A/N: The latest installment of my Lester/Becker 'verse. The title is from "Someone Like You" by Adele. And in case anyone is wondering, in my head Lieutenant Ian Russell looks like Tom Hardy.

Sometimes It Hurts Instead

"Do you have a minute?" Becker asked, back straight in the perfect military posture that he so often forwent in James' presence these days.

"For you, Hilary, my love, always," James said but Becker didn't even react. He seemed anxious, something off in the still way he held himself and the way he wouldn't quite meet James' eyes.

"Did you approve the transfer of a Lieutenant Ian Russell to the ARC?"

Honestly, James couldn't recall. Becker had been harassing him about needing more men and he had just been able to work out the transfer of a few more Special Forces soldiers, but damned if James could remember any of their names. "Did you see my signature? Generally that means I approved it. Why? Do you have a problem?"

Becker shifted his stance, a small muscle twitching in his face. "No, no problem. That was all I wanted."

James watched Becker leave, puzzled at the man's strange behaviour, but he had work to do and so he didn't put any more thought into it.

The day the new recruits arrived, James spent most of the morning in meetings. He didn't normally have much to do with Becker's recruits, but on this occasion he was slightly disappointed that he hadn't been around to at least see them as they were given a tour of the facilities. He had to profess curiosity as to the identity of the Lieutenant Ian Russell that Becker had mentioned.

He stopped by Jess' station after lunch and inquired (casually, he hoped), "I trust there was nothing out of the ordinary with the recruits this morning?"

She seemed surprised that he was asking. "No, everything was fine. I showed them around, introduced them to Matt, and then Becker swept them off for a briefing. Why? Did you want to meet them?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Just making sure things are as they should be." He lingered for a moment longer, in the hopes that Jess, dreadful gossip that she was, might offer up anything interesting, but she failed to be forthcoming and so he retreated back to his office.

At the end of the day, Becker poked his head into James' office. "Hey, James, I'm going to go out for drinks with Russ... with Lieutenant Russell. I just wanted to let you know."

"Socialising after hours with the men in your command, Becker? That's not like you."

To James' surprise, Becker actually started to try to explain himself. "Only Russ, I just thought… well, I wanted…" Becker trailed off, flustered.

James had only been teasing, but Becker was taking him completely seriously. "You don't have to defend what you decide to do with your free time or ask for my permission," he said, even though he had thought that was understood. Apparently it wasn't.

"Right. I'm not, I only-" Becker gave his head a minute shake. "Uh, so I'll see you later? I shouldn't be too late."

"All right," James said and followed Becker with his eyes as he left.

Becker had been acting strangely ever since James' children had spent the weekend with them. He had taken to keeping longer hours and more night shifts at the ARC and was spending less of his spare time with James. Which was fine- they certainly saw enough of each other and there was no need to be smothering. It was just different and it did make James wonder whether he'd done something wrong. Or if perhaps one of the children, probably Henry, had done something.

But now Becker's behaviour was becoming downright bizarre and James suspected it had everything to do with Lieutenant Ian Russell. Clearly Becker knew the man, but then why wouldn't he just say so? It wasn't like him to be so mysterious.

It probably wasn't worth fussing over, though. If Becker had something to say, he would say it when he was ready and not before.

Still, James found himself distracted from his work, and desirous of a glimpse of this Lieutenant Russell. He hadn't too long to wait, as he caught sight of Becker on his way out, perhaps a half-hour after he'd left James' office.

Ian Russell looked to be a few years older than Becker and several inches shorter, perhaps James' height, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. He was also bloody gorgeous, James was forced to acknowledge. Short dark hair, blue eyes, and a mouth that was made for kissing.

While Becker had a good rapport with the men in his command, he had always been careful to keep a respectful distance. Although Becker had never said so directly, he had alluded to how difficult it had been when he'd first arrived at the old ARC, twenty-five years old and a replacement. Captain Ryan had been a good soldier and incredibly well-liked, and Cutter's death so soon after Becker's arrival hadn't done him any favours.

That being said, the way Becker strolled through the hub with Russell was amazingly intimate. They walked close enough together that their arms brushed every few steps and Becker was smiling in the way he did only with his closest friends.

James felt the first stirring of misgiving.

Taking advantage of Becker's absence, James stayed late at the ARC again. Becker's new habit of going off on his own nearly every night was at least good for that. Up until recently, Becker had had an unfortunate tendency to nag. He didn't like it when James worked into the night, but the truth was, James was always able to get far more done after hours, when he no longer had to face being interrupted every five minutes.

When he arrived home, he made a quick stir-fry and ate it quietly by himself at the table, dropping a few chunks of vegetables onto the floor for Sid and Nancy, who could beg as well as any dog. After he'd done the washing up, he turned on the television, more as a diversion than because he actually wanted to watch anything. He started at every noise, expecting it to be Becker, but the night stretched on and still Becker stayed away. 'Shouldn't be too late' his arse. James had a fleeting, petty desire for the ADD to go off early tomorrow morning. That would make Becker and Russell regret their late night.

Eventually James had to admit that he was being pathetic, waiting up like he needed to check up on his lover, like he couldn't bear to sleep alone. Like he hadn't been sleeping alone almost more frequently than not anyway. So he went to bed.

He stirred when he heard Becker come in, moving in the bathroom. After a few minutes, Becker climbed into bed behind James, smelling of beer and chips. He kissed the back of James' neck and whispered, "Sorry," but James just laid there and didn't say anything.

In a spare moment the next day, James pulled up Russell's file, only feeling a modicum of guilt. It was well within his purview to check the backgrounds of any of the ARC employees. If it just so happened that the man he wanted to check up on may or may not have a history with James' lover, well, that was beside the point.

Ian Russell had been enrolled at Sandhurst at the same time as Becker, though he was older than Becker by several years. While Becker had gone to Sandhurst straight from taking his A-levels, Russell had got a degree from university first. Two tours of duty in Afghanistan and a fine, if not particularly noteworthy, service record. James wondered if the man had ruffled the wrong person's feathers to be shipped to the ARC- so many of them had.

But all that James was interested in, really, was the fact that he and Becker had been at Sandhurst together. He wondered why Becker hadn't just told him. Why would it matter? Unless… But James wasn't going to make any assumptions. Making assumptions only ever caused problems. He would simply bring up Russell in a conversation and see what Becker said. That would be the mature thing to do. At his age, James rather hoped he could manage to be mature about this.

"James," someone kept saying, and James wanted them to stop but the voice only got louder and someone's hand was stroking his hair.

He opened his eyes, noticing immediately that his face was squashed against Becker's shoulder. He blinked and sat up, looking ahead at the darkened television screen. "Is it over?"

Becker chuckled. "Yeah, it's over. I guess you didn't enjoy it very much."

"It was boring."

"It's a classic, James. Don't ever let Connor hear you say 2001: A Space Odyssey is boring."

"I have no intention of ever mentioning that film in Connor's presence." He hadn't meant to fall asleep, though. He'd just been so tired. "Well, I suppose this makes up for the time you fell asleep when I took you to the opera." Becker had snored into James' neck, attracting glares from the frosty-looking woman next to them, and hadn't that been embarrassing. But a little bit endearing, too, because clearly James was insane.

"Not even close. It was in Italian, sweetheart."

"You're meant to read the titles, and besides," James began to protest, but he gave up when he saw the amusement in Becker's eyes. "Oh, shut up."

Becker laughed again and said, "Hey, I didn't say a word."

They sat companionably for a while and James thought this was probably the most normal evening they'd had in weeks. It was enough to make James want to reconsider his decision to ask about Russell, but he needed to know and he probably wouldn't get a better opportunity. "So you and Lieutenant Russell were at Sandhurst together?"

Becker seemed to tense minutely but he answered plainly enough. "Yeah, we were. You must have read his file."

"You were... friends?"

"What exactly are you getting at, James? Russ isn't the first guy at the ARC I knew from somewhere else."

"He's the first one you've spent half the night getting pissed with."

"Wait, are you jealous?"

James crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't be ridiculous."

Becker sounded positively gleeful. "You are! You're jealous that I spent time with him. Honey, you know you're the only one I dream about."

"Piss off."

"Russ is no one, honestly. He was just a mate from school, that's all."

James searched his face, wanting to believe that was the truth, but it was written all over him. "You're lying."

"What? I'm not-"

"Yes, you are. You're lying to me, Becker, and I won't stand for it."

Becker swept a hand through his hair and abruptly stood up. "Fine, then! He's the first guy I fucked. Well, most of the time he was fucking me, if you want to get technical about it. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?"

Happy? No, certainly not. "Thank you for your honesty, even if it is a little late."

"Late? Damn it, James, what do you want?" Becker asked helplessly, like he couldn't fathom what the problem was. "It wasn't important, so I didn't mention it."

"You didn't think it was important that your ex is now stationed at the ARC? You didn't think I might like to know that?" Why don't you understand why I'm upset?

"What does it fucking matter? It's over, I haven't even thought about him in years. He's no one, he's just a guy. He's... he's no one."

And James wanted to believe that, so badly. "You sound terribly defensive about it."

"Christ, what is your problem? You're the one who brought it up. I don't see what right you have to give me grief over my ex when yours is still a huge fucking part of your life!"

"Leave Agatha out of this, this has nothing to do with her."

Becker's eyes flashed like he wanted to have a full-out row, but he clenched his fists at his sides and bit out, "Whatever. I'm going to bed."

James didn't reply, just waited on the couch until long after Becker had ceased slamming things around in the distance. He didn't even know why he'd started it, why he couldn't have discussed things like a sane person. All he knew was that thinking about Ian Russell's stupidly handsome face, thinking about him laughing with Becker over a pint, thinking about the sort of things he might have showed Becker at Sandhurst made James want to break his nose.

He prepared for bed much more quietly than Becker had. Becker was curled on his side on the far edge of the bed, pretending to be asleep, but James knew he wasn't. James slid under the covers and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness.

They didn't talk about their fight and it simply faded into the background over the next few days. The ADD went off four days in a row, which meant James was on edge and Becker was exhausted, so it would have been silly to rehash a stupid, pointless argument. James knew he had overreacted and while he still felt that Becker should have told him about Russell, it didn't really matter.

It was in the past and if Becker said Russell meant nothing to him, James needed to trust that that was the truth. He owed Becker that much at least.

James sat in his office, drumming his fingers on his desk. He had made plans to have lunch with Becker but the other man should have been here by now. It wasn't like Becker to be late. They hadn't sat down to a meal together in what was going on two weeks now and James didn't know what he should make of the fact that Becker might have forgotten.

When Becker didn't answer his phone, James decided he'd better try and find him. On his way to Becker's office, he noticed Connor and Abby hunched over a laptop on a table in the hub and paused. "Have either of you seen Becker recently?"

Connor looked up from the screen. "Yeah, he's in the gym sparring with Russell."

"Again?" Abby asked.

"They've made a regular thing of it. I've watched them some, it's pretty... Well, they get all intense and sweaty and it's kind of-" Connor darted a glance at James and started to backtrack. "Uh, I mean, I'm sure it's perfectly acceptable behaviour for a couple of soldiers, completely normal and not homoerotic at all." He winced and said, "I'm gonna go now." He slammed the laptop closed and swept it up into his arms, shuffling off.

Abby gave James a sympathetic look and touched his arm. "Don't pay any attention to Connor. He's an idiot, always making something out of nothing."

James hated the way she was looking at him, like he needed support and comfort and reassurance that his lover wasn't fooling around with someone else. He didn't need anyone's fucking sympathy.

He walked past Abby without a word, heading for the gym. When he arrived, well… He understood what Connor had meant, and wasn't that a horrifying discovery.

Becker and Russell were circling each other on a crash mat, throwing kicks and punches that didn't appear to be pulled very much. They were both shirtless, dressed in loose tracksuit bottoms, shirts discarded in the corner of the room. Sweat glistened on their bodies and the fringe of Becker's hair was sticking to his forehead. Though James had never been particularly prone to insecurity about his own appearance, seeing Russell and Becker, bodies honed to perfection from years of military training, prompted a flash of inadequacy. He played squash at the weekend- how could he possibly compete?

Becker kicked Russell's feet out from beneath him and tackled him to the ground in what looked like a rugby move. They fell with a loud thud and Russell grunted as he had the breath knocked out of him. Becker straddled him, sitting heavily on his chest, pressing his forearm across Russell's throat.

"Yield," Becker said, and it was very much not a question.

Russell bucked his hips but Becker was immovable. He made a choked sound against Becker's arm on his throat and must have somehow signaled his agreement because Becker moved his arm and sat back a little, his posture relaxing. Russell coughed and rubbed his throat. "Fuck, Becks, you might make a guy think you had it in for him."

"Maybe you're just not as good as you think you are," Becker replied, and even though James couldn't see his face, he could hear the smirk in Becker's voice.

James cleared his throat and said, "Don't let me interrupt you gentlemen," meaning very much the opposite.

Becker jumped to his feet, his eyes wide. He might even have been blushing, but it was hard to tell. "James! Lester, sir. Can I do anything for you?"

Raising an eyebrow at Becker's uncharacteristically awkward address, James said, "I was under the impression that we had an appointment."

"Oh, shit, yeah, I'm sorry. I completely forgot."

"My fault, sir," Russell said, respectfully enough, but something about him rubbed James the wrong way. "I'm afraid I distracted the captain."

"Give me a minute to shower, yeah?" Becker asked, running his hands through his sweaty hair and making it stick up. "Wait for me; I'll only be a minute, I promise."

"See that you are, Becker. I am on a schedule, you know," James said.

Without wasting any more time on a reply, Becker vanished into the adjoining locker room. Russell watched him go and then eyed Lester. "I apologise, sir, but I think I should probably join him. No need to subject you to the stink for any longer, right?"

"By all means," James said. He did not for one second think about Becker stripped down in the showers next to the disgustingly attractive Lieutenant Russell, both of them warm and flushed and energised from beating each other bruised, from having their hands all over each other...

Not for one second, because that would have been childish and beneath him.

Coming home after a late night at the ARC to an empty flat was still a strange feeling that James couldn't seem to get used to. He found himself wondering what Becker was doing all these nights. He knew one thing, at least- Becker wasn't always working.

He made a meal out of leftover Thai and then spent half an hour cleaning up after Sid and Nancy, who had chewed through a stack of newspapers and left the scraps of paper scattered throughout the entire flat. It looked as though they'd been at the bedroom door again as well, but when he scolded them they only chattered at him and followed at his heels. Even the damn diictodons didn't respect him anymore.

James was reading in bed with a glass of brandy when Becker came in. He stuck his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and braced himself against the bedroom doorway. "Hey."

James stuck a bookmark between the pages and closed his book. "Becker."

Becker nodded at the brandy on the bedside table. "Having a nightcap?"

"It would appear that way, yes."

"Right," Becker said and fell silent.

"Where were you?" James asked, hating himself for it because he sounded like a housewife who thought her husband was cheating.

"I thought you said I didn't have to explain myself."

James arched an eyebrow. "You don't, but I was only asking out of curiosity. You make it seem like you've got a guilty conscience."

"Well, I don't. I had dinner with... with Matt and some other people and then we had a few drinks. That's all."

"Fine."

"Fine," Becker echoed and they lapsed again into a strained silence. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna take a quick shower." Becker ducked into the bathroom and James pinched the bridge of his nose.

What the hell was wrong with them?

James was sitting up in bed, drinking the freshly-brewed coffee Becker had just brought him, when Becker's disgruntled voice rang out from the bathroom.

"Fuck, James, look what you did to my neck! That's not obvious at all. The lads are going to laugh their arses off."

When Becker came back into the bedroom, he was pointing to a spot high on his neck, but James really didn't need anyone to point out the bruise. It was incredibly obvious. Thinking back on it, James didn't even recall having done it. Will Russell laugh? he wondered.

James knew that Becker probably wasn't as bothered as he pretended to be. Doubtless Becker would be the brunt of a lot of good-natured teasing, but it wouldn't have any bearing on how any of the soldiers viewed him. James was fairly certain that Becker's entire security team, with the possible exception of Russell and the other new recruits, knew perfectly well that Becker was shagging James and it hadn't changed anything. Seeing evidence of it wouldn't do any more than provide some momentary amusement. Becker had earned their respect. If anything, James expected he himself would be subject to quite a lot of smirking over the next couple of days.

"Wear a jacket," he suggested.

"A jacket's not going to cut it, sweetie," Becker said and the endearment sounded forced, like Becker had had to think about it. But he knelt on the bed and pushed James backward, burying his face in James' neck, making use of lips and the barest hint of teeth. "Maybe I should give you one to match."

An instantaneous thrill ran through James at that, but he brushed it aside as momentary insanity. "Don't even think about it. I'm having lunch with the Minister."

"Oh, so it's all right for me to look unprofessional, so long as you don't have to? I see how it is."

"Are you accusing me of keeping a double standard?"

"Always," Becker said, pressing a last kiss into James' neck before he levered himself up onto his elbows. He was grinning and James realised that he couldn't remember the last time Becker had smiled at him like that. "Were you feeling particularly possessive last night?"

Not consciously, but... "Perhaps I was reminding you of your place."

"I think having your cock up my arse does that well enough, don't you?" He got to his feet and pulled James up with him. "I suppose I can forgive you, though. I can see how the urge to claim me would be irresistible."

James rolled his eyes even as he acknowledged to himself that 'claiming' Becker had been exactly what he'd been doing, even if he'd done it unawares. He wondered when he'd developed such a caveman-like attitude.

Probably when Ian Russell came to the ARC.

Becker had been right- The jacket really didn't cut it. It probably helped a little bit, if you weren't looking all that closely, but if you were talking to Becker face-to-face, James couldn't imagine it would take long to notice he had a brand new bruise on his neck that was very clearly not the sort of bruise one got from falling into something.

James couldn't quite muster up any regret over it, however.

At the ARC, James exited his car to retrieve his briefcase from the boot, glancing up at the sound of someone else's car door closing. He ground his teeth together. Of course he would bump into Russell in the car park because the universe seemed to have it out for him.

"Good morning, sir," Russell said and then Becker walked over from his car in the next space to stand at James' shoulder. Russell looked from one to the other and his eyes widened a fraction, giving James the answer to a question he had been wondering about. No, Becker hadn't made it clear to Russell that he was seeing James. James wasn't sure exactly how he should feel about that.

"Lieutenant," James said, daring him to say something.

But he didn't. He just nodded at Becker and said, "Morning, Captain."

Becker adjusted his jacket self-consciously, which of course did nothing but draw Russell's attention to Becker's neck. "Morning, Lieutenant."

Russell's mouth twitched like he was tempted to smirk but he kept his expression remarkably neutral and settled into step next to Becker as the three of them started towards the ARC. "I hope you had a good weekend, Lester," he said.

James looked past Becker to Russell, but the man appeared merely politely inquiring. "Yes, thank you. It was quite... satisfying. And you?"

"Oh, I'm sure it would seem boring compared to your standards, sir. The most fun I had was lunch with Captain Becker yesterday afternoon."

James bit his tongue.

"How was the rest of your day, boss?" Russell went on. "I thought you said you'd been hoping to relax."

"There's more than one way to relax, Lieutenant," Becker said as they stepped into the lift.

Russell smiled. "Of course, sir. Perhaps you might like to let off some steam with me in the gym later?"

"As long as you aren't tired of losing yet."

"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you; I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve. Lester, sir, would you like to join us? You might enjoy watching."

Russell's damnably smug tone was infuriating. "Unfortunately, I have better things to do than watch the two of you sweat, courtesy of the tax payers." The lift doors opened and James stepped out.

"If you change your mind, you know where to find us," Russell called after him.

James resisted the urge to slam his office door.

Considering that Becker was spending entirely too much time with Russell lately, James shouldn't have been surprised to see the two of them chatting with Jess by her station as he passed through the hub.

Becker was leaning an elbow against the desk, his body angled slightly into Russell at his side. They always seemed to be standing just a tad closer together than was appropriate, exchanging small, casual touches. Becker was a handsy sort of bloke, but where it had never bothered James to see Becker touching Matt or Jess or anyone else, watching him put a hand on Russell- or Russell put a hand on Becker- made James clench his teeth.

Russell said something that made Jess laugh and Becker smile, one of his rare, genuine smiles. Becker smiled more easily around Russell than he did James these days, it appeared.

They were so engrossed in their conversation that none of them noticed James until he had walked up right behind Becker. Becker flinched when James started to speak.

"Don't you have work to do? This may sound odd, but I'm actually not paying you to stand around and gossip."

James wanted Becker to challenge him, to make a snide comment, because while annoying it would have been refreshingly normal.

Becker didn't, though. He clapped Russell on the back and said, "Yeah, all right, I'm holding a briefing anyway. Come on, Russ. See you, Jess. Sir," he added as he looked at James, polite and serious in the way that he'd used to talk to James, before they really knew each other, before they were lovers.

He didn't know whether Becker did it consciously or not but it still stung a little. What was Becker trying to hide?

Russell smiled at Jess and said, "Cheers, Jess. Sir," he said with a tilt of his head to James. He bumped shoulders with Becker as they left.

Jess was watching James watch Becker, a knowing expression on her face. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?" he said and strode off to his office. As if James would tell her anyway. Why did everyone suddenly think they had a right to know what was going on in James' life? It was called 'personal life' for a reason.

He sat down at his desk and pulled up Matt's report from yesterday's anomaly on his laptop, but the words seemed to swim in front of his eyes and he couldn't focus. He kept thinking about Becker, about the easy familiarity of his interactions with Russell. He wondered when his own time with Becker had stopped feeling so easy.

James knew that it was illogical to dislike Russell so much when the man hadn't even done anything. He also knew that he should have been happy that Becker had been reunited with an old friend. He should want his lover to be happy, shouldn't he? It should have been enough to know that Becker was enjoying himself during the day and that he came home to James at night.

It should have been enough, but it wasn't.

With his back pressed into the mattress and Becker's tongue doing wicked things to the head of his cock, James should have been reduced to whimpering and thinking things like, Oh, yes, like that, fuck, yes, Becker. But all James could think was, Did Russell teach you how to do that? Is that how you sucked Russell's cock? He thought about Becker, how young he would have been, his lips wrapped around Russell's cock, and wanted to throw up.

"James," Becker was saying, concerned and close to James' face, and James realised he'd actually gone soft in the middle of a blow job.

"Fucking hell," he said and tried to get up but Becker was pushing him down into the mattress with a hand to James' chest and a knee wedged in between James' thighs.

"What's wrong?" Becker asked, and he didn't sound upset or insulted or anything, just... worried.

James was pretty sure he had never felt this humiliated in his entire life. "Forget it. Just forget it. I'm going to take a shower."

Becker let him up, but James could sense him fretting all the way through the walls.

Following that mortifying experience, they stopped touching altogether. Sex had been the only thing they were still good at and now they didn't even have that. James had only to feel the brush of Becker's fingers to flash back to that moment of crushing embarrassment and when he kept flinching away from Becker's grasp, Becker stopped trying. His hand would twitch like he wanted to reach out, but he would always remember himself in time, instead gazing at James from beneath his eyelashes, like a puppy who'd been kicked a few times too many.

And that made James feel like an arsehole, so he took to avoiding Becker as much as possible during the day.

Which, when he considered it, probably wasn't the best idea he had ever had.

As it turned out, every minute James spent avoiding Becker was another minute Becker could spend in Russell's company. It was as though James had pushed Becker right into Russell's waiting arms and that was... Well, that was bollocks. James was disgusted with himself.

What was happening to them, this strange distance, James didn't like it. Something had happened when James' kids had been in London, something to make Becker start wanting more space. James had actually thought they'd made progress- Julia, at least, had seemed much more comfortable with Becker and Becker had seemed optimistic. Slightly unnerved, perhaps, but optimistic. Apparently James had misread the situation.

And now they were having this silly, immature… James didn't even know what to call it. It wasn't a fight, exactly, it was… a conflict, he supposed. It was juvenile and it was all due to the fact that they weren't speaking to each other, they weren't being honest. Becker hadn't been honest about Russell and James hadn't been honest about how seeing them together made him feel.

The way James saw it, there were two important facts to consider: 1) He was jealous, and 2) Becker was flirting. Everything else stemmed from that. He suspected that Russell's arrival had only exacerbated an already existing problem and there was not much point in trying to figure out what it was for himself.

They had to talk. It was as simple as that.

Which, quite frankly, wasn't simple at all, but James wasn't one to back down from a challenge. He wanted to make things right again and if that meant initiating an awkward discussion, that was what he was going to do.

James looked for Becker in his office first. When he had no luck, he contemplated where to try next and decided to swing by the locker room.

The locker room proved to be the right choice. Becker, however, wasn't alone. He was also quite preoccupied.

Russell had Becker pressed up against the wall, his mouth near Becker's ear, talking too low for James to make out the words. One hand was on the wall by Becker's head while the other rested intimately on the waistband of Becker's trousers, fingers dipping inside. Becker's eyelids were lowered, his lips parted slightly, while his hands lay against Russell's chest and his thigh wedged in between Russell's.

James hadn't felt this stupid since... since he had thought Becker fancied Jess. He had stood just there on that occasion as well, oddly enough. But while that had been an innocent misunderstanding, there wasn't anything remotely innocent about the way Becker looked now.

He practically ran from the room, long strides away before he realised he was fleeing like a… he didn't know what, exactly, but not like James Lester. He forced himself to slow to a more dignified pace.

"Lester, hi!"

Bugger. James didn't care to see anyone at the moment, but particularly not Connor. "Temple," he said, infusing the word with as much displeasure as possible.

Connor faltered. "Lester? Is something the matter? I wanted to ask you... You know what, never mind. Forget it. It can wait till another time."

"Wonderful," James said and continued on his way. It was another few metres before it occurred to him that Connor had been walking in the direction of the locker room and was presumably going to walk in on exactly what James had. Connor was a moron but even he would be able to put two and two together.

He quickened his steps again but he had no real expectation that he would be able to avoid what was coming.

"James! James, wait," Becker called from behind him.

James stopped where he was and took a few calming breaths before he turned around, face composed. "Becker, I must say I'm surprised to see you. You seemed quite absorbed in what you were doing."

Becker was panting like he'd sprinted the whole way. "James, let me explain-"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary. I could see well enough with my own eyes."

"It's not like you think, I swear-"

James took one more step forward and hissed, "I don't care what the fuck you have to say, Becker, is that clear? Go run back to Lieutenant Russell or do whatever you want, because I don't give a fuck anymore."

"James, please," Becker said, desperation seeping out of his very pores. He reached out with his hand.

"Don't touch me!" James said and backed away. "I'm not going to fight with you in the middle of the ARC. Just... get out of my fucking sight."

Becker was staring at him pitifully, pleading with those stupid fucking sad eyes that always made James do whatever he asked, but not this time. Becker had brought this on himself and James wasn't… He was James Lester and he wasn't going to let a damn soldier make a fool out of him. He walked away.

James spent the drive home trying with all his might not to think about Becker and Russell, so of course he couldn't stop thinking about them. He wondered whether Becker would take Russell home to his flat, or whether they'd fuck in the ARC. Becker had always liked the thrill of doing it in the ARC, the possibility of being discovered. He wondered how they would do it, if they'd stick to hands and mouths or if they'd skip all that and go straight to inserting cocks into arses.

Maybe they had already been doing it and it had just taken James this long to figure it out.

Sid and Nancy greeted him at the door but they kept darting glances at it like they expected Becker to come through at any moment. "It's only me, I'm afraid," he told them, and it seemed to James that their heads drooped.

He heated up some leftovers and forced himself to eat even though he felt a little bit ill, and then he had a glass of whisky. And two more after that, but the welcome buzz did nothing to relieve the ache in his chest or make him forget what had occurred. When he finally went into the bedroom, Becker still wasn't there and James wasn't sure how that made him feel.

His bed felt large and empty and James spent a few hours shifting back and forth, trying to get comfortable, before he admitted defeat. He padded barefoot into his living room and sat on the couch, turning on the television. The soft glow of the screen and the low humming of noise distracted him enough that he was eventually able to doze off, sometime in the early hours of the morning.

James never even saw Becker the next day. Not even on a sweep of the hub and the area surrounding James' office- he must have changed the rota so he didn't have to be anywhere near James. It was probably for the best. James didn't know how he would have reacted if Becker had tried to talk again.

He felt uncomfortably as though everyone already knew what had happened, however. Every time he left his office he could feel people watching him and an abnormally high number of conversations ceased abruptly as he passed. Fucking Connor. He must have talked.

Thankfully, though, no one seemed that interested in actually speaking to James about it. That is, no one until Jess dropped by that afternoon.

"Lester… Did you and Becker break up?" Jess was chewing her lip, her big eyes sorrowful as if she was personally pained by the prospect of the failure of James and Becker's relationship.

"Would knowing the answer to that question in any way affect the way you perform your duties, Miss Parker?"

"No, of course not."

"Then I'm afraid I can't see how it's any of your business."

"Becker is my friend," she said, stubbornness creeping into her tone.

What the hell difference did it make if Becker was her friend?

"In that case, I'd advise you to speak to him about it."

"You can be a real prat, you know. You pretend like you don't give a damn about anything but that… that's bullshit."

James stared at her, Jess seeming as shocked as he was. Then with a toss of her brown hair, she stormed out of the office, leaving James confused as to what actually had happened.

Upon arriving at his empty flat late that evening, James realised almost immediately that Becker had been there earlier. The pair of shoes he had left by the door was gone, as was his jacket in the coat closet. Sid and Nancy were staring at James reproachfully, as though they knew Becker was staying away and it was James' fault. "Stupid buggers. Becker should've taken you, too, if you love him so much. Maybe I should give you back to Connor if you're so miserable. It would certainly be a lot cleaner around here."

The diictodons turned their backs on James and he tried not to feel betrayed.

Becker had left a few dresser drawers in the bedroom partway open and James shut them, but not before noticing all the clothing that had been removed. He perched on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths. He had told Becker he didn't want to see him, so why did it hurt so much to realise that Becker was taking him at his word?

This was what he wanted. Wasn't it?

He walked into the bathroom, where the absence of Becker's razor and toothbrush and other necessities caused another pang of discomfort. James undressed slowly and stepped into the shower, letting the water run so hot it nearly burned. Becker had forgotten to take his shampoo and after a slight hesitation, James used it to wash his own hair, closing his eyes at the familiar scent.

He stood underneath the spray of the water and jerked himself off, his traitorous mind persisting in providing him with the memory of Becker, the long lines of his body, the way his muscles flexed beneath his skin, how he looked spread out in James' bed. He imagined it was Becker's hand on him, Becker's large palm with its gun calluses, Becker whispering in his ear. He gasped out his release and just stood there, letting the water run down his face until long after it had turned cold.

Though he hated to admit it, James' sleeping patterns had been shot to hell since Becker had taken to sleeping elsewhere. Unable to snatch more than a restless handful of hours of sleep a night, interrupted by bouts of wakefulness, James had taken to guzzling strong coffee like it was water. His increasingly frequent trips from his office to the kitchen garnered raised eyebrows from both Jess and Lorraine, but James couldn't be fussed about it- it was either that or fall asleep at his desk and he knew which option he preferred.

On that particular morning, James was going for his third- or was it fourth?- cup, but the kitchen wasn't empty when he arrived. Normally that wouldn't have mattered one whit, but the other occupant wasn't just anyone. It was Becker.

Becker's eyes looked comically large in his face and he appeared not to know whether he wanted to run away or to speak. As it was, he was standing paused in mid-movement, so still it didn't even seem like he was breathing.

It was the first time James and Becker had been face-to-face since their fight.

James noticed straight away that Becker's eyes were a little red, like he wasn't sleeping well either, but that could have been because he was spending his nights doing things with Russell that weren't sleeping. He knew how it was to be in a new relationship and Becker had a healthy sexual appetite even when the relationship wasn't new.

For someone who was presumably having a lot of sex, Becker didn't look all that happy. He seemed… drained. His skin looked paler than normal, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his shoulders hunched minutely.

It all had the effect of filling James with the bizarre urge to reach out, to soothe away the tension and kiss Becker's brow and-

But he couldn't do that.

"Becker," he started to say because he needed to say something, but then Russell entered the kitchen.

"Becks, do you..." He stopped, noticing that Becker wasn't alone. His eyes travelled from Becker to James. His lips tilted wryly. "Well, this is awkward."

"Let me solve that," James said and turned on his heel.

He never got his coffee.

The problem with office relationships was that it was nearly impossible to completely avoid the other person when they fell apart, as they inevitably did. Even if Becker stopped doing his sweeps outside James' office, even if he stopped hanging about the hub, even if he ducked out of rooms as soon as he had an inkling of James' presence, they still saw each other every now and again. Becker's attendance was still required in meetings and James still had to read Becker's reports.

It all ached in a way that shamed James. He should have been able to read a stupid report without his insides twinging. He should have been able to look at the back of Becker's dark head without wanting to put his fist into something (preferably Lieutenant Russell's face).

Shagging Becker had possibly been one of the biggest mistakes of James' life. God, what had he been thinking? Obviously he hadn't been. Not with his head, anyway.

His office door whooshed open as Abby marched inside and promptly sat down on the opposite side of the desk, crossing her legs and folding her arms in front of her chest.

"Yes?" James asked, sure that whatever she had to say, he was not going to like it.

"Becker's not cheating on you," she said matter-of-factly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Have you even spoken? Have you looked at him at all recently? Because he's as miserable as you are and it's getting to be ridiculous."

"I'm afraid I don't-"

Abby talked right over him as though he hadn't said a word. "I don't know exactly what's going on with you two, but I know he would never cheat on you. The way I see it, the pair of you are behaving like children and someone needs to be the bigger person before you throw away your relationship over something so stupid." She stood up, placing her palms on the desk and leaning forward slightly. James had always been amazed at how intimidating Abby could be considering how tiny she was. Not that he was ever intimidated by her, of course. "Take it from someone who's been there, Lester. You have got to talk to each other."

James had no idea how to respond to that but Abby didn't seem to expect him to. She simply walked back toward the door, ready to leave as abruptly as she'd come in, but before she'd left she said, "We're your friends, too, you know, Lester. We all just want what's best for you, for both of you."

And then she was gone.

James stared blankly at his laptop screen and tried to recall the days when no one would have dared speak to him about anything personal, when they had probably all thought he didn't even have a personal life. It all seemed so far away now, like a half-remembered dream.

He gathered his thoughts and tried to refocus on what he had been doing, but Abby's words kept running through his head, over and over.

Becker's not cheating on you.

Well, how the fuck would she know?

In the evening, when the ARC started to empty as the majority of its employees went home, someone rapped firmly on James' door.

God damn it, James thought when he saw who it was. I don't need this shit. "Enter," he called.

Russell stood in the middle of James' office in front of the desk, his posture as perfect as Becker's had used to be, before Becker had decided that because they were fucking he could forgo all formalities.

"Sir," Russell said. "May I speak freely?"

No, James wanted to say. Get out of my sight. But of course he didn't say that. "You may."

"You see, I... Well, I wanted to say that I'm afraid I've caused you rather a lot of difficulty since I arrived at the ARC. Becks- Captain Becker was an old friend of mine, well, more than a friend, but I guess you know that already. And I didn't realise that you… that you and he were what you are."

"Please get to the point, Lieutenant."

"Yes, sorry, sir. I just wanted to apologise for any grief I've caused you and the captain because I didn't mean to. I hope you believe that."

James stared at him, lips thinned. What does he want me to say?

Nothing, it seemed, because Russell clasped his hands behind his back and said, "It's not my place to say, really, but you should give Becks a chance to explain. He never... he never meant for any of this to happen. I guess that's it."

"You had it correctly, Lieutenant. It isn't your place to say."

Russell's expression was unreadable. "I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, sir. It seems I can only tread falsely around you. Have a good night." He inclined his head and left.

Oh, fuck you and your pretty manners, James thought. An apology, no matter how sincerely it appeared to have been delivered, wasn't going to make James hate him any less. It did, however, add to the bevy of thoughts and emotions in his head. He was never going to be able to get any work done.

James sat up late that night, his thoughts awhirl. Nancy was curled up on the couch under his hand and when he stretched his legs out his feet hit up against Sid's back. Their presence was oddly grounding.

James didn't know what to think. He wanted to believe that Abby was right and truthfully, up until a few weeks ago, James would have thought Becker incapable of cheating. The man had his flaws, no doubt, but he was loyal and he didn't have it in him to be so unnecessarily cruel. He's as miserable as you, Abby had said and James wanted to believe that was true. Becker had looked terrible when James had seen him close-up in the kitchen.

But no matter whether Becker had cheated or not, whether he was miserable or not, the fact still remained that James hurt. Becker had hurt him and James didn't know if he could just let that go. If he could move past it. Maybe he should just take the out, give the whole thing up.

They never should have happened to begin with. James should never have allowed their first encounter in his office, tense and angry and wound so tight that rutting on the desk with someone he hadn't even particularly cared for had seemed perfectly natural. But after he'd done it, after it had been too late to take back, James shouldn't have let it go any further. He should have ended it right there. One meaningless fuck to relieve stress can be easily forgotten.

The problem was that it hadn't stopped there; it had gone on and on, growing and changing into something unexpected until it was too late, until James had been so far into it that he couldn't even remember when he'd fallen. Becker had latched onto him, crawled under his skin and stayed there, and now James didn't know what to do without him. He didn't know how he could go back, back to Becker being nothing but his employee, back to being alone.

He didn't want to.

Nancy snuffled in her sleep and James glanced down at her, rubbing his fingers over her back. Damn. The admission had caught him off-guard but it was the truth. He didn't want to go back to the way things had been before.

However ill-advised their relationship had been, however inauspicious its beginnings, James couldn't regret it. Becker had made him happy. Becker had made him feel things he had never expected to feel again after his divorce. The reason he'd been so fucking hurt was because he'd cared so much in the first place and the fact was James didn't think that after everything he could go back. Even if James never touched Becker again, how could he ever look at him and not remember the feel of his skin, the warmth of him, the press of his body? How could James ever meet his eyes and not think of how Becker would look at him like James was something to be treasured, like he was wanted and loved?

James had made mistakes, too. He knew in his heart that he couldn't lay everything at Becker's feet, as if James hadn't pulled away all on his own. It would be easier to give up because trying to fix what they'd broken was going to be messy. There were too many wounded feelings on both sides and they were going to have to actually be honest with each other, which was something neither of them was good at.

But Becker was important to him, important enough and worth enough that James had to try. Damn his sodding pride. "I have to try," he told Nancy, but she merely laid there, belly expanding and contracting underneath James' palm. He nudged Sid with his foot until the diictodon opened a beady eye to glare at him. "You want Becker to come back, don't you?"

Sid chirped, stood up and turned around in a circle, flopping back down against James' feet. He nibbled at the edge of James' trousers until James shook him off.

"You always did like him better than me," James accused.

James spent the duration of the following day with an uncomfortable, sick feeling in his stomach. He refused to entertain the possibility that he was nervous and instead skipped lunch, preoccupying himself with work so he wouldn't think about what he was going to do at the end of the day. He dared not even think about the anomalies, lest they get an alert that would prevent him from seeing Becker. As much as he didn't want to have to talk to Becker, the thought of putting it off till tomorrow was even worse.

Someone must have been looking out for James because the day passed quietly, with not a peep from the ADD. He packed up early, which gave Lorraine quite a shock.

Becker was in the armoury, fondling the guns. A few weeks ago, it probably would've been funny. Or possibly a little bit hot. As it was, James felt sad for some inexplicable reason. "Hello, Becker."

Becker had raised his eyes when James came in, his face revealing nothing. "Lester."

James tried not to let how much that cut show on his face. Becker never called him 'Lester' to his face when they were alone anymore. "I thought perhaps you might like to get a drink."

"With you?"

"Of course with me, you idiot, why else would I ask?" The word 'idiot' came out before James actually thought about what he was saying and only after it was too late did he realise that it wasn't exactly appropriate.

Becker's face underwent a sort of weird spasm, like he couldn't decide on a single emotion. For a moment James thought he might respond with a quip, like everything was normal, but he didn't. He ended up nodding warily. "All right."

"All right," James echoed, relief battling with dread. This was going to be difficult.

James had chosen a pub in part because of the neutrality of it and in part because he hoped being in a public setting would prevent shouting or any other emotional displays that might occur. Becker had started with two shots, perhaps for fortitude, and then moved on to beer, while James was sticking to whisky. He swirled it around in the glass, waiting for some stroke of inspiration because now that they were here, ready to talk, James couldn't think of a single thing to say.

And then Becker spoke up. "I never cheated on you," he said, voice soft, eyes downcast. "I swear I never did, I wouldn't do that to you. James, you have to believe me."

"I do believe you," James said, surprised at how certain he suddenly felt. He'd been such a complete and utter idiot.

That seemed to bolster Becker's confidence. "I'm sorry if my actions made you doubt me. I should have… I should have been honest with you, about Russ. But… James, our relationship is important to me. How could you think that I would just throw it away? And for what? A fling I had when I was eighteen? A pretty face and a nice arse?"

Listening to the disappointment in Becker's voice, James was ashamed at himself. He had allowed his own insecurity to affect how he viewed Becker and he had jumped to conclusions like a jealous housewife. "I'm sorry, too. I thought… Maybe I wasn't thinking. I suppose I saw what I wanted to see."

"You wanted to see me cheating on you?"

James attempted to pour every ounce of his disdain into a single expression. When Becker's lips tilted into that familiar smirk, James was hit with awareness of how much he had missed this. He had missed the ease of their interactions and Becker's impertinence. He had missed Becker mocking him, for fuck's sake. "Don't be ridiculous; you know I didn't mean it that way. When I saw you two together, I thought surely that must be what you wanted. That was the sort of man you wanted. Why settle for a divorced, middle-aged civil servant with annoying children when you could have Lieutenant Ian Russell?" He continued speaking, not allowing Becker the opportunity to cut in he obviously desired. "And you have a history. I know what that can mean. Even now, I sometimes look at Agatha and think, God, I loved her so much. What would I do if we had the chance to start over, to start fresh? What would happen?"

Becker was listening so intently, like every word that came out of James' mouth was the most important thing he had ever heard. "I never loved Russ, not in the way you think. Not even at Sandhurst. I… I looked up to him, I guess. When he came to the ARC, I shouldn't have encouraged him, but I think I liked the idea that he still wanted me. But what I have, with you, that's real," Becker said, like it was a revelation, like he had only recently figured it out himself. "Do you know what I mean? It's not exactly what I would have thought I'd want, but it is what I want. Just you."

And what was James supposed to do with that knowledge? He had known that Becker loved him, obviously, but that was… The whole thing was fucking overwhelming. "We really bollocksed things up, didn't we?"

"Yeah, we really did," Becker said with a self-deprecating smile. "But I think maybe I was worse. I fucked up, James. I'm sorry, I'm… I'm sorry you saw me like that, with Russ. I should never have let it go that far, or at all, really. If it had been you getting felt up by some guy I think I would have shot him in the fucking head."

James laughed. "Luckily for all parties involved, I've always had much more restraint than you."

"I'm not so sure about that. You can be very uninhibited." Becker's smile was almost shy, like he wasn't sure how much he was allowed to tease.

"Purely due to your bad influence, Hils."

There wasn't any one thing that James could pinpoint, but there was a shift in Becker's body language as he seemed to let go of his uncertainty, of his anxiety. He grabbed James' hand where it rested on the table near his glass, rubbing the pads of his fingers across James' palm.

James shivered at the touch. Becker was always touching, like he craved it, like he didn't even think about it but just did it naturally. James had missed that, too.

"Do you know what the strangest thing is?" Becker asked. "I always thought you were so confident, so sure of yourself, but the more I get to know you the more I realise you're a mass of insecurities just like the rest of us."

At least as far as you're concerned, James thought but didn't say. It was difficult to acknowledge even to himself.

He was spared needing to reply because Becker went on, "Are we okay then? I mean, I know we're not golden or anything, but are we done fighting? Because I fucking hated fighting with you. I missed you."

James looked at Becker's open, earnest face and then down at their joined hands. "Me, too," he admitted, because it was true and because Becker deserved to hear it.

"What are you going to do about Russ? Are you going to transfer him out of the ARC?"

While James would have liked nothing better than to never lay eyes on the man again, he knew that Lieutenant Russell was an able soldier and, more than that, he was still a friend of Becker's. "That won't be necessary. I think we can all manage to behave like adults, don't you?"

Becker's smile was thanks enough. "Can I kiss you now, please?"

"What, in the middle of the pub?"

"In the middle of the pub," Becker confirmed, leaning across the table.

And somehow James was leaning to meet him halfway and then they were kissing, Becker's mouth sliding over his, beer on his breath. They were making out in the middle of the pub and James didn't give a shit because it was Becker and he'd missed this. He held Becker's face in his hands, stubble rough against his palms, and moaned a little into Becker's mouth, kissing until lack of oxygen forced him to stop and breathe.

Someone whistled and Becker gave him the two-fingered salute.

"Want to get out of here?" Becker murmured against James' cheek, clichéd and husky and so completely Becker.

"God, yes," James said and stood up, holding his arm out until Becker fell in beside him, fitting his hand into Becker's back pocket.

"I think it's cute how-"

"Finish that sentence and you'll be sleeping on the couch."

Becker laughed and squeezed James' hip and James thought, Yes, this. This was what he wanted. He knew that there were clearly still issues between them, doubts and insecurities and whatever else had pushed them so far apart, but for now, James was happy just to have Becker again. His cheek and irreverence, his unique idea of humour, his simple reassuring presence.

This was exactly what James wanted.

End