No rest for the weary. It wasn't the motto for the ARC, but if you asked Matt Anderson, it bloody well should have been. Three calls in that many days, and they hadn't been easy. The second one, especially, at the warehouse with the baryonyx.

They'd lost a man, and not a one of them had gotten out without some sort of bump or scrape. Connor had a black eye from getting knocked back into a shipping container; Abby, scuffs up and down her knees and palms from trying to catch herself when she got thrown by its tail. He himself had taken a good bruising diving clear of it, and again when it nearly trampled him. Becker that took the worst of it, though. It managed to graze him in the though when they were running, trying to corral the bloody thing back towards the anomaly. And while that didn't sound terrible off the bat, a little nip, considering the thing doing the grazing was nearly two metres tall and two thousand kilos heavy, Matt certainly didn't envy him.

He was alright, though. Checked out by the medics, apparently, given the go-ahead to go back to work, or so he'd been told. And with the latest anomaly popping up, they needed as many hands on deck as they could get.

Today, it was like a demented game of Cluedo: Matt Anderson in the library with the coelurus agili. Well, Matt Anderson in the basement with the coelurus. They were all technically in the library, and the little buggers were everywhere. It was like herding kittens, trying to track them all down and get the lot of them back .

They'd managed, though. Mercifully. According to both Connor's and Jess's readings, they had managed to corral the last of the bitey little dinosaurs back through the anomaly. Now all that left was to regroup and get out so the cleaners could do their jobs.

"I'm coming up," he announced over the comm, doing one last scan of the place. He kept hearing things fluttering about, but it always turned out to just be overturned books or ripped pages. The threat had been neutralised.

Now if only he could say the same about the anxious feeling in his gut. Like the danger hadn't quite passed, and the danger wasn't quite averted. And try as he might to shake the feeling, it lingered.

"Connor and I are already outside," came Abby's voice over the comm.

Matt did a mental roll call in his head and frowned. "We're short one," he said. "Anybody heard from Becker?"

The comms were silent a moment, and that niggling feeling in the pit of Matt's gut was starting to grow - he could hear Connor getting antsy on the other end of the line, too; the pair of them, he and Becker, really were all on about each other - until at last, they heard a curt, "In the projector room," from Becker. Presumably in the projector room. With the pipe wrench.

From Connor's end, he heard a sigh of relief. "Bloody hell," he said, "There's another grey hair on me head. Are you trying to give us all heart attacks?" He went on, of course. It was Connor; he always went on. Something about manners and not making people think you'd gone and been gnaws on by tiny little carnivores. All very interesting, Matt was sure, only he couldn't be arsed to listen.

In his defence, he was a mite preoccupied. Becker had answered, sure enough, and it didn't sound like any metre-high dinosaurs were using him as a rawhide chew. But that niggling little feeling wasn't getting any less niggling, and he had the sudden suspicion it might have something to do with their resident head of security.

He decided to take a little detour on the way up.

The copy room was on the first floor, in the administrative corner of the building up near the southeast. It was more or less on his way to the door, by way of references, by way of periodicals. Best and most likely scenario, he happened upon Becker on the way out, and all would be as it should be. Worst, he found the root of that no good feeling slithering about in his chest. And did something about it.

"Start mobilizing. We want everyone clear for the cleanup team," Matt said as he started up the stairs, two at a time.

"One step ahead of you." As she always was, it seemed like. What she lacked in years and experience, she made up for in experience that Jess. And a real pleasant attitude, to boot. She was probably the most agreeable member of the team.

It just so happened he was out to track down the least.

"Oi, Becker, you in here?" he asked as he made it up to the administrative area. Unlike the rest of the library, this bit looked more like an office building than anything, with little cubicles and tiny little rooms, all done up in that same industrial look that was popular in most places of the like. But nothing doing. No response from Becker, even though he should've been in ear shot. He tried again. "Becker, d'you hear me? If ye hear me, say so." They were on the bloody comms, after all. Even if he wasn't in the area, he should've responded.

He was walking past one of the offices, about to get to the copy room to see for himself what was holding the captain up, when all the sudden, he felt something latch onto the back of his coat and tug him backwards. It caught him by surprise, and reflexes or not, whatever it was doing the grabbing was quick enough with a tight enough grip that he didn't really have much choice but to go where it was pulling.

By the time his brain caught up with everything else, he was being pushed against the wall in an arm bar. There was a moment's confusion, then he saw Becker. It was his arm. His hand doing the grabbing. And now, it was his face in Matt's, a finger to his lips and the intent sort of look in his eyes he only seemed to get when there was something worth worrying about.

Matt bloody hated that look.

"Becker?" he asked, only to be shushed sharply. He held up his hands in silent surrender, and Becker, apparently pleased, released him. "What is it?" he mouthed as Becker backed away, hand on his pistol. His eyes were roving the room like he was looking for something, and Matt felt his nerves ratchet up a few notches. What if they'd missed one? If something else had gotten through? The library was a big place, with a lot of spots for a creature to hide; it wouldn't be too difficult to imagine something slipping by them, and that wasn't a thought that sat well with him.

Becker didn't respond immediately, moving to a better vantage point, and Matt followed his lead. He moved with purpose, and Matt knew better than to get in his way when he was working. "There's something here," he whispered finally. His voice was so low, it was barely audible; Matt barely heard it, and he was standing right next to him.

"What was that?" said Jess. And if Matt wasn't imagining it, Becker nearly flinched at the sound of it. High alert, then. Not a good sign. Matt's hand went to the EMD at his hip, just to be safe. Although he couldn't help noticing it wasn't an EMD Becker was holding. Try as Matt did to discourage the behaviour, he never did leave the office without at least one regular firearm at his side, usually his standard-issue sidearm. He supposed it made sense; dinosaurs weren't the only threats they could face, and even at that, sometimes Matt had to admit that non-lethal wasn't an option.

Still, the creatures they'd seen weren't but a metre tall, with teeth no longer than a particularly aggressive cat's. They might hurt, yeah, but next to that love bite he'd gotten from the baryonyx, Matt didn't expect Becker had much to fear from their latest charges.

He seemed to disagree. Or maybe he'd seen something that Matt hadn't, that they'd missed on the scans. Becker was a capable soldier, and Matt knew better than to question him without due cause.

"Where?" he whispered instead, voice no louder than Becker's had been.

Becker seemed to hesitate a moment – odd – before tipping his head towards the door. Brilliant. It was outside. While part of Matt took comfort in that, it being a small room with not a lot in the way of cover, the thought of chasing something else about the massive, dusty library, wasn't a pleasant one. Especially not if they were dealing with something more than an errant coelurus.

"Did ye get a look at it?"

Becker nodded. He was moving again, towards the door, and Matt nearly winced in sympathy. The medic might've cleared him for duty, but he was still walking with a bit of a limp. Nothing too pronounced, although it was hard to tell how much of that was the injury being a minor one, and how much of it was Becker being too stubborn to show he was hurting. He'd tried getting him to take the day off yesterday, when he'd first seen him after his stint with the medic. Apparently Connor'd tried the same that morning before he came in – he very deliberately didn't think about what the two of them were doing together that morning before they came in. Seemed they'd neither of them had any success.

Part of Matt was grateful for it, now. Without Becker's command, getting the exclusion zone set up as quickly as they had and getting the library shut down and quartered off, things would've been a lot messier than they had been. And while one coelurus wasn't all that scary to someone that knew what they were doing, set a pack of them on a civilian, and lives would be lost. They'd avoided that today, in part because of Becker. So stubborn as he was, and he was stubborn, Matt would always be one of the first to admit the man knew what he was doing.

Which was why he was trying so hard to work with him, now, even when he was being less than helpful. "Well?" he pressed. "What did it look like?"

"What did what look like?" Jess said over the comm. Again, Becker tensed. Maybe the volume was up a touch too high on his receiver. Something to look at later. Or maybe he was just all nerves. Matt knew the feeling, the tension in his gut and the bowstring muscles, ready to snap at the slightest sound or sight.

Becker seemed to be thinking. His brows furrowed, the corners of his lips pulling down into a frown as he peered around the corner of the room. Like he couldn't quite remember or something.

Odd, Matt thought. Because even after you'd seen as many as they had, dinosaurs were the sort of thing a man remembered. Especially a man like Becker, who could memorize the layout of the bloody Buckingham Palace at a glance and pen it from memory three years later. Maybe he wasn't a scientist, but the man was a bloody genius in his own right.

That was why his behaviour now struck Matt as so odd. Disjointed, almost. Becker was always so keen, so curt. He didn't forget things. He didn't falter like he was, now.

And then a thought occurred to Matt, one that both sickened and startled him all at once. One that stopped his feet and widened his eyes as he turned them from the hall, instead, to study Becker. His own wide, fever-bright eyes. The sweat beading on his brow. The shallow breaths. Dilated pupils. The thought grew, from vague notion to strange suspicion, and finally, as Becker peered once more out into the hall Matt had only just come from as if it held the devil himself, to startling realization.

There wasn't anything there.

"Becker," Matt said, only to realize his mistake when Becker turned and hushed him again. Too loud. Whatever it was that was out there – whatever it was Becker thought was out there, Becker was worried it would hear him. And even if Matt was right, and there really wasn't anything there, then telling Becker that wasn't going to end well. Especially not if he'd crossed the line from malaise to paranoia. There was no telling what state he was in.

When next he spoke, it was quieter, but firm. "Becker, get back." The abruptness of it caught Becker's attention, as he hoped it would, and Becker pulled back enough that Matt was able to pull the door closed.

"What is it?" This time, it was Becker asking the question. His hand was gripping his pistol tightly. Enough so, in fact, that Matt couldn't help wondering if it mightn't be a bad idea for a man he suspected more and more wasn't in the soundest state of mind, to be holding a loaded weapon.

He would tread cautiously. "Thought I saw something," he said. "But I think it might've just been the light."

"There's nothing on the scans," Jess told them over the comms. "Right, Connor?"

"I've got nothing here, either."

"Then the scans are wrong," Becker said firmly. His teeth were gritted, his grip tight on the pistol. He'd taken to leaning against the wall, eyes darting occasionally through the window on the door. Keeping watch.

With Connor and Jess's assurances, though, Matt was really starting to think there was nothing there to see. There was something the matter with Becker. He hadn't seen it at first, couldn't hear it over the comms, but there was definitely something off. He was showing signs of shock.

"They've been right every other time, mate," Connor was saying, "I don't see that's changed any, not for no reason. Haven't done anything differently. You two sure there's something there?"

"I'm sure, Connor." The patience in Becker's voice was strained. Or maybe it was just his voice, period, that was that way. "There's something here."

And nothing could convince him otherwise, it seemed. The farther along this got, the more troubling it was. The more worrying it was. Becker wasn't the type to be irrational, but there was no telling the impact his illness or exhaustion or shock or whatever it was on his ability to see reason. And Matt couldn't bring him around on his own. They were friends, he and Becker, but there were limits to how much that sort of thing could get through to a person. He needed reinforcements.

He had an idea.

"Connor, you and Abby see if you can't make your way down here. See what's going on with the readings."

There was some hesitation, but then, "Right. On our way. To the copy room, yeah? There in two shakes, so long as you're not counting."

The look Becker shot him was a mix of perplexed and pissed off. "What are you doing?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "There's something out there. They could get hurt."

"I'm sure they'll be fine." And if anyone was going to be able to reason with Becker, it was going to be Connor. Of that, Matt was certain. In the meantime, "What about you?"

"What about me?" Becker had taken to leaning against the wall, and Matt couldn't help noticing he wasn't putting any weight on his right leg. Whatever this was, he would bet good odds it had to do with that wound. The baryonyx wasn't venomous as far as they knew, so at least there was that. But there were still worlds of other concerns when dealing with injuries from these prehistoric creatures. Infections, unseen tissue damage. The former, he thought, would account for the fever, the sweats, the hallucinations.

Matt nodded down at Becker's leg. "From yesterday."

"It's fine."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." If it was any shorter, he wouldn't have spoken at all. His face was drawn, and Matt couldn't be sure how much was temper and how much was pain. But neither boded well for a sound conversation. As if to prove his point, Becker turned back to the window. "Help me...help me look."

It was the breath in the middle that made Matt stop and pause. Becker was fit. Fitter than most, and certainly fit enough he could make it three bloody words without taking a break around the middle. That, with the way he was leaning on the wall, made Matt think he was getting worse.

"Connor, Abby, where are you?" He had half a mind to call in a medical team, but he didn't want to stir things up. This would be trouble enough without getting Becker all bent out of shape.

"Getting close to the southeast corner. Shouldn't be more than a minute or two," Abby said.

"Good."

"Be careful," Becker told them. "Don't be reckless."

There was a scoff that sounded a bit like Abby, but then, after a second, he heard Connor chime back up. "What about you two?" he asked. "Everything alright on your end, mates?" His tone sounded light enough, but Matt could hear the concern lacing it. He could almost see Connor's face, the way his brows would pull in and his nose would do that strange thing that Becker had once, when heavily plied with alcohol, insisted was 'bloody adorable.' Connor had the poker face of an excited three-year-old, and it made reading his expressions very easy. It also made imagining them the same.

Unfortunately, Becker was a bit more difficult a nut to crack. Matt had already decided there was something wrong, but beyond that, it was difficult to say. He was much better at hiding things than his scientist counterpart. "I said I was fine." It was the kind of voice that held no room for argument, and Connor must've heard it as such, because after a muttered apology, he didn't say anything else. And Becker must've felt bad about it, because he let out a sigh and thumped his head against the wall.

Matt didn't think anything of it, until he didn't lift his head again.

"Becker—"

"I swear to bloody hell, if you ask me if I'm alright again." He didn't say what he'd do, but the implication was there: nothing pleasant. He was clearly getting on his last nerve. His last leg, too, from the looks of things, and Matt meant that literally. He looked...worn down.

Wanting to avoid a fight, Matt held up his hands in surrender. "I wasn't going to." Which wasn't actually a lie. He wasn't going to ask if Becker was alright, because he really didn't need to. Clearly, he wasn't. "I was only goin' to suggest ye sit down, take a load off until Connor and Abby get here."

"Might not be a bad idea," Connor agreed over the comms. Becker's narrow eyes narrowed further, as if he was glaring at Connor in his head, but Matt sent him a silent thank you. It wasn't that he thought Becker would listen to either of them, really. For all the grief he gave them, Becker could be the most stubborn of the lot when he put his mind to it. But if he was going to listen to anybody, it would be Connor. It would always be Connor.

And he needed to listen, Becker did. Matt could see it now, and his suggestion had really just been a roundabout way of telling Becker to sit down before he fell down, because it was really only a matter of time. He was breathing hard, the few drops of sweat from before spread out to a thin, sickly-looking sheen on his pale skin. He looked ill, really and truly ill, and Matt was concerned. He should be lying down, or sitting at the very least, until they could get someone to have a look at him.

Unfortunately, Becker didn't seem to agree. "No," he said, in that vague kind of voice a child refuses to do something sensible like go to bed when they're a wink and a breath from falling asleep where they stand. And while it did seem odd, comparing the six-plus foot soldier to a petulant child, the comparison was too spot-on not to.

"Why not, mate?" Matt tried. "Connor and Abby are nearly here. We'd know by now if they ran into trouble."

"I don't think there's any to run into," Jess said.

Becker's jaw clenched visibly. "I saw it." He sounded insistent. Annoyed, almost, like he was the only one making sense and they were the ones not seeing reason. "Don't be careless; you'll get yourselves—"

"What?" It was Abby this time. "We'll get ourselves what? There's nothing here, guys. We aren't getting any readings; we can't hear anything. There's nothing, Becker. Becker?"

"Shh, Abby."

"What?"

"Just...quiet a moment." Matt was whispering now, voice low and eyes fixed on Becker where he stood at the door. And for the first time, the light hit just right, and Matt saw something shiny high on the leg of his trousers. Something wet, something dark. Blood. He was bleeding, heavily, and he didn't even seem to notice. He was looking at something. Or maybe for something, Matt thought. His eyes were wide and wild, nose flared and breath fogging on the glass. It was like he'd caught a glimpse of something again, just a glimpse, and was trying to see the rest of it. He'd raised his gun again.

"There's something there," Becker said at last. He sounded...haunted. Like nothing Matt had ever heard before. "I saw it. There's something there." He was arguing, Matt realized. With Abby. With himself. With the reality presented to him. Their sensors weren't picking anything up, they didn't see anything, and search as he might, it didn't seem like Becker could see what he was looking for, either.

So, Matt tried to help him. Just to snap him out of whatever daze he was in, give him a hand. A lifeline, of sorts. "There's nothing there, mate," he said mildly.

But Becker shook his head. He took a step, and Matt could see now he was hardly keeping his feet under him. Most of his weight seemed pressed against the wall where his shoulder leaned into it, and each movement was unsteady and laboured. Even his breaths. "It's there. Out there, with them. Connor and Abby."

"We're fine, mate," Connor said. He sounded worried now, too. It seemed they'd all caught on, then. "We're almost there. I told you: just sit tight, we'll be there in two shakes. One and a half, maybe, now."

"You can't."

"It's fine, Becker. They're fine." And then he tried, "Why don't you just give me the gun?"

That, as it turned out, wasn't the right thing to say. And really, Matt should've known better. Telling a man like Becker to surrender his weapon, especially in what he perceived to be a crisis situation where people he loved where in danger, could never go the way he wanted it to.

"Why in the hell would I do that?" He sounded genuinely flabbergasted. And not a little pissed off, to boot.

"Because you're not fit to hold it."

"I said I was fine!"

"And I'm telling you you're not!"

There it was. Becker couldn't have looked more shocked if Matt had smacked him across the face. He looked stunned for a moment, leaning back against the wall like it was the only thing keeping him up. His brows furrowed.

Matt sighed. Not exactly the delicate approach he'd wanted. But Becker was getting worse by the moment. It was hard to say how bad the bleeding was, against the black of his cargos, but if it was bad enough to bleed through them, then it couldn't be anything good. And his eyes were starting to shift out of focus. He needed to get off that leg, get lying down, before he passed out or went into shock or some combination of the two. "Your leg, Becker," he said by way of the only explanation he had. "Look at your leg, mate."

"What's wrong with his leg?" Connor definitely sounded worried, now.

Becker was looking down, and it seemed like it was the first time he noticed it was bleeding again. Or at least noticed how bad it was. He lowered a hand to it, the one not holding his gun, and ran his fingers along the wet spot with this sort of detached curiosity on his face. It morphed into something like disbelief when they came away red, as if he'd forgotten he was injured in the first place, and Matt couldn't help noticing his hand was shaking.

Matt thought that would be the end of it, that the sight of his own blood was enough to snap him out of it, or at least settle him down. So he reached for his gun.

A mistake. Becker jerked back as Matt's hand closed around the pistol, but for the first time since Matt had ever met him, he lost his grip. Becker, who had never been disarmed in all the sparring matches and drills he'd ever seen, dropped his gun, and for a moment, both watched in stunned silence as it skittered across the floor and slid to a halt.

"Matt? Matt, what's happened? Is Becker okay?" Connor's voice was a constant accompaniment in the background, but Matt wasn't paying any attention to it. He had Becker's eyes, and Becker had his, and neither moved.

And then they both did.

Becker started for the gun the same time Matt started for Becker, and they ended up meeting somewhere in the middle. Matt grabbed hold of Becker's arm, managed to get a good enough grip on his wrist to twist it around behind his back, only Becker broke the hold before he could secure it well enough. Were it any other time, Becker probably would've had him laid out on his ass before he could even think of trying for it again.

Only, it wasn't any other time, and Becker was hurt. Badly. And he was slower for it, weaker, enough that Matt managed to turn him into another attempt, hooking an arm under his, higher, right beneath the armpit, and pulling him into a makeshift half-nelson. Training, reflex, and common sense – even injured, Becker was the taller of the two of them, and Matt might've gotten the drop on him, but Becker could get out just about anything if he had the chance to collect himself – had him kicking out the back of Becker's good leg. The bad one couldn't hope to support him, and he went down with a sharp, pained grunt.

That was just about when Connor and Abby came in.