The doctor frowns at Matt, clearly considering something. Perhaps, Matt thought, the man thought the injuries familiar. As he watches he sees the flash of recognition. Clearly the man had heard of his case.

"You... aren't with..." the doctor starts to say, frowning.

"Reassigned. Classified," Matt grunts. And Sinclair almost, but doesn't really, smile.

"When is it not. Come on then."

He guides them back to the trauma ward and sits Maine down on a bed. It doesn't take too long for the man to work Maine over. There are little displeased noises and a few head shakes but at last he pulls away to turn to Kurt and give the prognosis. Through it all Matt sits silently. His throats should recover, he hears. After all, they were designed to survive. He even listens to the man talk about how improbable it was and how armor had saved him, no duh. What gets him down is hearing it will be a while before he can do lengthy conversations without strain and that his voice might always growl out.

"He should be good for solid foods in a week though."

Matt scoffs. Damn good chance he would lose some of his fighting trim on a liquid diet.