Work Text:
It was a shock when he got the news. He thought that they’d last forever. Well, as far as forever would get them.
He thought they’d have more time together. He hoped they’d have more time together. But they don’t.
It was quick, he wanted to think. He wants to believe that the pacemaker just dropped and he died without a second thought. But his medical brain knows better. He knows that the heart attack lasted at least half an hour. He asked the mortician. He saw how much pain he was in at the end.
He couldn’t have just allowed the curiosity to ebb and flow away, he couldn’t not know.
The cemetery was small and quaint. About a hundred headstones lined across the land, flowers placed sparsely through it. It felt odd to put him here, in a place that he himself had admitted to hating at one point. But Bill knew he should lay to rest here in Broadchurch.
The sun shone at a slanted angle, rays of sunlight poking through the leaves that swayed slightly in the wind. He sighed. He was tired.
The call wasn’t the hardest part of it all. It was knowing he was dead after their last conversation.
They laid in bed, Bill's arms wrapped around Alec’s middle. His nose was pressed into the bare skin of his shoulder, close to the space where his neck met his arm. It was early, a glance at the clock read five am. Crickets squeaked and songbirds made themselves known.
Bill's hands slid up and down the concave of Alec’s chest, running up and down over the ridges and sparse hair. He hummed quietly into his skin, the notes of ‘Somethin’ Stupid’ by Frank Sinatra muffled into dotted freckles. He’s enjoying the warmth of their closeness, the casual allowance of touch. He loved him, he really did.
It felt so different with him. He could bore him with his medical talk, and he would hold Bill as he cried. He held space for his anger, never letting the doctor get away with his bullshit. He loved him for it.
Alec sighed heavily, leaning even more into the touches bill was giving him.
“When will you be home tonight?” Alec asked, turning his head slightly.
“Hmmm, not sure. Aiming for 7 o’clock?”
“Mm.”
“What, why? Got plans for us?”
“Mm. Maybe.”
“What? Tell me, what’s going on in that detective brain of yours?”
“I think we should get married.”
Bill froze, completely taken aback. The room suddenly felt cold, and his body was screaming at him to leave. The warmth from moments ago had seeped out of him, and he felt sweaty and too close to Alec.
“What.” He had heard him clearly.
“I think we should get married. I love you. We’ve been together- what, four years? I want to be with you. In all that I am. Til’ death do us part.”
He’s turned around now, and they don’t touch Bill almost feels happy for it, as his body is screaming to get away. Alec is searching Bill's eyes hopelessly, like he’ll find a ‘yes’ there. He doesn’t.
“I can’t marry you.”
“Yes you can! I’m asking you to marry me. Say yes.”
“No.”
Alec’s eyes have grown sad, sadness he hasn’t seen in years permeates within him.
“Cmon Bill, don’t give me that. Tell me. At least tell me why. Why don’t you want me?”
“It’s not a matter of wanting you, for fucks sake Alec, why are we talking about this at five a.m.?” He rubs at his eyes, a headache already forming behind them. Gone is the peaceful morning full of kisses and warmth that surrounded them.
A switch is pulled by the man next to him, and he goes completely still, grabbing the blankets as if it will cover what he’s just said.
Alec’s eyes are now cold, cut off from any emotion. Like staring into a bottomless hole. The eyes so normally full of laughter around Bill are serious.
He sits up and continues rubbing at his face as if doing it enough will make the problem go away. Alec doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t blame the man, there’s not much to say. He asked to get married, and Bill said no. End of story. He wasn’t going to be moved about it. Even thinking about changing his mind made him shaky, like he needed to escape. The room feels as if it’s full of thick air, and he can barely breathe.
There’s a shifting beside him, and Alec gets up and leaves the room, not saying a word. Bill looks down at his hands, and he sees the empty finger. He can’t marry someone. He’d just fuck it up like the rest of his life. He’d ruin him. He’d rather Alec hate him than be ruined by him. But he can’t tell him that. It’s… he just can’t.
He gets up himself, and Alec is silently making coffee, sorting his papers from work and packing his briefcase.
Bill doesn’t know what to do. How can he fix this while still having ‘no’ be his answer? How can he make it so Alec understands?
Alec pours two cups of coffee before brushing past him as he goes back into their bedroom, presumably dressing for the day. Bill sips on his coffee and watches the waves as they hit the shore through the window.
Minutes pass, and Alec comes out fully dressed. His tie is undone, and Bill feels himself softening at the gesture. He always ties his ties for the detective, even though they both know Alec can do it, sometimes even better than Bill. Yet he’s still allowing him to do it.
Bill walks up to him after placing his mug down. They stand in front of one another, silently watching one another’s moves.
Bill sighs, grabbing hold of one, and then the other end of the tie. Alec’s collar is popped up and he looks slightly ridiculous. But Bill loves it. He loves him, regardless of their marital status. His fingers brush the man’s chest as he ties it, and he almost wants to apologize for them being there. He wants to apologize for not being who Alec wants him to be.
After the tie is fully done up, he helps lower the collar down, and his hands linger for a moment before moving to drop down. Alec holds them there, pressed against the side of his neck.
They look at one another with resigned faces, unsure of how to continue.
“We’ll talk about this later. I love you.” Alec’s words are final, and Bill agrees with them. Later. They have time. They’ll figure it out and then make out on their couch like teenagers. Bill will burn dinner and they’ll eat it regardless.
“I lo-“ Bill's words are cut off as Alec kisses him. It's awkward for a moment, and it’s almost uncomfortable in the way both of them are stiff as a board.
“See you later.” He grabs his briefcase and mug before making his way outside. He watches Alec through the window for a moment before turning back to the kitchen counter and taking a long drag from his mug. Fuck.
It’s been three weeks. He couldn't bear to visit him sooner, so the tombstone almost feels like a surprise. Like he’d show up and Alec would be waiting for him here, kissing him in greeting and arguing about something unimportant.
The headstone is a dark grey, a few simple words engraved on it.
Alec James Hardy
October 16th, 1969 - May 21st, 2026
The funeral had been a quiet affair, for the people of Broadchurch weren’t very close to him. He’d talked to Ellie and Daisy, not anyone else. Tess had been there, and he had wanted to scream at her, but he knew his anger was misplaced. It all feels misplaced now. His memories feel scattered, his thoughts. His emotions are gone, a clean, sterile slate of nothingness. He didn’t cry at the funeral, he didn’t feel it. It didn’t feel real, it still doesn’t.
The bed is unmade at their home, and the fridge is empty. He hasn’t unpacked the box of things that was delivered by Ellie a week ago. The white mug that Alec had brought to work that day is sitting unwashed on the top of it. He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want any of it. He wants to shoo it all away and go back to when it was just him and Alec, laying in that bed together, hearts pressed so closely it makes its own rhythm.
He kneels at the grave, his hand falling to the slightly wet and newly put down dirt. His slacks are getting muddied, but he doesn’t care. Alec wouldn’t either. Well, he wouldn’t have if he were still here.
He had gotten the call at two p.m. that day. It was Ellie on the line, and she could barely speak.
“B-Bill-“ she gasps out, and he can almost hear the tear drops as they fall from her eyes.
“Ellie? What’s the matter?” He feels a pull in his stomach. Something doesn’t feel right. A string, attached from the tip of his head through his body, feels as if it’s being weighed down with something. He’s not sure yet. Ellie never calls him.
“Come, come to the emergency wing now. We’re on our way.” The call ends.
Bill is on his feet before she finishes the sentence, not caring about the patient he left in the room to take this call, not caring that he’s scaring people as he sprints down the hallway, breaths heavy and feet pounding down on the floor.
Alec, Alec, I need to get to Alec.
He barges in through the double doors of the emergency wing just as he’s being loaded off of the emergency vehicle.
He looks… wrong.
Bill has seen many a people in his life have heart attacks. Old ladies, unhealthy middle aged people.
But not Alec.
He doesn’t look right. He knows what’s happening immediately, but it doesn’t click.
Alec, is there.
But he’s not.
That’s not right.
That’s not Alec.
That’s not his Alec.
What….what?
He doesn’t look like that. No. He doesn’t. His face is bright and his eyes are always watching, always on guard.
He’s not…
He’s not grey, he’s not…lifeless. He has a spark to his eye, a, a joy there. He doesn't grab at his chest like that. No, he doesn’t gasp for breath like that, like he’s in pain.
Things feel slow. Time feels slow. People move around him in fast motion but he feels slow. His body feels heavy and that string, that string that tugs on him finally snaps.
He rushes forward, shoving people out of the way.
“The fuck are you doing? What have you done? Move, move!” He starts doing CPR on the man immediately, feeling the broken ribs under his palm from previous tries.
Someone grabs at him, and he fights back, he pushes them away, coming back to his Alec.
“Come on, come on you bastard!” His technique is sloppy, and his arms feel weak. Why can’t he save him? Why can’t he fix this?
Why can he feel the life draining out of Alec?
He was pronounced dead at 2:45.
It was a Thursday.
It rained.
He wasn’t supposed to die on a Thursday.
It just didn’t feel right.
He sets the flowers down by the front of the grave, letting them lay in the newspaper they were rolled up in. Alec pretended to hate getting flowers, pretended as if it didn’t make him blush and giggle to himself like a child.
He giggled like that when he got him flowers, he giggled like that when Bill brushed over his sensitive back, tracing the freckles. He giggled like that when he saw a kid do something especially stupid.
He doesn’t giggle now as Bill gives him the flowers. He can’t. He thinks there must have been a last time he heard that stupid laugh, there must’ve been a last time he heard him say Bill’s name. He can’t remember. It slips away, just like everything else. Bill wishes it didn’t, but he can’t fight it.
“Darling.” Bill sighs, closing his eyes.
“Alec. I miss you.” His eyes fill immediately upon saying the name as it croaks out under the weight of his emotions. He wishes a lot of things, but he doesn’t wish away the tears as they stain his face.
“I didn’t get to tell you that I love you on that last day. Better late than never, right? I love you. I hope you know that. Knew that? I don’t know anymore. I love you.”
His hands shake as he presses one against the cold granite.
“I could tell you all the things I wish. I wish the sun would stop shining. I wish everyone would be quiet. I’ve begun to hate this town, as you once did. I hate seeing the people, I hate seeing their stupid faces. I hate it. I hate it and they’ll never be you. You’ll never be you, not anymore.”
The sun doesn’t stop shining, and the town doesn’t quiet.
“But most of all, I hate that I didn’t say ‘yes’. I hate that I don’t have the bravery that you do. I was so scared, Alec. You have to understand. I was so-“ he goes quiet, letting the air swallow up the rest of his sentence.
“I’ll tell you yes now. Does that work? Can I do that? Yes, I’ll marry you. Til’ death do us part. Too late. Always too late.”
“The worst part is, if you were still alive, I’d still say no.”
He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag. It burns his lungs, but it feels good. He hasn’t smoked in decades. He thinks now is a good time to start again. No one is there telling him to stop, anyways. The buzz makes his head spin slightly, and his eyes grow droopy at the nicotine in his veins.
A songbird makes itself known, singing out and matching the noises of its home. Bill sits silently, staring at the slab of concrete. It doesn’t respond to anything he says.
“I uh, I brought a book. Poetry book. Remember how I used to read poetry to you? It was one of my favorite parts of the day. Silly, sad, happy, no matter what kind, you’d always listen, always ask for me to read them to you. I’ll read one now, if you’d like?”
He waits for a moment, for a response? He’s not sure. He doesn’t get one from anyone regardless.
The book is pulled out, and he settles against the hard granite. If he thinks hard enough, it’s almost like laying against Alec’s chest. But it’s not.
“I haven’t read this one to you. So maybe you’ll enjoy the newness. I’ve kept it close to my heart. Here I love you by Pablo Neruda.
‘Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters.
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
Sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even-“
He chokes back something. It sounds like a sob. He breathes before pushing forward.
“Even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.”
He looks out at the slowly sinking sun, feeling the chill at his skin. This pause holds everything in him. Every unspoken word.
“Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.’
You’re so far from me, Alec.
‘My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I- I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.”
His sobs can’t be contained as he drops the book, grabbing at his face, rubbing at his eyes, his skin.
It’s been broiling under his skin for weeks, it’s been something he can contain. But now he can’t. He’s not sure what to do anymore. The compass he had such a tight grasp on suddenly changed directions. Everything means so little now. He takes another drag.
Weeks go by like that. Emptiness and a hollow hole inside him. He survives.
He survives, and he never hears that laugh again. He never hears the sound of his name on a Scottish growl. He never kisses freckles on shoulders anymore. He never sings Frank Sinatra again.
He’s almost not sure he can.
He learns, eventually, how to find his way with the compass in his hand. The mug gets thrown away. He can’t bear to look at it.
It takes years, but it finally consumes him. The maw of the being tearing him from inside out gets him. He dies alone in their home that he couldn’t get himself to sell.
Ellie visits them in the old cemetery now and again. Freddy asks about Uncle Alec every blue moon. When he does, she just sighs, ruffles his hair, and tells him:
“He was the best cop in Britain, and he loved with all he had.”