Re: log: chicago - atticus/matt
In Matt's opinion, humor was about the only way you kept your head above water after shit like being a prisoner. It had taken him a while to get back into the swing of it, but it served him well, kept the darkness a little further out.
That stupid grin, sweating bullets and pleased with himself in spite of it all, it was too familiar. Matt really knew how to pick em. One of these days, Atticus would be healthy and sober at the same time for a few seconds together when Matt's hands weren't fixed to the steering wheel of a car. Then he'd see if he couldn't wipe that grin off his face with a little creative...anyway. "Oh good," he said, with the brightness of a game show host. "I'll thank the bite for putting me out of my misery. I live in a house with other people who'd ask why my new friend looked so peaky and wasn't going to the hospital. So sorry, looks like you're going to take on a few more pounds at the carriage house. I'll sleep on the couch until this thing is over."
He met Atticus' gaze, stern and clear, no jokes this time. "There's nothing noble about pain," he said. His gaze shifted to the last steps of bandaging. "It doesn't work, that's something else. We'll try to treat the fever, at least." He was plotting the treatment plan for the next month in his head already. They had to keep Atticus from cooking his brain, after all, before he got anywhere near a full moon.
He took the nudge and backed off, expecting maybe that Atticus wanted his chance to sit up. When he stood, Matt ducked in fast to pick up support, wrapping his left arm around his middle and absorbing his weight without much trouble at all. Swathed in the coat, it was a heavy, cool weight on his back. "Yeah, baby, you're walking just fine. But you need some clothes before you walk out there, it's below freezing."