A/N: I had a rough idea as to how it might have gone down. Decided to explore that.
To those who haven't watched up to episode 8 of series 1... Spoilers!
Unhappy People
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The clock struck four and he hissed in a breath.
Had it been any other day, he would be at his desk, burying himself in folders full of disjointed information and trying to make sense of the facts, trying to create a pattern. Instead he was seated on the floor of his kitchen, his back stiff against the cupboard he had promised to fix a year ago.
Was it all because of this? One bloody cupboard he had promised to fix but didn't; one bloody trip that he had put off for years and years; one child he had been against trying for.
Letting out a low breath, he winced, dropping his head back against the wood with a dull thunk.
Every time he closed his eyes he could picture all the fights, the bloody arguments, the late nights he went to work so that he didn't have to face her after. Did she hate him so much? Did he ignore her that often?
When the clock struck five, he realised that he had been sitting in the same place for close to four hours.
He still wore the suit that he had gone to work in, the tie she had given him for his birthday two years ago. He fingered the tip, wondering why he hadn't had the courage to stay at the office when he was first informed of her betrayal. He had asked the questions he had needed answers to: from where, what time, how. He had then walked out stiffly, driving home in a daze with the minute hope that it was all in his head. He hadn't said a word to her. He hadn't asked her the most important question: why.
He considered leaving before she came home, but decided against it. Placing a palm on the floor he pushed himself up, landing on creaking bones that felt too old for his body. Sniffing, he rubbed at his eyes, feeling too tired to handle the inevitable discussion. He didn't take off his tie.
She entered the house half an hour later as he was nursing a cold cup of tea. She found him easily enough, as he was seated at the kitchen table waiting for her. She didn't sit down and he didn't invite her to. She dropped her purse on the counter instead, crossing her arms as she leant against that same cupboard to watch him. She was defensive; he was defeated.
Her tone was steely as she said her first words. "What are you going to do?"
His shoulders stiffened and he snapped. "Is that what you're worried about? Him?"
She shrugged, a flippant gesture that angered him further. "I know it's my fault. You shouldn't take it out on—"
"Bloody hell I won't." He pushed himself away from the table, his teeth gritted in anger. "You lost an important piece of evidence. You did that, but you were not alone. You are both responsible." He stared at her, flabbergasted by her behaviour. "What am I to tell the division? We had it in our hands, the one thing that could link that bastard to the girls' murders and you lost it! What am I to tell her family? How am I going to explain to them that we had him and we let him go? How am I supposed to bloody face them?"
She pushed off the counter to eye him warily. "Typical. You find out that I've been sleeping with my partner and all you care about is a piece of jewellery."
"That piece of jewellery was the only way to catch a murderer. He's back on the street to kill again, to hurt innocent children. That's on you. That's on him."
"I know that. Don't you think I know that?" She stepped forward, her arm reached out to touch him, only to wince when he took a step away from her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Her voice cracked and he looked away from her, his hand rubbing over his face to keep his own emotions in check. "I know I made a mistake. A big mistake. But I never intended to hurt the case."
He heard her unspoken words louder than how he wanted. He tried to ignore the twisting in his gut that made it physically hurt to even look at her.
Just you, she was saying. I only wanted to hurt you.
With his shoulders slumping in defeat, he sat back on the closest chair, burring his face in shaking hands while hoping against hope that she didn't know how much she had hurt him.
"Are you…" she began hesitantly. "Are you going to let us go?"
Letting out a low breath, he surprised himself with his response. "No," he said finally, tiredly dropping his hands so he could collapse against the chair freely. "Our daughter… she shouldn't…"
The spark of hope in his wife's eyes died quickly with his words. "You don't want our daughter to know that her mother is a slag," she said harshly.
He stared at her, wanting so much to disagree with her words and comfort her all the same. But she eyed him in defiance, and something inside of him, something raw and hurt wanted to cause her as much pain as she had caused him. "Yes," came his quiet reply.
She nodded as if she had known that he was going to say those words all along. "I'm going to get some things. Think it's best I stay at Mum's for a while."
He only had the strength to nod before she picked up her purse and started to leave the kitchen.
The words were out before he could even think about it. "How long?"
She paused at the door, and he noticed how she had taken off her wedding band. Her hand looked bare without it. "Last December," came her sad reply. "It was the office Christmas Party you missed because you were waiting for the labs of the Torrington case."
She left a moment later, and his gaze fell on his own wedding band. His fingers tightened into a fist, practically turning his knuckles white as he heaved in one deep breath after another. He stood up, he paced the length of the kitchen, but that restless feeling inside of him didn't subside. It didn't stop, it didn't dwindle, not until he threw down is cup of cold tea and heard it shatter with a satisfying crash.
It was a haze after that, the things he grabbed, the pots and pans and dishes that were all given to them once a long time ago when they had been happy. They were thrown to the ground with loud clatters and crashes, the noises somehow soothing while the blood pumped maddeningly in his ears.
When it was all done, when all the items were broken, he stood over the mess with shaking hands as his chest heaved with deep, weary breaths. His wife stepped into the kitchen without a word with a travelling bag at her feet. He instantly felt ashamed at his behaviour.
Her eyes fell on the dishes that her grandmother had once given her. The precious plates she had never used except to honour her grandmother's death were now decorating the kitchen floor with sharp edges. Her eyes were cold when she faced him. "I want a divorce."
He hadn't expected that. He hadn't wanted that.
"Fine," was the only word he could say, his own voice sounding hoarse and so very tired.
She left him without a word, leaving him to stand in the middle of their kitchen among broken plates and shattered glasses, and a growing panic in his chest that he just couldn't tame.
He collapsed onto the floor, his back falling against the nearest chair as the glass cut through his palm and caused him to momentarily forget about the sting behind his eyes.
He didn't know exactly why he felt hot tears fall down his cheeks. His thoughts were with two girls, children who deserved justice that he couldn't give them. His thoughts were with the parents of the girls who had lost so much and who will never get closure. His thoughts were with his own daughter who would hate him for what he was about to do in a few short hours. His thoughts were with his dying marriage, the happy memories that will be forever tainted by lies.
Or maybe, just maybe it was because the love of his life had chosen another, betraying him for over a year while he had been trying to solve murders, to make their home safe, and it fucking hurt.
Detective Inspector Alec Hardy, the most observant policeman in their division.
He chuckled darkly amongst his tears, the empty silence mocking him.
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