Matt has apparently been out doing laundry. Several piles of folded t-shirts occupy the coffee table, and the Fianna is in the process of folding jeans and sweatshirts when he hears the deadbolts thunk back softly. The list of people who have keys, is vanishingly small, so he sets the SCCU sweatshirt he's working on down in a rumple on the coffee table and stands.

Shortly after the sounds of the locks have passed into silence, the doorknob turns, and the door itself swings slowly, quietly inward. The Gnawer behind it sort of swings slowly inward herself, leaning against the door as it moves. She steps in, drops her backpack, and falls back on the door, closing it as gently as she can manage given that she's putting most of her weight on it. She looks... quite tired. And seems to be favouring her right leg.

"Books!" Matt cheers, hopping over the coffee table to sweep her into a hug. In the process, he accidentally barks her right ankle into the door. "Fank goodness you're all roight. You look loike Oi felt. Let me guess. You ran to...New York?"

There's quite a sharp little intake of breath at the impact on her injured leg, but Bernie manages not to actually yelp, and returns the hug fiercely. "Nahhh," she replies, sounding reasonably cheerful despite her fatigue and apparent injury, "di'n' hafta run at all. Lucky for me, consid'rin'..." She leans against him; he makes a particularly nice support.

Matt notices the wince, then looks down to the leg. "Oi, sorry Luv, I didn't know. 'ere," He puts himself under her arm in a fireman's carry. "Let me 'elp ye to the couch." He shuffles her to the lime-green sofa and lays her down gently, probably the first few feet she's not had to put any weight on that foot in a bit. He kneels next to her, rolling up her pants leg to show off the wound, and hisses. "...an' you climbed five flights of stairs on that?"

"...elevator's still broken," Bernie replies a bit wryly, glancing down to take another look at the wound herself. It still looks pretty nasty; looks like a pair of holes straight through her calf muscle... like some new extreme piercing fad. Forget a couple inches of sixteen-gauge steel, we're using =real= barbells, these days... They do seem to be in the process of healing, one a bit better than the other, and at least they no longer smell fetid. Most of the black that had ringed the entry and exit points is gone too, only a small bit remaining. "...'s a'ight, gonna live an' all. Might not even scar too bad." She looks from the wound to Matt, and gives him a soft, affectionate little smile before leaning over the few inches necessary for a similar kiss.

"Ow," Matt assesses, seeing the wound. "Oi should bandage that, neh? And then Oi coul...*mmph*" The kiss cuts him off in mid-distraction, reminding him that Bernie is /right here/. "Oh ah," he says, after the kiss. "So ovver than the slow leak, 'ow'd it go? I missed you." His eyes stray to the far wall, where Max's preliminary marks still make no sense to him.

Bernie smiles, and sighs a little, leaning back against the sofa arm and resting. "Think it went well, really. Yeah. Def'nitely got what I was s'posta get done suitably done. Shadowclaws said t' come home an' rest a bit, then go find Elan an' get 'im t' d'clare me 'fficially Cliath an' all." She suddenly breaks into a wide, sunny, and rather proud grin, at that, though it fades again fairly soon. "An' I missed ya too, th' bits I wasn' worried durin'." Pause, and without even trying to be convincing, "...which was alla 'em, 'course, 'cause I wasn' worried at all, nope."

Matt nods. "Of course not. Sure an' my Books wouldn't be. Faers-Not-The-Wyrm, you are." He smiles, and gets up, headed for the bathroom.

Bernie giggles. "Yea, though I walk through th' sewers of th' shadow of death, I will fear no Wyrm: for thou art with me; thy boot an' thy gifts they comfort me..." She leans up to watch him as he goes.

Matt rummages in the bathroom briefly, coming up empty handed. Returning to the coffee table, he grabs a t-shirt he hasn't folded yet, and tears it, creating a wide stip bandage, with a short sleeve. "Pants," he says, gently commanding.

Bernie flashes a wicked grin at the Fianna, and glances commandingly at his waistband. "'f ya insist," she murmurs, as the fastenings, properly cowed, bow to her whim and start trying to undo themselves.

"Ack!" The Fianna clutches at his waistband, fortunately having a hand free. "Oi /meant/ yours, now didn't Oi?" The humor isn't lost on him, however. His smile is wide, if wan with concern.

The Ragabash grins again, tiredly. "Spoilsport," she mock-pouts, but complies, undoing her belt and own fastenings, and gingerly removing the jeans. She =could= just push the leg up, they're plenty baggy enough, but she's soon to sleep anyway. "There. Happy now?"

Matt leans forward and gives her an anxious kiss. "You're back. Oi'm 'appy. An' Oi'm gonna cover the 'ole in yer leg, so ye doan't bleed all over, neh?" He wraps the t-shirt fairly tight, and knots it, noting that already it's a little arterial red. A point of focus, this task, because otherwise he has to admit exactly how aware he is that Bernie isn't wearing any pants.

Bernie smiles at the kiss (and the words), and goes quiet, watching the delicate medical procedure. Well, strictly speaking, watching Matt as he handles it. The trek up the stairs didn't do the clotting and scabbing any good, that's for sure, but at least it isn't gushing.

Matt doesn't actually bother to zip up just yet, so his own pants slip down a little on his boxers, making him appear oh, so trendy. Bandage applied, he sighs, a little relieved. "Rest, Shadowclaw said?" Matt pulls himself onto the couch next to her. "Not a bad idea."

Bernie nods a little, eyelids already looking to be getting a bit heavy, from the way they're beginning to droop. Injured bodies do like their sleep. "Mm.... yeah. T'sleep, an' get up later'n find Elan. Thassa plan. Might eat somethin' somewhere in there, too..." She glances over her shoulder toward the bedroom, judging whether she's likely to make it there.

Matt takes a second to re-button his jeans, then shifts up to Glabro. In the larger form, he scoops up the new cliath and carries her into the bedroom, laying her in the nest of blankets like priceless china.

Bernie slips her arms about Matt's neck as he lifts her, and leans against him, almost reluctant to be put down when they reach the other room. She lets go, however, and wearily pulls off her jacket. Removing her tank top is too much trouble right now; she just nestles down into the blankets as is. "...g'night," she murmurs.

Matt shifts back down into homid, smiling. He quickly steps out to lock up and shut off the lights, then comes back to bed, taking off his jeans and snuggling in next to Bernie.

Bernie finds the energy to shift into her usual position, head resting on Matt as a pillow, one arm loosely across him, but that's the last she has... mere seconds later, she's asleep.

Matt also drifts off into sleep, smiling.