Not the most socialized guy Sinclair's ever met, that's for sure. But now that he has the room to himself, he gingerly tugs his pants off and discards them over the edge of the tub. He reaches for the antiseptic first and before he has time to even think about it, pours a good cup of it over the gash.

.....Yeah, that stings. Okay, yep. Just give him a second for his vision to come back into focus, he'll be alright. A few moments more and he's grounded enough to turn on the faucet and wet a wash cloth to get up the excess blood. Looking at it now, it's not so bad. He can get by without stitches. Probably. It's still bleeding but not like it was a few minutes ago. He's sure it'll be fine.

One gauze pad and some medical tape wrapped around his thigh and he should be good to go.

Unfortunately he's short a pair of pants and a way of getting himself out of this tub. He decides he can deal with wearing torn and bloody pants long enough to get to his room, and so he reaches over onto the floor, picks them up and pulls them back on as carefully as possible over his bandages. And that's about the extent of what he can do for himself here.

Sinclair sighs. "Hey, uh," he calls out, not really sure how to phrase any of this, or if Jack can even hear him.