Work Text:
Healy walks into the March house to see Holland wearing a dress and promptly has a heart attack and dies.
"You're being so dramatic," Holland complains, but he still gets Jackson a cool glass of water and an antacid anyway. His legs are shaved, Healy notes in something akin to a panic, his face is shaved. What- what else is...? "It's like you've never seen a man in a dress before. It's 1979, get with the times."
It's not 1979, but that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Jackson's never seen Holland like this before. Why would he?
He looks...
Well, he looks like himself, just wearing a dress and heeled shoes and make-up and his short hair styled like he was someone making a fashion statement rather than a guy who threw 10 bucks at his barber and said "Just don't make me look like Hitler."
(Absently, Jackson's always wondered if Holland's preoccupation with the dead Furor has to do with blond-haired, blue-eyed elephant in the mirror - or however that saying goes - and he doesn't like the idea that the most evil man in history would have thought anything positive about him.)
Whenever Healy's ex got all dolled up like this, for him or more likely for someone else, she always asked him if he thought she looked pretty. Jackson hopes against all hope that Holland doesn't ask him this because March didn't look pretty, per se, not in the way a woman was. He looked handsome, but not in the way a man was.
"This for a case?" Healy asks, desperate for an answer that would make his heart stop racing and his head stop hurting so much. He's sweating through his shirt and his jacket will be next, he knows it.
"I got a doctor's appointment," March says, which explains nothing. Jackson might understand less than he did before. "You're driving. Learn to take some responsibility."
The sight of Holland like this put Jackson in such a state that he'd probably agree to whatever Holland asked of him without question. Jack kind of did that anyway, but at least he pretends to argue. Keep his dignity and all that.
The dignity thing was made kind of moot when Jackson opened the door, saw March, and then clutched his chest and said "I think I'm having a heart attack."
Jackson drives them to the doctor - he didn't even know Holland went to the doctor - and sits there in the waiting room with his hands clasped in his lap and his back completely straight while Holland fills out paperwork beside him.
If Jackson were the type to notice such things - and he was, but he was a bit off of his game today for some reason - he would have noticed the name of the clinic or he would have read Holland's intake paperwork or he would have noticed that this waiting room is full of women with their husbands or with their children or moms or sisters and that all these women seemed to have something in common. Something real big and round and obvious. Maybe if he was in a fit state to notice such things, then maybe he could have mentally prepared himself for what he was about to hear.
A nurse calls out a name and that name isn't Holland's name, but when he hears it, March gets up anyway and says, "That's us. Come on, Jack."
Why is he doing that with his voice?
Holland makes some small talk with the nurse and Jack follows behind them like a dog, but a confused one, and when March sits himself on the table in the exam room, Jack takes the seat next to him. They sit together waiting for an unreasonably long time, but Holland doesn't seem to be bothered by it. He pulled a furniture catalog out of his bag and began to peruse.
The construction of the new house is going well. Holly's appointed herself as the main point of contact with the contractors and everyone prefers it that way, especially the crew. Business at the Agency has been steady and lucrative and acceptable levels of seedy. By Holly's estimates, the house should be ready to move into in about eight or nine months.
"Holland," Jackson starts, finally building enough mental fortitude to begin asking questions, starting with Hey, man, what the fuck is going on? He's interrupted, of course, by the fucking doctor finally deigning to show his face.
"Sorry for the wait, Mr. March, Mrs. March," the doctor says. He's an older guy, friendly and harmless looking. Practically jolly, a bit like Santa Claus, really. "It's a bit hectic. We're nine months out from Valentine's Day so it's a busy season for us here, haha."
"Wait a second," Jackson starts to say because the pieces are starting to come together, but not fast enough. "I'm not -"
"No problem, doc. I get it," March interrupts. "What's the news?"
"Well, Mr. March, Mrs. March," the doctor that looks like Santa Claus says, "congratulations are in order! You're pregnant!"
And then the doctor starts to say something else but Jackson doesn't hear any of that because he promptly passes out.
---
Jackson comes to in the passenger seat of his own car, parked in the driveway of the March house, Holland at the wheel and bitching at him. "Just my fucking luck the universe saddles me with two of you. Emma reacted the exact same way when she found out I was pregnant with Holly. I'm telling you the exact same way except she hit her head on the way down and when she woke up she forgot what the doctor said so I had to break the news to her again and guess what she did next! Guess!"
"Based on her previous behaviors and my own current experiences," Jackson says, groggy and out of sorts, "I’m assuming she passed out again."
"Bingo!" March points a finger gun at him and winks as he shuts off the engine and hops out of Jack's car. He leans through the open window to ask, "You remember what the doctor said, right? I don't have to repeat anything."
"No, I think I'm all caught up on the situation."
"Good." With that, March bounces back into the house, leaving the front door open behind him.
Jesus Harold Christ.
Jack follows March into the house - closing the door behind him because someone has to have self-preservation - to see Holly pouring what seems like all the alcohol in the house down the sink cheerfully. "Hi, Mr. Healy!" she greets cheerfully. "Dad’s getting changed. He told me you found out the good news! I'm so excited! I think this is all of the alcohol, but could you double-check that I threw away all the cigarettes?" She nods her head at the garbage can, dozens of packs of cigarettes doused with water sitting sadly at the bottom.
"Gotcha," Jackson says gruffly. He feels like he's having some kind of out-of-body experience as he searches through the house. Holly was very thorough, of course, but he finds a couple of packs stuffed in some dusty dress shoes he's never seen March wear in a coat closet and a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one of the potted plants. It was buried in the dirt and everything.
Holland's back in the kitchen with Holly and he changed his clothes. He's in a deep red suit, so dark it might actually be brown, with a matching tie and Healy breathes a sigh of relief. Holland is himself again and Jack can feel his head clearing, his heartbeat slowing.
Which promptly ratchets back up once he's able to think again.
"Jack, hey," March says carefully, once he sees Jack. Holland's got two full trashbags in each hand Holly is dragging her one trashbag with two hands. The bags make loud clinking sounds whenever they move and they better be putting all that glass in the recycling or they’re never gonna hear the end of it from the neighborhood ladies who have nothing better to do.
Healy marches towards Holland, throwing the cigarettes and liquor on the ground. He's not really sure what he's going to do once he gets to March until he does it. For a split second, worry breaks through the mask of casual indifference March had been wearing all day and in the moment, Jackson swears to do everything in his power to make sure Holland knows without a shadow of a doubt that Healy is not someone Holland ever, ever has to worry about.
Healy pulls March down into a kiss, March's smooth face held gently between Healy's hands. The kiss is slow, deep, the kind of kiss that makes Holly retch behind them and rush to the door so she could take out the trash and be anywhere but here, watching her dad and her Mr. Healy suck face in the living room.
Healy doesn't mind all that because he can feel it when Holland relaxes. He throws his arms around Healy's shoulders, pulling him closer.
Holland pulls back first which is probably for the best because if Jack had his way, they'd be kissing there until Holly was old enough to graduate college. He doesn’t go far, though. Just far enough for Jack to see a smile break out on Holland's face like the rising sun and he can't help but kiss him wherever he could reach. His cheek, his ear, his neck, the temple of his forehead. Holland laughs, ticklish and relieved. "Hey, Jack," he says, so soft and so tender, and Jack has never thought his own name was more beautiful than in his moment. "We're having a baby."
Jack doesn't know what face he makes, but whatever it is makes Holland kiss him again.
"Well isn't that something?" he says against Holland's lips.
---
Jack thinks he knows how it happened.
Well, he knows how it happened, obviously. He's a grown ass man with a dick and balls. He knows where babies come from. But he thinks he knows when it happened for him and Holland.
Holly was away for a friend's birthday. Healy thinks it was Paulina, the one with the lisp and the hook for a hand, according to March. Apparently Paulina's family was pretty well off or they were in massive debt because they sprung for tickets to Disneyland for Paulina and two of her closest friends, one of whom happened to be Holly. The other girl, Amanda, hated Holly because she had a thing for Oliver Monroe, who had a thing for Holly. Anyway, she was in for an interesting weekend away.
Holland sent her away with enough spending money for overpriced food and souvenirs and a promise to call home every night and every morning and if she needed anything. Later, Holland found out that Jackson had given Holly spending money too. Holly spent that whole weekend living like a queen.
Holland spent that whole weekend getting fucked within an inch of his life. They didn't leave the house the entire time she was gone; Holland barely left the bed. Jack was having to bring him food and water and carry him to the bathroom and living room so that they could resume their activities there and honestly, that was the least he could do. Holland complained about his pussy being sore for a week after - not anywhere Holly could hear, obviously - but those complaints were mostly to guilt Healy into giving him a massage down there with his fingers or tongue. Not that Healy ever needed much convincing.
Now Jack is looking all over the rental and thinking was it there? It could have been anywhere in the house. Statistically, it was probably the bed, but who really knows? Maybe it was the couch or the bathtub. Maybe it was in the kitchen or against the front door. Hell, it could have been in the pool.
Jack hopes it wasn't in the pool. It felt really good at the time and he has no regrets, obviously, but what they did together in that pool wasn't one of his prouder moments. He’d do it again in a heartbeat, but still.
He knows that the Marches hate this rental, and it is a bit gaudy and they're never getting the deposit back on it, but he thinks he'll always have a special fondness for this place. After all, this is where they made their baby.
God, he hopes it didn't happen in the pool.
---
Jack and Holland both think their situation is pretty simple. Holland is Holland and Jackson is Jackson and they're partners in a detective agency and they’re partners in life. They love each other. What could be more simple than that?
The world doesn't think so. The world is actually making this simple thing pretty fucking complicated.
So instead of Holland being able to go to the doctor dressed in his own clothes, they have to do this:
They tell everyone that March is going to rehab. Well, they don't tell people, but they "subtly" imply it. Oh, he's going away for a while. He's doing some soul-searching, he's trying out this new-fangled program. It's not a hard sell. This is Los Angeles. People can read between the lines as long as the in between those lines the words are "this person is on drugs/cheating on their spouse/abusing alcohol/has deviant sexual desires for Robert Redford".
But while March is away, his never-before-mentioned twin sister comes to live in the rental to take care of Holly. It's an arrangement that works out for the both of them because, gasp, it turns out this sister is pregnant out of wedlock and the guy who knocked her up ran off with some floozy and she's all alone in this world. Mr. Healy, March's detective partner, feels for this poor girl. Out of a sense of duty and loyalty towards his wayward partner and said partner's family, Healy takes it upon himself to take care of March's sister and Holly while March is off on his healing journey. Slowly but surely, Healy and March's "sister" fall in love and all the ladies in the neighborhood will laugh and say of course Mr. Healy falls in love with someone who is basically the female version of Holland and Healy and March's sister will both go hahaha, yeah, it's funny how that happened, ha ha ha ha.
"And then," Holly says, while she and Holland are flipping through baby name books Holly had borrowed from the library, "Right when my dad is about to come back from rehab, his 'sister' goes into labor but dies from complications during childbirth. Mr. Healy vows to her on her deathbed to take care of the child like they're his own and dad invites you both to move in with us because of course he wants to take care of his sister's kid and the kid's adoptive father. Mr. Healy, you're heartbroken and vow to never love again and dad already made that vow when my mom died so no one questions why you guys live together and raise children together and if they do question it, they look like big jerks."
"Right," Jackson says faintly. "Okay. Sure."
"Holly's thought this all through," March says proudly, kissing the top of Holly's head with a loud smack. "She should write for the movies!"
"You name the baby after dad's 'sister' so we've got to pick out names before dad goes to rehab." She holds up the baby book to show some page in the 'F's. "What do you think of Fanny?"
There's a lot of things that Jack could say right in this moment. He doesn't say any of it.
"God, no," Holland vetoes with disgust, two thumbs down and everything. "I'm not naming the baby Fanny and I'm not answering to Fanny for nine fucking months. You and your mother have the same taste for names. Jack, you pick." And he slides the book he was reading from across the table.
And so Jack sits down at the table and tries to pick a name for Holland and a name for their kid. Or, well, if the kid's a boy, a name that they could conceivably turn into a boy's name.
---
The crazy thing is that it works. Everyone buys that saccharine story hook line and sinker.
"Hadley," Janet's mother, not the sharpest tool in the shed, says, “How interesting! You and your brother have such unique names."
"Thank you," March says stiffly. "Our parents wanted to be...different."
Really, Healy picked it because it sounded nice and it was the first thing he saw in the baby book that wasn’t something like “Priscilla” or “Annabella.” It could work, right? Holland's name is Holland for Christ's sake.
With his hair grown out and his face free of his most distinctive facial feature, March is, apparently, unrecognizable. March was right this whole time; Jackson's been giving people's intelligence too much credit.
Jack might be biased 'cause he likes to think he knows March better than all these people, but March really isn't behaving all that different from his usual self. He doesn't look all that different. He can't wear his signature suits anymore because then they'd maybe be flying too close to the sun, but everything else about him - even with the hair and the make up and the dresses and skirts and heels he's already too tall for - is still so March. He really can't be anyone but himself.
Jack knows it chafes at him - the clothes and the hair and Holly calling him 'Aunt' instead of 'Dad' when they're in public - so Jack makes it a point to call him Holland once the doors are closed. To put his jacket around his shoulders when they're out in public, not because he's cold but because Holland likes the cut of it. Part of Jack is elated to be able to do this in public, to hold him where anyone can see and not be afraid. Part of him wishes that March didn't need to be dressed in someone else's clothes for them to have this.
Holland is moody and it's hard to tell if it's from the hormones or the pretending to be his own sister thing or the fact that he hasn't had a drink or a smoke in probably four months or that he's got a dead wife. It's probably all four, but sometimes it's none of the above. Sometimes Holland is just sad.
Like tonight. Tonight is a bad night.
It's 4AM. The whole neighborhood is asleep except for this one house. March is having trouble sleeping. It was normal, he said. He was like this with Holly too. He's barefoot - just in the boxer shorts and undershirt he tried to fall asleep in - feet dangling over the empty pool while he bounces gently up and down on the edge of the diving board. Jackson is nervous seeing him there, but he tries his best to trust March. If Holland March, who is, respectfully, one of the biggest scaredy cats currently alive, feels safe dangling over the deep end of the rental’s empty pool, then it’s probably fine.
It might be because this is March’s second rodeo, but the circumstances of his first pregnancy and second pregnancy couldn’t be more different. It’s Jack’s first rodeo, though, because his ex didn't want kids. She'd been very clear on that. That wasn't a dealbreaker for Jack or anything, which is one of the reasons why she decided to marry him, but he'd always been a little sad about it. A little wistful whenever he passed by the local park on his way to his loveless home.
Reflexively, at the sight of a melancholy Holland March by the pool, Jack's eyes scan the surrounding area for empty cans or glasses of whisky or snuffed out cigarettes. Holland's hackles rise when he recognizes that look on his face. "God, Jack, I'm not drinking. Who the fuck do you think I am? I haven't had a drink or a smoke for months. I remember the day exactly. It was in November, three weeks after Holly went to Disneyworld with Pauline and Mandy. The baby was probably conceived right here in the pool."
"Please don't say that."
"I'm a fuck up, Jack, but I wouldn't," he puts a hand over his belly, where the baby is "growing nicely", according to Santa Claus. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt the baby."
"No, I know.” And he does know that. He trusts Holland with his life. Does Jackson trust him with his own? No. But it’s not just his life at the moment. Jackson’s never seen March take care of himself more. “Of course you wouldn't. I didn't mean anything by it, promise, I just- "
"Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Holland sighs bitterly. “It's just...instinct or something. Everyone around me gets that instinct. You and Holly. And the kid will get it too, eventually."
"Holland."
"I was a really good dad before, you know?" Holland starts and Jackson learns that it was never the booze that was talking when March got like this, before. That was all him. "So good that Holly still thinks I'm him so I haven't lost her yet. But everything good about me died with Emma. And this kid? They're just gonna know the fuck up version of me. And they'll have you and they'll have Holly and they're so lucky for that. You two are gonna be the best thing I ever gave them, but they'll have me for a dad too. The poor kid."
"Shut the fuck up," Jackson says, angry, suddenly and violently, at the whole fucking world. "You don't talk about my kid's father like that."
"Jack, come on," March rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to -”
"No." Jack walks to the other end of the diving board and holds his hand out. "Come here."
The diving board is wobbly and Holland gives him about fifty heart attacks on the way there, but eventually Holland gets back on solid land. "You listen here, Holland March. Yes, you're a fuck up-"
"Wow."
"But so am I and so is everyone on this fucking planet. Do you love Holly?"
"Of course I do."
"And you love our kid?" He places a hand over Holland's belly, where he's starting to show.
"Yes."
"And you love me?"
"Yes."
"And you haven't had a drink or a smoke since you even had a vague inkling that you might be pregnant?"
"Yes, I just said that."
"Then you're already a better parent than a shit ton of people on this godforsaken planet. You're a better dad than my old man. You're a better man than you were five months ago."
"That's a pretty low bar, Jack."
"I don't think it is.You're a good man, Holland March. And you want to be better. You're trying to be better. You are better and maybe you don't see it because you're in the middle of it, and maybe I'm not the most unbiased observer owing to the fact that I'm in love with you and everything, but you trust me, right?"
"More than anyone."
"Alright, good, same. So you better believe me when I tell you that you're wrong. You're a good man, Holland March. You're a good father to Holly and you're a good father to our kid. I'm so, so grateful that I get to do this with you."
Holland is crying and it's probably from the hormones, but Healy is willing to take responsibility for these tears too. "You're such a sap."
"You gonna kiss me or what?"
The moon is bright and round and so achingly lovely that Healy might start confusing it for someone else.
---
"We should get married," Healy says one day while he's making French toast. A lot of noise happens after he says that. Holland chokes on his orange juice - he's not even drinking coffee anymore - and Holly starts yelling.
"Mr. Healy! That's so unromantic! You should have flowers and candles and stuff. Do you even have a ring?"
"Don't say 'and stuff', sweetheart," Holland gasps between his coughs.
Jackson actually doesn't have a ring. He used to, but he threw it into the Hudson River so he couldn't even go back and get it, even if he wanted to. He doesn't want to, for the record, because he likes having un-mutated testicles.
"I'm sure we can get one from the pawn shop."
"The pawn shop?! You can't be serious!"
"Holly, sweetie," Holland says. "Could you go to your room for a little bit? Jack and I need to have a little conversation."
"Okay, fine," Holly grumbles. "But it better be a conversation about getting an actual proposal and going to an actual jewelry store instead of the place where junkies go to sell their priceless family heirlooms so they can buy more blow. Make sure he doesn't burn my French toast!"
Once Holly leaves, Holland speaks softly enough that she can't hear from where she's eavesdropping. "You don't need to make an honest man outta me, you know?"
"I know," and then he gets down on one knee, because Holly was right about that at least, and takes Holland's left hand. "Let me do it anyway?"
"You're sure?" asks Holland, his voice shaking with repressed tears. "You sure you want to...commit yourself to," he gestures at himself, at the roundness of his belly, at the house, at the corner where Holly is trying to hide, "all of this?"
"I've been married before. I've made this commitment before so I know without a doubt that marriage is probably the flimsiest of the promises I've already given to you. Everything's so complicated for no reason, but this one thing can be simple, I think. So, whaddya say? You wanna go to the courthouse with me this afternoon?"
"Ugh," Holly mutters from where she's barely hiding. Holland laughs and nods his head.
"Yeah, okay. Let's go fill out some paperwork."
"Dad, come on!"
The French toast burns. No one seems to mind.
---
They get married at the courthouse that afternoon.
It all happens pretty quickly, very “fortuitous.” Holland’s making small talk with the clerk taking their paperwork and they mention that someone had cancelled their appointment last minute - apparently the young bride’s previous beau was less dead than his mother previously claimed and she ran off with her first choice, not that you heard that from the clerk - and if they’ve got nowhere else to be at 3PM, that slot was all theirs.
“They don’t even have a ring yet!” Holly cried. “I’m wearing jean shorts and sneakers!”
“We’ve got a couple hours to kill,” Healy says, looking down at his watch. “I saw a pawn shop around the corner.”
“When’s the next available time?” Holland asks. He’s been confusingly practical ever since he got pregnant. Maybe the baby’s got a passion for rules and organization and they’re taking over Holland’s brain.
The clerk answers that the next available slot is in eight weeks on a Thursday at 7:30 AM and that settles that.
“Eight weeks!” March shouts, outraged. “You’ll have to cart me in here on a wheelbarrow in eight weeks. No way. We’re doing this today. Jack, where’s that pawn shop?”
They find a nice dress for Holly with some matching shoes at the shop and Holland and Jack and are pretty sure that the stain is some spilt borscht.
“You looking to trade that in?” the pawn shop guy - imagine a pawn shop guy and that’s the guy they’re talking to, real classic; it warms the heart - asks, pointing at the ring dangling from the chain that was still around Holland’s neck. Seriously, how have people not figured them out?
Holland snatches the ring and tucks it into his shirt. “Nope. Just looking for something new. What do you got?”
The pawn shop guy has wedding rings for days and they’ve all got some sob story attached to them. Healy knows this because the pawn shop guy tells them the sob story of any ring that Holland or Holly point at.
“Poor thing was an aspiring actress trying to make it in Los Angeles. Three guesses what happened to her and the first two don’t count. Little hint: it rhymes with ‘schmaddicted to crack.’”
“The police came and took everything this kid sold to me and didn’t even reimburse me, but they missed this ring. Suckers! Pretty sure the guy was under investigation for killing his mama, but I never really got updates so maybe he was innocent!”
“That guy was trying to marry his sister!”
“All right, man,” Jack interrupts. “What’s the least cursed ring in this godforsaken place?”
“You know,” Holly chimes in. “We could always go to a jewelry store.”
“No can do, sweetheart.” Holland ruffles her hair while checking his watch. “Our appointment is in half an hour.”
“I don’t know if you’ll like these ones. Don’t have much of a story,” the pawn shop guy sighs, bringing out another box with a pair of nearly identical rings inside. “This guy’s lady had big hands and expensive tastes. Said these were too simple.”
They were perfect, solid gold and one of them did have a diamond on it, but it was embedded in the band and so small that you could barely see it from a distance, but it was there. That one was a little loose around Holland’s ring finger, but it slid over Jack’s big ass knuckles real easy.
Thing was, it was his right hand.
Holland doesn’t seem to mind. “Pretty sure they wear their wedding rings on their right hand in Greece or somewhere like that. If it’s good enough for the Greeks, it’s good enough for us. Probably, ah, make things easier for my brother when he comes back, you know.”
So they get married and they think Holly’s too young to serve as their witness so they ask the pawn shop guy to do it and he’s so touched by the invite, he offers them a discount on the rings. Turns out, Holly’s plenty old enough and she wants her name on that document more than anything on her Christmas list so Holly serves as Holland’s witness/maid-of-honor and pawn shop guy - whose name turns out to be Sebastien Allard-Charbonneau - is Jack’s.
And then, a few minutes later, Jack Healy and Holland March become lawfully wedded spouses.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant says and Holland makes a face at that, but lets himself get kissed in front of Holly and Sebastien Allard-Charbonneau anyway.
Next weekend, Holly wakes up super early and blows up some balloons and drags some of the potted plants from the kitchen to the den. She doesn’t have flower petals, but she’s got some scraps of construction paper that work in a pinch.
She puts on her favorite dress and tells her dad to put on his best suit that he can still fit into and drapes a white sheet over Jack’s shoulders and says now they’re even.
And then, at 10:48 on a random Saturday, Holly says, “Do you, Holland March, take Jackson Healy to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.”
“And do you, Jackson Healy, take Holland March to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” And he’s crying like a fucking baby and Holland and Holly are laughing at him and maybe he deserves that. God, he hopes he deserves this.
“Okay! Kiss!” And Holland hadn’t shaved yet this morning so it’s pretty perfect. Holly thought of everything.
When Jack and Kathleen got married, it was this whole big thing. Everyone and their great-uncle-thrice-removed on their mother’s side got invited and Great Uncle Thrice-Removed Jimmy skimped out on the wedding gift. Kathleen wanted the whole thing to be perfect and Jack wanted the whole thing to be over with, which were conflicting wedding planning philosophies. Her pops was the one footing the bill anyway and everyone told Jack the wedding wasn’t really about him, so he just sucked it up and went to his suit fittings and pretended to have an opinion on the flower arrangements when asked.
Truth be told, Jack doesn’t remember much of his first wedding. The food was decent and the wedding band was shockingly not terrible. His mom’s gripped onto his shoulders so tightly that her sharp nails left four evenly-spaced holes in his suit jacket. His dad and Kathleen were pressed a little too close when they danced together, but that might just be hindsight getting its grubby little hands all over his memories. Kathleen’s Uncle Dickie got fucking wasted and hit on all of Jack’s girl cousins and their fathers took extreme and violent umbrage at that. In lieu of getting them a wedding present, Jackson’s father paid off the cops and he and his boys beat this shit out of the idiot who called the cops in the first place.
Was he happy? He remembers being happy at some point during that night, but he wasn’t happy like this.
---
The house is finished right on schedule, but there’s some delays on the furniture and appliances. They’ve got a couch and refrigerator and dryer, but not much else so they have to stay at the rental a little while longer until everything else comes in.
They move things over themselves little by little. They knew they were going to have to do this themselves before they started construction and they knew Holland probably wasn’t going to be much help with the move anyway, but at least he could have carried things.
That’s not really in the cards in this reality they find themselves living in, but at least the Holland in this reality has a good enough excuse.
He claims that he was bigger when he was pregnant with Holly, but Jackson finds that hard to believe. Holland is huge. He wasn’t kidding about needing to be carried in a wheelbarrow if they waited the eight weeks for the next appointment to get married.
The neighborhood ladies were pretty disappointed they weren’t invited to the wedding, for some reason, and threw a backyard barbecue in their honor that they almost forgot to invite the Marches and Jack to.
“It’s a shame Holland wasn’t able to attend,” Lois, Amanda’s mom, said. She always had a bit of a crush on him. Her husband too.
“Well,” Holland replied, fully aware of their inclinations. “He should be finishing up with his, uh, program soon. Just in time to meet the baby. Excuse me,” And then he pretended to cough his lungs out. “Sorry,” he said afterwards. “I’ve just been a little under the weather lately. Baby’s taking a lot out of me.”
(“I’m trying to lay the foundations of my untimely demise,” Holland had defended later.
“Pretty sure complications from childbirth don’t really involve the lungs.”
“How do you know? You ever been pregnant, Jack? I have. Twice!”)
Santa Claus is saying that the baby is healthy as a horse and that March is as healthy as an incredibly healthy pregnant horse. He’s not so good with the metaphors and such, but Holland says he likes him better than the doctor he had when he was pregnant with Holly.
Jack and Holland are still taking on cases - they’ve gotta keep the lights on somehow - but they’re not taking on anything more dangerous than a cheating spouse. Towards the beginning, it was business as usual, but the months have gone on, Holland’s been banished to the office. He’ll comb through paperwork and make phone calls and look through the clues that Jack brings back for them while Jack is the one knocking on doors and engaging in what Holly calls “ethical stalking”.
It works. Holland’s getting a little stir crazy, but he keeps saying things will be better once the baby comes. The wedding barbecue doubled as a baby shower so they’ve got clothes and toys and a pretty nice cradle and a stroller and more diapers than Jackson knows what to do with.
“They’ll last a month,” Holland says dismissively. “So we better take our time with this client. We could probably get another three days of pay out of them at least.”
Things have been going pretty good, all things considered.
So, obviously, it all goes to shit.
---
It’s probably March’s pure dumb luck that keeps him out of the office that morning. They’ve got an ongoing case and he’s usually at the office bright and early because otherwise he’ll go crazy.
But he had a doctor’s appointment in the morning that he can handle on his own for Christ’s sake, stop hovering, and Holly’s school has a half-day so he’s going to pick her up before heading to the office.
The thing is that they never really did any of the paperwork they had to do to turn Healy’s residence into an office and legal place of business. And he’s pretty much moved into the Marches rental ages ago, but it's a rental so why would he put his name down on any of the leasing agreements?
So if some other piece of shit P.I. was hired to find Jackson Healy’s home address, they would find themselves at the dinky little office space above a comedy club, rather than the address of the Marches’ rental or the new house that they haven’t finished moving into yet. Small blessings.
“Jackson,” greets Thomas Healy. “Nice place you’ve got here.”
Jackson’s father sits on the couch where the clients they don’t like sit. Jackson’s mother, Mary Healy, is perched next to him, looking so out of place in the grubby office that it almost makes him laugh out loud. The funniest thing to happen in this godforsaken comedy club all day.
To this day, Jack still isn’t sure what Kathleen was expecting when she admitted to the affair. This wasn’t the first time Thomas Healy had cheated - but cheating with one of his son’s wives was a first, Jack will admit - and it certainly wasn’t the last. But there isn’t a single universe where Mary Healy lets Thomas divorce her.
He tried, once, when Jack was thirteen and his brothers were younger and older than that. Jackson’s pretty sure that the Devil could hear the screaming all the way down in Hell. He’s pretty sure his parents are gonna live forever because of that argument. Hell doesn’t want them and Heaven certainly won’t take them. They’ve got nowhere else to go so it looks like they’re gonna stay and make that everyone else’s problem.
Jack had a pretty violent childhood, he can admit that. It made him who he is, for better or worse.
Probably worse. His parents beat the hell outta each other, though he will admit that his father had a bit of a physical advantage. But if the Yankees ever need a new star pitcher, Mary Healy is always warmed up and Jack’s got the scars to prove it.
Jackson doesn’t like thinking about them. He likes seeing them even less.
Seeing them here, in California, in this office where Holland and probably Holly were going to show up in the near future?
A nightmare he’s been having for weeks.
“The fuck are you doing here?” Jack spits. He walks into the office like he owns the place because he does except for the fact that he doesn’t.
Mary raises a single eyebrow. “Really, Jackson? This is how you greet us after all these years?”
“Yeah, it is. Any of the “honor thy father and mother” bullshit that I owe you kind of went kaput when he fucked my wife.”
Mary rolls her eyes like she did when that particular piece of news first broke out. Thomas asks, “You’re still mad about that? Figured you’d be over it now. Word on the street is someone got another ring outta you.”
Piece of shit P.I. Jackson’s gonna find the guy, rip out his spine, and beat him to death with it. Holly doesn’t need to know and if she finds out, she’ll probably forgive him.
“Why do you care?” Jack asks. “It’s been years. I was on national news a couple years ago. If you wanted to find me, I wasn’t hiding.”
“We wanted to give you some…space and time to deal with your divorce,” Mary sniffed. “That woman put us all in such a difficult situation. You know I never liked her.” And Kathleen never liked Mary. “But we’re your family, Jack. We’ve had our ups and downs, but we don’t abandon our family. That means you and that means our new grandbaby.”
Ah, there it is. Of course that’s what this is about. Jackson’s gonna string up that P.I. by his intestines and beat him with a stick like he’s a piñata.
Jackson’s older brother Charlie died in a rigged boxing match before he got to have any kids and his younger brother George can’t have kids, physically, due to an unfortunate accident involving his penis, a woman named Irina Ekimova that he presumed to be a lady of the night, the Russian mob, and a crowbar.
So all Thomas and Mary had to continue on the family line was Jackson. He wasn’t their first choice - Charlie was more handsome and George was smarter if you ignored the whole ‘assumed the daughter of a Russian mob enforcer was a prostitute’ thing - but he had a pulse and wife and a penis that was still attached to his body. It was a low bar, but he met it and that’s kind of all they were gonna get.
But Kathleen didn’t want kids and he was a modern man who believed things like ‘people who don’t want kids shouldn’t have them’ and maybe he wanted kids with Kathleen, but she was going to be pretty involved in that process and if she wasn’t interested, he wasn’t going to force it on her.
His parents didn’t really get that, but it was his marriage not theirs so there wasn’t really anything they could do.
Shows what he fucking knows.
And of course March chooses the perfect time to walk in.
That was sarcasm, in case that wasn’t clear. The perfect time for March to walk into that room with Holly was never. The perfect time for them to leave was right the fuck now.
“Hey, Healy, we brought In-N-Out!” Holland calls. Holly bounds in ahead of him with a bag of burgers held aloft and, he counts them, five fries already stuffed in her mouth.
“Get them before they’re gone. Da-ah!” Holly stops herself before she says, presumably, Dad already ate two three four burgers on our way here. Holland has been ravenous lately. He’s either eating for two or two thousand with the way he’s been putting food away. More than once, Jackson’s had to ask the doctor and you’re sure there’s not two in there? Santa Claus assured them there was only one in there and if you look right there, you may or may not see a penis and it’s okay, doc, they wanna be surprised. “Oh, hi! Are you new clients?”
Holly goes to shake someone’s hand, but Healy reaches over to push her behind him, as gently as possible.
“Who’s this?” Mary sniffs. Unfortunately, there will always be a version of his mother in his head, hissing her poison into his ear so he knows exactly what she’s thinking. She sees Holly’s short hair and her dirty sneakers and her cuffed jeans and her chipped nail polish. This girl is unruly. Her parents let her run wild. No one will ever want to marry her.
He disagrees. Vehemently. Holly March is perfection incarnate. But this was the woman who raised him so he’ll never be able to shake her.
His father seems uninterested in Holly. He’s never really liked children. Jackson’s first memory of his father speaking to him was when he was finally old enough to attend a baseball game and go to the bathroom on his own.
But that’s not the biggest issue right now.
“We’re not expecting anyone, are we?” Holland waddles into the office. If they were expecting anyone, he probably would have dressed nicer, but he’s due in a week and he really can’t be fucked to care about his appearance as much as he used to. He’s got on a green maternity dress and a pair of sandals that still fit his swollen feet. He really shouldn’t be up and about so much, but he’s just about bites the head off of anyone that suggests he needs more rest.
(“That fuck ugly wallpaper in the guest room is starting to speak to me, I swear to God!”
“Oh, we read that story in English class the other day.”
“What the hell are you talking about? What story? I’m talking about the guy in our walls that’s trying to get out!”)
“Jack?” Holland lays his hand on Jackson’s arm in a way that he would usually find extremely comforting. He tenses under the touch instead. “Who are these guys?”
“You’re very tall,” Mary says, a neutral statement that carries the same tone of disgust as an ordinary person saying I think you stepped in some dog shit. “And younger than I was expecting.” That is a bit more obviously loaded. Holland’s never seemed to mind their nearly twenty year age difference. There are times where he actually seems to, well, get a kick out of it. Doesn’t mean they haven’t been getting more and more comments about it from well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning strangers as the months have gone on.
“You must be the missus.” Thomas Healy likes to play a gentleman so he stands and takes his hat off as he goes up to greet Holland. Jackson doesn’t miss the way his blue eyes - the same eyes he gave Jackson - flick up and down Holland’s body. Yeah, he’s tall and more handsome than pretty, but he’s about 80% leg and, clearly, Jackson and his father have similar tastes. “Tom Healy. Me and the wife were in town and we wanted to meet the newest additions to our family.”
Jack knew Holland understood the whole score as soon as he clocked the resemblance between the two people on the couch and his partner. Pointedly, Holland does not take Thomas Healy’s offered hand and turns to look at the better Healy instead. He and Jackson lock eyes and, as has become more and more common over the years of their partnership, have a whole conversation in that split-second of eye contact.
Are we in any danger?
Never.
Okay, so we wanna get rid of these guys. I gotta a gun in my bag.
Jesus Christ, why?
In case situations such as these arise. Are you telling me you don’t have a gun?
I don’t need one.
You sure don’t, big guy, hehe. Hey, I think I read somewhere funny business helps induce labor so how about after this you and I -
“Wait, aren’t you the guy that slept with Mr. Healy’s ex-wife?” Holly says, all child innocence and smiles.
From the mouth of babes. Holland is beaming with pride.
Mary gasps like she just got shot and Thomas stumbles back like he just got shot and Jackson scans the walls for any red splatter just to make sure he was speaking metaphorically.
“Young lady!” Mary shouts before devolving into more incomprehensible sputtering.
“You spreading family business around like that, Jack?” Thomas Healy says darkly.
“If he is,” Holland says, stepping forward to stand by Jack’s side, resting his elbow on his shoulder and his hand on his hip. “He learned it from watching his old man. And just so you know, no one here is interested in spreading around your ‘family business,’” Here Holland does something with his voice that makes it clear that when he says ‘family business’, he is instead referring to Thomas Healy’s penis. “So you can keep your eyes and hands to yourself.”
A thundercloud passes over his father’s face - sudden and expected and deeply familiar. And the thing is that Jack is several years closer to his prime than Tom is to his, but, well, there are some things so deep inside of you that you can’t unlearn it. The Marches might be invincible - jury’s still out on that one, but they haven’t been proven wrong yet - but Jackson isn’t a March, as much as he might want to be.
He’ll probably regret the following moment until his dying day.
Because he lets Thomas Healy take one heavy step - toward Holly and Holland and their baby - and lift one arm with obvious and violent intent. Jack lets - for one moment, one millisecond too many - Thomas act with the belief that because Holland and Holly ‘belong’ to Jackson, they belong to Thomas too. And Thomas Healy can do whatever the fuck he wants with the things he owns. He’ll punch holes through walls and drive like he’s the only one on the road. He’ll put his hands on his wife and on his sons.
He’ll fuck Jackson’s wife.
So Thomas Healy takes one step forward because he wants to put his hands on something and break it because he likes the feeling of broken things in his hands.
And Holly flinches back.
Jackson’s a different man now. Older and more angry and he tried being a good son once and a good man and that didn’t work out too well for him.
So for a while he just let himself be a thing. A weapon. An attack dog. He gave himself to people he thought would be good owners for 30 bucks a pop - sometimes more and sometimes less - because he wanted to be useful. He wanted a purpose in his life because he wasn’t a husband anymore and he didn’t want to be a son. But he wanted to be needed.
Isn’t that what everyone wants?
But now he’s a dad.
And Thomas Healy made his little girl scared.
(It makes him sick, it really does. Because this attack dog has something to protect now, something so, so fragile and so, so precious and he can’t even imagine putting his hands on them. This thing he has is holy. He’s almost unworthy to touch it, but he’s a selfish son-of-a-bitch and if they are willing to give this to him, he’s gonna take it as gently as he can between his two hands and never let it go.
How could he stomach hurting them? How could he think of it? How could he enjoy it?)
There’s a ringing in his ears when he comes to. His hands ache and there’s something wet dripping down his face, but he doesn’t really care to identify that at the moment.
He’s breathing heavy, knelt over his father’s unmoving body. Piece of shit is still breathing, but it’s the kind of breathing the family dog did before he died. Some weak animal sound that pinged some primal instinct located in the base of his spine.
Your prey is weak.
“You gonna finish him off, Jack?” Holland asks. His voice - his normal one, not the one he’s been putting on in front of strangers - cuts through the fog, but doesn’t clear it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Holland sitting back on his knees, just watching. He’s watching Jack. Just Jack.
“Where’s…?” He doesn’t want to even say Holly’s name in front of his parents - he spots his mother shaking behind the ratty sofa. She’s angry, but she’s smart enough to keep her distance.
“I told her to go back to the car so she’s probably waiting out in the stairwell. You’re gonna need to help me up.” Holland holds out both hands and doesn’t care about the blood in Healy’s as he lifts him to his feet. “Ugh, kneeling down like that was a mistake. Help me to my car?”
Jack is steady as he leads Holland out of the office and down the stairs. Holly has a million questions, but Holland cuts her off with a Later, sweetheart.
Did he scare her?
Healy gets Holland situated in the driver’s seat and really Holly should probably be the one driving if it was between the two of them, but he’s not in any mental state to argue with March right now. “You’re gonna get them outta our office,” his voice is steady, strong. It’s practically the only thing he can hear right now. “I don’t care how. And then you’re gonna come back here, okay? I got an errand to run when you come back and then after, you can drive us back home.”
Jackson thinks he nods. He looks over at Holly and she smiles at him, worried, but for him and not of him.
He drags his father’s limp body out of the office and lays him down on the curb. His mother follows, saying something that Jackson can’t hear because it’s not Holland’s voice or Holly’s. He calls a cab for the two of them and walks away.
He doesn’t know this for certain, but he can feel it in the air. This will be the last time he ever sees his parents.
Holly makes him get into the backseat with her while Holland drives them across town. She and her dad yap back and forth about some classroom gossip and he lets his eyes fall closed and the sound of them - their voices, their breaths, the beat of their hearts somehow but that might the his own blood rushing through his veins - wash over him.
They stop in front of some rickety office building in an okay part of town. There’s a dingy neon sign advertising ‘Hal Walker Investigations.’
“Sweetheart,” Holland says and Jackson perks up even though he knows he’s talking to Holly. “Stay with Jack. I’ll be out in 10 minutes tops.”
Jackson almost protests. He doesn’t want Holland to go anywhere without him, maybe ever again, but Holly has a firm grip on his arm and Holland has this look in his blue eyes that makes Jack want to stay put.
Holland walks into the office and walks back out ten minutes later, carrying a stack of papers. He throws half the pile at Healy when he gets into the backseat with him and Holly.
“This is everything Walker had on you,” he says. “That’s some pretty bad etiquette, investigating one of your peers. Where’s the honor anymore? The integrity?”
He tosses the other half of the papers to Holly. “Here’s a couple of clients that Walker so kindly tossed our way. “
Then he pulls out a thick stack of bills from his bag. “And this is what your parents paid him. Mr. and Mrs. Healy will be paying for the kid’s diapers for a year by the looks of it.”
Holland March is a fool and is a danger to himself and others, but mostly to himself. But everyone once in a while he’ll do something to remind you that he’s a damn good detective.
“You’re driving home, Jack, didn’t I say that? And you’re giving me a foot rub when we get there.”
---
Later, in bed, Jackson whispers, “I told Holly I was sorry.”
“For what?” Holland grumbles. He’s been having a hard time finding a comfortable position to sleep in. He’s running hot, but they’re lying face to face because he hates sleeping alone more than he hates sweating.
“She asked the same thing.”
“And the answer you gave her was…?”
“For my old man and my ma. For letting her see all of that.”
“And what did she say?”
She didn’t say anything really, at first. She and Healy sat at the dining table and she held ice to his knuckles while her dad napped in the bedroom.
“You’re dad didn’t seem like a very good guy,” she said eventually.
“He was not.”
“Did he hurt you?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Why?” She seemed so confused by the idea that it broke his heart. Holly’s mature for her age - a tragedy, really - but sometimes he’s reminded of just how young she is. Healy’s not going to pretend that Holland’s in the running for father of the year any time soon, but he’s done some things right. He got the right things right at least. Holly asked the question with the innocence of someone who never, not once, doubted that she was loved.
“I used to wonder about that a lot. I used to think it was something I had done. It took me a while to figure out that it really had nothing to do with me and had more to do with him.”
“That’s not fair!” Holly protests then she sighs. “I guess life isn’t fair.” And isn’t that so Holly? Childish indignation tempered by experiences she shouldn’t have yet.
Jackson gives Holland the abridged version of that conversation, which is perhaps the version depicted above, and ends with. “I’m sorry to you too.”
“I think it’s maybe a little too late to apologize for subjecting me to the sight of you committing acts of violence, given our line of work and everything.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Let’s pretend I don’t.”
“I’m sorry that…you met my father and my mother. I never wanted you to see that. I’m sorry that…I’m giving all of that to the kid.”
“Jack, what the hell are you talking about?”
“I just explained what I’m talking about. I’m not repeating myself.”
“Okay, so your parents are pieces of shit. So are mine. I don’t think it’s my parents’ fault if I’m a bad dad and they’ve got nothing to do with it if I’m a good one. And, listen, you’re already way better than your folks. You’d never lay a finger on Holly or the baby.”
The idea of it makes him sick to his stomach. He might actually puke.“Never.”
“And you wouldn’t put a hand on me.”
“Have you forgotten how we met?”
“I’m reminded every time it rains,” Holland jokes, but maybe he can tell tonight’s not the right time for jokes about that. He places a quick kiss, soft and light like a hummingbird, on the crease between his eyebrows. “That was different. We were strangers. We weren’t shit to each other then. Now? You’ve given me no reason to be scared of you. Scared for you, maybe.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
March shrugs while lying down, somehow. “Maybe I was a little worried you were gonna kill your dad today, but not because I give a single shit about your dad. Because you’d never forgive yourself for it. Do you think if your dad ever ended up killing you he’d lose any sleep over it?”
He likes to think he would, but he’s having trouble picturing it.
Holland reaches over to cup Jackson’s cheek. He’s got big hands. It feels good to be held by them. “It’s gonna be real easy to be a better dad, a better man, than your father. You’re doing it without even trying. You’re so far ahead of him that you can’t even see him eating your dust so let’s not think about him ever again. This kid is lucky to have you as a father, okay?”
“Okay.”
---
Holland gives birth a couple of days later. They just finished with some funny business - just hand stuff - when things are suddenly much more wet than they were previously.
It’s not like in the movies where there’s all this screaming and the baby’s coming the baby’s coming!
He’d like to be able to tell that kid that he was calm and collected the day of their birth, but that’s not how things turn out. Holly’s the one that ends up driving them to the hospital, but she’s so careful and so slow that Holland almost kicks her out of the driver’s seat to take the wheel himself.
“Holly, sweetheart, do you want me to give birth in the back of the car? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t starting driving over 25 miles per hour.”
When they get to the hospital, some nurses take Holland away in a wheelchair and don’t let Jackson or Holly in the birthing room, no matter how much Holland asks for them. Still, the doctor says that the whole birthing process was textbook even though they ended up having to cut him open again.
And, listen, Jack tried his best to stay conscious throughout that whole explanation, but he’s never felt closer to Emma March than in that split-second before he lost consciousness in that hospital waiting room.
“Hey, big guy,” Holland says a little later, exhausted but practically glowing underneath these horrible fluorescent hospital lights. “You wanna hold her?”
“More than anything.” She’s so small. There’s something he loves about that. It’ll be real easy for him to put himself between her and the whole world. “She’s perfect.”
“She sure is. Look at me. Two for two on making perfect babies. They should give me a prize.”
“I want to hold her next!” Holland helps Jack transfer the baby into Holly’s eager arms.
“Hi!” She greets, bright and soft and so, so adoring. “I’m your big sister!”
God, Jackson hopes he deserves this. He’ll do anything to deserve this.
“Hey,” Holland says. “You’re thinking something stupid again. Come here.”
Holland beckons him over and Jack knows he’s asking for a kiss. He doesn’t need to ask. God, Jack will give him anything he wants.
---
The rest of Holly’s plan goes pretty smoothly too. He and Holly should get acting awards for the show they put on. “Hadley” is in the hospital long enough for Holland to cut his hair short and grow out his facial hair and get his suits re-tailored so that it barely looks like he gained any weight.
Holland March comes back to his newly re-built home with the baby in his arms and a grief that kind of looks like constipation, but maybe that’s just his face? It’s rude to point something like that out. His twin sister just died, for Christ’s sake. Grief does funny things to people.
Hadley, the real one, yawns cutely in her cradle. Jackson can’t stop looking at her. He needs to control himself. He’s supposed to be a grieving widower, but it’s hard because his husband is still alive and they just had a beautiful baby. He didn’t know he was allowed to be this happy.
“You don’t need permission to be happy.” Holland rolls his eyes, coming up behind him to put his chin on his shoulder and arms around his torso. “And you, specifically, do not need to earn it. Some people might, but not you.”
“You don’t need to earn it either.”
“I think we might have to keep telling each other that until we both believe it.”
“I’m okay with that. It might take the rest of our lives though.”
“I’m okay with that too. Sounds nice, actually.”
“Yeah.” Jackson imagines it. The whole rest of their lives like this. Living together. Solving cases. Raising Holly and Hadley.
“Sounds real nice.”