Hours

In the hours after it becomes obvious he's really and truly lost them, Becker wanders into the lab, locks the door behind him, and slides down against the wall, dark eyes watching with morbid fascination as sweat and humidity streak the dried blood on his hands bright crimson. It isn't his blood, it's Sarah's, and there's hair caught under broad, chipped nails from where he held her so tightly it pulled away when the rest of his team dragged him away from the corpse because if they didn't, the Predator would have gotten him too.

Days

The interrogations take days. Days of faceless, suited drones coming in with their cameras and recorders; asking questions they don't understand the answers to. He lives in a strange limbo of hope and denial—on one hand he cannot believe they're gone, on the other the hope is paralyzing. Talk of a new team goes in one ear and out the other in spite of the fact the new building is flooded with recruits who gape excitedly at him in the dimly lit halls. Seeing their faces, Becker decides right then...no one goes through an anomaly again, ever. No more rescue missions, no more hoping.

Months

Six months to the day Becker visits the anomaly site armed with nothing but a quivering animal carrier and a fruit salad. He lets Rex out and the winged lizard scampers to lay over his shoulders while he feeds it mango bits and strawberries. They've struck an odd sort of friendship, man and lizard, not something he could ever see happening if Abby were still there. As if sensing his melancholy, Rex moves to huddle his large body in Becker's padded leather jacket, trilling sadly. "I know, I miss her too." He says, stroking the top of the lizard's head with a single calloused finger.

Year(s)

The alarm goes off and Becker hops into the driver's seat of the van, body moving on muscle memory. As always, he buries the surge of hope that comes with every flashing blare—like muscle memory, hope is involuntary, too. So when the cars pull into that bright, sunny plaza, he isn't actually expecting to see them.

"Oh, god!" the words slip out, his voice cracking so badly the solider in the passenger's seat turns his head slowly and blinks. Unshakable Becker, exclaiming to god, of all things...

Of all things he expected to see pressed flat against the cement, the last were two of his best friends and for a moment he pauses, composing himself as best he can to at least manage the typical sarcasm.

"I hope you brought me a souvenir." He manages, holding both hands down before pulling Abby into a tight, one-armed embrace, his head nuzzling against her hair. She smells like sweat, air and fresh earth. He wants to hold her forever if only because she is living proof that he didn't fail, not completely. Looking over her shoulder , Becker sees Connor beaming at him under—good lord, a beard!—and holds his other arm out, only to have it clasped immediately. For an impossibly long moment he holds them both, content for the first time in a long time with the simple knowledge of a job well done.