Cutter washed the blood from his hands and face, hands shaking as he watched the pinkish water swirl down the drain.
"You know, Cutter, you're kind of a prat sometimes.” Becker stood lazily against the door.
Cutter would have argued, glared, *something*, but he was just too tired.
"Getting yourself killed won't bring... other people... back from the dead," Becker said, suddenly closer, right in Cutter's personal space when he turned around, leaning against the sinks.
"I wasn't trying to get myself killed," Cutter said.
"Maybe not, but you really are trying to punish yourself for something," Becker said.
"You don't know what you're talking about.” Cutter moved to push him aside.
Becker's body moved closer, pinning him against the sinks. "I'm not risking my life and the lives of my men if you're going to keep pulling these suicidal stunts, Cutter. You want to die, be my guest, but you're putting other people in danger and I'm pretty damn sure that defeats the purpose of all this guilt you're carrying around under your hat."
Cutter bristled at the words, prepared to argue and damn being tired, but Becker was so close now he could smell the tang of blood drying in his hair, sticky and red on one side of his face. Cutter sank back, only Becker's firm presence holding him upright.
"I didn't know Stephen Hart, but from what I've heard, he gave his life to save yours, maybe because he felt this project needed you more than it needed him. You want to honour his memory, you want to pay that back? You get off your sorry arse and you do your job, without putting yourself or anyone else at unnecessary risk. And I mean my definition of unnecessary, Cutter, not yours," Becker said.
"Are we done?" Cutter asked softly.
"For now," Becker said, though he didn't move away.
"Are you going to let me past?" Cutter asked.
Becker snorted. "Do you think you can stand up straight if I do?"
Cutter grunted, shoving Becker ineffectually.
"I think we could learn to like each other, Cutter, if you stop being a stubborn prat," Becker said. "I think, it might not be a bad thing if we could learn to like each other."
Cutter was going to protest, he didn't need any new friends, but Becker's mouth on his effectively silenced him. Firm and self assured, Becker didn't retreat, as Cutter buckled under him, opening himself almost unconsciously to the kiss that was over as suddenly as it had started.
"Not a bad thing..." Becker repeated softly.
Cutter stared after him, hands still clutching the countertop behind him, wondering what, exactly, had just happened.