"Ahhh. You know, the bathroom's fairly small. I'll go get the bandages. You're welcome to rifle through the wardrobe for a shirt. No polka dots, I'm afraid, but there's every sort of stripe you could want. Large stripes. Little stripes."
Watson wasn't quick to trust, but when he did? He went all-out. His sidearm was in the desk and he wasn't worried about Buffy finding it. She had the sense not to accidentally discharge a pistol. The wardrobe? Clothes. Trousers, shirts, jumpers, jackets. He was a private man, but the real threshold was the door to the room. Once he'd let you in? That was it.
"I'll bandage you up when I get back. Shouldn't take long, it's mostly just a precaution to keep it clean."