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Title: Broadchurch: Sins Of The Father

Date of commencement: September 22 2013

Date of completion: December 24 2014

Series: Broadchurch, a sequel to the original, and following on from Life Without Joe

Rating: M

Authors: tkel_paris and tardis_mole

Summary: Two years after Danny's death, life is slowly getting back to normal in Broadchurch. But Hardy's happy life is about to be turned upside down by a spectre from the past he had hoped had been laid to rest. Someone from his past wants to talk to him, someone wants revenge, someone wants to see him ruined. But it's not one 'someone'. But first, he must face the girl in his garden.

Disclaimer: We own nothing, but this is based on Broadchurch by Chris Chibnal, with added clues from the novel by Erin Kelly. We gain no financial benefit nor gratuities, only the enjoyment from writing and working together on this epic journey, shared for the enjoyment of others.

Dedication: Chris Chibnal, long time friend. bas_math_girl, for her beta. And each other for hopefully not ruining each other's lives for too long during the writing part.

Warning: If you have not watched Broadchurch in its entirety, do not read this. We mean it. You will be spoiled. Stop and go back. Now. Ideally you have seen the entire show, not just what was aired on BBC America if you live on that side of the pond, but this is understandable in either case. Also, if you have not read tardis_mole's Life Without Joe, that's okay. It's possible to read this without reading that, if you're not on Moley's approved list. You'll probably find this makes a little more sense if you have read it, but you should be fine without it. Take the time to read Erin Kelly’s novelization, if you can, as it provided certain details that helped with writing this. Though you won’t need to rely on it.

Authors' Notes: tardis: Count the adverts. It all started with me writing Life Without Joe (blowing my own trumpet). The title does not say why Joe was not there, whether he had died or walked out. It was just that he was no long there. No clue, no hint, no spoiler, no Joe. And just in case anyone else caught on before I did – episode four – that it was Joe I had to watch from a play back site because I was first burying my mum and then moving, so I actually missed episodes 2-7 until just days before the finale. My deepest thanks to bas_math_girl who saved me from being “spoilered”. And, sorry, tkel, but it was not the BBC. It was ITV that made and broadcast the original. The BBC can only wish.

I got this idea after watching the original for the however-many time it was. I’d gone out to HMV to find a copy of The Politician’s Wife and on the off-chance asked them if they had a copy of Broadchruch. As it happened the delivery had just arrived. I had the first copy out of the box at HMV Cardiff. There. Selfless advertising. And the Beeb still loses out. So I sat and watched it and thought I wonder what happens next? I’ve lived in hotels. I’ve been in a similar situation as Tom (and Ellie, actually, but that’s neither here nor there), and I know there had to be more. Life would not have been cosy for Ellie.

So I wrote it.

LWJ was the result. And my readers liked it. Tkel refused to read it. And I fully understand and support her reasons.

However, within days of finishing and posting it I got another idea. I sat on it for months while tkel waited for the DVD, and by that time the plot bunny had stewed itself into a balrog (another plug, this one’s LOTR). Tkel was busy. I was in Preston for the long awaited arrival of my first ‘born in Britain’; grandchild. I have been busy looking after him and my daughter and fighting for justice for my son-in-law that the Balrog sat forgotten in a dark room on my data pen for a year. Date of starting: September 22 2013. I had a brief outline and a few notes. I basically picked at it for a year until both tkel and I were ready to put in the time and effort.

November 1 2014. One month turned into three weeks, and over 285400 words later we had a first draft. Chris Chibnall may own the copyrights and I bet his sequel is brilliant, LOOK AWAY NOW IF YOU DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILERED!! but he doesn’t have a murder. Read it and weep, Chris, my friend. Mine does. *Taggart voice* There’s been a murder!

This has been a phenomenal achievement for both of us. Neither of us has done anything like this before. Working with a co-writer is not recommended for everyone. It takes a lot of patience, stamina – I had to sprint to keep up – and a strong willingness to share. I hate sharing. :D

This is going to hurt. Have tissues at the ready. I don’t pull punches. Those who know my work know I have plot twists and unexpected clues, and if you miss them you’ll be left behind. Make notes. You’ll need them.

This is based on Chris Chibnall’s Broadchurch, and a few details from the novelisation by Erin Kelly (another shameless advert), with the addition of some aspects of LWJ. If you haven’t seen Broadchurch, why are you reading this first? Go away and do so, otherwise this will make no sense whatsoever. If you haven’t read the novel, don’t worry. I have, and you can take or leave it. It has some minor flaws and mistakes, but it is a good read. You’ll find my review on Goodreads (another shameless advert) website.

Tkel and I half thought about including our own map, since the blatant error in Erin’s was the mistake you’d expect from a small child. Beth’s and Ellie’s houses are across a field and they can see each other’s kitchens; it was mentioned in the original and in the book. So I’m scratching my head trying to work out why Erin’s map put them practically back to back, separated by a row of houses.

But, anyway, advertisements aside (Did you count them? There are seven.), I hope you like Sins Of The Father. We’ve kept it in the same style as the original eight episode format, but each one will have a different number of chapters. Hopefully, they will all be posted by the time ITV airs the sequel. Though try not to compare. Enjoy.

Authors' Notes: tkel: Being an American with not a lot of time on her hands to learn the tricks for getting things early from the other side of the pond, I had to wait to see Broadchurch. So I had months of reading about how good it was and how amazing David Tennant's performance was. It was more than a bit frustrating, but I give the people on my friends list credit for not spoiling anything other than Hardy's having a medical condition and one other detail. During the wait I noticed my friend Moley post a Broadchurch fanfic. Well, I did not read it. I even made a point of trying to forget I even saw one was posted. Finally the series came to BBC America, although I did not know that about two hours worth of material was cut to make room for the commercials. I was pissed off when I heard that, and promptly decided that where productions with Tennant were concerned, I would buy Region 2 only. (I had learned that computers can be manipulated to act like an all regions playing DVD player, although as of when I wrote the original note I had not yet figured it out. Trust me, I will learn soon enough.)

I was in awe from the first episode. A great cast, a heartbreaking case, and I was trying to figure out who did it almost immediately. Some I figured were unlikely, or would not be the killer without more plot twists. By the end of Episode Seven, I had a sinking suspicion who the killer was. It did not help that my memory chose then to recall what it thought was the title of Moley's fic. But I waited until the final moments had aired, and was in a bit of emotional turmoil. (Which I think we were supposed to be.) At that point, I got on Live Journal and read all five posts of Moley's fic, pausing only to comment. I needed more time to digest it fully, but I had reread it about four times by the next evening.

The thing is, my muse is the type to get ideas at the drop of a hat sometimes. Sometimes no hat, as Moley has reminded me. (giggles) Often when I am trying to work on other things. Bonzina (what I call my Muse) instantly thought about what might happen afterward, thinking about the unresolved things still there from the original story. She had thought of a plot bunny that had me intrigued. So I emailed Moley with the idea, having no idea that it would prove to be the platform for an idea that had been languishing since Life Without Joe was finished, and we bounced it back and forth – like you do when you beta read each other's work. I don't think we'd emailed about it for more than a day before it transformed into a plot balrog. (For those of you who aren't Tolkien fans, that's a giant creature of shadow and flame, “a demon from the ancient world” to quote Gandalf from the movie version of “Fellowship”. Practically impossible to get rid of, as the movie showed.) Basically, it wasn't going to leave either of us alone by then, so we agreed to work on it together as soon as we could both make the time for it. Meanwhile we bounced more ideas back and forth until we had our first outline ready.

Well, although we did a lot of preplanning, we didn't get to writing until I mentioned I was thinking about what to do for NaNoWriMo 2014. Moley noted about Broadchurch 2 being filmed, and we agreed that we should get our balrog finished and fully posted before the first episode airs on ITV. And I was also working on another mystery story at the same time. Only thing is, on that story I had trouble with the outline, and stalled on it in a big way learning why my writer friends gave me the advice they did the hard way as my muse was insistent on trying something different. So I got way ahead on my parts of the story, but I used it to figure out enough so I could resume writing the other story. Even though it may never see the light of day, depending on what I think of it in the end.

Of course, I was very busy. Moved to a new city, started a new job that now means I have a profession, and had to focus on settling in. But I had managed enough that I could do NaNo once again. Although I'm still stalled on that one other story, I know one of the things I need to do with it. I also wrote a few other things, including a Christmas present for another friend – on a dare from said friend. So my grand NaNoWriMo total for 2014? 124,977. Yes. That's correct. And yet someone else managed just over 150,000. You'd better believe I intend to beat that next year.

So that's my side of the story. There will be another Broadchurch collaboration, based off an idea I had from working on this story. Stay tuned about that one. Or maybe... more than one, given that Moley and I seem to be off in slightly different directions for that one. (grins) This was a fun project, and I hope that Moley and I find additional ones to work on together. Not counting the beta reading we already do, or the times when I was utterly stuck on a story and needed more than prodding but wholesale suggestions to get it moving again. (bigger grin)

/=/=/=/=/=/==/

Summertime. Outdoors. Four girls played together in a garden, giggling as small children do. No cares of the world touched them, or if they did they pretended they did not exist.

There was an undercurrent of sadness. They all knew they would part ways, but no one knew just when they would see each other again. But it was the birthday of one of them, and so they could forget about most troubles for the time being.

/=/=/=

Another summer. The air was pleasant, but there was a hint of tension. Mostly in the adults watching.

Three slightly older girls sat on a beech making a sandcastle. They shaped it in honour of the fourth who did not come, looking up at each sometimes in wonder of why they had not heard from their friend.

/=/=/=/

Two young teenage girls walking together in a busy street, shopping. They tried to laugh, but the aura around them was oppressive. Especially on the taller one. A great weight was hanging on her shoulders, but the haunted look had purchase in the shorter one.

/=/=/=/=/

Darkness surrounded the area. The moon's light barely shone through the clouds.

A girl stepped into the light of an open window. She kept low, trying to be invisible. She glanced up at the moon, her face that of the shorter of the teenagers. But her formerly honey-blonde hair had been dyed black. Her face was pale even for the light out, and her whole being spoke of knowing a terror unspeakable.

She looked and listened, closing the window before she repeated the listening. Then she fled into the shadows, as quietly as she could.

/=/=/=/

Under the same moonlight and yet slightly different clouds angled overhead a sixteen year-old girl stood alone, partly in shadow, leaning against a brick-built bus shelter with the sound of the ocean not far away. It was the taller of the girls. Her long hair fell in waves about her shoulders and at her throat hung a locket that rested against her t-shirt. It was old, as old as she felt. She bore herself as one with the weight of the world on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and stepped back into the shadows, silhouetted against the light of an opening door behind her.

In the distance the echoing cry of a newborn child broke the silence of the night.

/=/=/=/=/

Previously...

Episode Four. Part One: Every Beat Of My Heart.

Hardy sat in the hospital waiting room, flicking disinterestedly through a magazine from the table. Why was it always women’s magazines on offer? And very out of dates ones at that. He leaned over to drop it back onto he pile and sat back down again.

He was only here for his regular six-monthly check-up. It was usually very quiet, but today it was even quieter. There had been an alarm not twenty minutes before and two doctors had rushed from the department side rooms, with full de-fib and medi-packs, up to one of the wards. He couldn’t tell which one.

The hospital was a small one. Most of the patients were seen here first and if needed sent to the general. He’d had his pace-maker fitted here. Thank god they had a cardiology unit, because he would never have survived the hour and a half journey up to the general.

And it seemed someone else was about to find out the same answer. He hoped they lived to know it, whoever they were.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. He was now thirty minutes late for his appointment. Not that he begrudged it. His doctor had been among the doctors who had rushed out with the de-fib pack. Luckily, he was the only one waiting for an appointment, though the woman at the desk seemed to have forgotten that anyone was here at all.

Eventually she appeared and hurried towards him.

Mr. Hardy?”

Yes?” he said.

Terribly sorry about the wait. There’s been an emergency on the children’s ward. Would you mind waiting a bit longer, or shall I book you another appointment?”

Hardy considered it. He hated making a replacement appointment, because it meant booking more time off work. But since he was unavoidably off work anyway, he had nothing to rush back to. “No, I’ll wait, he assured her. Thanks.”

So it was a child, he notied to himself as he watched her return to her desk behind the glass window. Poor kid. Poor parents, too. He wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. He knew what it had done to Ellie and the boys to see him so gravely ill.

As he waited a lone figure appeared at the far end of the waiting room, where it opened into the corridor beyond. He recognised her at once. His entire body clenched ready for another confrontation. He could do without it, and frankly, taking one look at her, he was certain she could, too.

Tess wandered in, looking pale, exhausted and dishevelled. She slotted a few coins into the vending machine directly opposite the waiting room, and poked at the buttons. Out came a hot coffee, or something like it, and she scooped it up to take a sip.

As she turned, she saw Hardy sitting there. She rolled her eyes, decided to ignore him, but then turned back. She marched towards him like a storm front, jabbing finger out. He remained seated.

What the hell do you think you’re doing, following me here?!” she demanded, her voice quiet. Which made a change.

He briefly lifted the small appointment card he was holding for her to see. “Appointment. How could I possibly follow you here if I didn’t know you were here?” he pointed out.

And why should I believe you?”

Whether you believe it or not, is your prerogative, but I didn’t know you were here. And why would it interest me?”

You tell me,” she threw back at him.

It doesn’t. End of story,” he told her.

Look, just leave us alone. I don’t want you following us around. I don’t need this on top of everything else,” she said forthrightly.

Hardy stared at her, realising that something was terribly wrong. He got to his feet, afraid that Connelly’s warning had already come to fruition. “Tess, what’s happened? Where’s Daisy? Is she all right?”

Daisy’s fine, thank you,” she said stiffly, trying not to break apart in front of him. That was be mortifying, not to mention embarrassing. “My son had a heart attack last night,” she managed. “Just now, the doctors were in the middle of performing some tests and his heart gave out again.”

Oh god,” he breathed. “Tess, I’m so sorry.”

She managed a nod. “Yeah. Well, you’d know all about heart problems, wouldn’t you? Apparently,” she told him in less than believing tones. Or maybe you slipped him something yesterday when you tried to take him.”

I didn’t try to take your son,” he countered, and then recalled the events of the previous day. “So it was you who called the police. Thanks so much for lying. My Super now thinks I’m a kiddie-snatcher.”

Maybe I did call the police,” she said, half agreeing. “It would teach you a blood lesson for what you put me through!”

What I put you through?!” he returned in astonishment.

Excuse me!” a voice cut in.

They turned to find Hardy’s doctor had returned.

Mrs. Hardy, you can return to your son. Mr. Hardy, would you step into my office, please?” he said tartly.

Hardy gave Tess one last smouldering look and turned to follow the doctor into his office. He closed the door, feeling embarrassed that anyone had witnessed that and even more so that it had been here, of all places.

To Part 1b...

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