A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone! I've been working overtime this week (and a wee bit side-tracked by a new ship in a new fandom) so my usual schedule has been disrupted. :( Things will get better now! :)
*/*/*/*/*
Ellie scrabbles for the phone when it rings at five-thirty the next morning.
She answers, her voice hoarse with sleep although she really didn't sleep much. Between the heavy emotional toll of remembering Danny followed by Claire's revelation on international television, her thoughts kept waking her throughout the night. Thank God she's off work until tomorrow.
"Miller," he sighs, and her heart twists a little at the exhaustion in his voice.
She pushes down her natural urge to ask if he's all right, if he's slept at all, because that's not how they work, and instead keeps her voice brisk. "What happened?"
He explains with sparse words, his Scottish burr husky and more pronounced than ever. It's the emotion beneath the words that tells her just how much Claire's actions have cost him.
The silence stretches out once he's finished until she finally says, "Interviews all week...when do you expect to get to Broadchurch?"
"We're planning to leave Saturday morning and hopefully the Traders will have a couple adjoining rooms available. If not, we'll make do, I suppose. I'll go round to the leasing agent on Monday."
"My last day is Thursday. I'll go round on Friday, get a list of what's available. You might be able to look at places on the weekend."
There's silence on the other end of the phone.
"Are you being nice to me, Miller?" he asks slowly and she bites back a grin at his suspicious tones.
"Don't be daft," she says. "I just don't want anything to delay us starting to work on the Livingstone case."
"Ah. Right. Good idea, then, Miller. Well done."
She rolls her eyes and gives an exaggerated huff, pretending to be irritated, then she sobers, all amusement gone. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine."
She bites her lip, but she's not there and he's not here so she can't judge for herself. She hums, a skeptical sound.
"Really," he says, his voice almost fond. "I'm not so sure about Daisy."
"Get her through the week, then get her down here. She just needs some time."
There's silence on the other end of the phone, then Hardy says, "You were right, Miller."
"About what?"
"That really is a shitty platitude."
*/*/*/*/*
Hardy grinds through a week that begins on Saturday morning with an official statement from Rebecca notifying the public that Tess and Dave had been immediately suspended and their cases were being reviewed.
To his annoyance, the media virtually ignores Tess and Dave and focus in on him. Even the press conference mid-week has him fielding more questions than the other two. It angers and flusters him, and to his confusion, it annoys Tess and Dave as well, if their snappy comments and glares are anything to go by.
It amuses Isabella and she's almost gleeful Wednesday evening when she's briefing them on the next day's schedule and Hardy still has significantly more interview requests than the other two. After Tess and Dave leave, she observes him with a small smile as he slumps in the chair in front of her desk.
"What new hell do you have planned for me?" he sighs.
"Your last interview starts at nine a.m. tomorrow with Grace Heath, from the-"
"I know who she is," he growls as he rolls his eyes.
"It should be short. I understand they just want an update for their viewers."
"It hasn't even been a week!"
"They need to strike while the iron's hot." She tilts her head and gives him a thoughtful look. "Have you been reading the articles or watching the segments reporting on all of this? Gone online to see what they're saying about you?"
"God, no! It's too much like entertainment."
"Hm. Not even the editorials in the local paper?"
"You mean Will Seymour's articles? I read the first one, on Saturday morning." His lip twists. "I don't need to read any more."
"He really has it in for you."
"I once arrested him for being drunk and disorderly," Hardy growls. "Got him suspended for a wee bit. He's never forgiven me."
She raises an eyebrow, hums, but lets it go.
"Well," she says briskly, "we're starting to get messages for you."
"Messages?"
"Yes."
He gives her a puzzled scowl.
"You know-from the public?" she says.
"What about?" he asks blankly.
She shrugs. "About you, about the case, about...everything, really. Do you have an e-mail address we can use to forward these on to you?"
"I'll have one with the Broadchurch constabulary after Monday."
Her lips twitch and his eyes narrow.
"I'll have a chat with your CS, see if Broadchurch can set up a separate e-mail address for you to use."
"Why?"
"You don't know who's writing to you, Hardy. You may not want them to have your real work address."
He opens his mouth to protest then closes it again and nods. It makes sense.
"I'll talk to Elaine," he says.
"Right," she says and busies herself with some papers on her desk. "Well...it's been a pleasure working with you, Hardy."
He gives her a slight smile. "Right," he says skeptically.
She laughs as she stands and holds out her hand. "I'm sure we'll meet again. Good luck in Broadchurch."
He shakes her hand. "Good-bye, Isabella."
All he feels is sweet relief as he leaves the police station.
It's almost as if he's finished another round of penance.
*/*/*/*/*
Charlie and Rachel insist on driving him and Daisy to Broadchurch and they arrive mid-afternoon on Saturday. Becca is as flirtatious as always-once he introduces Daisy as his daughter, anyway-and they take their things to their rooms before he takes them for a walk round town, over the cliffs and to the beach.
He's recognized and greeted by more people than he expects although he can't remember the names of most of them. He's even asked for a picture or two by people he's almost sure are tourists...although like in Sandbrook, they're likely just taking the piss with him.
They go to Miller's house as agreed for five, where they find tables set up in the back yard and the Latimers as well. Chloe and Tom and Daisy assess each other a little suspiciously but any awkwardness is eased by laughing at Fred's toddler activities, cooing over Lizzie and rushing to get the food on the table.
After they eat, Hardy and Miller stay behind to clear up while the others take the children to play a modified game of football in the common behind the house. They keep an eye on everyone through the window over the sink.
They work silently and Hardy smiles as he watches Daisy chase after Tom, her long brown hair flying. There's a sudden loud clatter of dishes and he turns a quizzical look on Miller, who's red-faced from the hot water.
"Sorry," she says with an embarrassed smile, "the plate slipped."
"Probably shouldn't have had that last glass of wine, Miller."
She rolls her eyes.
"How does it feel?" she says suddenly and he turns to her with his more-familiar questioning scowl. "Being back, I mean."
His eyes are dark and fathomless and she can see him turning the question round in his head. There's a look his eyes that makes her curious and nervous as the heat rises again in her cheeks and another dish almost slips through her fingers. At least he's not still smiling, she thinks, because he has dimples and-
"Relieved."
She startles. "What?"
"Being back. I'm relieved to be back." His eyes narrow. "You really have had too much wine," he growls.
She tsks and turns back to the dishes. "Did you miss the place that much, then?"
"Na, I still hate it...but I hate bloody reporters even more and I'm hoping this means I can start doing something productive again."
"Like looking into the Francesca Livingstone case?"
"Aye, along with whatever else comes our way."
She nods. She understands. She's itching to get to work on Monday, too.
He picks up another dish and dries it. "At least I should be finally done with reporters for a while."
"Oh, speaking of reporters...Will Seymour's asked me out again."
She watches from the corner of her eye as his hands still then begin moving again. He finishes wiping the dish dry then places it on the counter and picks up the next one.
"He's very handsome," she says hopefully.
He gives her a side-glance. "For a bloody reporter," he mutters.
"I can't let that get in the way-my nephew's a bloody reporter."
He gives her a speaking look, eyebrow raised and she bites back a laugh.
"Don't worry, Hardy, I'll keep your secrets."
He glances out the window at his daughter, a suddenly sad look on his face. "No more secrets," he says softly. "They always have a way of being found out."
*/*/*/*/*
Hardy and Daisy look at rental places on Sunday and to Hardy's surprise, his little blue shack is once again on the market. There's only one bedroom so it's too small but they tour it anyway since Daisy has never seen it. They find nothing suitable and they go back to Traders feeling a little deflated.
In the morning, Rachel and Charlie leave for Sandbrook, and Hardy reluctantly leaves Daisy to her own devices and meets Miller outside the police station. They walk in together to meet with Elaine.
"Welcome back," she says, a small smile on her face. "Both of you."
Ellie beams. "Glad to be back," she says.
Hardy nods.
"We've set you up in the back boardroom-it was mostly storage anyway. The Livingstone files arrived on the weekend, so you can get started right away."
Both Hardy and Ellie straighten, eyes widening with anticipation.
"Everything should be set up already," Elaine continues. She writes on a post-it note and holds it out to Hardy. "This is the e-mail address for your fan mail."
He rolls his eyes. "Isabella," he growls, exasperated.
Elaine shrugs, a smirk on her face. "She seemed to think you'd forget to talk to me about it...which you did."
He scowls as he stands and grabs the post-it note. "Can we work now?"
*/*/*/*/*
Their new space is a little cramped but more usable for their purposes than the living room in his little blue shack. Two desks face each other on one end of the room. There's a table, currently loaded with boxes, in front of the windows, and a white board and filing cabinet on the opposite end of the room from their desks.
They silently survey the space then Miller says, "Well, we can always rearrange if we get on each other's nerves."
He raises an eyebrow. "If?"
She rolls her eyes and gestures towards the boxes on the table. "Want to get started?"
"God, yes," he breathes and pauses only long enough to slap the post-it note on the corner of a desk before joining her at the table.
Hardy lifts out a file and flips it open, feeling almost dizzy as a wave of relieved gratitude washes over him. He may be living in a hotel, Daisy may still be barely speaking to him, he may be back in bloody Broadchurch, and working with Miller again is probably not going to end well for him, but-he pulls in a deep breath as he places the file on the table and takes out the next one-he finally feels like he's home.
*/*/*/*/*