Matt's adrenaline is still running, dulling the pain, though he knows that isn't going to last forever. Frustrated and angry, worried for the safety of the others and the precious payload, he still has little choice but to accept the heavy fur cloak that gets draped around him. He bows his head, closes his eyes, and says a quick prayer for them all, chafing at the knowledge that it's all he can offer now.

God, he hates being helpless to act.

He's not so badly hurt that he can't walk on his own, but Sif's steadying presence is keeping him grounded amid the distractions that pull at his senses - the smell of blood and frost and pine, sounds of breathing and heartbeats and distant gunfire, the biting cold nipping at him wherever the cloak falls away from his skin - so he doesn't pull away from her either. When she lets him go he falters for a brief moment before gathering the fur cloak around him more tightly with his good arm, before the heat can escape.

And all the while, he listens, expecting that at any moment they're going to be ambushed. The longer he waits and it doesn't come, the more he's wary of hoping that it doesn't. "I think we're in the clear," he says, head still tilted to one side to listen, putting what's left of his energy toward keeping a lookout. So to speak.