He very nearly just goes limp in Will's arms to let him do all the work of supporting his weight, but somehow Montgomery remains on his feet through the threshold of the door. He presses his face into Will's neck, feverish with whatever he's done to himself this time, and simply relishes the contact for a moment before the whisper of a laugh escapes unchecked.

"They'll fire me for real this time," Montgomery chuckles, speaking as though he's informing Winston of this fact without moving his head from where he's come to rest against Will. He hums a noncommittal sound, a verbal shrug, and finally reaches up to return some measure of the embrace. "A patient died today," he murmurs, the words sliding off sideways from his tongue. "I took his meds for him. He didn't need them anymore."

That's all there is to it, but he doesn't let go, wanting Will to understand that this was after-- he hadn't worked like this. Not since so long ago, when it'd nearly cost him everything. Nearly gained him everything. How he wished he hadn't burned those damned letters. He leans heavier into the man he's come to think of as being the only human being capable of understanding him, and wills his intrigue into hard-won obedience. "Some… aberration. I'll never know."