Work Text:
It’s midsummer, and there is a spontaneous lull in the workload at CID— a workload in all of Broadchurch. No doubt due to the heat and exhaustion of a suddenly searing summer. Even beach goers can only handle so much sun for their holidays.
The ebb and flow of cases come and go, and the malaise of heat makes even the tractor theft near unbearable.
Files are left disorderly on desks, and lines scribbled and signatures unmarked.
It’s no wonder then that over a stormy, muggy July weekend, Brian wanders up to CID when one of his files goes missing. It’s a first; battery and theft, and he can’t fuck this one up.
Sweat dapples his cheeks and forehead as he runs his keycard over CID’s magnetic strip. It’s nearly midnight, and dew lingers over the door as his hand slips on the door handle.
He swears under his breath.
The building is at least cool enough thanks to the air, and he treads lightly up the stairs so he doesn’t begin cool off too quickly.
Like the rest of the bullpen, his cubicle is a disorganized mess since he’s usually in the pathology department. Brian rummages about, knocking over photos, a fake plant, and the trinket from Floridia that Ellie gifted him— it’s cute, a bit excessive, certainly by his standards— but he picks it up and admires it.
He should check in on her, see how she’s coping with the caseload, the weather, Hardy…
There’s laughter nearby, coming from an office. Brian checks his watch. It’s 12:07, and no one should be at CID this late. Not even Brian.
He places Ellie’s gift in its original placeholder, and listens. For a moment, Brian doesn’t hear anything, so he continues to cautiously rummage around his desk, but then again, there’s laughter coming from the all-too familiar office.
Brian knows that office, and he knows that laugh.
Forgetting the files, Brian discreetly walks towards Hardy’s office, his ears perked to the sound of Ellie’s laugh. As he nears Hardy’s office, he can hear chatter.
Ellie and Hardy.
Under his breath, Brian groans. Not that Brian would believe anything was going on between the two of them, but office chit chat reigns supreme, and the two of them were always a subject of scrutiny.
Were they or weren’t they?
If anyone could control Hardy, Ellie could. Brian always shrugged his shoulders and said Ellie deserved better than Shitface.
Not that—
Ellie laughs. Hard. That cackling, goofy laugh of hers. Brian could practically see her. Eyes squinty, bare gums.
Really, Brian scrunches his face, utterly bewildered by Ellie’s interest in, well, him.
Then he hears shuffling in the office, and low murmurs before Brian moves behind Bob’s bullpen. He stares momentarily at Bob’s pictures of his wife and children pinned in the tackable panel, thinking absentmindedly before the sound of the doorknob turns.
They stand in the doorway, the inconsistent sounds of their voices flowing in and out to Brian’s ears. It was the momentary predicament of how they should leave one another, the nanosecond before the goodbye, the question of should they kiss, hug, or just leave.
Brian stands uncomfortably, still hiding, and attempting to not breathe too loud.
Ellie giggles, and Hardy attempts his own hand at flirting.
And then silence.
Brian hastens a peak, shifting slightly to look.
They are kissing, albeit cautiously, and clearly in the early stages of dating. Ellie’s hands comfortably rest on Hardy’s waist while Brian can't quite make out what Hardy is doing with his hands.
Fuck the files, Brian realizes. He needs to leave before they catch him spying on them.
“Tomorrow then?” is the last he hears before he tacitly backs away from Bob’s cubicle and makes a mad dash for the door.
Safely in his car, he gulps a sigh of relief before he hastily texts the WhatsApp work text— minus Ellie and Hardy— informing them what he had just witnessed.
“You’re having us on,” Harford responds before Bob texts back, “why were you in my office at midnight?”