AN: Hello, reading people! This is Lily Dragon, and this is a lot of firsts: first Broadchurch fic, first prompt on tumblr, sent by curiositykilledthecatfish. Thank you for you patience, dear! I want to send a bic thank you to the people who made this possible: beyondcanon, who heard me rant and betaed this story without even having seen the series (Yes, I gave her a spoiler free version to read, I'm not that heartless), Hazelmist, whom I drove crazy with my timey-wimey verb confusion, and to nannyogg, who wishes there was more angst and got stuck with fluffy me talking about plot bunnies. So here it is, without any further ado:

The day of the Sandbrook plea hearings dawns thick with mourning, but brimming with the promise of a new beginning. Alec Hardy sometimes thought about how he would feel on this day: the relief, the lifting of a heavy burden, a definite closure to his penance, the lightness of the start of a new life…

Instead, he just wants to curl up under his covers and hide.

The hearing could have been scheduled for any other day but this. If it had been, Hardy would have been able to simply call in sick, so he could interrupt the tortuous, long chain of hours spent in his mind-numbing teaching job. So he could spend a full day enjoying some isolation and wallowing in unpleasant memories.

And to make it all worse, it's already mid-afternoon and the only person he wants to hear from hasn't said a word. No calls from Daisy. Not even a single text. Just when he thought they were getting closer… Maybe she forgot. Maybe she's too busy at school.

But of course the hearing has to be on his birthday. The one situation that he couldn't postpone or get out of. The one day in which he has to be near people. And not the ordinary kind. Tess. His former colleagues of the South Mercia constabulary. Dave. Oh, fuck.

And Miller would be there too. The mere thought of her makes him swallow a lump in his throat. It has been months, and he felt physically incapable of picking up the phone and calling her. Not even texting. What could he say? Hello. It's me. I know you don't want me to be nice, but your eyes were sad. I'm so sorry, please let me make it better. No. God, no.

He times his cab very precisely to arrive in the Courthouse three minutes before the hearing is scheduled. If God is kind, it will be enough to get through security and slip into the courtroom right as the doors are closing. No awkward greetings, no hypocritical well-wishes, just the respectful silence of the courtroom. No uncomfortable silences and loaded looks with Miller.

He is already sweating by the time he passes through security. If the media vultures outside were not enough, the lobby is full to the brim with people from his old life. The door to the courtroom is firmly closed – there must be some kind of delay in the case before his. His eyes dart nervously over the room, his mind reeling while he tries to come up with an alternative plan. Tess surely remembers what day it is, and will probably say something just to embarrass him. He could try to stick to the walls and hope to go unnoticed, but that would be reaching a new level of pathetic, even for his own standards.

Suddenly, he sees another option. His eyes brighten as he scans the room in search of unruly curls. She's the perfect choice, really. Not only is she blissfully unaware of the significance of the day, but she's also the perfect excuse not to socialise with anyone else. She's an outsider, after all, and he's the only person she knows. Ellie Miller, the perfect human shield against unwanted social interactions.

He spots her after a few seconds and draws a long breath to call her, but he sputters and swallows dry when he sees her surrounded by people. Tess is right beside her – of course she is – introducing her to the detectives who worked the case, all twisted smiles and smooth sociability.

Hardy shudders with a pang in his chest that has nothing to do with his pacemaker. He is partially to blame for the scene in front of him. In the aftermath of the arrests, when both his superiors and the media were all over him for finally solving Sandbrook, he made sure no one forgot her name. Brilliant, stubborn, nosey and overly kind Ellie Miller. The killer's wife, the disgraced detective. She is the woman who had really cracked the case. Hardy didn't let her skill and capabilities be forgotten after her name had been dragged through the mud.

But when he sees her surrounded by well-wishers in the lobby, he realised he might had done his job a little too well.

Hiding alone in the corner it is, then.

He watches Miller's expression from afar. Her smile is slightly strained and her shoulders are tense. Not that any of the people there would notice – it takes months of familiarity to notice the subtle rigidity in her deliberately open posture. For a split second he considers taking her arm, rescuing her from the crowd and smoothing down the lines on her face with his h- with some tea and mild sarcasm. But the mere prospect of getting close to his former colleagues makes him sweat and slink back to the nearest wall.

What would it be like if he walks up to them? Would they pat him on the back, congratulate him? Would they feel uncomfortable, self-conscious about how they acted years before? Would they still be mocking him, the worst cop in Britain who couldn't see his wife cheating on him under his very nose?

They finally announce the hearing. People start politely rushing into the courtroom, trying for the best seats; but Hardy keeps back, avoiding making his presence known. He sees Miller turn away from the group and hesitate, her eyes scanning the lobby. She lags behind, and Tess notices it.

"Where is Hardy?" Miller asks, frowning. "It's not like him to be late for these things."

Tess shoots her a crooked smile full of mischief, and Hardy's blood runs cold.

"Considering the day, I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to stay home. You see, it's his-"

He runs towards them before she can do any damage.

"I'm here!" He hates how squeaky and breathless his voice sounds. "Come on, Miller." He wants to reassure her by reverting to his brash ways, but his hand grasps her elbow with such tenderness and he prays she doesn't notice. She shoots him an annoyed look, and he relaxes with the familiarity of it.

"I won't even pretend to be surprised at your lack of manners. Not even after all these months."

"You told me not to be nice." He answers with a shrug, directing them to two seats as far away as possible from the other detectives.

"There is an actual difference between being an anti-social knob and not being nice" she retorts. They bicker for a few minutes and Hardy fights fiercely against the warmth in his stomach and the smile that wants to creep into his lips.

When the Judge is announced, he freezes. Right. Important moment in his life. The murderers of Pippa and Lisa finally pleading guilty. Closure. Justice. He breathes in deeply, counting his heartbeats before he lets the air out, shuddering. He was so involved with his birthday-induced psychological torture that the reality of the moment hits him like a brick wall.

He watches the initial formalities in a detached state, staring at the dock. How many nights had he lain awake, thinking of all possible mistakes and loopholes that they could try to exploit? With all his regrets and mistakes made in the first time around, he's terrified of the perspective of seing it all happen again. His heart couldn't handle a second trial. Fear fills his insides like icy water as he sees Ashworth being escorted in.

His breathing becomes shallower as the clerk starts reading out the charges, the water swirling inside threatening to fill his lungs. He claws his hands into fists, hoping the pain of his blunt fingernails biting into his skin can ground him. It doesn't. His heart stutters. He can't have an episode here. He can't. If his ICD fires up he won't be able to hide it. Everyone will see he is still weak. He can't. He can't, he-

His body registers an unexpected surge of warmth in his hand and his arm jerks violently. Did she…?

Miller looks straight ahead, attention fixed on the clerk as if she didn't notice anything. Her hands are tightly clasped over her lap.

Did she just stroke his hand?

She must have sensed his distress. She's right beside him, for fuck's sake. Of course she noticed. Her eyes are too fixed, her posture is too deliberate. Maybe she would have even held his hand if he hadn't flinched. But would she try to comfort him? But then again, months of companionship while sharing the deepest nightmares of their respective lives, and all she wanted from him was a handshake. So did she reach out without thinking? Was it an accident?

His anxious mind latches into that little mystery as he looks at her from the corner of his eye. It was probably just an accidental touch, but it was enough to spread some warmth over him.

She is tense, wringing her hands in front of her, openly staring at the dock, her warm brown eyes turned to steel. She doesn't look at him, but knowing she is there is enough to steer him away from the abyss of his own mind. At this moment, he is not alone.

"How do you plead?"

They both hold their breaths and he doesn't see her hand ghosting towards his before retreating to her lap.

"Guilty."

There is some subdued cheering amongst th detectives in the other side of the room, but Hardy pays no mind to it. Miller lifts up her gaze and looks at him with a myriad of emotions flitting through her eyes. Her mouth quirks just slightly, as if she's afraid to smile, but the brightness in her eyes is enough. They did it.

After that, Claire's and Ricky's pleas seem to go by fast, and soon he is left with an exhilarating emptiness, slumping on his seat. It's over. It's all over. No legal shenanigans, no courtroom tricks, no second-guessing every move like he had done for the past two years.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, solid and sure.

"No more surprises this time. It's over. We did it." Her eyes are wet, but an undeniable smile graces her face.

There is so much he wants to say. Apologies. Promises. Confessions, even. But the only thing that comes out of his strained throat is a short "Thank you, Miller. Thank you so much."

He stands up slowly, painfully aware of how her grip on his shoulder tenses, ready to support him if he sways. He would usually be angry at her gesture. Treating him like an invalid, even months after the surgery. But the emptiness in his mind and body is so resounding that he only cares about the warmth that lingers in her gaze. That softness that he mourned during Joe's trial. The subtle signs of a healing heart.

He is about to say something – nothing, anything, everything that was swirling through his mind – when he suddenly catches Tess' eyes from across the room.

Fifteen years together and he can read her like a book: a full horror thriller in a few seconds. The piercing gaze with precise, sharp eyes. The slight quirk of eyebrows revealing the gears turning inside her mind. And that scheming, devious press of lips that she uses to hide a smile when she knows she's caught the suspect in the interrogation room. That she caught him. That she knows.

He watches in pure mortification as she immediately tilts her head sideways to whisper something to the person beside her, her eyes never leaving Hardy. And of course it has to be Dave. Suddenly it feels as if the whole courtroom is looking at him. The broken detective being supported by his former DS. Her hand has since dropped from his shoulder, but he feels it burning through his skin in shame.

Without sparing his – friend, or former colleague, maybe the only ally in this whole room – Miller another glance, he bolts from the room before anyone can catch up with him, gritting his teeth as his pacemaker takes over. He needs to get out. Now. He can already taste the relief of fresh air in his mouth when he notices the throng of journalists by the door, cameras standing to attention when they see his figure approach the door.

His steps falter. He is surrounded from both sides. Ghosts at his back, vultures at his front. His palms are sweating, his throat is closing and his lungs seem to be crushed by an invisible fist.

So he takes a page from Miller's book and ducks into the nearest toilet.

Half an hour later one Ellie Miller unceremoniously opens the stall door, a frown on her face and a muffin in her hand. An honest to God blueberry muffin. At least it didn't have a candle on top, or else he would just rip his pacemaker out and let his faulty heart do the rest.

"You're not supposed to be in here" he says, realising too late how ironic the repetition is.

"That's precious, coming from you." She doesn't smile, memories heavy on her mind as she backs away, beckoning him forward. "Come on, then. Your stealth techniques of hiding in the bathroom are more successful than mine, everyone left already."

"You didn't need to do this, Miller." He uncurls his knees from under his chin, dusting off his hopelessly crinkled shirt as he stands up. If the fact that she found him like that wasn't humiliating enough, now she knows it's his birthday. She would probably feel obliged to wish him a happy birthday or some shite like that.

"Yes, I did. I had to stop Tess from sending someone after you-"

Tess. Of course, it was always Tess. She had always enjoyed watching him cringe and squirm his way through the awkward birthday social conventions. Even back then, when she still loved him. And with Miller thrown into the mix, of course she couldn't resist it.

"So she sent you instead to humiliate me?"

"Humili- Did you hit your head on the wall or something?"

"Of course Tess told you about it and your gullible little heart thought she was being kind. But she's never kind without an agenda these days, she's just taking the piss out of me. She knows I hate my birthday, so of course she'd tell to buy me this little monstrosity"

"Hardy-"

"And what's the point of birthdays, anyway? You are just getting older, a year closer to the age you'll be when you die…"

Miller stares at him pointedly.

"…and then you have this unspoken competition of popularity based on who remembers it, as if you somehow owned the day, but you just end up feeling inadequate when people really have no obligation to remember a stupid date…"

She crosses her arms, eyes unwavering and boring into his own.

"…and people are supposed to be happy for you and congratulate you, even if you've had a shitty year and only fucked up your life…"

Her mouth threatens to quirk upwards, but she makes a valiant effort to keep a straight face.

"I mean, fuck, you are basically forced to be happy on your birthday, or it seems you're some kind of anti-social monster who doesn't get any social rules. Why can't people just leave it alone?"

"Hardy…" She touches his arm lightly and he deflates like a balloon.

"Fine. I always hated my birthday, until Daisy came along. But then she used to make such a fuss about it. She'd decorate my cake and jump in our bed at the crack of dawn. She'd always have a little surprise for me, and doing this without her makes me feel lonely and sad. Now I hate it again. Happy now, Miller?"

She suddenly looked up to him, all wide brown eyes and half-open mouth.

"It's my birthday too," she blurts out.

They stare at each other in shocked silence.

"Oh," he manages to say, staring intently at his hands. "Right."

He felt like such a wanker. He was being paranoid about his ex-wife when she didn't do anything. He insulted Miller. And her muffin. He went on another rant concerning normal social interactions. Even worse, he just shared his hurt feelings. He was hiding in the bathroom, for fuck's sake. Alec Hardy, officially completing the 'complete pathetic fuckups' checklist.

And to top it all off, it's her birthday. In his haste to accuse Tess, he didn't even notice her expression to try and figure out what she expects from him. Does she want him to congratulate her? Is he expected to? Does she want a hug?

Before the panic could settle in his chest, her voice interrupted the frantic whirring of his mind.

"Tom bought me this muffin, actually. Had a little candle on it this morning. He told me to eat it to celebrate after the trial… It was very sweet of him," she chatters on, her voice slowly gaining confidence. "So I actually came here to share it with you, even if you're being such a wanker, because I don't want to spend my birthday alone." Her voice wavers just slightly, and he looks up. Her expression is trained in humorous exasperation, but the hint of moisture in her eyes gives her away.

"So…" he clears his throat and runs his hands through his hair "You came here because you want me to eat your muffin?"

Her surprised laughter echoes off the ceramic tiles.

"You make it sound so dirty!" She is gasping for breath, leaning against the sink for support.

It seemed like a perfectly innocent and straightforward question in his mind. He swears. But one word from her and he's fighting a thousand mental images ranging from utterly bizarre to unimaginably sweet and- No. God, no. He can't even- Not that he wouldn't like to- No. No, no, no. She'd kill him.

He is still blushing slightly when they exit the bathroom, silently praying that no journalist lingered to catch that little scene.

"So, where do we go now?" She nudges his elbow.

"What?" He is still trying to fight the embarrassment from earlier, willing his face to cool down.

"There is a lot to celebrate, Hardy, and we're going out. There are muffins to be eaten!"

"Seriously, Miller-" She's got to be doing this on purpose, that insufferable woman.

"Don't give me the I-don't-do-birthdays shtick, it's my birthday and we're going to a pub."

"I can't drink." Now this was something he could do. Finally his bum ticker comes in handy.

"Well, all the better, I drink and you drive. You can pick me up at the hotel and-"

"I'm not driving, either," he deadpanned.

"Sorry, I forgot. So, coffee?"

"I don't drink coffee."

"Fucking hell, Hardy, you want go back to the loo and eat the sodding muffin there?"

The sight of her old temper warms his insides, and the words are out of his mouth before he can fully mull them over in his head.

"What about dinner?"

She stops walking and stares up at him, eyes wide.

His body tenses up while he fantasises about hitting his head repeatedly againt the glass walls of the building. Fuck, he just went too far, and now she'd think-

"Dinner, and then we can have your sodding muffin as dessert," he adds tentatively, and is relieved to see her teasing frown back on her face.

"Fine, but you're paying. I deserve it after you left me alone with Tess and all your old buddies from the CID."

He relaxes enough to feel the annoyance at her creeping back to his mind.

"Hey, it's my birthday too!"

"Oh, now you want it to be! Knob."

A/N: That muffin. I seriously need to go out and eat muffins today. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this (and let me know if you didn't!). This was originally a prompt from curiositykilledthecatfish: "Alec and Ellie find out they share a birthday". At first I just envisioned the little muffin scene. 500 words at most. But then of course I had to explain why they were in that situation, what would make Hardy phisically want to hide in a bathroom. And then Tess came and started messing with everyone's minds, and this little monster was born. There is still a bonus scene that will be added later on (and you have nannyogg to thank for that), so there's still some chocolate cake to come...