Work was an interesting environment to make friends. Any place of employment was, really. You could be twenty-six, fresh out of the academy, and be besties with an officer a decade older than you. Ah, magical.

Your work bestie was DI Hardy, the man known for solving both the Broadchurch and Sandbrook murders that had occurred in recent years. Usually, he was about as crabby as one could get, and make no mistake, he was consistently crabby with you, too. Can't teach an old dog new tricks, and all that. However, his crabbiness toward you was notably lessened, enough so that you typically spent your lunch breaks together.

Coming back to you, you'd been questioning your gender for several years now, and you'd come to the conclusion that you were a man, not a woman. Upon making the decision to transition, you'd begun buying men's clothes and started seeing a doctor to discuss your options for transitioning physically as well as socially. It was going well, you had the clothes and you liked the way they fit you, but you were feeling nervous about starting to present as male to other people.

You could just show up in men's clothes one day and tell people your new name, but that was kinda really scary. Maybe 'go big or go home' was a bad idea here. Better start with one person. Better start with Alec. He probably wouldn't care that much. He'd probably ask what name he should call you by and awkwardly ask if you needed someone to teach you how to tie a tie.

So there you sat, in the break room, across from him, quietly eating your lunch and trying to force the words out. Eventually, you'd finished your food, and you figured it was now or never.

"Alec?"

"Yes?"

"Got something to tell you."

"Spit it out, then. Haven't got all day."