A/N: This chapter took a LOT longer than I expected, and I'm really sorry. I had a tiny bit of writer's block and a lot of personal stuff going on. The good news is, that should be the last time that it takes me three weeks to update this fic. This chapter is the start of the case that the rest of the story will revolve around, and I'll have to ask you to be gentle with me for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that my only knowledge of investigations come from TV, movies and books and we all know that stuff isn't super accurate. The second reason is that I'm a little out of my depth since I've never tried to write a multi-chapter mystery or investigation. So if something doesn't seem right or is not the way that a police department would handle a case, please forgive me and by all means correct me! If there's any way I can, I will make corrections in the story. I may take a little artistic license and beg your forgiveness if there are changes that wouldn't make sense for the story, but ONLY if I can't make it work accurately.

Those things aside, I hope you enjoy the next chapter! It is a slow burn but it's my headcanon that Hardy's feelings are already there, so there will be some pining going on as the story progresses! Thank you for being patient and don't worry, Chapter 3 will not take three weeks to finish.

The Meaning of Survival
Second Chapter

A second watery dawn greets Ellie as she forces herself out of bed. For the first time in weeks, she has managed to get a few hours of sleep, and while she's grateful for the rest it's left her groggy. She lumbers to her feet and her muddled thoughts are barely keeping up with her as she makes her way to the bathroom by muscle memory alone. At some point during the night the storm had slackened; rain is still falling but without the same ferocity as the day before. She'll have to go into the station today as they will need all hands on deck in the aftermath of that tempest. Washed out roads and abandoned cars will only be the start of it, there will also be flooded homes and boats that have been wrecked or lost. She groans and wishes she could go back to bed but she's never turned away from duty's call and she's not about to start now.

Besides which, work helps her keep her mind off of just about everything else, and keeping her mind off of everything else is the only way she's managed to keep going.

She pulls on thick pajamas and ties on a robe. A glance out of the window at roads that had suddenly transformed into rivers overnight is enough to convince her that Tom shouldn't go to school today, if the schools are even open. They're closer to sea level than the house and she's willing to bet the classrooms are half-full of mud. This leaves her with a problem she's becoming all too familiar with as a single mother: she needs to find someone to look after her kids while she's at work.

Tom's probably old enough to look after himself for an hour or two, but Fred's a handful and needs more consistent supervision, and she'd never leave them both alone for the majority of the day. Especially not now, not after—

Oh, Danny. The boy's mental image still has the power to wound. He had been such a fixture in their house, he and Tom glued to each other practically since birth. She misses him for his own sake and for Beth's, and every time she remembers his cheeky smile she hates Joe a little bit more.

She shakes it off and refocuses. Lucy has checked herself into rehab again (please God let it stick this time, Ellie thinks) and Oliver will be covering the aftermath of the storm for the paper. She'll have to phone round and see if any of the normal child minders are free. Unless…

Desperate times call for desperate measures. This is what Ellie tells herself as she descends the stairs and heads into the kitchen. She can already picture the look on Hardy's face, the open-mouthed disbelief at her cheek; she's all too familiar with it. It's the least he can do after her hospitality, or at least that's what she tells herself. It rings a little bit hollow even to her, and she decides to fry up some eggs to sweeten the deal. As she shuffles around the room she phones the school but gets a recorded message. Sure enough, classes have been canceled. Fred's normal childminder doesn't answer at all, and Ellie hopes everything is alright.

The smell of brewing coffee acts as a lure; Ellie has just finished texting the childminder to see if everything is okay when a very disheveled Hardy enters the kitchen. She'd never figured the former DI as a morning person, but it's still a little comical to watch him rub his eyes and blink like a bear coming out of hibernation. His eyes fix on the half-full coffee pot as if it contains some sort of miracle elixir. His longing look makes her feel a little bad, as too much caffeine is still a no-no, even after the pacemaker surgery.

"Morning. I take it you slept well." She slides him a box of herbal tea and he makes a face at it.

"Well enough," he replies as she puts the kettle on to boil water for him. He glances at the frying pan. "Are you cooking breakfast?"

Uh-oh, he's suspicious.

"Just a few eggs. Bit of protein, you know." She gives him a wide smile. He stares at her as if she should be aware that her chipper attitude in the morning is an affront to mankind. Then comprehension slowly dawns on his face.

"You want something." His tone is mildly accusatory. She plonks an empty mug in front of him with a sniff.

"I have no idea what you're on about," she replies, but she pours boiling water into the mug with a little too much enthusiasm and it sloshes out over the counter. Hardy's eyes follow the gathering puddle before he turns them back up to the guilty flush on her cheeks and neck.

"You're a shit liar, Miller." He sighs with his entire body. "What do you need?"

"Someone to watch Tom and Fred while I go into work," Ellie says quickly. "The childminder isn't answering and Tom's school is out, and I can't call out of work after a storm like that—"

Hardy cuts her off with an impatient wave of his hand. "It's fine. I don't mind. I'm sure we can get through a day together."

Ellie hadn't been expecting such an easy acquiescence. All of a sudden, her grand plan seems a lot less like a brilliant idea, and she nervously begins to backpedal. "It's just that Tom isn't exactly fond of you, and it's going to be quite a long day. And Fred gets fussy in the afternoon, even though he knows he'll feel better after a nap and—"

"I've only just agreed and now you're trying to talk me out of it?" He shakes his head at her as if she's a mystery he'll never quite understand. "Tom and I can manage a day together, I'm sure, and Fred's not the first fussy toddler I've looked after."

He's right, of course he is, but she's still feeling oddly nervy as she nods her agreement. Hardy is not someone you'd associate with the phrase 'kid-friendly,' but he is a father and her options are rather limited today. She'll just have to keep her phone close. With any luck, Tom will take this opportunity to play his video games; when he starts playing, he has a tendency to forget the world around him. Most of the time it drives Ellie a little mad (especially when she's actually cooked a proper dinner and she can't get him to put down the controller and come to the table), but today it might be a saving grace.

"It'll be fine, Miller," Hardy assures her again, cutting into her thoughts.

"Right. Of course it will be. Alright, I'd better get ready. I'm sure it's all hands on deck," she says. It takes an effort not to second guess herself as she gets ready, but in the end she kisses her sons goodbye and leaves them in the care of her former boss without more of a fuss. There are people that will need her full attention today, so she forces any lingering doubts to the back of her mind.

.:TMOS:.

Ellie had returned to Devon after helping Hardy solve the Sandbrook case, fully expecting to spend many more days handing out citations for speeding before having a chance to rise in the ranks again. Her former Chief Superintendent however, had other ideas. CS Jenkinson had contacted her just a few days after the paperwork for the Sandbrook case had been wrapped up and had offered her a DS position again. After a little hesitation, Ellie accepted the role and returned. Going back had seemed inevitable at the time, although sometimes in the middle of the night she wonders if she's made a mistake.

Days like today erase those thoughts from her mind. The station busier than a hive full of bees: all of the uniformed officers are out already, along with many police and fire volunteers. They're being overwhelmed by calls for help from flooded homes and washed out streets, and with the continuing rain there will only be more people that need aid. This is why she'd returned to Broadchurch when Jenkinson had called on her: these are her people, and she must help them if she can.

She fills her car with provisions such as clean water and food, blankets and bright yellow or orange rain slickers. After checking in and hearing the news—multiple low-level streets and houses flooded completely out, many abandoned cars blocking routes to higher ground and debris piling up on the beaches—she joins another group of police about to head out into the chaos. They head out into the town to help people reach higher ground, in this case the church, and to look for anyone who might be stuck by the rising water levels.

It is long, wet, hard work. She wonders if she will ever feel dry again, and as the hours pass she forgets to worry about Tom and Fred. He's not the most personable bloke, but responsibility is Hardy's byword and they're in a much safer place than many of the families Ellie directs to the stone church. Her radio is filled with traffic: offers requesting assistance here or there, directions on where to bring food or water, reports of the estuary flooding into the lowest areas of town. Many boats are gone or badly damaged, and she hears helicopters fly overhead more than once, no doubt looking for trapped people or to assess the severity of the oil slicks from sunken cars and pleasure boats.

Toward evening, the word is put out that Paul Coates and several of the less-effected families of town have organized a large, hot meal at the church to feed the emergency workers and those that have been displaced. When her search and rescue party is relieved, Ellie heads there to make sure that Paul has all the help he needs. To her surprise, Hardy and her sons are already there.

Tom is helping pass out food, sometimes chatting with other residents he knows well while he fills their plates. He looks dry and safe, and he seems to take pride in doing something to help. Fred is with several other toddlers, all watched over by a few mothers from town. Hardy is also serving food, but Ellie can see he's keeping an eye on Fred as well in spite of the gaggle of parents that circle the toddler's makeshift play area.

Feeling her throat close up with pride at the sight of Tom helping people, relief at the simple fact that both her sons are whole and dry and safe, and with gratefulness at Hardy for thinking of this, she moves toward them. She's nearly ready to collapse, but she needs to hug her boys first.

"Mum!" Tom has spotted her. He waves as she gets nearer and doesn't protest when she slips her arms around him and gives him a good squeeze. He pats her back, and it strikes her again that he's all knees and elbows now but not for long. Soon he'll fill out and look like an adult, and God help her she's not at all ready for that. "You need a shower."

"Too right," Ellie replies, "but maybe some food first."

Hardy has a plate set aside for her. She wants to fling her arms around him in gratitude, but remembers herself at the last moment.

"Thank you," she tells him, although the words seem much too small and too common in the face of all the help he's provided today.

"Least I could do," he replies. His eyes linger on her face, taking in the lines of worry and exhaustion. He looks as though he wants to say something more, but his lips don't move. She finally looks away, her eyes turning to Fred, and Hardy gestures to him. "I'm sure he'll be happy to see you. He's been asking for you all day."

.

She joins her toddler without any further prompting, gathering him into her arms and burying her face in his curls. He wriggles against her, both glad that she's here and impatient to get back to the toys scattered in from of him. He does pause long enough to plant a very sticky, slobbery kiss on her cheek, and Ellie beams at him. Another long, soggy day is in store for her tomorrow, but she can face it as long as she knows her boys are safe and waiting for her.

She tucks into her meal, and thirty minutes later drives Hardy and her sons back to the house. In all the chaos of the day, they'd neglected to get Hardy either a room at the Trader's or his own lodgings, but Ellie is inexplicably grateful for that as the four of them settle in for an early night. They don't talk much, but then they don't need to; at some point during all they'd been through together, they'd learned that words weren't always necessary. He knows she's grateful, she knows he doesn't feel as though thanks are needed. They wish each other goodnight and head to their separate rooms, where Ellie falls asleep before her head hits the pillow.

**TMOS**

On the third morning that Hardy wakes up in Ellie Miller's guestroom, the phone rings. It's barely past five in the morning, but he already knows he won't be going back to sleep. He'd watched the boys all day yesterday as well and he's exhausted, but he knows that Ellie, who has been at the forefront of the recovery efforts, is far more tired than he is. She'd never admit it to him, but she needs his support now, and he's never been able to turn away from someone that needed his help.

He drags himself to his feet, stretching his arms over his head and rolling up onto his toes. He straightens his sleep tousled t-shirt and sweatpants, then he pads downstairs into the kitchen and puts both the kettle and the coffee pot on. Outside the world is still wet and dreary. The rain has slowed to a heavy drizzle. The worst of the storm has blown out of the area, but the damage has been done. He stares out of the window at the beleaguered town. Its pull over him is inexplicable, a siren's song that he doesn't know the words to but follows anyway. He wonders if the worst is over for this place now that the tempest has dissipated.

One look at Miller's face as she joins him in the kitchen is enough to tell him that it isn't.

"I've got to go in." She's distracted, her voice and gaze far away. There's a familiar, determined glint in her eyes, although her cheeks are already pale and her face is already gaunt from prolonged fatigue. "There's a girl missing. She goes to the high school in town, one of Chloe Latimer's friends. Her parents reported her missing yesterday, but they were told to wait a little while and see if she showed up at the church or any of the other shelters in town. She still hasn't appeared but a uniform thinks she's found the girl's car. No sign of her though."

"Foul play?" Hardy asks, pouring her a mug of coffee. She takes it with a quiet "Ta," but shakes her head in answer to his question.

"Hard to say. It had been washed into several other abandoned vehicles at the bottom of a hill. The weather's probably done terrible damage to any physical evidence left. I've got to get into the station and brief a team before we go out and meet SOCO at the car. And tomorrow we can officially put the missing persons report out to other nearby departments, although in that storm and with no car…" She turns hollow eyes up to his. He can see that she isn't holding out much hope that this missing girl is alive, and the sadness in her gaze is so profound that Hardy's chest tightens. He wants to hold out his arms to her, although he already knows she won't accept that sort of comfort from him. He's wanted to provide her some sort of physical support or shelter ever since he dashed her world apart in that cold, blue interrogation room all those months ago. Disturbingly, that need has only grown more profound.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to avoid giving into it.

"Anyway, I'd better finish getting ready. Will you be working at the church shelter again?" she asks him. She's trying to smile, a pale illusion of the cheery grin she used to sport when they'd first met. A sense of loss rolls over him at the sight of it, and he drops his eyes to his toes and nods, allowing his hair to hide his expression.

"We'll probably help with one of the meals, at least. Wee Fred can't usually last much longer than that." He looks out of the window again. The rising sun is still hidden behind steel clouds, but it is growing steadily brighter. "Miller, if you need any help-"

"I know where to find you," she says, finishing his sentence. A wry smile touches her lips, as distilled as the morning sunlight. "Perhaps you'll get your old job back."

There's a question under the small jab—do you want your old job back? Do you want to make a life here again?

"We'll see," he agrees, and wonders if she can sense his unspoken answer, which is (of course), I do.