Night shifts are her specialty. There isn't any particular reason why. Well, she's never been afraid of the dark, and she's never been afraid of corpses. That might actually have had a hand in it, though the autopsy room was always brightly lit and (though she'd probably be the only one to ever say so), nearly cheerful. Well, mostly when she had some music playing.

Though it's getting late, a half-full cup of coffee is sitting on the table beside her most recent patient as she jots down some final thoughts in the file. Molly hums to herself, compliments the woman (67, heart failure) on her rose tattoo (near her hip, already noted). There's no answer, but she likes to talk to the people that get rolled on to her slab.

Not that she would ever actually admit that to anyone. She enjoys her work, but not many other people seem to.

The file is closed up and the body stored away just a few minutes later. Molly picks up her coffee cup (serendipitously refilled and hot), and grabs the file as well as a few borrowed texts. She's on duty for another two or so hours, so she'd thought she'd catch up on some reading right after dropping off the file with the (far too many) others.

The humming resumes, and she pushes open the door and reaches for the light switch without a second thought.