Getting a bit squished up there, so I'm moving it down here. "Is that who did yours?"
The quip was unexpected and made Becker pause. It had been a while since he'd had his hair cut, but he had it cut shorter since the last time he'd seen them and while he'd all but forgotten about it, he realised, it would be new to them. But it was hardly a noticeable difference, and he figured none of them would even think to mention it least of all realise he'd got it cut in the first place.
Though apparently Danny had.
Becker felt a stupid flash of pleasure at the thought that Danny had been watching him close enough to notice, but he fought to keep the feeling down. It didn't mean anything. It was probably just survival instincts he'd gained from living in the untamed wilderness for a year, sizing up the competition and zeroing in on the details, that sort of thing. There wasn't any other reason for him to be watching.
"Nah, I'm only joking, soldier boy. It looks nice."
Becker blinked, not quite expecting the compliment, or the nickname. It had been a while since he heard that nickname, and right now he was having trouble remembering why he had so vehemenantly protested it before. It seemed to bring a sense of ...warmth into the conversation. A familiarity he had missed. His eyes narrowed, staring hard at Danny's face, looking for the slightest hint of insincereity. After a long moment of scrutiny, he found none. His felt his eyesbrows shoot up in surprise before he looked away.
"Thank you," he mumbled, somewhat awkwardly. It wasn't like Danny to hand out compliments to be taken completely at face value, particularly not to him. After a moment of thought, he put it down to his relief at being home. This day certainly had everyone acting strange.
"And don't call me soldier boy," he protested not because he was annoyed, really, but because he was expected to protest. He kind of liked the thought there was something that was just between them. Though the thought bought his mind back to their agreement and he had to work to fight off a scowl.
He directed his mind to the matter at hand, namely refusing Danny's refusal of his hospitality. He was adamant about not giving in. Danny was going to take the spare guestroom in his flat if it killed him. Becker crossed his arms over his chest and the look on his face clearly read: Well? I'm waiting.
"All right," Danny conceeded finally and Becker resisted the urge to smirk, chalking down the mental victory in his head. He cocked his head at Danny and maybe, just maybe, gave into the urge to smirk, just a little.
"But I'm not cooking breakfast. I'm a lousy chef."
Becker felt his smirk falter as his heart pounded to a painful stop in his chest. His eyes went wide and it took a moment of mental cajoling to get his heart to start again, but aside from that he remained (at least, he hoped) outwardly calm. It was meant as a joke, and Becker could tell by the way Danny paused and the very air seemed to tense, that he hadn't thought the words through before he'd said them, though he had very clearly realised after the fact how they would be taken.
It felt ridiculous to be frightened of a time of day, but the fear was there all the same. To them, breakfast was like a forbidden word. They didn't go there. It was something they had discussed early on in their...relationship, if you could even call it that. Just a bit of fun, no strings. No staying for breakfast in the morning because breakfast would complicate things and really the last thing this job needed was complications. Complications got people killed.
Awkwardness settled in and Becker found himself looking everywhere but Danny. He stared absently down the corridor where Abby and Connor had disappeared to and wondered how they were faring. What had dragged Connor away in the first place? Whatever it was, he hoped Abby was able to sort it out. He didn't like the thought that his friends were still hurting. They were home now. Somehow, he'd thought that if they could just make it home, they'd be all right again.