She seemed only slightly less convincing about not being injured than he was, but he wasn't about to heckle her about it. Every nerve in Brennan's body was thrumming; he was still jittery from the battle and every muscle that wasn't bitten into and rendered into an ugly mess was still ready for another runner to explode through the door. He continued patching himself up while she hurried around the room collecting various items. "I have a little space in the bag, if you need it." He stated, half through gritted teeth as he pulled some of the blood-drenched bandages off the wound. It was arguably one of the stupidest things he had done lately. Every memory from training came flashing back about four seconds late and he remembered that dressings were supposed to be layered over bleeding wounds to prevent ripping the blood platelets and scab off.
In frustration he just wrapped up the bleeding mess and pulled his shirt sleeve back down over it. He looked up at her when she told him about her knees. "Want me to take a look at them?" He asked, then noticing her picking up a bag that had been resting near the previous inhabitant's sleeping quarters. "I'll take that," he offered, holding out his hand to receive it.
"That might be the best plan." Brennan agreed. With the two of them already injured, another ambush could end less than favorably, and he never wanted the weight of knowing he'd gotten someone killed. "If you didn't get what you were after, we could come back again at a later date."
Something in him thought that coming back here might not be a good course of action, but he'd rather lay the option there, knowing that if she ever did need to come back, at least she could ask him since he knew a little more about the place and might not be taken by surprise the second go round. It was a fool-hardy thought, but it might be the slight blood loss getting to him.
He kept an eye on her, making sure she was stable enough to walk out of here. "Do you need a hand?"