On first entrance, Bernie is not, for once, visible. Not immediately. There are, though, signs of her existence -- things that, like her, were not there when Matt left for work in the morning. A pair of tennis shoes, half-melted from the front, lie haphazardly by the couch. A t-shirt and barely-familiar jeans, black ones, both burnt through so much on what appears to be the fronts that it's a wonder they could've stayed on. And Bernie's glasses, on the coffee table. The lenses look all right, though one has a hairline crack, but the frames seem... a bit melty.

Matt frowns, as he puts away his small jangle of keys and throws the locks again. He drops his rucksack on the floor near the door and heads for the kitchenette. "Books?" he calls, pulling out a cigarette and snapping open his lighter. "You 'ere?" He puffs the cigarette alight and puts his lighter away, then opens the fridge and pulls out a coke.

"Matt!" Bernie's voice is, perhaps, a bit weaker than usual, but she sounds happy to hear him, if the slightest bit sheepish. "Yeah. I'm here. In th' bedroom... um. I guess Joey di'n' find you last night...?"

Matt smiles in the kitchen, reaching back into the fridge for another coke. He takes his gift toward the bedroom, where he was headed anyway.

"Um," Bernie's voice comes again, a bit uncertainly at the lack of answer. "'case he didn't... I, uh, kina got a little hurt in th' sewers last night. So I, um... don't look so good." She tries to get it out before he can see her, so it comes in spurts, quick comments between the worried pauses. "Kina... singed. I'm, y'know. Okay, though." Blatantly untrue to the naked eye, but aside from that...

In the bedroom, the lights are out. It's dim, but not dark, with the light from the living room coming in. Bernie's on the bed -- she seems to have reclaimed a light sheet from the other room to cover the good sheets, and she's lying atop it, on her back, arms against the cotton and away from her, wearing just her underthings. The bra and panties are both singed, but only burnt through in a couple small spots. Where her t-shirt had covered is blistered with burns, more than the fronts of her legs, which had had denim protecting them, but are also marred. Her ankles are rather bad, but it looks like the sneakers protected her feet, for the most part. Her arms, neck, and face, though, are seriously burnt -- healing, but obviously third degree burns. Her hair is spread out behind her on the pillow -- most of it looks intact, but the area just around her face and over her ears (which also are quite burnt) is a bit sparse. Eyebrows are gone. The glasses protected her eyes and the area just around, giving her a look reminiscent of a reverse-image raccoon. Were she not Garou, it would be a seriously life-altering wounding.

Matt stops dead in his tracks in the doorway, dropping both cokes and his cigarette. He gapes speechlessly for several moments, then rushes the bed. He checks himself at the last moment, in light of the better look he gets when he's closer, and barely avoids jarring her on the bed. "Whot th' fuck? Are you okay? Whot 'appened? 'oo did this?" He babbles.

Bernie places her palms on the bed, and pushes gingerly up to a mostly-sitting position, doing her absolute best to make it look as painless as she can manage, and gives Matt what's at least intended to be a reassuring smile. It's rather small. In this position, it's clearer that her back seems unharmed, at least. "I'm okay," she repeats, addressing that question first, then adds, honestly, "...well. I could be okayer. But I'll be fine in a few days... I think." She glances down toward her calf, with that, to the small scar her Rite wounds left, and there's a fleeting flash of worry in her eyes. "...an', well... I left that note, that I was gonna help with the sewer lightin' last night? Me an' Kaz an' Yi an' Joey went down, an' we got three lights up... but this Wyrmy thing was comin' after us, an' so Kaz an' I were tryin' gifts on it, an' then, boom, somethin' exploded, a gaspipe, I think. Threw her an' me an' th' thing back... a ways. An' so we left, then. 'cause..." She trails off, a tiny motion of her hand indicating herself.

Matt grimaces sympathetically, offering a hand to hold. "Owwwtch," he whistles. "Worse'n bein' next to a molotov in a coal car, neh? Well, Oi can sleep on th' sofa if Oi needta. So as not ta bump ye."

Bernie takes hold of the hand rather tightly, the palm-side of her hands, at least, unburnt or already healed, and slowly lies back down again, considering. "...yeah," she replies softly, with a very slight, wry smile, "ouch. It hurts. A lot. An' itches, now. I think that's it healin', at least. But, still..." She sighs, looking up at him, "...try bein' here, first? 'f it doesn't work, onea us c'n move then..." Her grip tightens, for a moment. "...an' I don' think I'll plan on testin' th' comparison."

Matt moves as if to kiss her, then blinks. "Fuck!" He exclaims, jumping off the bed to the doorway, where his cigarette is happily scorching the carpet. He retrieves it, placing it in an ashtray on the dresser. "Well, bollocks," he says, looking at the burn, then smiles as he looks up to Bernie. "Looks loike neivver of us should be trusted wif matches, hmm?"

Bernie giggles, wincing a little with the movement, and turns her head slightly to look back at the Fianna. "Oops," she remarks. "...maybe not our week for fire..."

Matt bends down again to retrieve the cokes as well, setting them on the dresser. He then sits on the edge of the bed and begins to unlace his work boots. "Agreed. No fire for you." He gets undressed and climbs gingerly into bed next to her, wearing a pair of light blue boxers.

Something like a nod, there. "Yeah... I think I've had 'nougha it t' last me a while..." She reaches over, carefully, and takes his hand again, with a small sigh. "..so... how've =you= been?" Another careful readjustment of her head, to better look at him.

Matt smiles wanly. "Better than you," he quips. "Workin' mostly. New pitch isn't hell on wheels, but Oi've got to be spit-spot for a bit. Puttin' extra fold aside for 'oliday." Another grin.

Bernie breaks into most of a grin at that as well, though it disappears almost immediately in a pained little squeak, with an involuntary squeeze of her hand on his. "...glad he's a'ight," she says after a second's recovery, "an' when I get a li'l better 'gain, I'll go get th' travel books, an' get things figured out..."

Matt leans back, next to her, and puts an arm =behind= her, the un-burnt part. In the near dark, the smoke rising from the cigarette smouldering in the ashtray catches light from the living room, becoming a luminous, hypnotic sworl. Matt watches it, silently, edging closer and closer to sleep.

Bernie presses into the arm a little, with another soft sigh, eyes closing, Matt's warmth and presence comforting. The pain and itchiness of her burns, combined with all the dozing she's been doing, delay sleep a bit, but even so, it comes soon enough, her body working hard to repair itself. She lets the unharmed back of one calf rest across his leg, and rests.