A/N1 – still working overtime but hopefully I'll be finished with it by the end of this weekend…*sighs*
*/*/*/*/*
Ellie's both amused by Hardy's stunned face and oddly moved by the sheer disbelief and terror in his eyes as he stays almost bonelessly slumped in his chair even after Elaine and Isabella leave them alone with his newfound popularity.
"Well," she says briskly, thinking somebody has to get control of the situation, "this is all a bit inconvenient, but we still have work to do."
"Oh, aye," he drawls sarcastically, "and no room to do it in."
"Don't be such a baby! I'm sure we can manage to maneuvre round each other and all of this...stuff for the next couple days." She eyes the stacks of boxes and bags. "I think you'll find most of these are empty. It's just Isabella and everybody having some fun with you-you know what that is, right? Fun?"
He glares. "Work," he growls.
She rolls her eyes even as she bites back a grin at his sour face. "Well," she mutters as she settles on to her own chair and powers up her computer, "I wouldn't go so far as to call what we do 'fun'..."
*/*/*/*/*
They finish going through the case files that afternoon, pinning an enlarged copy of the map that had been made during the initial investigation in the centre of the murder board, surrounded by the AlphaBetties.
She takes a step to the side, hitting her elbow against a box of mail and hissing at the sudden sharp pain.
"You may want to start with these ones," she grumbles to Hardy, squeezed in behind her at the board.
He absently nods, focused on the map and the notes he'd made during their conversation with Archie and from their review of the files. Each location mentioned by the AlphaBetties is carefully circled and the sequence of events is traced out, with small x's marking the points where various of the friends last remembered seeing Francesca Livingstone.
Ellie carefully shifts back into place in front of him, and she's grateful that their difference in height actually works in their favour in this situation. She tries to ignore the fact his chest is almost pressed against her back as they both lean in, intently scrutinizing the map in front of them.
"Anything?" she asks after a few silent moments.
"Well, it's been a long time," he says, and she hides a shiver as his Scottish burr rumbles in her ear and against her back. "The places where they last remember seeing Francesca were only a couple blocks from the outskirts of town at the time, but there was a building boom going on all along that corridor. This-" he stretches an arm over her shoulder and places one long, almost elegant finger on the map to trace the outline of an area just north of the line of x's, "is now a shopping district. Caused a lot of controversy at the time. Ask your friend Will Seymour about it. He wrote enough editorials railing against it at the time."
She gives him a brittle smile over her shoulder. "Well, I'm having dinner with him on Saturday next, so I'll make a point of asking him about it."
He leans back a little to meet her eyes, then quickly returns his gaze to the board. "Right, well, we really shouldn't wait that long. If we can find out anything about when that construction was going on and the state it was in at the time-"
She gives a small gasp. "You don't think-"
"Ricky and Lee put Lisa's body in a recently dug grave," he says, equal parts disgusted anger and weary sadness. "An empty hole, about to be filled with cement..." He gives an eloquent shrug.
"Yah," she sighs, cocking her head to one side as she leans a little closer to the board to frown at the map.
He watches her think, his eyes tracing her profile, admiring the way her hair curls wildly round her ear even though she has it ruthlessly pinned back. He bites back the desire to ask how she's going to wrangle her hair into some semblance of order for her date with Will bloody Seymour. He doesn't have much room to move at the moment and he can't back away as quickly as he could if he had the space to turn and run. Besides, he still remembers how Miller threatened to kick the producers of Close to Home in the balls if they came near her. Completely different situations, of course, but still something to consider before mouthing off without an exit strategy.
"Mum?
"Dad?"
Hardy and Miller exchange startled glances before she calls "we're here". They do an awkward shuffle until Miller is able to duck under his arm and hurry down the short path to the door, Hardy on her heels. They find Tom and Daisy and wee Fred in his pushchair crowded just inside their office, staring round with wide eyes.
"It really is as bad as you said, Mum," Tom says in awe.
"Yah," Miller groans as she scrabbles for her car keys. "We're a bit desperate at the moment. Thanks to you and Daisy for dropping by to help us get a few out of here."
"And take them where, Miller?" Hardy asks, confused.
"My place," she says, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"You said you don't have room!"
"Well, not for all of them at once, Hardy, but if we take a couple at a time and sort through them, say, once a week, we should have this lot cleared out in no time. I mean, this is probably it, right? You can't possibly be getting more!"
"Well, you never know about that," Isabella says from the doorway. "Room for one more?" she asks with a grin.
Daisy and Tom crowd behind Miller's desk, while Hardy and Miller shuffle into place behind his. He's keenly aware of Miller's back once again pressing against his chest and he'd like to give her more space-for both their sakes-but he's already as far away as he can get. Poor wee Fred is sitting in his pushchair with nothing to look at in front of him except boxes, a familiar, puzzled expression on what Hardy can see of his face. The absurdity of it all suddenly strikes Hardy and he finds himself struggling not to laugh. Miller glances over her shoulder at him and she looks even more puzzled than Fred, which threatens to destroy his self-control, especially when her eyes suddenly light up with laughter of her own. She hastily turns back to their children and Isabella.
"You're right, Ellie," Isabella says, "things are going to calm down very quickly. This is mainly the result of the first airing of Close to Home...well, and some of it's from some of the other stories, but those were mostly in the print media and online. It's really the telly that's made Hardy-and you, Ellie-household names. If you look on social media, you'll find a burgeoning fanbase for the two of you." She gives Tom and Daisy a long, thoughtful look. "It might be better if you two don't go looking for it."
"I'm thinking we shouldn't go looking for it!" Hardy almost yelps and the others laugh. Even Tom cracks a smile at that one.
"That might be wise," Isabella says, still grinning. "Anyway, I just stopped because I'm heading back to Sandbrook."
Hardy frowns. "This late?"
"Worried about me?" Isabella asks with a teasing smile. "That's rather sweet."
Miller turns and gives him a thoughtful scowl. "Yes," she mutters, "it almost is."
Hardy rolls his eyes as a flush rises in his cheeks.
"Right, I'm off, then. No, no," Isabella says and raises a hand in mock protest, "don't try to work your way out of that corner to say good-bye, Hardy. Besides, I'll be back again when we have more mail for you, and I may stay longer then. Rebecca was thinking about lending me to you so you can get all of this-" she vaguely waves her hand, encompassing all the boxes and bags in the cramped space, "under control."
"Oi, Rebecca just wishes she could be here to watch me squirm," he growls.
Isabella grins, her eyes sparkling. "Don't we all?" She lifts a hand again in farewell and is gone.
"Right," Ellie says brightly, "why don't we each take a box out to the car right now."
"What about Fred?" Daisy says.
"Hardy can look after him," Miller says, then shifts round to face him, her head tilted back at an absurd angle as she looks up at him, a teasing gleam in her eyes. "You shouldn't be lifting any of those boxes anyway, what with your condition."
That snaps Hardy out of his bemused examination of her eyes. "It's not a condition," he growls.
"It most certainly is," she says, "and you need to be careful."
"Clean bill of health at my last check-up, Miller."
"No more broken heart, right, Dad?" Daisy says with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
He shifts a uncomfortably but smiles, wide and full and sparkling. "Right," he says.
Miller turns hastily away and says, "Right, fine, well, Tom, take Fred to one of the coppers out there-we have more than enough babysitters for the next ten minutes-then grab a box or a bag and meet us at the car." Hardy raises a puzzled and amused eyebrow as Miller practically trips over her words. "We can get at least four of these things out of here today."
"Can we sort through them tonight after dinner?" Daisy asks as everyone hastens to obey her directions.
"I don't see why not," Ellie says, giving Hardy a wide, almost evil smile. "It's probably all from a bunch of little old ladies telling your dad he needs a shave and a haircut."
"Not to mention a real job," Hardy mutters as he picks up a box and follows them out the door.
*/*/*/*/*
Dinner is remarkably lively-Miller finally agreed to let him stop off and buy dessert on the way to her place-and even Tom seems to be in high spirits. In the couple of hours before dinner, the kids had emptied the boxes of mail and set up separate 'stations' in the living room, based more on size and type of mail than anything else. Post cards were by far the largest pile, then regular sized envelopes, followed by manila envelopes of all sizes, and finally a smattering of bulkier packages.
Hardy stops Miller as they're clearing the table and says, his voice low, "Let's let the kids go through the postcards and we take everything else."
She stares, confused. "Does it matter?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Think about the kinds of things we get during an active investigation."
She scowls before realization dawns. "Oh! Right. Good thinking."
They're as good as their word and they settle in the living room with Tom and Daisy on the floor going through postcards while Hardy and Ellie sit on the couch, pulling open the sealed letters and reading what's inside.
They set the thankfully rare hate mail to one side and find that most of the mail is sweet—kind, likely old ladies writing a word or two of thanks or comfort to the taciturn and grumpy DI they'd seen on the telly. Many of the notes tell him he should smile more. There are a few, small pictures that are innocuous enough, as are the offers to take him out for a drink or a date, although Hardy flushes a deep, dark red at each one and quickly moves to the next piece of mail.
The first cheque, however, makes his jaw drop and his eyes widen. Sent by a couple in Florida, the accompanying letter tells him they admired his devotion to the case and hoped he'd use the money to buy himself a nice dinner.
"Or a new shirt," Ellie mutters.
"Miller," he says with an exasperated sigh, "you know I can't accept this! It isn't right to profit from the deaths of three people, from the destruction of how many lives? I did my job, what I had to do, for Pippa and Lisa and Danny and their families. This..." he makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the piles of opened mail and the stacks still left to open, "this makes it seem like it was all just some story, not real at all. This forgets there are real people forever changed by the actions of a few and the only thing any of us can hope to give them is some measure of justice." He glances at Miller. "Sometimes not even that."
He shakes his head and sets the cheque and letter aside, where it's joined by several more.
His discomfort with the words of support and even the money is forgotten when they start to open the manila envelopes and packages.
Amidst the occasional picture he or Ellie have to quickly hide from the kids are case files, or portions of them, along with messages from people desperate for answers about what happened to their loved ones, all of them begging for his-or their-help.
Those are what linger in his thoughts as he and Daisy stroll back to the Traders, and in his dreams that night he sees Pippa and Lisa and Danny and everyone who came before them, watching him with trusting and expectant eyes.
*/*/*/*/*
A/N2 – It may be a result of working so much frickin' overtime the last few weeks, but I'm finding myself incredibly amused by the idea of Hardy and Miller trying to maneuvre their way around a ton of boxes and the awkwardness that would ensue. I need a life…