Chapter Text
Healy had been right when they first met. March could not afford to live like this as a P.I.
The March’s rental home was huge for two people, but he’d always been a sucker for the extra space. The living room was spacious, Holly had her own room she could retreat to when she got tired of his constant buffoonery, and the pool was a welcome addition.
For flicking cigarette butts into, anyway.
Holly hated the rental.
He had promised her it was only a matter of time before they could rebuild their old house. All he had to do was collect enough money. Easier said than done.
Unfortunately, after too many dead ends, clients that couldn’t cough up enough cash, and rising rent prices, March found himself in a pickle.
That afternoon, the two of them pulled up to the rental after a long day of trying to solve a case with no leads. March offered his partner a drink if he came inside.
Once he’d reached the front door, he stopped in his tracks. Tacked to the door was a piece of paper. March tore it off and unfolded it, skimming through its contents.
His heart dropped when he reached the end of the letter.
“March? What is it?” Healy asked, peering over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of the paper.
“Ngh! Nothing!” March jumped, immediately folding the paper back up. Healy was standing too close.
His partner’s brow furrowed in concern. “It doesn’t seem like nothing–”
March pushed him away (gently) and unlocked the front door, his hands shaking. He needed a smoke. Or a drink.
Much to his chagrin, Healy followed him into the house.
“Let me see, March. Is it a ransom note? Blackmail? What?” Healy pressed, hot on his tail as March made a beeline for the kitchen.
“Jesus Christ, could you get out of my face?” he muttered, his throat dry as he grabbed a bottle of scotch and a glass from the cabinet. “Just drop it, would you?”
At that moment, Holly decided to enter the kitchen, a book under her arm. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the paper in March’s hand. “Are you guys talking about the eviction notice?” she asked.
“You know?” March looked at her, eyes wide. His daughter seemed to have a habit of appearing out of nowhere. She was far too calm for March’s liking.
Her lack of surprise almost stung, in a way.
“It was on the door when I got home from school,” she said, matter-of-factly.
Healy cleared his throat and plucked the bottle of scotch out of his hands. “Care to explain, March?”
“Shit, I–can we talk about this later?” He shot a look at Holly, then glanced back at Healy. It would be best not to discuss this in front of her.
“Dad, I already know, you don’t have to–”
“Sweetheart, please, not now.”
Holly crossed her arms. With a huff, she left the room as quickly as she had appeared.
March leaned against the fridge in defeat, its steel cool against his back. He was purposefully avoiding eye contact with Healy.
“March,” his partner began, his voice steady.
March, March, March. Healy was always using his name excessively. The P.I. braced himself for the incoming lecture.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Healy said, breaking the silence.
Oh.
“I could have tried to help, man.”
March looked up, eyes meeting Healy’s. He didn’t really know what to say. So he said nothing.
He just reached for the scotch that Healy still held in his hands.
The man jerked it away from him, his expression shifting to one of disappointment. “March, are you serious? I’m not letting you get blackout drunk in the middle of the day.”
“It's late afternoon,” March chided. “And I’m not getting blackout drunk. Two drinks, tops.” He made a grabbing motion for the bottle.
Healy looked at him incredulously, frustration slowly seeping into his usually calm tone. “You’ve barely even eaten today!” he exclaimed.
“And who do you think you are, my wife?” March spat.
Healy went quiet. Once March had registered what he said, he felt his stomach churn.
The kitchen was dead quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator.
Slumping back against it once again, March ran a hand over his face. He gently fiddled with the ring that hung around his neck with his other hand. The topic of wives was a sensitive subject for both of them.
“Jackson,” March said quietly. “Could you just… give me some space?”
His partner looked him up and down. March was surely an image of grace–huddled up against the fridge, recoiled like a feral cat.
“Fine,” Healy muttered. “I’ll be back later. To talk.”
On his way out of the house, March couldn’t help but spot Healy grab the shopping list he’d started off the counter.
***
That night was coming to an end with the three of them sitting on the couch. Holly’s head was resting against March’s shoulder, her eyes closed. The television set continued to yammer on in the background, as the newest episode of Columbo was finishing up. Healy and March hadn’t really talked about expenses since his blowup earlier. So, he decided to be the bigger man.
“I’ve been trying to watch my spending, I swear,” the P.I. murmured. “Drinking less, all that jazz. It’s just… Not enough.”
“It is a big rental,” Healy replied quietly.
“I just need to rebuild the old place. Holly’s been waiting so long. And I—”
March tried not to jump when he felt a comforting hand come to rest on his shoulder. It was Healy’s. He had shifted so he was looking at him instead of the T.V.
“One step at a time, March.” He nodded down at a sleeping Holly.
They should probably get her to bed.
Healy carefully gathered Holly into his arms, picking her up as if she weighed nothing. Once she was safe in Healy’s grasp, March got off the couch and followed him to her bedroom, holding the door open for him as they entered.
Healy gently lowered Holly into her bed as March moved to cover her with her duvet. Once she was all tucked in, March leaned down to place a soft kiss on her forehead.
She looked peaceful like this. He grabbed her stuffed animal that sat on her bedside table. One of her only belongings that survived the fire. Carefully, he tucked it in next to her with a small smile to himself.
He stood up with a sigh, only to see Healy watching him from the doorway.
March walked over to him and flicked the bedroom light off. The two of them looked at Holly, sleeping without a care in the world.
“I dunno what to do,” March whispered, crossing his arms.
There was a moment of silence. March could hear the clock ticking on the wall. Cars on the busy L.A. streets zooming along. And then Healy spoke.
“I’ve got an apartment. It’s nothing special, but if you wanted, the two of you could stay. Until you get back on your feet.”
March thought about it for a second. He realized he’d never actually seen Healy’s apartment before. That could change.
“We would hate to impede on your property,” March scoffed.
“Holland for chrissakes, I’m asking you to. You guys are like f—” he cut himself off. “You guys are good friends.”
“Probably your only friends, huh?” March joked.
Healy did not dignify him with a response.
“Fine. If you’re sure about it… That would be nice.”
Healy gave him a small smile. It was strange seeing him grin like that. March liked it.
Wanting to give him a hug, but also not wanting to risk getting a black eye, March resorted to patting him awkwardly on the shoulder.
“Um. Thank you.”