A/N: Continuation of my other Broadchurch fic, The Right Place. Chibnal and ITV own the bits you recognise.

Ellie had never been sure of herself when it came to love.

It started at school, when her friends would gather by the sports field to watch the lads play football. An hour of in depth discussion on the subject of who had the better arse out of Simon and Gary and she was always convinced she was seeing completely different people. She supposed it would click eventually, but at the time, Simon, Gary and the rest of them were not a lot more than sweaty pigs who saw any moment they didn't have their hands down the front of their trousers a waste.

Her dad insisted she was right to concentrate on her school work rather than run around with boys. Her mum reassured her they weren't all bad and she'd find one eventually. Lucy told her she should roll her skirt into her waistband and sneak lippy into school if she ever wanted a boyfriend.

All of it sounded like good advice, but not necessarily applicable to her. She wasn't purposely avoiding boys or looking for one in particular. She was just… not really interested.

Of course there had been Nick Green after the leavers' disco and the snog that tasted of stolen ciggies and cheap cider. Her friends had cheered when they found out and Lucy had practically cried with joy. They made it out to be a huge stepping stone, one of the most important moments of her life. To Ellie, it was just a moment. Not all that bad, but nothing she was going to dream about for weeks to come like people in films and books were prone to do.

By the time school, puberty and Nick Green were a distant memory, Ellie had come to terms with being a bit different to everyone else. She'd congratulate her mates for one night stands and flirt a bit herself, but getting off with strangers never appealed to her.

She'd had a couple of boyfriends. Nothing serious. They were nearly always more into her than she was with them. Or at least they were into what they could get from her. It was hard to tell and never seemed worth the risk. Occasionally there was someone she thought might be different, but she was never sure how to get beyond the stage of being polite, sometimes risking trying to be funny and staring at them from across the room.

Her life was filled with near misses and a hundred almosts. She often wondered if everyone else felt the same.

And then there was Joe.

Joe was easy. He made a horrible day better and then another and then another. It never felt like a risk to crack a joke in front of him when she wasn't staring at him over wrecked cars.

He smiled at her, so she smiled back.

He asked her on a date, so she went.

He kissed her outside of a pub in Weymouth, so she kissed him back.

She loved him. Really, properly loved him. It wasn't what the films had promised her; it was so much more. It was exciting and warm and secure and scary and it was insane to think that for every time she thought about him, he was probably thinking of her.

He asked her marry him, so she said yes.

He said he'd love her for the rest of his life, so she told him the same.

He broke her heart, his promise and everyone she cared about, so she broke his ribs.

And then there was Hardy.

Well, not straight away. There was a move to Devon, the argument with Tom, her friends turning their backs on her, a shit job and everything just being shit in general first.

But then, contrary to her every prediction, there was Hardy.

While everything fell away so her life could be put on trial, he remained. She kept him at arm's length, scared the inevitable would happen and he would leave her too. Of course, it was this behaviour that made him leave in the end. That day in the tiny hut he called home, he was asking her for a reason to stay and she hadn't realised in time that she had one. That she was one.

Months of learning to cope on her own had taught her that she could do it. Five minutes of saying goodbye to him taught her that maybe she didn't want to anymore.

Eventually they found a way back to one another and she noticed his habit of staring at her from across the room.

This time, she smiled and waited for him to smile back.

She kissed him and hoped he'd kiss her back.

Deep inside, she still worried that she only held him close because he had been the one to help her rebuild it all. Did she want him or the security of having someone to lean on? Did she like the way he looked or the way she felt when he looked at her?

When he told her he loved her, she wanted to say it back. She did. Whether it was because she knew what it would mean to him, or because she felt obligated, or because, against all odds she had fallen in love with Alec Hardy, she had no idea. The words sat on her tongue, too scared to move forward, but too big to swallow.

She couldn't lie to him, not about this, and he took it so well she nearly blurted it out anyway.

The next few weeks she had carried on with her life as normal. She went to work. She spent time with her kids. She visited friends. She saw Hardy whenever it was possible and neither of them brought it up, though she could see how he felt, barely concealed in his eyes.

It was strange, walking down the street or sitting opposite a suspect, with the knowledge that someone loved her, burning in her chest like a talisman. No matter how miserable the weather, how terrible her day or how frustrating her workload, nothing could take that away from her. It was exciting and warm and secure and scary and it was insane to think it was the same as before, but so much different because her experiences had changed but not broken her.

It was an incredible feeling, one she wished she could give to Hardy, though she knew it would be cruel if it wasn't real.

One night, she woke up to the sound of howling wind, pounding rain and next door's front gate smashing against their wall. Underneath it, she could make out the soft breathing of the man sound asleep in her bed beside her. Rolling over, she buried her nose into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Her eyes were barely closed when her face hit the pillow as Hardy moved onto his side, wrapping an arm around her and nuzzling her hair.

"Stop movin', Millah," he grumbled amongst other indistinguishable Scottish noises. "Cold." The cover was pulled over her head so his face was half-hidden from view and everything slid into place.

"Hardy," she whispered. "Hardy." She poked him in the chest until one of his eyes cracked open under lowered eyebrows.

"Wha?"

"You awake?"

"'s'dark."

It was good enough for her.

"I love you."

His eyelids flickered. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Through the darkness, she could see the joy shining in his eyes. It was the least insecure she'd ever been in her life.

"Love y'ellie." He moved to kiss her but got her chin. "Sleep now."

And she did.

Thanks for reading!