A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than most others, I had my reasons, so please bear with me. It's dear to my heart and it might tug on yours, my kind readers. And I truly hope you won't feel it's too much or that I've gone off the deep end. It's Tuesday, Day 17 of the investigation…

CHAPTER 24

Hardy woke screaming. He was alone in the bed. His sheets were soaked and so was he. The horror he had just lived through was making him shake and as usual he struggled to breathe, despite his heart holding up surprisingly well. He hurried to get up, needing to leave the place of his nightmares, even if that didn't seem logical. Besides, the dreams would follow him regardless of how far he'd run.

He rushed through the shower, unable to find the usual comfort in the routine. Daisy was already in the kitchen, when he got there. She placed a mug of tea in front of him, smiling, but keeping to herself until he drank at least half of it. He silently thanked her for humoring his grouchy morning demeanor. He checked the time on his phone and wished he hadn't. There were several texts and two voice mails from work.

After reading all of them and listening to DC Swenson's frustrated messages, he had had enough of the day already. They had questioned Ashworth about the car as soon as the solicitor had been available, but Ashworth refused to give them any information. The address of the new owner was outdated and they had no current information on that person. The traffic division hadn't had any luck so far and the review of CCTV hadn't yielded any trace of the vehicle. SOCO had found nothing of significance in the Ashworth house and they were running out of time before they either needed to charge Ashworth or had to let him go.

He tossed his mobile on the table with an angry grunt. "Fuck," he mumbled.

"Dad, language," Daisy piped from the sink where she was doing the dishes.

"Oh, please, don't give me this shit right now," he blurted out before he could hold himself back. He looked up to find a shocked Daisy, frozen in the middle of the kitchen. He immediately regretted his tone and choice of words, but what had been said was said. He stood and took a step towards her. She shied away.

"I'm sorry, darlin'. That was not okay," he apologized.

"No, it wasn't. It was mean. I was just joking," she replied, the hurt in her voice unmistakable.

Rubbing at his face, he sat down again. He very rarely lost his temper with Daisy and certainly not over something like this. Clasping his hands on the table, he stared at the wooden surface. He didn't even know what to say.

Daisy pulled out a chair opposite him. He didn't dare look at her. "It's all right, Dad. You're stressed out."

He felt awful that she had to come up with an excuse for him. Sometimes, he was such a failure as a parent.

His damn mobile buzzed again and he snatched it up. It was another message from Swenson in regards to the car. They had a suspicion that the new owner might have left the country with it. For fuck's sake.

"Dad, can I talk to you about something?" she asked shyly. Hardy's head snapped up. He had been miles away.

"Sure, Daisy," he said absentmindedly, nervously playing with the phone in his hands. If they couldn't find the car, then they had no avenue left to pursue. His only chance of getting Ashworth charged was if Claire Ripley revoked his alibi.

"Dad? Are you listening?" Daisy's angry voice broke into his thoughts.

Bollocks. He had no idea what she had been talking about. He blinked and focused his attention on her. It was too late. She abruptly pushed back her chair and walked out of the room without another word. Not fast enough though that he didn't notice her scowl and her watery eyes. He hurried after her, catching her at the door when she was leaving.

"Daisy, please. I'm sorry I was distracted. What is it that you wanted to talk about?" He tried to make peace.

"Why do you even care? All this time you haven't been listening," she spewed at him furiously. Her face was red and her eyes glittered with angry tears.

"Daisy, of course I care about you." He stepped closer and reached for her arm. She pushed his hand away.

"Don't you dare think you can just hug it out. That's not good enough. You haven't been paying attention to me or Mum for a long time and I'm fed up with it. Leave me alone!" she shouted and slammed the door in his face.

Hardy stared at it. He had no idea for how long. Daisy's words had cut deep. They left a wound in his already ailing heart that he didn't know how to tend to. And what made things worse was that she was right. He hadn't been paying attention, not in the past weeks. He had barely seen her. Or Tess, unless it was at work.

Eventually, he turned around, found his things, put on his coat and left his house behind, unable to shake the feeling that he had made himself unwelcome in the only place he always thought he'd be able to call home. His family.

The morning brief was torture. Hardy was still on edge, like he had been since he woke up. The argument with his daughter had left a bad taste in his mouth. He let Tess and Thompson take the lead as they had handled the arrest and the search of Ashworth's house. His only contribution was to emphasize the importance of finding the missing car.

Not unexpectedly, Baxter showed up in Hardy's office not even five minutes after they finished, dragging Tess and Thompson along with him. They all crowded into his small space and he felt cornered by their presence.

"I was able to convince CPS to give us forty-eight hours to charge Ashworth but no more than that," Baxter opened the discussion.

"He's not going to confess anything," Tess sighed. "This morning he even refused to acknowledge that he ever had a car."

"How about the search of his house? Did SOCO turn anything up?" Baxter asked Thompson.

"Their final report is still outstanding, but so far what they can tell from running some DNA samples overnight they only found traces from Claire and Lee. They commented on how clean the house was."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tess asked. "Since when does SOCO judge the cleanliness of a home?"

"I assume they are referring to areas where people normally don't clean frequently? Such as door surfaces, behind furniture, under rugs? Indicating that someone might have scrubbed down the house not so long ago which could imply a thorough erasing of traces after a crime is committed. Am I correct?" Hardy interjected without much energy. He stifled a yawn. His heart was beating slowly again and it made him drowsy.

Both Tess and Baxter's heads turned around and their eyes bore into him. Tess was annoyed, but there was something else in Baxter's gaze. Hardy was too tired to care about either one of them.

"Yes, sir. That's exactly what they said. So far they haven't found any traces of either Pippa's or Lisa's DNA at the Ashworth home. We know for sure though that at least Pippa was a frequent visitor at her neighbor's. Considering that we did find DNA all over the house, but not the girl's, this is surprising. There should have been some, just as much as we have traces of Lee's and Claires' DNA at the Gillespie house."

"But it doesn't prove anything," Hardy sighed. His mind was foggy and he wished he'd had the energy to walk about. His gaze wandered up to the ceiling tile while he leaned back in his chair.

"So, do we think then that Lee killed at least one of the girls in his house, if not both, and disposed of both bodies in two different areas - one of which we still have no idea where, mind you – and then scrubbed down his house? And all of this without his wife knowing or noticing any of it?" Hardy summarized his thoughts.

When Hardy posed it that way all four of them went mute. It sounded so unlikely. Hardy swiveled back and forth in his chair, trying to force his sluggish brain to think. They were missing something but nobody could put their finger on it.

"Claire followed me to the park yesterday. She –"

"She did what?" Tess exclaimed, annoyance dripping off of her words.

"She followed you?" Baxter said at the same time, but his voice reflected instant worry.

Hardy looked from one to the other and frowned. "Can I maybe finish my sentence? I don't know for sure, but she showed up in the park. The only way I can think of how she knew where I was is if she followed me."

"She'd better stay away from you," Tess hissed.

Hardy huffed. "Tess, please don't be silly. She could be our key witness and there is no reason to believe anything else."

"That might well be, Alec, but if she's stalking you, that should raise some concern. Even you have to admit that," Baxter reasoned.

Hardy tried to focus on his boss. His vision had gone blurry a few minutes ago and he had a hard time resisting the urge to blink repeatedly or shake his head.

"Lee hurt her," Hardy cut to the chase, tired of the discussion about Claire's behavior. "She said she won't come forward until he is in custody. I'm almost certain that she wasn't home with him."

"Ach, she told you that lie again?" Tess spat.

"No, Tess. It's not a lie. I saw the bruises," he replied between clenched teeth. He still felt guilty about not taking Claire more seriously.

"Then she should press charges," Tess stated, pulling up an eyebrow.

"She's not going to do that. She's afraid. Wouldn't you be?" Hardy asked softly.

"I don't have a husband who's a child killer and beats women," Tess snapped back.

Thompson sighed and Tess spun around. Her eyes narrowed. "What is that supposed to mean? Are you on his side now as well?" she growled.

Thompson turned red in his face and dropped his gaze. Tess glared at him and then stormed out of the room. The three men looked at each other. Neither one of them spoke a word until Baxter broke the awkward silence.

"Right." He took in a deep breath and let it out. "We have about a day until we have to release Ashworth. Thompson, why don't you follow up on the forensics report and light a fire under the traffic division to find that car," he ordered the DS.

Thompson acknowledged his boss with a nod and made haste to leave Hardy's office. Baxter stayed behind.

"What was that about? Tess, I mean," Baxter asked Hardy as soon as the door had closed.

Hardy sighed deeply. "She thinks I've been flirting with Claire Ripley and that the woman is after me."

Baxter tilted his head. "And? Have you?"

Hardy snorted. "Seriously? I'm not even going to answer that question."

"What about Claire then? Is she following you around?" Again, there was concern in Baxter's voice.

Hardy shook his head slowly. "As I said before, I think she's playing games with me, but I don't think she's stalking me. She seemed genuinely scared and the bruises were certainly a sign of violent behavior towards her." He paused and then sighed, "I should have believed her."

"Be careful, Alec. Don't get caught up in something that you can't control," Baxter cautioned him.

Hardy hummed in agreement and got up. He needed to talk to the families, now that they had arrested a suspect. Maybe they could shed some light on some of their questions. He absentmindedly tugged on his trousers. They had slid down when he stood.

"Alec, how much weight have you lost?" Baxter asked gently. Hardy stopped, only now becoming aware of his hands on his belt. When he turned to face Baxter, they trembled ever so slightly, before he could hide them in his pockets.

Baxter's eyes mirrored the worry that his words had carried and it was almost too much to bear for Hardy. He ran his tongue over his teeth and ducked his head.

"Not sure. Enough for you to notice, I guess," he said barely audible.

Baxter stood up and placed his hand on Hardy's shoulder. "You know I really want to get this bastard for what he did to those girls. But just as much I want this to be over so that you can heal." He smiled sadly at Hardy and then hurried out of the room. Hardy stood there for a long time. Eventually, he took in a deep breath and forced himself to go on.

Hardy decided to go see Marilyn Newbery before dealing with the Gillespies. The house appeared greyer than when he came there for the first time. The tulips had wilted and their heads were hanging low in the small flower patch. He noted that dark purple pansies and bright blue forget-me-nots had been added. He was staring at them lost in his own imagery of bluebells and dead children, when the door opened.

"They were Lisa's favorites," Marilyn quietly cut into his meandering thoughts. "She never liked the tulips, too much red and pink, she used to say."

Hardy looked up to meet her watery blue eyes. He blond hair was untidily flowing around her face that was gaunter than two weeks ago. It made her look younger and even more like her missing child.

"May I come in? I'd like to talk to you about something."

Her eyes widened, but she moved to make room for him, not saying a word. She took him to the kitchen again and they sat in the same chairs as the last time. The house was dead silent besides the ticking of the wall clock over the stove.

"We've arrested a suspect," Hardy stated with a hushed voice, as if he didn't want to break the quiet.

"Who?" Marilyn whispered, kneading her trembling hands together.

Hardy hesitated. As they had not officially charged Ashworth, he was not supposed to reveal his identity.

"We haven't charged him yet, so I'm not really supposed to say anything." Marilyn's tearful eyes were hanging on his lips, hoping for him to tell her who changed her life forever.

"I understand," she mumbled, casting her gaze down.

Hardy didn't have it in him to stay silent. To hell with protocol, he thought. This was wrong, she deserved to know.

"It's Lee Ashworth."

She covered her mouth with her hand, the other balled into a fist, and looked away. When she turned her eyes back to him, they were dark blue-grey storm clouds and her expression had hardened.

"Did he kill Pippa?" Her voice carried the same anger as her face.

"We have reason to believe so," Hardy replied softly.

"Who does something like this? Kill a child. I don't understand. Did he say why?"

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry." He felt awful for not sharing but then even if he did, there weren't any answers.

Her eyes bore into him and her voice trembled with her next question. "And Lisa?"

"He denies everything," Hardy revealed before he could hold himself back. Marilyn hit the table with her flat hand and Hardy jumped. He didn't expect the outburst. His heart tripped up over the sudden scare, suddenly slowing down to what seemed almost a halt. Marilyn's face swam out of focus. He took in a few deep breaths, waiting for the moment to pass.

"You didn't find her." It was not a question, but an affirmation of the facts.

Hardy shook his head, holding on tightly to the edge of the table.

"And you don't think you will." Her voice was toneless, devoid of any emotion.

"We won't stop searching though," Hardy promised, catching her eyes with his. She tilted her head and put her hand on his arm.

"You look like you might have to," she said not without kindness.

"What?" he moaned, confused and rubbing his chest. His heavy head came up to be greeted by the clock over the stove spinning around him together with the rest of the room. Marilyn's blurry face moved farther and farther away in his tunneled vision until he was surrounded by only blackness.

The next thing he became aware of was the cold floor tiles under his body and Marilyn's worried voice filtering through.

"DI Hardy? Can you hear me?" She was shouting in his ear and he groaned a response.

"Can you talk?"

"'Course I can," he slurred his words while he was trying to pick himself up from the floor. She helped him into a sitting position. Hardy slumped against the kitchen cabinets, breathing heavily. His hands searched through his pockets and produced the pills. Marilyn stood and handed him a glass of water, not letting him out of her sight. He swallowed them down and leaned his head against the wood, closing his eyes.

"You didn't call an ambulance, did you?" he finally managed to say after it became easier to breathe. He was watching her through half-opened eyes.

"No, but I almost did. You scared the shit out of me. Your face went grey and then you fell on the floor, out cold. I was about to call 999 when you woke up." She sounded flustered, but more so concerned.

"'M sorry that I scared you. Wasn't my intention." Something was nagging his mind. "What did you say before I…" – he swallowed, stumbling over the word – "… passed out."

She huffed. "I said, that you look like you would have to stop looking for Lisa. I guess I was right about that."

Hardy was still too sluggish to comprehend the meaning of her words. "I don't understand. We're not going to –"

"No, DI Hardy. I wasn't talking about you as in the police force." She bent down to pick up the glass he'd put on the floor. When she sat up again, she continued with a soft voice.

"I was talking about you as a person. I was thinking that you look ill and exhausted." Her eyebrow went up. "And then you fell off my kitchen chair," Marilyn added with a hint of sarcasm.

"Point taken," Hardy scoffed. He struggled to his feet, hands climbing up his legs. She stood and her hand hovered close to his arm but she didn't touch him. He realized that there was a question on her face.

"Go ahead, ask," he growled, dreading what she might want to know about his health. She surprised him.

"Are you going to finish this case? Because I don't think the others could," she said, the sharpness in her voice echoing with the fury that she had buried inside. Her blue eyes shot him a piercing glance, reflecting the flare of the otherwise well-hidden emotion.

His hands were holding on tightly to the back of a chair, knuckles turning white. "I promised you, didn't I?" he said in between two shuddering breaths.

"Can you though?" she added doubtfully.

"We're almost there, Marilyn. I'll see it through to the end," he vowed, hoping he wasn't a liar.

She stepped up to him and this time she did put her hand on his arm. She looked up and found his eyes. "And then you'll take care of yourself. Promise me that too."

He nodded, too choked up to be able to talk. She called him a taxi and they waited in silence at her door step. When the car came, his eyes fell on the forget-me-nots again.

"We'll find her. So that she can be remembered properly, with her favorite flowers watching over her." He squeezed Marilyn's hand, nodding in reassurance. He resisted the urge to wipe away her tears. Instead he turned and slowly walked away, hoping with his whole soul that the next time he saw her, he could bring her peace.

Hardy slumped in the back seat of the cab. The conversation with Marilyn had left him drained and he longed for the comfort of his home. He closed his eyes when the painful memory of the fight with Daisy surfaced. He wasn't that far from Daisy's school. Maybe he could catch her on her lunch break and apologize. Without hesitation he ordered the driver to change direction and found himself half a block from the school gate five minutes later.

He was reluctant to walk up closer, well aware of how touchy Daisy was about him picking her up. Students started to trickle out of the gate and he recognized a few of Daisy's classmates. Hardy finally found the courage to approach the gate when he noted Daisy leaving together with her friend Molly. They were laughing and a smile played around Hardy's lips, watching his child being happy. They were walking in the opposite direction, not noticing him. He tried not to feel like a stalker when he followed them slowly down the street.

Molly said something to Daisy and was rewarded with a smack on the arm and more laughter. Daisy suddenly stopped, patting down her body. She pulled out her mobile and answered it. A brief conversation ensued and Daisy started looking around. Hardy mimicked her motions and came to a prompt halt. Daisy had spotted who she was looking for. She hung up the phone and ran towards Tess, throwing herself into her mother's arm. Judging from Tess' tight embrace and her stroking Daisy's hair, Hardy was certain that Daisy was crying. He had no doubt that he was the reason behind those tears.

Tess was talking quietly into her daughter's ear. Then she pressed a kiss on her head before releasing her. She put her arm around her shoulders and Daisy rested her head against her side. Hardy's heart was heavy. He had brought pain to his daughter with his impatient outburst and inattentive behavior. There were no excuses for it and the guilt was forming a hot knot inside his stomach.

He watched them walk away, entwined and finding solace in each other from sorrow that he had caused. And despite feeling consoled by the thought that Daisy had found comfort in her mother's arms, he had never quite felt as lonely as when he turned his back on them and left them behind.

The SOCO van was yet again parked in front of the house, but this time the people in the white overalls walked in and out of the Ashworth residence. Hardy briefly acknowledged his colleagues. Thompson who was coordinating the efforts didn't have anything to report and there was no news from the car search either. Hardy sighed and trudged over to the Gillespies' entrance.

Cate opened the door and basically dragged him inside.

"What the hell is going on? Why doesn't anyone talk to us?" she demanded to know. Hardy was slightly thrown off balance by her and tipped against the wall. He rested his head against the cool plaster for a brief moment, breathing deeply. He could get through this conversation, just like he had waded through everything else this day so far – stubbornly ignoring all the emotions, pains and heart ache, and keeping on moving. If he stopped, he knew he wouldn't be able to go on.

"Cate, can we sit somewhere?" He didn't trust his legs and he wasn't keen on making acquaintance with Cate's floor like he had with Marilyn's.

Cate took him into the living room. She swiftly swooped up her wine glass and gestured to the sofa with it. He lowered himself on the cushion and waited for her to do the same. She didn't. Instead, she paced up and down, swirling the wine in the large round glass. Her movement made him dizzy and he settled on resting his eyes on a photograph of Pippa.

"Is Ricky here?" he began his talk.

"No. He's out working. Each their own distraction, right?" She let out a short nervous laughter. She stopped in front of him and looked down.

"Why are you searching Claire and Lee's house?" Her voice was trembling.

"We're looking for evidence." He should give her the same courtesy that he had granted Marilyn. "We've arrested Lee Ashworth as a suspect in connection with Pippa's murder."

The wine glass shattered against the wall right next to him. Hardy jumped like he had in Marilyn's house and like before his heart stumbled but recovered fast enough before he could pass out. He shot a quick glance at Cate who was standing in front of him, breathing heavily and clenching her fists. He carefully moved away from the glass shards and wiped at his face and coat that were both doused in wine. It didn't do much good and he gave up as soon as he had started.

"Is she in it, too?" Cate hissed, still shaking with anger.

"I assume by 'she' you mean Claire?" Hardy clarified. A piercing stare was answer enough.

"I can't tell you any details, we haven't even charged him yet. I'm sorry," Hardy replied with a gentle tone.

Her anger left her as quickly as it had come. She collapsed onto the sofa, a croaking noise escaping her throat. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and when she wiped them away they smudged over her face mixed with blood from a cut from the broken glass she was sitting on. Her shoulders were shaking with the sobs.

"We trusted him. It's our own fault," she cried.

Hardy wasn't sure how to comfort her in her grief. Words didn't seem appropriate and he couldn't find the right ones anyway. He cautiously placed his palm on her back. She twitched but didn't move away.

"It's not your fault, Cate. Don't blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong. You have no hand in this," he said quietly.

"How can you even say that? Obviously we did, otherwise Pippa would still be alive. We should have never left her alone," she spat at him.

She rose from the sofa and walked up to the porch door. Her hand came up and she placed it flush against the window. "We led her right in the arms of the predator. We failed as parents, I failed as a mother."

Her hand dropped, leaving a bloody stain on the glass. She stared at it for a few heart beats, then took the sleeve of her sweater and scrubbed it off more vigorously than needed. She turned and looked straight at Hardy.

"Did you find Lisa? Did the bastard tell you where he dumped her?" she asked with disgust in her voice.

Hardy flinched over her harsh words. He shook his head.

"You better find her. And you better put him behind bars, because if you don't, I'll kill him." She was as serious as Hardy had ever heard anyone. No raised voice, just a quiet and simple vow of revenge. It was terrifying him, more than any angry outburst could have. A cold shiver ran down his spine and all he wanted to do was leave. He got up slowly.

"Cate, if there is anything that you haven't told us that could help make the case against him, please tell me now. We have –"

"Are you telling me, you can't prove it? What have you lot been doing all this time then?" She took a few quick steps towards him and her face was so close to his that he could smell the wine on her breath. "If he walks free because you didn't do your job right, you better not bump into me somewhere alone."

Hardy backed away, staggered by the hostility in her voice. He didn't doubt her threat for one second. His heart was racing in his chest, leaving him weak. He swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together.

"I assure you we are doing what we need to do to get you justice. I was only asking to explore every alley," he replied, hoping he could calm her down.

She squinted her eyes at him, taking in his sincere expression. Then, suddenly, the tension left her body. She slumped onto the sofa and buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry. Of course you are. I don't know what I'm saying any more."

Hardy sighed deeply and sat down next to her again. "Cate, I'm not in your shoes. I can't even begin to imagine what must go on inside you. It's overwhelming you and you're drowning." Just like he was. "Maybe you should think of getting some help, talk to a counsellor?"

Her head hanging low, she nodded. "You might be right," she whispered, voice breaking. She looked up, eyes watery. "I'm so alone," she muttered.

Before Hardy knew it, he had pulled her into a hug. It was entirely unprofessional and against all policies but he couldn't let this broken woman perish in her pain. He was comforting her, from one parent to another. He held her tightly until her tears slowed down and she moved away from him.

He cleared his throat and mumbled, "I'm sorry. I hope that wasn't –"

She stalled him with her hand on his arm. "Thank you." Their eyes locked and Hardy knew she meant it.

He clambered to his feet. "I should go. Got things to do," he stumbled through his words.

She nodded silently and accompanied him to the door. Right before she closed it he turned to her and said, "I'm going to make sure he's locked away. I'll do anything for it, I promise."

"Good," was her sole response and she slowly swung the door shut.

Hardy stood straight and briskly left their house. He hurried down the street, around the corner, into a side alley. When he was sure nobody could see him, he slumped against the wall, slid down to the ground, pulled up his knees to his aching chest, buried his head under his arms and cried until he had no tears left.

Then he took in a shuddering breath, wiped away the snot, got up and drew upon all his remaining strength to go on.

Hardy had to find Claire. He had to convince her to disclose everything about that fateful Saturday night. She couldn't be at their house as SOCO was still there. Thompson suggested she might be at work. It was as good a guess as any and Hardy took his chance.

The bell of the hair dresser's store jingled when he opened the door. He was greeted by a "Be right with you." and felt immense relief when he recognized Claire's voice. He waited in the middle of the room. When she saw him, she stopped dead in her tracks, spun around and went straight back through the curtained doorway she'd been coming from. Hardy rushed after her, ignoring his protesting body.

He caught her right before she was slipping out the back door. His long fingers clamped down on her arm and yanked her back more forcefully than he'd wanted to.

"Oi, no running. We need to talk," he hissed.

"Let go of me. You're hurting me," she cried, an angry scowl distorting her face.

Hardy loosened his grip but didn't open his hand completely. He didn't trust her.

"Claire, you need to tell me what happened that night. We have Lee in custody and it's time to stop playing games," he stated sternly.

She crossed her arms and pulled her mouth into a pout. "As long as you're hurting me, I'm not going to say anything."

"Fine. But if you try to run again, I swear I'll have a warrant out on you in no time," he threatened and reluctantly moved his hands off of her.

She smirked and pretended to move towards the door. He didn't even flinch. It was a poor bluff on her part.

"Claire?" His eyebrows went up.

She giggled nervously. Then her eyes narrowed and her expression hardened. "Did you ask Lee if he hit me?"

Hardy wasn't sure what the safe answer was. He seriously questioned Claire's motivation for coming forth about her whereabouts that night. If she was only out to get back at her husband for domestic abuse then she would make a weaker witness. A clever solicitor could easily discredit her statement. Hardy suppressed a groan at his disgust over his own calculating thoughts. He should be more supportive to a woman who was under duress.

"No, Claire. I did not. We –"

"Why not? He needs to take responsibility for what he did," she snarled.

"That's exactly what we are trying to focus on," he replied softly. "To make him take responsibility for the murder of two girls. Claire, I hate to be so blunt, but this is bigger than a domestic squabble that didn't end well. It looks like Lee took two lives and he needs to be brought to justice for that. Do you understand?" he argued.

She let out a short laugh. "He sure did take two lives, didn't he?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. One of her hands came to rest on her lower abdomen and again Hardy was wondering if she was pregnant.

"Claire, are you telling me Lee murdered those girls?" he pried carefully, not wanting to put too much pressure on her.

She shook her head, pressing her lips together. Then, rather abruptly she blurted out, "You can't prove anything and he's going to walk free. And then he's going to come after me."

"Claire, if you tell me where you were that night, he won't walk free. I swear. We've got enough to convict him, if you testify," he pleaded with her. It was a lie, he couldn't be sure, but he had nothing else going for him. He needed her statement.

She was still shaking her head, trembling now. He stepped closer and gently put his hand on her elbow. He cocked his head and found her teary big eyes.

"I promise to protect you. No harm will happen to you if you help us." His voice was warm and kind and he was sincere. Why did it feel like selling his soul then?

She held his gaze, then leaned her head against his chest. "You promise?" she asked, her voice muffled against his coat. He knew she wanted him to hug her but he didn't.

"Aye, I do" he said, voice gravelly with his earnestness.

She pushed herself off of his body and looked him in the eye. The tears had been replaced with a victorious gleam. She had won their game. He was in her hand.

"I wasn't home all evening. Lee has no alibi," she stated coldly and Hardy shivered with the level of calculation that resonated in her voice.

He swallowed. He finally had what he wanted. It made him feel dirty.

"Come to the station with me and make an official statement. Now," he ordered her and started to walk towards the door.

"No."

"What?" He spun around, livid. He had enough of this game and her.

"Not today. I'll come tomorrow. Not negotiable." She was dead serious and he had no fight left in him.

"If you don't come in the morning, he'll walk free by the afternoon," was all he said and trudged away. For once, he had the last word.

By the time he returned to the station, he was utterly exhausted. He had stumbled from one emotionally draining moment into the next and his capability to cope was failing. He slammed the door of his office, shutting out everything. He glanced at the various notes with messages, the lack of news about the car being the most notable.

He hadn't even had a chance yet to take off his coat when Tess barged into his office. Her face was bright red and she wore a scowl.

"What the hell did you do to Daisy, Alec?" she spat at him.

He shrank under her rage and slumped onto the sofa.

"The poor girl was in tears when I saw her for lunch today," she continued. "She said you were mean to her and ignored her completely."

"I…" he stuttered, overwhelmed with his emotions. The guilt that had been eating at him all day long was drowning him and he had no words.

"For fuck's sake, Alec, how can you do this to her? She's been the center of your attention ever since she was born and now when she needs you most, you're a total arse about it," Tess ranted on.

"I'm not an arse, am I?" he asked, self-doubt making his voice shaky. He was hurt by her words and what they implied about him. He couldn't help but think there might be some truth to it. She didn't reply to his question.

"Daisy was crying, Alec, bitterly. She said you've been so distant and not involved and she can't understand why. She thinks it's her. It took me quite some effort to convince her that it's not anything she did or hasn't done but that it's you," Tess went on, not showing any mercy.

He closed his eyes and leaned back on the sofa. His daughter thought he didn't care about her. What had he done? What had this case done to him? He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyeballs in a desperate attempt to get a grip.

"I know there's a lot on your plate right now, Alec, but you can't take it out on her. We're just lucky that I'm handling things better than you are at the moment. And maybe it's for the better anyway. Some of the things that are going on with Daisy are rather delicate and certainly need a girl's mother more than her father." Tess made a compelling argument. He was failing as a father. It was easy to believe.

Hardy opened his eyes and looked at his angry wife. "'M sorry, Tess," he breathed.

"That's all you have to say? That's not good enough. Daisy needs someone right now and if you can't be that person, then at least have the decency to not make her miserable," Tess demanded.

He nodded silently.

"Good." It seemed she'd gotten what she came for. Without saying anything further, she took off as quickly as she had swooped down upon him, leaving devastation behind.

His mind was blank, unable to process what had happened. All he knew was that it hurt, badly. His chest was burning and he felt so empty. By the time he realized that the sensation was quite literal, it was too late. The pills never made it into his mouth before he passed out for the second time that day.

Hardy woke up in the dark. Nightfall had come and only a few noises trickled in from the main CID office. He sat up slowly, disentangling himself from his coat. His mobile clattered to the ground. When he bent down to pick it up, he noted several missed calls. He unlocked the screen hoping it would be news about the car, only to find an angry voice mail from Emily Abbott, reminding him that he was supposed to get in touch if he wanted to keep her as his cardiologist.

With effort, he stood up and dragged his tired body over to his desk where his medication was safely tucked away. The monitor of his computer was the only light in the room. He clumsily sifted through his drawer, hunching over while his other hand braced him on the corner of the table. His chair was tempting but he knew that if he sat down in it he'd never get up again. His body didn't deserve any more punishment than it already had received that day.

His eyes fell on the newspaper that someone had left behind for him. He brushed away the memo papers that cluttered the headline and immediately wished he hadn't.

"Arrest Made In The Sandbrook Murders – A Desperate Attempt By The Police To Save Face?"

Underneath it was a picture of him with a juicy legend about his past, questioning his competency and abilities. Holding on to the paper that was shaking in his hands, he fell hard onto his chair. Despite his better judgement, he read the article. His elbows were perched on the tabletop, his palm supporting his heavy head. Forgotten were the pills that he should have taken hours ago. The slanderous and disparaging words were an onslaught that after the day he had, he barely could handle. He crouched over the article and tortured himself by reading it again. The letters swam in front of him in the dim blue light of the computer monitor. He rubbed his burning eyes with his fingers, glasses pushed up onto is forehead.

"Sir?"

DC Swenson's quiet voice shook him out of his self-deprecatory thoughts. His head snapped up and he sucked in air sharply through his nose. His not-so-stealthy attempt at wiping away his tears didn't go unnoticed.

"You don't deserve this, sir," Swenson commented angrily, waving her hand vaguely at the newspaper that Hardy was clutching.

Hardy squinted at her against the light that was framing her filtering through the half opened door behind her. He rubbed his stinging eyes again. The doubt that he felt must have found his way onto his face. Swenson stepped closer. Her arm twitched at her side, but then she didn't reach for him after all.

"We've arrested Ashworth and that is to your credit, no one else's. What you said to your wife the other day, that whatever we have in this case came from your work is the truth, and we all know it."

Hardy cleared his voice but his words were still hoarse. "Goes the other way round too. If we can't convict him, it's on me as well."

"Don't think like that. We've found a good amount of –"

"Swenson, any clever solicitor could get him off if we don't find any hard evidence," Hardy interrupted her harshly. He saw her face falter and felt bad. "'M sorry, didn't want to snap at you. I appreciate your support. You've done good work on this." He smiled and she blushed. He finally let go of the paper, draping it over the pills that he had left out on the table.

Looking up he realized, she'd seen them. Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything. He dragged his hands down his face.

"Any news about the car?" he tried to distract. Her eyes were still fixed on the same spot when she shook her head.

"Sir, can I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer," she added quickly when she saw the grimace on his face. It had nothing to do with her words but she couldn't know that. His heart protested the fact that he was more than overdue for his medication.

"Go on," he said softly, wondering how he'd explain his marital issues to her.

"I've noticed you've lost…" she hesitated and Hardy's stomach clenched up. She wasn't going to ask him about Tess but about his health. He held her gaze and her blush turned crimson.

She took in a deep breath, mustering her courage. "I've noticed you don't look well. You look like you've lost a lot of weight and you're so tired all the time."

Hardy sighed. "'M fine, Swenson." What else was he going to say?

"I've seen the tape, sir. You're not fine," she blurted out.

Hardy stiffened up. Claire's first interview, he'd forgotten that he almost fainted while being recorded. Sooner or later someone had to have noticed.

"It's nothing, Swenson. I wasn't feeling well that day, had a stomach bug," he explained. He didn't even believe himself. He was a miserable liar.

Swenson nodded, worry still clouding her face. "If you say so. It's just…" she trailed off.

He cocked his head and gave her a small smile. "Out with it. I can see something's bugging you."

She reconsidered and her expression changed. "It's just that you're always so hard on yourself. You don't take breaks, you don't stop until it's done and I'm worried that you're ill and not telling anyone, because you want to finish this case. You'd continue until you literally can't any more, until it's maybe too late." Her initial words had been strong and said with conviction, but when she reached her last sentence her voice trembled and was barely audible.

Hardy's mouth gaped open, staring at his DC not knowing what to say. He had utterly underestimated this young detective who was more perceptive than most people around him.

"You don't have to say anything. I get it. But maybe you could think about going easy on yourself at times. Be kinder with yourself, you know." She paused, fidgeting with the seam of her blouse. "And ask for help?" she added insecurely, looking anywhere but at him. She turned quickly to leave before he could answer. Right before she closed the door, she stuck her head back in and ordered, "Oh, and go home, would you please?"

He stared at the closed door, marveling at how this woman who barely knew him seemed more compassionate than his own wife. With a groan, he retrieved his pills and staggered back to the sofa.

A shudder rippled through him when he finally let himself look at the fact that he had passed out twice in the past twelve hours. He swallowed the tablets and realized that it had slipped his mind to take his medication since the morning. It gave him some consolation to blame his heart giving out on his forgetfulness rather than his poor state of health. The blinking light on his mobile reminded him to call Emily. He was too tired to talk. Instead, he texted an apology and that he would see her first thing in the morning.

Hardy's face darkened with the thought of what the next days would bring. He tossed his mobile on the sofa next to him, making the mistake of leaning back and closing his eyes. Sleep came quickly and it wasn't until the wee hours of the morning after waking up drowning and crying, that he trudged out of the station to find his way back to a dark and silent house. He sneaked into his home like a thief in the night, feeling lonelier than he ever had.

A/N: I wanted to thank HAZELMIST again for all her support, encouragement and help. I almost managed to have no of/off mistakes in this chapter and if there is one left, then I'll take the full blame. They are my specialty – that's what you get when English is not your first language. I also wanted to thank her for repeatedly going through all the heartache while re-reading the chapters multiple times. I believe her most notable quote on this round of editing is "AHHHHH YOU ARE MURDERING ME WITH ONE FREAKING LINE". If someone wants to kindly donate a gently used keyboard which supports frequent use of caps lock (not sure if her keyboard can handle the next chapters), a few boxes of tissues (apparently I make her cry very frequently), and hold her hand while she's in line to hug Alec Hardy, I'm sure she'd be grateful. I on the other hand immensely enjoy her running commentary and side notes and am very grateful for that. SO, THANK YOU MY FRIEND!