A/N: Thank you everyone for reading and commenting, especially after the last chapter. A massive thank you again to hazelmist for looking things over and trying to teach the non-native speaker proper English sentence structure. I fear it might be a never-ending task at times. I hope you'll all enjoy this chapter just as much as the last one. It's Daisy's birthday…

CHAPTER 12

Hardy woke up in the wee hours of the morning, drenched in his own sweat and utterly terrified. No sputtering or choking, no screaming, just the tight claws of a horrid dream that one couldn't remember but lingered at the edge of your consciousness, haunting you for the rest of the day. His feeble attempts at calming himself led him nowhere so he clambered out of the bed and padded to the bathroom. His bare feet were freezing on the cold tiles and the chill worked its way up his bones. He shivered.

He slipped out of his underwear and T-shirt and into the hot shower. The water was running over his tired body, slowly warming him up, but he wasn't able to rid himself of the eeriness that had come with his nightmare. He made an effort to shave, but instead of experiencing the usual pleasant satisfaction, it was just laborious and felt pointless. After scrubbing himself dry, he wrapped the towel around his lean waist, tiptoed back to the bedroom, and stared into the closet. He grabbed the first shirt, suit and tie he saw, not caring if they'd even match. His hair was falling into his face, not bothering him now that he had gotten used to it over the last days while he was poorly hiding the bruise on his forehead.

He snuck down the stairs. Daisy's present was still neatly placed where he had left it. A small smile flickered over his lips. At least he wouldn't miss her this morning. He put the kettle on and tackled the task of preparing a birthday breakfast for his now officially teenaged daughter. The day she was born was etched in his memory forever.

Tess had labored for many hours and he hadn't rested or eaten anything for at least a day and a half, not allowing himself to even slip out for a minute in case Tess needed him. She had taken everything with a stoic hardheadedness that had surprised him. All throughout the pregnancy her temper had been unbelievable and she had made his life hell and heaven at the same time. He fully expected to be hit and cursed at during the lengthy process of actually bringing this tiny human into the world. But she didn't. She was quietly enduring the pain that came with every contraction, focusing on just getting through. She refused an epidural or any other medication. By the end she was exhausted and finally it got the better of her. When she cursed at the midwife that she didn't give a shit that they could see the head and that it was full of hair, but that she just wanted her to come the fuck out, he knew his wife had not been swapped for some alien person he didn't recognize.

And then Daisy was there, screaming at the top of her lungs, mouth pulled down, reddish brown fuzzy hair sticking to her tiny head. She was kicking her legs and balling her little hands into tight fists. He got to hold her first. Because Tess couldn't. She was bleeding heavily and he almost lost her in the witching hours of that morning, before they whisked her away to emergently take out her womb in order to save her life. He didn't remember much of that as he had fainted after they had handed him the baby. All he recalled was an odd sensation in his chest that he was now very familiar with and his desperate attempt at passing Daisy back to the nurse before the black closed in. He woke up, lying on a fold out cot next to Tess' empty bed. She was still in surgery, but he didn't even know what had happened. Confused, he was about to walk out of the room to find a nurse, when he heard a whimpering sound. He stopped dead in his tracks and slowly turned towards that wee child that would become so precious to him. Daisy was sleeping in a basinet, bathed and wrapped up in a blanket. He carefully picked her up, afraid of how fragile and tiny she looked. He rocked her gently in his arms, humming to her. She opened her eyes and he still swore to this day that she looked at him and smiled, even if that wasn't really what a few hours old baby could do. He cupped her head with his hand and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering for a long moment, tears wetting her rosy cheeks. Then his hand trailed down to hers and when she curled her tiny fingers around his pinky he knew he had been taken by storm.

He was leaning against the counter, his back to the kitchen door, breakfast forgotten, lost in the memory. A hand on his shoulder startled him and he spun around. Of course his heart would skip a few beats and trudge along, too slow for its own good. He pulled himself together, still leaning against the counter. Daisy was eyeing him suspiciously, not saying anything. A question was written all over her face.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm fine, just a little startled. And don't sneak up on me, ey? Wouldn't want to scare your old Dad to death." He was trying to make it sound as normal as he could, playing down the fact that he had almost collapsed after such an innocent gesture. She scrunched up her nose and growled a half-hearted apology. After a few more steadying breaths, he finally got to say what he really wanted to, distracting from himself at the same time.

"Happy Birthday, Daisy darlin'." Before she could protest he pulled her into a hug and held her tightly. He placed a soft kiss on her head, stroking her hair. When she became too wiggly, he pushed her away, holding her at arm's length, his hands clasping her shoulders. His eyes found hers and he smiled when he confessed, "I was day dreaming about the morning you were born, getting all soppy, when you came in."

She smiled back at him. "Ach, Dad. I think you're getting worse while you're getting older. You look like you're gonna cry. Stop it." She rolled her eyes at him.

"Oi, I'm not that old. No respect for your father," he retorted in mock indignation. Her attention shifted to something behind him. She had spotted the present on the table.

"What's that?" She picked up the card and inspected the box closely. A frown grew on her forehead and he hid a grin. Some things never changed, even if she was growing up.

"Christmas paper? Seriously, Dad? You couldn't find anything else?" she complained. He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"Why don't you open it?" He was surprised how nervous he sounded. What if she didn't like it? He still felt rather miserable about the botched birthday party.

She sat down at the table and carefully removed the offensive paper. When she saw the box, she shot him a quick glance. He had sat down opposite her, not trusting himself standing. Then she opened the lid. He chewed on his lower lip, waiting for a reaction. His fingers were tapping on his leg. He couldn't see her eyes while she was looking down, but her face didn't change and he felt his stomach knot up with disappointment. She looked up from the jewelry, straight at him and a wave of relief washed over him when he saw the emotions reflected in her hazel irises. Her cheeks were rosy now, blushing with the excitement and her eyes were moist. He grinned. Who was getting soppy now? She stood and threw herself around his neck. He was glad he had sat down, as he might not have been able to withstand her teenaged enthusiasm.

"Oh, Dad, it's beautiful," she exclaimed. He wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled her close.

"Happy birthday. I love you, darlin'," he muffled against her chest, hiding his tears. This time it was her who pressed a kiss in his hair.

"Can I put it on?" she asked excitedly, wiggling herself free from his arms. He nodded and stood to put it around her neck. It fit perfectly with just enough room for her to grow a wee bit more. The glass and silver caught the light, glittering. As she had told him so many weeks ago, purple was the perfect color for her. When he saw her standing there, face beaming, hair flowing around her face and neck, wearing nothing but her thin night gown and the necklace, he realized that his little girl indeed was well on her way to becoming a stunningly beautiful woman. It was too much to take and his already weakened heart did what it had done thirteen years ago when he saw her for the first time. It melted.

His legs were buckling and the room was spinning. He stumbled over to the table to catch himself on a chair. His eyes darted up and despite his blurring vision he saw the frightened look on Daisy's face. He wanted to tell her some reassuring words but failed, struggling for air.

"Dad, are you okay?" she asked. To his relief she sounded more confused than worried. She sat down next to him, putting a hand on his arm.

"'M all right, darlin'," he managed to get out in between heavy breaths. With a big effort he was calming down and the dizziness subsided. She tilted her head and squinted at him.

"Dad, I'm not stupid. That was really odd. You seemed like you were going to pass out. And you still look like shit. Have you not been sleeping again?" Her voice was full of worry now.

"Woke up early, couldn't go back to bed," he mumbled.

"We found you asleep at the kitchen table last night. Freaked me out. Mum said you had a rough day." Her hand was still resting on his arm but her grip had tightened ever so slightly with her anxiety. His attempt at a smile failed and the furrow on her forehead grew deeper.

"You look so worn out, Dad. I know that's not a nice thing to say, but I'm worried about you," she confessed. She hesitated and he could tell she was mustering courage for whatever she wanted to say next.

"It's getting to you, isn't it? The murder of those girls. I wish you could get off this case, it's not good for you," she blurted out, looking anywhere but at him. He was glad she didn't because it took him a moment to rid his expression of his own panic and fears that had surfaced with her comment. She turned back to him, tears running down her cheeks. He put his hand on hers and this time he was able to smile reassuringly. He opened his mouth, but before he could say something, she cut him off.

"Don't lie to me. Be honest. I'm old enough to not just hear some empty words that don't mean anything," she said quietly.

Hardy sighed. Indeed, she was older. "All right then. It is getting to me. Because it's such an awful thing to do to anybody, let alone two young girls. And, yes, I am exhausted and bothered by it, but it's my job, darlin'. And now that I'm involved with it, I don't think I could find peace of mind until it's over, until we find whoever did this. Do you understand?" He hoped it was enough to make her feel better.

She was still crying. He took her hand and pulled her over to him, made her sit on his lap. "Listen, don't get so worried about me. I'll be fine. I'm taking care of myself and…"

"Shit you are. You never take care of yourself and from the look of you, you're not doing it now either," she interjected, getting more angry now. She wiped at her tears. The scowl was back. He didn't know how to fix this and it was distressing him.

"I can't quit the case, I have to finish it. I promised the families to find the murderer and I even promised you that I would. Tell me how I can make you feel better about this. Please?" he pleaded with her.

Daisy's expression changed. The anger was wiped away with her last tears and she looked rather determined. "Fine. I get that. But you can't run yourself down like this. You've got to eat and sleep properly. No more staying away overnight. I want to have breakfast with you every day." She hopped off his lap and put the kettle back on. "And you're not allowed to fall asleep wherever you think it suits you. And you gotta do something about that hair, it's despicable," she scoffed.

He chuckled and ran his fingers through his fringe. "I kinda like it that way. I think it makes me look more like a – what's the word? – hipster," he teased.

Daisy laughed and he was glad he had broken her gloomy mood. "Dad, have you seen yourself? You're so far from being a hipster that it's not even funny anymore. You even wear a suit when you go the movies with me. So not cool, by the way."

She placed the mug that she had made for him as a little child in front of him. Her wide hazel eyes rested on him, all serious again. "Let me take care of you, Dad. You've done this for me for the last thirteen years, so maybe it's my turn now, right?"

"Aye," was all he could say, too emotional for any other words. She kissed him on the cheek and went on to make breakfast for them. She didn't allow him to help, even when he protested that it was her birthday and he should be doing this for her. She argued, it was what she wanted as a present. He finally gave up. It sure was a treat for him, getting to spend those early morning hours with her and it drove away all the lingering feelings of his nightmare. He felt happier than he had in days. And when Tess joined them for breakfast and hers and Daisy's laughter rang clear through the house, he could almost ignore Pippa's ghost lurking in the dark. The river had not claimed everything after all.

Hardy dropped Daisy off at school. He stayed a few moments longer, watching her walk in. It made him happy to see her surrounded by her friends hugging her and wishing her all the best on her big day. Just before he was about to pull away from the curb, she turned around and waved at him, breaking all her own rules of not showing any embarrassing emotions for her soppy father who tended to be way too affectionate in front of her class mates. He waved back and smiled, his heart warmed up by her gesture.

He parked the car and decided to risk getting tea at the corner coffee shop. He feared that the journalist would be there again but he was stubborn enough not to change his ways just to avoid her. While he was walking over there, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Daisy. She had sent him a picture she had taken of herself wearing the necklace and the dress from the wedding. She must have done that before they left home. Her smile was gorgeous and as he had suspected, the dress and the necklace were a perfect match. His face lit up, lips curled into an equally gorgeous smile when he saw the message.

Dad, don't cry. I can see you doing it. I never said thank you for this wonderful gift. I read your card. I will not forget, ever. And I love you too, always. Daisy.

He stopped right at the door, breathing in a deeply in order to not tear up as she had ordered. Someone bumped into him. He turned around to apologize for his abrupt halt. It was Karen White and he cursed under his breath, smile and brightness gone from his face.

"Ah, nice to see you too, DI Hardy. How are you this morning? You looked happy, at least until you saw me," she greeted him. She peeked around his body, looking at the still open screen of his phone. He quickly pocketed it but it was too late.

"Is that your daughter? She's got your eyes. Pretty. Isn't it her birthday today?" she pried.

How the fuck did she know this? This kind of information about members of the police force was kept confidential. He was livid and felt his privacy had been very much violated.

"That's none of your business. Keep away from my family or you'll regret it," he growled, Scottish accent thick.

"How can I keep away from your family, if your lead DS is your wife? You sure keep that very well hidden. Anything to do with the Carter case?" she replied smugly.

He could feel himself paling. Nobody in the South Mercia Police knew about the Carter case with the exception of Tess, Baxter and the Chief of Police. He took in a deep breath and moved closer to her face.
"What are you implying? Because I really don't see what that has to do with anything. Once again, stay away from my wife and my daughter. And stay away from my past, this is not about me." His voice was low, laced with all the loathing he felt for her.

"Did I touch a sore spot there, DI Hardy? So sorry," she added, voice dripping with sarcasm. Remembering Baxter's words, he pushed away all the anger he had and tried to be more diplomatic.

"Listen, I don't know what your deal is and why you have such a grudge against the police. We are doing our best to solve this case and there is really no need for this hostility or dragging out old things. I'll get these families justice but I don't need distraction from you or any other members of the press."

Maybe she bought it or maybe she was just playing another game, but her expression changed and with a much softer voice, she continued. "I talked to Ricky Gillespie. He's a wreck. He lost his daughter and he's losing his wife to alcohol because she can't cope. Are you going to help those parents or is this just another case for you?"

She looked him straight in the eye. Either she was a really good liar or she was genuinely concerned about the families. A brief image of Cate holding onto a glass of wine for dear life and a beaten down Ricky flickered through his mind before settling on his memory of Marilyn Newbery, so alone in all this. He dragged his hands over his cheeks and closed his eyes for a moment. Pippa's face ghosted against the insides of his eyelids.

Looking down on the ground, he quietly answered her question. "No, it's not just another case. How could it be? Who would leave a child to rot in the river? And we still haven't even found Lisa."

"See, was that so hard? All I want is to hear the real story, talk about the humans who are involved, not just facts. It's all about the families and the people who are helping them to get justice. Like you," she spoke softly.

When he felt her hand on his elbow, his gaze snapped up and seeing her smiling face, he realized what she was doing. Oh, she was good. He had almost fallen for it. He pulled his arm away abruptly.

"If you think you can appeal to me as a father and get to me emotionally, you're wrong, Ms. White," he snarled at her.

She let out a short laugh. "Why so defensive, DI Hardy? I know you don't believe me, but I actually do care about the families. And as for you – you seem qualified enough. The question remains though if being a father yourself will help you or prevent you from finding who did this. If the rumors are true, it was you who pulled Pippa out of that river and that must have had some impact on your ability to stay detached. It would have for me."

She paused to see his reaction. He tried to keep his face as impassive as he could. She was the last person he wished to discuss his experience with rescuing Pippa's body. He pulled himself together, heart beating uncomfortably fast by now and he wished he could hide somewhere and take his pills.

"I can't comment on that. It's part of the investigation. You should refrain from alluding to facts that are none." He knew his answer was weak and she might interpret his evasiveness as an affirmation of her suspicion. It was time to end this conversation that he never wanted to have to begin with.

"I think we are done here. Have a good day, Ms. White." He turned to leave, when she held him back with her hand.

"Think about it, DI Hardy. I can give you a voice before all the other journalists come down on you for failing to make any progress."

He shrugged her hand off and just shook his head. "I don't talk to the press."

When he walked away he could feel her stare burning between his shoulder blades. He resisted the urge to look back. He was sure this wasn't the last he'd seen of her. He would need to talk to Baxter about where she could possibly get her information from. She knew little of the case, but enough to ruin everything else.

There was a knock at his door and Hardy barged in without waiting for an answer. Baxter sighed and turned to face his DI. He frowned at the sight of him. He looked pale and slightly disheveled, hair falling into his face, his shirt and tie not matching. Hardy plopped down on a chair. He seemed out of breath and the scowl on his face could easily scare away a bunch of little children.

Baxter squinted at him. "Does your aggravation with life leave you breathless these days?" he jokingly said, trying to hide his serious concern.

Hardy huffed. "I'm out of shape. Shouldn't have walked the stairs. Bloody elevator takes too long." He scrubbed down his face with his hands. They were trembling. Then he looked Baxter in his eyes, a wild feral gaze burning at him. Baxter was getting worried. Something had seriously shaken him up and whatever it was, it couldn't be anything good.

"How does this bloody woman know about the Carter case?" he blurted out. Hardy was panting now and looked rather uncomfortable in his skin.

Alarmed and worried, Baxter sat up straight. "Who are you talking about?"

"Karen White, the bloody journalist." Hardy got up and started pacing back and forth a couple of times and then suddenly stopped, leaning against the door, apparently needing to catch his breath.

"Are you all right?" Hardy nodded and Baxter rolled his eyes at the blatant denial of the truth. He stood up and walked over to Hardy who was bent over, hands propped on his knees and sucking in air rapidly. His eyes darted around, panic making them wide. Baxter took Hardy's arm and led him back to the chair. He made him sit down and looked around in his office for a bag that he could have him breathe into. He found one and wordlessly handed it to his DI. Hardy took it and after a few minutes the moment passed and he calmed down. He still looked green in the face, but at least he had enough air in his lungs to talk. And hopefully listen as well.

"Tell me what happened," Baxter prompted quietly.

Hardy was staring at the floor. "She held me up at the corner coffee shop. She was there yesterday as well, trying to get me to talk to her. She saw a picture of Daisy and made a comment about it being her birthday today. I told her to stay away from my family and that's when she started talking about how she couldn't because my lead DS is my wife and that we are good at hiding that." He raised his head and found Baxter's eyes. "And then she asked if that had anything to do with the Carter case."

Baxter's eyebrow went up. There were only four people in this building who knew about the case – Hardy and his wife, the Chief of Police and he. None of them would ever talk to the press about it, so it had to have come from the Glasgow Constabulary.

"What did you say to that?" he inquired carefully.

"I again told her to stay away from my family and my past. That it's not about me. She made it clear that it was a deliberate attempt at riling me up and frankly she did," Hardy answered with a quiver in his voice that Baxter really didn't like hearing.

Baxter took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, buying himself some time to think before answering. If Karen White indeed had knowledge about Hardy's old case then they might be faced with a serious issue which could escalate quickly, if not handled carefully. Especially as this bloody woman had no love for the police force. He tried to ignore the panic welling up in his stomach. He needed to show support for his DI whose temper didn't leave him very well equipped to deal with a situation like that.

"Listen, try not to lose too much sleep over it. I'll find out who might have talked and how much she might know. You did nothing wrong back then and you know it," he said with as much reassurance as he could.

Hardy stared at him, eyes blank, possibly lost in the past. "Did I? I'm not so sure about that, Ed." His voice was gravelly and barely audible. "I took a life and it will always haunt me."

"You did what you had to do, Alec. You didn't have a choice," Baxter replied somberly. There were tears in Hardy's eyes when he nodded, his mouth open. Baxter stood and walked around his desk. He sat down next to his friend and put his arm around his shoulders.

"Try not to think about it right now. Focus on what's ahead. I'll have your back with this and I'll do my best to keep it out of the papers. I can't promise if she already knows too much, but I'll see what strings I can pull."

Before Hardy could say anything, there was a knock on the door and yet again it opened without granting permission to the intruder. Baxter was quick on his feet, moving slightly in front of Hardy to give him a moment to compose himself.

It was DC Swenson, immediately babbling away, oblivious of the situation she walked into. "DI Hardy, Claire Ripley is here. Do you want me…,"

"Next time you wait until you're being asked into the room," Baxter snapped at her and she ducked, the awkward atmosphere in the room finally registering with her.

"I'm sorry, sir. Thought you would want to know immediately." Her head was hanging down.

Hardy stood up behind him. "It's all right, DC Swenson. Just don't do it again. Bring her into the room. I'll be right there." His voice was rough, still affected by his emotions. The DC looked even more deflated, interpreting it as anger towards her. She turned tail and hurried out of the room.

Hardy sighed. "Now that went well. Another one for the 'Hardy - the grumpiest boss in town' collection. She's actually not that bad, just a little shy."

Baxter looked at his DI in surprise. He didn't utter words of praise very often, this was as close as it got.

"Are you okay questioning her? You still look a little flustered." He tried not to sound too worried.

Hardy ran his fingers through his hair and nodded. "Aye, I'll be fine," he breathed. He was almost out the door when he turned around fixing his wide eyes at Baxter. "And thanks for helping out with this."

And before Baxter could say anything else, Hardy closed the door behind him. He stared at it for a while and then went to call his friend in the Glasgow police department.

A/N: The chapters so far have mostly been dictated by the days in Alec's life. As things are picking up and Alec's days are getting longer I had to break up the original Chapter 12 (aka day 12 of the case) as it would have been rather lengthy. There will be 3 parts now to Day 12. It might feel a wee bit different from the usual flow but I hope you won't be too distracted.