A/N - So, this chapter get's a bit dark. Please don't read if you think mentions/talk about suicide and depression might trigger you. Also, on a less depressing/serious note, I did (finally) get an AO3 (archive of our own) acount, and will be frequenting that site a bit more now that I finally remembered to check my dang email for the invite letter or whatever it was. Anyway. New user name is The_Intellectual_Idiot45.

Comments/reviews are always appreciated if you've got time!

Part 2

"JESUS CHRIST!" Ellie gasped. She stood for a moment in shock, not quite sure what to do, but soon snapped out of it. Moving quickly she started turning Hardy over to his side, which, despite how thin the man was, was more difficult than she had originally thought.

Ellie shook her head, watching as his body shook, his arms and legs flailing about. She'd knew about the heart arrhythmia, but he failed to mention any other conditions. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised if he hadn't even told Daisy or Tess.

"Hardy?" Ellie asked, seeing as the spasms and twitching had calmed down.

His body had finally come to a slow and regulated breathing, his body relaxing. Slowly, Hardy rolled over to his back again. "Miller?" he asked through a rough voice. It took a moment for him to realize he was on the ground. "Wot-er-ya-doin'-'ere?" his words were slurred together as he attempted to sit up, but his body failed him, forcing him back into a laying position.

Ellie wasn't sure what to say. Her facial expression stayed in a face of shock.

Hardy attempted to sit up once more, his consciousness finally regained to its maximum. "What - why am I – ouch!" Hardy brought his arm up to his face. Small blood splotches stained his white shirt. He must have cut himself when the plates shattered. "Oh great. Just what I need," he mumbled grumpily.

"Are you alright?" Ellie asked. It was the most cliché thing to say, but it was all she could think of.

Hardy didn't respond.

"Sir?" Ellie asked.

"What happened?" Hardy asked, standing up. Ellie drew in closer to help him up, but he only pushed her away. "Sorry," he mumbled realizing how rude he was being as he squeezed his bloodied up arm.

"You were having – having a fit. You were shaking and unconscious. I think you were having a seizure," Ellie said quietly.

"When did you – er when did you get here?" Hardy asked, this time his voice rang out with an unfamiliar nervousness to it. This bothered Ellie because the grumpy old detective never, at least to Ellie's knowledge, show he was nervous.

Ellie stayed silent, swaying back and forth. To dodge the question she looked around the kitchen. "You need to get that arm cleaned up," she said.

Either consciously or subconsciously, the detective pulled his arm away. "It's fine. I can clean up myself. Just, exactly tell me why you're here?" he sounded neither angry nor upset, which is what Ellie had thought originally in the way he would react. Instead, he sounded like he was asking a genuine question like a normal human being.

"You left your phone in the office. I was going to stop by and drop it off on my way home," Ellie simply put. "I called your name and you didn't respond. The lights were on, so I assumed someone was home. Then I heard a crash."

Hardy nodded his head. "Did you really stay at work that late? I never thought the paperwork-"

Ellie shook her head. "Sorry. No. I didn't-" Ellie watched Hardy's movements, trying to detect some sort of emotion in the detective. "No. I left earlier. Around six thirty and – er – got here around a quarter to?"

"What?" Hardy asked, his usual anger swelling up again. "Miller, you could have said something instead of – of spying on my private life! God! Is there no privacy around this town?"

Ellie had just as much anger building up to retort back to the man. "Well you could have said something about your bloody medical condition! Or should I say conditions? I can't rely on you if you're bloody dying on me every bloody ten minutes!" Ellie said, now realizing that she was yelling at the man. She immediately felt awful when Hardy squeezed his eyes shut. She could just imagine his head was throbbing and fuzzy, and her yelling wasn't making it any better.

"Sorry," she whispered. "Sir."

Hardy just grunted and moved past her, shuffling down the hall. Ellie followed, stepping over the heaping mess in the living room.

"Sir, all I'm saying is you don't have to keep everything to yourself, especially if it concerns your well-being, because like it or not, I am the closest thing you have to a friend and a good friend at that. Friends tell each other things and friends trust one another."

Hardy sighed, turning around. "This friend doesn't. Now go home, Miller," he said, then gave a sad smile. "You should get back to your boys. I'm sure-"

"They can last fifteen more minutes without mum pestering them," she finished, still scowling and staring at the tall detective.

Hardy just shook his head and waved his hand about, scoffing. In response, Ellie did the same. After everything they had been through together, Ellie still couldn't believe how much Hardy kept to himself. It wasn't fair. The man knew everything about Ellie, yet Ellie barely knew everything about the mysterious detective. She had sorted out herself his characteristics and knew the slightest bit of his background, but nothing else. It wasn't fair that he just shoved himself into her personal bubble, making her problems his, when she didn't even know the man's middle name. He had done so much for her, and Ellie had felt it was unfair to the both of them.

She watched as Hardy slipped into the bathroom, closing the door. She could hear cabinets opening and closing and the faucet clicking on and off along with occasional mumbling from the detective.

"You should be in a hospital right now," Ellie said through the door.

"It's not serious, Miller," he said, the sound of water rushing came again.

"What do you mean?" Ellie asked. "You literally fell to the ground, cut yourself, and nearly passed out afterwards. I don't think-"

"Just stop."

There was a silence after that. Ellie took a step back from the door, expecting him to barge out, his words so rough, but no one did. She couldn't believe how stubborn he could be, sometimes.

"Sir, with all due respect I-"

"It's happened before!" He almost yelled.

Ellie wasn't sure what to say after that, so instead she just waited for a response.

"It's happened before," he said softly. "Like I said. It's not serious enough to – shit!" he said.
Then a loud clank came from the bathroom, and it really drove Ellie insane that the man wasn't allowing any help, so instead of sitting around, she decided to do something about it. Pulling the door open, she barged into the room to find Hardy holding his already bloodied up arm in his hand, looking at a new cut around his finger. It was mildly deep too.

Hardy gave a sigh, watching as Ellie shook her head. He was mental for thinking he should use a knife; a knife, no longer than five minutes after being unresponsive to anything, and trying to fix up his own cuts with one hand. Ellie bent down to grab the small pocket knife, then carefully closed it and handed it back to the surly detective. He gave a nod, as if thanking her for picking it up.

Then taking a small wet washcloth, she rolled up his sleeve to wipe up and clean the remaining cuts to his arm, which were already starting to close up.

And that's when she saw the scars.

It took her a minute to register why his arm looked so rough, and then she realized they were small bits of scar tissue that littered the underside of his forearm. They weren't just from the fall either. No. These were short cuts, seemingly looking like a bunch of short cat scratches gone wrong.

Hardy hadn't realized she was staring yet, and just placed the knife back in his pocket.

Looking up at his partner, he tilted his head. "Miller?" he asked.

Ellie continued to stare, the washcloth dripping water drops on the floor. And that's when it phased him.

"Jesus Christ, can this day get any worse?" He grunted, quickly pulling down his sleeve, the shoved past Ellie to the door, opening it wider.

"Sir-" Ellie started, but the detective just frowned at her.

"Out. Go home. Get some rest. Maybe we'll have a busy day tomorrow," he said bitterly, and despite him trying to stay calm, his voice cracked, and he couldn't get the courage to meet Ellie's sad eyes.

At least until she spoke again.

Ellie sighed. "No," she said firmly.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Hardy asked, his anger building up again. "It's my bloody house!"

Ellie ignored him. She was trying her best, running through her head all the things she could say, and maybe what she said next wasn't the right choice, but she needed to get through to Hardy.

"I won't leave now," she whispered. "I can't leave now. Not until we get things sorted out," she said carefully, trying not to let anger or judgement show in her voice, and if she was being honest, this was exactly how she felt: Angry that he wasn't opening up after all the shit they had gone through together, and judgmental of herself; as his friend, she should have noticed something. Maybe the tension he had been having for the past couple days. Or maybe the way he paced around his office all day. She should've noticed something.

"Ellie-" he started, but Ellie gave a menacing glare.

"Don't you dare call me Ellie, sir," she said, immediately regretting how harsh she sounded.

However, the detective didn't take this the wrong way, instead, he nodded slowly.

"Sorry," she said, looking down. Neither of them could pluck up the courage to look at one another, so instead, Ellie focused at the white tiles on the floor. "Can we – we should talk about this, yeah?" she said, collecting as much calm energy as she could.

Hardy nodded again.

Ellie was surprised at his response. She would have figured he wouldn't talk about it for a few days.

Opening her mouth to speak, she tried to look up at the tall detective, but couldn't look him in the eyes. She thought about what she could say for what felt like hours. She didn't want to seem too pushy, but then again, Hardy had pushed this off for far too long, and she so desired to know why on earth he does such destructive things to himself. "The scars," she simply put, her voice shaky. "Why?"

Hardy swayed back and forth at the door frame, then cleared his throat. She could see that he was starting to regret nodding his head yes. "I – er. Miller can we -"

"We have to talk about this. I need to know why. I deserve to know why," she said calmly. "And don't you dare say that I don't, because I do. As your friend it is my job, my duty to understand you and to be there for you, and sometimes being there for you means pushing you until your stubborn arse finally opens up. I can't help you until I know what it is you need." Her words just exploded from her mouth, her brain not even comprehending what exactly she was saying. All she knew was that she was as right as a human could be.

"If you're worried – if er - if I'm suicidal," Hardy said blatantly, though his voice was shaking. "I can't say that I'm not. But I can say I haven't felt that horribly in a few years, thank God."

Ellie almost gave a sigh of relief, but it wasn't what she was expecting. She looked up at the man. He gave a sad smile, then leaned against the door frame and slid down, sitting, resting his arm on his knees. Ellie walked over to the other side, and she too slid down so that they were facing one another.

"What do you mean, exactly," Ellie asked. "What are those scars on your arm then?" She realised she was probably pushing it, but it almost looked as if Hardy understood why she was pushing it, so instead, she shut up and listened.

He gave a small sigh. "Do you remember that short talk we had on the beach some three years ago. Probably not. But if you do, I believe I mentioned that I'd visited Broadchurch before. My parents brought me on holiday here," he paused, and then continued. "I can't really say it was much of a holiday, though, with all the bickering. It's all they did then. Just fight and fight and fight."

Ellie nodded. She remembered that small conversation on the beach. She had thought then he was finally going to open up, but alas, they had found something else to talk about other than each other's sad, sad stories.

"However," he continued. "It was always more than just simple arguing, as you could probably figure," he gave a pause, shuddering a bit. Ellie wasn't sure if she should try to comfort him or not, but by the time she had tried to decide, he had already carried on. "Things eventually got worse – or maybe as I got older, I just understood better, what was happening that is."

Ellie stayed quiet and listened.

"My father, an arrogant and selfish bastard, seemed to be worse and worse every passing day – more violent I mean. I never knew what his problem was, other than being a heavy drinker. He was just a shit human being. It's the only reason I could come up for him. He was just a really terrible person," he said, then sighed, an uneasy feeling filled the room. "He used to beat the both of us, you know, my mother and I. Problem was, I could never do anything about it."

Ellie watched as Hardy's eyes glazed over. She could practically see him reliving his horrific memories.

"Long story short, I went into a major pit of depression and almost gave up on climbing out. It got to the point that I had made several attempts to end my own life," he said softly, rubbing his hands together.

Ellie wasn't sure how to comfort him. She didn't want to make things awkward and she didn't want her actions cause him to push her away again, so she sat, and listened.

"That was most definitely the lowest point of my life and let me just say I'm most certainly not proud of it," he said, then finally turned towards Ellie. She sat straight, looking at the broken man. She watched as he bit his lip, a small trail of water running down from his eye. "I remember one day, looking down at my arm, telling myself to stop. 'Stop cutting' I told myself. To wake up. It didn't work. Later that day I was found unconscious, bleeding out in the school bathroom. I was 16."

Ellie gave a gasp. "Dear God," she whispered.

"To be honest, I think that made matters worse for me, because after that I was always picked on at school for that," he said quietly. "It seemed like everyone had turned against me, and it wasn't like I was good at making friends then either. All of the things they used to say always seemed to sting. They left a wound on me that wouldn't close, because just as one was healing another would be torn apart again. Their words were like a poison I couldn't get out of my head. Something that didn't have a remedy. 'Your just a failure' they would say. 'You can't even kill yourself properly'. Problem was, they were right. I let their words dictate and rule my own thoughts.

"Then I ran away. I came back to Broadchurch, you know. It was the only other place I knew, and it was far away from my home. You know, I think God put me there. Maybe not even God, but fate. Someone wanted me there, that night, because that night I was able to help another person as broken as I was. As broken as I am."

Ellie shifted a bit. She wanted to say "But you're not broken. You might be bruised – hurt so much you feel broken – but you're not." But she didn't. For some reason the words wouldn't come out even though she wanted them to. She watched Hardy wipe his eye with his sleeve, giving what almost sounded like a chuckle, but it soon faded away. His voice went back to its sullen hoarseness.

"It just so happened that the very same night I met a man. He was drunk as ever. Wobbling all over the place as he walked. Wouldn't stop ranting, either. He was in this sort of pissed of mood. He had an empty beer bottle in his hand and behind him, a little boy. They were up by the beach when I saw them walking. I was on the cliffs. The one's where Danny Latimer died. That night I was pondering whether or not I should give up. Just toss myself off those bloody cliffs. But then I watched as the man took his large hand and hit the boy right at the jaw. It reminded me so much of my life, and I was so fed up with my own life that I didn't want the same thing to happen to that little boy," he said, then turned up to look at Ellie, who had been listening carefully.

"Next thing I know, I was on the beach and had thrown myself in front of the boy, taking whatever beating left. I told the man to stop and called for help as loud as I could. Thank the Lord there was a police officer patrolling around that night. Funny thing, the police were actually looking for the man. He had kidnapped his own son, beaten him, and was going to plan to throw him off the cliff. I was so angry. But it didn't faze me that right there and then I had just saved someone," he gave a small chuckle. "Look at that. Out of all people, God chooses the suicidal kid to save another."

Ellie could tell his confidence was regaining, but she still sat there, quietly nodding her head, taking it all in.

"That was my turning point, I think. The day I realized I had made a difference. It made me feel like I had a purpose. That I wasn't just put on the earth only to go through hell. That I could save others like myself. The police drove me back all the way home, and when I was old enough, making it through the last few years I had left staying with my wretched family, I took off and joined the police academy," his eyes had gone dark and glazed over until now. Instead, there seemed to be a soft gleam as he gave a glance at Ellie, and then he sighed.

"Miller," he continued, this time looking directly at Ellie. "My work is the reason I live and breathe. If anything were to happen, I don't know if I'd be able to cope. It's why I keep to myself," he said sadly. "I was almost done after the whole heart arrythmia disaster, and I just can't be taken out like that again."

Ellie watched Hardy's breaths gradually become more rapid and his eyes watering again, and by the time he had fully gone into a cry Ellie was by his side, wrapping her arms around the man. Hardy nodded and leaned in against her, and there they sat, on the bathroom floor for quite a while.

By the time Hardy had calmed down, Ellie still hadn't said anything. They parted a bit, but Ellie still stayed next to him. She couldn't think of all the poor man had gone through. First abuse, then depression; his whole family turning against him. It was no wonder the detective was always so grumpy and didn't trust anyone.

Watching as Hardy calmed down, she could see that he was still trembling, and his hand was shaking. Ellie placed a comforting hand on top of the detective's, trying to calm him a bit more. Hardy gave Ellie a small smile.

"No hospitals," he finally said.

Ellie tilted her head and frowned. "Why not?"

"Because they've been pestering me about the scars ever since they stuck their bloody noses in my heart business," he grumbled.

"Sir, with all due respect, that is their job, you know," Ellie said, carefully removing her hand.

"Agh!" he exclaimed. "It's not. Really it isn't."

"But it is," Ellie said firmly, but softly. "You said you have had a seizure before. Have you not thought that it could turn into epilepsy. That it might be epilepsy? Surely that can't be good."

"I swear Miller, if you say anything to anyone about anything we just talked about or about the seizure I will -" he paused, realizing he really had no threat he could make. No bargain no blackmail. But it seemed that Ellie got the point.

Instead of pushing him anymore, Ellie just nodded 'okay' and left it at that. "At least let me help you fix up your arm," she said.

"Yeah, alright," he grumbled then the two stood up to fix up his arm.