The tension in Becker's shoulders gave way as he sagged with relief at the feel of that breath, and fire be damned, he leaned forward and kissed Jack fiercely for a moment. No matter how many times that happened, no matter what knowledge he had, that would never get less terrifying.
But Jack was also right. This was not the time. So Becker stood, a slight sway in his stance as some dizziness hit him. Mild concussion, a dispassionate part of his mind supplied. He'd had it enough times, it wouldn't cause a problem. A few blinks and he felt more stable, and he offered a hand down to Jack to help him up as well, glancing around and trying to assess the situation.
And he smiled grimly, with no humour in the expression.
"We both know we're not getting out yet. There's going to be people trapped in here, we'll need to work through, floor by floor. And no," his expression softened a little. "You can't talk me into leaving and letting you stay. I'm not immortal, but I sure as hell can't leave while people need help. Come on."
He grabbed his gun, checking the bullets and the safety, before he tentatively moved to the closet, pulling out a torch and some rope. "No Boy Scout jokes. Let's go."