A/N: I'm behind on responding to reviews; I'll get caught up in the next few days. :) In the meantime...here's the beginning of the end of this story...hope you enjoy. :)
Warnings: Um, broken glass resulting in a cut finger, so...blood?
*/*/*/*/*
Thankfully the Francesca Livingstone story isn't quite as prominent as the Sandbrook case had been, and the reporters and photographers stop following them round after they give a press conference on Friday morning. Still, there are a few more unfortunate photos on the web that both Daisy and Miller insist on printing and framing and putting on the mantle-piece in his living room.
He grumbles, but it amuses them so much he doesn't have the heart to take them down.
He barely sees Daisy until Saturday evening. He tries to persuade her to come home earlier but she's busy, she says, and would see him that night. He's grumpy and snappish with Miller and wee Fred during the day until Miller finally packs the both of them home with a perfunctory good-bye kiss and a muttered "wanker" as he closes the garden gate behind them.
It's the first time he smiles since they returned to Broadchurch in the early hours of Thursday morning.
He's nervous as he waits for Daisy and when she walks in, he-to her disgust-gives her a hug and says, "We need to talk about your mother."
Daisy's gaze slides away from his, and she says, "About Dave's arrest, you mean? And her getting fired?"
"She's called you, then?" he says, relieved.
Daisy nods. "We chatted things through, yah."
"Good. Did you happen to tell her you were the one who called in the tip?"
Daisy freezes, staring as a flush climbs up her cheeks. "How did-? I mean, I don't..." she trails off into uncomfortable silence.
His heart sinks that his hunch was right, and he hopes nothing shows on his face.
"No lies, Daisy," he says sternly. "The tip was called in round mid-September and the tipster had overheard an argument between Tess and Dave. Bit too much coincidence that it was shortly after your holiday with them, when you were so upset about something you refused to share with me."
She sighs and nods. "They had a big row one night. We had adjoining rooms so I, well, I pressed my ear against the door so I could hear more of it. Plus I was scared. Even at the end, you and Mum never screamed like that! I heard Claire Ripley's name and how Dave better hope he covered the money trail enough." She scowls, then says, "At least Mum told him he was an idiot.
"I asked her the next day what it had been about. She tried put me off, then she outright lied about it, and when I told her I'd heard some of it through the door, well...she went off about eavesdropping and trust and-" Daisy shakes her head and waves a hand. "I think our row was almost as loud as theirs! Anyway, they brought me back to Broadchurch not long after that.
"I couldn't decide what to do but I dug through the web and pulled up articles to understand a bit more about what had happened." She pulls a face. "That Will Seymour really hated you!"
"I noticed. So you decided to call in the tip, told them to look more deeply for a connection to Claire?"
She shakes her head. "I called Uncle Charlie and talked to him about it. We decided he'd call it in but I swore him to secrecy."
Hardy sighs. "I need to have a chat with Charlie about keeping secrets about my own daughter from me!"
"I made him promise, Dad!"
He puts his arm round her and squeezes her close. "I know."
She leans her head against his shoulder. "Are you very angry?" she mumbles.
"With your mother, yes, and Dave. Not with you." He leans away to look at her. "Why didn't you come to me?"
She gives him an incredulous look. "You almost destroyed your career over this once, Dad, and you were finally getting your life back together. I wasn't going to risk all that."
He puts both arms round her and kisses her temple. "I did it for you, Daisy. I would do it again."
She gives him an exasperated look. "That's exactly my point."
*/*/*/*/*
Ellie spends the first few days after the story breaks nervously watching over her shoulder wherever she goes. She puts on a calm front for the boys, especially Tom, but for the first time since they exiled Joe from Broadchurch, she's worried he'll try and contact her.
Her worries ease as the story slips from the spotlight but she knows it's time for her to start keeping tabs on her ex-husband. She has a sneaking suspicion that she and Hardy will keep making headlines, at least for the forseeable future, and Tom is right: sooner or later Joe is going to notice and realize her relationship with Hardy is no longer one of antagonistic partners.
If he doesn't know already.
Paul confirms through his contacts that Joe's still in Sheffield, working once again as a paramedic, living in a small flat far away from any schools. Paul promises Ellie that his contacts will let him know if anything changes, and with that, she has to be content.
*/*/*/*/*
They both feel a little lost now the case is finished.
They box up the Livingstone case files and return them to the Sandbrook constabulary while the prosecutors determine the next steps in the case. Neither Elena nor Cora have confessed, but the various murder weapons and bloody clothes were also found with the body and it's generally agreed the DNA testing will put all doubts to rest.
Hardy and Miller meet with Bianca and Della and answer their questions as best they are allowed. The two former friends leave feeling a little better and hopeful the forensic analysis will definitively close the case once and for all. They all hope that if Archie is proven innocent, he'll soon be released from prison.
*/*/*/*/*
Hardy and Miller catch a new case on a Tuesday morning about a week later and end up working into the evening hours. They pick up some take-away and go to Hardy's so as not to disturb Tom and wee Fred, who should be safely sleeping by now, under Daisy's watchful eyes.
They bicker comfortably as they eat, debating the case and next steps before moving on to the weekend and the kids and Christmas, looming on the horizon.
"Do you think you'll have Daisy?" Ellie asks as they clear away their meal. She leans against the kitchen counter as she sips her wine, her thoughtful eyes following his movements as he wipes down the table.
He shrugs as he carries the dishcloth back to the sink. "Depends on how Tess is doing," he says, "and whether Daisy wants to spend Christmas with her."
"Maybe Tess should come here, yah?" Ellie says. "That way Daisy won't feel, well, trapped if things don't go well."
He grimaces. "So long as she's not staying here," he growls. "I'm not sure I'll be ready to see her again, even if it's still a month away."
"I don't blame you," Ellie says then finishes her wine. She moves to put the glass in the sink but she miscalculates, catching the base on the edge of the counter. She yelps, and grabs at it but it's too late. It falls into the sink, shattering, and she ends up with a thin slice on her ring finger and a sliver in her middle one. She yelps again, this time in pain, and before she can really register what happened, Hardy's beside her, taking her hand in his and quickly assessing the damage.
She grits her teeth against the pain as they peer at her hand. "Well," she grates outs, relieved, "that's not too bad. No stitches needed. But I do have a sliver."
"Right," he says. He doesn't let go of her hand as he rummages in a junk drawer and comes up with tweezers.
"You'll have to tell me why you have tweezers in your kitchen junk draw," she teases as he bends over her hand, peering intently at her finger.
He grunts in reply and she allows herself the luxury of exploring his face with her eyes.
His hair falls messily on his forehead, almost hiding the crease caused by his frown. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes are just as pronounced as he squints, trying to see the small sliver of glass she can feel poking out of her skin. His mouth is pressed tightly closed, his bottom lip plumped out in a pout, and she bites back a giggle at his air of intense concentration.
"Ah," he says softly, and tweezes out the thin piece of glass. He holds it up to her with an air of satisfaction.
She struggles against another urge to giggle at the boyish pride on his face. He looks as if he's spent days wrestling with the problem and she's finding it rather charming.
She realizes she's staring because his eyes turn from triumphant to puzzled to heated as they stand, silent, her hand oozing blood in his. His gaze drops to her mouth. Heat curls in her stomach and she unconsciously licks her lips. He practically gulps before his eyes dart back to hers, the heat banked but not extinguished.
"You need a plaster," he says, his Scottish burr low and husky, sending shivers down her back.
She nods.
"They're in the loo," he adds. "Upstairs."
She nods again but neither of them move.
She waits, and then he tosses the tweezers in the sink, cups the back of her head, his fingers buried deep in her curls, and pulls her against him, his mouth hungry against hers. She leans into him, mouth opening, hands gripping his shirt-and she yelps a little as she puts pressure on her cut finger.
She leans back as far as he'll let her and says, "I'm getting blood all over your shirt."
"I have others," he says.
That deserves only one response, and now she's the one with cupping the back of his head as he wraps his arms even closer round her, and she revels in feeling...cocooned. It's the perfect word, because she feels safe, but also like she's changing from one state to another.
She moans a little as he moves from her mouth to her ear and shivers as he trails nibbling kisses down her neck.
"I should put a plaster on my fingers," she groans, arching against him.
He presses several more nibbling kisses against her neck before he reluctantly lifts his head.
"Right," he says, but his arms tighten round her and she doesn't mind, her own arms tightening as she runs her hands over his long, lean back and she's rewarded with a soft growl as he buries his face in the crook of her neck.
"Then again, I think the bleeding's already stopped," she says and he huffs a small chuckle against the sensitive skin of her collarbone, and whatever has been holding her back quietly disappears as she pulls his mouth back to hers.
By the time they come up for air again, he has her pressed up against the only clear wall in the kitchen and she has one leg hooked over his hip, with one hand beneath his shirt and the other tucked into the back of his trousers. His hands are returning the favour, making her body thrum and it takes all the willpower she has to say, "We should get you a clean shirt."
He lifts his head from where he's been exploring the place where her neck meets her shoulder, and blinks in confusion before his lips turn down into another pout.
"Right," he says with clear disappointment.
"And plasters," she adds with an encouraging smile.
His expression changes to one of concern. "Oh, God," he says, "I forgot," and quickly takes a step away. She feels cold once his body isn't pressed against hers, and bereft as their hands slide away from each other.
"At least we don't have far to go," she says hopefully and nods at the bright, thin streaks of red marring the pale blue of his shirt. "See? We definitely need to get you a new shirt," she says.
He gives her a look of disbelief then rolls his eyes. "Fine, come on upstairs, then," he growls.
*/*/*/*/*
Ellie grabs her purse on the way, and it takes all of a minute for her to wash off her hand, and for Hardy to apply an antiseptic and plasters.
"There," he says with a satisfied air as he smooths the last plaster on to her finger.
She inspects his handiwork, then smiles. "Your turn," she says.
"You've never been this concerned about my clothese before," he complains as he leads the way to his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he goes.
"You've never been quite this slow on the uptake before," she says with a laugh as she steps in front of him, puts her hands flat on his now-bare chest and pushes him on to the bed. He falls back with an 'oof', clutching at her waist as she follows him down, kissing him wildly.
His hands busily undoes her blouse and he stops kissing her long enough to say, "The only condom I have is downstairs in my wallet."
"I have a box in my purse," she sighs, her eyes drifting closed as he runs his fingers over her skin.
His hands stop moving and she opens an eye to scowl at him. He's watching her with an eyebrow raised in question.
"I've had them since we pulled Ginger from the river," she says with a shrug. "Isabella took it upon herself to pick them up for us. Said if there was ever a night we deserved to be shagged into unconsciousness, it was then."
His jaw drops, his eyes go wide, and his cheeks turn a deep, dark red as she struggles to keep a straight face and fails.
"And I got a sedative instead?" he squeaks.
She laughs, loud and joyous, and he grins as he pulls her down to him.
*/*/*/*/*
He's more playful than Ellie would have expected, and even their awkward moments make them both laugh and when it's over, she relaxes against him and realizes she's something she thought she'd never be again: happy.
*/*/*/*/*
She reluctantly slips out from beside a seductively warm and sleepily protesting Hardy. She washes and dresses, then kneels beside the bed to tell him to go back to sleep and she'll see him at her place in the morning for their regular Wednesday breakfast.
She's not surprised when he drags himself out of bed, pulls on pajama bottoms and shuffles after her, still half-asleep, to the back door.
"Good-night, Miller, love you," he says with a yawn before he kisses her slowly, thoroughly, and waits in the doorway until she closes the garden gate behind her.
Her tears don't begin until she's a few steps away and then she cries all the way across the common. She cries because she wasn't expecting to hear those words from him or how she felt when she heard them. She also cries because she didn't say them back and because she doesn't know if she's ready to say them.
She doesn't know if she'll ever be ready to say them, or mean them the same way she'd meant them with Joe.
Leave it to Hardy to complicate things, she thinks wryly as she opens her own back gate. Not that she's angry about it-she feels a warm glow just remembering his words-she just hopes he can give her more time.
She quietly creeps in the back door and hastily wipes the moisture from her cheeks when Daisy sleepily calls her name from the living room.
Ellie clears her throat and hopes she sounds normal as she says, "Yah, it's me. Go back to sleep, Daisy."
A light switches on in the living room and Ellie sighs, thinking the girl is too much like her father sometimes. She pokes her head in the room, a determined smile on her face.
"See? Just me," she says.
Daisy squints up at her, eyes still adjusting to the light, then says, "Why are you crying?"
Ellie's smile becomes embarrassed. "Because I'm happy," she says, and it's true. She's just also confused.
"Dad didn't make a muck of things, then?" Daisy says with a yawn.
Ellie frowns. "What?"
"I saw the light go on in his bedroom," she says and gives Ellie a slightly evil grin.
Ellie closes her eyes and prays for...she's not sure what she prays for: patience or peace or just for the ground to open up and swallow her whole right now.
She opens her eyes and looks at the still-grinning teenager and shakes her head.
"How about we don't tell your dad that little tidbit, yah?"
Daisy giggles sleepily. "Yah, okay," she says and turns off the light. "Good-night, Ellie."
"Good-night, Daisy," Ellie says and finds herself chuckling as she makes her way upstairs.
*/*/*/*/*
The next morning is blessedly normal, although they linger over their morning kiss a little longer than usual. They're quickly caught up in the whirlwind of making Wednesday breakfast for three kids and getting everyone off to school or the child-minder's or work.
The case they'd caught is quickly solved, and then they're at loose ends-again-in terms of work.
They keep busy by reviewing the last of the case files sent in by Hardy's fans-or the general public, as Hardy insists they call them-and send enquiries through Elaine about the feasibility of those police territories re-investigating the cases that seem most promising. They also keep busy investigating the minor crimes that cross their desks.
Outside of work, Ellie stumbles through an awkward conversation with Hardy about how she quite liked him saying he loved her, really, but she's not ready to say it to him.
He hears her out with an expression of sour disbelief then says, dryly, "It's not a requirement, Miller."
That sparks a wee lovers quarrel, followed by their first round of make-up sex, after which they agree Hardy won't inundate her with words of love ("Really? That worried you? Have you met me, Miller?") and she wouldn't feel pressured to say them back, and they'd both relax and calm the hell down about it all.
With that tricky conversation behind them, they begin the sometimes complicated task of carving out more private time for each other in between their children's needs, their friends, and the routine they'd established over the last few months.
Then, not quite three weeks after Ginger's confession, Rebecca and Isabella arrive in Broadchurch and with Elaine, call Hardy and Miller to a meeting.
The two CSs lay out their proposal and when they're finished, Hardy and Miller sit in silence for a few moments.
Miller finally says, "Cold case detectives?"
Elaine nods. "You'll start with the cases you've already received from the public and we've received agreement from the other territories for you to start working on them. We've also sent the proposal to the other CSs in the area, and they love the idea, especially," her voice turns dry, "when they learned they wouldn't need to pay your salaries. You'll still work on local crimes if we're overloaded, but your main role will be to work on cold cases sent by police territories who don't have a cold case squad of their own."
Hardy scowls at Rebecca and Isabella. "Where do you two come in?" he asks suspiciously.
"I want to help fund the unit," Rebecca says calmly. "We have five unsolved homicides in my territory that I'd like to get sorted, if possible. Isabella's going to help with the PR, public notices asking for witnesses and so forth, and will also help you manage-and respond to!-your fan mail."
Hardy flushes. "That's slowed considerably," he mutters.
Isabella smirks. "For now. Close to Home wants to profile the Livingstone case and the two of you."
Hardy almost growls, Miller frowns, and the others laugh.
"Like it or not, Hardy, you're a bit of a celebrity now, and Ellie will be, too, if Close to Home has their way," Isabella says. "You keep solving cases like this one, you're only going to be profiled more and more."
He looks hunted.
"I doubt you'll ever be as popular as you were," Isabella continues, "but setting up a website for people to send you messages and tips on cases you're investigating isn't a bad thing."
He wearily rubs his forehead. "Do I have a choice?"
"Not really, no," says Elaine. "It's also time you decided what you're doing with the money people have sent you so you can get it out of our lock-up."
He looks at Elaine's calm face.
"You already have an idea about that, too, don't you," he says.
Isabella is the one who responds. "Choose a charity-or several-and donate it. We'll put the information on the site along with donation links as well." She glances from one to the other. "Maybe the charity Beth Latimer set up in honour of her son?"
Hardy and Miller exchange a glance and he gives a small shrug.
Rebecca's eyes twinkle as she grins at them. "You're a celebrity, Hardy, you and Ellie both."
"Notorious is more like it," Ellie mutters.
"Regardless, you're on the public's radar at the moment. You just need to decide how you want to leverage your fifteen minutes of fame."
*/*/*/*/*
In the end, they agree to everything.
"How much of your decision was influenced by the drinks you had with Rebecca last night?" Hardy asks with a suspicious scowl.
Ellie grins and says, "I guess you'll never know," and kisses him.
*/*/*/*/*