A/N: I wrote this before I saw a deleted scene that contradicts it. So if deleted scenes count as canon then this is slightly AU. :)
Between wrapping up the case and notifying the family and making all the arrangements, it is eight days between Joe's confession and Danny's funeral. She calls him that morning and invites herself over. She's never called first. He doesn't say no to her anymore.
She arrives in the same basic getup she's had on since the whole thing happened. Boots, jeans, and that ridiculous orange jacket. It's too big for her, and it swallows her up and makes her look so small. It's hard not to reach out and hug her, but he's resisted since that first night when he made her so uncomfortable.
A little bit of time must pass while he is just standing in his doorway looking at her, because she sort of dances in place for a moment to get his attention.
"Well, come on then. Let's go!"
"Go?"
"We're going on an adventure. Come on!"
He notices then that she's got a child's backpack in her hand. "What kind of adventure? And what's that you've got?"
She looks at him like he's lost his mind. Like this is six weeks ago and he is her only problem in the world. "It's lunch. I'd have us stop for fish and chips but I don't want you dropping dead in the middle of High Street. Oh, and you'll want to bring a warmer coat."
She turns on her heel and walks out, not waiting as he grabs his coat and scarf and follows. He catches up to her as they reach the lobby. She turns and looks at him. He's no idea what's going on or what's happened but she looks calm. Almost happy. Almost like her normal self. He's standing so close to her it's a bit intimate, nose-to-nose like this. Her face relaxes even further. He can feel his own face shift, the hint of a smile flirting with his lips. "Shall we?" he says.
She nods and turns round again. He guides her out, hand hovering a few inches away from the small of her back. He glances around and notices Becca Fisher watching them. He gives her a nod and she looks at Ellie and nods back, silently telling him well done.
They take a route he's never been before. Even with the more relaxed demeanor, she's quiet today, so he respects that and doesn't ask her any questions about where they're going. He understands why she'd want to do something different today, something away from town. He knows her well enough to know she'd give anything to be down there at that funeral, with her family and the people who were her friends until a week ago. But she can't, and he understands that too. He believes wholeheartedly that her guilt is misplaced but it's there nonetheless. He can see it in the way her shoulders tense up at the sound of the church bells ringing in the distance. She sniffles so softly he might not have noticed if he weren't paying constant attention to her.
Truthfully, he would've liked to go to the funeral too. Would've done, were it not for Ellie. She's his priority right now. She must sense he's been staring at her because she stops and turns her head to look at him. Her eyes are wet but there are not tears. Maybe she's run out by now. The very edge of her mouth lifts up, the first whisper of a smile. He returns the gesture. It surprises them both when he takes her hand and squeezes it as they continue walking. More surprising is that neither of them lets go.
They're walking up the back side of a giant cliff, up a dirt trail that has been crafted by centuries of curious feet rather than any sort of planned landscaping. The whole scene looks vaguely familiar, but whether he's actually been here or it looks like a child's fairy tale, he can't be sure.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he says.
She looks around her as she climbs. "Yes it is," she says.
Another minute passes before she says, "All this time in Broadchurch, and you've still not had a chance to see my favorite view. It's top the highest cliff, bit down the beach from the others. Don't worry, I won't push you off." She grins at him then, and the sight of her lifts his heart.
But the trouble is, when your heart isn't working properly, any sudden movements can be tricky. He's dizzy all of the sudden and he begins to falter, swaying back slightly, dangerously close to tumbling all the way down this massive hill. She swings around the front of him to grab him, keeping hold of his hand and wrapping her other arm around his back. She catches him with surprising strength. He forces his head to stop spinning, grounding himself with the sight of concern on her face. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," she says.
He pats her between the shoulder blades, where he's grabbed her to steady himself. A passerby would think they were in the middle of a very different sort of embrace. "No," he says. "The idea was good. It's my execution that's rubbish."
She huffs out an amused burst of air. "Well, come on then, the cliffs can wait til another time. I know somewhere else we can go."
She leads them, still hand in hand, down another dirt path going perpendicular to the one they'd been climbing, until they reach a small clearing with a bench. It looks just like the one Paul Coates sits on near the church, but with a different view.
"How did you find this place?"
She looks at him with that amused look that tells him she thinks he's a bit daft. "I've lived here my whole life, I've had a bit of time to explore."
"Right of course," he mumbles.
She gives him another little look, then focuses her attention on rummaging through the knapsack and pulling out a small cooler, so the next thing she says is really focused more at the ground than at him.
"I had my first kiss on this bench. Ronnie Hawkins. I fancied him, but I didn't have any idea he fancied me. I thought we were just friends, you know? We used to hike the cliffs together. And then one day we found this place, and as soon as we sat down, he leaned over and kissed me."
"Ah, well done, Ronnie. How old were you?"
She's still very focused on the cooler, so he can't see her face, but the back of her neck is bright red. "I was...nearly nineteen. Bit of a late bloomer. Especially around here."
He can't help himself, he laughs. Really, it's more of a giggle, and he should be embarrassed, he should really, really stop, but he can't. He finds it unbelievably cute, the image of a teenage Ellie, awkward, innocent, all curls, teeth and knobby knees, utterly unaware of how charming she was. Is.
She looks completely mortified over the way he is laughing at her, and he should compose himself but he still can't. "Oh, I'm glad my embarrassment is such a joy for you!" She gives him a tiny shove.
"I'm sorry," he breathes between fits, "but that is bloody fantastic! I bet you were quite adorable."
He didn't even mean to say that last part out loud, but it seems to pacify her, although she blushes all over again. When he finally settles she hands him a plastic container and a bottle of water.
"What is this?" he asks, eyeing the contents.
"It's spinach salad and smoked salmon. Heart healthy!" She sounds triumphant. He knows she's looking at him but he's fixated on the lunch in his hands. "Oh don't tell me, you're a Scot who doesn't like Fish and Chips or smoked salmon?"
"No! No. I like it. Thank you. I'm just not quite used to someone else helping to take care of me."
She shrugs, "Well, I've just now got used to having you around. Hate for you to go and keel over on me."
She tries to keep her voice sounding light-hearted, but she isn't fooling anyone. Her eyes are serious, but he has trouble figuring them out. They look worried and, maybe, a bit desperate.
"I'm trying my best," he tells her. He has no interest in dying, either. In truth, a month ago he thought he just wanted to find Danny's killer and then his body could do as it liked, but now he thinks maybe there are other things to stick around for. He takes a big bite of the spinach, to show her he means it.
They eat in silence. It's comfortable, just being next to her. He looks over at her and she meets his gaze, smiling a bit around her salad. He looks out over trees and fields, the town off in the distance. It's peaceful up here. He's not used to feeling calm.
The serenity is interrupted by the sound of the church bells in the distance, indicating the end of the service.
She stiffens, takes in a sharp breath. "It's over," she whispers. Her head drops, her eyes shut tight, as if she is trying to disappear.
Tentatively, he puts an arm around her shoulders, cups his hand around her neck, rubbing circles there. He's got nothing to say. The funeral may be over but the mourning goes on.
When several moments pass she takes a breath, reaching deep into her chest cavity. Sitting up straight she reaches behind her and squeezes the hand that's been caressing and comforting her. She nods to herself and finally, looks over at him.
"Well, that's that, then. Are you all finished there? Shall we head back down?"
Startled, he takes his hand away. He gives her his empty box mutely and stands, smoothing out his suit pants. Standing beside him, she shuffles a bit. With her eyes hooded, she looks almost demure, almost shy even.
"Thank you, for coming with me here today."
"Eh, yeah, don't mention it. Where else would I be?"
"You could've gone to the funeral, for starters."
He shrugs. "I'm where I want to be."
She looks like she doesn't quite believe him but she nods and begins to walk back down the hill. He follows her.
