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Holland’s brain registered pain before he even hit the floor. He was in his house, and someone’s got him from behind—he didn’t catch their face before the attack started—and they were gripping his left arm, pinning him to the ground. The shadow of the person above him nearly swallowed him whole.
He felt so small.
If Holland was being sensible, he wouldn’t be shaking like he was. Waves of nausea and adrenaline rush through his limbs as he thinks of something to do. He feels ridiculous for being so afraid, but that emotional reaction is overtaken by the urge to run, to flee. He had never felt so out of control, so helpless in a situation. He felt like a rabbit in the maw of a wolf.
Holland tries to squirm away, kicking out his legs in hopes to land a hit on the stranger. The person seems displeased, a disappointed huff leaving their lips as their fingers digs into Holland’s stitches. He can’t help but hiss at the feeling, trying to suppress the sob that’s threatening to spill from his lips. The placement of the hand is a warning to Holland, and he immediately listens. He just goes limp, not wanting to cause more pain than needed. He doesn’t want this stranger to see him cry. He doesn’t need to be seen as pathetic as this person beats him bloody. The weight of the person gets heavier on his back and Holland realizes they are leaning in.
“Alright look... When you’re talking to your doctor-”
Holland's ears start ringing. Panic rises in his chest and he knows this has happened before, and it can’t be happening again. His mouth is working faster than his brain. He is begging for mercy, he got the message, he understands, he’s sorry-
“Deep breath.”
He could only close his eyes and wait for the snap.
He woke up with a start. His hand flew to his left arm, checking for the damage. The cast had been off for a few days now, so he could finally grip onto his wrist. He could feel his own heart pounding from his arm and it was echoing in his ears.
His arm was smaller than before, but the doctor told him it was normal. There wasn’t much he could do but believe her, he just hoped it wouldn’t be smaller forever. Healy had suggested physical therapy to help the muscle atrophy.
Healy, right.
A nightmare. It had just been a nightmare.
He had nightmares all of the time- hell- he has literally had that specific nightmare four times already. It shouldn’t shake him up anymore. But it did.
And Holland needed a drink.
-
Jackson Healy never liked intruding. He had decided that when his wife decided to drop a bomb one evening. She had slept with his father and that meant Healy was packing up and leaving before the sun rose. She had decided he was ‘inutile’ ( \in-yoo-til\, Adjective: of no use, or no service.) and he wasn’t going to stay where he was clearly unwanted. It’s why he’s got his apartment. It’s also why he got fish, and they seemed to like him well enough. He fed them and they swam aimlessly around his tank in return. It was a good set up for him.
Then he met March and Holly.
And a little after that, he fell for March.
It wasn’t supposed to become complicated, but it had somewhere along the road. He thought he’d known how to love someone, but this was different. He didn’t just want to love March, he wanted to be a part of their family. And maybe that’s what the March family wanted too.
They would constantly invite him to dinner, and he couldn’t find it in himself to decline. He’d tried once, and Holly had started to tear up, bottom lip quivering. It was clearly acting, everyone in the house knew that. But it made Healy quickly agree, because he hated seeing her upset, even if it was just an act. Healy knew Holly had him wrapped around her finger and he wasn’t sure he knew how to feel. He just tried to ignore the sly smile March gave Holly after that one.
There wasn’t anything waiting back at his apartment anyways, other than the fish of course. But the fish couldn’t talk back, they couldn’t tell you about the hottest new musical artist, or about middle school drama. If his arm was being pulled Healy would admit it- he was being selfish. Sue him.
He had been intruding more and more these days. He decided he had finally crossed a line as he tossed and turned on their couch. Dinner had finished late and after sending Holly to bed, March and Healy had stayed up even later just talking about the day.
They had stumbled on some drug ring while working on their investigation today. March tried to get them out scotch free, but Healy knew it would end with some violence. They’d survived the encounter
(of course they did, Healy was never worried about that). But the fight seemed to upset Holland. Healy had tried to console him, saying that they’d gotten the police involved—the members didn’t know where he lived so it was fine—and if they did find him, then Healy would knock some skulls together.
March had just nodded in response, deep in thought.
Their conversation ended quickly after, Healy offered to stay over just to make sure March didn’t worry about a surprise attack. He gave Healy a tight smile and walked into his room, clearly letting something weigh him down.
And it kept Healy up. He hated not knowing what March was thinking. He spent so much time in his own damn mind that it drove Healy crazy.
The worst part is Healy knew it didn’t just drive him crazy. March’s own mind clearly drove him to drink as a way to escape from the thoughts that kept him up. Healy had even caught Holly staring at her father with a frustrated expression. She would always bite her lip as if that would help her think of better solutions to fix this- fix him. It was clear that none of them knew how to shake him out of it. Even so, that didn’t stop Healy from thinking about it all night.
It was around 2 AM when Healy was finally drifting to sleep. Then he heard a cupboard open in the kitchen. He heard glasses clinking and he couldn’t stop himself from scowling. Seriously, a drink at this hour? Why couldn’t March just go back to sleep?
Healy sighed and he tossed the blanket off himself. So much for sleeping. He trudged to the kitchen, stepping carefully to try and make sure he didn’t wake up Holly.
The lights were on, and a bottle of scotch was opened on the counter. March was facing away from Healy, leaning over the sink and staring out the window. He had a drink in his hand, nursing it while he watched the quiet darkness. His shoulders sagged, and he looked exhausted.
Healy wasn’t sure how to alert March of his presence. He didn’t want to scare the living shit out of him, but he didn’t know if that was a realistic hope. March was extremely jumpy.
He decided on knocking on the wall and whispering. “March.”
Just as he predicted, March squeaked out “Shit!” as he spun around. He pinned himself against the counter, chest heaving like it was painful to breathe. He looked horrified, like he was going to die here in his rental kitchen. The pure fear on March’s face made Healy frown.
“Just me buddy.” Healy muttered. “You good?”
March took a moment to respond, giving Healy a shaky smile. “Forgot you stayed over. Warn a guy next time you do that won’t you?”
Healy raised an eyebrow. “That was warning you.”
“Right. What are you doing up so late?... early?… Fuck it. Whatever time it is right now.” March relaxed against the counter now, but it felt like an act. There was still tension in his arms, his left hand gripping the counter for support.
“What are you doing? It’s two AM. Why are you drinking at this hour?”
“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere, am I right?” March chuckles as he downs the rest of his drink. It’s almost like he was sure Healy would take it from his hands and pour it down the drain.
Which was fair, because he’d done that multiple times. Still, Healy’s expression got harder. “That’s not an answer.”
March seemed to hesitate now, as if Healy’s frustration changed some unknown factor.
“Just… bad dreams. Nightmares and shit.”
“Don’t say ‘and shit’.” Healy put his hands in his pockets, moving closer to the younger man
March frowned and grumbled. “Whatever smart ass.”
“So, nightmares huh? What about?”
March shrugged noncommittally. “Y’know the usual stuff. Showing up to school naked, teeth falling out, having sex with your own mom.”
Healy has to take a double take, because what the fuck? “…Doing what?”
March suddenly seems confused. “You never had that nightmare? It’s one of the most common ones, I saw an article about it once. Like, obviously it's not good or enjoyable or anything but I mean you know its- its a fuckin’ nightmare, Healy. It’s normal.”
Healy decided not to respond to any of that.
“In any case- it wasn’t anything serious.”
This made the older man frown. Healy didn’t like liars. He especially hated people close to him lying. He’d had enough of that to last a damn lifetime.
“Don’t give me that shit, you’re shaking like a leaf.”
March straightened out. “No I’m not. And even if I was, it’s none of your business, Healy. ”
Healy ran a hand through his hair. Somehow, this was going downhill extremely quick. His own anger was lapping at the edges of his mind, trying to take over and get mean. It’s not his fault that March shuts like a clam and won’t ever talk to anyone about shit like this.
…Ok. This was getting way too heated. Healy had to think of a way to de-esculate the situation. He needed to be gentle and patient. He had read countless books on how to keep a marriage running, and surely those books could be applied to this. It was time to reassure March that nothing was wrong.
“Are you still worried about those guys from before? For fuck’s sake March I promise they’re not gonna attack us.”
Even before the words fall from his mouth, he knows it’s the wrong shit to be saying. As soon as he makes that revelation, it seems like March comes to the same conclusion. March’s expression become sharp, and he looks pissed, more pissed than Healy has ever seen him.
“Wh- what are you even talking about?” March laughs bitterly as he shakes his head. “I don’t give a shit about those guys! I’m more worried about-”
Suddenly, it’s like March can’t talk anymore. He breathes through his nose like he’s trying to keep himself from getting too frustrated. Healy wants to close the space and demand answers from his friend, but he knows that isn’t the right move here. So, he tries to keep himself calmer than before, focusing on being extremely aware of his tone and wording.
“So it’s not the drug ring? Ok. Well, that’s good to know. What are you worried about March? You can tell me anything, y’know that.”
Healy mentally pats himself on the back, he’s doing better than before, and he can see March relax, if only a little.
“I’ve been-” he cuts himself off again, biting his bottom lip. Healy gets a flash of Holly’s face scrunching up in concentration in the same way. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, it seems.
“You’ve been…?” Healy encourages him to keep speaking.
“I’ve been having nightmares about… how we first met.”
-
Holland watches Healy’s expression shift in the span of a second. He looks confused, then shocked, then there’s the dread. As soon as Holland’s secret is spilled, he regrets speaking. It feels like his inside spilled out and he has to scoop them up and hold them to his chest.
He feels vulnerable.
Holland wants to blame the confession on the alcohol, even if he’s only lightly buzzed. He wants to say he’s only kidding, that this was some prank he’d been conjuring up for weeks now. He wants to do anything that’ll wipe that look off of Healy’s face. It makes Holland feel sick, and he can feel his stomach lurch. He doesn’t want pity.
“How… How many times?” It’s all Healy can whisper out.
Holland can’t keep eye contact anymore. “Tonight was the 5th time.”
Healy is quiet for a moment, processing what Holland just dropped on him.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Holland can’t respond right away, and it makes Healy look hurt. Holland hates when he’s upset, so he brings up his finger.
“I’m not saying yes, I’m trying to word it correctly.”
This does little to help the hurt, but Healy seems to appreciate the honesty. Holland spends the better part of a minute just thinking to himself. But instead of thinking he’s just telling himself he should be thinking, and that Healy’s waiting for him, and he needs to hurry up-
“I don’t think I am. If I was scared of you all the time then we wouldn’t be partners, I’m not that pathetic. You just, you broke my arm and seeing how easily you messed up those dudes today- it just kinda reminded me. It happens.”
Healy seems to digest his words. It’s quiet again and Holland does what he’s supposed to.
“Sorry.” Holland rambles, trying to fill the dead air. “I wasn’t going to tell you- I’m being such a dumbass baby about it- I promise it’s not a big-”
“I don’t like liars.” Healy’s whisper cuts Holland off, and his throat dries up.
“It… it is a big deal. I hurt you. I hurt a lot of people. I’ve killed people.” The admission makes Holland look at his face. Healy seems to be the one who can’t look at Holland anymore, his eyes fixed on the tiles.
“Listen. I’m uh- I’m sorry March.” It sounds strange coming from Healy, but he’s completely sincere. “I probably- I mean definitely. I definitely went too far there.”
“It’s fine H-”
Healy raised a hand, cutting Holland off before he could spout more nonsense. “Let me finish my fucking thought March, ‘kay?”
Holland just gave him a thumbs up.
Healy takes some time to think again and it’s sending Holland into a spiral. He wants to talk about anything at this point, he’d rather talk about his dead wife than sit in silence like this.
Actually, no he wouldn’t.
Healy glares at Holland as he pours himself a drink. Can Healy truly blame him? All he needs is some liquid courage. He downs it in one swig and that seems to set Healy in motion.
“I’ve spent a lot of my life breaking things. Breaking people.” The way he is speaking leaves no room for comment or criticism. “I’ve basically made myself into a weapon for money. And I didn’t care. It was a fine job. It was an easy one, too. And then… I met you ‘n Holly.”
Now they’re both making eye contact, even if it’s killing Holland.
“I met you and it was like everything changed. Holly made me promise I wouldn’t kill John Boy and- it’s like a damn switch flipped. I’m- of course I’m not perfect. You saw that today. But, I’m trying for you two.”
Holland knew Healy was trying. There had been less violence in their cases, and he could always see when Healy wanted to swap his words out for his fists.
Holland sighs, placing his glass onto the counter. “I’m not blaming you. It’s- it’s a weird fucked up situation yknow? Who would’ve thought we would start working together.”
Healy seems sheepish for a moment before adding “If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t have done it if I knew we were.”
That makes Holland laugh, and the mood feels lighter than before. He’s not sure where to even go from here, but at least he doesn’t feel like crying.
“I can uh… I can leave if you’d prefer.” Healy starts to gather his keys and jacket. It’s like he thinks Holland wants him gone.
It’s Holland’s turn to scowl as he takes a step closer. “No. No, none of that. I don’t want that.”
He doesn’t truly know what he does want but he knows it’s not being alone.
So, what does he want?
He wants to be held. He numbly misses his wife because if he ever had a nightmare she was right there to soothe him. He wants someone’s steady hand on his back, a gruff voice telling him nothing’s wrong. He wants-
He wants Healy. Holland wants him here because he’s stable, something to fall against. He’ll hold him close when Holland is falling apart.
He wants Healy.
Oh shit.
The revelation makes him reach to make another drink, but it seems Healy has hidden the scotch. All he’s doing now is waiting for Holland to give a verdict.
“Would you come to bed with me? In like- you know, like a dude way. Just ‘cause having someone next to me helps me sleep, and I didn’t have a lot of nightmares when my wife was here, so... If you think that’s too much then we don’t have to or whatever. Also- also it would be better on your back! So I’d be helping you, if you really think about it..! ….Holy shit this sounds so weird.”
Holland starts to backtrack, because how do you ask your best friend and only coworker to do something like this? It must be crossing some line. Holland can imagine it now, Healy is going to drag him to their nonexistent HR department and it’s over for him.
“Listen I’m sorry I even brought it up, I sound like an idiot and I’m not trying to creep you out. I’ll just let you sleep on the couch now, ok buddy- pal? Night Healy.”
Healy can’t stifle his laugh as he grabs Holland’s arm- his right one. “How ‘bout this, we have a little slumber party, and in return you stop talking?”
It’s a deal Holland can’t say no to.
-
This was a new level for Jackson Healy.
He had never once slept in someone else’s bed like this. He was loyal to his wife, and after she wasn’t, he swore off this type of close contact. It wasn’t worth the pain it left behind.
But still, he found himself in Holland’s bedroom, prepared for- really anything. The things he’d do for the younger man was astounding.
March shuffled into bed, slowly pulling the covers over himself. Healy tried to follow suit as casually as possible.
“You’re sleeping in your jeans and button up?” March seemed a little weirded out.
“What else do I got?” Healy wasn’t in the mood for sleeping in his underwear. That would cross more than one line he’d made for himself.
March thought for a moment before nodding, understanding the sentiment. It’s not that March was better than sleeping in his clothes. There had been a handful of suits he’d ruined by sitting in his tub. Healy knew this personally.
They were both on their sides, facing away from each other. Healy didn’t want to do anything to make March uncomfortable here, in his own room. He debated with himself before he decided that if March even looked slightly uncomfortable, Healy was packing up and leaving.
For now, he just tried to close his eyes. He was starting to get tired, and he was ready to fall asleep in an actual bed. He wasn’t a “spring chicken” as Holly would say, and he loved going to bed at 10PM. He had always loved sleeping, but he gained a real appreciation for it later in his life. He’s so close to passing out when he hears something.
“So…” Holland clears his throat, as if he’s about to start another long conversation.
Healy responds dryly. “Goodnight March.”
“Can’t I just say something?”
Healy turns to face March’s back, but he’s surprised to see March already looking at him. Healy just waits for the other shoe to drop.
“I don’t think you’re a monster.” The admission tries to be casual, but it weighs in the room.
Healy tries not to think about it too hard as he nods. “Thanks March.”
“I’m- I’m being serious man. I don’t.” He tries to emphasize it, scanning the older man’s face. “I’m not scared of you.”
“I know.” He says it so impassively, and he can tell it’s starting to frustrate March.
He is exasperated as he says, “Look!” And before Healy knows it, March’s right hand is pulling. March sets Healy’s hand on his left wrist.
His heart beat is sluggish, maybe slower than average. That, of course could be chalked up to the alcohol. Still, the feeling was calming against Healy’s fingertips.
It takes a moment for March’s brain to catch up. Once it does, he tries to act normal. “See? Not afraid.”
Healy just takes a moment to do inventory on March’s arm. It’s smaller, he thinks everyone in the house had commented on it. He lets himself turn it that way and this way, getting all angles he could. March let him, letting his arm go limp as its examined. Healy’s eyes linger on the old scar from the stitches.
“Does this still hurt?”
March seems to remember how to speak, and it spills out of him. “Oh, no. Not anymore. They stitched me up pretty fucking well. It was itchy for a while but that was just irritating. In all honesty the cut wasn’t too bad, I remember the paramedic screaming in my ear. Something about losing me or something. I didn’t really pay attention. All I know is she was being dramatic as shit.”
Healy seriously doubts that. The cut is right above an artery. There’s a very strong possibility that injury could’ve ended his life. He lets his thumb brush over it once, twice. He’s lost in thought.
Healy drags his fingernails against March’s forearm. All of this feels cathartic to Healy, in its own strange way. Maybe he can prove to himself that he isn’t just made to break things.
Healy remembers that when he was little- when people still called him Jack- he wanted to be a musician. Jack had songs tucked underneath his bed, holding all the weight a 12 year old can have. He spent so long wanting to create, to be something truly, uniquely good.
He never had a problem with acknowledging his flaws. He wasn’t a saint on a mission, spreading the good word of Christ. He hurt people for money, and he didn’t do favors. He hadn’t been truly good in a while. When did he lose Jack?
Maybe it happened randomly, or maybe there was a reason. Jack could’ve died in the same breath as Healy’s first victim. He doesn’t think there’s any value in trying to pinpoint an exact moment.
But sometimes, when he’s alone, he accepts that March has found Jack. Holland March has found him.
“You should really go to physical therapy, March. It would speed up the recovery process.”
Holland just gives an uneven hum in response.
Jack doesn’t notice how long he’s been caressing Holland’s arm until he starts to squirm in Jack’s hold. It makes Jack pull away slightly, looking at his expression. It isn’t uneasy or awkward. It almost looks like Holland at peace, maybe overwhelmed with the attention, but he’s all but melting into the bed.
Still, Jack has to ask. “Is this ok?”
Holland’s eyes flutter open, they look heavy as he nods . “Better than ok. It’s nice. No one’s done this since..” His voice trails off, and Jack understands.
He responds gently. “I know. It’s ok. Same here.”
They sat in silence for a while, just enjoying the small contact. It was a strange feeling. These two grown men who were estranged from love. Alienated from any warmth. Now they could bask in it, just for a moment. Just for a night.
Without much thought, Jack brings Holland’s arm to his lips, lazily kissing the fading scar. It wasn’t much, but it was a way for him to apologize with fewer words.
The action sobers Healy- and March for that matter- in seconds. They become like magnets of the same pull, springing away from one another. The arm is ripped from Healy’s hand, and March is on the edge of the bed before he can blink. He looks… flustered?
“Shit. Sorry.” Healy sounds like the air has been completely punched out of his lungs. And maybe it has. He has no clue what made him do that.
He couldn’t say he was drunk. He’d been by Holland’s side the entire night. He’d gotten too comfortable. He had intruded on a moment that was so intimate and quiet, and it happened so suddenly. It made Healy feel like a bull in a china shop. The soft dreamlike atmosphere was completely shattered, and it was his fault.
Healy is both upset and relieved that it’s dark in the small room.
March breathes heavily, choking out a short sentence. “I’m not fucking gay.”
The words hang heavy. They sink into Healy’s gut and settle like a permanent resident. He should’ve known that. Forget all that sappy shit he talked about because fuck this. Healy knows hippies who are fine with gay people, but it makes him forget that the ‘lifestyle’ wasn’t normal for the majority.
“Right...I’m uh- I’m sorry I did that.” He wants to try and excuse the action, but there’s nothing he can use.
“It’s ok.” March is relaxing by the second. “I just need you to know that. But-” He bites his lip while he thinks. “Uh. Just so you know, I liked the kiss. It felt nice. You could do it again if you wanted to.”
-
Healy seemed extremely confused, which Holland couldn’t blame him. How could Holland begin to explain that he actually wanted Healy to kiss every inch of him? Of course, not in a gay way. More like… in a friend way.
“You…” Healy’s voice trails off before he continues. “You want me to do it again?”
Holland shrugs. “Yeah why not? I liked it. I can be straight and like it Healy. It’s not a big deal. ”
It was quiet again while Healy digests what Holland is saying, and then he has the audacity to laugh. It’s a confused, but relieved sound, and it’s pissing Holland off.
“Why the fuck are you laughing at me?” Holland hisses to distract himself from the rising heat on his cheeks.
Healy takes a moment to catch his breath and shakes his head. “You make no damn sense. You’re sure you want that?”
Holland groans dramatically, trying to cover his growing anxiety. Was this stupid? “Are you asking for consent? We’re not having sex dumbass.”
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
Holland’s mind goes unexpectedly blank.
Healy smirks and seems to find Holland’s reaction an accomplishment. All it “accomplished” was making Holland huff and scoot closer.
Holland extends his left arm to Healy. “Just shut the fuck up, before I change my mind.”
Healy gives him a shit eating grin before he’s focused on the task at hand. The first kiss is placed on his palm. Healy lets his lips linger and looks up at him. It makes Holland’s breathing stutter, Healy looks amazing in the low lighting. There’s a specific look in his eye that Holland can’t ignore.
The older man continues to slowly kiss up his forearm. His scruff scratches against his pulse and it’s making Holland dizzy. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, pounding insistently. It’s so quiet in the room, the only thing that breaks the silence is his stuttering breath. It’s all so gentle, he doesn’t know if he’s going to cry or beg for more. Holland can’t even use his words, everything feels so slow and muffled in his brain.
Healy lifts his head to be level with him. “You ok Holland?”
For some reason, that’s what does it. Healy only ever calls him March, but this is different. Holland needs him to say it over and over again. He wants to hear his name whispered like that every second of every day.
Holland is kissing Jack.
It’s clumsy at first, Holland rushed in without even asking. Still, Jack’s hands are on Holland in a second. One hand is cupping his cheek gently, the other holds his waist. It feels like Jack doesn’t want him to break, to shatter and lose this moment.
It’s not a chaste kiss, their teeth bump together every so often but Jack doesn’t seem to mind. Jack nips at Holland’s bottom lip, and he can’t catch the sound that slips out in response. The sound spurs Jack on, but in a different way than Holland had hoped.
Jack is slowing down the kiss, even if it makes Holland’s chest ache. It becomes gentle, intimate. Something about it makes Holland pliable, relaxing fully into the embrace. His hand grip onto Jack’s shirt, as if this is the only thing keeping him on earth. They pull away, panting as they try to catch their breath.
Jack lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. It isn’t long before he’s looking at Holland again, like he’s got his own gravitational pull.
“How are you feeling?” Holland feels like that’s an extremely loaded question.
“ Shit, do I have to evaluate that right now?” He gives Jack a grimace.
Jack can only shrug. “Nah, it can wait until morning. But you gotta actually do it.”
“Promise, Cross my heart and hope to die” He lazily brings his pinkie to Jack.
It makes the older man roll his eyes, but he’s got his pinky wrapped around Holland’s.
-
Holland decides he doesn’t even need to ask, he’s burrowing into Jack like he can get them closer than they already are. Limbs are tangled and Holland’s head rests on his chest. Holland is pretending to be asleep.
Jack will let him, just for the night. It’s like Holland trusts him completely, like he knows he isn’t just made to break and ruin.
So, he will hold Holland gently, creating something more than a tune from a broken guitar, more than childhood wishes. What he has now is real, something- someone he can grasp onto. He can let the walls he meticulously built crumble with time.
And maybe he can be domestic once more.