It was getting late. Even for Jon's usual tendency to stay in the Archives terribly late, it was late. At this point Jon practically lived in the Archives — though Martin supposed he hadn't left yet for the day either. Tim and Sasha were long gone (They left at 6:00? Maybe together?), given that they had actual lives. Martin... did not. He also figured that maybe, Jonathan "No Concept Of A Survival Instinct" Sims shouldn't be left alone in the #1 hotspot for creepy paranormal things. Just in case.

He stood up for his desk — knocking over a couple files he left hanging over the edge as he did — deciding that he needed to take a break from pretending that he knew how to do his job. Maybe make some tea. Get food. Get Jon food so he wouldn't keel over.

He glanced at the high shelves full of boxes labeled "MISFILED" or "MISLABELED" and neat piles of the few statements Jon had successfully managed to archive despite the strange filing systems of his predecessor, before knocking on the door of his office. After waiting a few seconds without an answer, he took it as a yes and gingerly walked in.

Jon was at his desk (which was littered with discarded coffee cups), scribbling onto some kind of statement or paperwork by the light of the lamp on the edge of the counter. With the usual eye bags and the usual irritated scowl hidden behind square glasses and slightly too-long hair, he gave Martin an irritated look. Not in a good mood. Noted. Martin shifted his weight awkwardly, before gesturing behind him.

"I'm getting some food from the café down the street. Do you, er, want anything?"