"Through the Dark"
A/N: This story takes place following the first season of Broadchurch, and is a continuation of my one-shot "Capable". I would advise you to go read that first, but just for clarification's sake I'll summarize its plot here: Alec Hardy, when he was twenty-five, arrested his best friend when the man shot and killed his wife. I had a lot of different little ideas for a reunion for Alec and his best friend, and I finally decided to write this down.
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The view atop the cliffs of Broadchurch was breathtaking. The ocean was spread out as far as the eye could see like a vast blue carpet, writhing and foaming as it murmured and groaned over the beach. The wind smelled heavily of salt, a strangely refreshing scent that was equally invigorating and calming. The town itself was visible only from the lights of the houses and streetlamps, a busy, loud mini civilization laid out amidst the rugged Dorset landscape.
Dusk was falling, obscuring much of the beauty of the surroundings, but this was one of Alec Hardy's favorite times to come. In the near-dark he was barely noticeable, something he very much preferred, and the air itself was cooler so that he could walk comfortably. He preferred also the last light of the day on the water, rather than its shimmering brightness during the high of the day.
He'd found himself coming to this spot more and more often now, since the close of Danny Latimer's murder. He had always found a strange release listening to the sound of the ocean, and tonight was no different. Out here in the idle of nowhere, or near enough that, he didn't have to pretend. Didn't have to keep his barriers up, and didn't have to pretend that he cared about half the bullshit that he was presented with throughout his day. Out here he could simply stand in silence and let the world pass him by without the threat of judging eyes.
Out here he could think.
The air was gaining a chilly edge to it. Nearing fall, and then the cold of winter. He was still warm enough in his old detective's jacket (which, he would never admit, hung too loosely off his frame), which was flapping in the breeze, but he knew he wouldn't be soon enough. In the winter he wouldn't be able to make these walks over here to the cliff's edge but that was all the reason for them now. He didn't know how he was going to feel being shut up at the tiny little town spread out far below to his right. He didn't hate the small-town feel of Broadchurch quite as much as he had a few months ago, but he missed the bustle and crowds of Glasgow where he could blend in much easier.
The sun was fully setting now, falling behind the water. The last light of the day was fast bleeding away, leaving everything a washed out greyish-blue. He waited until he saw the first faint glimmering of the stars before turning and walking back the way he'd come, ignoring (as always) the heavy irregular beating of his heart.
He hadn't quite recovered from his heart attack from a couple months ago, when chasing a suspect from the hut at Briar Cliff. Its affect had left him weakened and slurring half his words, and had frightened Ellie Miller to death; like everything else, however, Alec had adjusted to the new circumstance and stubbornly pushed on. He was medicaled out of the police force now anyway so that was one less stress he could push on his heart. Miller was pushing him, though, trying to get him to agree to a pacemaker surgery.
Speaking of Miller…
He was just walking through a dimly-lit field, strung with multi-colored lights, when he saw a familiar bright orange coat striding towards him pushing a stroller. He rolled his eyes at the monstrous coat, wondering if Miller knew how ridiculous she looked wearing it, and continued on his way. When they met halfway across the tall grass he passed her by without a word. He thought he heard her huff of exasperation and heard the stroller being turned but did not look or even stop.
"You know, there are such things as 'manners', sir," she called to him as she struggled to catch up. His long legs were making it difficult for her much shorter strides. Her son Fred, safely tucked into his seat, giggled and waved his arms, babbling to himself like only a two-year-old could. She smiled to hear him, but still couldn't help her sense of irritation at her old boss's lack of consideration.
"You didn't have to come and find me," he called back shortly; his strong Scottish brogue had roughened a little in his own irritation, clearly put off that she had come to find him, but she was not daunted.
She knew him too well for that, and he knew it.
Panting a little in her exertion, Ellie finally reached his side. "Fred wanted a walk," she explained. "I thought you might like some company."
He glanced over at her. Her mouth turned down, and blurted before she could stop herself, "My god, you look horrible. Where have you been hanging out at, under the Broadchurch pier?"
It had been a few days since Ellie had seen him last, which was usually how it worked, and tonight he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was ruffled and unkempt, in need of a trim, and his dark stubble had thickened into a genuine beard, only highlighting his milky skin and sunken eyes. He was clearly exhausted.
"I'm fine,' he answered shortly, in no mood to talk of his health.
Ellie raised an eyebrow, less than impressed with his retort, but held her tongue for the moment knowing when wasn't the right time to push him. "Tom told me to tell you hello."
He looked over at her again. "Where is Tom?"
"Over at a friend's house." Ellie couldn't help her mix of happiness and worry for her eldest son; happiness because he was finally getting out of the house again and worry because of the accusations she was sure he would be receiving. But if Tom had at least one friend who didn't look at him as the son of a murderer and a pedophile then she would take it. 'I'm supposed to pick him up in an hour, actually, so I was wondering if you'd like to join me for dinner tonight?"
He frowned, taken aback. "I'm not your boss anymore, Miller. You don't have to invite me for dinner."
"You're impossible sometimes, you know that?" Ellie rolled her eyes. "You don't just invite your bosses to dinner. You invite friends to dinner as well. It's called socializing."
He snorted. "I don't do that sort of thing."
Ellie sighed. She knew he didn't, but she had been hoping that he would be willing for just one evening. Not surprising, though; sometimes she thought Alec Hardy wouldn't know a social cue if it smacked him upside the head. "Come on,' she cajoled him, "just one evening. You must have had friends back in Scotland."
For a split second he froze, swinging to look at her with shaowed eyes. Not angry. Careful. "That was in Scotland," he said tersely. "Not here."
At that moment Fred screeched a laugh and reached out to grab at Alec's pant leg, still babbling away happily and looking at him with wide brown eyes. For a moment Alec simply looked down at the child in bemusement, then heaved a sigh. "Suppose he's taking your side, then," he told Ellie accusingly, but his tone was without bite. He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Just for this evening."
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The restaurant Ellie led them to was small and inconspicuous, quiet for this time of night, and on the border of the town. Until he'd actually sat down at the table they were shown Alec hadn't realized he was hungry and so took a few moments to silently look at the menu, listening to Miller placing Fred in a high seat.
When finally Miller had seated herself, he looked up at her. In the light, he realized she herself looked weary. The dark had obscured much of it, but here she couldn't hide the deep shadows under her eyes or the new lines gouged onto her face, and it dismayed him to realize that she was starting to look vaguely like his own haggard reflection.
Joe Miller's confession of murdering Danny had torn her apart like nothing else could have. It had certainly destroyed what little nativity she had had left by the end of the case, and he wondered if, like him, she was now being kept awake by nightmares.
He hated the town for turning its back on Ellie Miller. He couldn't help but hear the whispered accusations that clearly dogged her heels wherever she went now, her closest friends now accusing her of being the wife of a murderer. Asking how she couldn't have possibly known what Joe was doing practically under his own roof.
She asked those very questions herself, he knew. 'I should've seen it,' she told him shortly after she'd found out the truth.
But very few of the loved ones ever really did see anything, he thought to himself. If the murderer wanted to keep it hidden they could keep it so very easily, especially if, like Ellie, their loved ones were busy with work. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to point that out to those who said those things against Miller.
He wanted to point that out to Miller herself, but he wasn't entirely sure how she would take that information.
"Gone back to the station yet?" he asked quietly after they had ordered their respective meals.
Miller shook her head. "No."
He knew she wouldn't. The police headquarters held too much irony, too much pain, to willingly go back there again. The question had become their own little humorless joke, his comeback to her asking when he was going to schedule his surgery.
They ate most of their meal in silence, but that was perfectly fine by him having never been one for small talk. It was only when Miller had finished with feeding Fred that she spoke up again.
"Joe's been asking about me."
Alec froze for a moment, startled; then he could have kicked himself for not realizing that this was the reason she had come to seek him out. He sat back in his seat and was careful to keep eye contact. "Has he." It was not a question.
She nodded, swallowing hard. Her fingers were twisting her napkin nervously. "I just heard today. He'd asked for me while he was here, of course—"
She didn't visit him. That Alec knew for a fact.
"I dunno why I was so surprised that he would still wanting to see me, though."
He did. He had seen it while interrogating Joe following the man's confession. Joe Miller, underneath all of the humor and homey I-love-my-life, was a mere child wanting what he couldn't have and unable to find the support he needed without someone older and more mature than he was.
'I wanted something that was mine.' That was what he had said when explaining why he had had Danny Latimer start meeting him in secret.
There had been something very childish about Joe during that interrogation, reduced to such a sniveling mess that Alec hadn't been able to help pitying him even through his hatred of the man's actions. It did not surprise him that Joe would be asking for his wife.
He wondered if Joe knew that Miller would never come to visit him.
"I don't know if I can forgive him."
He spoke without thinking. "Then don't. Murder isn't forgivable."
She laughed a small, raw laugh that tore at what little heart he had left. "I miss him," she confessed. "As much as I want to kill him myself."
He knew the feeling. He still shared it at times, thinking about his ex-wife. There were nights he still couldn't bear to sleep in a bed because she wasn't in it with him.
"Don't kill him either," he stated flatly, and completely seriously. "I don't want to arrest you too."
I don't think I could stand that a second time.
His appetite gone, he stood. "Thanks for the dinner. I'll talk to you later." He managed a tight if genuine smile in Fred's direction, but left as quickly as he could, leaving Ellie sitting dejectedly by herself.
Once more walking by himself down the roads of the town, he allowed himself to take a deep breath. He didn't think Miller really meant anything when she said she wanted to kill Joe herself, but Alec had learned early on that anyone was truly capable of murder.
There were times that Alec wanted to tell Miller of John O'Bailey, just to prove his point; but he'd found that the subject of that period of his life was tabooed. Even from himself.
There was, after all, no point in ghosts long buried. John O'Bailey would never cross his path again. He would make sure of that.
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In the late next morning, Ellie was taking her usual walk down the main street of the town, wrapped in her coat with a coffee in her hands. She very rarely planned where she was going during her morning walks, allowing instead her feet to mark the way. Today, inexplicably, her path took her past the police station (a direction she rarely took anymore).
Later she would wonder if it was luck or a curse that led her there that morning, because just as she was walking past the building a man walked out the front doors looking lost.
He was tall and thin, with greying golden hair and a haggard, worn face that must have been quite handsome when he was younger. His clothes, while clean, looked ragged and old, like newly-patched hand-me-downs.
She hesitated in her walk for just a moment, taken aback by his strange appearance in a town such as this; and in the very moment she stopped he caught sight of her.
"Hello, ma'am," he greeted her politely, walking up to her.
"Hello," she said nervously, trying to smile. He wasn't looking at her like he knew who she was, which was a relief, but she still didn't feel like talking with anyone at the moment, especially not with a stranger. But his eyes looked kind enough, even if they were tired. "Do you need help?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said with a nod, and with a slight shock Ellie realized that his accent was Scottish. Her surprise turned very quickly into confusion when he continued. "I'm looking for Alec Hardy. You know him?"
This day, she realized, was about to get a whole lot more interesting.