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A hand tugged on his shirt.
"Uncle Hilary, you aren't wearing your tiara!" his niece Emma pouted.
Only his family would ever get away with calling him by his first name.
Becker started to tell her that men didn't wear tiaras, that he much preferred hats or berets, that a bright pink tiara with positively garish plastic gems on it wasn't exactly his style when Emma looked up at him with those big blue eyes and trembling lower lip.
Aw hell.
Here he was, head of security for an organization that dealt with living, breathing, fucking dangerous dinosaurs on a weekly basis, a highly-trained soldier who lived through war and dealt with Sir James Lester on a daily basis (and honestly, Lester was the greater of the two evils), and yet he couldn't stand up to a five-year-old little girl with curly brown hair.
"Emma--"
That damn lower lip trembled more. "You don't want to play Princesses with me?"
Fuck.
Becker sighed. "I'd love to play, Princess Emma."
His sister materialized out of nowhere, plucked the horrific tiara out of his hands and placed it on his head.
"There we go!" Caroline announced, even as she placed an equally-offensive bright purple tiara on Emma's head. "Are you two lovely princesses?"
Becker shot her a look.
Caroline just beamed at him. "How about some pictures?"
"No, really, I'm fine without--"
"Yay, pictures!" Emma screeched. "Come on, Princess Hilary!" she seized his hand and tugged him towards the old Victorian chaise that used to be Becker's grandparents'. "We'll sit over here, and you can wear this sheet like a skirt."
She flourished a frightening floral-patterned sheet that Becker couldn't believe his sister actually allowed into her house.
Oh, hell no.
Then he saw the big blue eyes and pouty lower lip.
Damn it.
As he secured the sheet around his waist and Emma was happily arranging things for the pictures, Caroline sidled up to him. "You're an awesome big brother."
He grunted. "I know." Becker took the safety pin she held out and finished making sure the Sheet Destined To Be Burned After This wouldn't fall down. "Where did you get this monstrosity?"
"Nathan's mother."
"I'm going to burn it for you."
Or use it for target practice for his men. Either way, it wouldn't survive the month.
"Not nice, Princess Hilary."
He glared at her.
"Ready!" Emma caroled.
Becker turned, got a good look at Emma's decorating job, and suddenly found himself wishing he hadn't decided to stop by Caroline's on a whim today.
Why him?
As he went through the motions of being posed and directed here and there by an imperious five-year-old and her snickering traitorous mother, Becker just reminded himself that it was only family who were likely to ever see these pictures. Family who he didn't see often, and therefore wouldn't be teased constantly by.
Not like his men or the ARC's field team.
If his teammates ever saw him like this, he'd never live it down. Ever.
Thank God they didn't know Caroline.