Martin manages a weak rattle of a laugh at her modesty, for all that it seems entirely genuine. "Lucky for me," he says, and swallows a bit thickly, his expression darkening again. He suspects he'll be seeing a lot more of these rapid little mood swings tonight.

"I, erm..." He rubs at his face and looks out at the street, the dimming light. "I should probably head home, but I..." He lets out a long breath, finding himself exhausted at the end of it. "I don't quite want to."

What he doesn't want, specifically, is to tell John what's happened. He doesn't want John to worry, or even to bristle in righteous anger. All of it feels like too much right now, while the odd mixture of familiarity and strangeness he finds with Jyn is rather comforting, in its own right.

"C-could we walk a bit?" he asks, avoiding her gaze. "I, I don't want to keep you, I just..." He trails off, feeling the hard edge of futility at the prospect of explaining himself, as though it might obligate her. He can tell himself he is no burden to her, that any possibility of that was already dashed when she intervened in the first place, but it is still so bitterly hard to believe it.