"It's more work not working than work is." The Shadow leans down to hastily gather papers and pencils off the floor, and the resulting wheezing is a horrible sound, but he seems to ignore it. He does use his right arm more than his left to spare his shoulder, at least.

"Home is where the tea is. You should have that on a plaque." When he straightens he takes in her appearance, but with his work spread all over he feels somehow equally disheveled. At the very least they are a tired mess together. "You look..." And there he stops, unuttered tactlessness frozen by what sense of manners he still has.