A/N: Hello! This is in the same universe as the rest of my Broadchurch fic, but can be read on its own. I own nothing you recognise.

As Hardy looked around the beach he was currently sat on, he had to wonder why there were so many people also stupid enough to brave the harsh sea wind only to be rewarded with getting sand in every crevice.

It was well into autumn now, something Hardy hadn't really been aware of until this morning when it literally hit him over the head in the form of conker falling from a tree on the way to his car. However, after a week of drizzle, the day was otherwise pleasant and most people had switched their coats for light jackets. One of the only exceptions was sat next to him, orange coat zipped up to her chin, talking to her eldest son on the phone while her youngest lined pebbles on the blanket in front of him.

"Isn't George Best dead?"

Hardy arched an eyebrow at Miller as he added a pebble to Fred's collection.

"Well, how was I supposed to know there was a statue?"

For some reason there was something terribly wrong with the pebble Hardy had selected and Fred threw it away from them. It landed dangerously close to a group of teenagers sat a few metres in front of them and Hardy raised a hand in apology while restraining Fred with the other.

"Don't throw them, mate. You'll hurt someone."

"Why are there so many statues? Sounds more like an art gallery than a stadium."

"Stone!"

"Fred!"

"What the hell has Michael Jackson got to do with Fulham?"

"STONE!"

"Right - no more stones." Hardy scooped the toddler up and sat him on his lap. He twisted around in an attempt to escape, but Hardy managed to sneak his hand under his coat to tickle him. Fred curled up into a squealing ball and forgot all about his pebbles.

"Well, behave," Miller said into the phone, shooting Hardy a smile. "And stay with Olly! Do what he says, okay? Enjoy the game, sweetheart. Yep - love you. Bye."

Miller put her phone away while Fred adjusted himself so he was lying face down across Hardy's lap. He leant over the blanket to play with the sand.

"Tom's enjoying himself, then?" Hardy asked.

"We'll be lucky if he comes home by the sounds of things."

"I didn't think he even supported Yeovil?"

"He doesn't. Weymouth's always been his team," she explained. "But they got Man United in the cup and Olly managed to get press tickets through work or something. Either way - his bedroom's been spotless for a month. All I've had to do is say the words 'Old Trafford' and he suddenly remembers how to make his bed."

Hardy smiled and wrapped an arm around her. She rested her head against his shoulder and tugged on Fred's feet to make him giggle.

Four hours ago he'd had no plans to be in Broadchurch. He'd been getting ready to drive to Sandbrook to pick Daisy up for the weekend when he'd got a call from Tess to say she had fallen ill. He'd said he'd visit anyway, but she'd shut the idea down.

"Little Miss Google told me that people with certain heart problems should avoid cold medicines and doesn't want you catch it off her."

"Fuck that, I'll deal with it."

"Alec-"

"I'm not saying I'll bring her back with me, but I should visit at least!"

Tess sighed. "She told me to not let you in the house because even you don't catch it, you could pass it on to Fred."

"But-"

"Look, Alec, I understand you're frustrated, but it's one weekend. She's asleep, but I'll get her to ring you when she wakes up, okay?"

Eventually he'd backed down with the promise he'd visit in the week when she was feeling better. It was easy enough for Tess to say it was only one weekend when she saw Daisy everyday, but missing a weekend meant possibly not seeing his daughter for a month to him.

He'd been on the verge of pulling out some paperwork he'd been avoiding, when he decided to phone Miller instead. When she revealed she'd been abandoned in favour of "overpaid Neanderthals", he'd volunteered to drive down to Broadchurch to keep her and Fred company.

("Only if you promise not to mention Juan Mata."

"I have no idea who that is."

"Spanish midfielder. United's number eight. Now get here and make me forget everything I just said.")

Looking out of the sea now, the undoubtedly freezing water destroying the sandcastles constructed by those brave enough to be out in the morning, he thought of his daughter and wished he could be there for her. Their phone call earlier had only made him feel guiltier.

"You'll see her in a couple of days," Miller said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "She probably just wants to sleep all weekend. Having you and Tess fighting over who makes the best Lemsip isn't going to help things."

"Tess makes shi-" Hardy remembered who was currently sprawled across his legs. "Bad Lemsip. Never stirs it enough so you end up with-"

Miller pursed her lips and Hardy closed his mouth with a scowl. Maybe she had a point? He was thinking of a way of changing the subject so he wouldn't have to admit it, when Fred started wiggling.

"Fred, mate, what are you doing?"

He had pulled the sleeve of his jumper from under his coat to cover his hand and was rubbing the beach in circles.

"Sand dirty."

Miller chuckled. "You don't have to clean the beach, Freddie."

"But sand dirty."

Hardy lifted him up by the armpits so he was sat facing him. He held his arm and inspected the state of his jumper.

"Your clothes are dirty now," he sighed, as Miller did her best to brush the sand off them.

"I cleanded sand," Fred told them proudly as his mother's phone rang again.

"Next time I have a day off I'm turning the bast-lumming thing off," she muttered as she answered it. "Gina?"

Fred scowled, shaking his head violently. "Bastlummin thing."

Hardy smiled to himself as he continued to brush sand off his jumper. The last time he'd visited, Fred had dropped a biscuit and said "shit" rather loudly in the middle of the street. Miller had insisted that he'd been the one he'd picked it up from but Hardy had seen the way her son mirrored her.

"You're kidding me," gasped Miller and he turned his attention to her. "He's there now?" She bit her lip and glanced at Fred while the person on the other end spoke. "No, no, I want to nail him. I'll do the interview."

Hardy knew enough about both Miller and policing to know that their day at the beach was about to end. Fred remained blissfully ignorant and was trying to undo his tie.

"Hey, hey, hey," he said softly, enough to distract the boy without disrupting the phone conversation. "Want me to show you how to do that? Yeah?"

Fred nodded enthusiastically and Hardy showed him, his larger hands directing Fred's tiny ones. He followed the half of Miller's conversation he could hear. She was giving out instructions on how to handle evidence, who should phone who and he felt a swell of pride. He had known she had it in her to be a fantastic DI by the time they finished the Latimer case and was just glad he was around to see it.

"I need to go in," she told him once she'd finished. "DNA pulled through and they've brought Kent in. If we act fast enough, we could have him charged by tonight."

Nodding, Hardy straightened his tie up. He wasn't really supposed to know about her ongoing cases, but they often ran theories by each other despite working for different constabularies.

"I'll phone Lucy to - shit, she's working today."

"Shit!"

"Fred, don't say that!"

"I'll try the childminder - might be short notice - or Beth could-"

"What are you talking about?" Hardy cut in as he watched Miller flick through her contacts list, unable to find any of the names she was saying.

"Can't exactly have Fred waiting in my office for me, can I?" she replied when she finally found Beth's number. She went to press it, but Hardy gripped her arm.

"What about me?"

"What about you?"

"I'm here."

She stilled, her thumb hovering over her friend's number, and looked at him as though he had just emerged from the ground.

"I can't ask you to look after him. This could take hours!"

"Don't ask, then. I'll offer."

"Hardy, Kent's not the sort of bloke who'll break easily. Trust me - I've tried. I'll be gone way past Freddie's bed time and-"

"I've put a kid to bed before. A few times actually. Ask Daisy."

She gave him a defiant look, but he refused to back down. It made no sense to him to call someone else. What was he supposed to do? Go back home? Find something to do in Broadchurch? Eventually, Miller broke eye contact to run a hand through Fred's curls. He shot her a wide grin that she returned sadly.

"It's not that," she said, talking to him, but still looking at Fred. "I trust you with him and everything. It's just… it doesn't seem right to use you as a free babysitter."

Hardy didn't say anything for a moment. He could see the underlying issue buried in her words a mile off, regardless of how well she thought she was hiding it. After several months of seeing each other, he was definitely her boyfriend - for lack of a better term. However, what he was to Tom and Fred was lost in a grey area that friends and family avoided and was glossed over in front of strangers.

It had only been the previous week that Fred had come home from nursery, proudly showing off the family tree he'd made. Thankfully, before he'd started, Miller had ensured that his teachers knew the basics of their situation and would act accordingly. As a result, as Fred had explained happily to his mum about how some boys and girls lived with their mums and dads but some had their aunties and uncles or grannies and granddads, Hardy was left looking at a sheet of paper with 'Uncle Alec' written in childish scrawl where Joe's name should've been.

While he wasn't their father, or even their step father, Hardy knew before he'd started his relationship with Miller that having her in his life meant taking on her boys as well. He had no legal claim over them, but was known to both of their schools so he could pick them up and it had already been agreed that he'd be giving them joint presents with Miller for Christmas.

He didn't mind. In fact, he loved it. When Tom told him about getting picked for the school football team, he'd been genuinely proud. One of Fred's drawings was on his fridge at home. If something terrible happened and he and Miller ended, he knew one of the things he'd miss most would be the boys.

Of course, he'd yet to vocalise any of this to Miller. Every chance he got to show her he cared for them as much as her he took, but judging by how she still didn't want to abuse his babysitting services, she hadn't picked up on any of it.

"You wouldn't be using me," he eventually told her quietly. "I don't mind looking after him. I'm his Uncle Alec, remember?"

"I know but… You came all this way to see me and I sod off to work and leave you with a toddler!"

"Who says I came to see you?" he replied, his voice a higher pitch than usual. "I'm here for the little man." Hardy bounced Fred on his knees to make him laugh. "We only invited you to the beach because you've got a blanket."

Miller hesitated then shoved her phone in her pocket. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Not even a little bit."

She leant across, cupped his cheek and kissed him. Thanks to the sea breeze, it tasted salty, but Hardy couldn't care less. Kissing Ellie Miller was still a glorious novelty he barely felt he deserved but was always doing his best to earn.

When she pulled back, he added, "And I'll give you a lift there."

Just as he'd hoped, she kissed him again.

Fifteen minutes later, much to Fred's upset, the blanket was packed up and the three of them were bundled into the car. They'd stopped off at Miller's house so she could get changed and Fred was hating being in a stationary car as much as he had being dragged away from the beach.

"Go, go, go, go, go!"

"We have to wait for your mum."

"GO, GO, GO, GO, GO, GO-"

"Hurry up, Miller."

Eventually, she hurried down the garden path, jeans and jumper switched for her usual trouser suit and blouse.

"How do I look?" she asked as she climbed back into the passenger seat.

"Fine."

"Fine?" She muttered something else under her breath that Hardy couldn't hear over the car being being started.

Once she'd done her seat belt she looked up to see they hadn't moved and frowned at him.

"You look beautiful," he told her truthfully. He'd let one relationship go to shit because he didn't pay enough attention to what was happening right in front of him and was determined to make sure he didn't make the same mistake twice.

Unfortunately, his sincere compliment was met with an eye roll. "I was looking for 'not covered in sand and wind swept' but that'll do."

Hardy put the car in gear. "Does it matter?"

"Just drive."

"Can't win with you, can we, Freddie?" he called into the backseat.

"Nah, he always wins," Miller grinned.

Fred squealed with laughter and kicked the back of Hardy's chair.

It only took a few minutes to make the familiar journey from the Miller's home to Broadchurch station. The whole time was spent with Fred babbling to himself about things he saw out of the window and Miller going through her case notes, muttering to herself as she did. While both noises were a bit irritating - not to mention distracting him when he was supposed to be driving - Hardy also found them comforting. The constant hum of others in the background reminded him that he wasn't alone anymore.

They pulled up into the station car park and Miller shoved her files back into her bag. "You sure you're going to be okay with him?"

"Fine," Hardy sighed, trying and failing to keep his exasperation out of his voice.

"Call me if anything happens."

"I will."

"Anything."

"Got it."

"I'll ring you if I get chance-"

"I know."

"-don't know when I will, but hopefully before he goes to bed at six."

"Miller, please."

"If you can't get me then-"

"Miller!" Hardy all but shouted. "I can look after him. It's not like I don't know where you are."

"Sorry," she said, running a hand through her hair. She turned in her seat and grinned at her son. "Mummy's got to go to work now, okay? Be good for Uncle Alec, Freddie. I love you."

"Love you, Mummy," Fred replied, the words muffled because he was chewing on the collar of his coat.

Miller turned back to face him, reaching into her bag for her house keys and handed them to him. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Now, go!"

She smiled and unclipped her seat belt. Rather than leave, she reached across the handbrake and pulled him into an awkward hug. "I'll try and call you," she said again before kissing him.

"Stop worrying. Concentrate on the job."

"Will do. I'll see you later."

"See you later."

Despite his words, Hardy kissed her again. It was hard not to when her face was already that close to his.

"Right," she said between kisses. "Bye."

"Love you. Bye."

"Bye."

With a final peck on his lips, Miller hurried out of the car and Hardy watched her, a strange ringing in his ears. His hands were gripping the steering wheel enough that his hands would probably hurt if he had any awareness of his outer extremities. As it was, his body felt like cotton wool.

"Love you."

Maybe she hadn't noticed? She'd been preoccupied with her upcoming interrogation, after all. It was only a couple of syllables, easily lost in the flow of conversation and the rush of her exit.

Hardy swallowed in a futile attempt to moisten his mouth. It may have only been a couple of syllables, but he had been saving them for a special occasion for a lot longer than he was willing to admit. He couldn't believe he'd been as stupid as to throw them away without preparing himself for the aftermath.

Even though he was very aware of it hammering away behind his ribs, Hardy could've sworn in the painful seconds he spent watching Miller walk towards the station that his heart was sat in his lap, vulnerable to attack.

The seconds ticked by as Hardy reminded himself to breathe. Miller was almost at the back entrance of the station when she stopped and turned around.

"Fuck."

"Fuck!"

Hardy didn't even register Fred's cry.

In a mad scramble, he managed to undo his seatbelt and open the door before Miller was halfway back to him.

"Did you just say that?" she asked. It sounded almost angry, which did nothing for Hardy's nerves.

"No," he blurted out. "Well, yes, but-"

Miller came to a halt a couple of metres away from him. "Did you or didn't you? Not a hard question."

"I just- aren't you in a rush?"

"Don't try and get out of this!"

Hardy opened his mouth, fully intending to have an explanation emerge, but was disappointed when an odd choking noise happened instead. Miller's expression went from annoyed to pissed off and it jolted his brain into producing something in way of a reply. "It's just something you say!"

Pissed off quickly became furious and Hardy wished he had the ability to punch himself in the face.

"In what world," she growled at him, "is that just something you say? To who? The bloody postman?"

"Don't be like that…"

"You're the one being a knobhead about this!"

"Oh, right," he snapped, "I love you gets me a knobhead, does it?"

"So you did say it?"

"For fuck's-" Hardy pinched the bridge of his noise and prayed with every fibre of his being that there was not only a God, but that it was a God merciful enough to have the ground devour him whole in the next three seconds.

Three seconds came and went and the ground remained woefully solid. Hardy wondered if he could get Paul Coates landed with a littering fine the next time he saw him.

With a well-timed death nowhere in sight, Hardy braced himself to return to the argument. However, before he could, he felt a warm hand on his elbow. He opened his eyes and saw Miller. Gone were the hard lines and scowl, replaced by a softness he swore only she was blessed with.

The knot in his stomach loosened and, for a mad second, he wanted to tell her just how much he loved her.

She pressed her lips to his before anything insane could slip by them. When she pulled back, she brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

"Decide what you said," she told him quietly, "and we'll talk about it later, okay?"

Hardy nodded, not sure if he could talk without swallowing his tongue, and watched her walk away.

He was nearly back at her house before he was aware he was breathing again.