Chapter Text
DI Alec Hardy has just sat down and sighed over a pile of paperwork shortly before 8 in the morning when his phone rings. Miller.
He ignores it. He’s had almost no sleep last night and she’ll just be cheerful and asking him whether he wants a pastry from the bakery or some such nonesense.
At 8:30 DC Harford pops her head into his office. She’s clearly just gotten in, still wearing her outdoor jacket, holding a to-go cup of coffee steaming in her hand.
Um, Ellie called me. Says she won’t be in today – the way she sounded probably not tomorrow either. She’s got the flu. Got it from Fred. He’s also sick. Making the rounds. Anyways, she says she tried to call you but you didn’t pick up. And she’s sorry.
He grunts in response. Katie looks at him expectantly, and when he doesn’t say anything else, sighs and turns aways, making her way to her desk in the main room.
Fine then. It will be a quiet day, he thinks. Nothing much going on but paperwork anyhow. A day without superfluous chatty comments, or nagging about the way he drinks his tea. Fine by him. He takes off his glasses. Stares out into the main room – which is almost eerily quiet, everyone is busy wrapping up the paperwork for the latest case. Finally, a phone rings – a shrill sound - a uniform answers it. He puts his glasses back on, turns back to the files in front of him.
The hours drag on. He’s tired. He almost wishes Miller were there to nag him about something. Welcome distraction. His nightmares have become much less frequent now, since the Sandybrook case is wrapped up. But when they occur, they still tear into him with a vengeance. He wakes up in cold sweat, too afraid to go back to sleep. Last night’s dream was less clearly formed than most of them – he couldn’t see who he was trying to save – but the same drowning sensation, pure panic, failure, those emotions had been there as sharp as always.
It’s two boring and endless and eventless days of paperwork later that Alec steps out of the office in the evening, ambling down the street feeling a little aimless. Daisy is away on a school-trip, same that Tom is on he seems to remember vaguely, and he wonders whether he should bother to stop at Tesco on the way home when he collides with an out of breath Beth Latimer.
Shit, sorry, she says. She’s carrying a bag of take-out food, which she almost drops when they bump into each other, and altogether looks rather harried.
You alright? Alec asks. Beth has rallied amazingly, the Latimer’s all have, really, even though Mark seems to still be struggling a lot with finding an avenue for his grief, Miller has told him. It’s amazing he even remembers all this, but then again, Miller constantly feels the need to inform him of such things.
Yah. She smiles, wanly. She’s pale. It’s. . . I promised Ellie I’d bring her and Fred some take out – Tom’s away on that trip with school and Ellie’s dad is out with a sprained ankle and Ellie’s really got the flu bad - high fever, well you probably know – he’s her work colleague after all, of course she assumes he knows – but of course he doesn’t because he hasn’t bothered asking Katie for any more information and never called Miller back, even as she stayed away a second and a third day.
Well, she really isn’t fit to leave the house, - so I promised her I’d pop by at least once every day and bring her food, but . . . .now Lizzie’s gotten sick, too, and she’s home with Chloe. . . my last appointment made me late and Chlo just texted me that Lizzie’s fever keeps climbing so I really should get home – but. . . suddenly her eyes light up with an idea.
You couldn’t maybe take the food to her and Fred? Just it would be such a help if you pop round there with it real quick. Tell Ellie I’ll call her later.
I really don’t think she would. . . he begins, but Beth looks at him pleadingly. Alright, he says, simply because there’s really nothing else he can say. He can’t refuse Beth Latimer such a simple favor so she can get home to her sick baby daughter. And he has nowhere he needs to be.
He just hopes Miller won’t slam the door in his face.
He takes the containers from Beth and then slowly makes his way in the direction of Miller’s house, while Beth all but runs off to get home. When he gets there he hesitates for a moment, then rings the bell.
He waits. He rings again, pressing on the bell a bit longer. He’s annoyed and worried at once. Annoyed because he’s sure this will be embarassing, worried that Miller is really doing badly and he hasn’t even bothered calling, annoyed that he is worried.
Finally the door opens. Beth I’m sorry, I fell. . . oh.
Miller looks terrible. There’s no other way about it. She’s wearing an old set of pajamas and her hair is matted, her curls sticking from her head every which way. Her face is sickly pale, and sweaty and her nose red from blowing it.
What are you doing here? she croaks looking embarassed.
You look like shit, Miller. He says, before he can think better of it.
Thank you, Sherlock – her voice sounds a bit labored, despite the sarcasm.
I brought. . . he starts . . . ran into Beth Latimer, she asked me to – ‘er baby is sick,. . .
He holds out the food to her a bit awkwardly.
Don’t come in, she says then – looking like she wants to step back and close the door again – you’ll just catch what we have. But she makes no move to take the food either, just clings to the door, pale and sweaty.
How is Fred? he asks then, and she meets his eyes directly, with that complete openness that always amazes him.
Fred is much better, thanks. He wants to play and I want to sleep. She smiles.
Exhaustion is clearly visible on her face. I’m sorry, I think I have to sit down for a minute, I, she says and she sags a little. Her already colorless face seems to go gray and he can basically see her fainting in front of his eyes.
Right he says and steps forward. He quickly puts the bag with the food containers down on the doorstep, grabs her arm and guides her back inside. The room smells like stale sweat. There are three used teacups on the floor in front of the sofa, two of them half-full. There are a bunch of used tissues in a bin nearby. He helps her sit down on the sofa, and she lets her head fall back onto the cushions.
You’re clearly not fit for moving about. You should just rest, and let me take care of the food. Alec says.
She looks really embarassed now. Sir, you really shouldn’t be here, you’ll get sick. I can . . .
In that moment Fred appears in the doorway. Chips! he yells, stuffy-nose clearly apparent, but eyes glowing. Did you bring Chips?
Why don’t we go have a look? Alec asks and leads Fred back to the doorstep by the still-open front door, leaving Miller on the couch.
He takes the bag to the kitchen and unties it, Fred trailing him closely. The kid looks maybe a bit hot and definitely has not only a snotty nose, but also clear traces of dried snot on his sleeves from wiping his face, but otherwise displays the amazing bounce-back energy of children at that age.
He unties the bag and looks at Fred. Looks like there ARE chips in here.
Which is met with an enthusiastic Yaaay!
Alec lays a finger on his lips. Your mom isn’t feeling well, Fred. We need to be a little quiet now so she can rest okay? Fred nods and grabs a chip. Alec decides it’s not worth trying to find a proper plate. It’s chips anyhow, meant to be eaten like a bloody barbarian.
There is also a container of what looks like chicken soup – which must be meant for Miller. Leaving Fred to the enthusiastic consumption of his tea, Miller finds a clean cup in a cupboard and pours some of the soup into it. Finds a spoon in the third drawer he opens, and carries the cup and spoon over to the sofa.
Miller doesn’t seem to have moved at all, apart from pulling a wool blanket over herself. Her eyes are closed.
Miller he says, quietly. Is she asleep?
Miller he says again, hesitantly taking a step closer towards her.
She opens her eyes, squints at him as if through fog. He nods towards the cup in his hands. Beth got you some soup.
I’m really not hungry she says, closing her eyes again with a slightly pained look on her face.
Must have really got you if you don’t want to eat. he says, but crouches by the sofa anyhow. Miller doesn’t even seem to notice.
He puts the cup on the floor. Have you at least taken an ibuprofen to bring the fever down? He asks. Fights the urge to brush a damp curl from her forehead.
She groans. I did but it was a few hours back. She shivers involuntarily. Where is Beth?
Lizzie is ill, I told you. He answers, but he can’t be irritated with her now. She looks so poorly. Do you have more ibuprofen? She vaguely gestures to the small table at the foot-end of the sofa. He gets it for her, and the glass of water beside it. Hands her both. She swallows.
What are your symptoms? Vomiting? Diarrhea? Dizzy? He looks at her waiting for an answer. He is worried, seeing her like this, even as she grouses at him. So you’re a doctor now? It’s just a bloody flu.
Fever? he asks again, raising his eyebrows at her, the way he does at work, when he has to repeat a question.
About 39.
Then he picks up the cup with the soup, and holds it up to her. It’s liquid and salt. It’s good for yer. Get you in shape so you can come back t’ work.
She smiles at that, eyes closed. Oh go on, you are enjoying the quiet without me she says with a laugh and then has a coughing fit.
Well I am not enjoyin’ doin’ the paperwork on my own he grumbles.
She smiles weakly. Oh, you miss me.
He does not. And he’s certainly not telling her.
Just a few sips, Miller.
She struggles to sit up properly. When she takes the cup from him their fingers touch. Hers are cold and damp. She looks so vulnerable and miserable.
She takes a few small sips and then hands the cup back to him.
That all? He asks with his eyebrows. She shakes her head slightly.
I really can’t. It’s making me queasy. She says, and she looks it.
Get some sleep. He says, gently.
But Fred, she begins.
Don’ be daft. I’ll deal with Fred for a bit, he says.. She looks like she wants to protest but then sinks back down into the pillows and the draws the blanket up to her nose. Unbelievable that she keeps claiming he’s the stubborn one.
Alec goes back into the kitchen, where Fred is still stuffing his face with the last of his chips.
Your mom needs some sleep. So I’m going to stay for a while and we need to be a bit quiet, ‘right? He casts about for a flannel to wipe the boy’s greasy fingers, has to settle of a paper towel.
You wan’ ter show me yer room, then?
He cringes inwardly as he asks. Four years ago the boy’s father was revealed to have a relationship with an 11-year old that while apparently not sexual, certainly wasn’t appropriate in terms of consent. That alone is enough to make him feels he shouldn’t be asking Fred to see his room. But Miller’s not going to get any sleep if Fred starts banging around his toy cars in the living room, making loud vroom sounds he’s so fond of.
+++
This is how Ellie finds them about a good two and a half hours later, when she wakes up, realizing it’s already dark out, but the ibuprofen has kicked in and the sleep has left her feeling a bit better:
Alec sitting on Fred’s bedroom floor, back resting against Fred’s bed, reading Fred’s favorite book, the one about the dragon who is scared of heights, quietly, but doing the voices, Fred snuggled under the covers, his eyes drooping. It’s a picture, Alec’s hair almost as messy as Fred’s, and falling into his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to notice.
He only sees her when he closes the book and looks up. He feels a burning sensation of embarassment, and annoyance, as he registers the expression on her face which tells him that she’s put the scene in the category sweet - but when she mouthes a quiet Thank you at him she looks so incongruously beautiful, sweaty and pale, and ruffled, clearly in need of a shower, and yet. . . his annoyance entirely dissipates.
Dais used’ter love bein’ read to, she was that age he says by way of explanation as he stands up, and sees Miller’s eyes slighly widen at him in surprise.
Wha’? I wasn’t always th’ shit dad I am now, he adds defensively, squeezing by her, as she still occupies the doorframe. As she pulls Fred’s bedroom door closed noiselessly behind them, he wonders why he’s bothered helping her at all, when he feels her hand on his shoulder.
He spins, angry, to find her looking at him apologetically. That’s not what I meant at all, she says, looking at him in that intent way that she has when she wants to make sure the other person understands. It’s just . . . you never share anything private usually, unless I drag it out of you. And you’re not a shit dad. You’re a good man, Alec Hardy.
His heart contracts and hates it when she does that, complimenting him out of nowhere, making him feel all oafish and coarse for whatever he’s grumbled at her right before.
How many painkillers have yer had? He says, shrugging the compliment off awkwardly and descends the stairs. She’s right though. He doesn’t like to talk about himself. Too many times people have twisted things they’ve known about him – used his weak spots against him, especially Tess, who’s known more than anyone. But with Miller, he’s sure she’d never turn against him like that, she knows firsthand how shit gossip can be, how shit life can be, how it makes you want to turn inward and protect what you have, so that no one can take that away at least. Except she still manages to be open, and brave, and care about people.
He follows her back down the stairs. Thank you she says again, quietly, as he goes to grab his jacket from the kitchen. For staying and for looking after Fred.
You gonna be alright? He asks.
Yeah, she says, almost thoughtfully. It’s just a bit. . . Tom not being here and my Dad with his ankle, and this is just the first time I’ve really been sick and had to do this on my own, you know. Alec can see tears well up in her eyes, and he understand that this isn’t about being sick, but about all the memories of what happened – how her family was torn apart from one day to the next – the reason for why she’s doing this alone now.
He doesn’t quite know what to say. He knows better than to try to hug her; knows she doesn’t want that kind of affection from him. And he’s not the affectionate kind anyhow. Just . . . he likes being around her. Likes it when she smiles. Likes it even more when he’s the reason for it. Which he manages rarely enough.
He clears his throat, forcing himself back into the present.
You’ll be good as new, soon, Miller.
Good night. She says. I really hope we haven’t made you sick now. She smiles apologetically.
And because he doesn’t know what to say to that either, he says Good night and turns to walk away as she closes the door behind him.
He wants to stay, to make sure she’s alright, but growls under his breath to himself, to not be bloody ridiculous.