ESPRIT DE CORPS:Satellite Officer Jean Vicquemare and Patrol Officer Judit Minot stand on a bridge spanning a canal. Vicquemare thanks a young man for his time, flipping his notebook closed. Minot stares blankly down into the water below.
"Jude," says Vicquemare, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"What?" Minot looks dazed. "Oh." She rubs her forehead. "Where next?"
Vicquemare furrows his brow. "Jude, it's eleven o'clock. We've been at this for hours. And this is after your twelve-hour shift."
Minot gives him a dull look. "Look, if you're tired, you can go. I can–"
"That's not what I'm saying!" says Vicquemare, growing frustrated. "I know you didn't eat dinner. Did you even eat your lunch today?"
"I–" Minot shuts her eyes, trying to remember. "Part of it. Torson needed help with something, so I went to do that, and I never got back to it." There's a lightness, a fuzziness behind her eyes. It's familiar. She's accidentally skipped meals before. It's hard to remember to eat when she's focused.
"This is what I mean!" says Vicquemare. "You can't treat your body like a machine! Or, scratch that, machines need maintenance - you're treating your body like it's a fucking rock. You're not even in charge of this unit, but you act like it's your personal fucking responsibility that everyone else gets their work done! And then you go home and do the same with your family!"
Minot's mouth tugs down at the corners. She looks down.
Vicquemare runs a hand through his hair, blowing air through his lips. "Fuck," he says quietly. He didn't mean to yell at her. He tends to snap at people when he's worried. It's something he doesn't like about himself.
Both of them stand, silent for a moment. Minot wipes her eyes. Vicquemare sighs.
"Listen," he says, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to buy us some takeout. We're going to sit and eat it. And you're going to let other people take a little fucking responsibility for a while."
"But–"
"No, I'm not hearing it. The only thing I want to hear from you right now is what you want to eat." Jean's tone is softer now, gentler than his words.
Minot sniffs, considering. "Curry."
"Perfect. Let's go." Vicquemare squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and the two head off.