The first chance Danny gets after he's done having his neck patched up by the medics, he goes looking for Becker.

Besides the odd requisite glance to be sure he still had all his parts, he hadn't gotten to check in on him after they got back through the anomaly. He hasn't since, either. Which, in hindsight, hardly seems fair. Connor and Abby had time to snog each other silly on the staircase, and Lester couldn't even hold off long enough for Danny and his soldier boy to have words. He suspects the man knows about the two of them. Honestly, he'd have to be half blind not to; Danny's not so big on keeping business and pleasure separate. Probably pretends not to for the sake of deniability.

Still. Bit of a prick thing to do. Especially considering not long ago, Danny thought Becker was dead.

He's got time now, though, and with his neck bandaged and Wilder and that bitch Johnson squarely out of sight and out of mind, he plans to capitalize.

Luckily, Becker's not a hard man to find. At least not by someone who knows where to look. And more than anyone else, he thinks, when it comes to his soldier boy, Danny Quinn knows where to look.

He finds him in the armoury. No surprise there. What is a surprise is that he's still wearing the same compression shirt and fatigues from their little holiday in the future. He's got his back to Danny and looks to be putting his guns away.

Danny knows from experience that sneaking up on Becker is never a good idea. And while he still does it sometimes (he lives dangerously), this isn't going to be one of those times. He can tell by the set of Becker's shoulders that he's not quite come off the adrenaline. He's still on edge. Danny doesn't blame him, of course; he's still a bit tense himself.

He manages a smile anyway. "It's a good thing I know how much you fancy me," he says. "Otherwise I might be jealous of you taking care of your guns before you so much as pop in on me." It's fair warning. He knows Becker hears him, even though he doesn't look up. Becker always focuses when he does this, and heaven help the dumb sod that tries to distract him.

Danny, as acting Dumb Sod, fully intends to do just that.

He closes the distance to the table in a few quick strides, turning on his heal and landing in a casual lean back against the edge of the table right next to him. "I'm fine, in case you were wondering."

"Let me guess: had worse shaving?"

"Took the words right out of my mouth."

"I'm sure there's plenty more where that came from."

Danny smiles that much wider, only to wince when Becker starts to open the case for the Mossberg and can't seem to get his left arm up and out enough to do it. He made the mistake of giving him a good kick in the shoulder when they got back, not expecting him to groan and curl in on himself like he did. He thought it was just a scratch; clearly, he was wrong. Becker's still not using the arm properly.

He takes some pity on him, reaching over to undo the latch nearest him and help him open it up. "Good thing you're a righty, aye?"

"I'm fine." And stubborn as always, it seems like.

Danny expected nothing less. "How about you let me be the judge of that, Hils." He gives him a second, but he doesn't get so much of a rise out of him. "Not even a pout? Now I know you feel like shite."

Becker did frown at that. "I don't pout." He punctuated the statement by checking the action on the newly-cleaned and assembled Mossberg.

"For what it's worth, I think it's sexy."

"I don't pout," Becker repeats. He puts the gun up, and starts to reach up to close the lid, but his arm appears to catch again, and even the stoic soldier can't hide his flinch.

"Definitely gonna have to have a look at that shoulder," Danny tells him. He reaches up and bumps the lid closed, and instead of letting Becker have a go at the latches, he grabs the handle, drags the case closer to him and out from in front of Becker, and shuts them himself. "Guessing you haven't made it down to the infirmary?"

It's not really a guess anymore. Becker's never said as much, but Danny's getting the sneaking suspicion he has an aversion to medical facilities and related personnel.

"I saw a medic on-site."

"You stood there long enough for the bloke to pick glass out of your back; it's not the same thing." He saw that much, before he had to go.

The corner of Becker's lips actually curled a little in a half-smile, and he gave a one-sided shrug. It's that almost mischievous look he gets sometimes. Makes Danny feel a bit better. "It counts."

Not that much better.

"Not quite. Top marks for effort, but you're coming home with me. Now."

Becker shakes his head. "I've got work to do."

"Cleaning your guns?"

"Well, they won't clean themselves," he says with the air of someone that's suffered Danny's shite far too long. He's only twenty-seven. He shouldn't be able to look so bloody put out. It's not right.

Still, Danny chuckles. "Cheeky. I like it." But then his smile falls a bit. "Speaking of cheeks." He reaches out to catch Becker's chin. Becker tries to pull his head back, but Danny just stands up straight and moves in closer until he's got a better angle on him. "Easy, soldier boy. Just having a look at you." While he's at it, he turns them around, backing Becker into the table and all but trapping him there.

It's not generally a wise thing, to corner Becker, but it's really the only way he's going to get him to hold still. Besides, if he didn't want Danny to do it, he could have stopped him. But instead, he goes with it, albeit with an exasperated roll of his eyes and a bit of foot-dragging. It's as much of an all clear as he's going to get, he expects.

He takes it, turning his attention to the big, nasty scuff on his cheekbone. It's starting to swell, and there's some colour blooming out around that in his temple. "You go a few rounds with one of the predators? Figured them more for the bite and scratch type, but it looks more like you took a sharp right hook."

He goes to brush his thumb over the edge of it, but Becker flinches and hisses through his teeth.

"Right, I take it that's tender."

"You don't say," Becker grinds out through gritted teeth.

Danny shakes his head. He does sympathize, really. His neck hurts, and that's all he's got to grapple with. Becker looks like he's been put through a paper shredder and beat with a cricket bat a few times for good measure.

"Better idea, then."

"Famous last words, coming from you."

"Oi." He flicks Becker on the ear. It seems like the only part of him that isn't some form of scuffed, scratched, or bruised.

It earns him a growl and a kick to the shin, but there's no power behind it.

"As I was saying: you come with me back to mine. Shower off, and I'll see if I can't tape you back together."

"That's the same idea you had before."

There's something about the way he says it, almost plaintive, that is equal parts pitiful and, well, cute. He can't resist the urge to ruffle his hair, already out of its usual impeccable form. He's fucking adorable. And for the sake of staying alive (and not making Becker move more than is absolutely necessary), he's going to keep that to himself for the time being.

For all the good it does. Becker still swats his hand away, and ends up wincing. It's not even his left arm he moves.

"Is there a part of you that doesn't hurt?"

Becker holds up two fingers in a V.

"Well that's just not nice," Danny complains.

In response, Becker just pushes Danny back. Or tries to. Danny lets him push him a few steps, but he takes him by the upper arms and pulls him back with him. "Alright, alright," he says. "I get it. Not in the mood for teasing." He can't keep the grin off his face, but he really does sympathize. "Come on, then. Let's get you out of here, then."

And more than the scuffs, the scrapes, the sore shoulder and sorer attitude, it's the fact that Becker doesn't protest that tells Danny just how horrible he really feels. Which in turn makes Danny feel at least a little bit horrible in turn. Mostly, though, he's just determined to take care of him, make him feel slightly less horrible at least.

Whether Becker wants him to or not.

When Becker stoops to get his bag, Danny clucks his tongue and takes it first. "Hero doesn't carry his own bag," he says when Becker shoots him a look.

"I'm not a hero, Danny," Becker tells him.

Danny just shoulders his bag and captures any further protests in a kiss. When he leans back, Becker looks that typical cross between pleased and indignant he gets when Danny breaks the PDA rule. Which is a lot, if he's being perfectly honest. It's not even much of a rule at this point. And he doesn't think Becker really minds.

"No more arguing. Chop chop, soldier boy. We're moving out. Quick time. On the double."

"One more military cliché, I'll find a way to open another anomaly to the future and toss you in."

The threat doesn't hold much weight, period. But it would probably hold more if Becker wasn't sheet white and walking like his whole body was one big, tender bruise.

"You could give it the old English try."

"I'd manage."

"'Course you would. But in the meantime, you could use a shower and a kip, and that's just for starters." He steals another quick peck and starts steering Becker out the door. "Who knows?" he says as they make their way (slowly) out of the armoury. "If you're good, I'll even wash your back."

"You're all heart."

"Lucky for you, aye?"

"Right," Becker mutters dryly. "Lucky for me."