Chapter Text
5. It Spreads in the Family
Being greeted by a throat coated in razor blades and a stabbing headache was not the worst wake-up call he’d ever received, but it sure didn’t tickle. The fact that neither of them resolved when he’d had some alcohol and water was another alarming sign.
He wandered into the kitchen, flicking on the lights as he walked. The bench top and dining table remained just as cluttered as they had the night before; a pile of unwashed plates and cutlery sat in the sink, having been dowsed in cleaning solution but had seemingly been abandoned. Well that’s weird.
The other red flag, he should’ve realised, was that it was almost eight o’clock on a Monday and not only had he been awake for some time, but Holly had yet to surface at all. And on a school day as well-
“Hol-“ His voice cracked, a strangled cough forcing its way up his stinging throat. His second attempt wasn’t much better, and his third only produced a thin gasp of air. March hurriedly grabbed the closest glass and filled it with water, begging the precious liquid to return his ability to speak. After his fourth attempt resulted in another bout of attempting to cough his lungs up, March admitted defeat.
He’d been about to throw himself on the couch until he caught a glimpse of movement in the corner of his eye.
Holly!
The younger March looked awful, pulling her blanket even tighter around her shoulders. Her skin was pale apart from the faintest blush on her cheeks, her body quivering with the effort of standing. She tapped her throat twice before shaking her head.
“You too?” He mouthed, turning away to swear silently when Holly nodded.
The younger patient slumped against her doorframe, forehead glistening with sweat. The maturity and confidence that usually radiated from her had been smothered, her age looking painfully obvious as she trembled under her childhood blanket. Whatever had infected them had taken a much harder toll on her smaller immune system; if anything, March was surprised he felt this well, considering how stressed and intoxicated he was on a daily basis.
He crossed the lounge in three steps, just fast enough to catch Holly before her legs crumpled under her weight. He felt her brow with the back of his hand and shook his head. Man, she’s definitely got a good fever.
With a determined look, he tapped Holly’s shoulder and pointed at her bedroom door. When she gave him a glassy-eyed stare that revealed how slow her brain was running, March wrapped an arm around her and pushed the door open. He kept a firm grip as he guided his shivering child back to bed. A fresh coughing fit wracked her small frame and and he winced in sympathy, patting her back.
The second her head collapsed against the pillow, March raced to the bathroom cabinet before dimly remembering that he’d lent Healy some painkillers the last time he’d slept over. While that search failed to yield any additional tylenol, he took the opportunity to wet a face washer and apply the cooled fabric to Holly’s forehead.
Right. Reinforcements were definitely required.
It only took three rings before his prayers were answered. “Healy residence.”
March held the receiver an inch above the countertop, tapping what little Morse code he could remember with his pen. Come on, Healy, come on-
“March?” Healy’s voice quickly lost its gruffness. “March, what the hell is going on?”
He kept up the frantic tapping. Pretty sure I’ve misspelled that-
“March, you better not be screwing me-“
He abandoned the pen and slammed his palm into the marble. His breath shuddered and allowed a chesty cough to tear itself from his body,
The line went dead, seemingly as Healy had hung up his receiver.
*****
Healy kicked the front door open with enough force to rattle the wall decor. His clothes were dishevelled, having apparently being thrown on at first glance. “March!”
I swear, if this is another prank, I will throw out what’s left of his cigarette collection-
He scanned the living room with precision. One hand reached towards his concealed weapon when he was met with no response. “March?”
He was almost bowled over as March came charging at him from Holly’s bedroom. His mouth flapped uselessly as he tried to process what was going on. “March, what’s the-“
A dishevelled and slightly-sweaty March was frantically waving a piece of paper at his face. For once, he didn’t completely reek of alcohol, but that only made Healy even more concerned. “March?”
March didn’t answer. He kept flapping his paper aggressively. The sight was beginning to remind Healy of a pair of seagulls he saw once having a midair battle over some poor guy’s packet of chips.
On first glance, he didn’t spot any obvious wounds around March’s throat. But March was such a talkative man…
So he didn’t answer? Or couldn’t…?
Healy’s fingers slid into position around his gun, a familiar cold dread falling across his shoulders. “Where’s Holly? Is she-“
March rolled his eyes and slapped the piece of paper before shoving it into his hands. Face radiating with desperation, he grabbed Healy by the shoulders and held him firm until the older man looked him in the eye.
“So no one’s imminently dying, I take it?” Healy snarked. “For God’s sake, March, this is-“
March let out a frustrated squeak. “Help! Us!” He mouthed empathetically, slamming his palms on Healy’s shoulders.
With a skeptical sigh, Healy snatched the note and held it out until he could piece together March’s excuse for handwriting:
Laryngitis, both of us. Holly much worse, in bed with BAD fever.
Need: tylenol + voice to ring school for absence.
“Bullshit,” Healy nearly dropped it. “Seriously? That’s what you call me all the way down here for at this hour?! Because your throat hurts?!”
March nodded vigorously. He pointed to the phone and clasped his hands in a begging gesture.
“How old are you, March?”
Ignoring the derogatory comment, March began clapping his hands together in a prayer pose. Silent pleas formed on his lips as he pointed in the direction of Holly’s bedroom. As much as Healy wanted to continue having a spray at him for being unable to perform simple parenting obligations, the unspoken desperation was obvious in the younger man’s eyes. Please. For her.
Part of him wondered if Mrs March had been such a good caretaker that March had never had to fulfil the role. Until now, that is.
I mean, he’s trying to be a good father.
“It’s a damn good thing I like you two,” Healy grumbled. He scrunched the note in a ball and tossed it at March, stomping towards the phone. The receiver was in his hand before he realised the other half of the equation was missing. “March, you could’ve at least written the damn number on it, you asshat!”
He valiantly tried to fight the urge to smirk as March stumbled his way over, furiously scribbling the school’s reception digits on the remains of his note. “Thank you. Now go sit your ass down while I clean up your mess.”
March opened his mouth to express his thanks, cringing as he could only get a squeak to leave his tortured throat. Opting to save what was left of his shredded dignity, he gave Healy a grateful nod before making a hasty exit.
Healy waited until he was sure March had disappeared into the master bedroom before allowing a smile to form. Chuckling quietly, he grabbed the receiver and began dialling. Might as well enjoy the silence while it lasts…