A.N: Soooo... After much waiting, agonising over RL issues and some heavy verbal tense editing (thank you SO MUCH, nannyogg!), Chocolate Cake is finally here! This is the final chapter of what was supposed to be a tiny one-shot for a prompt, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it :).

Recapping for the ones who might have forgotten: Alec and Ellie share a birthday, and the day coincided with the Sandbrook Case indictment. Ellie found Hardy hiding in the bathroom, and offered to share the blueberry muffin her son had bought her. They ended up having dinner together, an awkward but pleasant affair, and but they still haven't eaten the already famous muffin. Hardy suggested they head back to his place to eat it... And here we are.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What did he do? Miller is looking at him like he grew a second head, and the implication of his words dawn on him as something cold constricts his stomach. Did he just fucking proposition her without realising it?

That's it, he can't relax around her anymore, not ever. If inviting her for dinner wasn't bad enough, inviting her to go to his flat crosses every conceivable line. It happened again. He spoke without thinking, blinded by the high of being in her company. Nothing untoward had crossed his mind, honestly – he simply craved a bit more of her presence. It seemed so natural to invite her – it wasn't even that late, they had plenty of time to continue talking, and he hadn't had a conversation he actually enjoyed in months…

If he's completely honest with himself – which he usually is, and brutally so – he dreaded the thought of going back to his shitty flat. How could a place feel so empty and cramped at the same time? And coming home to an empty house would make him miss Daisy even more. Another human voice – especially her voice, especially when she was being kind and relaxed and wonderful – would chase away all the unwanted shadows that this thrice-damned day always brought to him. Maybe if he explained all that, she'd understand, as painful and awkward as it would be…

But no, he has to ruin everything by asking her that in such a blunt fashion, full of possible double meanings. He should get out of the car, lay down on the parking lot and ask Ellie to run him over with her car. Repeatedly. And maybe once more, to make sure he'll end his miserable existence right then. And then-

"Sure, why not?" she answers after a few seconds, and Hardy feels lucky she's staring straight ahead so she doesn't see the terribly foolish expression he probably has on his face.

The short ride to his flat is spent in an awkward silence, only punctuated by Hardy's curt instructions. His knuckles grip the car door until they turn white while his mind is caught in a whirlwind of panicked thoughts. Why did she say yes? She seemed to be so nonchalant while accepting his invitation, so why the? Did she realise…? If she did, does it mean that she'll-

"Is my driving so appalling now that you have to grip the handles like that?" She's watching him out of the corner of her eye. Shit. He tries to force himself to relax, but his hands are shaking with all the wild possibilities. He sticks them deep into his trouser pockets, but his seated position makes his trousers overly tight and awkward against his legs.

"I'm thinking about the mess in my flat. I wasn't expecting any company today, so it's probably in a sorry state. I don't think it's in a state to have any guests." Coward. Bastard. He fucks it up and then tries to run away.

"Hardy, I have a teenage son and a toddler who is going through an artistic phase. Whatever you have back at your place, I've seen worse". She smiles for the first time since she entered the car, and Hardy releases the breath he didn't know he was holding. He gave her the perfect opening to back away and she insisted. His train of wild, dangerous thoughts resumes in his mind, but this time he forces himself to be more conscious of his body language as they park in the quiet, dark street. What is she thinking? What will she do? What will they do?

The tense silence is back as he opens the door to the building, only to be broken by Ellie's indignant voice.

"What? No elevator? Are you kidding me?"

"The location was really good, and it's only two flights of stairs." he answers, scratching his head. "Besides, I can manage. If I walked up and down those bloody cliffs before the pacemaker, this is a piece of cake in comparison. Unless you're not up to it...," he teases, and relaxes his shoulders slightly as the painfully familiar look of annoyance crosses her face.

"Of course not, you knob, I worry that you'll kill yourself over some stupid thing like a cheaper lease."

"No dying tonight, I promise." Unless her plans involve things that might put a strain on his heart, like – no. He's not going there. He won't even think about it. For now. Much.

She gives him a measuring look, and he can almost imagine her mind cataloguing his skinny frame for signs of weakness. Setting his shoulders, he points to the stairs and quirks an eyebrow up. "Shall we?"

She huffs and starts slowly, glancing behind to see if he's keeping up with her pace. Yes, a slow walk up the stairs. Plenty of time for her to regret it and walk back down. Or for her to slap him and call him a creep. Or for her to take his hand and press him against the wall in the semi-darkness and – no. No!

He stares straight ahead, trying to empty his mind and get his wayward thoughts together, but he's right behind Ellie and his line of sight is, well…

He never took the time to appreciate how fitting those suit pants look on her. Or how her hips sway slightly when she walks, not in an exaggerated fashion, but enough to remind him of the softness of her curves. She's not skinny in any way, her strong legs filling up her trousers oh so nicely, and right in front of him – would it be soft to the touch, or firm and taut? Would it-

No. No no no. He forces himself to look at his feet, his vision swimming slightly as shame burns in his eyes. What is he, a fucking teenager? Too late, he realises he's already flustered and breathing hard over his rebellious thoughts. If he thought hiding in the bathroom after the trial was rock bottom, he underestimated his levels of pathetic. In fact, he should make an annex to his complete pathetic fuckups list, and a special award dedicated to this moment.

"Hardy, are you-" He notices too late that she has stopped and crashes against her, his arms gripping her arm for support as his whole body brushes against her from behind. He gets one tantalizing moment pressed against the the object of his shameful observations before she turns around, eyes wide, reaching for his wrist. For one delirious moment he thinks she's lunging at him, until he realises she's measuring his pulse with one hand as the other moves his hair out of his face in a calming gesture.

"You idiot, you should have told me I was going so fast! Bloody men with your bloody egos…"

He barely has time to snap out of his self-recriminatory rant about her intentions before the fact that she's standing too close for comfort sinks in. He tries very hard to remember that she's an annoying, concerned friend, and definitely NOT a woman touching him in a deserted stairway.

"I'm sorry, I guess the trial tired me up more than usual…" It's the perfect excuse, and even his shame-flushed cheeks help him keep up the farce. "We're nearly there, Miller. I'll go slower this time."

He climbs the stairs in front of her this time, every painfully slow step accompanied by a single word taking up his mind:

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…

"Please don't mind the mess," he warns as he fumbles with the keys. "I wasn't exactly expecting company, or I would've-" He steps inside the flat, giving her an apologetic look, but when he turns around he stops so suddenly that Ellie almost collides with his skinny form.

The flat is a tiny one bedroom thing, with a kitchen area blending seamlessly into the living room. However, the amount of chaos sprawling through every flat surface doesn't seem quite compatible with a lonely man who cooks for himself: there are some splotches of flour on the ground, at least two dirty bowls and countless spoons over the counters. The reason for all that chaos, Ellie deduces, is standing in the centre of the room, long hair tied into a braid and a stormy expression on her face.

"You're late." Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, showing some splatters of chocolate on her sleeves. It didn't take a Sherlock Holmes level of detective skills to guess the identity of the brooding teenager in front of him - Ellie could recognise that frown anywhere.

"Daisy..." He whispers, as if he can't quite believe she is there. "What are you- You didn't tell me you were- Why didn't you call me?" There is so much softness in his voice, a hopeful vulnerability that breaks Ellie's heart only to fill it up with warmth. He completely forgets Ellie's presence in his house, walking forward hesitantly. It seems like his girl did remember his birthday, after all.

"I wanted it to be a surprise." She wants to hold on to her frown, but a smile is slowly creeping its way into her face. "I came here after you left for the trial and baked you a cake…" she gestures to the small wooden table.

The cake looked… Bless her, it looked like she had tried very hard. Beside her on the table was a misshapen brown lump with little squares of chocolate sticking out at regular intervals. Hardy takes no notice of it as his daughter closes the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his bearded cheek.

"Happy birthday, Dad!", her tone seems casual, but she breathes in deeply into her father's hair, eyes clenched shut and a soft smile on her lips. Hardy holds the girl tightly, running his hand through her auburn hair and kissing her temple once, twice before reluctantly letting her go. He still holds her at arm's length, gazing fondly downwards and swallowing repeatedly until his voice is steady enough to utter a "Thank you, darling" without breaking.

Ellie stands awkwardly at the threshold, feeling like an intruder. Despite all the potential embarrassment, she can't help but smile at the scene before her. She has never truly seen Alec so happy, and the emotion in his face is enough to warm her heart for the day. She doesn't mind eating her muffin alone, after all. She could simply slink back to her hotel, knowing that this insufferable man doesn't have any reason to hide in bathrooms anymore, that he is very much loved like he deserves to be. Now, if she could close the door quietly on her way out…

"Who is she?"

Too late for that. Daisy had finally caught up with the rest of her surroundings, and if it wasn't for Tess' blue eyes, Ellie might as well be looking into a smaller copy of Hardy's trademark suspicious squint.

Too busy trying not to laugh, she leaves a bewildered Hardy to make the introductions on her behalf. He takes a few seconds to recover, a slightly panicked expression on his face.

"This is Ellie Miller, she used to work with me in Broadchurch, and she's here because-" He's doing well so far, his voice isn't even cracking, and he fully turns to look at Ellie, presumably so his daughter can't see the blush that is spreading through his cheeks. Ellie is half-curious about how Hardy is going to phrase the chain of odd events that brought them here when he's interrupted by his daughter's shrill exclamation.

"Oh shit, that's the murderer's wife?"

They both turn to look at the girl, and a heavy silence falls on the flat.

Ellie freezes, looking straight at Daisy as she feels her facial muscles locking into a neutral expression. Her chest tightens, and she struggles to breathe evenly, clamping down all the hurt and shame between her locked teeth. Yes, here she is, the murderer's wife. What a lovely first impression for the teenaged daughter of the man she- of that man, of any man, for fuck's sake. So this is how it's going to be. The girl might have Hardy's frown, but could it be that Tess' tendency to go right for the jugular was genetic?

The heaviness of her own words hits the girl a few second later, as she clamps her hands around her mouth and blushes furiously. She stammers something into her palms that sounds suspiciously like 'Oh God, please kill me", and Ellie's face softens at the sight of two mirrored mortified faces. Turns out it isn't a case of Henchard sharpness, but the oh-so-familiar Hardy Awkward.

"Oh well, it seems she inherited your social skills, Hardy," she finally breaks the silence, her voice slightly rough, but steady.

The man in question hesitates, looking back and forth between the two women in the room. He's clearly torn between apologising to Ellie or berating his daughter when the girl bravely comes forward, her whole face red with embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Mrs, or Miss, eugh-" she sputters, and Ellie feels herself relaxing, pushing the dread out of her mind with amusement.

"Ellie is fine," she says kindly, half-expecting the girl to bristle and declare she's going to call her Miller. The poor thing is her father's daughter alright.

"I'm so sorry, Ellie, that was so rude! I wasn't expecting you to be here." Daisy walks forward to shake her hand, fairly composed if one overlooked the redness of her cheeks. Not that much like her father, then.

"We weren't expecting you, either." Hardy has finally recovered his composure on the last few minutes, and gives the two women an odd look. "We just came here for the muff-"

Oh no he wouldn't. Seriously, Hardy? Of all the times to make a fucking inappropriate comment? Ellie rushes to interrupt him before the poor girl's mind might be damaged with horrid mental images.

"You see, dear, it's my birthday too and my son bought me this." She takes the small cake out of the bag and puts it on the table beside the tiny disaster that Daisy baked, trying to dispel any present and future misunderstandings. "We went out to grab a bite to eat after the trial, and now we're having this muffin as a dessert"

"A store bought muffin?" Daisy doesn't seem very impressed, even if the muffin is doing quite a better job at maintaining its original shape, despite spending a whole day in the hazardous environment of Ellie's bag. A corner of the cake sinks under the weight of the icing, but the girl still stands proudly by her work.

"In Tom's defence, I would be away the whole day, so this is way more practical than a big cake like yours," Ellie answers, crossing her arms in front of her body. Unbelievable. In a little under five minutes, that girl managed to be extremely rude to her, belittle her son's efforts and insult her muffin. And she wasn't even trying to be mean! Bloody genetics. But then again, the poor girl really couldn't help it if she was brought up by two human beings who absolutely did not know how to play nice.

"But I have to say, this is a lovely birthday surprise. I'll tell Tom about it, and he'll have a lot to live up next year." Ellie changes her tone and tries for a kind smile.

Luckily, the girl smiles back, her own tense shoulders lowering as she busies herself with taking an extra plate and cutlery from the kitchen cupboards. It seems the "smother them with kindness" strategy does work with some Hardys.

"Thanks, Ellie. And happy birthday to you, too." A short pause, her eyes flitting between the two detectives. "Sooo, why don't we eat? I'm actually starving since someone kept me waiting for a few extra hours, and of course you can have a piece, too," she babbles away,

Ellie glances back to check on Hardy, but he has retreated to the other side of the small table and is now staring at their exchange intently. His body is taut as a string, fingers gripping the back of a chair with unnecessary force. He isn't smiling, but his eyes, those thrice-damned eyes are so soft that Ellie can't bear to look at them for long.

So she busies herself helping Daisy scoop up enough crumbly-but-gooey bits of cake to fill a plate (there's no candle and no singing, but who is she to pass judgement on birthday normalcy at this point?), and Hardy only snaps out of his reverie when the first piece is shoved under his nose by his amused-looking daughter.

"Earth to Dad… Go ahead, the first piece is yours."

He stares forlornly at the plate for a minute and, to everyone's surprise, puts it gently back in his daughter's hands.

"Oh, Darlin', I can't…"

"WHAT?" Daisy slams the plate back on the table and puts her fists on her hips as the tall man shrinks beneath her gaze.

"Doctor's orders," he murmurs sheepishly, "I'm not supposed to eat anything with caffeine, chocolate included."

Daisy takes a deep breath, about to start her own tirade, but Ellie beats her to it.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Hardy, have a heart!" The girl startles at the sudden comment.

"Language, Miller,." he answers automatically, mustering up enough indignation to gesture vaguely at his daughter. But Ellie wouldn't hear any of this.

"Don't you 'language' me, you knob! She worked so hard on this!" The hurt behind Daisy's anger is crystal clear to Ellie's eyes, and she won't stand for it.

Without thinking much, she sweeps an arm around the girl's shoulder and guides her to the table, setting the plate in front of her.

"Never mind him, dear. We'll share the cake and the muffin between us, and he can find himself some sort of healthy dessert all for himself." For a second Ellie worries if she hasn't overstepped, but Daisy shoots her a conspiratorial smirk and makes a show of cutting a big piece for the older woman."

Ellie stares defiantly into Hardy's eyes as she takes a bite of the cake, and she's definitely not prepared for how delicious it actually is. Not your run-of-the-mill chocolate cake or some experimental culinary disaster. Despite the weird crumbly look, the cake was soft and deliciously moist, with a hint of lemon and cinnamon to balance out the sweetness of the chocolate.

"Wow, Daisy, this is really delicious!" she doesn't have to fake her enjoyment, and her little exclamations of pleasure make Hardy look away quickly. Probably in envy, she's sure.

"It's actually an old recipe of my Grandma's" she says, cheeks flushed with pride.

"I didn't know Grandma Joan would-," he starts grumpily, but she interrupts him.

"No, not her, your Mum's. I found her old notebooks in a box along with some of your old stuff…," Daisy trails off, avoiding her father's eyes. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, darling, this is…," he trails off, staring longingly at the cake while he crosses his arms tightly around his chest. "Thank you, but I still can't."

"Unbelievable," Ellie mutters. The girl looks like her heart has been freshly broken again, and it doesn't take much exercise of her detective skills to imagine the reasons for Daisy's resentful silence while her father was in Broadchurch. It was all too easy to fill in the dots and outline the sad picture of a sensitive, affectionate teenager who doesn't quite know how to communicate with her emotionally scarred father. Her little theory was only reinforced by how quickly the girl smooths down her frown into a mask of indifference and addresses Ellie instead.

"If you don't mind, Ellie, I can give the blueberry muffin a try."

"Well then, get me that knife, let's finally eat this since your father is still being ridiculous, " she answers, trying to lighten the mood.

"I can actually eat that, you know? No chocolate." Hardy's voice is gruff, but there is a vaguely amused air about him. "If you ladies take pity on a poor sick man."

"No mercy for cake-haters, Dad." Daisy waves a fork dramatically at him, the regal effect spoiled by the fact that she is speaking with her mouth full. "You can't let him have any of it, Ellie. You should tell your son that some Scottish bloke tried to steal your birthday present."

"I wouldn't be stealing her muffin! She followed me to the bathroom earlier and bloody well offered it to me!"

Of course he would do it. Again. Of all of the moments where Hardy could have slipped up and sounded unintentionally dirty, it had to be in front of his daughter.

God is merciful for once, and Ellie wasn't chewing as he made his unfortunate comment, so she doesn't choke. Daisy has no such luck.

"For God's sake, Hardy, are you doing this on purpose?!" Ellie exclaims, wondering whether hiding under the table would be an acceptable and adult way to deal with the utterly indignant look on the girl's face.

"DAD, GROSS!" She's up now, hands on her hips in full self-righteous teenager mood.

"For fuck's sake, Daisy, it's not like that!"

"Language, Hardy!" Ellie exacts her small revenge with a smile.

"Seriously, I didn't mean-"

"This wasn't even a lame dad joke, ew!" Daisy has thrown herself onto the small sofa, burying her head on the pillows. "I'll have to burn my ears off now!"

"I give up. You two are impossible." Undaunted by the displays of distress in front of him, Hardy walks to the table, steals Daisy's cake-filled plate and retreats to the kitchen. He mutters to himself while the two women recover from their bewildered laughter. They watch intently as he sticks the fork into the indistinct brown mass, scoops up a bit and shoves it in his mouth, frowning all the way.

Once he starts chewing, however, his whole expression changes, eyes wide and filled with unmasked surprise.

"This is so delicious!"

"Don't sound so surprised!" Daisy is once again trapped between indignation and amusement, a state that seems almost permanent to the girl. "It's because it looks like shit, isn't it?"

"Of course it doesn't, Daisy!" he answers quickly, too quickly for any sincerity. Daisy turns her assertive eyes to Ellie then, who takes her time chewing on her second helping before deciding that honesty is the best way to deal with a detective's daughter.

"As far as I'm concerned, taste is all that matters." Ellie is quite proud of how diplomatic it all sounds.

"I'm usually better at it, but Dad's baking pan was too big for my recipe, so-"

"Dear, I'll be the last human being on earth to judge you." She touches the girl's arm lightly, and is oddly pleased when she doesn't wriggle away from her touch. "I'm the birthday girl with a store bought muffin, after all. But next year I'll probably ask for a cupcake - it's best to avoid the inappropriate comments and all."

Daisy laughs, and they spend the next few minutes in a surprisingly relaxed atmosphere, helping themselves of cake and chatting until Hardy slowly makes his way back to the table, pressing a kiss to his daughter's hair as he finally joins them.

"So now we can eat this sodding muffin and put this whole thing to rest," he declares, cutting up the remaining half in two pieces.

"If you weren't so fussy about birthdays in the first place, it would have been over a long time ago," Ellie points out. Father and daughter share an amused look that tells of old inside jokes.

"Maybe it turned out for the best," he ponders, shrugging lightly to hide his watering eyes behind a nonchalant tone. "It's really lovely having you two here. This day could have been a lot worse."

Daisy stands up to hug her father from behind, and quickly disguises her gesture by stealing back a piece of cake from the plate.

"But tell me, Dad… If it weren't for the whole muffin thing, when were you going to tell me you have a girlfriend?"

Alec chokes on the muffin.

A.N.: And there we go, dearest readers. The muffin was [finally] eaten, so this is the end of this little story :) It was actually supposed to be just the first chapter, until nannyogg asked me about the reason for Daisy's silence, and then I had to write the little scene of "chocolate cake"... But there were so many excited and expectant reactions, saying they wanted to know what would happen during their dinner, and I simply had to write it. So here we are, two (shameful) months later, with the ending of this little piece which is far bigger than I intended. Thank you so much curiositykilledthecatfish, for the lovely prompt that started everything, and of course nannyogg, who inspired the rest, betaed the whole work and squealed with me at Hardy being horny, Daisy being sweet and awkward and Ellie being awesome. And thank you dear friends who commented and liked this work. ^^