the alecrose draft hit 50k, so here's a 3k word snippet from the very beginning!! i can't tell you how excited i am to finally be sharing something from this, it's been bouncing around in my brain for ages.
just a note: this takes place in the broadchurch universe pretty shortly after sandbrook, so this is a non-time and space travelling rose tyler. still very rose (still with a complicated past...) but no angst over identical faces here :)
also also, i have so many alecrose thoughts because if i'm going to be the only person writing for them in 2026, then damn it i'm going to be thorough and give this pairing the attention they deserve. if you have any questions about this fic/my alecrose takes, please please please throw them my way because i would LOVE to talk about these two more (i mean i'll talk about them regardless, but questions help me think/give me rambling direction)
@mist-fire :D
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It had been nearly an hour and Rose Tyler was seeing red.
Literally.
Across the way, a garishly crimson modern art piece hung on an otherwise bare wall and it burned the backs of her eyes with every passing second. The only other available scenery was the water cooler in the corner that she’d long since discovered was empty, a wilting potted plant atop an equally sad table, and a row of blue plastic chairs shoved against the far wall matching the one she sat on.
She shuffled uncomfortably for what had to be the fourth time in the last two minutes and glanced at the only sight more glaring than the ugly art piece: the empty front desk of the South Mercia Constabulary. The closest station to her, at least. The clock above her head seemed to echo off of the sweaty linoleum as another minute passed with no sign of life.
A bleeding police station without a single cop in sight. Rose could hardly imagine the state of things during an actual emergency. In fact, she blanched to even consider it and instead craned her neck to peer at the clock.
Just past midnight. Her shift had run over thanks to her closing partner calling out sick with no replacement and leaving her to fend for herself. That meant mopping floors and locking doors in the eerie dim of the town’s one and only supermarket by herself, then running to catch a late bus to the stop two blocks down from the station all in the hopes of getting some stupid paperwork filed.
She clutched the documents in question a bit harder, crumpling them in her fist.
An hour. Her bones aching, head stuffed with cotton, teeth set on edge, and exhaustion pressing her further and further into the hard plastic chair that was already doing numbers on her lower back. With a deep sigh, she resolved to give it a few minutes. Just a handful more before she called it quits and took the next bus home to collapse in bed before waking up early to catch the only bus in again.
She thought she’d left public transit behind with London, but things could never be quite that simple. Apparently, neither could filing papers with the police.
Rose looked back at the clock. Her grace period for the South Mercia Constabulary had come and gone, leaving her with nothing but crumpled forms and a full-body ache to show for it. She stood with a stretch, making to leave and try again on her next, rare free day.
When the door next to the front desk suddenly slammed open, banging into the wall hard enough to dent, her tired soul nearly left her body. She spun around so fast, her trainers squeaked loud on the linoleum, drawing the new arrival up short.
He was a cop, certainly. Had to be with the way he came barging out of the back like he owned the damn place still dressed in his uniform of the day: an unironed suit and a poorly done tie. It hung off his tall, lean body like a shroud, the dark colors complementing the wash of stubble on his gaunt face. Large, dark eyes blinked at her with a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.
Rose barely gave him more than a once-over before the fires of rage stoked fully in her chest, clearing the defeated fog she’d let settle not moments prior, and she directed it all on the first soul she’d seen in the building.
“You!”
“M-”
She crossed the room in a few strong strides and stood nearly toe-to-toe with the officer, causing him to stagger back half a step. Although he had a good head on her in height, she towered over him in presence, and his instinctual retreat was enough to spur her righteous anger further.
“D’you know how long I’ve been waiting out here? An hour! A whole hour, just sittin’ in the waiting room of this bloody station. D’you know why?”
He opened his mouth to reply, but Rose didn’t give him a chance.
“Because there aren’t any police in the whole damn place,” she gritted out through clenched teeth.
The victim of her ire clicked his jaw shut and let out a long sigh, his now furrowed brow darkening his entire countenance. It was probably meant to be a warning, but Rose paid it about as much attention as she had been paid that night and barreled onward.
“All I need to do - the only thing - is get these stupid forms filed-” She waved them in the air with a furious crinkle. “-so that I can charge the twat who decided I was the type of person to lie down and roll over after a hit-and-run. Totaled my bloody car in full view of multiple people and the insurance company is still making me press charges on his reckless arse so I can maybe afford to get another used car that’ll give out on me in a handful of months.”
She took a deep breath, puffing out her chest.
“And now, when I finally have the time to get down here, there’s not a single copper in sight! Not one! In a police station! I mean, what if I had an actual emergency, hm? What if someone came in here bein’ chased or- or-, I dunno, trying to report a violent crime, and all they were met with was an empty front desk and that God-awful art piece that’s been slowly melting my eyeballs for the last sixty-three minutes. And yes, I’ve been counting, while you’ve been back there doing God knows what an’ are you seriously the only cop in this entire building? Because that’s just irresponsible. ‘Serving the public’, my arse.”
The last word came out as more of a growl as a few strands of hair slipped from her hastily tied ponytail and fluttered in front of her eyes. She blew them out of the way, breathing heavily as she began to come down from what had to be the most cathartic rant of her entire life. Anger still simmered in her stomach as she refused to break eye-contact with the police officer who, for all intents and purposes, seemed to be equally determined.
Over the course of her speech, his exhaustion had sharpened at the edges into annoyance, now pointed to full-on frustration as he glared down the end of his aquiline nose at her. Deep brown eyes bore into hers as he inhaled sharply, his narrow shoulders tensing.
“Did you ring the bell?” he asked with a tested measure of calm.
Rose blinked at him for a moment. For one, she was caught off-guard by his rich accent, gruff Scottish only made thicker by his anger. Secondly, that wasn’t the first thing she’d thought he’d say. Something about knowing her place, showing up to the station at a reasonable time for a matter so trivial. Anything that would give her an excuse to launch into him again.
Instead, she simply swallowed and readjusted her footing. “Yes. I did. Over and over till my ears were damn near bleeding from the sound.”
He faltered slightly, briefly darting his attention past her as he racked his brain. Trying to remember. “Hm. Must not… have heard,” he muttered after a moment.
Rose tossed her hands up. “Great! Good to know you’re so attentive on the job! Would love to be in a real emergency with you, put my life in your hands, see how those brilliant observational skills measure up in the field.”
A bit unfair, she knew, but she was still upset. Goading him gained her some small measure of satisfaction, a sick sense that her efforts weren’t entirely wasted that night, so when his scowl deepened, it only sparked her more. When he leaned in closer, she was practically on the tips of her toes to glare right back.
“Did it ever occur to you, in the middle of your ‘holier-than-thou’ speech, that I have been workin’ and that’s why I didn’t hear the bloody bell?” he snarled. “It’s not even my job to man the desk in the first place. I’m a detective, not some low-rate field officer takin’ call his first few months out of the academy. Clearly, you don’t know how-”
“Ohhh, so you’re a detective, then?” Rose interrupted, crossing her arms. He wasn’t gaining any ground pulling rank, especially not tonight. “Care to explain, Mister Detective, why you don’t have someone out here mannin’ the desk at all times? Doin’ their job, like they're supposed to do? Still a failure on your part to make sure people are where they need to be and the work gets done. And y’know where that leads us?” She flung her arms out, encompassing the whole dingy reception area in a head-rolling look. “Right here!”
With that, he finally took a step back and broke their childish staring contest, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger with a short sigh.
“Fine,” he relented, letting his hand drag down his stubbled face. “I admit, there should definitely be someone there. That’s… that’s an oversight on somebody’s part, but not my responsibility. An’ it sure as hell doesn’t give you the right to come in here, barking up a storm-”
“Barking?!”
“-cos you feel slighted by the system. It’s shite. Trust me, I know it’s shite. It’s designed to let the least deserving win while everybody else is stuck behind to lap up the mud.” He gestured loosely over his shoulder, back towards the desks barely visible past the front reception. “You get left behind cleaning up the mess others made ‘cos there’s no one left to do it otherwise, no one left to…”
He trailed off, blinking as clarity returned to his tired eyes. His hand drifted up to press against the left side of his chest for a second or two, another frustrated sigh slumping his shoulders as he worked to reclaim a clear head. It was obvious he’d veered away from speaking in reference to her, steering too far in the direction of revealing, and now he was struggling to course correct.
Rose felt a strange pang of guilt behind her ribs. She dropped firmly back on the heels of her feet and chewed at her lower lip, already missing layers of skin thanks to the anxious hours leading up to this.
Maybe, just maybe, the detective and her were in the same boat. There’s no way anyone in their right mind would want to stay here this late unless ordered to do so, and this man - smelling strongly of black tea and printer ink - seemed no exception. She adverted her gaze to the tiled floor, only looking back up when he spoke again.
The detective settled with his hands on his hips, frustration slipping back into his posture. “So what now? Gonna have another go at me? Go on then, I’m sure you want to. Best to get it out of your system now than bite the head off the next poor fool who walks in here unprepared.”
There was a long few seconds of silence as Rose stared at him and he stared back. Again, neither party yielding, but with a decidedly more tired tone. Neither of them wanted to be here, Rose reminded herself. She took a deep breath before speaking.
“I’m sorry.”
If her goal had been to surprise him, she had succeeded in spades. His eyes widened briefly in shock, hands slipping back to his sides as he stared. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, more firmly. Swallowing her pride, she managed a weak smile. “Just ‘cos I’m getting shafted by the universe tonight doesn’t mean I have to drag you down with me. You don’t deserve that. I just… all I wanted was to get these filed.” The papers crinkled lamely as she raised them. “That’s it. But now I’ve gone and screwed that up too,” she admitted with a tired laugh. “Stupid hit-and-run drivers. Making everyone’s lives worse.”
It had been her mantra for as long as she could remember. To see it still hold true all these years later turned her stomach.
The detective simply stared at her, his expression unreadable. He took a deep breath and held it in the top of his lungs. For a second, Rose thought he was winding up to shout, tell her to piss off and quit bothering him. Instead, he let it out in a deep sigh, the fight draining from his body along with the tense lines of his posture. His slim form almost folded in on itself and the shadows under his eyes seemed to darken as he dragged a hand over his scruffy jaw.
He looked tired. Unbelievably so.
Deep, sad eyes darted over her features one-by-one, quick and distant. Wordlessly, he held out a hand.
Rose stared at it, blinking. What was he-
With another sigh, he gestured with his outstretched hand towards the papers still crumpled in her fist. More than a little confused, but certainly not questioning it, Rose hurriedly pressed them into his grasp before he could change his mind.
The detective began to flip through the claims, quickly darting over line after line of wreckage description, insurance information, and - at the back - a full page of photos. His eyebrows lifted slightly when he reached the end.
“Shafted is an understatement,” he murmured after a moment.
Rose chuckled softly on an exhale, the closest thing to a laugh she’d had all night.
He looked up past the paper. “Look, Ms…”
“Tyler. Rose Tyler.”
“Rose Tyler.”
Courtesy of his accent, he cradled the vowels in her name and rolled the ‘r’s delightfully. Rose had always thought her name alright, if a bit plain, but it sounded different coming from him. With the faintest curl of her lips, she tilted her head expectantly.
He cleared his throat. “Um, DI Alec Hardy.”
Rose nodded. Not bad. “Nice to meet you, DI Hardy.” She offered her hand, anxiously biting the inside of her cheek.
For another long moment, all he did was study her, looking between her face and the extended olive branch. The silence dragged on so long that Rose considered dropping the point, but DI Hardy reciprocated, taking her hand for a firm, if hesitant, shake. His slim fingers were cold to the touch, although that was far less interesting than the simple wonder she found in how well his hand fit in hers. Fully clasped, it was like two puzzle pieces snapping into place with all the appropriate satisfaction.
Her small smile grew fuller. Still close-lipped, but brimming with warmth as she met his somber gaze. Something in the way his brow furrowed impressed an odd confusion, but he returned the gesture with a stuttered nod. He quickly dropped her hand and looked at the papers again.
“Right. I’ll get these put away for you. They should be processed within the next few days, if anyone around here bothers to do their bloody job.” The last bit was muttered under his breath, a bitter afterthought that caught Rose’s ear and sparked a strange mixture of amusement and guilt. He had been doing his job and she’d been the one to storm up, teeth bared, to drag him down with her.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “And… I’m sorry. Again. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Neither did you.”
It was unclear whether he was referring to the crash or his attitude, but either way the gesture was much appreciated. Before she could say another word, however, DI Hardy was already darting away, yanking open the door to the back and re-appearing behind the front desk. He pulled out a filing cabinet drawer, wincing when it screeched, and started rifling through the papers organized in dry manila folders.
Apparently, the conversation was over.
Rose bit back a sigh. Strangely, she trusted the detective to be true to his word and knew that this was the end of her police station troubles for the evening. But something odd kept her glued to the linoleum, her attention still fixed on the detective even as he kept his focus firmly on the task ahead.
Now that they weren’t caught in the heated throes of misunderstanding or the awkward fumbling of apologies, Rose was able to get a good look at him. Whereas before, his tall, slim figure merely seemed a quirk of his physicality, she could see it slipped beyond that. His suit hung off him in a manner ill fitting. His cheekbones sunk to create dark shadows in their wells that were only out-paced by the bags under his eyes. Shuttered and cold, not from apathy, but from a careful facade of control.
And when he shut the file drawer, he leaned against the cabinet for a moment, letting the full weight of his tired body rest in his palm. He could barely hold himself up.
Alec Hardy was pushing himself to the brink.
Rose knew the look. A few years ago, it was all she’d seen in the mirror.
Potent sympathy made her ribs ache and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She didn’t know the man. She knew his name and what very little she’d gleaned from their brief conversation, but that was barely enough to begin to understand him. It must’ve been madness, then, that made up her mind, though she knew at the end of the day it was understanding, plain and simple.
“DI Hardy.”
He turned to look at her with one eyebrow raised, sharp and pointed. A bit annoyed that she was still here, perhaps, and definitely not trying to hide it.
She wasn’t deterred. Rose steeled her resolve and rooted around in her coat pocket for the Sainsbury's receipt from her morning milk run. She strode up to the counter, determined, and borrowed a blue Bic from the pen cup, one with a snapped clip and a chewed cap. It didn’t matter the state, so long as it could write.
Rose quickly scrawled her name and number in her most legible handwriting. With a slight shake, she held it out to DI Hardy.
If he’d been surprised by her sudden apology earlier, he was completely stunned now. He stared at it like he’d never seen a piece of paper before in his life and his jaw worked soundlessly as he clearly tried to compose a question.
When Rose realized he wouldn’t take the receipt without some sort of explanation, she quietly sighed.
“If you need someone to talk to.”
Another long moment passed. Perhaps it was exhaustion getting to them both, but it seemed Alec Hardy was fond of tense pauses, letting the pressure build between them until it reached a breaking point. That was met when he carefully took the paper from her hold, the tips of their fingers brushing. He yanked his hand back just as suddenly, eyes fixed firmly on the paper instead of her.
Finally, DI Hardy nodded once, an acknowledgement and perhaps a thanks wrapped up in one curt gesture.
Rose let a quiet breath of relief escape her tense lungs and nodded too, already backpedaling towards the door. She debated throwing him a final goodnight, but decided she’d long since overstayed her welcome.
She felt his eyes on her back as she slipped out the door and, as the midnight chill swept through her bones, Rose wondered if he really would call her. She doubted it. Still, only tomorrow could tell and right now, all she wanted was her bed and a few hours of blissful solitude.
The walk to the bus stop was spent puffing white fog with every breath and thinking absently about the lingering scent of strong tea and printer ink.
whenever i think alecrose, i default to a slightly older (like dimension cannon/post-dimension cannon age) rose because i love the idea that while she's still got that wonderful compassionate optimism that drives her to form a connection with someone like alec, there's this tired edge to her that comes from loving and losing so many times. having her trust betrayed, seeing the crueler side of the world, needing to start over; it gives her some scars of her own to work through. then, when alec sees the marks her past has left on her and how they mirror his own, he can understand how those hardships don't make a person unlovable
