Chapter Text
If you asked Jackson Healy how he felt about himself he would shrug and say something along the lines of- “I don’t think about it, why does it matter?” He was not a very introspective man, didn’t get too hung up on things like examining his psyche or questioning the root causes of his deep seated insecurities. That was just too messy. He’d much prefer dealing with his issues through violence, it was cleaner, simpler. He got to take out his frustrations with his fists, was generally in and out, and got paid, it was almost the perfect set-up for him. Then March came along and things got real messy. It was supposed to be easy, just following standard procedure, until he forgot his brass knuckles. That’s where the trouble began, he missed a step in his ritual and the universe turned him on his head. Sure the thing he had going wasn’t perfect but it was his and he had worked hard to rebuild after she tore everything down around him. So yeah maybe he was a little bit pissed when his life got uprooted once again.
He tried his hardest to hold on to that feeling, tried to keep March at a distance. Yet the younger man wormed his way into his life like a parasite. An oddly charming yet moronic and maybe sometimes cute parasite. He replays their first meeting in his head, often skipping over the way his knuckles met nose bridge. March was long, long legs, long face, beautiful long Roman nose which Healy almost broke. Healy is very grateful that he didn’t after the fact, it’d be a shame to mar a face like that. Surely if he had his brass knuckles it would’ve been a different story. He replays the way March had looked up at him after being slammed into the wall, those damn eyes. Big and round and wet and so blue. Healy himself had blue eyes, yet his pupils were framed with brown specs, unlike March whose eyes were pure pools of glittering water. If Healy could dive in he would. Sometimes in his dreams he does, sinking further into everything that is March, it surrounds him and clouds his senses like the wisps of smoke he breathes through his nostrils. Filling his throat and wrapping tendrils around his lungs until all he can breath is the younger man. Seeping into his body like a venom, slipping through his blood stream to nestle in the arteries of his heart. He was losing it.
Sometimes March will look at him with those stray puppy eyes and he knows, deep down, how truly and completely fucked he is. He remembers the first time he gave in, March asked to stop for milkshakes after a particularly difficult case, turning towards Healy and doing that thing with his brows where it crinkles the top of his nose in the most adorable way. Healy couldn’t say no if he tried. He pulls into the parking lot as the younger man celebrates to himself, “Yes! I forgot my wallet, I’ll get you next time yeah?” Healy knows that most likely won’t happen yet he can’t bring himself to care. He’s achy, tired and hungry, the promise of a cold sugar induced coma sounded delightful at this point. So they sit and drink their milkshakes, Healy sips his while March downs half the shake in one go, immediately holding his head and moaning about brain freeze. “Do you ever slow down?” Healy asks, exasperated. March looks up through squinted eyes and grins- “Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ for emphasis. “Not ‘til I’m dead, or too old to die young.” Healy tries not to think about that possibility, about the blonde leaving this world, leaving him. He sips his shake before saying- “Well I thought you were invincible.” March who had gone back in for another drink of his own shake holds up a finger. “Exactly, invincible. Not immortal, very different things my friend.”
Healy stares at him, “How the hell are they different?” The younger man just rolls his eyes, straw sucking on nothing at this point and making that annoying gurgling sound before he pulls off with an audible ‘pop’. “Well for one, invincible means you’re impervious to harm. Immortal just means you can’t die of old age, y’know? Didn’t you read comics growing up? It’s like superhero one-oh-one.” Healy takes a thoughtful drink before saying- “I was more into Westerns.” The blondes eyes light up, intrigued. “Oooh like cowboys and shit? Didn’t know you were into that kinda thing.” He’s leaned forward in his seat, looking at Healy with curious eyes, it makes him feel weird, like he’s being examined under a microscope. “What’d you like about them?” March rests his chin in his palm, tilting his head to the side and Healy is overcome with the urge to shake him and he’s not sure why. Instead he pulls his glass closer, fiddling with the straw. “I guess I liked the lawlessness, but there was always a personal code, and bad guys get what they deserve in the end.” He looks up to the other still gazing at him, engrossed, Healy averts his eyes, tries to get the attention off of him by asking- “What about you? What did you like about comics?” The younger man hums thoughtfully, considering his answer. “The heroes are brave and always do the right thing- they helped people in need and yeah the bad guys get what they deserve in the end.” He looks off to the side, sounding a bit wistful as he says “Kind of what inspired me to join the force.” He slurps on his empty glass again, forgetting it was already finished, lost in thought. Healy pulls the glass from him to stop that horrid sound and shoves his own half-drank glass in its place. The blonde blinks out of his trance, slow smile spreading on his face as he sips on the sweet treat, his expression immediately turns sour as he swallows harshly. “Eugh! What the hell is that? Toothpaste?!” Healy stares at him aghast, offended. “Mint chocolate chip! Are you seriously judging me when you picked cotton candy?! What are you five?!” March squints his eyes and curls his upper lip in disgust. “Okay old man, who the hell wants to eat ice cream that tastes like gargling mouth wash? Desserts are supposed to be cavity-inducing!” The blonde pushes the glass back Healy’s way. “You’re sweet but uh no thank you!” Healy rolls his eyes, grumbles something about trying to do something nice and ungratefulness and tries not to think too much about the word ‘sweet’. Jackson Healy was not ‘sweet’, he hadn’t been that in a long time. Being sweet got him stabbed in the back, got him thrown out of his own goddamn house with half of everything he worked for stolen from him.
He pays without much complaint and the two shuffle back towards the car, milk-drunk and exhausted. “I’ll drive.” March offers and Healy can’t help the laugh that tumbles out, “Yeah right, next thing you know you’re mumbling about talking bees and we’re veering off a bridge.” The younger man holds up his hands in surrender, shrugging. “Hey that was so long ago! Jeez if you wanna drive so bad be my guest.” He gestures towards the drivers side with a flourish and Healy shakes his head as he enters the car. “That was 2 months ago buddy.” He had meant the pet name to have come out sarcastically but was surprised to hear barely veiled affection seeping through. March has a genuine smile as he slides into the passenger side, wasting no time in reclining the seat and crossing his arms behind his head, eyes slipping closed. “Yeah, yeah whatever pal, get me home to my daughter will ya? It’s late and-“ he yawns “Mm yeah it’s late.” Healy pulls off towards the March residence in silence and is not at all surprised when he hears light snoring to his right approximately 3 minutes into the drive. He takes his time, being extra cautious to avoid bumps or potholes, even slowing gradually when he stops. He watches the shine of the stop light cast a red glow over March’s features, fixated on the way his lashes flutter as he dreams. The older man wonders what he’s experiencing in the moment, he watches as March’s brows furrow and his mouth tightens into a thin line. He lets out a small puff of air before his face relaxes again and Healy himself feels his body loosen in relief. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by the light turning almost blinding green and he faces the road once again, only to resume staring at the next light. It’s not often he gets to do this, admire quietly.
March wasn’t one for sitting still like ever, it’s something Healy picked up on fast. Constantly fidgeting or pacing or squirming in his seat like an over-excited and anxious child. He’s always doing something with his hands, rolling a cigarette between two fingers, smoothing back his hair, readjusting his tie, playing with his mustache, it never ends. Even now his fingers twitch behind his head and Healy gets the insane urge to reach out and hold his hand to still them, wants to see how the other mans fingers slot into his own, feel how warm his palm is. He shakes the thought away and forces his eyes back on the road, he’s getting too carried away, too comfortable. He drives diligently the rest of the way to March’s rental, refusing to glance in the younger mans direction again. Staying strong even when the he lets out a soft sad sound that just about kills Healy. What is wrong with him? March was a fully capable, 35 year old man with his own daughter for Christ's sake. So what is with this unbearable urge to take care of him? Protect him and keep him safe and comfort him when he whimpers in his sleep. It almost makes him sick. Eventually they approach the house and he rolls to a stop, glancing over again and considering how he was gonna wake the other up. He settles on snapping his fingers in front of March’s face and calling his name, touching was too dangerous right now, he felt weak tonight. The younger man startles out of his slumber with a gasp, blinking rapidly and gazing at Healy with bleary eyes. “Huh? Wha?” Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he says “Oh shit I knocked out huh? Hey, why don’t you come in? It’s late and you’re across town.” Healy hesitates, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept over yet alarm bells are going off in his head at the thought. March seems to notice his pause and adds- “Tomorrow is short-stack Saturday y’know.” Raising his brows expectantly for Healy’s answer. ‘Short-stack Saturday’ was a new tradition started in the March household, Holly and her father spend the morning making pancakes with all the fixings and watch Saturday morning cartoons together. It was sickeningly sweet and domestic and not at all a place for Healy. But March is doing that thing with his face again, staring at him with hopeful eyes and Healy is a weak, weak man. “Okay yeah, I’ll stay.” The smile March flashes at him is so bright it just about blinds him, he hopes he won’t come to regret this decision.
They exit the car and shuffle tiredly towards the front door, March jiggling the keys a couple times before successfully unlocking the door and entering the darkness inside. “I’ll take the c-mph!” Healy was just saying when a hand is slapped over his mouth and he hears the younger man whisper “Shit! Shh!” March gestures towards the couch and the small body sleeping soundly against the cushions, Holly must’ve been waiting up for him. “C’mon.” He corrals Healy towards his bedroom at the back of the house, closing the door with a quiet click and explaining- “Ugh she must’ve fallen asleep out there, she has such a hard time falling asleep y’know since the whole…house fire. If she wakes up there’s no chance she’ll sleep the rest of the night.” He looks towards Healy apologetically “So uh, you cool sleeping in here? I know it’s not ideal but..” he trails off awkwardly and Healy is trying very hard to keep his cool right now, trying to find some excuse. “I can sleep on the floor.” He says and March pinches his brow and gives him a skeptical look. “You’re a man in your 50’s. You’re not sleeping on the floor. Just relax will ya? I mean Jesus we’re sharing a bed, I’m not sucking your dick.” He walks off towards the bathroom to clean up and change, calling behind his shoulder- “Find some clothes in the closet, I should have something in there for you.” Healy wishes the floor would open right up and swallow him whole, this was a bad idea. “Fuck.” He groans to himself as the younger man retreats, turning towards the closet and rummaging through patterned fabric, silk, suits and button up shirts, finally reaching towards the back to find an oversized sweater. Well it would be oversized for March at least, Healy feels constricted as he changes into it, it pulls against his shoulders and chest and he especially hates the attention it brings to his gut. He tugs at the bottom self-consciously, there’s no way March would have bottoms that fit him so he just shucks off his jeans, grateful he wore one of his better pairs of boxers today. Seeing his reflection in the mirror across the room makes him want to disappear, makes him want to rip the sweater off and run out the door. He sits on the edge of the bed instead.
It doesn’t take long for March to appear again, pausing in the doorway when he sees Healy in his sweater, there’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes the older man even more self-conscious. He takes in the blondes appearance, lounge pants slung low on his hips, white undershirt form fitting and rising just a bit at the bottom to show a strip of tantalizing skin. Usually the toned lines of his body are covered with layers of fabric, Healy finds himself wondering how it would feel to wrap his hands around the younger mans waist, see how close his fingers get to touching each other. He forces his eyes back up to March’s face to find the other smiling and approaching the other side of the bed. “Don’t you look cute and cozy.” He teases as he pulls his side of the comforter up and slides into bed, patting the other side expectantly. “Oh shut up.” Healy huffs as he climbs into his own side, body stiff and tense and how the hell was he gonna get any sleep like this. March reaches over to flip off the table side lamp and fluffs his pillow before settling in with a sigh. This close Healy can smell the smokiness of cigarettes and sharp mint mixed with sickly sweet artificial cotton candy on his breath. He can even pick up the notes of woodiness and lavender in his aftershave, it’s intoxicating, its far too intimate, he feels sick. Stomach rolling and turning and god he’s already sweating underneath this sweater, this was a very bad idea. “Will you relax? I can feel you thinking over there and it’s creepy.” March huffs before turning to face away from him, fluffing up the scent that is just so him Healy feels like he’s suffocating.
He stares at the ceiling fan, losing himself in the whir of the blades rotating, images appear in the motion that vaguely remind him of flipping through the photos of a View-Master. Figures manifest in between each blade as they spin, swirling around and fading in and out of each other like some form of dance. He hears the gentle snores to his right, the ticking of the clock, the clink of the fan pull chains bouncing off of each other, it’s deafening. He’s not sure how long he lays there in the stillness of the night, trying to relax, his mind was too aware of every movement he made. March seemed to sleep soundly next to him, twitching and grumbling every once in a while. Eventually Healy felt his lids grow heavy and start to droop, his breathing slowed as he sunk fully into the mattress, comforted by the smell of the younger man. Just as he’s entering dream land he’s violently pulled from it by a jolt to his side. March makes a horrible sound, a sad pathetic noise as he curls in on himself, he flips to face Healy again and grips his pillow tight. “March?” The blondes face is pinched in pain, eyes still shut tightly as he starts murmuring to himself. “Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he whimpers miserably, dim light from the window reflects against the tear tracks on his cheeks and Healy’s breath catches in his throat. “Hey, hey…” he coos comfortingly “You’re okay.” Reaching out a hand to brush the hair from March’s forehead in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. The other startles out of his nightmare, hand reaching out to grip Healy’s wrist, panicked eyes flitting across the room and landing on the older man. “You’re okay shh, you’re safe.” Healy continues trying to comfort the distressed man, speaking low and soft and even, letting him hold on to his wrist. “Shit, sorry I-I wasn’t expect-“ he chokes off into a sob and drops Healy’s hand to slap over his mouth, feeling embarrassed and vulnerable.
“You’re good just breathe yeah?” The older man resumes his petting hesitantly, afraid of scaring away the other but wanting to sooth, wanted him to stop making those wounded sounds. This only succeeds in making March cry harder, he wasn’t used to this kind of comfort, hadn’t experienced anything like it in years. He was used to waking up alone, always alone, left to deal with the aftermath of his nightmares by himself, left to pick up the pieces. Healy pulls him in awkwardly across the bed, his face finds the spot in-between shoulder and neck and a warm hand caresses the back of his head. March curls up into the warmth, Healy was so solid and soft and warm that it started to melt away the horrible images of his dream. Images of his late wife, burning and screaming and cursing him to the same fate he left her to. The nightmares don’t come as often anymore but when they do they knock him on his ass, leaving him reeling and feeling frail for the day. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting this.” He gets out after a few minutes against Healy’s neck, voice still thick with emotion and tears. Healy shrugs, jostling him slightly in his hold and says- “No need to apologize, you wanna talk about it?” March shakes his head and pushes impossibly closer, reminding Healy a bit of a cat rubbing their head on you and he feels warmth bloom in his chest. He was too worried about the other man to really consider what he was doing in the moment and is hit with the realization that the two are fully cuddling right now. It feels too nice, feels right as March’s breath tickles the sensitive skin of his neck, his own arm wrapped around the others back as he tucks in close to Healy’s side. Over time, March’s breathing slows to a normal pace and his body loosens in Healy’s hold, finding comfort in the older man. Neither could remember the last time they cuddled with someone, it felt so comfortable that both fell asleep easily. Breathing slowing and syncing up as they fell into the deepest slumber either had in a very long time.
Hours pass and sun slowly starts filtering through the blinds, casting dappled light against the pair in bed, somehow in the same position. March’s arms are tucked up around his chin, face still against Healys shoulder and a long leg thrown over his hips. The clock on the bedside table reads 8:06, a whole six minutes late to starting breakfast which Holly definitely notices, punctuality was surprisingly important to the teen. “Dad!” She calls as she opens the door, pausing when she notices another body in her fathers bed. “Da- uh…Mr.Healy?” The two on the bed startle, March whips his head up so fast he knocks Healy’s chin and both groan as they attempt to untangle from each other. “Holly! Sweetheart heyyy what are you doing up so early?” March rubs his eyes as he sits up and distances himself from the older man. “Dad it’s 8, short stack Saturday remember?” That perks the blonde up and he slaps Healy on the shoulder, startling the still waking man. “Oooh pancakes! C’mon old man!” He jumps out of bed with renewed vigor, none of the emotion or hurt from last night lingering, that relieves Healy. Though he wouldn’t mind another excuse to pull the other man close and comfort him again. March leaves the room, stopping to ruffle Hollys hair on the way to the kitchen, leaving the young girl and Healy to stare at each other from across the room. Holly narrows her eyes suspiciously and he stutters out an excuse- “He had a nightmare.” Is what he settles on and that seems to please the teen, she smiles and turns off to follow her father.
Healy pulls himself out of bed, stopping for just a second to have an internal crisis about what happened last night before making his way towards the sounds of chatter and clanging dishes. He rounds the corner just as an argument is starting, a common occurrence within the March household. “Ugh we had blueberries last time! You said I could pick this time and I want chocolate chips!” Holly waves the bag of chips in her father’s face, who pulls back and pushes the bag away with a scowl on his face. “Yeah but you chose dark chocolate, that shits too bitter. Plus we gotta use these before they get bad!” He pushes his own container of blueberries towards Holly who has now crossed her arms, matching scowl on her face, like father like daughter. “Then just eat them! What does it matter if it’s bitter if you’re just gonna drown them in syrup anyways?” “Uh if I may?” Healy interjects and they whip their heads to look at him. “Why don’t you do both?” He offers and they stare at him as if he’d grown a second head and he gets the feeling that was the wrong thing to say. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” March starts, followed closely by his daughter who says “Yeah ew, why would we do that?” Healy holds his hands up in surrender and leaves them to their bickering, he should know better by now to not get involved, arguing was a sort of love language between the two. He lets the two do their thing in the kitchen as he sits at the counter and watches fondly.
The morning is more comfortable than he expected, he was worried he’d feel like an outsider looking in, but when Holly sits next to him after mixing the batter and starts asking questions about her homework he begins to feel like he belongs there. March scoffs at the stove and mumbles something about how he was fully capable of answering her questions but he’s smiling as he looks over his shoulder at Healy, eyes crinkled and twinkling. They continue their slow Saturday morning chatting away in the kitchen, the sweet smell of confections and chocolate waft through the air. The pancakes are delicious, even with the slight bitterness from the dark chocolate, March’s plate is basically swimming with syrup just as Holly predicted it would be. They bring their plates into the living room and settle in with TV trays, Holly on his left and March on his right, tv playing some re-run of Scooby Doo. It feels sickeningly sweet and domestic and everything he’d been missing out on for the past couple years. He feels emotion bubble in his throat, he can’t remember the last time he spent a weekend morning in the company of others. How could he deserve something like this? Easy Saturday mornings with good food and good company. He hurt people, he killed people, he wasn’t made for this…was he? Laughter brings him out of his head and back to the present, back to this thing that is too good to be true. Shaggy and Scooby collide on screen and short bursts of laughter come from either side of him. There’s no harm in indulging for a little while is there? He decides to relax and enjoy his morning with the March’s.
Later as their cleaning up, Holly mentions something about falling asleep on the couch and Healy says- “Oh yeah we came in late, I hope we didn’t wake you, I know you have trouble sleeping.” She gives him a confused look “Trouble sleeping? What are you-mph!” Her father covers her mouth with his hand, laughing nervously. “Oh hey! Holly didn’t you wanna go to the movies today?” He changes the subject and Healy and Holly share a look through narrowed eyes.