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Alec Hardy is the strangest man Ellie has ever met.
That’s not to say she doesn’t like him, of course. After years of working together, she’s become used to his bitterness and his odd habits - even after two years of radio silence. Hardy’s been back for quite a while now, and they’ve long since fallen into old habits of bickering and prodding and pretending they’re both significantly less fond of each other than they actually are. And it’s not to say that Hardy is strange in a bad way, per se. In fact, at this point, she’s become accustomed to his general funny behaviour to the point where she could even deem some of it normal. She no longer sees Hardy as strange, just a strange man.
She keeps thinking back to that day in court, awful though it was, when it had taken a few more seconds than it ought have to realise that D.I. Hardy wasn’t actually supposed to have been in the women’s toilets. It’s nothing, really, and even if it is something it’s none of Ellie’s business, but sometimes there's a hard-softness about her coworker that reminds her of some of the elder women she knows - Maggie and Jocelyn, and how easily her brain can slide Alec into the same category as them, God knows why.
It’s nothing, she’s over-analyzing where she has no right to, but sometimes, late at night at the office when she’s gossiping with (or rather, at) a half-listening Hardy in the same way she might do with Beth, Ellie can’t help but wonder.
A case comes in - domestic violence, awful thing, but easy and quick to deal with - and that’s what starts the avalanche.
The couple has a kid, and they’re nonbinary - uses ‘they/them’ pronouns, picked out their own name and everything. Broadchurch may not have the loudest transgender community, but Ellie’s familiar enough with the terms to slip into the pronouns without difficulty, and Hardy is quick to follow without hesitation. They don’t talk about it, because it’s not something worth mentioning in the midst of a case, but the kid seems so comfortable in their own skin that Ellie’s brain can’t help but latch onto it. She can’t remember ever seeing Hardy look that at ease with himself, even after the surgery.
She dismisses the thought for the rest of the case - because it really isn’t her place, Hardy gets tetchy enough as it is when she nags him to get more sleep, let alone something like this - but then, when all the evidence is sorted, and the case is essentially done with, the kid stops the two of them whilst they’re leaving the station.
Jack, the kid’s name is. They’re fourteen, older than Tom but younger than Daisy, and both Ellie and Alec have got on well with them throughout the case. Sweet kid, happy to help, funny when it’s appropriate. They stand a couple of steps down from the officers, one hand holding choppy blond hair out of their face as it gets battered by the coastal wind.
“Detective Miller, Detective Hardy,” Jack greets, as though they hadn’t just been speaking a few hours back, Ellie comforting the kid whilst Hardy explained to them where the case would go from now. “I just wanted, really, to thank you. For the last few weeks.”
Ellie is about the open her mouth, reassure them that of course Jack doesn’t need to thank them, they were just doing their job, when the teen continues, “Not many people are so quick to accept me, and I didn’t really expect the police officers to know anything about it, especially ‘round here.”
Ellie briefly considers whether or not it would be appropriate to hug Jack, and Hardy is quiet for a moment beside her before doing something rather unexpected. He pats one hand down on the teen's shoulder, and looks them in the eye in a moment of crushing sincerity.
“You don’t ever have to thank people for something like that, you hear?” Alec says, quietly but firmly. Jack nods firmly, looking for all the world like they might cry, and Ellie smiles warmly, reassuringly down at them. “You’re a good kid, Jack. Now, off you go, your mum’s waiting.” And there’s that softness, peaking through Hardy’s toughened shell. Ellie turns her proud smile on him, and he scoffs at her. “What are you smiling at? Come on, I thought you wanted to get chips.”
It’s a week later, when Daisy and Tom are both staying with friends, and Ellie and Fred have taken over Alec’s house. It’s a Saturday night, not that weekends really mean anything in their line of work, especially considering Ellie’s only staying to go over notes on another case. It’s nothing too serious, and they’re pretty much done with it, so when Ellie suggests packing up for the night Hardy can reluctantly agree.
Fred’s asleep on Daisy’s bed, and it’s far too late to wake him up and walk home, but neither Ellie or Alec want to face suggesting that the two stay the night, so instead he heads to the kitchen for something to drink whilst Ellie flicks through his Netflix account. If they don’t address the sleeping arrangements, it’s only so they can both keep treating this as a prolonged evening visit.
“Tea, Miller?” Hardy calls as quietly as he can.
“Not got anything stronger? I could do with a drink, long couple of weeks,” she whispers back. Hardy grunts his approval, coming back to the sofa with a bottle of cheap red and a couple of glasses whilst Ellie puts on an old series of Bake Off, the television volume as low as she can get it without having to resort to subtitles.
They sip and watch in silence for a while until, when Ellie is just starting to feel the effects of the frankly shit wine, Alec speaks up.
“Miller, the other day, that kid Jack Davis. When they said ‘especially not around here’, what d’you think they meant?”
“Hm?”
“When they thanked us, for not being arseholes about the whole gender thing, they said they didn’t expect police officers to know about it - especially not ‘round here. What did they mean by that?”
Ellie, suddenly getting the impression that this has been playing on Hardy’s mind for a little while, sets her wine glass down and glances at him. He isn’t looking at her, staring fastidiously instead as a set of bakers royally fuck up bread week on the screen across the room and sipping so consistently on his third glass of wine that Ellie briefly thinks of the pacemaker in his chest and wonders if the detective should be drinking at all.
The blue light of the television makes Alec look more tired than he seemed moments ago, and Ellie has to remind herself that he knows his own body better than her. It’s not her place.
“I think,” she says finally, “I think they meant that, well. Broadchurch doesn’t have much of a gay community, does it? Let alone a transgender one. No one’s really openly speaking against it, but I suppose if you’ve not got other people to support you, it must be hard. To feel accepted for it. I think maybe that’s what Jack meant.”
Alec is quiet for a long while after that. Bread week finishes and the next episode starts, and Ellie thinks maybe that’s the end of that conversation. Alec is still making his way through the wine much faster than Ellie is, and when he finally puts his glass down next to hers, the sharp clink of it against the table makes her eyes snap from the television back to him. He’s still not facing her, but his eyes flick over in her direction, almost uncharacteristically anxiously. She’s seen Alec stressed plenty of times, even nervous on a fair few occasions by now, but never really anxious like this. His hands are trembling in a way that they haven’t for quite some time, and he balls them into fists in his lap. For one awful moment, Ellie thinks Hardy might have started crying, but then he finally turns to face her. His eyes are dry, but the wine has stained his lips, and in the dim light of the room he looks almost like he’s wearing lipstick.
“Sometimes,” he says, voice breaking a little from where he’s been quiet for so long. He turns away again, clearly deciding that this needs to be spoken out into the otherwise empty room rather than to his partner beside him, “Sometimes I feel like I’m doing this all wrong.”
Ellie stays quiet, sensing that he’s not quite done with this outburst, but she places one hand on his shoulder, mirroring the rare comforting gesture Alec himself had shown Jack the previous week. It’s uncharted territory for them, openness and comfort and this not-so-hard-after-all softness, but Ellie feels like this might actually be important and, if worst comes to worst, she can blame it on the wine.
“When Jack was telling us, a while back, about the, uh, gender stuff. Y’know, that they were getting counselling for it, and they kind of explained what it was. I suppose they assumed they’d have to explain everything, but they didn’t have to in the end because it wasn’t relevant and, yeah.” Alec stops rambling, having lost his point, and Ellie realises she’s never really seen her boss drink like this before. She’s quiet for a moment, before realising he might actually need prompting to continue, this time.
“Yeah?”
“Well, I guess I was just kind of sat there thinking, ‘doesn’t everyone feel like this, though?’ ”
Lots of things run through Ellie’s slightly wine-addled brain, and she takes a few moments more to choose her next words very carefully. She gently runs her thumb over where it rests on Alec’s shoulder, smoothing a crease on his jumper before softly replying, “No. No, Alec, I don’t think they do.”
At this, Alec does finally look at her, eyes wide and stained lips in a silent ‘o’ as realisation dawns on him. He’s drunk by now, Ellie concludes, the alcohol having fully reached his system, and this is why she isn’t as startled as she could be when he suddenly scrambles at the hand on his shoulder, holding it instead between his own and looking her dead in the eyes, showing more vulnerability than he had even laying on a hospital bed.
“It’s just, I don’t fit- feel like- I don’t connect with other men like I should and I always thought maybe we all feel like that, like we’re all acting ‘s though we care about the whole gender bollocks. You know me, Miller, I don’t give a shite about football or, or, being a bloke , I just get on with the job, and-”
He babbles on like this for a while, punctuated with more curses than Ellie’s used to from her partner. The wine has strengthened his accent, and he’s getting louder than the television, and she really should quieten him down in case Fred wakes up, but really she can’t bear to stop him. Ellie knows, of course, that football isn’t the main decider between a person's gender, but Alec seems so set on these arbitrary boundaries that its clear he’s voicing age-old concerns for the first time.
He stops again, having run out of steam, and Ellie repeats her earlier motion, thumb running across his knuckles this time. He glances up at her, glasses catching the light of the television and hair ruffled from where he’d tugged on it mid-rant.
“Alec,” she murmurs, careful as though addressing a startled deer rather than her grouchy boss. “Alec, have you ever thought that maybe, you might be transgender?”
It’s not the most delicate way she could have phrased that, she realises, especially when Alec starts sputtering as though she’d forced the rest of the wine down his throat, but she needed to ask it regardless. Alec draws his hands away from hers very quickly, and shrinks back into his side of the sofa.
“What? No. No, no.” He turns his body very deliberately away from her again, the soft feeling of the room instantly broken and replaced with a tension Ellie desperately regrets. He glances back at her briefly whilst picking up his wine glass to add, sharply, “Don’ listen to me, I’m, uh. Drunk.” Ellie nods once, and turns back to her own abandoned glass, suddenly wishing she were more sober.
They sit like that for a while, until Hardy stands up and stumbles to his bedroom, seemingly forgetting Ellie is even there. She curls up on the sofa and sighs, wondering whether she’d ruined things beyond repair.
If both detectives lay awake that night, replaying the conversation in their heads despite eyes burning with tiredness, neither will ever mention it to the other. But at about 3 a.m., only a few minutes apart, in separate rooms of the house, and once the wine starts to properly wear off, both murmur a soft, “fuck,” before resolving to try and get some sleep.
The next day, in the station office, Hardy seems to avoid her as much as possible considering how closely they work. Ellie supposes that’s only fair - she'd left that morning before Hardy had even woken up, slipping out of the door not too long after Fred had waddled into the living room demanding food, and not even that long after she’d finally fallen asleep herself. Hardy looks even more tired than Ellie feels, and she has to wonder whether he’d got any sleep at all last night or whether he’d gone to bed simply to avoid further conversation.
The other detective glances at her from across the office, and embarrassment prickles at the back of Ellie’s neck. She wishes she hadn’t said anything, but there’s no taking it back now, especially with Hardy ignoring her like this.
It’s not until Wednesday, a slow workday when Ellie insists on getting some lunch, that they actually acknowledge that evening. They’re sat in a cafe, Ellie halfway through a bacon sandwich whilst Hardy sips a now lukewarm tea, when she finally speaks up.
“Look, Alec - about what I said the other day, I’m sorry, it’s not my place to suggest something like that.” Hardy, as is becoming increasingly common these days, isn’t looking directly at her, instead staring over her shoulder while he drinks his tea. It’s a few moments before he says anything, and Ellie isn't actually sure if he’s going to reply until he does.
“You’re alright Miller,” Hardy sighs and sets down his mug. “Look, I wasn’t going to mention it but I went to the, uh, doctor. Yesterday. Set myself up an appointment Monday morning, just to see if anything would come of it.” Ellie’s not actually sure where Alec’s going with this, but she nods anyway if only to prompt him to continue. “They’ve referred me to a clinic. For gender dysphoria.”
Ellie feels her brows raise of their own accord. Alec looks up at her from where he’s slouched in the stiff wooden chair, and he quickly continues as though to stop her from replying. “It’s a long waiting list - can take a year to even hear back from them, let alone get an appointment. And then there’s, there’s counselling and things so I’ve got a long time to figure things out but. They’ve referred me, so.”
He pauses, and this time his glance at her is definitely a wait for a response. Ellie wets her lips, and thinks for a moment. “Is that what you want? The counselling, I mean.”
“I’m still figuring it out, yeah. I don’t know, Miller, it’s just - steps. Towards something.”
She nods, and smiles at him, and to her surprise he actually gives a tight smile back. The conversation is over, and Ellie finishes her sandwich, and feels the tension between them that’s been hovering since Saturday night lessen.
It’s a few weeks before anything else changes between them, and then Ellie is having another late night at Hardy’s when he suddenly gets up and, for lack of a better word, storms to the bathroom. Ellie’s left Fred and Tom with her dad for the night, and the two detectives have been conveniently forgetting to discuss whether she’ll be staying the night again, although they both know she will. She starts suddenly, snapped out of her work notes when she hears a buzz coming from behind the closed door of the bathroom.
“Alec?” she calls, confused and slightly concerned about her partner's sudden disappearance. He’s been antsy all evening, fidgeting as though he’s been bursting to say or do something right until the moment he’d slammed the bathroom door behind him, and Ellie can’t for the life of her figure out why. “You alright in there?” She knocks softly on the door, and it pushes open, and she sees Alec leaning over his sink, electric razor in hand.
“Piss off, Miller,” he glares at her through the mirror above the sink, and although there’s no real bite to it she obliges, closing the door behind her and turning back to her notes.
When Alec returns to the room a while later, his face is clean-shaven and fixed in a sheepish expression. Ellie looks up from where she’s sat and gives him a reassuring grin.
“Come on then, let’s have a look at you,” she says, crossing the room to inspect the change. He flinches slightly, the two of them still unused to casual touches, as she takes his face in her hand and turns it from side to side, nodding in approval. Alec looks not younger, necessarily, but softer. More at ease. Ellie has to resist the urge to brush a thumb over the smooth skin of his cheek, instead dropping her hand and heading to the kitchen to refill the now stone cold dregs that are left of Alec’s earlier cup of tea. If Alec wants to talk, or explain, she’ll let him do that of his own accord - she’s done with pushing, having made that mistake and learnt from it. And if the look on Alec's face is more appreciative than it should be for a simple cup of tea, well. Ellie won’t comment on that, either.
It’s actually a few hours later, once again done with their work for the evening and having opened a (slightly better, this time) bottle of wine, that Alec explains, completely unprompted. They’ve returned to Bake Off, volume louder now with no sleeping Fred to worry about, and Ellie is amused to find that Alec is significantly further along in the show than he had been when they started it together on that Saturday evening.
They’re sat on the sofa, Ellie watching as Alec stays engrossed in cake week, looking more relaxed than he’s been all day, when he flicks his eyes over to her. They’re a couple of glasses into the wine already, but Alec holds none of his anxious energy that he had the last time they’d sat like this. When he opens his mouth to speak, Ellie can tell it’s him simply voicing thoughts aloud, rather than looking for answers.
“I think I grew the beard to - I don’ know - look more masculine. Thought a change like that would help, or something.” He looks back at Ellie again, as though checking he’s making sense. He is and he isn’t - his sentences are broken, but Ellie can figure out the meaning behind them.
Alec snorts all of a sudden, “Oh fuck, I’ve got to go into work like this. What do you think, Miller? Not too shabby?”
“I think,” Ellie replies, softly as she dares, “This might be the most you you’ve looked the whole time I’ve known you. Masculinity be damned.”
He blinks at this, as though he’s unsure how to respond, but the slight smile he gives her before turning back to the television is worth every moment of fragility so far.
Things are good for a little while after that. Hardy keeps the clean shaved look, and Ellie’s sure he’s letting his hair out a little longer than usual, but she won’t comment unless he brings it up first. Alec needs to figure things out for himself, and Ellie is more than willing to leave him to do that, no matter how much she’s itching to help in any way she can. She doesn’t know when she became so invested in Hardy’s personal life, but between baking shows and soft smiles its crept up on her how important it is to her that her partner is happy.
They’re having lunch at their cafe again when he asks her. Well, Ellie is having lunch. Hardy is sipping his tea like always, just slow enough that Ellie’s becoming convinced he actually likes it cold. They’re talking about work when, suddenly, almost out of the blue, Hardy fixes her with a stare and changes the subject.
“Miller, I don’t suppose you’ve got any nail polish? Nothing fancy, just the clear stuff. Don’t want to nick any off Daisy, is all,” he says it in the most forcibly nonchalant manner, looking at her in a way that dares her to object, and Ellie almost has to hold back a laugh at the dramatics of it. Instead, she gives a genuine smile that seems to ease Alec instantly, and nods.
“Probably, yeah. I’ll have a look when I get in, drop it by next time I see you?”
Alec grins in that way that’s becoming all the more common, and they finish their lunch in comfortable silence.
Ellie had lent Hardy the nail polish, eager as always to lend a hand where she can, and that’s where things go downhill. He comes to work with a thin layer of shine coating his nails the next day, and it’s subtle enough that if Ellie didn’t know it was there she wouldn’t even notice it. Her heart swells with pride when she notices is and she wants to comment but doesn’t, especially when she notices Hardy is fidgeting again - in the same way he did before he got rid of the beard, in a way that immediately tips Ellie off that something is wrong, and she wants to ask but still doesn’t. It’s not her place.
By the end of the day, the nail polish has been picked off, leaving Hardy’s fingernails a mess.
By the next day, his hair is back to its usual length.
Hardy storms about the station all week, barely talking to anyone unless it’s absolutely necessary, and Ellie can’t help but feel like any progress made has been thrown away.
She can’t help it. She asks.
They’re at Hardy’s place again, early afternoon this time, the kids at school and Fred playing happily on the sofa. Hardy is tense, pulling at his short hair in frustration and scrubbing his hand at the short stubble growing determinedly across his cheeks. There’s none of the softness that their previous times here have held - the air almost crackles with the nervous energy coming off of her boss, and Ellie is more than concerned. It’s when Hardy sets his mug of tea down a touch too firmly that she decides to do something about it.
“Come on Freddie, I think we best go make another cup of tea. Look, Uncle Alec’s finished with his already,” she says, not too keen on leaving her son in with a Hardy who looks about ready to start an argument with the chair he’s sat on.
“Don’t,” Hardy says sharply. He glares at Ellie from across the room, and she sets Fred down again on the sofa before turning to face him.
“Don’t what?” she asks pointedly, daring Hardy to turn his frustrations on her.
“Don’t - Uncle Alec - don’t do that,” he says, and Ellie is suddenly reminded of a conversation from years prior. ‘I don’t like Alec. I never liked Alec.’
She treads carefully, unsure where this might be leading. “Well, would you rather I call you something else?” Hardy groans in frustration, tugging at his hair again. Neither says anything for a moment, until Ellie presses further. “Why did you cut your hair? Thought you might have been growing it out.”
“Don’t start, Miller,” he warns, but Ellie has started pushing and isn’t willing to stop now until Hardy snaps out of whatever’s going on with him.
“No, I will start. You shave your face and you grow your hair and you ask me for fucking nail polish, Hardy, and I know that doesn’t mean much but I thought you might have finally figured something out - but now here we are. What happened? What changed?”
“I don’t know!” Hardy shouts, looking for all the world like a person at the end of their rope. “Why’s it any of your business anyway? I didn’t ask for you to get involved, you just involved yourself - like you always do. Well, you can fuck off, Miller, because this is my business, not yours, and I don’t need you hanging around like your pet project. Oh, poor D.I. Hardy, isn't she a fucking freakshow.”
The ‘she’ flies straight over Ellie’s head, because she’s too caught up in the rest of Hardy’s outburst. It’s tempting to leave, to just take Fred and leave Hardy to figure this out alone, but she’s far too stubborn for that. “No, Hardy, I won’t fuck off just because you’ve decided to be a self-isolating bastard. I know you can do this by yourself, of course I do, but why the fuck would you want to? I’m sorry, but whether you like it or not, I'm here for you, because we’re friends Alec, and that doesn’t just go away because of something like this.”
Hardy gapes like a fish for a few seconds, and Ellie takes the silence as an opportunity to continue. “Now, what happened? Because you were all fine and dandy up until the nail polish.”
It’s like all of the fight seeps out of Hardy, and she sinks back into the chair that had been pushed aside during her outburst. “It was - the nail polish was too much. I thought it’d be alright, but it wasn’t, and it got too much.” Her voice has lost its bite, resorting back to a familiar weariness that worries Ellie more than the shouting.
“You didn’t like it? Alec, you don’t have to like nail polish, it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t.”
“No, it’s not that I didn’t - it was nice enough. It was fine . But I kept thinking, 'God, what if someone notices, how am I gonna explain that?'”
Ellie doesn’t respond to that, she doesn’t know how. Instead, something in the back of her head clicks. “Earlier, you said she. You called yourself ‘she.’” It’s not a question - just a statement, laid open for Alec to decide whether or not she’ll address it. She looks up at Ellie, resignation in her eyes.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” It’s not accusatory, or even hurt. Just curious.
“Well what am I supposed to say, Miller? Oh yeah, I feel like I’m a woman but you can’t tell anyone because I can’t handle it. Sure you’d have taken that without a fight.” Some of that earlier bitterness is back, and the glare she gives Ellie from behind her glasses is enough to put the other detective in mind of the strict school librarian of her childhood.
“You can tell people, you know. You know I’m not going to be a prick about it, and you know everyone at work is decent. You can talk about it,” Ellie tries to soothe.
“No, Ellie, I can’t,” Alec snaps, and that’s enough to shut her up. Alec sighs, her face in her hands, scrubbing again at the day-old stubble. “How am I meant to tell people? What am I gonna tell Daisy?”
Ellie doesn’t have answers. Instead, she pulls Alec’s hands away from her face and takes them between her own. She squeezes them firmly, fixing the other detective with a smile she hopes is reassuring. I’m here, every step of the way.
Ellie ends up staying the night, sending the boys to stay with her dad again. It’s odd, because she’s not really stayed when Daisy’s been home before, and she gets the feeling the teen thinks she’s sleeping with Hardy, but Ellie’s not comfortable leaving Alec after that outburst.
They stay up, not watching Bake Off because apparently in her week of crisis Alec had binge-watched the rest of the series. No wine, either, because neither of them feels like another alcohol-fueled conversation. Instead, they order pizza, and Ellie asks Daisy about school, and it’s all horribly domestic until hours later after Daisy’s gone to bed and Alec is sat yet again with her head in her hands.
“What am I going to tell her, Miller?” she asks, barely audible over the Miss Marple rerun neither of them have been paying much attention to.
“You could tell her the truth,” Ellie suggests, gently. Alec scoffs.
“What, that I all of a sudden want to be a woman?”
“No, that you’ve realised something about yourself, and that you might be making some changes, but at the end of the day, you’re still you.”
“Mmh, Alec Hardy, worst cop in Britain, that’s me.” Ellie can’t help but crack a smile, and turns to face her partner.
“Have you thought of names?” She asks, carefully as she can. “Not that you have to it’s just, if you have something you’d rather be called-”
“No. I mean, what’s the point? If I’m not telling anyone yet, there’s no point making up a name that’s not gonna get used. I didn’t even mean to tell you about the whole she thing.”
She’s quiet for a moment, before murmuring “Never did much like Alec, though.”
“I know.” Alec raises a brow at her, but Ellie waves her off. “If you do think of something though, promise you’ll tell me? I don’t want any part in your self-tormenting bullshit, Hardy, if you’ve got a name I bloody well want to use it for you. Even if it is just for between us, for now.”
Alec hums her appreciation, before replying. “Alec’s fine, for now. Maybe Al wouldn’t be so bad, if you really insist, Miller.”
Ellie can’t help the smile that breaks across her face. “Al,” she says softly, and the sheepish grin she gets in return makes her heart swell with fondness.
Hardy doesn’t exactly start wearing dresses to the station, after that, but then she’s never really given Ellie the dress-wearing vibe. She does come in, Monday morning, with her nails freshly painted. There’s something in her hair, too, fluffing it up more than usual, and her face is clean-shaven again. She’s wearing her usual suit, but there’s an air of comfort about her despite the obvious nerves. When Ellie catches her eye across the office, she gets a shaky smile, and can’t help but think maybe things are finally changing for the better.
She knocks at Hardy’s office door, about 1 p.m. that afternoon, a cup of tea in hand. She sets it down on the cluttered desk, knowing they’re both far too busy to go out for lunch today, and sets herself down on the free chair.
“You look nice today, Al,” she comments, because she does. Hardy snorts, not properly acknowledging the compliment, instead finishing up whatever document she’s typing. They sit there in comfortable silence, until Hardy’s done with her work and finally looks up at Ellie.
“I spoke to Daisy last night. About, you know,” Al says, suddenly.
“Oh?” Ellie can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “That was quick.”
“Well she, uh. She overheard us talking the other night.”
“Oh. Are you two alright?” She has to ask, suddenly worried this isn’t going to be as good a day as she expected. Al nods quickly, as though to shrug off the concern as soon as possible.
“Yeah! Yeah. Well, baby steps. We’re gonna be alright, it’s just. I think it’s a lot for her, you know. Suddenly Dad isn’t Dad anymore, it’s gonna take some adjusting.” She smiles to herself, and then looks up at Ellie with a proper grin already forming. “She asked to do my makeup.”
Ellie has visions of Al, a few months back, wine staining her lips in a blue-lit room, and smiles too. “Yeah? Did you let her?”
“God no, Miller! Have you seen how some of these kids wearing their makeup? I’m trying to be subtle here.” They’re both laughing now, the first time they’ve laughed together like this in a long while, and Ellie’s heart swells with fondness yet again for the woman in front of her.
It’s been a long while, since that first conversation in Al’s front room. They’ve made their way through all of Bake Off, together this time, and most of QI, and a good few more bottles of wine. Ellie isn’t sure when these visits to Al’s became more frequent, but no one’s complaining, especially her.
Actually, Daisy’s often complaining, but that’s about the fact that apparently all of a sudden she’s got three mums. The first time she’d said this, both Ellie and Al had spluttered, because sweetheart we’re not together, you know that right? But the twinkling look in the teen's eye had suggested she knew more than they did.
Al’s still not heard back from the clinic, but that’s okay because these things often take time. Still, she’s not settled on a name yet, which is also fine because she’s not quite ready to tell everyone yet anyway. Sometimes Ellie will jokingly suggest that she just go with Alice and be done with it, but Al will grimace and claim it too cliche and they’ll leave it at that.
Ellie’s at Al’s that evening, actually working on a case rather than just there socially, which is a rare occasion now. It’s late, maybe one or two in the morning, and Al has begun to doze off on the kitchen table, surrounded by work files. Her hair is longer these days, but not by much, and she’s wearing a soft green jumper that Daisy found for her online - from the women's section, but not obvious enough that she can’t wear to work. Her nails still have that clear shine to them, a constant now that Ellie takes great joy in.
Al still has bad days, of course she does. It’s still very early days, but she’s getting better at actually talking about things now, even if it does take some prompting. She’s the same person she’s always been, grouchy and work-oriented, but she seems so much more comfortable in her own skin that she’s almost unrecognisable. Ellie watches her sleep for a moment before walking over and slipping her glasses down her nose, folding them up on the table instead. She hesitates briefly before pressing a soft kiss against soft hair, before slipping off to the sofa to get some well-earned sleep.
Alec Hardy is the strongest woman Ellie has ever met, she thinks as she lays down.