The heart monitor was the worst.

Becker didn't know what it was: something about the steady, monotonous beep, about the pulse-pounding silence between each one…about the niggling, irrational panic that the next one wouldn't come…

He was starting to think he'd discovered a viable alternative to Chinese Water Torture. So long as one didn't mind the cruel and unusual, that was, because it didn't get much more cruel and unusual than this.

This. That is to say, what Becker was doing. What he'd been doing for the past – he checked his watch – five hours. Sitting. Waiting. Watching.

Listening…to that same infernal beeping.

It would've been unbearable, that beeping, but it had a single saving grace, something that made it worth all its individual torments:

It meant he was still alive.

See, attached to the Beeping Box from Hell were some wires – a lot of wires, actually – and attached to those lots of wires was a certain individual in whose continued heartbeat Becker had a particularly pressing interest.

Which explained why he hadn't managed to tear his eyes away from the occupant of that bed for the past hour. He'd been staring so long his eyes hurt, and still, he just sat in the hard plastic chair of the ARC infirmary and kept on staring.

Lying in the infirmary bed just in front of him was Connor. His eyes were closed; he was unconscious. Sleeping, the medics had said, only he didn't look like he was sleeping. Not to Becker.

When Connor slept, he wasn't still. Connor was a tosser, a turner, a snuggler to the core, and if he didn't have a warm body to curl into, he'd bunch up the blankets and twist himself into them so thoroughly, Becker had seriously considered putting a knife in the bedside drawer on the off chance he needed to cut him out.

When Connor was sleeping, he wasn't pale as a ghost under industrial white blankets and industrial white lights. His cheeks weren't flushed with a fever that seemed to leech all the heat from his cold fingers.

When Connor was sleeping, he wasn't attached to monitors that beeped his heart rate or IV bags that fed him fluids and supplements to the anti-venom Matt and Abby had cooked up from samples of the troodons' venom.

When Connor was sleeping, his left leg wasn't propped up on a pillow, the blankets pulled away to reveal bare thigh and a white bandage that stretched the length of Becker's hand up and down and concealed gnarly wounds from the bite of a creature that didn't even belong to their time.

When Connor was sleeping, Becker watched the rise and fall of Connor's chest because it soothed him…not because he needed it to remind him that Connor was still alive.

No, this wasn't sleeping.

No…no, this wasn't sleeping.

Connor wasn't sleeping.

He was waking up.

Becker was on his feet before the heart monitor could squeeze out its neat mechanical beep. They were coming faster, now, Becker realized, the beeps were. He was no doctor, but he figured that was another point to the "coming 'round" team. The soft groan and the little slits of chocolate brown iris he caught a few seconds later seemed to clench the victory in consciousness's favour.

As those puppy dog eyes he'd come to love so much finally peeled the rest of the way open, Becker couldn't help smiling. Carefully, mindful of the IV line, he took Connor's smaller hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Hey," he said, his voice thick with too many emotions to name, all in such intensity it was a wonder he'd even managed to speak at all.

They only intensified as a small smile to mirror Becker's own pulled at Connor's cracked lips. "Hey." It was weak, raspy, but Becker guessed intubation and hours of disuse was bound to do that to a person. It was infinitely better than the silence or the beeper, though he'd see about getting him some water in a bit.

Not just yet, though. He wouldn't leave him just yet.

His mind was stopped short in its wandering when Connor started to stir a little more. Looking around with those bleary chocolate eyes, confusion mounting, his brows pulling in...Becker knew what was coming. As soon as Connor figured out where he was, things would get more complicated. Connor did hate hospitals, and he'd experienced firsthand the plight of trying to keep him anywhere he didn't want to be, much less hospitals.

He considered pointing out that it wasn't technically a hospital, but he didn't think the distinction would be much appreciated.

Ever the tactician, Becker thought it best to curtail that particular conversation for as long as possible. At least until Connor had come around enough to understand Becker when he explained everything. A distraction, then, was in order.

Maybe not just for Connor, either. His vision was starting to feel startlingly blurry; his throat, alarmingly thick.

"Have a nice nap?" he said, a hint of a chuckle rumbling his chest that came without his forcing it. The smile on his face was real, too.

Problem being, so was the moisture he felt welling in his eyes. He swallowed thickly, sniffing and giving his eyes a quick rub that, with any luck, would pass off as fatigue.

Connor furrowed his brows. "Are you..." He paused, cocked his head a little to the side. Becker could tell what he wanted to ask and was waiting for him to ask it, but at the last second, he seemed to reconsider, his eyes dragging down to the bandage on Becker's upper arm. "Are you okay?"

Becker followed his eyes to the bandage and shrugged. "Just a scratch," he said. "Must've caught it on some glass, but it's nothing. I'd forgotten about it, honestly."

That actually got a snort out of Connor, though it lacked a lot of the usual pep. It was a start. "Course you had," Connor said.

"Oi, what's that supposed to mean?" Becker tried his best to look indignant. As far as distractions went, this wouldn't have been his method of choice, but he liked to think he was the practical sort. If the opportunity presented itself...

"You know," Connor said, his brows knotting. He wasn't generally quick on the cover-ups normally; the painkillers in his system were making the already-difficult the next-to-impossible. "Tough guy...Action Man. No pain, no gain, that sort of thing."

Becker chuckled at that. Of course...Connor and his hero worship. Always making more of Becker than he really was. Generally, it was good for the ego. Just now, though, it only served to remind him of how badly he'd nearly let him down. How much he'd nearly lost.

"Not so tough as you might think," he said under his breath.

Connor let out a huff and started to push himself up, only to wince and sigh in frustration. "Tougher than me." He tried to sit up again, only this time Becker stopped him with a hand on his chest, holding him back to the cot. "Bloody hell, that hurts."

"Then maybe you should stop fidgeting, yeah?" Becker said, an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe." And mercifully, Connor relaxed back into the bed. Or, as relaxed as he could manage, given how sore he seemed to be. The medic had said he might be – a happy little add-on from the venom: the tissue damage wasn't permanent or severe, but he'd be a sore little bugger for a week or so yet – and that the pain meds would keep the pain down to a dull roar, but it couldn't numb it altogether.

"I don't buy it, though," Connor said after a moment, a little bit absently, a little bit thoughtfully. Like the filter between his brain and mouth was gone and he was just saying what popped into his head.

More so than usual, that was.

Seeing Becker's confusion, Connor elaborated. "That you didn't notice, I mean. Who doesn't notice his arm's bleeding?"

"I had more important things to worry about."

"But what's so important you don't notice you're all cut up?"

Becker wasn't even going to justify that with a response. Instead, he looked at Connor very pointedly.

Drugs or no drugs, though, Connor wasn't stupid. "Oh," he said. "Oh." He blinked a few times, and Becker watched as everything started to click into place. "So then, I wasn't...I wasn't imagining it when you...and I...I was actually..."

Connor paled, and Becker didn't have a chance to do much of anything before he popped up like a loaded spring, nearly beaming Becker in the nose in the process. He was going for his leg, but Becker did manage to catch him before he could get his hands on the bandages. "Easy, easy," he said, propping his hip on the side of the bed and sliding an arm around Connor's back. He pulled him against his chest, pinning Connor's arms up against his own chest in the half-embrace, half-restraint. "You're alright."

"But I was—troodons, and one bit me leg," Connor said, his voice clearer than before and pitched with panic that was a little too reminiscent of earlier that day. "I thought...I thought I was going to die."

Frowning, both at the memory and at Connor's new distress, Becker pulled Connor a little closer, rubbing his arms reassuringly. "I told you I wouldn't let that happen," he said. "You're okay. Tested venom-free and stitched up good as new."

He felt Connor shift in his arms, but to Becker's relief it seemed to be more to get comfortable than to get loose. He was settling again, leaning back into Becker's chest. "Is it bad?" he said after a long moment. There was trepidation in his voice...anxiety.

Becker figured Connor was going to see it eventually; he might as well be honest with him, now. "It's pretty wicked," he said. "I've seen cleaner, but I've seen nastier, too. No way you're getting out of it with a scar, but the medic said it's not going to impact your mobility, and it won't be anything disfiguring."

Connor let out a chuckle that sounded to Becker a little too much like a sob. Too much hysteria, not enough mirth. "Still fancy me now I'm not so pretty?" he said, his voice catching. He was making a sporting go at levity, so Becker wasn't going to ruin it for him.

Instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to Connor's lightly-stubbled cheek. "I'd fancy you if the thing had taken your whole damn leg off," he said.

"Well, yeah, but then I'd have the pirate thing going for me, yeah?" Connor craned his neck on Becker's shoulder so that he could see his face properly. "Get m'self a peg leg and an eye patch."

"I'd even buy you a parrot."

"Bloody hell, you're all heart, aren't you?" He sounded sarcastic, but the smile that had managed to find its way back onto Connor's still-pale face was in earnest.

"Don't tell my men; I'll never hear the end of it."

"Your secret's safe with me," Connor said, and as he relaxed into Becker's chest and let out a sight, Becker thought that was it. But then he took in a breath as deep as the sigh started trying to wiggle his way closer to being upright.

Becker didn't stop him, but he didn't help him, either. It wasn't like he was going to hurt himself just sitting up, but Becker still wasn't sure he needed to get up just yet. "Connor, what are you doing?"

"What's it look like I'm doing?" Connor said a little crossly.

Becker was unperturbed. "I honestly couldn't tell."

"You're a riot." He scowled, and Becker wondered if he realized how much it made him look like a puppy. Not so intimidating, more...cute.

"Seriously, though, what are you trying to do?"

"I'm going home," Connor said, slipping out of Becker's arms and getting ready to swing his legs over the side of the bed.

Becker stopped him. "Hold on," he said.

Connor's scowl deepened. "If you're not going to help, don't keep makin' it harder."

Holding up his hands apologetically, Becker stood from the bed. "Hang on," he said. "I'll help." Connor's face relaxed a little bit, but Becker wasn't done. "But—" he held out a hand as Connor started moving again, "—at least let me find you some trousers first."

For the first time, it seemed to occur to Connor that he wasn't wearing anything but his rubber ducky boxers and a white t-shirt. Cue the furious blush that started from his cheeks and went all the way to the tops of his ears.

"Wha—My—But I was—"

"About that...the medics had to get at your leg." He couldn't help the smile that spread on his face at the aghast expression on Connor's. "Needless to say, your trousers didn't survive the encounter."

"But—but...those were me favourite trousers."

At first, Becker thought he was being fun, but then he noticed Connor looked genuinely upset. He actually saw tears welling in his eyes.

Alarms went off in Becker's head. He knew from experience that this particular scenario required immediate pre-emptive action if he wanted to avoid catastrophe.

"Hey," he said, cupping Connor's cheek in one of his hands and tipping his chin up. "Better the trousers than you, yeah?"

Becker nearly let out an incredulous chuckle when Connor actually seemed to think about it. They must have been bloody good trousers...

Finally, though, Connor nodded. "Right," he said, nodding and sniffling as his lips pulled up in a smile that showcased his two front most teeth in that inexplicably adorable, entirely Connor expression. "Yeah. What's a pair of trousers to a near-death experience?"

Becker considered briefly telling Connor precisely what a pair of trousers were to a near death experience – he'd seen the shreds of denim himself – but figured Connor probably wouldn't want to hear the unfortunate fate of his favourite pair.

Turning, he walked over to the table in the corner of the room and grabbed the stack of clothes there before he came back to Connor. "It's not exactly your...style, but it's all I could get hold of."

Connor took the black fatigues Becker had handed him, took one look at them, and then smiled. "They're yours," he said.

"Got it in one. Why?"

But Connor just shook his head. "No reason," he said. "Thank you."

"No problem."

"Not just for the trousers, I mean. For everything. For savin' me...for staying."

There was something so sincere about Connor's gratitude...maybe his eyes, maybe his voice, or maybe just his character...Becker smiled and closed the short distance between himself and Connor, sliding a hand around the back of his neck to rest at the nape of it. This time when he kissed him, it wasn't stolen, it wasn't quick, it wasn't desperate or despairing. It was warm and real.

It was love.

And even when he broke the kiss, he lingered, listening to the sound of Connor's breath and revelling in the soft smile on his still-parted lips.

"I always will."