"Miller, I need to tell you something." Hardy spoke into his phone as he watched Alana walking away. She was already out of hearing distance, but he continued to watch as long as he could.

"Oh God, you're leaving, aren't you? You haven't been back that long, and you're leaving again."

"What?" he said, his attention momentarily distracted from Alana. "No, I'm not leaving. What on earth would make you think that?" He looked back up to just catch her turning a corner and walking out of sight.

"Well, I couldn't imagine what else you'd call about with that ominous tone. 'Miller, I need to tell you something,'" she imitated him.

He chose to ignore it and took a deep breath, knowing it was time he admit to the one other person he considered a friend exactly what had been going on the past few weeks. "Miller—you remember that American woman we saw out at the sea wall a few weeks ago?"

"Yeah, the one with the tragic past. I remember her."

"Well—you see—she and I ran into each other that day—and again the next day. And we've spoken several times since then."

"Oh…" He waited for the other shoe to drop. "Oh, Hardy, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"We're, um—well, we're not quite sure what we are yet. But—I invited her to come with me to your barbecue tomorrow. Is that alright?"

"Alright? It's more than alright! That's amazing, sir!"

"Miller!" he spat out. "Please, don't make a big deal out of this. Especially tomorrow." He sighed and tried to be a little more gentle. "Please."

There was silence on the line for a moment and he said a silent prayer. "Alright, Hardy—I'll behave. But—for what it's worth—I am happy for you."

"So, about the barbecue—what time does it start?"

"One o'clock."

"Alright, see you then, Miller."

"See you then, Hardy."

"Hello."

"Uh, hi—it's me."

He heard her chuckle on the other end of the phone line. "Hi, Hardy. Finished up work? Are you home?"

"I am."

"You talk with Miller?"

"I did."

"And?" He could hear impatience in her voice. He was being short—like he always was—and she was getting irritated.

"The barbecue starts at 1. Look, maybe this wasn't a good idea."

She was quiet a long moment. "Why do you say that?"

"You're already irritated with me and we've been on the phone less than two minutes."

"I just have to get used to the fact that you don't mince words, Hardy. Especially on the phone. That's all. And I'd assume your own nerves only make it worse."

"Make what worse?"

"Your inability to speak in long sentences or chain more than two sentences together at a time."

"It's possible."

"So why don't you come over. Or I can come there. Perhaps in-person communication would be better."

"I—I can come there."

"Alright, I'll see you in a bit then?"

"Yes. Bye."

"Bye."

**—**—**

Barely ten minutes had gone by when he knocked on her door. She quietly allowed him in and closed the door behind him. Before she'd had the chance to say a word, he suddenly started speaking.

"Look—I'm sorry, I just—maybe you're right, maybe it is my nerves, maybe I'm—"

She sighed and grabbed his hand, gently pulling him closer, the motion causing him to stop talking. "Hardy, just breathe. Just relax. It's just you and me here. Come on, sit down with me."

He felt her thumb stroking his hand and it seemed to minutely ease his nerves. He allowed her to guide him to the couch—the same couch where they'd first kissed. After he sat down, she curled one leg under her to sit sideways facing him and leaned her head against her hand, her arm leaned on the back of the couch.

"Now, talk to me. Just talk. Tell me what you're thinking about right this moment."

His eyebrow raised and he turned to look at her. "You want to know what I'm thinking about right this moment?"

"Sure, maybe if you just get used to talking, even if it's about mundane things, it will help you get more comfortable with us talking with each other.

"This feels like some exercise at a therapist office."

"I swear, I'm not trying to psychoanalyze you, Hardy."

He sighed, swallowed slowly, and decided to allow himself the chance to do this. To just—talk—with someone. He leaned his head back to rest against the top of the couch cushion and his eyes seemed to naturally fall closed. "Right now—I'm thinking about how we first kissed—right here, on this couch. When I came to you after you told me about everything that had happened. I was so heart broken for you."

"You didn't seem to find it that difficult to talk to me before that happened."

He thought a moment. She was right. While he had still been awkward, they'd talked that first day on the sea wall, and on the phone…it was only once they'd kissed that his ability to communicate seemed to fly out the window. "You're right. I—I guess it is just nerves, maybe."

She reached over with her free hand and took hold of his. As soon as she did, his eyes opened and his head turned downward to stare at their hands, fingers intertwined.. "But—you're certain, this is what you want?"

He looked up from where he'd been staring for a moment at their hands and looked directly into her eyes. "Aye, I am."

She smiled. "Alright then. Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"What were you really thinking that first day we met out on the sea wall."

A small chuckle escaped. "I saw you, you know, before I ran into you. I mean, I didn't run into you on purpose. I saw you when you were still sitting on a bench down from where Miller and I were sitting."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. I asked her about you."

"Oh? What did she know?"

"Just that were an American who'd moved to Broadchurch. I thought you must be crazy to move here. As big a country as you came from…why'd you move here instead of some other place there?"

"When trying to run away, even as big a country as the United States seems too small, too constricting. Of course, it'll be a few years before I can make anything permanent."

"So you think you'll do that? Stay here?"

"Oh yes. I have no intention of leaving this place."

"You might change your mind—after putting up with me for a while."

She gave him a fond but sad look and reached up to cup his scruffy, bearded cheek. "Oh, Alec. You're so determined to believe that you're going to lose anything you hold too close, aren't you? Do you think so little of me as to think I'd walk away from you?"

He sighed and allowed himself to lean into her hand a moment, his eyes closed. "No, it's because I think so much of you that I worry you'll stay too long and be hurt by me. And then you'll have no where left to go but away, and the damage will be done."

"Wow, you are quite the downer, aren't you? Alec, I am a grown woman, here. I see you, I know who you are, and I know enough about your past. I'm making the decision to be by your side."

"I just don't want to hurt you."

She sighed in frustration and turned his face towards hers. His eyes flew open at the action and he found her staring at him. "Then don't. Alec, you are in control of your actions, your emotions, your attitudes. Perhaps you've allowed yourself to be this grumpy, cynical person for so long that you've forgotten that you can be something else."

"It's not as easy as flipping a switch."

"I know that," she stated. "We've already covered that ground, and I did say I cared just as much about you for who you are today as I will for the man you could potentially become. I don't expect you to change overnight. But I won't let you pretend you can't change—that it is inevitable that you will hurt me. That's a load of crap, and I won't listen to it. Understood?"

He surprised her with a small smile. "Understood."

"What are you smiling at?"

"You. You are so fearless, and confident."

She snorted in laughter. "I don't know about that."

"Really? Need I repeat back the lashing you just gave me?"

"Need I repeat back the moaning, groaning, and weeping I did not too long ago about my sad life?"

"That doesn't make you any less fearless, it just makes you human."