"Chapter 6"

A/N: And here it's going to get ugly. Just remember that Alec's not in a good place right now, so please don't get too angry. And don't hate me because of the ending of the chapter!

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This type of guilt was different. That was the one thought that stuck in Alec's mind as he walked. This type of guilt was different. Not the crushing shame of failing a murdered child and their family, this was nothing like letting a killer walk free. It wasn't even like finding out what his wife had done to their marriage, sleeping with another man like she had, and wondering what he had done wrong to drive her away.

This guilt, roiling and hot, nearly made him sick. He had not felt the need to vomit in years, but he was certainly feeling it now as he made his way down the road.

This was a guilt he knew he had completely and utterly caused. He hadn't known his sense of self-loathing could grow anymore but it had.

Why the hell had he said that to Miller? If anyone knew how much Beth's hateful rejection had hurt her, it was Alec himself. He had seen her crumble to pieces following Joe's confession and had silently witnessed her weariness and listlessness as more and more of her life fell apart. He had helped her as best he could, which was not very much at all honestly, but always made sure he was there if she absolutely needed him.

He understood the need for stability. Without it you drove yourself insane.

But he hated the fact that her stability depended on a snarky, anti-social retired detective inspector. Where had all of her old friends gone, why had they simply abandoned her? He was not someone Miller should have turned to, there was nothing he could do to fix her brokenness.

He had only made it worse, now. He had destroyed her all over again.

Everything was a blur, a mess of color and sound, sliding over him like water. He had no sense of where he was or what he was doing, and barely registered the fact that somehow his feet had led him to a familiar place: the Traders hotel. He hadn't set foot in the hotel itself for several weeks, ever since he had finally moved out of the room he'd been in during the case of Danny Latimer, and had been perfectly keen with keeping it that way.

But now he remembered Miller telling him one thing: John was staying at the Traders.

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John O'Bailey, for his part, had mainly kept to himself the past few days. He avoided going out too much (ignoring the fact that he was in reality afraid of stumbling into his old friend) and so had spent much of his time in his hotel room or walking bits of town. He had been tempted to call or message Ellie again, but she had other things to worry about; and he could tell that she was already busy with being there for Alec.

He had never expected to see Alec the way he was now. Not this short-tempered, unkempt mess who snarled at everyone and clearly had no love for company. As teenagers he had always known that Alec was anti-social, but he'd never been rude or mean. John wondered what had happened while he'd been in jail to make his old friend this way.

He was just preparing to leave his room for a late breakfast when he suddenly heard Becca Fisher's raised voice, shouting at someone. Loud, heavy footsteps were coming up the stairs and along the hall, nearly drowning her out, but John could tell she was trying to stop someone. He realized almost too late who it could be and braced himself, cursing silently that he had not locked the door since leaving earlier—

And then the door slammed open, and he was suddenly facing a very angry Alec Hardy. The look on his face very nearly made John's ice run cold, remembering vividly what that look meant when worn by a very different person. He stood hastily, wondering what had happened.

"Why the hell did you come to Broadchurch?" Alec snarled.

John blinked, taken aback. Of all the things to say he hadn't been expecting that. "Can't come check up on my friend, then?"

"Not when you have family back home!" Alec stepped closer, past the opened door. "You don't just go looking for a friend who's left the country entirely!" His hands were clenched into fists, John noticed—maybe to hide their shaking. His voice, as he continued, was steady. "So what's happened?"

John was prepared to make Alec fight to get his answer, but suddenly found he simply didn't want to. He didn't want to have this confrontation. "They've kicked me out," he admitted quietly, starkly contrasted to Alec's furious state. "Parents have all but disowned me."

"Can't have a son who broke one of the Commandments," Alec sneered, sharp as a knife. "Were they disappointed that their altar boy became a murderer?"

John stiffened despite himself, stung by the accusation. "Don't you dare," he warned. "My parents took you in while we were growing up. Don't you dare judge them!"

"You did it to yourself!" They were shouting now. "You decided to kill your wife and now you expect me to welcome you back with open arms?"

"I expected you to still have some respect for our friendship!"

"Respect? You lost any respect I had for you when you killed Freya! And now you come back and you destroy everything again!"

"Again?" John stared at him incredulously, almost unable to understand—and then it clicked. That wasn't just anger fueling Alec's bite—he recognized the old sense of self-loathing from years before, from when he had said or done something that had done damage.

Only that old feeling was fueled by years' worth of bitterness now. Without trying Alec could do a whole lot more damage than before.

His own sense of anger did not allow him to respond sympathetically. "Whose life did you destroy this time, then?" he asked snidely. "Ellie's? Just like you, to hurt your friends."

"If they were friends to begin with!" came Alec's equally-snide retort. "You come along and fill Miller's head with sympathy for killers, make her think it's alright to forgive her husband for what he did!"

John barked out a biting laugh. "Please! I only saw her for a day! I barely know her."

"And she thinks she knows you!"

"And you think you do?" John stepped closer now. "You think you know what it was like for me these past fifteen years in a jail cell? You think you know who I am anymore? Take your head out of your arse and look around you!" He pointed a finger like a javelin at his old friend, shaking with anger. "You know who you're acting like right now?" he demanded. Alec suddenly stilled, as John had known he would, stopped in his tracks. "You know who you sound like?"

"Don't," Alec ordered without voice, very pale.

But John was in no mood to stop. He knew how the accusation would hurt but plunged ahead anyway, letting a little of his disgust curl his lip. "Your dad, that's who, just before he took a belt to beat you with it!"

It was a familiar topic he remembered from before his arrest. The infamous ill-tempered Lucas Hardy had been the reason why Alec had spent so many nights at the O'Bailey's household, usually sporting some type of bruising on the face or the arms or the back, faintly smelling of his father's heavy whiskey. It was well known that Lucas was not a man to cross or stand up to, and Alec had always sworn he would never turn out like his father in either temperament or actions.

And to John, this was the wake-up call Alec needed. Because he was very much like his father in several aspects.

Alec, for his part, was not so blinded as to miss the irony of this situation with the one he'd left with Miller. He wondered fleetingly for a moment if her world had seemed to shrink when hearing the accusation he had thrown at her, if a roaring had taken over her senses; he felt rooted to the floor, a tight knot of emotions so tumultuous he wasn't sure he could keep contained roiling deep in his gut. A chalice of despair and horror, he recalled dimly, reciting from a book he had read several years ago. That was what he felt like now.

And that was when his heart lurched, a familiar sensation in his chest. He froze, taken aback by its suddenness—but then it didn't stop. Normally with this his heart fluttered for a few seconds before sickeningly stabilizing again but it didn't now.

Panicked he lurched forward, his hand unconsciously pressing at his chest, feeling for his heartbeat. It was too fast, too faint. All it felt like was a terrible fluttering that only grew in intensity, building faster and harsher every second—and it wasn't stopping.

He heard John calling out in alarm but he hardly cared. It was like a repeat of the night on Briar Cliff, unable to stand or call out, conscious only of the fact that he couldn't breathe.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god

His vision was blurring, faint, starting to blacken. His heart was still jumping, unable to level out, and felt full-out panic overtaking everything.

Hands, rough in their fear, helped him to the floor. A glint of blonde hair caught his attention for a second—Becca, a tiny part of him realized, speaking into a phone. John's terrified face swam into view, calling to him. He wondered if the terror in his eyes mirrored his own as he sank into velvety blackness, his last thought a plea.

Help me.

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Ellie had shattered a picture frame. Its sad ruins twinkled softly in the sunlight falling through the window, the picture itself torn from the glass. Joe's face was nearly unrecognizable from the damage. Huddled into a ball by the couch, Ellie looked at it silently, distrustfully, hatefully.

Maybe if she simply sat here it would all go away. Maybe if she shut out the world long enough none of this would have happened. Maybe… maybe…

Her phone buzzed. Startled, she jumped and wondered where she had left it. Oh, that's right, in her coat pocket—currently hallway across the room.

The world wasn't allowing her to ignore it.

She fought it. For five more rings she ignored it, and it finally stopped, leaving her blessed silence once again—and two seconds later it started to buzz again. Was it more insistent than before?

Cursing, she staggered to her feet and jerked it into view, not even pausing to see who it was. There was only one person, after all, who would be calling her.

"I am not talking to you right now, Alec, so you can bloody well stop—"

"Ellie."

She froze, startled. "John?" She had given him her number, of course, in case he did need something but she hadn't really thought he'd use it. "What—?"

"You need to get to the hospital," he said bluntly.

Her heart clenched. Her fingers tightened on the phone, and she had to swallow hard before she could speak again. "Who?"

His voice was tight, suppressing emotions she was sure he did not want her to hear. "It's Alec. He's had a heart attack. The doctors don't know if he'll make it."