A/N: Hey guys! So, I had another Broadchurch story up, three chapters of it actually, and decided to take it down to make way for this story. It is inspired by the song Impossible Year from Panic! At the Disco's new album Death of a Bachelor. It's not a song fic but the song did put me in a mind space to write this story. Of course I don't own Broadchurch or Panic! At the Disco, but a girl can dream, right?

It was a rainy day in Harper, not that it did much else but rain in the tiny town, but the weather today was especially harsh. It was days like today that made Daisy Hardy wish that she had been better prepared. It was a short distance from where her friends had dropped her off and her dad's flat but it was enough to get her soaked from head to toe. She shivered as the wet, cold material of her uniform clung to her skin and she quickened her pace to get out of the rain. It was her weekend to stay at her father's and she wasn't exactly enthused.

It's not that she didn't love her father, quite the opposite, it was just that she knew what awaited her when she walked up those stairs and through that door. The change in him had been so gradual that it had taken her longer than she was proud of to notice it. He'd never been a social butterfly, far from it, but before life had taken a bitter turn on him he at least left the house more than two or three times a week. When Daisy was a girl he had worked a lot, and when he wasn't at work he was taking her to the park or having a pint with some of his mates on the force. Now, she was lucky if she got him to leave the flat for groceries.

She trudged up the stairs and she could hear the squish of her socks as she did so. The sound made her cringe. She silently prayed that the contents of her duffle bag hadn't been soaked through; she wanted dry, warm clothes more than anything. When she finally made it to the front door of her dad's flat she hesitated before fishing her key out of her pocket and turning the knob. When she entered the threshold she could see that he still hadn't unpacked the boxes he promised he would unpack when he moved in a year ago. She chalked it up to him becoming accustomed to living out of a hotel for so long but the problem was getting out of hand.

She entered the living area to find it vacant. When he wasn't sitting in the huge, cushiony chair in the living room he was sleeping. He did that a lot nowadays. When he had first moved to Harper, which was located halfway between Broadchurch and Sandbrook, he had, had a more cheerful demeanor. He seemed to be high on the thought of making a fresh start but as the year drug on she saw that enthusiasm die more and more every day. The beard he had shaved off had grown back even fuller than before. His suits, which he had begun ironing to crisp perfection, became wrinkled from lack of caring. His occasional meetup with his old friends from the Sandbrook force had stopped as soon as they started. His teaching job in Sandbrook was hanging by a string because he couldn't be bothered to put effort into it. And his smile, which he usually reserved for her, had recently stopped appearing.

She understood that he was going through some heavy things; she was sympathetic to it. But, she felt that there was only so much of his self-destruction that she could stand. He claimed that his nightmares had stopped but she knew he was lying. She could hear muffled screams during the night. Sometimes he called her name, but mostly it was a mix of Danny, Pippa, and Ellie Miller. It was during this impossible year that she had transformed from Alec Hardy's daughter to his minder. She supposed she could tell her mother about how she was feeling, her fears for her father, but she knew that would most likely result in her time with him being restricted.

She quietly opened the door to his room and saw a long, slim figure bunched up under the blankets on the bed. She glanced down at her watch and wondered if he'd taken out the time to eat today; she assumed not. Tiptoeing to his side she sat down on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulders slightly. He mumbled something she couldn't quite catch and so she nudged him again.

She nearly fell off the bed when he shot up stick straight, gasping for air and struggling to focus on the world around him. His breathing came out in laborious pants and he seemed to be clutching his heart as though the pacemaker was no longer working. The thought terrified her but she calmed when she saw that he too was calming down. They locked eyes then and he looked so afraid; so much younger than he actually was. It was moments like this when she felt like the parent instead of the child. It was an odd feeling to experience because her father was always so in control of his feelings; she'd never seen him so vulnerable. This wasn't him.

"Daisy," he gasped slightly, "when did you get here?"

"Just got here," she reassured him and patted his arm.

He looked down at the watch on his left wrist and cursed, "I'm sorry, darlin'. I should have been awake when you got here. I thought I set an-"

She interrupted him, "It's not a problem dad, promise."

He frowned before studying her up and down, "You're soaked. Is it raining that hard?"

"Yeah. Surprised you didn't hear it. Weather's right shit today."

"Daisy," he said in a warning tone.

"Shit isn't swearing, dad."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"Fine, I'll mind my tongue. Happy?"

"Always," he said rather unconvincingly.

"Have you eaten today?"

"Yeah," his tone was again, unconvincing, "had a bit of a salad."

"Uh huh," she answered.

"I did!" he defended.

"I didn't say you didn't," she interjected, "it's nearing six, do you wanna go out to dinner?"

He actually looked as if he were considering it but she knew he was doing a dance. He'd pretend to think about it, find a reason not to leave the flat, and then suggest that they get take away or cook something.

"Not tonight, Daze. The weather isn't the best. Wouldn't want you to have to go out in it again and get sick."

"Sure," she responded weakly.

"Take away or see what I have in the cupboards?"

"I'll make something," she said, getting up, "I wouldn't want someone to come out in this weather just to bring us food we could make ourselves."

He nodded and went to get up, "I'll help ya."

She looked at his face and noted the heavy bags under his eyes. He slept a lot but she suspected that most of it wasn't spent dreaming peacefully. He looked so tired. She suddenly felt guilty for wanting to usher him out of bed and into the cold world.

"Actually, you just lay down for a bit longer, dad. You look exhausted. I'll fix something and wake you when it's ready."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled at him and nodded.

"Alright, but we'll go out tomorrow night. I promise."

She walked out of his bedroom and closed the door behind her.

"No we won't," she whispered to herself before heading into the kitchen to make them dinner.