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Florence barely remembers the past week. She recalls waking up from bizarre, disturbing dreams, drenched in sweat, but never seeming to pick up even an ounce of warmth.
If she racks her memory she vaguely remembers bursting into tears, mainly because she had knocked over the glass of water on her bedside table, but also because she had felt so useless.
She had come back to Saint Marie to help the team, so why is she careless and irresponsible enough to get herself sick?
After that fateful afternoon in the abandoned warehouse off the coast of Belle Mer, both her immune system and conscience had taken a blow. If she hadn't gone and gotten shot, and called for backup before following Patrice, perhaps things would have turned out at least slightly better. If only she could turn back time and stop herself from being so terribly irresponsible.
The familiar clink clank of coffee mugs cuts through her thoughts like a knife that is brought down on a slab of cake. JP emerges from the kitchen area, equipped with four cups of coffee that are threatening to spill all over his freshly ironed uniform.
Everything is as usual, but, at the same time, everything feels off. To Florence, it feels as though she hasn't sat at her desk in eons.
"Morning, Sarge", JP declares, setting a bright red mug down on Florence's desk, "are you feeling any better?"
"Yes, thank you", Florence replies slowly. Her voice doesn't sound like her own voice, more like that of an imposter doing a horrible impression of her. She feels as though someone has placed her into a body that isn't hers. Her actions don't lign up with the signals her brain is sending, and it is as though she is perceiving her surroundings through some sort of strange haze. The fever has broken, but the strange fuzziness has not. It is frustrating.
Florence absentmindedly nips at her mug, observing the many icons on her desktop screen. As far as she knows, there is no physical work to be done. Only the paperwork from last week still has to be completed, but, having been absent since last monday, she has absolutely no knowledge of what had happened in terms of policing, a throbbing headache is seriously affecting her ability to think, and her nose has started running again.
To top it all off, the day has only just started, the other half of the team, namely Marlon and Neville, has not even arrived yet. Lovely.
Florence does not want to go home again. It would make her seem like even more of a total failure. It is her job to protect the people of Saint Marie, not lie in bed, shivering pathetically. Why does she have to show weakness in a job where weakness is a sin?
It's your own fault, a little voice in her head proclaims, just audible enough through the constant buzz in her brain. You should have been more responsible. You should have paid more attention to the germs around you. Now your team is behind and the safety of innocent people is at threat.
And then there is the fear of missing out, something she had always found silly but is now hopelessly stricken with. Secretly she wonders how many evenings at Catherine's bar, how many gossip sessions with JP, how many unbelievably funny moments with Marlon, and how many instances of the Inspector's irrationally fearful behaviour she had missed. Only a little over a year ago, she had learnt that every second with friends and loved ones is precious. So why is she forced to waste all these moments?
Florence puts her head in her hands- and immediately regrets moving her head at all. Her body is yearning for the comfort of her bed, but her mind is forcing her to stay put.
“Sarge.”
The voice is soft but too close to her and she flinches, blinking the dizziness away as she looks up to finds JP crouched at her side, head tilted in concern.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he tells her gently.
It feels like he’s just confirming everything she’s been thinking. She’s letting the team down.
“No, I’m okay. I need to be here, you all-“
She’s cut off by a violent fit of coughing, lasting long enough that she’s struggling for breath.
JP’s hand appears on her back, rubbing comfortingly and she doesn’t know whether to lean into it or flinch away.
When the coughs eventually fade, she’s left panting, able to focus on nothing other than trying to regulate her breaths, made difficult by the exhaustion seeping through her entire body and the dizziness from lack of oxygen.
Carefully, JP passes her the mug, keeping one hand under it to steady it as she lifts it with trembling hands and sips at the liquid, the heat soothing the soreness in her throat that hasn’t really dissipated in over a week.
He takes the mug off her after a while, setting it down on the desk as he fishes the keys from where she’d dumped them less than half an hour ago.
“Come on, Sarge, I’m taking you home.”
“No, you need me to stay,” she protests feebly, “I can help.”
Fixing her with a kind but stern look, he shakes his head, “Sarge, what we need is for you to get better.”
“I am better. I need to help. I…” her voice drops low and her gaze falls, “I feel like I’m letting you all down.”
This is her worst nightmare come true, not being able to be here for her team.
“You’re the most dependable person I know,” he insists gently, “the only person you’re letting down by not taking care of yourself, is you.”
Tears sting her eyes at that and she blinks them back, feeling foolish for being so emotional. But she’s just so tired.
“Let me take you home.”
She scrunches her eyes closed, unable to ignore the way it sends a sharp throb back into her head.
“Okay,” she whispers eventually, defeated, “okay.”
JP offers her a hand and has to all but haul her up, linking their arms as she walks to the jeep on shaky legs.
She watches the scenery float past them, feeling like she’s hovering somewhere just out of her body.
When they get to her house, she expects him to leave but he instead tells her to get into some comfy clothes and by the time she gets back, he’s found her fluffiest blanket and insists on tucking it around her.
As he wanders off into the kitchen, she slips into a light sleep wondering if he’s aware of just how fatherly he’s become since he had the twins.
She wakes to him squeezing her hand, knelt at her side.
“I would have let you sleep but you need to eat.” He motions to the steaming bowl of soup on the coffee table.
Her brow furrows, “Don’t you need to get back to the station?”
They can’t be two officers down, the very thought causing a wave of panic to rise in her.
“I messaged the Inspector, he said I was under strict orders to not come back until you were looked after,” JP soothes as he helps sit up, “he threatened to come and make this weird cold remedy from his childhood.”
Florence blinks, confused, “Threatened?”
He shoots her an amused look, passing her a spoon and the bowl, “Well, I think it was an offer, but I thought you might see it like a threat. So, I said I had it covered.”
She manages a tiny smile as he chuckles, not sure if the warmth filling her is from the soup of the knowledge of her team being there for her.
Taking a sip of the soup, she breathes a sigh of relief at the way it soothes her throat and nose and makes her suddenly realise that actually, she’s really very hungry after everything tasting like cardboard for a week.
“You’ve come so far, JP,” she compliments, thinking back to the uncertain officer she’d first met and the mentor he is now.
He smiles kindly, “Just looking after my family, Sarge."