Brennan had heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the second floor long before there was a voice to accompany them. He wasn't sure if it was just that he was so used to listening for noises, keen on hearing the things that most people missed or the fact that the sounds of life on the first floor didn't quite make it to the second that helped him to hear the sound. In either case, he was aware that he was no longer alone before Eloise had stepped onto the floor. Not knowing who it was that was coming up the stairs hadn't made him curious about the visitor; for all he knew, it could have been anyone, just seeking the quiet of the upper floors, or heaven-forbid some couple that wanted 'privacy'. The only interest in had in the guest prior to discovering her identity was the confirmation of humanity. Even knowing that he was inside the safehouse and the sounds were coming from the main staircase didn't lower his guard. It's not like he had assumed that infected had stormed the building while he was sitting here, staring, knowing that not a single one even approached. Being on guard was so woven into his daily life that he couldn't really separate the two. When he didn't hear any sign of the intruder being undead -no shuffling, stench or any of the other characteristic noises- he turned his attention back to the streets, glancing around for a few minutes. There were a few Shufflers, just standing around and he kept his gaze focused on them though they didn't seem to be going anywhere and he shut the night vision off to save it, taking a break to rest his eyes. That's when the other soul on the floor spoke up.
She just greeted him at first. He turned to face her, and nodded, adding a 'hello' as well. She was fiddling with a hat on her head over near the entrance to the second floor and he wasn't sure if he was just putting her off since he wasn't particularly talkative and the last time they had seen each other in person, he was bleeding out on the floor. He tried to think of something to say that might ease the nerves he believed she had, but she started talking again and continued across the room. Her question was simple enough, but there was an overflow of words that came with the explanation. He didn't know how much he wanted to say, though he wasn't sure how well he'd be able to control his tongue once he started talking, considering how he's been acting the past few weeks, as the stress was building up to near-critical levels.
"Yes. I have the files up here, if you want to take a look at them." He briefly gestured to the stacks of paper and notebooks sitting on the windowsill near the place he had set up his first observation area. "I'm so used to routine, it was hard not to start a schedule. Right now it just covers this, but we can write up one for the research whenever you have the time."
He kept his voice low in response to her quiet speech, though not really sure why she wasn't speaking more openly. He thought it might have something to do with the research; it was a strange and almost controversial topic. Many of the survivors left just wanted to kill them, rid the world of them, and Brennan understood that motivation. He didn't have any intention of trying to keep them around, he just knew that fully understanding them is the most effective weapon against them. When people knew as much as they could, there was nothing that could really stop them; it was the best thing about humanity if Brennan was going to admit they all weren't faulty. He didn't have a particular fondness for the rest of his kind, but he has grown to be less judgmental of them as he as internalized his responsibility to protect them.
"Thanks." He said quickly, not knowing what to do with probably the third or so semi-compliment he's received ever. "There isn't anything but Shufflers in view from this window. They aren't moving though. Want to take a look?" Brennan offered, holding out the binoculars. "The night vision is that little switch on the side." He pointed out, turning them to show her where it was.