A/N: Sorry for taking so long to get this chapter written and posted. I've been working overtime (and will be for the rest of the month) and it's screwed up my writing schedule. L And NaNoWriMo is starting on the 1st…I'll post chapters as soon as they're finished, but my usual once-a-week schedule may be a little off for the next little while.

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy and Miller methodically work their way through the case files, making notes and pinning pictures of all the players in the case to the murder board.

Hardy receives a phone call on Tuesday afternoon telling him Archie Reynolds was finally out of the infirmary and they can see him whenever they're able to make the trip to the penitentiary. He raises an eyebrow at Miller.

"Well, I have to make arrangements for Fred and Tom," she says. "What are you going to do about Daisy?"

He groans and rubs his face. "I don't want her hanging round the Traders alone for what-two-three days? That's just begging for disaster, especially at the height of tourist season."

"What's she been doing while you're at work?"

"Exploring," he says with a grimace. "She ran into Chloe out with Lizzie yesterday afternoon, so she's off to Weymouth with Chloe and Beth today." He glares at Ellie like it's somehow her fault. "They're shopping."

She grins at the horror that drips from the word. "Well, at least she's doing something, and she's with people you know and trust."

"Better than the alternative, yes," he growls, and frowns into the distance. "We could take her with us to Sandbrook, let her spend some time with her mother."

Ellie raises an eyebrow. "You don't sound thrilled with that idea."

Hardy sighs and rubs his hands over his face again. "Daisy isn't...she's very angry."

Ellie snorts. "I wonder where she gets that from."

He rolls his eyes. "There's a great deal of tension between her and her mother right now."

"Are you surprised?"

He gives a sharp shake of his head. "Tess, on the other hand..."

Ellie raises an eyebrow. "She's surprised Daisy is angry?"

"Well, surprised probably isn't the right word. More like...disappointed. With me and the situation and..."

He presses his lips together in a frown as he ducks his head and scratches an eyebrow. He looks at her and shrugs helplessly. "I took the blame because we didn't want Daisy to be hurt by more than just the divorce. The truth was never supposed to be public, not to mention the fallout from it all, made even worse because I took the blame. Daisy doesn't want to see her mother right now. She barely wants to see me."

Ellie ponders his words but can't think of what to say. She settles for focusing on a problem they can solve. "So, what are you do want to do?"

"She's sixteen. Means I can't force her to see her mother or come with us to Sandbrook. Not that I would do that to her anyway."

"Right, well, do you think she'd like to stay at my place? Look out for Tom and Fred while we're gone? I'll pay her what I'd pay the child-minder, and it would give Beth and Lucy a bit of a break."

He hesitates. "I'm not sure how much experience she has with toddlers," he says doubtfully.

"Tom can help there, and Beth and Luce will stop by and check on them, of course, and they're only a phone call away if she runs into problems."

He ponders the idea. "We can ask her," he says, cautious hope in his voice.

*/*/*/*/*

Daisy agrees without any arguments, and Hardy's not sure if he's worried about her apathy or grateful for it, at least for the moment. She's always been more her mother's daughter than his, with few of his passionately angry outbursts.

But her blankness disconcerts him-almost as much as his own blankness after they'd arrested the Ashworths and Ricky, and after they were sentenced. He hates the fact he and Daisy are still living at Traders, without much privacy and without a place where they have the privacy and comfort to have the talk they need.

A part of him mulls over the problem even after he's left Daisy settled on the sofa at Miller's, Tom's sullen presence on one side of her and Chloe on the other. Three desperately hurting children, he thinks as Miller drives out of town. So much collateral damage caused by selfish, unthinking arseholes.

He and Miller chat briefly about their goals when talking with Reynolds the next day, then he goes back to brooding over what he can do for Daisy, haunted by the three sad faces they'd left behind.

"How's Tom?" he asks abruptly and Miller jumps a little, startled.

"Fine," she says shortly, with a half-puzzled, half-defensive smile. "You just saw him! Why?"

"I'm worried about Daisy," he says. "Wondered if you had any tips."

"Oh," she sinks down a little, cursing herself for snapping at him. "Therapy," she says.

To her surprise, he doesn't curl his lip at the word.

"Together and separately," she adds when he remains silent.

He sighs. "That's what I was afraid of," he mutters.

"Look," she says, "maybe all she needs is to talk about it to someone who doesn't know you or Tess or Dave. Have you talked to her about everything?"

He gives a short shake of his head.

She rolls her eyes. "Why am I not surprised?" she sighs.

"We can't exactly have what's going to be an emotional conversation at the Traders!"

"Is that all? You can borrow my house when we get back. I'll take the boys out for the day and then you and Daisy can yell and scream and she can cry as much as she wants. Clear the air."

He's silent, thinking about it, then nods.

"Then I can give you the name of a good therapist. I think you need it."

"Thanks, Miller," he says drily as he turns his head to look out the window.

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy and Miller thoughtfully assess the still-young man settling in to the chair across from them in the prison's interview room. He clanks as he shifts, his hands and feet shackled, his dark eyes curious yet carefully empty of any emotion as he considers them in his turn.

"We're here to talk about Francesca Livingstone," Hardy says after they've introduced themselves.

"Well, didn't think you were here to see how I like the accommodations," Archie drawls.

"Dottie Livingstone has asked us to review the case."

"What for?"

"She wants to find Francesca's body," Miller says. "She wants to bring her daughter home. Give her a proper burial."

Archie barks a sharp, harsh laugh that leads into a coughing fit. "Fucking lungs," he groans as he catches his breath. "Pneumonia, they tell me. Cancer more like. 'Wants to bring her daughter home'-ha! That old bitch wants to give Frankie a 'proper burial' my arse. That c-" he sees Miller's raised eyebrows and abruptly stops, clearing his throat. "That old biddy hated Frankie. I can't imagine she shed one tear over her in the last ten years unless it was a tear of joy."

Hardy raises an eyebrow. "Why don't you just tell us what you did with the body."

Archie sneers. "Even if I could remember what I did with her, I wouldn't tell you—not if it's for Frankie's mum. The old cow can suffer till she dies for all I care."

"What on earth did she do?" Miller says.

"She treated Frankie like shite-always had. Kept her away from her dad, tried to lock her up in that house of hers, always sticking her nose in where it didn't belong, trying to run her life and trying to keep her under her thumb. Happiest day of Frankie's life was when she got a flat of her own."

"Which her mother paid for," Hardy says.

"She didn't pay for nothin'," Archie growls. "Frankie paid her own way. She didn't want to take anything from that bitch. In fact, that mother of hers threatened to disinherit her! Imagine! Her only daughter!"

"Doesn't sound like there was any love lost between them," Miller says. "Getting cut out of the will shouldn't have come as a surprise to Frankie."

"Who else was that old hag going to leave it to? Nah, it was just another attempt to keep Frankie under her control."

"Is that why you killed Frankie? Because you wanted to keep her under your control?" Hardy asks.

Archie seems to shrink in front of them. "I don't know why I killed Frankie," he mutters.

"In your confession, you said you don't remember most of the night, including the murder. Is that why you've never led police to the body?" Miller says.

He shrugs. "Well, yah," he says impatiently. "If I could remember what I'd done with her, of course I would have told them where she is." His face twists with anger and frustration and he leans forward. "I loved her," he says, almost viciously. "I would have done anything for her, anything she asked, anything she wanted! You don't think I want to know what the fuck happened that night? To understand how I went from utter devotion to killing her and leaving her God knows where? She was everything to me and it eats me up inside that I could do that to her."

"If you were so devoted to her, and you don't remember the night, why are you so certain you're the one who killed her?" Miller asks.

He stares at her, eyes dark and pained. "After talking about that night with the other AlphaBetties, about where we went and what we did, trying to figure out when Frankie disappeared and where...it had to be me." He leans back in his chair and covers his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. "There was no one else."

Hardy and Miller share a lightning quick glance then turn back to Archie.

"Walk us through it," Hardy says. "The places you went, the order you went to them, when Frankie disappeared, who was with you. All of it."

Archie glares. "It's all in my confession."

Hardy gives him a tight-lipped almost-smile. "Humour us," he says.

Archie sighs. "Fine. We went out-the AlphaBetties. Me, Frankie, Elena, Ginger, Del, Cora, and Binky. We met at seven for dinner at the Side Street Bar and Grill, then headed to Spot-hottest place in town, then. From there, we went to Plymouth Tavern, then the Bunk House Bar and Grill, then Blossom's, then Chumley's...after that, it gets vague. I remember walking a lot, drinking a lot, stumbling a lot. The others remember more, but I don't. They say Frankie and I got into an argument because I was leaving on the Monday and she didn't want me to go. It was too good an opportunity to miss and, even for her...I couldn't stay. We'd been arguing about it ever since I took the job. I'd asked her to come with me, but she wouldn't. Said her bloody mother didn't want to let her out from under her thumb and support her until she could get settled in London. I couldn't support both of us, at least not right away. We couldn't see any other way out of it so we decided to-" He stops and blinks owlishly at them. "We decided to break up. Only I wasn't happy about it. The others said we got into a huge row that night-I don't remember it, but I don't doubt it. Frankie and I always fought when we got loaded."

He grins.

"The make-up sex, though, was out of this world." He glances from Hardy to Miller and back again, studying their stoic faces. "Doubt you know what that's like," he mutters.

Hardy raises an eyebrow. "What happened after the fight?" he says, his voice cool and calm.

"Well, everyone was pretty far gone at that point. From what we can piece together between us, we forgot Elena at one place and Frankie and Cora went back for her, then Binky passed out at another place and we left her behind with Del, but they caught up with us later on. Ginger and Elena and Frankie went to get something to eat, then Cora ended up puking somewhere, and-" he helplessly waves his hands and shrugs. "Nobody's really sure of all the different groups that broke off, or when."

"When did you realize you were the one who had done something to Frankie?" Miller asks.

"About a year or so after she disappeared. We'd been talking about it for so long, and it finally dawned on me that Frankie and I disappeared and never came back to the group. We were the only ones who didn't come back."

He looks at them, his face drawn, his eyes haunted. "It had to be me," he whispers.

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy and Miller return to the car in somber silence. As Miller pulls out of the prison's parking lot, Hardy takes out his phone.

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he listens to the ringing on the other end before Daisy picks up with a cautious hello.

"Hello, darlin'," he says warmly.

"Hi, Dad. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he says with an almost-chuckle. "Just...wanted to check in with you."

"We're fine, Dad. Tell Ellie the fire was small and it only took two fire trucks to put out."

Now he really does chuckle and he's vaguely aware of Miller's surprised face as she watches him in the rear view mirror.

"I'll tell her," he says. "Everything's fine, then?"

"Yes, Dad-you have got to stop worrying!"

"I wasn't really worried," he admits. "Just wanted to call and say..."

He closes his eyes and Pippa's smiling face flashes in his mind, closely followed by a memory of what she'd become after three days in the river. He opens his eyes wide, shakes his head, and speaks in a rush, "I wanted to say you're a good kid, Daisy, and I know I'm being soppy but I love you very much, and I know you're angry with me and your mother right now, but we'll work through it. Awright?"

There's silence then a soft sniff before Daisy says, "Aw, Dad, you're so embarrassing."

He smiles at that. "I know. Sorry, darling."

"When are you coming home?" she asks, and he closes his eyes.

Home. How the hell did Broadchurch become home?

"Tomorrow. Should be there right after lunch, and then I'll be back at the hotel about six, right after work."

"Right. Should I stay here until Ellie gets off work, too?"

He turns to Miller, who's pretending not to listen and doing a shitty job of it. "Miller, do you want Daisy to stay with the boys until you get off work tomorrow?"

She's startled for a moment then says, "Sure. We can all have dinner together."

He turns back to the phone. "Yes, and we're invited to dinner as well."

"Good," Daisy says. "I'd better go."

"Right. Of course."

"Dad-"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too, you know. I'm just..."

"Angry. I know."

"Drive safe. See you tomorrow."

"Thanks. See you tomorrow."

He hangs up, staring out the window, then says, "If we can borrow your living room on the weekend..."

"Of course."

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy sleeps badly that night, the memory of drowning and Pippa haunting his dreams. He blames his haggard face on the fact they leave at an ungodly hour of the morning and they drive in almost complete silence back to Broadchurch, mulling over everything they'd learned from Archie Reynolds...which wasn't much, they agree glumly when they stop for petrol, the washrooms and something to drink.

Ellie raises an eyebrow when Hardy pays for everything and he shrugs, a self-deprecating grimace on his face.

"You gave Daisy a safe place to stay while we were gone, and something to do. I suppose I can pay for the tea."

She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway and it broadens when she tastes the tea and it's exactly as she likes it.

They get back on the road, talking over the case and their next steps.

"Well, we know the body can't be far from the town itself, if it's even out of town," Hardy says, "and we should have reports on our desks when we get back about whether anyone has used Francesca's identification since she's gone missing."

"Do you know if there have been any Jane Doe's found since she disappeared?"

"Those reports should be in our e-mails as well," he says with an approving glance. "Well done, Miller. We may make a detective out of you yet."

"If only we could make you less of a knob," she snaps, rolling her eyes.

He chuckles and she turns and gives him a surprised stare. He raises an eyebrow at her expression then slowly sobers, his eyes puzzled. She quickly returns her attention to the road.

"Right," she says briskly, turning her head away to grimace at the nervous tone in her voice. "What else?"

He shrugs and sighs. "We still have more evidence to review and we'll plot out their route through Sandbrook. It should give us a lead for where to look for a body." He pauses, thinking. "We'll see where the investigators searched ten years ago and go from there."

"Do you think we'll find her?"

Hardy shrugs. "If we don't, then she can't be found."

Ellie gives him a quick, pleased smile as they subsided back into silence.

*/*/*/*/*

They walk into the station around half-one, and head to their office, lunch in hand. Hardy walks in ahead of her and stops so suddenly she bumps into him, hand flat on his surprisingly solid back.

"For God's sake," she snaps, "what is wrong with you?"

He looks round at her, eyes wide as he moves out of the way and she can see into their office.

Her mouth drops and she steps into the room. They both stand and slowly stare in stunned silence at all the boxes and bags that had somehow been crammed into every available space in the room during the two and a half days they'd been gone, leaving only a narrow path to the filing cabinet, their desks and the murder board.

"What the bloody hell," Hardy finally manages, and Miller begins to laugh.

"Oh, come on, Hardy," she says, grinning, "they're just taking the piss! This used to be a storage room, after all!" She sees his expression and begins to giggle. "If you could see your face! Come on, they saw a chance to pull a prank on us and took it!"

"If only that's what this is about," Elaine says drily from behind them.

"What is this all about, then?" Hardy demands.

Elaine steps aside and Isabella pokes her head round the door. "Damn it, I'd hoped to be in there waiting for you so I could see your face!"

"We've been on the road since six this morning," Hardy snaps. "I'm not in the mood for jokes."

"Are you ever in the mood for jokes?" Ellie asks and claps a hand over her mouth as she begins to giggle again after he practically growls at her.

Isabella and Elaine don't bother trying to hide their laughter as they walk in, causing Hardy and Ellie to retreat behind their respective desks in order to give them room.

Isabella sweeps a hand out, encompassing all of the boxes and slumped mail bags stacked throughout the room. "This...is your fan mail."

Ellie and Hardy stare.

"Fan mail?" Ellie finally squeaks.

Isabella nods, biting back a smile. "Most of it's addressed to Hardy, but there are a few pieces in there for you, Ellie, and to both you and Hardy. There's more on the way, according to the producers of Close to Home. That's where most of this came from, as far as we can tell."

Hardy almost falls into his chair. "Fan mail," he says weakly.

Isabella nods. "Have you been keeping up with that e-mail address I gave you? Checking it regularly?"

"I-no! Haven't even thought of it. It hasn't even been a week!"

"You may want to check that, too. We've been sending through all the messages we've received and, you know, people send more electronically now than through the post."

His mouth slowly drops open, his eyes widening as he stares at the three women watching him with varying degrees of amusement.

"Horseshit," he finally whispers, bursting from his seat and rushing to one of the boxes to throw it open. "There is no w-"

It's filled to the brim with letters and postcards, big envelopes and small envelopes, and even a box or two.

"Everything's been scanned and inspected," Isabella says cheerfully, eyes sparkling with almost evil amusement.

He stares at them again, mouth open, eyes wide, his hair falling into his eyes, and he looks so stunned, Ellie has a sudden urge to brush the hair off his forehead and tell him everything is going to be all right.

"What am I supposed to do with all of this?" he whispers, and she wonders if she's the only one who knows he's not only talking about the physical volume of mail but also everything it symbolizes.

Isabella and Elaine glance at each other and shrug. "It's entirely up to you," Elaine says. "It can't stay here for long...obviously, if there's more on the way."

"I'm still at the Traders," he says, bewildered. "I can't afford to rent another room for my mail."

Elaine shrugs and shares an amused look with Isabella. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure something out."

He turns his eyes on Isabella and she raises her hands. "Don't look at me," she says. "I only delivered the mail we received in Sandbrook. I wanted to see your reaction, and you certainly didn't disappoint!" She laughs. "What you do with it all is up to you...although I'd suggest you might want to read it and respond to at least some of it. At least thank people for taking the time to write."

He blinks and looks at Ellie, who shrugs helplessly. "I don't have much room at my place," she says. "We'll have to work round it until you can go through it or until you find a place to live."

He staggers back to his chair and collapses on to it.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

*/*/*/*/*