4:45 A.M. {Open if you'd like}
The hour was an insane one. But it was Riley's. All doctors have their insomniac shifts, but for her, between four and five A.M. was when she felt most at peace, most rejuvenated. True, the fact was odd, because it marked her 23rd straight hour of consciousness, but it was sort of a second wind, so she used it.
As was just said, all doctors have their insomniac shifts. Riley was no exception. Sometimes, Riley didn't get home till twelve midnight. Other times, she found herself napping in her desk chair, jolting awake and rushing home to look presentable for the next day. However, rarely did she work all night. Tonight, obviously, was one of the occasional exceptions. A hand flew across page after page, writing vigorously. The muscles and bones in it cramped uncomfortably, but that had been true three hours ago, and it still hadn't stopped.
Every hour or so, Riley would tell herself that she'd be going home soon, in fifteen minutes, in a half-hour, ok, maybe one more. But she wasn't, not really. She had already planned to duck into the bathroom and change her clothes when the day shift started arriving so she could just work through the next day. If nothing else could be said for Jean Riley, one could say that she was an efficient insomniac/workaholic.
But this was neither habit nor a normal occurrence for her. No, Riley pushed herself days without sleep, effectively dropping into bed exhausted after three or four, for the same reason a severely depressed person cuts themselves. Of course, she'd never do anything that stupid, but the basic principle was the same. It was a distraction, it was a farce, and it was functional punishment. Once she was rendered useless to the hospital by lack of sleep, she'd go home. But not before then.
Her thoughts wandered the tiniest bit, but she roughly forced them back to the paper before her. Fucking traitors. They had snuck away to Him. To Him. For yes, He was now Him. With a capital 'H.' God, that was pathetic. Riley, in fit of frustration and anger at herself, hurled her pen against the wall. It stuck in the cork board that hung in her office. Heh. That'd be a celebrating point if she weren't so distracted.
Running splayed fingers through her short brown hair, they ran aground with a replacement pen, one tucked behind her ear, as always. Resisting the urge to go 2 for 2 on the cork board, she just slammed it down on the stack of papers with an annoyed hiss. Falling back in her chair, Riley allowed her back go somewhat limp, slouching slightly in the desk chair. Huh. The ceiling had a crack in one corner, Riley noticed as she stared listlessly up at it.
Her thoughts strayed again, and she was too mentally exanguinated to catch and reprimand them. ... Elliot. Well, He's gone. You officially and thoroughly fucked it up. All on your own, too. You need a gold medal for that one. At least it was painless- Why'd you even have to go an'- Riley caught herself before she got into the wallowing and the angsting and the self-defamation bullshit. Picking up the thin red ballpoint pen, she went back to scrawling on the papers with a vengence.
She looked minorly frazzled, perhaps stressed and tired. Never upset, never. Well, unless an observer noted the state of the paper onto which she was doling out such punishment.
One couldn't tell, but she was fiercely and mercilessly throwing herself against a mental wall.