They weren't answering their comms, Matt or Becker. Neither one of them were answering after they heard the little bit of ruckus, and Connor's heart was somewhere up in his throat where a heart had no place being.

He was practically sprinting down the hall. They weren't in the bloody copy room like they were supposed to be, so someplace else. He looked in each door they passed. Nothing. Nothing. Less than nothing. Posh, but nothing.

It was when they came to the first closed door that Connor skidded to a halt. He could hear something going on inside behind the door, and he could hear it over his comm. Shouting, struggling. It sounded like a right match of something going on behind the door. Behind him, he heard Abby pull out her weapon, but Connor didn't follow her lead. He was too busy wrenching the door near off its bloody hinges getting inside.

The sight that greeted him made him stop. There were Becker and Matt, both still alive and in one piece. But Connor knew he must've missed something, because they were both on the ground. Matt had Becker's arm twisted round behind his back, and Becker was on his knees, one leg stretched out at an angle that made Connor's hip twinge in sympathy, the other barely seeming to manage to support his weight. If anything, it looked like Matt was holding him up just as much as he was holding him down, and they were having a right tussle of it right there on the office floor.

Abby was the first to speak. "What the hell is this?" she said. She hadn't lowered her weapon, and as much as Connor wanted to tell her to – it was just Becker and Matt, for crying out loud – he couldn't find the words. Something was clearly very, very wrong, and until he knew what it was, best to play it safe.

Still, he wouldn't have minded her at least pointing it a little at an angle. Becker'd been shot by those bloody EMD's too many times; Connor was afraid the next might light him up like a Christmas tree, or else give him spasms or something that wouldn't go away quite so quick as they usually did. And he rather liked his boyfriend unlit and spasm free, thankyouverymuch. He also liked him not tussling with his mate and kneeling in what looked like a smear of blood. That was a bit alarming. And by a bit, he meant his heart wormed its way up a few more inches into his trachea. Any more, he'd be coughing up a ventricle.

Matt wasn't letting up, though, and Connor knew he probably had good reason. Becker didn't look like he was entirely with it, and the way he'd been talking the last few minutes on the comms….

"Abby, get his gun," Matt instructed through teeth gritted from the effort of fighting with Becker. "Connor, come help me with him."

That snapped Connor out of his daze, and he was moving same as Abby before he even realized he was doing it. He wasn't really sure what he was doing; he just…did something, closing the distance between himself and the pair having it out on the floor in a few quick strides, and without much thought at all, he was grabbing Becker by the shoulders, trying to hold him still.

"Becker," he said, but he wasn't sure he heard him. He was twisting and bucking like a man possessed, like they were the enemy and he was trying to escape. It made Connor ache to see it. Made him feel like he was betraying him somehow, holding him against his will when he growled and grunted and demanded they let him go, but he tried to perish the thought. There was something the matter with him. They were helping him. "Becker! Hey! Look at me, would you?" But nothing doing. He caught Matt's eyes over Becker's shoulder, saw the worry in them, and felt his gut do a dive before he steeled himself again. It didn't matter if he was worried. It didn't matter if Matt was. Becker was in trouble. He was bleeding, and he acted like he was half out of his head, and Connor was going to help him.

"I've got it!" Abby said, and Becker's head snapped her way. His gun. She had his gun. He could practically see the realization forming in Becker's too-wide eyes.

On reflex, he moved his hands up from Becker's shoulders to cup either side of his head, turning it back around. "Hey, hey, look at me," he told him. "Just look at me." Not that he was giving him much choice. Becker's eyes were still at an angle, like he was trying to see through Connor's hands or his own skull, but there really wasn't anything he could do. Didn't stop him from trying, though, and Connor was getting desperate. He'd never seen Becker so out of sorts, with his wide eyes and his laboured breaths, like he'd just run a mile from a serial killer and still expected it was right behind him. Only, there was nothing there. Not even a dinosaur, and Connor'd never seen Becker look like that for a dinosaur only. He looked...well, he looked scared. Genuinely scared.

"Jess, we'll need a medical team down here," Matt was saying.

"They're already on their way. Ten minutes, at most."

"No medics," Becker said through gritted teeth. "Just let me up."

Matt shook his head and kept his hold. "I don't think that'd be a good idea, mate. I think you need to stay here and settle—" a particularly harsh jerk from Becker cut Matt off a second, but he carried on once he got his grip back, "—settle down."

"Matt's right," Connor tried telling him. "There's nothing to worry about. There's nothing here but the four of us. And maybe the odd mouse or dust mite. No dinosaurs, though. It's all clear."

But Becker was shaking his head, just as much as Connor's hands would allow. "I saw it," he insisted. He wouldn't meet Connor's eyes as he said it, keeping them fixed now on the floor and repeating heatedly, "I swear I saw it. I...I swear I—"

"I know," Connor interrupted, before Becker could work himself into another tizzy. He was starting to settle down, starting to slump between Matt and Connor like he couldn't quite keep himself up any longer, and Connor wasn't really sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing, but he was going to take it and run with it. Kneeling down, not trying too hard to avoid the spot of blood on the floor by where Becker's bad leg was, he tipped his head forward against Becker's. He was startled by the heat against his brow, but he'd already felt it against his palms. Becker was burning up and clammy all at the same time, but he tried to ignore it. Same as he tried to ignore the way Becker flinched.

He mustered up a weak smile as their noses brushed. It'd taken them a good week to figure out how to kiss properly when they'd first started at this. They both always wanted to go right. Nearly took Becker's eye out, Connor did, and more than once, before Becker had finally relented. Not because he was the pushover of the two of them – although Connor had been pleased to find out he'd always been right when he'd suspected Becker was secretly a big softy – but because he was the most likely to remember it.

When Becker stopped fighting them, he felt himself start to relax a bit, too. Not much, just a bit. Enough that the smile came a little easier. "There, see? You're alright. Not so hard, was it, now?" He even managed a soft laugh, even though his eyes were burning. Bloody hell. Becker was the one bleeding all over the floor, seeing dinosaurs that weren't there; what was he doing tearing up? It was just...he was shaking. Becker was. He was shaking all over, and he was hurt, and one minute, he was just sitting there, and the next, he had his head buried in Connor's shoulder. He couldn't even hug him; Matt still had hold of his arms. He was just kneeling there, head bowed against Connor's neck with his arms stretched out behind him like he was some sort of prisoner.

He was whispering something, too, Connor realized. It took him a second to translate, muffled as it was, but he was saying that he saw it. Just repeating it, over and over again. He saw it. It sounded almost like a plea. Begging Connor to believe him, to agree with him, to say something.

But Connor didn't know what to say. All he knew to do was curl a hand around the back of his head, a sort of half-hug since anything more would've pulled Matt into it, and hold him there until finally, something came out. "You're alright," he said, and tried desperately to ignore the moisture he could feel against his neck. Sweat, tears. It didn't matter. "It's gonna be alright."

The mantra changed, then, and Connor felt Becker start to move again.

"What was that?" he said. But instead of giving an answer, Becker just turned away, doubled over as much as he could with Matt's hold on him, and threw up. Connor practically leapt up out of the way, even though it would've missed him anyway, but Matt was stuck holding him there. Probably for the better; Connor wasn't really sure he could hold himself up.

"Get it out, mate," Matt said, in what Connor guessed was sympathy. Or reassurance. Really, it was hard to tell through the grimace. Not that he could talk. He was wincing, himself. Becker wasn't just getting the short stick; he was getting beat all over with it, the poor bloke. "Medics are on their way. Just hang in there 'til then."

A feat easier said than done, apparently, because everything Becker had left in the tank seemed to go with whatever he had left in his stomach. The heaves had only just stopped when he slumped forward, and Connor rushed forward the same time Matt leaned back, both trying to keep him from falling face-first into his own sick. Mercifully, they succeeded, but only just barely, and they both exchanged worried looks.

"Let's get him lying back," Matt said, and between the two of them, they managed to get Becker pulled back away from the puddle of vomit and lying out flat on his back. Connor was quick to shrug out of his jacket to tuck behind Becker's head. Heaven only knew he'd have done the same for Connor in a heartbeat. "Becker, ye still with us, mate?" He got his answer when he reached for Becker's neck to feel his pulse, and Becker flinched back. "Easy, now. Just take it easy."

And it was a sure sign of just how far gone Becker was that he didn't even protest being talked to like some sort of spooked animal. He just swallowed thickly, coughed, and laid his head back against Connor's jacket. By then, Connor had taken up station on the other side of him from Matt, and Abby was standing by watching closely. Waiting to step in and lend a hand, no doubt.

When Becker's eyes started closing, Matt gave him a couple sharp taps to the cheek he didn't seem to like much. He gave a start, blinking sluggishly and wiping at his eyes like he could somehow force them to stay open. His brows furrowed and his lips turned down in to a sharp frown.

"Need ye to stay awake," Matt said, then turned to Abby. "His pulse is too slow. We need to slow the bleeding, get him warmed up. Abby, could ye fetch that chair, get his legs up on it. Don't want him gettin' shocky on us."

Abby was already moving before he'd finished, grabbing the chair from behind the desk and hauling it around. It didn't have any wheels on it, so the noise was pretty horrid. But it was nothing next to the noise Becker made when they lifted his legs up onto the chair. He groaned, eyes squeezing shut tight and head digging back into the makeshift pillow while his jaw clenched so hard Connor could see the muscles through his skin. He reached down and grabbed his hand on impulse. Let him squeeze his hand 'til it broke, if it made him feel any better.

Well, he'd rather it didn't go that far. But if that was what Becker needed, he could take whatever he had to dish out.

"Sorry, mate. Wish I could tell ye that's the worst of it." But considering he already had a pocket knife in his hand, going for the leg of Becker's trousers, something told Connor this was going to get a lot less pleasant. He had the first aid kit out from one of the packs, too. "Abby, if ye could." He nodded towards Becker's legs. The unspoken message was clear: hold them. This could get tricky, if Becker wasn't all with it. Abby got the message loud and clear, grabbing hold of Becker's boots around the chair. Short of sitting on them, it was probably as good a hold as she would get on them.

"Try not to take my teeth out, yeah?" Abby half-joked as Matt started cutting away his trousers. Even that much moving around his wound seemed to hurt him, if the tightening of his grip was any indication. Never mind when Matt actually got to the bandage.

A glance at it made Connor's stomach turn. It would've been bad enough if it had just been a bleed, if it was just red where he'd maybe torn some stitches or something. It wasn't good, but it was natural. Red was a natural colour for wounds.

But no. There was red, yeah, and more of it than Connor wanted. But there was this sickly yellow there, too. Almost orange. The colour of pus and infection and all things that weren't a good sign on a wound.

Becker started to raise his head, but Connor thought better of it and held his head back down to the jacket. He didn't need to see it. "You don't want to look at that," he said. "Just keep your eyes on me, aye? Might not be much to look at, but I'll do in a pinch." The smile was strained again, but it was the best he had.

In return, Becker's lips twitched. It might've been a smile. At any rate, his eyes found Connor's face, and Connor figured that had to be better than seeing his blood leak out all over the place. And then Becker muttered something that Connor almost missed but didn't.

He smiled a bit wider. "Sorry, what was that?"

Becker might've snorted, or it might've been a grunt. Either way, Connor had heard him well enough the first time. You're beautiful, he said. And if Connor was feeling particularly magnanimous, he might chalk it up to his being in the state he was in. Otherwise, he was getting it in bloody writing, just as soon as Becker was able.

It was a nice reprieve from the tension of the moment, but that was all it was: a break, and it had to come to an end.

"Fucking hell," Matt swore, and that got everyone's attention. Connor and Abby both looked, and they both of them took on grim faces to match Matt's.

Becker's leg was horrid. He hadn't seen the bite yesterday – Becker'd already been to the medics and had it wrapped when Connor had seen him – but he sincerely hoped it hadn't looked like this. The wound itself was about the size of Connor's hand, a series of shallow gashes running perpendicular to the length of Becker's right thigh. They'd all been stitched up well enough, and save a few busted stitches here and there, they looked to be in alright shape. But in the middle of it, on the front and Connor assumed the back, there were little holes. No bigger around than Connor's thumb, they wouldn't have looked so bad, except the way the skin around them was puckered and inflamed. The whole area was red and swollen and angry-looking, and damned if it didn't have a smell to it that made Connor's stomach turn.

"This wound should've been packed and drained. Ye said they cleared you?"

"It wasn't—" Becker's voice caught as Matt pulled the last of the bandage away from his leg, and his nose flared around a breath. He was hurting. He was hurting badly. "It wasn't so bad yesterday. Thought it was alright." If the pallor of his skin and the agony on his face were anything to go by, he was having some serious second thoughts on that assessment.

He was about to have more than second thoughts, Connor realized, as Matt unscrewed the cap of the rubbing alcohol.

"Try and hold still, Becker. This'll hurt." It was all the warning Matt gave before he turned the bottle over the wound.

It was like someone sent a current through him, the moment the first liquid splashed over Becker's wound. His whole body seized up, and something that sounded an awful lot like a scream caught in his throat behind gritted teeth. His back arched up off the industrial carpet of the floor, and Connor had to devote his free hand to grabbing for Becker's other arm to keep him from making a grab at his leg.

"Breathe, Becker," Matt said. "You still with us?"

A tense, jerky nod was all he got, and even that was cut short as another splash of alcohol poured over his wound. It was disgusting, the way it festered and bubbled. Peroxide, maybe? Only peroxide didn't smell like that. So Connor didn't want to think about what was doing the bubbling. Becker's whole body seemed to spasm and twitch. The shaking was almost violent, and his face was deathly pale.

"Matt, the blanket," Connor said. He wasn't a medic or anything, but he'd been through basic field training. Part of being allowed in the field at all. Becker was showing all the signs of someone going into shock, and that meant they needed to keep his legs elevated, keep him awake, and keep him warm.

Just as soon as he was done with the alcohol, Matt fished the blanket out of the bag, and Connor quickly unrolled it and pulled it over as much of Becker as he could cover. "You're alright," he kept telling him, brushing his sweat-matted hair away from his brow and squeezing his hand. It wasn't much, but it was all he could do. "The medics are coming, mate. You'll be alright." Although from the sounds of things, the medics weren't the saviours they were all cracked up to be. Whoever'd been in charge of Becker after yesterday had certainly cocked it up.

"They're almost there," Jess said. She sounded a bit faint herself. Probably watching it all on the CCTV's and hearing it through the comms. Connor didn't envy her. He'd rather be there, able to do something. Even if it was just holding Becker's hand and talking to him. "How is he?"

"He's tough," was Matt's answer. "He'll be just fine, won't you, Becker?"

Becker hummed something that might have been agreement, and honestly, Connor was impressed he managed that much. If their places were switched, he probably would've been incoherent by then. Or unconscious.

"That's a good man. But I'm goin' to need you to bear with me a bit longer. I need to bind your wound, slow the bleeding. Understand?" In other words, there's more pain coming your way.

The rattle in Becker's chest could've been a chuckle just as easily as it could've been a sob, but he nodded just the same. "Do it," he said. His voice was pitched higher than usual, strained. His chest heaved, and his hand was a vice around Connor's. "Just do it."

So Matt did it.

And for all the times that Connor saw Becker do something incredible and thought to himself he couldn't just be human, he couldn't just be like the rest of them, he really did know better. Becker was only human. He was strong, tougher than nails and harder than any bloke Connor'd ever met in his whole life. But he was just a twenty-eight-year-old man, the youngest of the entire bloody field team, and there was only so much hell even he could take.

His body seized up one last time, and then Connor watched as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was dead to the world.