Chapter Text
The call comes in on Monday evening, when everyone but Ellie and Hardy and the younger of the two seconded Bournemouth DCs have gone home for the night.
It comes in through dispatch, relayed from a PC’s radio, and is directed straight to Hardy’s desk. Ellie can hear the change in his voice immediately, going from his standard weary end-of-day tone as he answers to sharp-edged high-alert as he fires off a stream of rapid-fire questions. She’s on her feet and putting her coat on even as he slams the receiver back into the cradle and heads across the room.
“Where we going?”
“Seatown.”
“What’s happened?”
“Pub owner reported a car-fire up on the hill and called the fire brigade. That was Owens attending. Says there was someone in it.”
“Oh christ.”
Hardy drives. They normally take it in turns these days, but as she has to make a call to her dad to say she’ll be late now, it make sense that he takes the wheel.
“You have any idea when you’ll be back?”
Her dad sounds a bit annoyed and she's immediately defensive, pissy.
“No idea, sorry Dad. Could be just an hour or two, could be late. I’ll text you.”
“I might not hear it though if I’m in the bath.”
“Well, just assume I’ll be late then.”
“How late do you think?”
“No idea Dad. Sorry.”
“Well text me if it’s going to be after ten. I suppose I’ll have to put Fred…”
“Yes, if you could. Thanks.”
She stabs ‘end call’ with a little more ferocity than she means to, and Hardy gives her a quick sideways look.
“Everything ok?”
“Oh bloody marvellous, thanks.”
“You’ve no need to come Miller, I could always…”
“Oh shut up will you. Since when have you ever let me off the hook on a late callout?”
It’s a question with an obvious barb in it. Since the kiss they’d shared in Hardy’s car just over a week ago, they’ve both become acutely aware of the impact that their fledgling relationship might have on their work dynamic. In the intervening ten days there’s been nothing else between them but some very low-key flirting by text and an after-work Netflix date, the promise of which had been cut short by the arrival home of a tearful, freshly-dumped Daisy.
They’d said goodbye on his porch, feet shuffling and fingertips brushing and Hardy’s face a mask of apologetic frustration. Her phone had beeped as she’d made her way down the hill.
‘I AM SO SORRY.’
She’d stopped to return the message, leaning on the fence at the bottom while he looked down the track at her from the house.
‘ME TOO. WAS LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CHILL PART.’
‘??’
‘OF NETFLIX AND CHILL?’
‘??????’
She'd shaken her head and laughed as she’d dashed off the last text,
‘UR SUCH A DINOSAUR. ASK DAISY.’
Now three days later they’re alone again together for the first time, but the boundaries couldn’t be more clearly and distinctly drawn. They haven’t discussed it out loud, but she knows they’re both on the same page with this part. No-one can know, and no-one can be able to tell. They both understand that if there’s any suggestion of impropriety between them while they’re on the job, the likelihood of one or both of them being reassigned is more than just a possibility. And Ellie Miller has fought too long and too hard to achieve her position to fuck it up over a man.
They pull into the car park at Seatown at just after seven, having barely spoken a word during the drive. Clouds of black smoke are billowing over from the east, where - from the top of the nearby beauty spot - they can both see the skeletal shape of a fire-blackened vehicle surrounded by emergency services. It’s a steep walk up an uneven sandy little path under a still-high sun, and by the time they reach the top they’re both a bit hotter and sweatier than either generally feels comfortable with.
Approaching the smoking wreck, Ellie catches an unmistakable whiff of charred flesh and has to cover her mouth to stop herself from gagging. She can’t see much of anything inside, but the figure in the driver seat looks small, most likely a woman. Her head is bowed to her chest and there are remnants of long straight hair. Forcing herself to look harder, she notes the few details that jump out at her.
A gold band on her wedding finger, stark against the blackened skin.
Gold hoop earrings in both ears.
And there’s something on the seat next to her that’s melted to a puddle of dark green goo, probably plastic.
She steps a bit closer, trying to make out what it might be, but the smell is suddenly overwhelming and she has to move back and turn her face away.
Stepping in between her and Hardy, Bill Owens gives her a sympathetic look and then hands her a wrapped Fisherman’s Friend.
“Pub landlord spotted the flames from out front about four-thirty. Figured some kids were having a bonfire at first, then when the petrol tank went off he called us and legged it up here. Burned his hands pretty bad trying to get the door open.”
Owens jerks his head towards the open bay of the nearby ambulance,
“He’s over there. Jason Taylor. Pretty upset. Seems like the sensitive type.”
Hardy frowns and shoots him a look that - to Ellie - clearly cables his annoyance at the remark.
“And what time did you get here?”
“About five-fifteen.”
“Anyone around that you saw?”
Owens jerks his head in the other direction, where a group of three older teenagers are stood awkwardly smoking by the side of a tree.
“Just that lot. Said they didn’t see anything. And there were two walkers as well, a couple. They’re down at the pub. The woman was bit upset, so I told them they could wait there for you. Away from the smell.”
Hardy nods,
“Very sensitive of you, Owens.”
Bill Owen’s eyes narrow slightly, but before he can make any kind of retort Ellie steps in front of him to block his view of the other detective.
“Brilliant, thanks Bill. Good work. We can take it from here.”
“Ellie. DI Hardy.”
Giving her a small terse nod, the older PC turns away and walks back to his squad car, muttering something into his radio as he goes. He’s clearly irked, and when she looks at Hardy’s face she can tell that he’s just a tiny bit pleased about that.
The paramedic is one Ellie knows well: Claire Pickering. She used to partner with Joe sometimes, and when she looks up from dressing Jason Taylor’s hands her smile falters for a moment when she sees who it is. It’s a look Miller’s used to, and one she always meets with the same tight smile.
“Hey, hi! Ellie,” she nods uncertainly at Hardy, “And uh…Detective. Almost done here.”
Jason Taylor’s eyes are red-rimmed, whether from the smoke or from crying Miller can’t be sure. When Claire is finished talking to him about aftercare she rests a hand on his shoulder for a moment and he looks up at her gratefully. Taking her cue, Ellie smiles warmly,
“Sounds like you’ve been very brave, Mr. Taylor.”
The man hesitates and then shakes his head, and when he speaks his voice quavers,
“There was…really nothing I could do. By the time I got up here the flames were just too much. I couldn't get to her.”
“D’you see anyone else around? On the way up I mean?”
Hardy is straight to business, his voice not unfriendly exactly but demanding of answers, and it seems to have the desired effect on Taylor who straightens up a bit, pinching his nose with his fingertips.
“Not on the hill, no. But there was another car parked in the car park. As I started running up the path I was shouting for help, but it just pulled away.”
Hardy has his notebook out,
“Remember the make? Colour?”
Taylor shakes his head,
“Dark blue or black maybe? Something big.”
“An estate? Van maybe?”
“Not sure, maybe…a people carrier?”
“See the driver?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Anyone else who might have seen it? There CCTV at the pub?”
“It doesn’t cover that end of the car park.”
He looks dazed suddenly, staring off into the distance, and Ellie steps in a bit closer to lay her hand where Claire’s had been before.
“You ok, Jason? Shall we walk you back down to the pub? You got someone there who can sit with you?”
Taylor nods stiffly, and then his eyes are brimming over with tears again. He looks up, but not at her, he looks straight at Hardy.
“You think she was already dead? Before I got up here I mean?”
Hardy’s face is impassive,
“Most likely. Looks like a melted hose taped to the exhaust. Maybe rigged something to set the car alight to be sure she didn’t wake up. Bit elaborate, but I’ve seen stranger ways to do it. Either way, seems obvious what she wanted to do.”
He looks down at the other man as he’s speaking, and Ellie feels a little flare of something warm in her chest as she recognises what he’s doing. What he always does. In his own bleak, no-bullshit kind of way, Hardy’s soothing him. Letting him know he’s not to blame. He’s being kind in the only way he knows how to be.
They go and talk to the kids, take some personal details, then walk back down the hill to the pub and talk to both of the walkers. It takes a while and by the time they’re ready to go it’s nearly nine thirty.
“You driving back?” she asks, and Hardy gives her an odd questioning look.
“Why, you want to?”
“Since when do you ask?”
He shrugs awkwardly,
“I’m more than happy to.”
“Well, so am I!”
She stares at him and he looks back exasperated,
“Bloody hell Miller, then you drive!”
“Alright! You don’t have to be an arse about it!”
It’s a weird little exchange that seems to set both their teeth on edge with its strangeness, and again they don’t speak for most of the drive back. Hardy leafs through his notebook, ostensibly reading over what he’s written down, but she’s pretty sure he can’t have forgotten it already.
“Think it’s just your standard suicide then?”
He wrinkles his nose at her question, and taps his fingers on the window.
“Not that bloody standard though, was it? I mean, the hose would have done it nicely. Why bother with setting the fire? Bit showy.”
“Maybe like you said to Taylor, wanting to make sure she didn’t survive?”
Hardy grunts,
“So why not take pills, or slash her wrists? No, she took herself off to a quiet spot, to use a nice quiet, peaceful method, sat alone in her car. Why risk drawing attention to herself, or harming someone else with a fire?”
Ellie nods and then sucks on her lower lip, thinking. Even in her very darkest moments she’s never contemplated suicide as an option, and she’ll happily admit she sometimes finds it hard to imagine the thought process that’s involved, put herself in their heads. Hardy however doesn’t seem to have that problem.
Risking a glance sideways at him, she’s surprised to find that he’s watching her intently, his eyes seemingly resting on her lips.
“What?” she says, flustered.
“Nothing.”
“What!!?”
“Nothing. Nothing important.”
He looks away, out the window, and then - like he suddenly thinks better of it - back at her.
“Was just going to ask you to pull over for a minute is all.”
When she thinks about it, Ellie realises that she hasn’t sat in a car in a lay-by necking with a bloke since she was about twenty-one. Not that she wants to think about that right now, or who it was she was with at the time. Right now all she wants to think about is how good it feels to kiss someone again and have them really kiss back - with real passion and genuine emotion - and feel their warm breath in her mouth, and see their eyes half-close like they’re in a little heaven all of their own making.
Her head is spinning a bit, and the gearstick jammed into her thigh muscle hurts with a kind of dull distant ache, but she honestly doesn’t give a shit. As Hardy bends his head to her neck she sucks in a breath and pushes her fingertips through his dark hair, and suddenly she can’t stop herself from laughing.
His breath stutters against her throat and then his eyes come up, wide and brown and a little dazed-looking.
“Why yer laughin’?”
“Sorry, I just..”
She tries not to giggle at his expression,
“I was just thinking about something.”
“‘Bout what?”
“Nothing just…I was just imagining you still calling me ‘Miller’ while we’re…”
His eyes widen a bit more when he realises what she’s talking about, and then he cracks a shy grin. And lord, but when he smiles Alec Hardy is a thing of beauty.
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought, Miller.”
He dusts a hand along her jaw, and then slowly and deliberately presses a soft kiss to one side of her mouth.
“An' I can do, if that’s what you want. On one condition though.”
“Which is what?”
“You have to call me ‘sir’.”
She not at all sure how they manage to pull themselves together after that, or how they make it back to Broadchurch without pulling over a second time. There’s a brief moment of indecision when Hardy draws up to the kerb outside her house, but it’s ten already and they both know there’s no way she can invite him in with her dad home.
“OK, well…” Ellie hesitates with one hand on the door handle, “See you tomorrow I suppose? See if we can get an ID on our victim.”
Hardy blinks at her in the semi-dark. He still looks a bit shell-shocked, and without thinking she reaches out a hand to smooth the back of his hair where she’s messed it up.
“Can’t have Daisy getting any ideas about what you’ve been up to.”
“No,” he ghosts a smile, “Can’t have that.”
She breathes out softly then, and he does the same.
“ ‘night Hardy.”
And she kisses him - soft and light - and watches his eyes flicker closed again for a second, then gets out of the car and goes inside.