Martha's smile fell ever so slightly. She understood what Eliot meant, but she'd never gotten anywhere by sitting around and feeling bad about it. The only way - the way she'd learned - was to just keep going, deal with it along the way. The woman had seen a lot in her time, and while she was still reeling, she realized that this was something that could help put her right. Beyond the fear, beyond the nerves. Something that felt normal. As such she shook her head. "No, I need to. And I've been looking forward to it." She went digging in her bag and pulled out the writing utensil. "I don't know how much help this will be but I brought it and my key for protection." She managed a laugh, almost.
Martha stepped out of her apartment, closing the door and checking that it was locked before turning back around. "But I do appreciate the though, Eliot." She glanced down at the pencil before looking back up at him. "This isn't going to help in the event of an attack... is it?" It was a rather absurd picture.