A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! Thanks for reading and commenting. It's festival time… maybe a bit different from what some might expect, but I hope you'll still enjoy it. I am as always forever grateful to hazelmist for her endless patience in correcting my mistakes.

"Because She Doesn't Like You"

Chapter 6

It was another unseasonably warm night when the lights of the Harvest Festival lit up the top of Harbor Cliff. Tables and chairs were loosely grouped under rows of lanterns. Happy chatter mixed with music and the sea breeze took the sounds out over the cliff to the ocean. A large bonfire bathed some of the town's people in a red and orange glow. Others were gliding over the wooden platform that served as a dance floor.

Duncan was one of them. Hardy was lingering at the edge of the gathering, where the shadows began to win the battle against the light cast by the lanterns. He was under the strict instruction not to scowl the whole evening and had been moderately successful in doing so. He would never admit it to Duncan, but he actually enjoyed being around all these happy people. Watching them celebrating life filled him with contentment and an odd sense of peace.

Someone sat down next to him and when Hardy looked up, he was surprised to find Paul Coates handing him a plastic cup with a dark red liquid in it.

"I can't drink wine," he said automatically, rejecting the beverage.

"I know. Neither can I." Paul lifted his own cup and smiled. "It's fruit punch. For the kids. So just the right thing for a recovering alcoholic and a detective with a secret heart condition."

Hardy huffed and accepted the vicar's offer reluctantly. "This town has no concept of privacy. I doubt it's very secret any more."

Paul nodded and Hardy was wondering what he concurred with - that there was no privacy or that his condition was anything but hidden.

"Wouldn't have thought you'd come to something like this," Paul remarked. "It seems a bit too social and happy for you."

Hardy's eyebrow went up. "And I wouldn't have taken this for your sort of thing. It's a bit too pagan, isn't it?" Hardy scoffed. "Or are you simply making sure that your flock of sheep won't tread upon forbidden ground while frolicking around the bonfire?"

Paul glared at him, but then his face relaxed into a grin. "You know, I've always liked that about you. Your scathing sarcasm that is. Must serve you well in your line of work."

"Seriously? You liked something about me?" Hardy replied incredulously. Then he sniffed the cup and took a small taste. "Are you sure there isn't any alcohol in this?"

"Good Lord, you made a joke. You must be right. That's the only explanation for your uncharacteristic behavior."

Both men stared at each other for a split second before Paul burst out laughing and Hardy chuckled quietly. After a moment of silence, Paul took it upon him to continue the conversation.

"So, Becca told me you've moved out." There was a question hidden in the statement.

Hardy sighed. "See, no privacy. And before you ask… the answer is yes, I'll be staying for a while. At least until Joe Miller is convicted."

"Have you heard from Ellie?" Paul inquired quietly.

Hardy shook his head, but didn't elaborate.

"You know I don't think it was her fault, right?"

"You seem to be the only one with that opinion," Hardy growled. His eyes found Beth Latimer in the crowd. Her hand was resting on her belly that was starting to show. She was talking to Nigel who seemed imbibed already and kept tipping over to lean on Beth.

Paul must have followed his gaze. "I'm sure they'll work it out eventually."

Hardy's head whipped around and his hazel eyes bore into Paul. "How do you know? The whole bloody town condemned Ellie Miller for something she didn't do. And Beth is the leader of the lynch mob. It's not that I don't understand her. If anyone has the right to question Ellie then it's her. She lost her child to a heinous crime and nothing will ever bring him back. But the ease with which the others followed is mind boggling and disgusting to say the least. Ellie doesn't deserve any of this. She did nothing but care and be kind. And this is what she got for it. Having to run from the only place she calls home," Hardy spat out the last words.

He leaned onto the table, catching his breath after his angry rant. And just like a few days before, his heart didn't appreciate the emotional upheaval and was already down the path of wreaking havoc with his body. He fumbled for his pills, but couldn't find them. Panic was rising inside him and it became harder to breathe.

"Is this what you need?" Paul had picked up the blister pack from the ground where it had fallen.

Hardy nodded.

"How many?"

Hardy held up two fingers, not able to articulate anything. Paul handed them to him and watched him carefully while his heart settled down.

"Better?" Paul asked, once Hardy's breathing became easier.

Hardy nodded again, unwilling to talk.

"Becca told me that she found you passed out in the bathroom during the investigation. She took you to the hospital. That must have been before you collapsed running down Joe Miller. How serious is this 'secret heart condition', DI Hardy?" Paul's voice was soft and it irked Hardy more than it should have. He didn't need the vicar's pity.

"It's not DI any more," he snarled. Paul's face was impassive, waiting patiently for the answer to his question. When he didn't continue, Paul leaned closer and put his hand on Hardy's arm

"I understand not wanting to talk about a health problem, believe me. I'm not going to pry. But if you feel the need to share or…" - he hesitated briefly - "... make peace, my door is always open. And I do know how to keep things confidential." Paul was genuine and Hardy knew it.

Paul was about to get up, when Hardy spoke.

"If I don't deal with it, it's going to kill me. Soon." There was surprisingly little anger or pain in those few words. It was his reality and he was willing to accept it. Not so much the part that his arrhythmia would kill him, but more so that he was ready to finally do something about it, even if circumstance prevented him from dealing with it this very moment.

Paul sat down again. "That serious," he said solemnly and looked Hardy in the eye.

"Aye. That serious." Hardy resisted the urge to ask Paul not to tell anyone. He knew he wouldn't.

"I'd say I'll keep you in my prayers but I know you better than that. If there is anything I can do to help besides that, don't hesitate to come to me. Please." Another sincere offer.

"Thanks," Hardy mumbled. He felt rather awkward and his ears were burning. Accepting help wasn't his forte. At a loss for words, he rested his hand on Paul's shoulder and squeezed it briefly.

"Vicar! I hear we have to thank you for these splendid festivities." Duncan's voice boomed across the grass and saved Hardy from any further embarrassment. Or so he thought. When he saw, who his friend was escorting over to the table they were sitting at, Hardy wanted to sink into the earth. It was Lucy Stevens of all people.

Paul got up and shook Duncan's hand. "I'm glad you're enjoying it. Thought the town could use some entertainment after this summer's events." Paul's eyes wandered from Duncan to Hardy. A smile brightened up his face when he saw Hardy's reaction to the news that it had been him who organized the Harvest Festival. "And what could be better for my flock than a bit of pagan frolicking around a bonfire." Paul winked and patted a dumbfounded Hardy on the back before he walked away.

Hardy sighed deeply. This bloody town and its people. They would be the end of him some day or other.

"DI Hardy!" Lucy Stevens' excited and somewhat slurred voice rang in his ears and all he could think was that maybe the day had come sooner than he thought.

Lucy plopped down on the chair next to him and put a hand on his arm. She was leaning just a tad too close for Hardy's comfort. Her breath was warm on his cheek and faintly smelled of alcohol.

"So, did you ever talk to Ellie?" Lucy slurred, happily smiling at him.

Hardy silently shook his head. He had told Lucy he needed to talk to Ellie because of the case. It had been a lie. All he wanted to know was where she would try to find a new job so he could make sure she'd be treated fairly.

"She's still in Devon, giving out speeding tickets. Asked her if she could take care of mine but -"

"What do you mean, speeding tickets? She's a DS even if she took the uniform," Hardy asked, sitting up straighter. Something was wrong here.

"Oh, you didn't know? She switched to traffic patrol. Said it was better hours, easier to arrange for child care for Fred." Lucy made it sound like the most normal thing in the world. Clearly she had no understanding of the politics of the police force and what that really meant for Ellie.

Hardy exchanged a glance with Duncan who was observing the conversation quietly, face impassive.

"Lucy, are you sure about this? Did they make her switch?" Hardy inquired with an edge in his voice. If his contacts lied to him he would...

"Yup. Totally sure." She toasted into the air and took another big gulp of her beverage. "She did it voluntarily. She said it was because of Fred, but you know what, I don't buy it. It happened after she busted a guy for domestic violence or something. I think she chickened out."

Hardy's forehead wore a big frown. This news worried him more than he wanted to admit. That didn't sound at all like the person who was still mad he'd taken her job.

"What about Tom? Has he spoken to her?" Hardy asked, not having much hope there.

Lucy's expression changed. This time it was her turn to silently shake her head.

"Not even on the phone?" Again Lucy's head went side to side and Hardy's heart ached. He looked past her and found Tom's figure on the far end of the festival grounds. He was alone, sitting on a bale of hay. Hardy couldn't make out his face, but just like himself, Tom was lingering on the edge of the gathering.

Lucy took in a deep breath and put on a fake smile. "Well, DI Hardy, enjoy the rest of the evening. I'm going to get another drink." She stood and turned to Duncan. "A pleasure meeting you. Thanks for the dance." Her smile reached her eyes and she slowly walked away, only swaying slightly.

"You should call her," Duncan suggested quietly once Lucy was out of earshot.

"What?" Hardy had been lost in his own thoughts.

"You should call her. Really sounds like she needs a friend, someone who might understand."

"She doesn't like me, remember?" Hardy growled.

"Right." Duncan stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "And that's why she came to talk to you, because she doesn't like you." He gave Hardy one last hearty pat and walked away to apparently ask Becca for a dance.

Hardy sighed. Maybe his friend had a point. Ellie was alone. So was he. Stranger alliances had been formed before. Again, his eyes found Tom in the crowd. They could commiserate over the loss of their children and their jobs. All because of their cheating significant other. Granted Ellie's husband was in a different category than Tess, but the end result of their respective behavior was eerily similar.

Hardy stood up slowly, tired of sitting around and watching Duncan gallivanting amongst Broadchurch's townsfolk. The turning heads and incredulous faces that accompanied Duncan's conversations were irking him to say the least. Why did everyone always assume he didn't have any friends? He ignored the answer that popped up in his mind and searched the crowd for Tom. His eyes were trailing along the tables on the edge. He spotted Tom soon enough.

He sped up and abruptly came to a halt when he bumped into someone. He tripped over his own feet and was halfway en-route to the muddy ground and way too close to the bonfire, when a hand steadied him.

"You all right, DI Hardy?" a female voice asked.

"It's not DI any more," Hardy grumbled, yet again reminding himself more of the fact than anyone else. He wiped his muddy hand on his pants and clambered to his feet. He looked up and met Maggie Radcliffe's amused eyes. Spectacular, the press was all he needed to turn this evening into a wonderful memory that would last a lifetime. How he loathed this stupid town and the fact that there was no anonymity.

"You're the last person I would have pictured coming to this. I wouldn't have picked dancing under the stars as one of your favorite past times." She smirked.

He huffed. "It sure isn't mine, it's his." He cocked his head, pointing towards where Duncan was laughing with Becca and Paul Coates.

"Oh, I wondered if he's with you. He's Scottish," Maggie mocked Hardy who rolled his eyes.

"A fine example of investigative journalism," he retorted. "Talking about fine examples – where's your side kick Olly? Haven't seen him all evening. I'm surprised he isn't using the opportunity to annoy the shit out of me."

Maggie shrugged her shoulders. "He's in London. Interviewing for a job." She sounded sad. Hardy searched her face. God knew why she missed the pain in the arse but she seemed truly emotional about it. They both stared into bonfire for a while.

"So, I hear you moved into your own place?" Hardy shot her a sideways glance and nodded. Bloody town. Gossip spread faster than a Californian wild fire.

"You're not going back to Sandbrook then?" she added curiously.

"It's none of your business, Maggie," Hardy growled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Maggie tilted her head and gave him a long look. "No. I guess it isn't. I was just thinking you might. Your family is there after all."

"I don't have a family." His words were bitter and sharp. He grimaced with the quick stab in his chest. God, how he hated it when his body betrayed his inner works like that. It didn't go unnoticed.

"I heard you've been ill again," she said, yet another question resonating in the words.

"Bloody hell. Is there no fucking privacy in this town? How do you people even live with each other?" Hardy shouted much louder than he intended to. He glared at Maggie who at least had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Don't be so touchy about it. You were hiding your heart condition while you were running a murder investigation. People have a right to know about –"

He didn't let her finish. He had enough of the rubbish the press always cited in their defense.

"No, Maggie. People have a right to have their privacy respected. Dragging someone's personal life or health into the open without any bearing to the public is not reporting, it's sensationalism. And yes, I am a bit touchy about it, considering that it certainly contributed to ruining my life," he spewed at her.

Maggie closed her mouth and pressed her lips together. Her face turned red and she looked truly dismayed. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, dropping her gaze.

Hardy sighed. "Ach, for God's sake, it wasn't your fault. You're not like Karen and her cronies." Then he added after a pause, "Why did you never publish the interview?"

Maggie's eyes lingered on the fire. "Because all that it would have done is open up old wounds. The families', the town's and not the least yours."

His head whipped around and they looked each other straight in the eye.

"You might not realize it, but people would have made the connection between the female DS that you were protecting and your wife very quickly. She's still dating the bloke, even now," Maggie explained swiftly before he could say anything. She sure had done her homework.

His eyes widened and he was fighting his pent up anger that flared every time when someone mentioned that Dave Thompson was now living in his house. Maggie must have read his expression.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to upset you." She was genuine and her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"'S fine," he mumbled, chewing on his lip. It wasn't, but it didn't matter. He'd endured so much over this whole topic that a small stab like this was barely a scratch on his wounded soul.

"Have you heard from Ellie?" Maggie changed the topic.

"No. Have you?"

She shook her head.

"Olly?" He was hopeful.

"No. Not that he told me," she sighed.

Hardy's eyes trailed over the crowd again. He caught sight of Tom, walking away towards the path down to the beach.

"Maggie, I've gotta go," he said and stalked off without waiting for her to answer, following the teenager down the cliff.

It was dark and rather steep. Hardy stumbled over the path and prayed he wouldn't pass out and fall off those stupid cliffs. His cardiologist would most certainly disapprove of his actions but these were different matters of the heart. Observing how Tom seemed to be lingering on the outside, not participating in the festivities had pained Hardy. More than it maybe should have. It reminded him too much of his own child who after the Sandbrook case was closed didn't only have to deal with her parents splitting up but also with all the fall-out from the trial.

He trailed Tom down to the ocean. The wind was tugging on his thin coat and tousling his hair. The taste of salt on his lips was always present in Broadchurch and Hardy couldn't stand it. He groaned when his ankle rolled in the soft sand. He hated the beach.

All the time he'd spent as a boy sitting in the sand, digging his hands into the ground-up pebbles, trying so hard not to cry over his parents arguing, had left him with a strong dislike of anything related to the sea. If it hadn't been for Daisy, he would never have set foot on a beach ever again. But his little girl loved the water, the sand and the endless sky. So he obediently trudged along every summer vacation, built sand castles and looked for tiny sea creatures in the surf. He drew the line at going on a boat. There was no way she could get him onto the water.

Hardy had lost sight of Tom in the dark. He slowed down, not that he'd been walking that fast in the first place. The boy was nowhere and Hardy was getting worried.

"Are you following me?" a voice right next to him spoke.

Hardy jerked around and faced an angry looking Tom. Before he could answer, there was a stutter in his chest, followed by immediate lightheadedness. His heart stumbled while he desperately tried to stay upright. He barely managed to do so.

As far as Hardy could tell, Tom was scowling at him. It wasn't easy in this pitch black night to see anything. His blurred vision certainly didn't help. The boy had grown since he'd seen him last about a month or so ago.

"So, are you following me or what?" Tom questioned him again, more disgruntled this time.

"Maybe," Hardy conceded reluctantly.

"Don't!" Tom spat and started to walk away quickly.

Hardy was fast enough to catch Tom's arm. "Tom, please. I meant to talk to you."

"Get your hands off of me." Hardy dropped his arm and stepped back from the boy. The last thing he wanted was to appear to force him into a conversation. He had done that already twice. No need to alienate him further.

"Tom, have you talked to your mother?" Hardy asked with a soft voice. His words were almost drowned out by the sound of the waves rolling onto the shore.

"I don't wanna see her." Tom crossed his arms across his chest and turned his back to Hardy.

"Why not?"

There was a desperate tone to his words. Hardy needed to understand what would drive a twelve-year old to reject his parent who loved him more than anything in the world. What would make this boy choose to leave his mother in a time when you would assume he needed her most? What did Miller do wrong to hurt him that much? What had he done so wrong to hurt her that much? It hit Hardy suddenly that he wasn't thinking about Tom and Miller at all but about himself and Daisy. The wind was blowing harder and made his eyes sting. Or at least that was what he wanted to believe.

"Stop questioning me. You're not at work and it's none of your business. You can't make me tell you," Tom was shouting, maybe out of anger, maybe to be heard against the onslaught of the sea.

Hardy took a step towards Tom who retreated immediately, closing in on the water. It made Hardy nervous to see the foamy ocean lick at Tom's shoes. The tide was coming in and the waves were building, dark rolling hills with white crowns.

"Tom, please get away from the water," Hardy pleaded, unable to hide the tremble in his voice. The wind gusts were billowing his coat around him and mussed up his already messy hair. His heart was thudding in his chest but it was holding up against the storm. He wished he had the right words to reach past Tom's walls. But what made him think that he could be more successful with this boy he hardly had ever spoken to than with his own daughter, he didn't know. The only thing he knew was that he needed to at least try.

Tom took another step back, his ankles now submerged. The panic that the memory of Pippa's bloated body and Brennan's ghostly white face evoked took a tight hold over Hardy. He shook his head, and breathed, "No.", unable to move.

"What are you gonna do about it?" Tom yelled and moved deeper into the waves. "You already destroyed my family, you already took away my Dad. You and Mum!" Tom was shaking.

Hardy sucked in the cold salty air. Come on, he told himself, willing himself to speak.

"Tom, your mother didn't take your Dad away. Joe committed a serious crime. He is guilty, he confessed everything to me. Nobody is setting him up. He killed Danny."

Hardy's quiet but strong voice carried through the wind. The words reached Tom but Hardy knew they were not good enough. The boy's face scrunched up and Hardy suspected he was trying to hold back tears. Tom was still standing in the knee-high water.

"I hate her!" he spat with so much fury that it broke Hardy's already ailing heart. "And I hate you!" he yelled. Turning, he splashed through the waves, running away from all that symbolized the wrongs that the world had done to him.

Hardy stood frozen to the spot. Maybe he should just stop talking to teenagers. His cynical thoughts were a poor masquerade of the growing desperation inside him. His eyes wandered up the cliff to the lights of the festivities. Faint music was drifting down with the wind gusts. He had no energy to even consider climbing back up the treacherous path. He was weary and worn out. He lowered his body into the wet sand, pulled up his knees and stared into the waves that kept on coming, crushing against the shore, never relenting. He didn't cry, not like the last time an irate teenager had thrown those words at him.

His hands found his wallet. It opened to a smiling Pippa and as always his eyes lingered for a moment, renewing the silent vow to her. Then his fingers felt for the familiar folded up shape. He pulled out the beaten up photograph and flattened it carefully. Daisy's beaming face greeted him, a memory of happier, warmer days. He brushed over the contours of her hair and arms, longing to feel her warm body in his arms and not only Pippa's heavy weight pulling him under, more and more as every day went by. His chest ached and he pressed his hand against it, holding the picture tightly. It was at moments like this when all that stood between him and the darkness were the images of those two girls, both needing to find peace. If he could find it for one of them, then maybe there was hope for the other. He caressed the picture one more time, mumbled "I love you darlin'." like he always did and put it away again, hiding the emotions deep inside.

His gaze drifted out over the endless ocean again. He chose to believe that the salt on his lips was the sea and nothing else. His heavy head fell onto his knees, poorly sheltering him against the overwhelming tide.