The Person; Primeval Fic
Title: The Person
Author: ssw_loved
Characters: Abby, Becker, mentions of Danny, Matt, Connor, and Jess
Pairings: Becker/Matt, Abby/Connor, mentions of Becker/Danny, platonic Abby/Becker
Rating: R (see warning)
Warnings: mentions of the topic of suicide (no character death)
Spoilers: series 4
Summary: “Maybe that was what it was about - people.” Abby shows up at Becker’s flat, trembling, exhausted, and numb.
Becker knew the reason that the night was dark. Dark hid things; dark covered weakness like a blanket. In the dark that the night brought, one could be weak. One could hide in the night the way a child hid behind his mother, closing his eyes. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me.
Nobody knew what happened when the sun went down.
In the nighttime, in his flat, Hilary Becker no longer had to be the ARC’s soldier.
He could feel. He could let himself feel. He could lie on his couch and struggle not to break down because by now it was so ground into him that even alone, he didn’t allow himself that moment. He could merely allow himself to want that moment, to accept it, if it would come. The pins and needles were the least of the pain that assaulted every part of body.
But he didn’t mind the pain. It held second place to the pain that kept his stomach turning.
Danny had left. He was sure he hadn’t been meant to overhear but Becker knew how to be quiet. And when Matt and Abby had thought he was asleep, he hadn’t been. She’d been sitting on the edge of his infirmary bed when Matt had told her what Danny had said in parting.
“Say goodbye to Connor and Abby for me.”
No ‘Say goodbye to Becker’. No second glance or a touch of the shoulder before he’d left. And Becker understood, he wanted to understand. He wanted not to be selfish and say that more than five seconds of eye contact that said something, that meant something, weren’t necessary.
But Ethan - Patrick - had escaped, and in one second Becker had tried to stop him.
In the next, he’d woken in the infirmary.
And he’d shoved down the pain when he’d woken up to see Abby crying and known something was wrong. That something was very wrong.
Danny had left voluntarily.
Connor hadn’t come back.
There was a difference, a difference that was clear in the way she’d looked like she was pleading with him when he looked at her.
The night could cover a lot of things, but the day could cover absolutely nothing. In the day you had to become your own cover, force yourself not to show anything. He’d grit his teeth and listened to the recap of the meeting with Lester; he’d briefed his men and sent half of them on the hunt to find Connor, unable to do anything himself.
But while half of his men were searching for Connor, nobody could search for Danny. It was his own rules thrown back in his face. He could feel karma laughing.
No search parties, no rescue missions. Nobody goes through. Nobody loses their life again because he allowed them through; nobody met their end the way Dr. Sarah Page had.
And it felt like he was being selfish by even thinking that Connor’s odds were better than Danny’s.
He’d held it in until the night, when he lay on his couch without the lights on and let himself think everything he’d forced down during the day. It felt like everything had been torn away. Nobody stayed for him, and nobody left for him. It was odd to think that, that nobody left for him. But while Danny hadn’t stayed for him, he hadn’t left for him, either.
In the end, Patrick was more important. He always had been.
He let himself suffocate, let the thoughts and feelings drown him.
Until the doorbell rang. It wasn’t a day to be ignoring the door.
Some small part of him hoped, but he didn’t allow himself to believe. He couldn’t let himself cross that blurred line between hope and belief. One was harmful, but the other was dangerous. Becker knew by now to never cross the line between them.
The movement to the door was slower than it would have taken him if he hadn’t been electrocuted. Twice. His muscles screamed angrily whenever he took a step, but he made it to the door and unlocked the bolt, pulling it open to find …
Abby.
Her eyes were red-rimmed, making him wonder how he’d let her leave the office in the first place. Hair pulled back into a messy knot behind her head, cheeks flushed, clothes a mess, she looked as though her legs weren’t going to hold her up.
That, and she was dripping rainwater on the floor.
“You went searching.”
Abby dragged a hand across her eyes, nodding before staring numbly at her palm. It was smeared with mascara.
He blew out a breath before giving her a pointed look. “Stay there, Abigail.” The name didn’t call her to attention as he’d hoped it would. “I’ll be right back.”
Despite protesting muscles, Becker never moved faster in his life than he did then, grabbing two towels from the rack, still slightly warm from the dryer. When he got back, she was still standing there, arms wrapped around herself. She was shaking.
He wrapped the towel around her without asking, heart pounding when she only continued to stare straight ahead. Becker pressed the second towel into her hands, before rubbing her shoulders and arms through the towel to warm her.
“Dry your hair, Abby.” The instruction was gentle, but a command all the same.
She didn’t move.
“Right.” He said through his teeth, kneeling and taking the towel from her hands to move it to her hair. It worried him that she didn’t bother to stop him. “You’re scaring me.” He murmured, gently toweling her hair dry.
When he pulled away, her eyes were closed. He snapped his fingers, relieved when she opened her eyes again. They were glassy, but the issue now lay with the fact that she was swaying back and forth ever so slightly, until he grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her.
“Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
Abby shook her head immediately, jerking away from him. “No.” Her voice was soft.
“Prove it.”
“Fuck you.”
He raised a brow.
“Proven enough for you, Becks?”
He quirked his lips. “It’ll do.” Becker reached down and grasped her fingers, giving them a squeeze - they were numbingly cold. “Come inside.”
He didn’t ask her why she was there - why she’d chosen him, to show up at his flat, because he knew why.
She was just standing there, allowing him to hold her hand very loosely. He squeezed it twice.
“Come on, you’ll get sick. Have you eaten?”
The smell of takeout wafted from the kitchen; he’d nearly forgotten it was there. The soldier’s muscles screamed in protest when he stepped backwards, but he ignored them. He’d told Matt he’d take it easy. He’d told Matt he could take care of himself.
He didn’t want to see Matt tonight.
Danny hadn’t even said goodbye.
He was still holding her hand when his leg seized up, causing him to stumble. Gritting his teeth, he rested for a moment where he’d fallen to his knee.
“Sorry. Sorry, I’d forgotten. What can I do?”
Her hand was rubbing gently at his shoulder as he had been at hers moments before.
“Next time I need you to snap out of it, I’ll make sure I’ve been electrocuted first.” He quipped as he steadied himself, even though he felt disconnected, as though his mouth was moving before he’d even thought of the words.
She sighed, instantly deflating again, sinking to sit where he’d stumbled and wrapping her arms around her knees, letting her head fall.
Becker cursed, straightening his leg to work out the knot. “I didn’t mean that, Abby.” At least they were inside now - that was a step. “C’mon. Eat a few noodles, you can use my shower, I’ll get you some dry clothes. Then we’ll talk.”
The zoologist murmured something unintelligible, and he rubbed the heel of his hand over her back.
“I’m not accepting a ‘no’. C’mon, up.”
In the end, he half hauled her into the kitchen, dumping a spoonful of take out noodles onto her place.
“Do I need to remind you how to eat?”
She shook her head, lifting the spoon, not even looking as though she knew she was eating - leaving him to fear she might choke.
He wanted to punch a fist through the wall. If she was doing the zombie thing, that option was unavailable to him. Fantastic.
He took her by the shoulders to steer her to the bathroom, letting her close the door between them. He leaned against it, sighing through his teeth. “Just throw your clothes on the floor. Towels are on the rack. I’ll bring you something to wear.”
He made sure to hear the water running before moving his protesting his limbs to get her something to wear. He rested for a second with his forehead against his dresser, drawing in a few deep breaths. If he closed his eyes for too long, he was going to fall asleep standing up. Pushing back, he pulled open the dresser and rifled through until he found a suitable gray university t-shirt and a smaller pair of sweatpants.
Becker picked up the clothes and headed back towards the bathroom door, where the shower was still running. “Abby?” There was no response, but he hadn’t expected there to be one. He folded the clothes and placed them down. “I’m leaving the clothes right outside the door.”
There were plenty of reasons why he’d gone home alone tonight, instead of taking up Matt’s offer to go back to his flat. Despite the lingering effects of being electrocuted, he could take care of himself. And if not, he knew how to lie on the couch and pray for morning. He didn’t want Matt to think he was incapable of taking care of himself. It was bad enough that he’d been dragged to the infirmary by Danny and Matt and stayed unconscious throughout. He didn’t need to go to Matt’s flat and be coddled like a child as well.
Not after he’d learned that Danny had gone through an anomaly and after his brother, and nothing Becker could think of doing would bring him back. He couldn’t go through anomalies in the first place, not legally through the ARC. No rescue missions, and it had been Danny’s choice.
Maybe that was what hurt the most.
All of it had been Danny’s choice. Nobody had been forcing him to go through. Even though everything he’d ever done, especially the ARC, had been geared towards finding Patrick again … maybe some small part of him still hoped that he wouldn’t have left without a goodbye.
He knew that was what Abby had been hoping with Connor, too. That she was important enough for him not to leave without a second glance. In her case, of course, Becker had no doubts. It was with Danny and himself that his doubts lay.
There were teams from the ARC out looking for Connor, and half those men were from his own team. If he weren’t unable to take more than fifty steps without needing to stop and take a breath, he’d be heading one of those teams. The sound of the shower running in his apartment only made him feel all the guiltier that he couldn’t.
The edges of his skull were pounding; he pressed a hand to his skull and hissed. Black spots were dancing in front of his vision, but he ignored them like the protesting of his limbs. They weren’t of importance. What was important was that Connor was out there somewhere, and for that man’s sake Becker hoped he’d been taken hostage. If he’d gone off without even thinking of the effects it would have, Becker was going to cave his skull in. Connor had always been a bit socially inept, but to just up and leave without a word to anybody - especially with the day they’d had - that was going too far.
And nobody knew where he was. The suspicion still lay with Burton, but even if Burton had the nerve to take one of their scientists - and Connor at that - they still didn’t know where he was keeping him. Because in Becker’s mind, that was the only logical explanation for any of this. He was being held against his will. He didn’t merely step out and not return.
Not if he’d had any inkling of what it would do to Abby.
Becker pressed his hands against his eyes, hoping it would somehow push away the headache behind them. It wasn’t working.
Of course she would end up wandering the streets while it was downpouring, of course. She’d have done it if it were snowing. Why nobody had thought to follow her home he wasn’t sure, but it was a mistake he was blaming on himself. He should have thought of that. At least he could look out for her if she was here, make sure she didn’t run off and do anything else particularly daft…
The thought of losing any one of them again turned his mouth dry and made him feel as though he were going to be sick. Becker couldn’t do it again, couldn’t go through another year knowing there should be something he could do to fix it but he couldn’t figure it out. The puzzle pieces were there but he couldn’t fit them together. For one of the first times in his life, he felt useless.
The shower was still running. He turned to look by the shower door, finding the clothes still folded there as well. It hadn’t been more than a half hour since she’d turned on the water but he’d already made enough mistakes today to let this one go by as well. With more effort than it was supposed to take, he made his way to the bathroom door and leaned against it.
“Abby?” He questioned before knocking twice. “Let me know you’re all right in there and I’ll let you be.”
Nothing, absolutely nothing.
“Abby?” He grit his teeth. “C’mon.”
His heart didn’t need this. He’d already been shocked today, was she trying to bloody kill him?
“Abigail!” He pounded his fist against the door three times, wincing as it accentuated the pins and needles feeling the EMD had already left there. “If you don’t answer me, I’m coming in.”
There was no sound other than the water. Cursing, he knocked again. “I warned you.” Trying not to hope, he tried the doorknob; it was locked.
Becker took a deep breath, holding it before he backed up and rammed his shoulder into the door. It could be replaced; Abby couldn’t be. He bit down on the pained sound that threatened to move past his lips, backing up and taking another try at it before it caved and he managed not to make a fool of himself by actually falling to the floor. Fire spread its way from his shoulder’s point of impact down to his fingers, leaving him dizzy. However, it wasn’t what he felt, but what he heard, that alarmed him.
He could hear her sobbing - loud, gulping gasps of air coming from the tub.
Taking a quick glance at the shower confirmed his suspicions - she wasn’t standing there, but the water was running and she was curled, naked, on the tub’s floor. Cursing again, Becker grabbed the last towel and averted his eyes, shutting off water that was running ice cold.
“Leave me be.”
Her voice was pitiful, not helped any by the chattering of her teeth. Becker sat on the edge of the tub with his back to her, holding out the towel to her.
“Cover yourself up, Abby.” It was the same sort of gentle command he’d used when he’d tried to tell her to dry her hair.
“No.”
He pushed air out between his teeth. “Wrong answer, I’m afraid.” Waiting a second to give her the option of actually taking the towel from him, he let his eyes fall to the broken door frame. The thought that he’d have to get that replaced crossed his mind, but it was a numb sort of thought, hidden by the more prevalent wonder at the day they were having. It said a lot about a day when it ended with him sitting on the edge of the tub, attempting to coax Abigail Maitland to get out of it.
And she wasn’t exactly listening to him.
“Do you want me to call Lester?” it would be an interesting conversation, if nothing else. Not exactly one he’d look forward to having with the man, but if the threat worked-
“Do what you want.”
Becker dropped the towel abruptly, knowing it hit its target when he heard her yelp of protest. Hoping it had covered her, he turned, eyes flashing with anger.
The sight he was met with was pitiful. Despite her earlier protests, she was clutching the towel and shivering, and her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Abby hadn’t lifted her head from the floor. The entire scene left a metallic taste in his mouth, and he felt acid rising from his stomach.
Though the scene before him made him feel vaguely sick, he couldn’t help the hint of anger that invaded his voice when he spoke.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Each word was sharp, and he could have sworn he saw her flinch.
“What does it look like?”
In the back of his mind, he was at least glad that she was speaking to him now instead of simply staring.
“It looks like you’re trying to kill yourself.” In my shower. He felt nauseous.
She only curled up tighter underneath the towel.
“Abby.” He said, unable to sound anything other than appalled.
“Go away.” She moaned, shuddering.
“When Connor gets back, is this the first thing you’d like me to have to tell him?”
“This is my fault.”
“Don’t give me that.” He snapped, relieved when he saw her flinch. If she was flinching, it meant she was still feeling, and right now, that was a good thing. “I know all about guilt. If you’ll get out of the tub, I’ll make you some tea and we’ll talk.”
He waited a heartbeat.
“Or I call 999 and get you admitted. Your choice.” Becker raised a brow.
Her eyes opened, tears trickling down her cheek. “A year. And now he’s just …”
Becker sighed, sinking to his knees next to the side of the tub to brush gently at her hair. She was trembling, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her jaw was clenched. “I know.” He soothed. “But he’s not gone. We’ll find him.”
Shakily, she met his eyes, still not lifting her head from its place on the ground. It looked like she was straining to do even that, but not moving away was something.
“How d’you know?”
The soldier rested a hand against her cheek; it was ice cold in comparison to the warmth of his hand. How long had she been just lying there under icy water? For the full half hour? “Nobody’s giving up until we do. Besides, can you imagine someone trying to hold Connor captive?”
That won the slightest of watery smiles, though it dissipated within seconds. “He’d talk their ear off.” Her words were followed by a sigh that turned into a whimper.
“And he’s got you to get back to.” Becker offered his hand, and she took it after a moment. “C’mon, this can’t be comfortable.” Squeezing her hand gently before letting it go, he returned to the door and grabbed the folded clothes. Becker set them on the edge of the tub, where he’d been sitting.
“Put them on and come out when you’re done.” He raised a brow at the questioning look she gave him. “Don’t try anything stupid. I’m standing by the door this time.” He didn’t exactly have a door any longer, but he’d stand off by the wall and that would have to do. The annoyed, narrow eyed glare she sent his way at his warning was nothing less than expected.
And it was far better than the zombie stare he’d dealt with earlier.
Becker leaned against the wall, next to the shattered door, clenching his jaw and taking deep breaths through his nose. If he didn’t lose his dinner, he’d consider it a victory. The world was spinning, and the day had been longer than any he’d had before. Nothing was all right about any of this. He wanted to turn back the clock to the minutes before he’d let the three of them step through the anomaly without him. He wanted to change things.
And he couldn’t. Nothing he could do would turn back the clock to make it that they’d never stepped through, or that Sarah had never died. Nothing would change the fact that every time he saw Connor he saw a man who’d been forced to grow up, and who was struggling to hold onto his childhood, and that when he looked at Abby he saw someone so haunted with memories that it reminded him of himself and made him sick.
“Becker?”
He turned from resting his weight against the broken doorframe to find her standing in the doorway. Abby’s hair was dripping wet, soaking the shoulders of the shirt that fell past her knees. Her cheeks were streaked with mascara, her hair was in knots, and her arms were crossed tightly in front of her stomach in an attempt to stop herself from shaking. Her eyes were half closed.
He stopped himself from asking if she felt any better. It was easy enough to see that she didn’t.
“Go sit on the couch.” He urged her, nodding his head in its direction. “There’s a blanket. Have a lie down and I’ll bring you some tea.” His voice was soft, quieter than he usually spoke. Seeing her shaking made him feel like he had to whisper, as though if he spoke louder she’d crumble. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to having around her.
Becker made sure she was headed in that direction before he went to put on a pot of water, letting his mind glaze over as he waited. The mobile buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. There wasn’t a point in checking to see whatever apology Matt had for him. If somebody had news on Connor, they’d call. Even better, they’d call Abby. There was no reason for him to answer a text tonight. He poured the tea into one of his mugs.
She was curled on the end of his couch, blanket wrapped lightly around her. The recurring thought that she’d more than likely just tried to kill herself invaded once again. If he hadn’t gone in there … what would he have found? The water had been nothing less than ice cold, too. Shaking his head slightly, he handed her the cup, making sure it was securely in her hands and she’d taken a sip before he sat down next to her.
For a moment, neither said a word. He let her sip at the tea as he leaned back, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She wasn’t done when she placed the mug on the side table, but she wasn’t shivering anymore, and that had been the point. He watched her close her eyes and pull the blanket to her chin before speaking.
“I’m sorry.” She said, voice cracking, eyes still closed. “I was being stupid.”
The protest of sore muscles as he turned his head to look at her made him wince. When not looking from the peripheral, Becker could see just how badly beaten she looked.
“You don’t need to apologise.” Becker turned to her, sighing. Despite not approving of finding her on the floor of the tub, he understood her reasons. He knew exactly why she was grasping at straws, hanging on by barely a thread.
Because he was feeling that way, too.
“Abby, you’re not stupid. You’re just scared. That’s-“
The blonde shook her head, sending drops of water spraying across the room.
He gently touched her knee. “It’s okay.”
“No.” The answer was immediate, less of a word and more of a bark.
Becker raised an eyebrow. “It’s not okay?” He inquired, dipping his head to catch her eye. His brow was raised ever so slightly, eyes searching her trembling features.
“No. It’s not.” She hissed, biting down on her lip. Tears pooled in her eyes again. “I can’t be scared.” Abby turned away, looking towards the opposite wall instead of at him. “It’s weak.”
He tried to say her name but she stopped him.
“You know what that feels like.” The words caught in her throat. “To not want to be afraid.” Abby leaned down, resting her cheek against the arm of his couch.
“Abby,” He murmured, feeling his chest tighten. “You’re allowed to … break down once in awhile.”
She didn’t look at him when he she muttered the words, “Your phone.”
“Excuse me?” Becker sputtered, hiding his surprise in a cough.
“If I’m allowed to break down, so are you.” When she finally raised her head to look over at him, it was Becker who didn’t want to make eye contact anymore. “Someone keeps texting you. My guess is Matt.”
“Abigail-“
Abby turned and sat up, drawing her knees to her chest. The saddened, hopeless look in her eyes had turned harsh, nearly volatile. “You don’t get to pick and choose who to heal, Hilary.” His name was both drawn out and a snap that was angry enough to make him want to wince. How someone who was practically curled into a ball could almost make him wince wasn’t something he wanted to consider.
“Whether or not Matt is texting me is none of your business.”
“And neither is whether or not I-“
“You what? Kill yourself?”
She gave a snort of indignation and turned away from him.
“You tried to kill yourself in my flat, Abby. That makes it my business. And if it had been your own flat, it’s still my business!”
Her eyes were closed, mouth pressed into a flat line. “I don’t see how.”
“Well, maybe that’s the problem, hmm? People care about you, Abby, whether you want to see that or not.”
Mouth quivering, she spoke again. “I have to be strong for him.” The words were strained with a forced, faux-courage that he saw right through. Maybe he saw through it because he did the exact same thing on a daily basis.
“You’re home, Abby.” It struck him for the millionth time how far away she looked - as though part of her had been left behind. “You don’t have to pretend.” Tears leaked over the edges of her eyes. They were getting somewhere. He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “You can let your guard down. I won’t tell.” One arm moved to wrap around her shoulders. “It’s been a long year.” Her expression faltered again at the whispered words.
One sob was followed by another until they were continuous and he pulled her closer to allow her to rest against his side, surprised when she actually did. Somehow, he felt that holding her there would keep them both a bit safer. She couldn’t be dead in his bathroom if she was sitting next to him.
There was a reason for their friendship, a way of understanding that they shared. She might be the zoologist, him the soldier, and while their reasons remained different, and secret, they shared the same basic mindset.
Don’t let people in. Act tough. Keep your walls up. Go to that place in your mind where nothing can ever hurt, and you’ll be all right.
Abigail Maitland had become the older sister he’d never had the day they’d gone after her brother. They watched each other’s backs because each was too stubborn to take their own safety into account.
It meant something, that he had someone who was willing to look out for him. There were only a few times in his life he could remember actually having that, with someone who wasn’t on his team, in his family. Somehow Abby had crossed that line, along with Danny and Connor, wormed their way into his heart and made him care about them. It was something he’d vowed not to do after countless funerals he’d had to attend. Don’t get too close, his heart had begged him. You’ll only get hurt.
But it was impossible with this team and he was here now, paying the price.
Was it worth it?
He thought so. He liked to think so. That through the pain and suffering it was worth caring about them even though it hurt so much it felt like his heart was being ripped apart. It was a feeling he was used to, but unlike physical pain, it wasn’t one he could grow numb to.
It hurt to care, to invest himself with people who put themselves in danger every day, but if he hadn’t been here tonight, where would she have gone? Danny was gone. Matt couldn’t possibly understand. Jess was a sweet girl, but to handle something like this…
And then there was the part of him, that sentimental part he still hid, that was glad it was his flat she’d chosen to show up at. That their friendship meant enough to her that she’d show up when she was at her lowest.
Maybe that was what it was about - people. Maybe it didn’t matter what relationship it was, who that person was, but simply that they were there at moments like these, that with one person you could both laugh and cry with, allow them to sit there and pick up the pieces when you could barely move on your own.
He’d had that with Danny. He didn’t know what was there anymore, if it was salvageable or if maybe, that person who meant that much to Danny was Patrick. If that was what Danny needed … to search for his own person, to save that person who meant so much to him, than he’d allow it. He wouldn’t stop him. He could move on, couldn’t he? If he didn’t mean as much, he could move on.
The mobile buzzed in his pocket again, reminding him who was sending the messages in the first place. It reminded him of nightmares he’d woken from with Matt’s name on his lips. It reminded him of screaming at the man for so long that his voice had gone, but it not mattering because for god’s sake, it had meant something. Every time he’d ever been angry it had been out of fear.
Matthew Anderson could scare him like nothing else.
He didn’t know who that person was yet, for him, or if such a thing existed. But he knew that he’d laughed so hard with Matt that his sides had hurt and come so close to breaking down that his throat had ached.
And then there was the time Matt had saved his life and that was something Becker could never repay.
Maybe Matt was that person.
Danny had been, once.
He pulled Abby tighter against him and felt her fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. Abby was one of those people, because Becker believed there could be more than one, and that whether they were a brother or a sister, lover, best friend, they could mean enough that he’d take a bullet for them.
--
“You don’t have to do this.” Abby whispered, sounding past exhausted.
In reality, he shouldn’t be. He should have been stretched out (probably) in the infirmary. But when it came to watching out for a friend versus his own health, the former always won.
‘You’ve done enough.” She continued, and Becker noticed that she’d drawn in her legs a bit more. “I’m not going to-“
“I’m aware.” Becker cut in, simultaneously clenching his jaw and fighting off the urge to rub his temple. “Stop fussing and shut your eyes.”
She rolled them, but turned on her side and sighed. “Thanks.” If he hadn’t been listening, he wouldn’t have caught the whispered word.
“Any time, Abby.” Though cramped, the couch wasn’t that uncomfortable. And besides, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d ignore the five percent possibility she’d do something stupid and he wasn’t sitting right there this time.
“By the way,”
“Yes?” Becker questioned cautiously.
“If you don’t answer Matt tomorrow, I’ll do it for you.” He caught the quirk to her mouth. “And you won’t like what I send.”
It was Becker’s turn to roll his eyes. “Of course I won’t.”
Some things never changed.
In the morning, they’d start fresh: search for Connor, put up those mental walls again, pretend the night hadn’t existed.
And maybe, tomorrow, he’d spend the night at Matt’s.