Alec Hardy was sick and tired. He hated that that was affecting his job. He hated waking up in hospital rooms. He hated strange women being by his bedside when he woke up in hospital rooms. He hated that he was scared: of not solving another case, of letting another family down, of not surviving a surgery, of life without a badge.
And unfortunately, the second time he woke up in a hospital room in Broadchurch, he hated that he was happy it was not Becca Fisher by his bedside. Oh he could've done the blonde, and it would've been fun and meaningless. But he liked Miller. And that was the problem.
The next time he woke up in a hospital room, anesthesia wearing off, slowly becoming aware he was battery operated now, there was a woman by his bedside. She was asleep in a chair, a small swell visible under her jumper, their fingers laced together.
Her hair is longer now, softer, the lines in her face smoothed by the pregnancy. The ring on the finger he can see matches the one they took off for the surgery.
It's the right woman this time. No longer a stranger, no longer an annoyance. He gives her hand a squeeze and she stirs slowly, brown eyes focusing as a little smile graces her lips.
"Hello. And what sort of time do you call this?" she teases.
He pulls a frown with no true ire, given that he tugs their joined hands against his new steady heartbeat. "None of your lip, Miller-Hardy. I'm still the boss of you."
"Whatever you say, dear." Her free hand brushes back the fringe from his brow, rasps against the perpetual stubble on his cheek before gracing it with a pat that's only a little condescending. "Whatever you say."
A/N: so after watching Gracepoint, I rewatched the British original (really, can British originals ever be beat?) and came up with ideas I hadn't run with the first time around. I know this probably won't happen in the upcoming continuation of the series, but hey- that's what fanfic is for.
hope you like it. whether you do or not, comments are always appreciated.