A/N: Thanks everyone for the comments on the last chapter. It's time to convince Alec's and Baxter's boss Chief Constable Liz MacMIllan who we met a few chapters back (and who grew very quickly on me). Also Baxter is having a really hard time. He might need a hug ;-)

CHAPTER 37

Hardy woke like he had fallen asleep, with Baxter right by his side.

"You didn't leave?" he rasped, moving stiffly in the bed. Every bone, muscle and whatever else there was that kept his treacherous body together seemed to ache.

"Good morning to you too." Baxter's attempts at teaching him manners never failed to amuse Hardy. He grunted a greeting that was drowned out by a sharp hiss. His broken ribs reminded him that he should stay put.

"Bloody hell," he wheezed, cradling his chest. He stubbornly tried to sit up and was punished with a stab in his side that made him see stars. He didn't give up though, and after another dizzying attempt, he finally managed to keep himself upright, panting and cursing under his breath, but still alive. For now.

Solely focused on the ordeal of moving his battered body, he'd forgotten all about Baxter. Hardy startled when he looked up and saw him sitting there, quietly observing his struggle.

"For God's sake, Ed, don't scare me like that," Hardy growled.

Baxter pulled the corners of his mouth down and raised an eyebrow. "It's not like I was hiding," he said sullenly. They glared at each other until Hardy rolled his eyes.

"So, did you ever go home?" A worried tone crept into Hardy's gruff voice. Baxter looked tired, but not as much as last night. He was clean-shaven and less disheveled. Hardy absentmindedly scratched his own scruff, longing for a hot shower. He'd have to get up for that though.

"I did," Baxter confirmed Hardy's assumption. "I'm on my way to the station," he added, studying his fingernails. He only did that when he had something on his mind.

Hardy shot him a sideways glance, wondering what Baxter was up to. His fingers raked through his sticky and itchy hair. The thought of a shower became more and more appealing. Hardy stuck a leg out from under the blanket, letting it dangle over the edge of the mattress. The motion didn't cause any major pain. Encouraged, he moved his other leg and turned slightly towards the side of the bed.

It was a mistake. A shooting jab jolted through his body and left him toppling over. Baxter caught his fall and propped him up.

"I was waiting for this," Baxter commented drily.

"Oh, don't be a smartarse," Hardy pressed through clenched teeth.

"You know, Emily and I have a bet going about when you'll try to make the run for it," Baxter said. Still catching his breath, Hardy wasn't looking at Baxter's face, but he could hear the smirk in Baxter's voice.

Hardy dignified the revelation with a grunt. Of course they would. "I'm glad the two of you are best mates now. Any joint plans for summer holidays yet?" he asked sarcastically while Baxter put his legs up and maneuvered him back to lying down.

"Not yet, but we're thinking about Scotland," Baxter replied with a sincere face.

"Scotland? Why would you wanna go there?" Hardy rose to the bait, unable to hold himself back.

"Oh, well, you know... great scenery, lakes and highlands and such...," Baxter trailed off, inspecting his fingers again.

"And?" Hardy's tone was laced with suspicion, awaiting the sarcastic remark that undoubtedly would follow. He couldn't help himself from getting drawn into Baxter's banter.

Baxter looked up and his steely eyes pierced Hardy's. "And after dealing with you, you stubborn knob, no Scot can ever scare us again."

Hardy's mouth gaped open. For once his wit had left him. After a few heartbeats he grumbled, "Didn't you say you have to go to the station?"

Baxter grinned, but then his expression changed and the seriousness returned. "I do. I have an appointment with Liz MacMillan. To sell her your shit plan."

Hardy cringed. He'd ignored the fact that without her buy-in they would never be able to get away with what he thought would save his daughter's world from shattering. It was time to face the harsh reality of how to make it happen. He scratched his eyebrows with his pinkie finger.

"What're ya going to tell her?" He heard his Scottish accent creeping into his words, a sure sign of how uncomfortable he was with making Baxter his messenger.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe that you're a moron who wants to ruin his career and his life to protect his irresponsible and adulterous –"

"Stop it, Ed," Hardy interjected and shut Baxter up before he could use any expletives. The heartache he was feeling was bad enough, but with every mention of what had transpired, with every time it was said out loud, the knife was driven in deeper and twisted around. "I want to talk to her myself," Hardy demanded insecurely.

"And how do you propose that should happen? It's not like you're going to walk out of here anytime soon," Baxter scoffed.

Hardy ducked his head. "Did you have to say that?" he complained. "You should tell me what your bet was, so I make sure you'll lose," he added in a sad attempt at a comeback.

"Ha, not going to." Baxter shook his head and let out a frustrated huff. "Seriously though. I'll have to tell her what's going on. She ordered me to come in first thing in the morning to discuss disciplinary actions for Tess and Thompson."

There it was again, that knife, being driven in deeper, by the mere mention of the two of them in one sentence. The worst part was that he didn't even feel satisfied with the thought of them being punished. It could never make up for the damage they'd caused. Hardy searched Baxter's scowling face and doubt grew in him. There was no way in hell that Baxter would be able to convince Liz MacMillan to blatantly ignore all of her principles that for decades she'd worked so hard to uphold. He'd have to do it himself.

"Can't you get her to come here?" Hardy cringed at how pathetic he sounded. And also because the idea of Tess and Thompson together had set off an insidious arrhythmia spell that was rendering him more and more uncomfortable. He curled and uncurled the numb fingers of his left hand, hiding it under the sheet. It was a feeble attempt at concealing the fact that whatever strength he'd had earlier was quickly swept away by his treacherous heart.

Baxter leaned forward and rested his clasped hands on the bed. "Alec, she's the Chief Constable, she doesn't do house calls," Baxter lectured with a resigned tone. Yet again they faced off in a daggered staring match. Hardy's vision blurred, but he didn't let on. This time, it was Baxter who rolled his eyes and looked away first.

"Fine. I'll see what I can do," he sighed and stood. Baxter's gaze got stuck on the monitor and Hardy knew he was busted. Baxter blinked away the flicker of grief that had filled his eyes and when he turned to face Hardy there was determination burning in them. It should have inspired confidence in Hardy, but there was something else in Baxter's expression that made that doubt flare up again.

"I have to tell her. Can't be you," Hardy implored his friend.

"And why not, Alec?" came Baxter's sharp reply.

"Because ultimately you don't agree with it. You can never be as convincing as I can be," Hardy voiced aloud what both knew to be true.

"Yeah, because it's a shit plan," Baxter muttered under his breath. He kicked an imaginary pebble, head hanging down. The determination that Hardy had seen mere moments ago was faltering, confirming Hardy's fear about his friend's second thoughts. A flutter in his chest reminded him how desperately he needed Baxter's support to see this through.

The monitor finally had caught up with what Hardy had noticed minutes ago and blared its alarm through the room. Baxter's eyes were mesmerized by the green crawl on the screen. Hardy couldn't make out his face any more, but he saw him slowly shaking his head.

"I can't do it, Alec. Tess did this to you and I can't let her get away with it. I'm sorry." Baxter's voice broke.

Hardy closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He drew on all the strength he could muster, sat up, wincing with pain, and reached for the alarming monitor. His trembling fingers stretched as far as they could and he hit the right button. The monitor flickered and then went black. No more distractions. Hardy fell back onto his pillow, struggling to have enough air to say what he had to.

"Enough of this, Ed," he rasped. "I did this to myself. If I had taken better care of myself, it wouldn't have come to this. If I had taken better care of my wife, it wouldn't have come to this. I'm responsible for what happened. I should have been there in more than one way and I wasn't. Not for Tess, not for Pippa and Lisa, and not for you, Ed. People put their trust in me and I disappointed everyone. I couldn't be what they needed me to be. And now it's too late. The only thing that remains is to put things right for the one person in my life that I've managed not to take down with me. She'll lose me, but at least she won't be left with nothing."

He sputtered out the words, just like he had sputtered out the murky water when he had tried to save a girl that couldn't be saved. The overwhelming feelings of remorse and regret drowned him in the river that he had never been able to come back from. His vision finally had failed him and he didn't know where up and down was. Losing all ground, he gave in and let himself be washed away.

"Please, help me," was the last thing he whispered before the river took him.

Baxter stared at the limp figure of an unconscious Hardy. Yet again. If there had ever been a question about the fragility of his friend's mind and body, that uncertainty had been shattered by the words Hardy had uttered before he'd passed out. Baxter was rooted to the spot until the ICU team shoved him to the side and he stumbled out of the room.

He knew he probably would hate himself for the rest of his life for going along with Hardy's plan, but how could he not? For a moment his doubt and sense of justice had won over the urge to help his friend. It didn't last long though. Hardy was a fierce negotiator, with his most compelling argument – a deadly heart condition that let him conveniently faint to underscore his point – being impossible to top.

He fled out of the ICU, needing to get away from all of it before he was supposed to meet with Liz MacMillan. It would have been nice to walk to the station to have some time to gather his thoughts, but he was running late. One didn't let Liz MacMillan wait, especially not if one wanted to convince her of something she would never agree to in her right mind. A few days ago, he would have thought the same of himself. His world had changed since then.

As soon as he reached the station, he was bombarded with messages by the desk sergeant. Running past him, he waved dismissively and flew up the stairs to MacMillan's office. When he got there, his shortness of breath rivalled Hardy's and he fell heavily onto a chair after he had bardged through the door.

Liz MacMillan raised one of her pristinely groomed eyebrows, closed the file folder she'd been working on and interlaced her bony fingers. She leaned forward, her dark eyes glowing. He was horrified when he realized he hadn't even knocked.

"Why, hello Ed. Come on in and take a seat," she greeted him, voice sharp as a knife.

He ducked and found himself once again studying those intricate wood carvings on her desk. He idly wondered if she had chosen the antique piece of furniture on purpose to help poor souls like him avoid her piercing gaze. He could feel it on him though, boring through him. He tugged nervously on his collar, feeling stifled by the sudden heat in him. One day, Hardy would have to make good for the ordeal he was putting him through. One day, when he...

"Ed!" His name whipped through his reverie and he jumped. He lifted his eyes and was met with MacMillan's unrelenting face.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," he croaked, clearing his throat.

"You're late," she informed him drily. She was tapping a pencil on the table, the only sign of her impatience. "Where have you been all morning?"

"In the hospital. I was with Hardy," he admitted.

"Oh. Is he...," – she hesitated the tiniest bit – "Is he awake?"

"Yes. They let him wake up Saturday morning and took out the breathing tube."

"And?" There was a bigger question hiding behind those three letters. Her face had softened.

"He seems to be his usual stubborn self." That was an understatement if there had ever been one. Baxter trailed his fingers along the wood carvings.

"What about his heart?" Baxter's eyes snapped up and he scrutinized the woman in front of him. Something in her tone made him think she wasn't only referring to the faulty organ but to something more than that. Her face was as impassive as it always was.

"Not good," he conceded. They exchanged a glance and Baxter was sure now, she'd meant it not only in the literal way.

She straightened out the file folder in front of her to a grid that was only present in her head. Baxter had known her long enough to recognize the subtle signs of her being disconcerted.

"Enlighten me about your next steps," she demanded roughly, changing the topic. Or at least she assumed she was directing their conversation away from Hardy. She couldn't have been more wrong. Baxter couldn't get a word out. His jaw twitched and he pulled his tense shoulders up. The silence dragged out until she finally lost her patience.

Her palm slapped down on that file folder she'd been fidgeting with. "God damn it, Ed, stop playing fucking games with me. If you can't handle the situation, because you're emotionally too close, I'll find someone who can. I can't afford to have my senior officers fall like dominoes."

"Hardy wants to talk to you," Baxter blurted out. Her face drew into a puzzled frown, doubtlessly confused by his sudden agitation.

"Sure. He can do that when he comes back," she agreed hesitantly. "We should really focus on matters at ha-"

"No. You don't understand," he interrupted her rudely. "He needs to talk to you now, Liz. Today," he emphasized. He cursed Hardy and his shit plan silently but nonetheless colorfully. This was ridiculous.

MacMillan leaned back in her chair, dark eyes resting on him. "And why would I need to do that?"

"Erm... he doesn't want me to tell." Baxter felt like a moron. He eyed his boss anxiously, waiting for the explosion to come. Instead she slowly pushed her chair back, walked around her desk, perched on the edge of the old wooden furniture and leaned into Baxter's face.

"I'm going to say this only once, CS Baxter, so you listen carefully." Her tone was measured and she enunciated every single word distinctly. "I do not care if Hardy is in hospital and I do not care if you are only guilty by association. You fucked up, both of you. Neither one of you is in a position to make any requests. Your heads are on the chopping block just as much as those of DS Henchard and DS Thompson. So, if he wants anything from me, he will have to wait until this shit storm has blown over and he is in a position again to stick his neck out. And if he thinks he can behave like a little kid, asking you to not tell me things, he is wrong."

Baxter bravely withstood her fiery gaze. "What if he doesn't come back? What if he never makes it out of that hospital, Liz?" Their faces were so close that he could see her pupils widen. Then she suddenly retreated, not quickly enough though for Baxter to miss the glitter in the corner of her eyes. His shoulders relaxed, knowing that he'd got to her.

"Can't it wait?" she asked again, turning her back to him.

"No. It can't," Baxter confirmed firmly. "I'll take you there. Now, if you don't mind." He felt uncomfortable about the idea, but there was no way out and it needed to be dealt with. All the journalists lingering around the main entrance hadn't escaped his attention. There was only so much time left to set Hardy's shit plan into motion.

Her agreement came reluctantly and in the form of her shrugging on her tailored red silk jacket. Wordlessly, she gestured him to come and paused in expectation of him holding the door open for her. She resolutely tugged on her lapels, pinned down a stray grey hair into her tight bun and stormed past him, not bothering to look back to see if he was following.

Baxter felt decidedly awkward taking Liz MacMillan to the hospital. She was sitting silently in his car, not sharing any of her thoughts. It unnerved Baxter, but he refrained from making conversation. Maybe it was better if nothing was said. He parked the car and walked her to the ICU. Before they entered the room, he stalled her with his hand on her arm.

"Liz, please remember not to upset him. He pretends to be fine but he isn't. I think when you see him, you'll know what I mean," Baxter prepared her.

MacMillan squinted at him. "Why do I get the feeling that I won't like what he has to tell me? And that I might be more upset than him?"

Baxter shuffled his feet, staring at her fashionable red shoes that matched her jacket perfectly. "I promised not to say anything. He insisted on telling you himself," he muttered, elaborating on what he had said earlier.

"For God's sake, Ed. Stop playing games. This whole situation is already so damn screwed up that I don't need him to make things more complicated. If you really don't want me to upset him, you should warn me so that I'm not going to explode in his face," she argued, getting a bit testy.

Baxter's face heated up. She was right. If Hardy came at her with his shit plan without warning, she would most likely want to throttle him. He chewed on his lips.

"Ed?" she growled.

"Fine. He wants to take the blame for what happened," he blurted out.

MacMillan's mouth gaped open. She moved as if she wanted to say something, but clenched her jaw instead. Then her neck turned red, followed by her cheeks until her whole face was as red as her silk jacket and shoes. She took in a sharp breath and pressed her answer through gritted teeth.

"And why would he want to do such a horrendously stupid and utterly moronic thing?"

Baxter ducked. He didn't want to admit it, but he was intimidated by his boss. "You should ask him yourself," he answered, barely audible.

She closed the distance between them, and although she was a head shorter than him, she was right in his face again.

"Tell me one good reason why you're going along with this?" she hissed, their noses almost touching.

Baxter held her piercing gaze and poured his heart out, "Because it's his dying wish."

She fell away from him, face turned pale. Her eyes didn't leave his, burning through him. She took in a few deep breaths, straightened her suit jacket and smoothed her hair that didn't need any smoothing. Then she opened her mouth as if to say something, but bit down instead, holding up her palm as if to ward off any further words.

"I can't even…," she mumbled, trailing off in utter exasperation.

"Remember not to upset him, please?" Baxter begged sheepishly.

"Seriously, Ed? You know what I want to do to him right now?" she snapped back.

"I do, believe me. And I tried to talk him out of it and you know what he did to me?" Baxter replied, his voice taking on a pitch that sounded very much as if he were to lose his sanity any minute.

"He tried to die on me, three times. And when I say die, I mean literally die. He got so upset that his stupid heart gave out on him. They had to resuscitate him. Did I say he did that three times? Three, Liz, three times!" – he held up three trembling fingers in front of her dumbfounded face – "Until I finally agreed. Talk about emotional blackmail!" he shared his anguish, words tumbling out of his mouth.

He'd lost it - his sanity and possibly his job judging from MacMillan's stunned expression. After a few moments of staring at each other, she shrugged.

"Well, you wanted to hire him," she stated sardonically, pushed him out of the way and resolutely opened the sliding glass door to Hardy's room.

Baxter watched her disappear behind the curtain that was lending the room the illusion of privacy. He stared at the billowing grey fabric until it stopped moving. The code alarm hadn't gone off yet, so maybe it was safe to follow her inside. He sighed deeply and braced himself for the spectacle.

When Liz MacMillan walked in, she wasn't quite sure what to expect. The anger at the utmost stupidity of this man was still boiling hot inside her. Baxter had warned her not to upset him, but he had forgotten to prepare her for Hardy's appearance.

Hardy was asleep when she came into the room. That gave her some time to take in the man in front of her. It was a good thing, because it took her a few long moments to adjust her memory of Hardy to match it to the haggard figure lying in the bed. Her eyes flicked over the still body that was connected to a myriad of tubes and monitoring devices. His skinny hands twitched in his sleep, clawing into the sheet and his gaunt face scrunched up in pain. With a ragged gasp, his eyes popped open, unfocused and panicked. He panted a few times until he found his bearings and his gaze came to rest on MacMillan.

She was watching him, working through her own feelings. She could never figure out why she had taken a liking to him. He was gruff, petulant and absurdly stubborn. But when she had grilled him that day he had come to ask for a new chance away from the nightmare his hometown had turned into, something about him had touched her. Maybe it was the way he spoke about his dedication to his job, his sincere belief in protecting the ones that needed it the most. Maybe it was the way he spoke about his wife, so full of love and devotion.

She closed her eyes for a moment, pulling herself together. Thinking about what that woman had done wasn't going to help her stay calm.

There had been one other memorable thing during that conversation almost a decade ago. He had spoken about his child and how he didn't want her to grow up with all those stories about her parents around her. He wanted the fresh start more for her than for himself. And then he had reluctantly talked about the boy whose father's life he had been forced to take. The boy whose life he had saved, in more ways than Hardy probably realized. He had looked at her with those big brown eyes and asked for her help and her trust in him. She couldn't help herself and agreed to take him on. When she told him he had the position, she knew she'd done the right thing. She had never heard a more heartfelt thank you and a more solemn promise to not disappoint. And he never had.

"Ma'am," he said, voice hoarse. He quickly scrubbed over his face, awkwardly scratching at the scruff on his chin, and then unsuccessfully tried to fix his unruly hair. His mop fell back into his eyes immediately. She hid a smile at his feeble attempts of being representable while he was so unwell. He moved in the bed and suddenly groaned. His hand flew to the side of his chest, bracing himself.

She tilted her head and stepped closer, reaching out but not touching him. "You all right, Hardy?" she asked feeling rather dumb. He clearly wasn't.

"'M fine, ma'am," he wheezed, struggling to find a comfortable position. She sighed. Baxter had been right, he was pretending. And he sucked at it.

Fidgeting with his pillow and blanket, he got more and more entangled in the tubes and cables, all the while pain was flicking over his scowling face. She watched it for about thirty seconds and then couldn't resist the urge to help. She stepped up to the bed, took the pillow in one hand and shoved her other under Hardy, pulling him up. He yelped and turned as white as the sheet he was lying on.

"Jesus, Hardy, what's the matter with you? You're acting like you've been beaten up," she exclaimed. Her gaze fell on his bare chest where the gown had moved and her eyes widened. He did look like someone had run him over and she realized that this must be the aftermath of multiple resuscitations over the past few days. She gently lowered him onto his pillow.

"Did they crack a rib?" she inquired quietly while she pulled the gown and blanket back over his battered body.

"Two," he rasped, shooting her a sheepish glance. Sweat was pooling over his eyebrows and he was trembling from the exhaustion this brief struggle had caused. She nodded, hiding her shocked face while she pulled over a chair.

"Baxter said you needed to talk about something," she said, a question resonating in her words.

"Aye. Thanks for coming, ma'am," he muttered.

She tried to keep her face impassive and to restrain the urge to scream her questions at him. Why on earth did he want to take the blame for something he didn't do, why did he want to protect the person who was indirectly responsible for the state he was in now? She must have failed or maybe it was Hardy's keen perception.

"Baxter already told you, didn't he?" Hardy snarled angrily. Before she could answer, Baxter trudged into the room.

Hardy immediately snapped at him, "You told her. You were not supposed to." He sulked like a child.

"Alec, what was I supposed to do? She demanded to know," Baxter whined. Hardy rolled his eyes.

"Since when are you that much of a wimp and get intimidated so easily?" Hardy retorted, lips pulled to a pout.

"I had to tell her something. And I had to prepare her not to upset you because -"

"Not upset me?" Hardy interrupted Baxter, his voice shifting pitch. "I'm not a bloody invalid."

"Ach, for fuck's sake, Alec. You tried to die on me while we were talking about this stupid plan. Three times, to be precise," Baxter spat at Hardy, sticking three of his fingers under his nose. Hardy's mouth gaped open and then he shut it without saying anything, pressing his lips to a thin line.

MacMillan watched them fight, in a morbid way amused by the spectacle. They reminded her of her two sons fighting over who'd get to play with a new toy first. It was astounding how two grown men could still behave like children.

She seized the pause in the argument to budge in. "Boys, will you cut it." She deliberately had chosen her tone and words and it had the desired effect. Their heads whipped around and she had their full attention. She smiled, when she said, "I guess now that you've got this out of your system, we could maybe use the time in a more productive manner." She fixed her gaze on Hardy's embarrassed face and continued, "You better have a really good reason to even dare ask me to go along with this idiotic plan of taking the fall for something you didn't do."

She sat, crossed her legs and arms, waiting for him to make his move. She didn't quite expect that he'd be as dramatic. Just when he began to talk, his eyes glazed over and without a warning he passed out.

"See, that's what I'm talking about" was all that Baxter muttered while they were standing in the corner watching the ICU team do their thing. In the end she had to agree with Baxter. Passing out in front of them was the ultimate emotional blackmail.

MacMillan sat at Hardy's bedside waiting for him to regain consciousness. It had only been a minor attack the doctor had said. MacMillan was still sufficiently impressed.

"Ed, was he this bad the whole time while working on the case?" she wondered out loud.

Baxter shook his head. "No. Ever since his heart stopped after Tess talked to him he seems to be barely able to handle anything. I wasn't exaggerating when I said it destroyed him."

MacMillan searched Baxter's angry face. She knew that the two had become friends over the years, but she wasn't aware that Baxter cared that much about Hardy. It seemed, she wasn't the only one who had a soft spot for the grumpy Scot.

"Can't they do something about it?"

Baxter stood in front of the window, his back turned to her. His hands clasped behind him, he was curling and uncurling his restless fingers.

"Not much," he admitted, defeat making his voice hollow. "He needs that pacemaker, but they can't do it anytime soon. Not after this. And if he makes it until then, his chances of surviving the procedure are slim."

MacMillan's eyes rested on Hardy's drawn face. "Since when did he know he needs that pacemaker?"

Baxter turned and slouched against the windowsill. "I'm not sure. Maybe a month or so, I think. He meant to take care of it, but then those two girls disappeared. He stubbornly ignored it until he couldn't any longer."

"And his wife let him get away with that?" MacMillan asked in disbelief.

"He never told her. Claims there wasn't ever a good opportunity. Personally I think she made it harder for him and conveniently looked away, considering what she'd been up to." MacMillan noted Baxter's disgusted tone. She didn't blame him.

"He should have never been left alone with that task. He can't hurt her, too soft," Baxter added, his words displaying a good amount of softness himself. MacMillan hid a smile. A smile that quickly turned into a worried frown when Hardy woke, coughing and sputtering. A whimpered cry escaped his throat and he had a look of sheer horror on his face.

Baxter had rushed to Hardy's side and muttered some soothing words in his ear, until Hardy's breathing became less labored and his eyes focused on Baxter's face.

"What… happened?" Hardy stammered in between gasps.

"You dodged the answer to my question most dramatically. I should tell my five-year-old granddaughter, she'd worship your abilities" MacMillan interjected sarcastically.

Hardy had the guts to roll his eyes at her. Then he scratched at his stubbly chin, a puzzled frown building over his eyes.

"Remind me what that question was," he finally asked sheepishly.

MacMillan tilted her head and sighed. This might turn into yet another dragged out afternoon if they continued at this pace. She leaned forward, putting a hand on the mattress. "Hardy, quit stalling. Just explain to me why I should even begin to consider your idiotic plans," she growled. "And don't you dare pass out again. I'm not buying into the drama," she warned him.

"Ma'am, the loss of the key evidence in this case happened under my watch. I entrusted two of my officers with the search. It was my poor judgment to rely on those two." He made his opening argument, slowly and interrupted by the need to catch his breath. It was painful to watch.

"Well, DI Hardy, as far as I'm concerned the only thing I could fault you for is the fact is that it actually did not happenunder your watch. You were nowhere near that car and that pendant," she replied sternly. "Those two detectives are adults and very capable of making their own decisions. Poor decisions, I give you that, but still their own." She observed the twitches in his jaw and fingers with her allusion to what had transpired. God, how she detested this woman who had never been anywhere near her husband's brilliance as a detective and now had possibly ruined that brilliance forever.

It didn't escape her attention how Baxter's eyes nervously flicked back and forth between the monitor and Hardy. She risked a quick glance and noted the significantly faster pace of his heart rate. Not entirely clear about Hardy's heart condition, she went more by Baxter's concerned face than anything else, when she asked,

"Are you okay? Do you need a break?"

"'M fine. It'll pass," he dismissed her, snorting. MacMillan bit down on her lip. He was anything but fine. She remained silent though, giving him the break he needed so much but didn't allow himself.

Out of nowhere a memory flashed through her mind. She'd recently been made Chief Constable and the constabulary was stumbling through an awful case of a serial arsonist who by that time had torched down half of Sandbrook. The press was lighting fire under the police force's butt, proud of their poorly chosen pun. She'd been exhausted, sleep deprived and battling the lingering effects of a pneumonia she'd caught from her oldest grandchild. Every day at the wee hours of the morning, when she'd pulled up in the garage, Hardy had been there with a cup of tea, always from the same place. He'd quietly opened the door of her car, handed the tea to her and reminded her to take a break. Every day he'd renewed the promise that he would find the responsible person, holding on to that tea cup from what later she'd learn was the first place the arsonist had burned down.

He got him. Just in time before the lunatic could make good on his threat to torch down her car with her in it. Hardy had saved her life and she would never forget his pale, bleeding face and wind swept hair when he pulled her out of that car, smelling of ash and smoke, after he'd put out the fire that would have burned down her home. The bulky arsonist had put up a fight, but Hardy despite being such a lightweight had knocked him out. Hardy had cradled her shaking body against his chest, coughing and wheezing with his words of comfort. He had been shaking just as much as her and by the time the ambulance arrived, he'd passed out holding onto her. She'd blamed it on the smoke inhalation, but now she wondered if it might have been his heart all along.

Her trip down memory lane had given him some time to settle down. His breathing was easier and he didn't look quite as ashen.

He chewed on his lip and then looked her straight in the eye. "Ma'am, you have children. I don't know what you would do to make sure that they are taken care of in case you can't, but I know what I would do. Anything." The last word was spoken with so much conviction, underlined by a wild burning fire in his eyes, that it sent a shiver down her spine.

He fidgeted with the oxygen cannula in his nose, pulling it out. That earned him a stern look from Baxter and he put it back with a resigned sigh. It didn't help much to fight his shortness of breath though. Her heart ached to see him struggle this much.

"My wife…" - he flinched - "... has made a grave mistake and she should feel the consequences. But my daughter didn't. If my wife loses her livelihood, she won't be able to take care of Daisy and I don't want that." He stopped abruptly, fisting the sheet over his chest. Baxter tensed up, but the moment passed and Hardy's long fingers uncurled, coming to a rest over his heart. His eyes fluttered shut, when he continued with a hollow voice, "If my daughter ever finds out what her mother's action caused, she will hate her for that. And I can't let that happen. I can't let her grow up hating the only parent she has."

"But Alec, she won't," MacMillan said softly, placing a timid hand on his that was still draped over the faulty organ under his sternum. She could feel the jolt that his heart made and it frightened her beyond belief.

His eyes snapped open with the yelping wheeze that escaped his throat. "Yes, she will," his whispered reply came. She curled her bony fingers around his, squeezing them gently. She watched him drift off into sleep or unconsciousness, she didn't know. Her eyes came up to find Baxter's. The outrage was still there, but she also saw something else. There was a desperate need to help his friend in the only way he could, a need to make sure that Hardy's daughter was taken care of and Hardy could find peace.

She let go of Hardy's cold hand. She closed her eyes, when she said, "I'm all ears. Tell me the plan."

Baxter exhaled deeply. "Thank you, Liz."

She knew she was making a mistake that could backfire and ruin her spotless career, but that seemed so trivial compared to what this man was trying to do out of love for his child. It would have made her a hypocrite if she, after having hired Hardy for exactly that passion, would now have denied him to live it out until he couldn't any longer. She listened to the crazy plan the two had come up with and after much less hesitation than she should have had, she agreed to play along. It broke her heart, but not as much as it had broken Hardy's.

By the time she was ready to leave, Hardy hadn't woken up yet. Baxter had gone ahead and she was alone in the room with Hardy. She carefully brushed his hair out of his eyes, trailing her fingers down his temple. Then she bent down and ghosted a kiss on his forehead, very much like a mother's touch.

"Sleep well, Alec. I hope you find the peace you need," she whispered into his ear and left without looking back, eyes stinging and heart heavy.