A/N: It's been way too long, but RL has been tough. Thanks for everyone's support and kind words and also for that you're still interested in this part of the story. This turned out to be a way more emotional chapter than planned and maybe that's why it's short because I wanted to end it where it ended. Thank you to HAZELMIST and LILY_DRAGON for reading through it and sharing your thoughts. Your support is invaluable! (See more notes at the end)


CHAPTER 3

Hardy was slowly pacing up and down a hallway of South Mercia Police Constabulary's top floor. His left hand was glued to his hip, his right was drumming on his thigh. No one was bothering him in this deserted part of the building which was probably for the better. The last thing he needed were curious eyes and ears to witness his sentencing. From time to time, he eyed the door behind which his superiors were debating his future.

He'd spent the rest of the prior day aimlessly roaming the streets of Sandbrook until he had tired himself out. Baxter had called him multiple times, but Hardy's only answer had been a short text stating that he was fine. Baxter's sarcastic reply hadn't riled him up enough to make the effort to actually talk to his friend and boss. Truth be told, he hadn't been able to face him. Guilt and remorse were overwhelming him and he wasn't sure how to deal with it.

By the time he'd returned to his barren flat, his exhaustion had been sufficient enough to put him to sleep as soon as he had lied down on his new bed. Not even his growling stomach had been able to keep him awake, despite having skipped lunch and supper. He'd been up since the wee hours, unable to go back to sleep after Pippa's ghost had woken him. Time had dragged on, and he thought he'd go insane until his afternoon appointment with Chief Constable Liz MacMillan and CS Fairbanks. Baxter wouldn't be there due to his own involvement in the sorry affair.

Hardy had finished another lap. The stabbing pain between his shoulder blades was worsening. Tight as bowstring, he jumped when the door opened and Chief MacMillan stuck her head out. He paused in his restless pursuit, shoving his hands in his pockets. His nails cut his palms when he clenched his fingers into tight fists.

"Hardy, stop running around like a caged animal and get in here," she ordered him roughly.

His heart skipped a few beats, but didn't betray him. He trudged into the same room that his hearing had taken place. CS Fairbanks was sitting where he had been before with MacMillan right next to him. Hardy lingered at the door, unease and tension holding him back.

"Please, DI Hardy, sit," MacMillan pointed graciously at the chair across from the desk. She peered over her rimless glasses, searching his face. He couldn't move. Here he was at the point that was most likely the end of his career, that last tiny bit that was still left over from his shattered life. His brain went blank and refused to give his frozen body the proper commands to take his seat. All he could do was breathe to calm his dangerously racing heartbeat. Sweat was pooling under his suit jacket, and he wished he could loosen the tie that felt like a noose around his neck.

Somewhere it registered that MacMillan was talking to him, but it was all clouded by the panicked haze in his mind. An iron fist clenched around his chest, tighter and tighter, until the hot pain brought stars in front of his eyes. His body finally unfroze and he staggered forward, falling onto the chair. Dizziness claimed his vision, and he wondered if he was going to be sick.

He didn't notice until minutes later that he was breathing into a paper bag. The haze was clearing and he became more aware of the worried faces in front of him. They'd called Baxter. He blinked away the blurriness and was able to fix his gaze on his friend.

"Alec, can you talk?"

"Aye," he wheezed.

"Do you know where you are?"

"'Course I do," he croaked.

Baxter's eyebrow went up doubtfully. "You sure didn't a few minutes ago. Do you need these?" he asked, holding up Hardy's pills. Hardy snatched up the blister pack and shook his head. It hadn't been his heart. He'd had a good old-fashioned panic attack. Surprisingly, his bum ticker hadn't seized the opportunity to go to shit on him.

His gaze fell on MacMillan's pale face. Their eyes met. She couldn't hide her worry and sorrow quickly enough. Baxter had been right, she did have a soft spot for him. Blushing, he lowered his head to hide the emotions that surely were readily displayed in his own expression.

When he looked up again, she was back to her usual self. She loomed over him, her eyebrow arching up toward her defined hairline.

"Apparently, we can't meet these days without you keeling over on me," she commented sarcastically.

Tugging on his earlobe, Hardy glanced at her sheepishly. "'M sorry ma'am," he muttered, feeling hopelessly inadequate.

Fairbanks had been watching the scene, perched on the desk. He unfolded his arms and stood. "DI Hardy, if you're not feeling well enough for this meeting, we can always continue on another –"

"No. Please, can we just get it over with?" Hardy interjected, desperation emphasizing his Scottish accent. His eyes flicked from one to the other, pleading to deliver him from this anxiety that was eating him up.

The three of them exchanged glances. It appeared that Baxter was the authority when it came to Hardy's well-being. Only when he nodded, did the others seem to be comfortable enough to go on. Patting Hardy's shoulder encouragingly, Baxter left him to face his fate.

It was unnervingly quiet in the room. Moments passed, only measured by the irregular thudding in Hardy's chest. Eventually, MacMillan picked up her pencil and Hardy exhaled in relief. It was a sure sign that she was ready to make her move. Soon everything would be over.

"DI Hardy, the DPS committee that is investigating the serious failings in the Gillespie-Newbery murder case has come to a conclusion as far as your involvement is considered and what actions should be taken," she began dispassionately.

Hardy shifted in his chair, clasping his hands tightly. His thoughts tumbled through his mind, faster than he could process them. This was it. The end of his career that he had devoted his life to for over two decades. All the hard work and dedication, all the sacrifices, the countless hours away from home, all the passion and love for his work, all the heartache and despair that he'd fought off for so long – what for? So that one tiny error in judgment could bring it all down and rip away his whole existence, leaving him with noth-

"You will remain in CID at your current rank provided your health allows you to continue working in that capacity."

Hardy's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

He must have heard wrong.

"You will remain as DI in CID as long as your health allows you to work in that capacity," MacMillan repeated calmly and placed her pencil in a perfect ninety degree angle to his file.

Staring wide-eyed at MacMillan's solemn face, he stammered, "But that's impossible... I mean, after all that happened. I'm responsible for the loss of –"

"No, DI Hardy, you're not," Fairbanks interjected sternly. He leaned forward and locked gaze with an even more bewildered Hardy. "We are very well aware that you might be theoretically responsible for what happened to the key evidence. You put an individual in charge who ended up making a grave mistake but was up until then a reliable member of your team. However, that doesn't make you liable for what DS Henchard and DS Thompson did. Their actions are solely theirs to stand for and proper disciplinary measures will be taken."

Fairbanks paused, giving Hardy a chance to take in his words. Then he added warmly, "You shouldn't believe your own lie."

Conflicting emotions were fighting fiercely within Hardy. Relief and something akin to joy was trying to win the upper hand over the fear for his daughter's future. What would happen once he died? If Tess was thrown out, Daisy wouldn't be cared for.

"Please don't discharge DS Henchard from the force," he implored them, his voice rough with his Scottish brogue.

MacMillan's eyebrow went up and her fingers seized the pencil again. "That is all you have to say? You're worried about the person who is at the root of this colossal mess?" She sounded disappointed.

Hardy's gaze flicked back and forth between the two and came to rest on MacMillan. Their eyes met and Hardy was suddenly ten years younger, pleading with her to give him an opportunity to prove himself.

"No, ma'am. That's not all that I have to say –"

"Good," she cut him off, tapping the pencil on his file. "Because I'm in no mood to grant favors to people who don't deserve it."

When was she ever granting favors? Was she now with him? The idea alone made him uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and soldiered on. "I am grateful for your trust in me. Keeping this job means a whole lot to me and I hope I'll be able to overcome my health related issues."

He took a deep breath before he continued with what could well ruin all his chances of staying on. "I've been recovering this past month and things are looking better, but you and I both know that it might not be possible for me to fulfill the requirements of the position."

It was a dangerous path he was on, but he had no choice if he wanted to protect Daisy as much as possible from the fall out.

"You are also aware of my concerns about my family in case of me not being able to provide for them. Hence my plea to at least keep my wife on staff, even if it's in a different division and rank."

MacMillan's eyes narrowed and her grip on the pencil tightened. "You should leave that to us," she admonished him, deterring from his implication that he might not be around for very much longer.

Hardy ducked his head. "Of course, ma'am. Sorry," he muttered submissively.

He wanted to ask about Baxter but didn't dare. A glimmer of hope had sparked inside him. If they didn't sack him, Baxter might just get away with a stark reprimand rather than serious punishment.

"We have made an appointment with the Chief Medical Officer for you. He will conduct an assessment of your current health status and then give his recommendations," Fairbanks went on.

Bollocks. They might have as well fired him. If the CMO got his hands on him or any of his medical records, he was done for. Chewing on his lower lip, he decided to speak up. "Do I have to go to the CMO? Wouldn't clearance from my own cardiologist be enough?"

MacMillan stabbed the pencil hard onto the table and broke off the tip. "Seriously, Hardy? Running this investigation nearly killed you and you expect us to let you get away with it?"

"It wasn't the investigation but my wife that nearly killed me."

The words slipped out of his mouth before he could hold them back. He froze and felt all blood draining from his face. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Cursing his loose tongue, he wanted nothing but to escape the confinement of the room.

Dead silence fell.

Hardy stared at the dirty carpeting, distracting himself with the futile task to discern if the stain he was captivated by was coffee or tea. He couldn't look at his superiors. He'd revealed too much and there was no way back now. A red high-heeled shoe stepped onto the stain right when he thought he was about to figure it out. He kept his head down, focusing on MacMillan's pristine footwear.

"Hardy, I'm sorry," she said with a softness in her voice that he didn't deserve.

He sucked in some air through the nose and muttered, "'S all right."

He was staring at the tiny scuff on the pointy tip of her red shoe. A hand brushed over his shoulder, and he finally raised his head. The compassion in MacMillan's face was nearly too much to bear.

"No, it's not all right," she countered. "And it's important that someone tells you that so you don't start believing it. Your wife's breach of conduct triggered a shit storm and you got caught in it. However much it hurts though, you mustn't give in. Nothing makes what she did right. You might forgive her at some point, but nobody would blame you if you didn't."

He swallowed hard. Clenching the muscles in his throat, he held back the tears that would render his affirmation that he was fine useless.

MacMillan pulled a chair closer and sat down. She was holding his gaze, not letting him break eye contact. "We all have our parts to play in this sorry game. My role is to protect the case as much as possible and to make sure that you are well enough to do your job. You chose your role and now will have to deal with the consequences. I can't shield you from the reactions that you staying on the force will provoke. Many people readily believed the rumors that Ed Baxter spread skillfully. There will be talk about you."

Hardy huffed. "'S not like I've ever won a popularity contest before," he grumbled.

"This is very different, Hardy. Before, people thought you're a grumpy arse, but they respected you regardless. Now, they think you bungled the case and a child murderer will walk free." Her warning words carried an odd mixture of sorrow and anger.

He pressed his lips to a thin line and dropped his gaze. If that's what it took to protect his daughter, so be it. He'd set things in motion, and there wasn't really a way back unless the truth was to be revealed fully. He couldn't take that risk, fearing that his heart disease would soon lead to his untimely demise.

"Right," he breathed through his gritted teeth. When nobody said anything, he asked, "When's the appointment with the CMO?"

"In two weeks," Fairbanks informed him.

"Two weeks?" Hardy echoed incredulously. He'd been out of work for over a month already and sitting around all day was driving him bonkers.

"That will make it two months from when CS Baxter put you on medical leave. Seems like a reasonable time to assess your condition," Fairbanks elaborated.

"'S not a condition."

"Oh, please, Hardy. Don't start," MacMillan scolded him exasperatedly. "You need to accept that you have a serious medical problem and act accordingly. Nobody is helped by your constant denial of the fact that you have a life-threatening illness, the least of all yourself. Just look where it has led you?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Hardy rolled his eyes back and looked up at the ceiling. He didn't want to admit that she was right. If he wanted to have a chance of preserving at least some parts of his old self, he needed to change his attitude. A nagging awareness that in the end all of this might be in vain wouldn't let him acknowledge the simple truth behind those words. He could die tomorrow. Or not. It was an impossible way to live one's life; the limbo of uncertainty was eating away at him more so than anything else.

"Until the recommendations of the CMO are in, you will stay on paid medical leave," MacMillan began to wrap up their meeting. "If the outcome of his assessment is favorable, you'll stay on as DI in CID. If not, then we'll see."

Hardy nodded. He had no urge to talk. What else was there to say? One thing came to his mind. He found MacMillan's eyes.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said sincerely. "For your trust all those years. I'm sorry I disappointed you." He hung his head in shame. She'd given him a chance and he'd failed her like he had failed everyone else.

MacMillan inhaled sharply, held her breath for a few heartbeats, and then let all air out of her lungs with a quiet groan.

"CS Fairbanks, would you excuse us for a moment?" she demanded.

Fairbanks retreated swiftly, not making any attempt at hiding his curiosity. The door clicked in its lock and Hardy was left alone with a pensive looking MacMillan. She was still sitting next to him, closer than he'd realized.

Her hand came up and hovered over his arm, but she didn't touch him. A warm smile softened her stern features, when she said, "You didn't disappoint me, Alec."

The corner of his mouth twitched at the sound of his name, but he remained silent. She knew why he disliked it so much, having read his psychological evaluation after the shooting in Glasgow. He wondered why she made a point of using it in this very moment.

"Are you familiar with Shakespeare?" she asked a very confused Hardy.

Squinting, he nodded hesitantly. Where was she going with this?

"'A good heart is the sun and the moon; or, rather the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly'," she quoted, finally placing her skinny hand gently on his forearm. Her eyes shone when she continued,

"You, my dear Alec, have a good heart. In fact too good if you ask me. Your need to protect the ones you love and the ones who are vulnerable is your strength, but just as much your weakness. It got you into trouble many years ago and it did again so now. You didn't disappoint me. I knew when I hired you that the day would come when you lose your head, but keep your heart, and that it had written disaster all over it."

She expelled some air through her nose. "Granted, I didn't necessarily expect it to be this disastrous, but in a way it doesn't surprise me. Fairbanks let me listen to the tape of your hearing. When they asked you why you felt obligated to finish the case, you answered 'Wouldn't you have?'. To be honest with you, most people in your situation would have chosen their own personal issues over their duty. You didn't, and I know you never would. As you said, you pulled the girl out of the river, and your stupid big heart couldn't let it go, even if it was breaking, figuratively and literally."

Hardy sat there and took in her words, silent tears dripping down his cheeks. She tightened her grip on his arm.

"The only mistake you made was that despite listening to your heart you didn't listen carefully enough. It was telling you all along that it needed help, that it couldn't carry the burden alone. And then it broke..." She stopped abruptly, a quiver echoing through the last syllables.

Hardy cupped her hand with his. The mantle of toughness that surrounded her had slipped off and exposed the soft core she was so dead set on hiding, just like he hid behind his gruffness. Forcing a sad smile, he repeated what he'd said earlier, "'S all right."

Her doubtful eyes urged him to reassure her of something he felt little confidence in himself. "I'll be fine. And if not, then at least I made sure that Daisy will be."

"Oh, Alec," she managed while trying desperately to compose herself. Slowly, she got to her feet, placing her hand on his shoulder. She was short and not much taller than him, even when she was standing up. She looked down on him and Hardy's stomach clenched. He hadn't seen that expression since that fateful night on the cliffs when he was a little boy. The sentiment mirrored on her face answered his question as to why MacMillan had used his first name. Dropping all pretense, she tenderly swiped his fringe away from his forehead and pecked a quick but tender kiss on his forehead.

"Go," she ordered him, her voice carrying nothing of the usual firmness. He clambered to his feet and trudged towards the door. Glancing over his shoulder, he caught her rubbing her eyes.

"Thank you, Liz. For everything. It means a lot," he said and left her behind to deal with her own matters of the heart.

Like the day before, he hurried to the fire exit and out onto the roof. He'd gotten a second chance. His dodgy ticker was throbbing to his neck, reminding him that he might not be able to make good use of it, but the bleak despair that had been crushing him these days was less suffocating. He inhaled deeply and let out the breath he'd been holding ever since the date of the hearing had been set. The wave of relief nearly towed him under, but he reined in the emotion. Tension was falling off and his body felt too weak to support his weight. He lowered himself to the ground and tucked his knees up to his chest. Tilting his head back against the brick wall, he let the sun bathe his face with its fading rays of light. He closed his eyes, savoring the moment. For now, he still had a job.


A/N: A few comments I would like to make:

1) Liz MacMillan has always been inspired by a certain character in one of my favorite Broadchuch fics "When the Storm Breaks" by hazelmist. I thank the author and my friend for being so gracious of letting me wander down this path. When I write Liz, it's coming from a very similar spot that is touched when I read about Iris. Thank you darling for giving us a character that made me cry the first time I met her. And thank you for the continued inspiration. MHPS wouldn't be what it is without you!

2) I realize that for some it may feel odd for Liz to be so open with Alec, but they are alone and they have a history together, right from the start. I have to admit that certain parts of Alec's work relationships are heavily based on personal experiences where I found support and candid emotional connections with people I would never have thought it possible. It found its way into this story and I hope it's not too unbelievable for the characters (even if Alec is a bit OOC, I don't think he is for my 'verse).

3) If you've read the rest of the Alec saga you know what happened to his mother. Alec still owes Ellie an explanation as to why he doesn't like using his first name and we'll soon get to that in "The Ocean Breathes Salty". Liz knows about it, and it's a very deliberate choice on her behalf to use his first name. It's like a hidden message to him. I know this might not be as clear in the chapter and I feel a bit foolish explaining it (because of course it's sloppy writing if it isn't clear in the actual text – sigh – and yes I'm making excuses), but still I thought I'd mention it because silly me is so stuck in her own had canon that certain things seem very obvious to me where others go like "Huh?". My apologies.

4) I made myself cry in public writing the scene with Liz at the end. Just wanted to let you know that that happened. Totally sobbed in a coffee shop. Duh! Note to self: Do not write emotional scenes where you can't hide quickly.

5) I don't usually go around quoting Shakespeare, but I heard this one and it struck me how much it fit our grumpy detective. It kept popping up in my head until I gave in and used. Forgive me the indulgence. But as Jack Marshall said "It matters – a good heart" – Hardy and his stupid big heart is what makes him tick, figuratively and literally (at least most of the times; well, I guess that's debatable at least my writings. Sigh, I'm incorrigible. Did you notice though – he didn't pass out. LOL).

I'm going to shut up now. Thank you again everyone for reading!