Hey people, nice of you to be on this page, ready to read this thing. Just to warn some of you: english is not my first langage, so I'm really sorry for any mistake. And because I don't have any beta, the mistakes may be quite big/great/enormous, and I'm really sorry.

Also, because I have a strange life at the moment, update will take time. And when I say time, I mean it. You are warned.

Well, now, I can say that nothing belongs to me and I'm making no money, no nothing from/with it. Just a bit of entertainment for others (and me). Sadly. Hmmm. It's a good thing, I think, because every character would need a personnal psychologist at the end of every fic. That would cost money I should think. :)

And so, let's begin the reading, people! I hope you'll enjoy it!


Chapter 1

"To believe is to know you believe and to know you believe is not to believe."

Jean-Paul SARTRE


The dark circles beneath his eyes were enough to scare most of his colleagues away, but not his Detective Sergeant, Ellie Miller, and not his cardiologist, Doctor Robert Kenningston. What a chance. He thought he could get away from this. That was his original plan: finish the case that put Ellie's husband in jail and wait patiently for his misery to end. But he didn't count on the stubbornness of the woman and her iron will, nor did he count on the fearsome Dr. Kenningston. That man was terse at best. Rightfully terrifying at worst.

"You can't put the surgery on hold forever, Inspector, you know that," Dr. Kenningston was telling him. "The chance for you to make a full recovery is diminishing with the time. You have to do it now."

"You said it yourself, doctor," he countered. "We don't even know if I'll survive the surgery."

"You won't survive without it and that is certain. With the surgery, you have a chance. Take it." The doctor looked at his patient, trying to make a point. "If you want to see it that way: you'll die if you don't do it. You may also die if you take it. The result will be the same. But you may have a chance to live. And I think that's why you're afraid. Why would that be, Inspector?"

The Detective Inspector Alec Hardy was on his feet instantly, his angry glare on the doctor.

"None of your business," he answered sharply, putting his scarf around his neck and going for the door.

"You'll be on my table for the surgery soon enough, Inspector."

"We'll see," and the detective was gone without a backward glance.

—-—

"You're an idiot!"

"Miller—" he began, but she cut him off.

"You. Are. A. Bloody. Idiot! That's what you are!"

He looked at her as she paced in front of him in his hotel room. He told her about his visit to his doctor and how it went. She said nothing, stood up and began pacing. Minutes passed before he heard her swearing at him.

"I'll do what I bloody well want to with my life," he snapped.

"Your life is not your own when you're in the bloody police, Hardy! You have to do the surgery! You have a job to do! How are you gonna catch murderer if you're six feet under?! You stupid, selfish, bastard!"

That's when he understood her anger: doubting her worth in the Force, she put her faith in him and what's the first thing he did, besides catching her killer-husband? Say no to a heart surgery, because life was too hard for him, when all she hoped to find herself, was something to believe in, a meaning in her own life. He sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

"You win," he said. "I'll do the bloody surgery."

He didn't know she would launch herself at him and hugged the life out of him when he said that. But he was responding before putting much thought into it and patted her back awkwardly, in what he hoped, stood for a friendly gesture.

—-—

He was lying in a hospital bed two days after his conversation with Miller— Ellie. He was bored and complaining about the lack of interesting activities in the hospital, but he knew that Miller— Ellie, knew that it was just a front for his fear of what was to come.

"Don't be a grumpy and stupid idiot," she told him, once she could actually speak after his long rant about hospital food, idiot interns, without-tact doctors and fearsome nurses. "They're here to help you, you know."

"They're here because they're sadists who became doctors," he replied without lifting his eyes from the newspaper he was reading.

She slapped his arm none too gently and he threw a glance her way.

"I know you're not exactly enjoying this, Alec," she said after a minute of silence. "But you're going to be fine. And more than fine after the surgery's done."

He sighed and closed the paper, before throwing it on his bedside table.

"I know. And thank you," he told her with his Scottish accent.

She looked at him, surprised by his words.

"For what?" she asked.

"For being here and making me understand I needed this surgery."

"You're very welcome," she smiled at him, more emotional about the whole conversation than she cared to admit.

When nurses and doctor came by a few hours later to take him to his programmed surgery for the pacemaker, he thought that maybe, it wasn't the worst decision he made in his life, after all.

—-—

He was quick to recover from the surgery. Even his doctor was surprised and because of that, the man put him on sick leave a lot longer than necessary. And the man was clever and had resources, because next thing he knew, he was discharged from his post of Detective Inspector until further notice from the Chief Medical Officer, certainly a friend of his bloody cardiologist.

Now, all he had were the brief visits from Miller and his hotel room. His empty hotel room, which never felt so empty before. Lounging on his bed with his hands behind his head, he wondered why he ended here, in this town, and why he stayed here. It wasn't like him to enjoy a place so quiet. Or maybe it was. Sometimes, it was like he was two different people, each enjoying something the other didn't. Well… Guilt, sickness, and with a history like his own, it was quite the normal stuff to feel a little out of place. A small, stiff, but here nonetheless, smile appeared on his face.

Oh, was he smiling now? It seemed like the surgery did more good than he thought. But, was it really good? Was it penance if he felt like smiling, now?

His thoughts turned on his family and the small smile he had on his lips a few seconds before turned into a scowl. There, he knew he was somewhere in here that one. Just think about her. His scowl deepened.

—-—

Life had taken a turn for the better apparently. Weeks after his heart surgery, he could walk in his office in the police department again and it sure was a nice change from his hotel bedroom. Miller was back on the job too. Said if she was to move forward, then, move forward she had to, and that included working a job she loved. Even if she was not her sure self anymore. But it was something he promised to win back for her. She was a worthy police officer; she just had to understand it.

First case they worked together was some vandalism from teenagers. They chased them for a couple of blocks and it was the most exhilarating feeling. He could run. He could run again! After that bout, even if they couldn't catch the little buggers, the Inspector felt like living again. He welcomed his shortness of breath and the feel of his heart beating life through his veins. He even welcomed his sweaty forehead with a smile. Because he just ran for two blocks without feeling like he was about to collapse and now that he tried to calm his breathing, he didn't feel the lack of oxygen like he used to. After only two minutes, he was breathing normally again and grinning at Miller.

She looked like she saw a ghost.

—-—

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked her after they were sitting at a table in a chippy to eat.

He was famished. He hadn't had a real meal with his heart problems and now that that was behind him, he wanted a real meal.

"You grinned."

One of his eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

"At me," she elaborated after a few seconds. "You grinned at me."

Confused, he nodded.

"Aye, Miller. And what about it?"

Her eyes were wide and large, like she didn't understand what had happened. And maybe she hadn't. She only knew him when he was sick and trying to put his health behind him, just so he could catch a killer and bring peace to the victim's family. Like he was paying a price. And he was, before his surgery. And now, it was the past, and his real self was beginning to resurface. He didn't know if it was a good thing or not yet.

His scowl remained fixed on his face after that.

—-—

Months had passed since the Latimer case and he knew, somehow, that something was approaching. A storm was coming. And he didn't mean it literally—

"Beware of tonight's storm passing on the coast. Broadchurch—" said someone on the screen's TV.

Oh, well. Maybe it was literally after all.

—-—

"Run!"

"I am!"

"Faster! If they catch us, they're gonna put us under!"

With a gasp, he threw the covers off him and sat up on his bed, breathing rapidly. The dream had been strange. It looked like the kind of hallucinations/dreams he was having before the pacemaker.

Placing a hand on the left side of his chest, he felt his heart calming beneath his palm and with a heavy sigh, he went to lie down again. But sleep would elude him now, he knew it; like he knew it was 3:37 am, 24 seconds past. He stayed on his bed, without sleeping for the rest of the night.

When he stood up the morning after, he put on his dark blue suit and dark blue tie, frowning and finding it too dark. Some colors would do some good for his appearance. He shook his head and scowled, looked at his bedside clock, found it broken, scowled some more, looked at his watch and hurried himself out of his door: he was late for work.

—-—

He was running after the thief, Miller ahead of him. But as he was slowing down more and more, she stopped altogether and started toward him, wanting to help. He shook his head in negation and told her to keep going and to catch the criminal. She took off again, resigned, and knowing he wouldn't budge from his orders, stubborn man that he was.

While she kept running after the thief, he tried to take a deep breath, but something wasn't right. Hands on his knee, heaving, he willed his heart rate to calm, but nothing was happening. His right hand went to his chest and clutched his shirt. It wasn't normal. His heart rate wasn't normal; it felt wrong and too fast and like it was echoing all around his body. The prickling sensation began in his fingers and then exploded in his chest.

Darkness, brightness. All around, all confusing. Voices, so many voices. Languages, all different but the same.

He collapsed.

—-—

"You're done putting your health at risk or not?" was the first words he heard when he woke.

"Wha…?" he croaked, his mouth dryer than the sand sea of the Sahara desert and in need of some water.

A glass was put on his lips and he drank from it greedily, thankful to whoever gave it to him.

"Slow down or you gonna choke on it. And I'm done with you trying to die on me."

Opening an eye after the other, he looked at Ellie, her face hovering above him, in and out of focus. His vision swam for an instant and he closed his eyes, willing everything to stop. Calming himself, he tried to open them again, only to find out he was alone. Wasn't Ellie with him just at the moment or was that a dream? But why would Ellie be in a dream, really?

His thoughts process was sluggish at best. Something had happened and he didn't know what. He closed his eyes once more to concentrate—

"Hey, you hear me?"

—and Ellie was back. His retinas adjusted themselves to the ambient luminosity when he opened his eyes and looked properly at his friend and colleague.

"Why're you wearin' me coat?" he asked, his tongue heavy in his mouth.

She laughed, relieved, before pointing a finger in his face, accusing.

"You fainted on me and the first thing you asked is why I'm wearing your coat?"

And like that, he knew she was not angry with him. Well, she didn't have a reason to be, really. He himself didn't know why he collapsed.

—-—

He was back to work when he sensed something was off with him for a moment. And his doctor said there was nothing wrong with him last time, he was in good health, fit as a fiddle, he said. Or did he? Around him, his office seemed to become blurred, like his vision couldn't focus on anything. Footstep echoed loudly beside him, but when he turned to look at who was coming, he found himself alone. He frowned. The footsteps, he heard them clearly. Or maybe he was confused and it was only the sound of his own heartbeat, which seemed awfully loud. And fast too.

"Sleep."

The voice was murmured near his left ear and he jumped in surprise and fear. Nobody was here with him. There were only two possibilities now, he thought. One: ghosts were real and he just met one. Two: he was mad. He didn't believe in ghosts and werewolves and such supernatural nonsense. He was the kind of guy who had his feet on the ground, but admitting to the second possibility was not conceivable and wrong. He hoped.

The sound of voices in the background seemed to become more and more muted until he could hear no more noises but his own harsh breathing. He felt like he could sleep a week suddenly. He needed a break. After all, he did not sleep a lot these days and the lack of sleep was certainly the cause of those daydreams. That explained why he couldn't concentrate on his work sometimes, when his hand stilled above some papers and he didn't know anymore what it was he had to write down. It was as if some part of his brain had frozen and he could do nothing about it, but wait a few seconds to let it pass.

He went out, already thinking of his bed in his empty and cold new house.

—-—

Miller knew something was not right in Hardy's land and she looked at him from time to time, watching his movements, watching the pulsating artery in his neck or on his forehead and counting.

When she talked to his doctor – and yes, he found out about it, he was a bloody detective, wasn't he? – he said everything was fine, but everything was not and she was worried about him and he sensed her cursing him. The Idiot Shitface, he was labeled. She did care for him: he was, strangely enough, the only one to stay the same with her after her husband's arrest and that helped her a great deal, he knew. She understood him better after that and their working friendship evolved into a friendly friendship, if that even made sense.

And now, he was sick again and wouldn't talk about it and she wanted nothing more than to bash his head into the nearest wall for that.

She said nothing. She kept working on her paperwork.

He said nothing. He was thankful for the remaining time she allowed him to have, a time during which he could do as if everything was fine and dandy.

Until she decreed enough was enough.

—-—

It was late at night and he was on his couch, watching the TV blaring some strange music, when he sensed the shift in the air. It was lulling him to sleep but he didn't want to fall asleep, not yet. However his eyes refused to stay opened. He felt numb suddenly. Morpheus welcomed him.