in the pit of her stomach made it impossible for her not to pick up her gun and give him a proper welcome to Rose Creek. 

Ivy didn’t give a damn what Faraday thought of the matter.

She left him.

He couldn’t protect her.

To Be Continued

_________

Thank you so much for reading this! I really hope you enjoyed reading it. I’ve been a Chris Pratt fan for a while now, and there’s just something about Faraday that I have a soft spot for. Since I didn’t see very many Faraday/OC ships in the fandom, I thought I’d make one with all of the hurt/comfort and angst goodness I could stomach! 

This might be a bit on the heavy side as I wanted to write a heroine who endured a great deal and who had actual stakes in this war with Bogue. I have written a bit more of this story, in hopes that it may become a full length story, but we shall see!

Hold Me (Alternate Version) by The Sweeplings inspired the title of this story, and I listened to a lot of First Aid Kit, one being The Song: “In The Morning” really takes me there! When there is any mention of Ivy singing in this story, her voice was inspired by these kinds of songs.

[jd-rush]

I struggled with this one, but I just posted the 11th story  and final story in my modern AU Varaday series!  It was a fun ride, and I’m going to miss these guys.  

[margaret-cullen]

Moonlight

Faraday x Vasquez. Warning:  Explicit language, other stuff

It was one of those mysterious nights where the sky was full of stars and the moon was bright and full.

Two lone males figures were visible in the moonlight.

In the darkness, a voice hissed out, “Fuck you.”  

The shadows found Joshua Faraday pinned against the broadside of a ramshackle barn on the outskirts of town. Two large hands positioned against each side of his head.  His hips restrained in place by another set of hips.  He was angry.  He was drunk. And against his better judgment, he was concupiscent.

“Is that an invite, or an insult?” purred a deep, sexy voice in his ear in reply.  Faraday shivered at those words.  Despite the darkness, Faraday could sense the long and lean Mexican grinning in the dark at him.  As Faraday struggled against Vasquez, he could feel the other man’s chest rumbling deeply with laughter.

“Did you really just ask me that?” he indignantly growled back with an edge to his voice.  His growing ire was answered with Vasquez slowly rubbing his nose lightly from his earlobe down the side of Faraday’s jawline.  He then trailed soft, hot kisses down his throat.

Faraday reached out, tangling his hands in Vasquez’s thick, dark hair.  He pulled the exotic man’s face down to meet his own.  Glittering, intense green eyes met dark, laughing eyes. He felt growing warmth in his gut. Faraday crushed Vasquez’s lips against his own. It was a dark, bruising, passionate kiss, full of heat and frustration.

Vasquez playfully bit Faraday’s lower lip before they broke apart, foreheads resting against one another.

“Fuck you.”

“I look forward to it, guero.”

It was one of those mysterious nights where the sky was full of stars and the moon was bright and full.

Notes:  Prompt brought to you by tonight’s full moon.

[coffeeandtin]

Vasquez and Faraday: B-13 And can I request it with the added detail of it being a Borrower AU? I am shamelessly fixated on teeny tiny cowboys. :P And it doesn't matter to me which one of them is the small one, so whichever you prefer. ^_^

     I’m quickly coming to the conclusion that every fandom needs a borrower AU! This actually ended up as fanfiction of your fanfiction where that a-hole absconds with Vasquez; since it works so well with the Lost and Found theme. It’s a couple of scenes where he and Faraday sort of deal with the aftermath of that. I hope you enjoy!

    Faraday returned to his and Vasquez’s room in the localboarding house after seeing to it that Jack was reshod. The price had beenoutright robbery, but it was –much to the horse’s chagrin –done. He stopped andprocured some food before returning to the room. It was dark, just the way he’dleft it. He lit the lanterns and looked approvingly at the way the light added warmth.All in all, not a bad place. They had arrived there several days before, andthey would stay until Vasquez was healed.

    Faraday shut and locked the door, while thinking aboutdollhouses. Did they make cups and such that would be the appropriate size forVasquez? He’d have to find a place where he could inquire. He called Vasquez’sname.

    No reply. No tiny voice, no anything.

    Past events automatically set Faraday on edge. Every possible,terrible scenario played itself out as his eyes wandered the room. There wereso many places he could be hidden in that building, let alone the whole, wideworld. There was the gnawing certainty that he wouldn’t be lucky enough to findhis friend a second time. But nothing was amiss, and as he set the food on the desk and crossed the room tothe dresser, he assured himself that he was being ridiculous. He pulled openthe bottom dresser drawer.

    Right where I left you,he thought when the tiny man stirred beneath the paisley bandana he was usingas a blanket.

    The corners of Faraday’s mouth tippedupward with relief and affection.

    “Hey, Vas.”

     Vasquez blinked up at him by way of a sleepy greeting. Hebegan to stretch, and grimaced when he was reminded of his injuries. Faradayfelt a renewed swell of abhorrence for the man who had done that to his friend,and his expression changed from one of fondness to concern.

    “You okay?”

    “Si,” Vasquez said as he regrouped and, withdifficulty, attempted to stand.

    Faraday crouched and lowered a hand, offering help ifVasquez needed it. Vasquez frowned before deciding to accept assistance. Helooped his good arm over Faraday’s thumb, reclined into his palm and allowedhimself to be held. There was body heat beneath the fabric of Vasquez’sclothing, and his weight was almost negligible in Faraday’s hand. A whole,thinking, living, breathing person, sitting in the palm of his hand; andVasquez trusted him. Faraday doubted he would ever tire of that.

    Faraday carried Vasquez over to the desk where he himhelped him into a seated position. Vasquez’s feet were bare, and Faradayremembered the difficulty of having to help Vasquez off with his boots. Thatpaled in comparison to having to tend the wounds, though.

Several days ago…

     Faraday sucked in air through his teeth when he saw justhow swollen and bruised Vasquez’s arm and leg were.

    “I should have killed that sonofabitch.”

    Atop the room’s desk, Vasquez lay back and swallowed hard.

    “Perhaps.”

    Faraday sat down at the desk, preparing for the task athand, deciding that, perhaps it was best he hadn’t killed Vasquez’s captor,after all. Once would not have been enough.

    “Ready?”

    “Let’s get this over with, guero.”

     Faraday nodded, and noted the way Vasquez’s head lolled totoward the windowpane, and away from him. Faraday guessed it was a combinationof pride and alcohol that caused Vasquez to do so. Faraday had plied his smallcompanion with whiskey beforehand. He doubted that it was medically advisable,but they’d had little other recourse by way of pain relief. Faraday hadabstained. His hands would need all of their considerable dexterity if theywere to help put his friend back together.

    “I ain’t a doctor,” Faraday confessed before starting.

    It took time, and care.

    Faraday worked with small strips of cloth and smoothedpieces of wood to splint and bind Vasquez’s injured limbs. Vasquez never intentionallymade a complaint, but Faraday stopped when it appeared that the pain was becomingtoo much. How much pain could one little body take? He apologized as often ashe thought Vasquez would tolerate, and by the time he was done, they both satin weary silence.

    Faraday stood and scooped up Vasquez with gentle handsbefore moving him over to a pillow. On the opposite side of the bed, Faradaypropped himself on the headboard and laced his fingers over his middle.

    “How?” Vasquez began as he tilted his head toward his newlyset arm and leg.

    Um,” Faraday said. Vasquez’s question was clear enough.Until then, Faraday hadn’t even considered what qualified him to help Vasquez. Heonly knew that with every move he’d made, he’d been certain he was makingthings worse.

    “Tying flies,” he said. “I guess I’m pretty good at that.”

    Cradled in the softness of a pillow, Vasquez made athoughtful sound in the back of his throat.

    “Thank you, Josh.”

    “Any time.”

    “Suppose I’d make a good lure, huh?”

    Faraday frowned, and looked at his friend, finding himselfunaccountably emotional at the thought of anyone using Vasquez for their ownpersonal gain. But the tired, lopsided grin on Vasquez’s face told him that thestatement was all in good fun. Faraday decided that he was far from being thearbiter of good humor.

    They both laughed.

    Not because it was particularly funny, but because theyneeded to.

Now…

     Theysettled down to eat. Vasquez picked from the plate what he wanted, and Faradaydidn’t fully commit to sating his own hunger until he was sure Vasquez wasdone. When they both sat back with full bellies, Faraday broached the subjectof dollhouses and the contents thereof.

[rm-multi-fandom-fanfiction]

By: ShenanigansEnsue

Imagine impressing Faraday with your shooting.

[jd-rush]

So, my only New Year’s Resolution has been accomplished:  I just posted the 10th story in my modern AU Varaday series!  Now I can goof off for the rest of 2021.    

[jd-rush]

Did I just post the 9th story in my modern AU Varaday series?  Yup, I sure as heck did! 

[jd-rush]

I just posted the 5th story in my modern AU Varaday series!  *throws confetti*  

[jd-rush]

I just posted the 8th story in my modern AU Varaday series!  (yes, I know I said I was done with this series, but the boys had other plans.)

[jd-rush]

I just posted the 7th--and final--story in my modern AU Varaday series!

[jd-rush]

I FINALLY finished the 4th story in my modern AU Varaday series!  YAAAAAAAYYYYY!!!

[jd-rush]

Holy motherforking shirtballs!  I FINALLY posted the third story in my Faraday/Vasquez Modern AU series, ‘Doing It To Country Songs’.  Yippee!!

[ihadalovelytime]

I've been writing fanfic for Magnificent Seven with Faraday in mind.

It's something, lol.

[margaret-cullen]

Charlotte

“Güerito, how do you, as a cowboy, get the same woman pregnant—twice?!” asked Vasquez, flashing Joshua Faraday a wolfish grin.  The two men were sitting side by side on the floor, backs resting against the wall of the upstairs hallway.  The two men had settled in for the long haul outside the bedroom.  The two of them were drunkenly passing a bottle of expensive whiskey back in forth, each taking long draughts.  

“Because I can’t keep my dick in my pants,” Faraday darkly muttered back.  

Vasquez chuckled, a sinful, low sound in his throat.  

Despite the alcohol, Joshua was finding himself becoming increasingly panicked. He was getting ready to be a father to a child.  A second child.  This one he was going to have to be responsible for.  At least the first child he hadn’t known about until about ten months ago after nine years.  Faraday had bypassed the worst of his son’s childhood years.  It was a responsibility that he hadn’t had to shoulder.

Vasquez could see the growing fear in Joshua’s eyes as the hours of the night began ticking by. The Mexican was trying his best to do what he could to keep Joshua distracted from worrying.  

Both men finally drifted off to an alcohol induced slumber.

 “FUCK YOU, JOSHUA PATRICK FARADAY!” screamed a voice from behind the bedroom door.

 Both men startled from their drunken stupors, dark eyes and green eyes meeting in mutual panic.  There was a very good reason Emma had made both men sit outside for the birth, and it just dawned on them both why.  Emma’s sister-in-law would not have appreciated two drunken men observing the birthing process, much less the man who was putting her through the ordeal of childbirth.

“Manuel,” Joshua whispered, his voice breaking hoarsely, “What if Meg dies? What if the baby dies?”  His fear was palpable as he voiced his deepest fear.  

“Shh, mijo,” Vasquez soothed him, reaching out to hold Joshua’s hand.  As he intertwined his fingers with Joshua’s, he noticed that Joshua’s hands were clammy in fear.  Vasquez did his best to soothe Faraday, slowly rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. Joshua let out a deep sigh, his head falling to rest on the Mexican’s shoulder.   Both men took another swig from the whiskey bottle.

Another scream echoed from the bedroom, then silence.  The span of thirty seconds seemed to drag on for eternity, before both men heard the comforting sound of a baby’s loud and lusty cry.  Joshua began sobbing in relief.  Vasquez planted a kiss on Joshua’s forehead.

“Oh, thank God,” Joshua cried.

Vasquez crossed himself, whispering “Gracias, Madre de Dios” to himself.

Joshua managed to get himself upright, leaning heavily on the wall for support.  Vasquez was a bit steadier on his feet than Joshua.  As the men tried to get themselves together, Emma opened the bedroom door.  Her eyes opened wide at the sight that beheld her—two scared and drunken cowboys.  The redheaded woman noted Joshua’s wet cheeks and red eyes. Vasquez looked worn out after hours of emotionally supporting the Irish cowboy.  

“Ready, boys?” asked Emma, shaking her head.  Faraday and Vasquez both offered lopsided grins in response. Emma rolled her eyes, motioning for both of the men to follow her.

Joshua rushed into the bedroom, taking in the sight before him.  Meg was tranquilly sitting up in the bed, alive and whole.

“Come here, Joshua,” Meg said, smiling as brightly as she could in her state. She was worn out and exhausted by the birth, but she could read the stark fear on Joshua’s face.  She then glanced at the man standing behind him, Joshua’s unwavering and grounding pillar of support.

Joshua was rendered speechless as he sat down on the bed next to Meg.  In her arms, wrapped in a blanket, was a newborn baby.  His newborn baby.  He reached out, touching the soft downy dark red hair of the infant. His hair.  His newborn baby had his red hair.

Meg let him stare in wonder for another moment, before she told him, “Joshua, you have a healthy daughter.”

“A daughter,” he muttered in disbelief, “I have a daughter.  A beautiful, healthy daughter.”  He continued to stare, mesmerized by his child.

Meg didn’t even say anything to him before she gently placed the child in his arms. Joshua felt fear snake through him for a brief moment when he realized he was holding such a small, fragile innocent in his arms.  Not only that—he was responsible for this child.  He looked at Meg, looked at the infant, and then looked at Vasquez.

“Come see the child, Vasquez,” Meg said, motioning the vaquero over.  The bed creaked as he sat down next to Joshua on the mattress. He leaned over Joshua’s shoulder, peering down with dark eyes at the child.  He appeared just as mesmerized by the infant as Joshua was.  He reached out, stroking the downy red hair.  As he did, the infant reached out and wrapped a tiny hand around his finger.

At that moment, Vasquez lost his heart to Joshua and Meg’s daughter.  He pledged in his heart to protect Joshua’s daughter for all the days of his life.  His daughter.

“Hola pequeño,” he whispered, “Welcome to the world, niña.”

Meg smiled sleepily at the two men, “Joshua, what do you think of naming her Charlotte, for your mother?”

Joshua looked up at Meg, his first love, his childhood best friend, with tears in his eyes.  He found himself choked up with overflowing emotions.  He could only nod in agreement at Meg’s suggestion.  Vasquez had to clear his throat, attempting to hide his emotion, grateful that Meg was allowing him to be a part of their family.

“Alright, boys,” Emma softly said, “Meg and Charlotte need to get their rest.”

Everyone looked up in surprise, the quiet spell over the family broken.  

“Dios te bendiga,” Vasquez murmured to the child, gently stroking Charlotte’s cheek.  Joshua looked mutinous, like he was going to argue with Emma before Emma shot him a death glare.  He leaned down, gently placing a kiss on his daughter’s head.  He reluctantly relinquished his daughter back to Meg’s arms. Both men stood up, Vasquez’s hand resting on the small of Joshua’s back, guiding him towards the doorway.

Joshua glanced backwards one last time, taking in the sight of his new family.  Meg was already dozing, Charlotte sleeping peacefully in her arms.  He felt his heart swell with a depth of love he didn’t realize that he was capable of.

He was responsible for that little girl and her mother.  Up until that moment of his life, Joshua wasn’t sure he was capable enough to be responsible to do such a thing.

The tall, dark Mexican squeezed Joshua’s hand gently as if he could sense his thoughts.

“Don’t worry, querido,” Vasquez whispered softly in his ear, “You will not be alone in raising our daughter.  You have Meg.  You have me.  Between the three of us, our little niña will not lack for anything.”  

With a small nod of his head, Joshua allowed Vasquez to lead him to their shared bedroom down the hallway.

Notes:  Well.  More happy fluffy Faraday x Vasquez love.  And my OC character Meg. Because Faraday x Vasquez need a woman in a weird threesome relationship to have children.  And obviously an AU ending to the Magnificent 7. I think I am rambling now.  It’s 3 am.  And I just word vomited 1200 words.   I would like to give credit to @themag7react for the prompt and ideas for how Faraday and Vasquez would react to the birth of their children.  I might have ran with it..in a very off the wall, unexpected direction.  

[margaret-cullen]

Miracle

An AU Magnificent 7 Fanfic. SPOILERS ALERT.  Vasquez x Faraday.

Meg Cullen leaned dejectedly against the open doorway as a quiet observer, exhaustion threatening to overtake her mental faculties.  The young woman had guessed correctly that she would find the Mexican outlaw in the silence of the burnt out town church.  She found him sitting on the only remaining intact pew in the war torn building, his dark head bowed in prayer.  In the flickering candlelight, Vasquez made the picture of a fervently devout believer.  

 Taking a deep, steadying breath, Meg entered the shadowed church, memories of gunshots ringing through her mind.  Her eyes lingered on the bloodstain in the middle of the wooden floor where Bartholomew Bogue had finally met his well-deserved death.  Each step felt wearying, an increasing burden of responsibility on her shoulders.  At that moment, she felt much older than her twenty-five years.  As she made her way to Vasquez, she could hear him praying, his rich Spanish voice a calming lullaby.

Ave María llena eres de gracia, El Señor es contigo; Bendita eres entre las mujeres, Y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús. Santa María, Madre de Dios, Ruega por nosotros pecadores, Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte. Amén.

He crossed himself.  The vaquero was so deep in his reflections that he didn’t hear her light footsteps approaching until she was standing in front of him.  He wasn’t surprised that she had known where to find him. Vasquez wasn’t surprised by how bone-weary exhausted she looked.  He was sure he didn’t present an improved picture either.  

He continued to finger his rosary beads, finding a soothing peace from his childhood habit, all the while silently observing Meg from his seat.  Her black hair had come loose from its bun, hanging limply around her face. Her dress and apron were drenched in dried blood.  The rust colored blood spatters clashed against the stark white of the apron.   While her hands were clean, she had a bloody streak across her forehead where her hand had tried to wipe the sweat off her brow while working feverishly to save a life.  

Dark eyes and gray eyes locked in a shared understanding.  Vasquez motioned for her to sit next to him on the bench.  

Meg took a deep breath, dreading the coming conversation, “Doc and I have done everything that we can do.”

 “You are a curandera?” he asked first, startling Meg.  He must have seen the confusion on her face that she didn’t understand his question.  She was caught off-guard.

“You are a healer?” he clarified.  Meg glanced at him from the corner of her eye, unsure of what his reaction would be to her answer.  

“Yes,” she replied, matter-of-factly, “I descend from a line of particularly strong Appalachian granny women with a dash of Cherokee thrown in for good measure.  I have the healer gift.”

Vasquez nodded thoughtfully at her words, “I understand.  I come from a line of curanderos.  I have no gift though.”  Meg let out a breath she didn’t even realize she had been holding.  She was trusting this complete stranger with her secret; society barely tolerated her as the town midwife, much less be accepting of a female healer.  

“Vasquez, what is your name?” she asked.  He blinked at her slowly, as if gauging how loco she was.  A secret for a secret.

“José Manuel Torres y Álvarez.  My madre called me Manu.  Joshua calls me Manuel.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on Meg’s lips, conspiratorially whispering, “His middle name is Patrick. Joshua Patrick Faraday.  The only drunken Irish cowboy whose idea of a great plan was to try to blow himself up.”

“Loco hijo de puta,” Vasquez muttered darkly, his dark eyes flashing with unexpressed pain.  He closed his eyes against the pain, only to have his mind replay the terrifying memories of that very afternoon.

As soon as Vasquez saw the explosion, he took off on his horse after Joshua.

He found him lying motionless and unconscious in the field, fifty feet from the dynamite explosion. If it wasn’t for the trail of a deck of cards, he wasn’t sure he would have found him in the chaotic scene littered with bodies.  How in the name of God Joshua Faraday wasn’t blown to bits was a miracle beyond his limited understanding.  There was blood everywhere.  Vasquez had never seen so much blood.  By some feat of strength, Vasquez managed to throw Joshua Faraday over the saddle.

“Margherita, I found him!” screamed Vasquez as he barreled up to the front of the make shift infirmary on his white stallion.  People had to scattered out of the way of the agitated horse. An unconscious and dangerously pale Joshua Faraday was draped across the front of the saddle.  It took Vasquez, Teddy Q, Sam Chisholm, and Red Harvest to get him off the horse and inside onto a cot where Meg could assess the extent of his injuries.

The first thing Meg did was check for a pulse.  It was faint, but it was there.  Meg went to work, tearing off what remained of Joshua’s singed shirt and pants.  There was so much blood loss.  Blood everywhere.  A horrendous and terrible blood bath.  Vasquez found himself swaying in the corner of the small room, nausea threatening to overwhelm him.

The young woman looked up sharply at Vasquez.  He was pale and covered head to toe in Joshua’s blood.  

“This is no place for you,” she commanded with an edge to her tone, “You aren’t helping him.  Go get that arm checked out.”  

Vasquez disobeyed Meg, his instincts overwhelming him, coming to stand at Joshua’s side.  He reached up around his neck and removed his patron St. Joseph’s medal.  He quickly placed it over Joshua’s head.  This was the protection he could offer, since he wasn’t a healer.

“Güerito,” he cried softly, leaning down to whisper in Joshua’s ear, “You have to live.  You can’t die on me, cabrón!”  With those words, Vasquez departed from Joshua’s bedside.  He instinctively headed straight for the town church.

Meg broke his train of thought, gently speaking, “The only bastard I have ever tried to save that has been shot that many times, and the bullets missed everything vital as far as I can tell.  The bullets deflected off bones and muscle.  And if the bullets didn’t kill him, the explosion should have. Joshua has always had a way of tempting Lady Luck and winning.”

“What are you telling me, señorita?” asked Vasquez, his dark eyes searching her gray eyes.

“He has lost a lot of blood.  The next three days are vital to his survival.  If the blood loss doesn’t kill him, he is at high risk for infection killing him. He needs a miracle and a lot of prayers if he is going to survive.”  

At those words, the Mexican felt his chest cave in on itself. He felt like Meg had physically struck him with her words.  He blinked his eyes, trying to keep the tears from falling.

I knew it was bad, he thought to himself, but to hear just how precariously Joshua’s life swings between life and death..

“I know things, Vasquez, as part of my gift,” Meg fully turned to look at him face to face, “He’s your soul mate.”  She watched the vaquero’s face drain of all blood, turning a deathly pale.  He began to open his mouth to argue with her.  She put her hand up to stop his arguments.

“I am not judging you.  Yes, I love Joshua, we share a history, but it’s different from what you two share.  He is the father of my son.  Joshua is not my soul mate.  He’s yours.  I will not stand in the way of that.”  She paused for a moment to allow her words to sink in.

“He needs you now.  Hold his hand, talk to him,” Meg advised, “He can hear you.  He can sense you.  He’s more likely to survive if you are there by his bedside.  Go see him.”

“Dios y San José pueden salvarlo.”

Meg nodded.  Only God and St. Joseph could save Joshua now.  She reached over, gently taking Vasquez’s hand. She squeezed, offering him comfort in the darkest hour.  He squeezed her hand back in appreciation.  They both bowed their heads simultaneously, offering up a prayer for a miracle.

Vasquez silently stood up, a towering ghost of a man.  She watched with sad eyes as he disappeared from the church.  His lean dark figured disappeared down the street in the direction of the infirmary.  

Meg finally allowed herself to break down and cry, cradling her face in her hands as the hot tears slipped through her fingers.  Her sobs echoed through the empty church.  She offered up her broken prayers to God to save Joshua Faraday.

As soon as Vasquez entered Joshua’s infirmary room, Sam Chisolm gave up his chair at the bedside without a word.  He gave the Mexican cowboy a sad, silent shake of his head, using his eyes to convey his sympathy.  Vasquez gave a small nod in appreciation.  Sam closed the door quietly behind him as he left.

The Mexican pulled the chair up to the bed.  By the lamplight, his dark eyes took in the heartbreaking sight that was Joshua Faraday. He was already grossly swollen, with a plethora of bloody bandages swathing most of his body.  Joshua’s usually vibrant and animated face was as pale and still as a death mask.  Vasquez could just barely make out the rhythmic rise and fall of Joshua’s chest, marking that he was still in the world of the living.

He gently brushed back Joshua’s hair off his face, placing a gentle, feather light kiss on his bruised forehead.  He intertwined the fingers of his other hand with Joshua’s.

The cowboy leaned down to whisper in his ear, “Güerito, I am here. Don’t leave me.  You can’t die on me.  Te amo.”  

Vasquez was sure it was just his mind playing tricks on him.  Until it happened a second time.  There it was.  It was weak, barely palpable, but Joshua definitely squeezed his hand in response to Vasquez’s whispered words.  

It was a milagro.  A miracle.

Notes:  Je-sus-wept, in the words of Joshua Faraday.  Another 1700 words.  This is a bit more melancholy and dark.  But hey, Joshua Faraday has survived to this point in my AU ending to The Magnificent Seven.  I feel like Vasquez is a religious man.  He would be the first one praying for Joshua’s recovery, in my mind.

Please send me writing prompts for Vasquez/Faraday.  

This was inspired by Brad Paisley/Allison Kraus’s “Whiskey Lullaby”, Rascal Flatt’s “What Hurts the Most”, and “Ave Maria”.  

On a cultural note, a curandera (or curandero) was a Mexican village healer.  Because of their societal rank, they were among the most well respected people in the village.  The role was usually passed down from generation to generation within the same family.

[jd-rush]

For Chris Pratt’s birthday, I posted the 6th story in my modern AU Varaday series!