Chapter Text
“only one moment”, stratt allows herself. she emptily stares through her own reflection sitting cross legged in the armchair she has turned to face the window in an attempt of comfort. laptop resting on her knees. her gaze sinks into the darkness outside, as dull and blank as her mind.
her fingers scroll the report in front of her like a reflex. she doesn’t even look at it. the reflection of her face flickers as colourful graphics and white blocks of text crawl across the screen and illuminate her from below.
she glances at the clock – just before 4am. ah, shit. she wanted this done by two.
her “one moment” has passed. she tries to focus on the report again. she has lost track of where she left off, scrolls back up to find a familiar looking graphic or phrase to jump back in.
reading reports like this – the one in front of her right now is about the range of capacity for energy storage facilities under a variety of extreme conditions – used to feel like a set of instructions. Every piece of information linking to a logical consequence: another dataset or prediction to check against, an expert in a related field to contact, a decision whether her taskforce would act on it. now the sentences barely link in her head. information going in but not doing anything. like an awkward guest at a house party full of strangers.
she blinks at the computer screen, dreadfully bright despite being on its dimmest setting, and her eyelids refuse to open again.
her hands are still on the keyboard when the laptop goes into standby. she stirs a bit, noticing the screen go dark. she must finish this one thing. 38 pages left.
but sleep has already made her fingers numb and her lids heavy and eventually her head tips back onto the backrest of the armchair.
a loud noise jolts her out of sleep and, for a moment, fills her with a deep dark dread.
a knock on her door, immediately followed by the door opening. “ms stratt? are you here?”
her laptop clatters to the floor. “hmm?”
“ms stratt, you are late for the UN-meeting.” it’s laura, one of her assistants. stratt recognises her voice. she’s glad laura can’t see that her eyes are still closed, with the armchair facing away.
“how late?”, stratt asks, her voice raspy and tired.
“ ’bout ten minutes. did you sleep in here?”
i wish, she thinks. “tell them my previous appointment went over time. i’ll be there in a moment.” confidence is a routine.
laura nods. “all right.”
“and can you get me some kind of breakfast? make sure it arrives after me.”
“got it”, and the door falls shut again.
she should be stressed by this. she should be up and running. she should be whipped by adrenaline.
instead she blinks at the gray dawn outside and crawls out of her armchair, joints still stiff and aching from the crumpled position she fell asleep in.
the dim light gives her reflection deep black hollows for eyes.
she pulls the collar of her jumper up to her nose and sniffs it. she can’t make out how worn it smells and she doesn’t remember how long she’s been wearing it. but there aren’t any stains on it, so it’ll do.
she keeps a spare toothbrush and paste in her desk. it’s not her first all-nighter in her office.
she combs through her hair with her fingers and straightens out some strands. it’ll do.
she walks across the building to the conference room. she can’t bring herself to break into a run.