A/N1: Three little bonus scenes. They're short, but I hope you enjoy. J

Bonus Scene 1: Chapter Two – Just Before the Task Force Meeting

Hardy

It's a beehive of activity outside Hardy's office as wee Sal and his other DSs hurriedly add last minute reports from SOCO to the information packets to be handed out at the task force meeting that's starting in less than ten minutes. Hardy barely notices as he pores over the case files one more time, hoping they haven't made some dumb-arse mistake that will be immediately pointed out to them. On the one hand that's exactly what he hopes will happen, as it may then break the case wide open and they can catch the bastard. On the other, he doesn't want Sal or the rest of his team-even Webster-made to look like fools.

Not to mention his career wouldn't survive another major fuck up.

He glances up as Sal bustles in.

"List of attendees, sir," she says and hands him a piece of paper.

"Good turn-out?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he leans back in his chair. He begins to scan the page.

"Well, the room's going to be full," she says with a nervous smile.

He glances at her over his glasses. "It's just another case briefing."

Sal gives him a wide-eyed look. "They're all DIs, sir, with about a million years' experience between them!"

He shrugs, a smile tugging at his mouth. "Still just another case briefing."

He returns to the list of names. Some he recognizes from their paths crossing over the years. He nods at Tess' name-she dropped Daisy off that morning-and can't quite hide a sneer at Dave's. Beyond the fact he'd shagged Tess while she was still married to Hardy, he really is just a rubbish cop.

Hardy continues to skim the page until he trips over a particular name.

Ellie Miller. Broadchurch.

His breath stops, his eyes widen, and he swears he hears his pacemaker kick into high gear as his heart starts pounding.

"Sir? Sir!"

He looks at Sal, eyes wide, mouth slightly open.

"Are you all right?" she asks with a concerned frown.

He doesn't answer as he abruptly pushes himself to his feet. He grabs his suit jacket and pulls it on as he heads for the door.

"Where are you going?" Sal calls.

He's too busy taking off his glasses, straightening his tie and running a hand through his hair to answer her before he rushes through the meeting room door and practically skids to a halt.

He sees her immediately, or rather the back of her and he drinks her in. He notices the curly hair is a little longer, her suit jacket hanging a little looser round her shoulders. He's half-way to her before he realizes she's talking to Tess and Dave.

He hears Tess saying, "...has only been active for the last eight or nine weeks then that substantially narrows the search focus."

"We found the first body nine weeks ago, Tess," he says, grateful to be handed a way into the conversation, "that's not when we think he started."

Miller spins round at his first word and if he wasn't so worried he was going to muck this up, he'd be amused by her gaping mouth and wide eyes and the soft gobbling sounds she's making as she tries to speak.

He knows he's staring but he can't help it and vaguely wonders if he looks as nervous as he feels. She looks good, more rested than the last time he'd seen her, definitely a little thinner, her hair just as unruly and pinned back in her usual style. He knows Tess is watching with a smugly amused yet irritated expression, but he doesn't care. He feels like he's finally found something that had been lost for too long.

He wracks his brain for something else to say, and finally manages, "Miller. Finally got that promotion, then, aye?"

That makes her gobble even more and he's almost gleefully anticipating whatever smart-arse remark she's going to finally force out of her mouth when he hears his name called. He looks over his shoulder and sees Sal waving the updated info packet, and he nods.

"We're starting," he says. He looks rather helplessly at Miller for an endless moment but is unable to think of anything else to say before he turns and heads to the front of the room.

There's work that needs to be done.

*/*/*/*/*

Bonus Scene 2: Chapter Ten – On the Road to Stonebridge after the Snogging in the Hallway. And the Kitchen.

Hardy

Hardy still has no idea what to do, but as he drives to Stonebridge he knows he has to do something. Miller's as skittish as a cat and he's not much better, and they're going to be interviewing Ricky and Lee and Claire tomorrow and they need to be on their game.

Which, he admits with a rueful twist to his lips, isn't really what's worrying him-it's just the easiest one to explain.

She kissed him. Then avoided him. Then kissed him again...and avoided him again.

He doesn't know if they're grown adults or twelve, and he has no idea how or when Miller shifted from 'not hugging you' to snogging him in the hallway. And the kitchen.

He knows he let his feelings show the night she ran back to Broadchurch, knows she saw it, knows that's why she ran. He doesn't even blame her. He's a fucked up mess and in love with her-he'd run too, if he could. Which is why he's confused by her kissing him now. He's still a fucked up mess and still in love with her but-he glances in the mirror at her car following behind his-she doesn't seem to be running anymore.

His lips curve softly at the thought then he sobers.

He knows she almost likes him...most of the time, and at least enough to worry about him staying safe from his prankster. But liking doesn't mean...well, he's still who he is, and judging from her married life, Miller wants somebody...not at all like him. He strongly suspects Joe was the very model of supportive and sensitive and bloody good company, giving Miller exactly what she craved. The fact that his behaviour hid a fundamental lie doesn't change the fact Joe played the role-and played it perfectly-for years, giving Miller the perfect life and making her ecstatically happy as a result.

Hardy's not going to make her happy—not like that. Not the way she was before. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he's never been one for sweet words and kind lies and endless patience. The closest he's ever come to that was when he listened to Miller the night he arrested Joe.

Or when he was comforting Claire after her abortion, telling her everything would be all right. Meaningless words but heartfelt compassion, given sincerely to a woman hiding a fundamental lie.

He shakes the memory of Claire away from him and returns to thinking about Miller and what he's going to say when they get to the flat.

He needs to understand exactly what this weekend was about. Maybe nothing, maybe something, and now that he has new evidence providing additional context, he thinks back to the strange looks she's been giving him lately, the growing-ever-more-awkward tension between them, that look over her shoulder at the hotel the night Murray found the cameras and microphones in Hardy's flat.

Maybe the snogging wasn't quite as out of nowhere as it first appeared, he thinks, and his mouth curves into another smile, a wide one this time before he tempers his optimism with the caveat that she may be regretting it and is even now planning how to tell him it was all a mistake. Even if she doesn't tell him that, she'll need time to get used to the idea of, well, whatever this might end up being, and he's sure she'll expect a certain amount of romance and—and—and wooing on his part.

If it ever gets to that point.

He grips the wheel and chews nervously on his bottom lip. He's never been that great at the whole romance thing. Or the wooing thing. Or the dating thing. He's never really understood what people were supposed to do on dates. In a moment of sudden panic, he thinks he may have to ask someone-Sal or Murray or-God, no-Webster-for advice. Dinner, that he understands, but what are people supposed to do beyond that?

Well, at least he knows what not to do.

He won't be groping Miller in any parking lots without her permission.

*/*/*/*/*

Bonus Scene Three – Chapter Eleven – Some Point before Hardy's Attacked

Ellie

To Ellie's surprise, Hardy is far more sensual than she ever would have expected.

He becomes almost boneless beneath her hands with all the hedonistic pleasure of a cat. He relaxes while at the same time yearning towards her. It's an endlessly fascinating combination and she enjoys it almost as much as he does. Her hands and mouth explore his body, trace the scar left by the surgical blade and the one left by a less benevolent knife, and his eyes drift closed as he smiles and hums, a low, husky, growling sound.

It makes her smile.

He purrs like a cat, too.

Even more than being touched, Hardy loves to touch her, constantly reaching out during the day to rest his fingertips on her shoulder or her arm, lightly, and always, she notices, hesitantly, as if half-expecting her to shrug him away the way she used to. She doesn't, of course, and if the situation allows it, she'll instead lean closer to him. When she does, she's rewarded with a flashing glance that's achingly vulnerable and grateful and amazed and happy. It makes her stomach flutter and she can't stop herself from smiling at him.

It's the night that truly surprises her, though, when he curls around her as if he'd like to absorb her into him. He presses close, even in his sleep, his scruff lightly scratching against the nape of her neck, his breath ghosting across her skin. His body, warm against her, makes her feel safe and she'll sometimes roll over so she can hold him, easing the empty ache in her arms, and allowing her to feel his heart beating, strong and steady, against her.

*/*/*/*/*

Hardy

Almost better than the sex is the sheer pleasure of touching and being touched. He'd been betrayed and alone in Broadchurch, close to dying and afraid with it. Except for Daisy and medical staff and the odd comforting hand to a victim or colleague, Hardy hasn't truly touched or been touched in almost three years. More than that, really. Tess had pulled away from him long before she was forced to admit her affair with Dave. It's been so long since he's felt another person he almost doesn't know if he feels pleasure or pain as Miller explores his body with her hands and mouth, and as he does the same to her.

When they're not having sex, he feels an almost constant desire for contact, to fleetingly touch her arm or shoulder, to assure himself she's really there and he's allowed. It helps ease the ache in his fingers and fills the hollow spaces within him.

At night he presses close and wraps around her, wanting to keep her safe, wishing he could erase her still-lingering pain. He can't, of course, and he doesn't pretend he can. When she turns and holds him so close he can feel her heart beating against him, steady and strong and true, he hopes she understands what he can't find the words to say.

*/*/*/*/*

A/N2: Writing/editing these bonus scenes made me remember why I dropped them in the first place (slowed the story; not quite in character; not quite the same tone as the rest of the chapter(s)). Some of the other scenes/ideas that didn't make it into this fic are going to inform other fic(s) and possibly the sequel to this one. :)