Work Text:
Blue waves were shimmering in the sun, hitting the shore. The breeze a gentle ebb and flow, swaying leaves on trees and strands of hair. A dress was flowing in the wind, like water against the sand. There was a young girl down by the water, building a sand castle or collecting shells, too small to make out. The dress swayed next to her head. The two figures were bathed in beautiful orange light, the glinting of the sun reflecting on the water behind them. It was breathtaking.
The sun was gone.
The water only shimmered in the moonlight now, bathed in a dull grey color. The ocean almost pitch black. No young girl, no dress flowing with the wind. Yet the leaves on the trees and the strands of hair kept swaying, unperturbed by the lack of sun. The lack of warmth. The warmth substituted with the burn of alcohol. Flowing down March's throat, making him sway with the wind. The gentle breeze enough to make him stumble on his way down to the shore. The sand crunched underneath feet, disturbed when no one should be around at this time. With a thud his body landed on the ground, legs stretched out and water licking at the soles of his shoes.
The bottle of liquor was clenched between shaking fingers, brought to lips and half emptied with a few swigs. The warm burn reminded March of something— before he could place it the thought was interrupted. Better not dwell on it. His head felt fuzzy, like a warm blanket was cradling each and every thought he had or wanted to have, smothering. March stared out at the black water. It reminded him of burnt wood, charred dark and ugly. He sunk deeper into the sand, slumping over and raising the bottle to his lips again, another swig, another lap against his soles. He didn't care about his shoes. He didn't really care about anything.
Except for Holly.
The young girl waved— Holly waved. A hand raised to wave back. It was hot, the sun beating down relentlessly. The dress tangled with legs as his wife turned to look at him, smile blinding. As bright as the sun.
March blinked and the sun was gone. His face felt wet, did he fall over and into the water licking at the shore? Trembling fingers raised to his cheek, hovering before making contact. Wet. He realized it came from his eyes, oh, he was crying. He heaved a sigh before fumbling for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and flicking open his lighter. A blink and there was a flame. Small, then bigger, it engulfed his vision. All he could see was the fire. Relentless. Like the sun.
Plop.
"Fuck," March's chest was heaving and his lighter was sinking into the water. "Damn it." He took a shaky breath, more tears ran down his cheek as tucked his legs underneath himself and began crawling into the water. He didn't care about his pants getting wet, or his arms, or his shirt. Or anything, for that matter. He grabbed blindly at the floor obscured by black water, roughly where he had thrown his lighter without thinking. The cigarette lay forgotten and unlit in the sand.
March still hadn't found his lighter and he was entirely soaked and shivering. He had slipped, the water finding a home inside his body as he swallowed down a mouthful. The next thing he's aware of is himself heaving and coughing, only his feet submerged. He doesn't remember crawling back out but he supposes he should be glad he wasn't just a body floating in the water right now. Except he wasn't. Glad, that is. All he wanted was a smoke and he couldn't even do that right. And now he lost his lighter as well. At least he didn't notice the wetness of his tears anymore, given that his entire face was now wet. Angry with himself, March grabbed the bottle still stuck in the sand and promptly emptied the rest of it, gagging at the amount of alcohol he just swallowed.
It simmered in his gut and March rolled over onto his back, he welcomed the dizziness from the movement with a dopey smile. His vision blurred a little. The stars in the sky were weakly twinkling, blinking down at him. And all he could think of was the twinkle in her eyes, blinking at him like he was the only thing worth looking at in the world. A shiver ran through him, suddenly cold with the wind running over his wet body. His arms raised to hug himself as he hiccuped a breath.
Grief was a like a hand holding you down and right now it had Holland March by the neck. Squeezing and grabbing and not leaving any room to move, to breathe, to take a look around and realize that the sun was starting to peek over the horizon.
How long had he been laying here? At what time had he even gotten here?
His head felt floaty, maybe he did drown earlier. His eyes slipped shut, he was shaking. Or maybe, he should go drown himself.
When had he sat up?
He saw his wife, a little further in the water, her beautiful smile and her gentle hands waving him over. And who was he to deny her. March got to his feet and stumbled towards the water, his feet submerging much sooner than he thought they would.
When had his wife gone further in?
Whatever. He walked further into the cold water, his suit clung to his body and it was so cold. He couldn't focus his eyes but he swore he saw her in the distance, almost glowing in the morning sun. The water was at his chest now, licking up his body and cradling him. Just a bit further. His foot caught on something and then there was darkness. March blinked underwater, his eyes burned and there was liquid in his mouth that didn't burn on the way down in the familiar way he's come to welcome. He got his footing again and gasped for air, coughing and heaving and his wife was calling his name.
His wife was calling his name?
March's head whipped up to where he had seen her just moments before except she wasn't there. She wasn't there. In her place was the sun, burning bright and orange and yellow and warming his face just like fire. A sob tore through him. He wanted nothing more than to sink to his knees, let the water take him, maybe it could put out the fire. His body shook as tears spilled down his cheeks again, he couldn't focus, everything felt so loud. Everything was so much and yet there was this nothingness clawing at him, beckoning him.
"March!"
Was she calling for him again? Was he hallucinating?
March couldn't tell if he was still standing, he couldn't tell up from down or left from right. All he knew for certain was that he missed his wife. He couldn't hold himself up anymore as his knees gave out and his head went under for the third time that night. He flopped forward, his sob sounded like gurgling as he inhaled water and he could've sworn he felt his wife's hands cradling his face gently, brushing his hair out of his face. The last thing he saw was frantic panic painting her face as her blue eyes darted around his face. Her eyes weren't blue.
—
"Fucking— god fucking damn it! Wake the fuck up, Holland! What the fuck were you thinking! I can't lose you too.."
A fist was pounding on his chest and his cheek was stinging. His eyes snapped open with the sudden need to cough and throw up at the same time. And that's just what March did. His body moving as if on autopilot, sitting up, on all fours and hunched over as he coughed his lungs out before throwing up into the sand below him. His fingers dug into it, his palms hurt, his head hurt, his chest hurt. And his lungs were burning. He was vaguely aware of someone cursing behind him, a big warm hand landed on his back. It made contact several times as he kept coughing and then slid up to his nape, the warmth seeped through him and a shiver ran down his spine.
Since when did grief feel warm?
Once his body had deemed it enough throwing up and March had started dry heaving, two hands slipped to his shoulders and pulled him up. His head was spinning when he turned around and stared right into those blue eyes he had seen earlier. His mouth opened uselessly, no sound coming out as he tried to focus on the person in front of him. Those blue eyes looked wet, just like water. March let his slip shut, he was so tired.
"No, no. No, no, no." He got slapped across the face, almost gently. His eyes abruptly reopened with a bewildered look.
"March, you're staying the fuck awake, you hear me? You're not passing out on me again. Fuck, what the hell were you doing, huh? Did you wanna drown yourself? You almost fucking did!"
March could only blink. Oh, right. He did want to drown himself. Well, not exactly, he just wanted to see his wife. He realized where he was suddenly, sopping wet and sitting on the sand with Healy in front of him. Healy.
"Healy..?"
Healy's eyebrows drew together. His hand was still on March's cheek, it was nice and warm and March turned his face to press into it.
"Fucking hell…— Christ, I— I thought you weren't gonna wake back up," Healy's bottom lip quivered and March realized his eyes looked like water because he had been crying. And maybe that hurt worse than when he had broken his arm.
"Healy? Healy, I'm—" his voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper, his throat felt raw. "I'm so sorry, I just— my wife, I saw her, I swear and then I tripped and… I didn't want to drown myself, why would I do that!" A mirthless laugh tore out of his chest, what the fuck was he saying? The worry on Healy's face made way to anger. His fingers digging into March's cheek and shoulder. The younger man winced and the grip immediately softened.
"Don't give me that shit. You're not even convincing yourself, fuck, March.."
Warmth. It clawed it's way through the cold, through his wet suit and into him, settling underneath his skin. But it didn't burn. It just simmered. Healy was hugging him. March melted, his face pressing into the older man's neck and then the tears came back. His trembling hands raised and grabbed at the back of Healy's shirt, tugging and squeezing and making sure he was real. Healy rubbed his hand down March's back, squeezing him as close as he could while burying his nose into his hair. Healy wished he could understand what March was going through, wished he could help him. He hoped the other man didn't notice how his own hands were shaking.
And as the sun raised higher in the sky, beating down on Healy's back and March's hands, March thought that maybe the burn wasn't so bad.