Miles's eyebrows twitch upward just slightly, and he breathes out a thin sigh of relief when she finally concedes to lying back down. He leans his hip against the low-slung sickbay cot.

"Of course. You didn't think I'd confiscate it, did you?" Miles offers her a flourishing -- if overdramatic -- bow, a bit of good humor creeping into his voice. Perhaps that would set her a little more at ease. She won't recover as quickly if she's that tense, that on edge all the time. "That would be plain theft, and though we may be mercenaries, I assure you, we are not scoundrels."