Chapter Text
They were well into the second semester of the school year (since when did Jackson begin thinking in school calendar?) when Holly came home with a letter. In two weeks' time, there’d be a parent-teacher conference at her school.
“I’ll just tell them you can’t make it. They’ll send a report home.” The teenager told them both over dinner, before muttering into her pasta. “Not that you read it anyway.”
Jackson frowned and nudged Holland under the table.
“I don’t need a report to know that you’re smart. Teachers know fuck-all.” Her father replied, mouth full. Then he re-examined his daughter’s face and swallowed. “Buuuut if you want me there, I’ll go?”
Holly’s eyes widened. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Just remind me, like, every day. And you’ll owe me a cheeseburger.”
“Done.” The Marches shook on it and continued their meal, Holland interrupting every now and then with a different topic of conversation.
Internally, Jackson smiled. March and Holly had moved into his apartment – his newly fixed-up apartment – once the hotel got fed up with them. He’d given the bartenders downstairs Holland’s photo and told them not to serve him or he’d come down and knock their teeth out. So far, it had worked. March had stopped binge drinking so much, and his day drinking had also lessened. Healy distracted him as much as possible, and once the symptoms of withdrawal eased off slightly, his partner seemed a little more present.
“I’ll get something special in.” He told them. “A celebratory dinner.”
“Thanks, Mr. Healy.” Holly grinned. “I’m the best in my English class.”
March scoffed, gesturing to the stacks of her books in the corner that he’d hauled up the stairs. “Should fuckin’ hope so.”
-
The two weeks ticked down and, as promised, Holly reminded her dad each and every morning about the parent-teacher conference. It was circled on the calendar, written on the back of his hand, and a post-it note in his pocket. Holly had asked specifically for an appointment time as close to the school finish as possible so March wouldn’t have to remember two different times. Jackson also knew all the details and had pinky-promised to get Holland there if he got… Sidetracked. But he was really hoping the man would remember himself.
Turns out, he needn’t have worried. After interviewing a potential client and grabbing lunch, March drove into the school car park and found a spot near the entrance.
“What are we doing here?”
Holland looked at him like he just dribbled onto his shirt. "Parent-teacher conference.” He tapped the writing above his hand tattoo. “4pm.”
“It’s 1:30!”
“I don’t want to be late!”
“We could probably find this missing watch in a pawn shop by 4pm!” Healy argued. But Holland stubbornly settled into his seat and pulled out his flask. He considered it, took a single sip and returned it to his pocket. At least he thought about it.
“If we go somewhere else, I’ll fucking forget! I’m not gonna be late.” He sounded pretty tense, and Jackson could see his shoulders rising up to his ears. It was something he’d noticed more and more now that his partner was only tipsy most of the time rather than blind drunk. The anxiety – the stress over things Jackson wouldn’t give two shits about. He’d nearly torn the apartment to pieces looking for a receipt the other night, convinced he’d put diesel in the car rather than gas. He was barely breathing by the time he’d found it in his damn shoe. Gas, panic over.
Jackson relented. “Fine. But I’m picking the radio station.”
-
After waiting nearly three hours, March made it to the appointment, only tripping over once in between the car and the school. It was two hundred minutes of Healy trying not to smack Holland for his constant fidgeting, tapping, muttering, even putting his feet on the dash. He’d eventually confiscated that fucking flask and given him some stern words of encouragement as Holly waved to them as school ended. As expected, she was a brilliant student. She played truant occasionally, and her attendance record from last semester wasn’t great, but her grades remained high. She had a good group of friends that, while dramatic, displayed strong social development milestones. Her teacher even gave March a card summarising what they’d discussed. Jackson suspected Holly had mentioned his ability to listen to a conversation and hear absolutely none of it.
The pair arrived back at his apartment after stopping by to get March his cheeseburger payment, allowing Jackson to finish his chilli. The meal went down well, even with Holland’s ‘starter’, and they’d all ended up on the small couch watching Jeopardy!. As always, Holly knew all the correct answers and called the contestants every synonym of ‘dumb’ under the sun, making the two men hesitant to offer answers lest they be incorrect. She took herself to bed shortly after, getting through some homework and a few chapters of her current book.
“She’s getting too smart for us, huh?” Healy commented, washing the dishes and leaving them on the side. When Holland didn’t reply, he turned to find his partner still sitting on the couch. He was spinning the report card in his fingers.
“March?”
Nothing. His blue eyes weren’t even focused on the static screen of the TV.
“March, you in there?”
Like someone had cut his strings, dirty blonde hair fell back against the cushions. He exhaled heavily.
“She’s fine.” He announced quietly, clearly having had half a conversation in his head.
“Who, Holly? Yeah, ‘course she’s fine.”
“No, I, fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “She’s normal.”
Jackson laughed incredulously. “Holly is not normal, March.”
“I know that – she's she’s a fucking genius – but she’s not like me.”
Jesus. “Holl-”
“I was so worried. But she’s not wrong, ya know?”
Healy closed his eyes. Holland March was often described as eccentric. He knew what it meant. Adjective: departing from what is usual or conventional. He also knew that people used the word to mean something else. There’s eccentric, and there’s eccentric. Holland was eccentric. Jackson didn’t give a flying fuck and he didn’t understand why some people were so upset by it. He’d heard it from the Marches' own neighbours once…
-
It had been Janet’s birthday party. March was supervising Holly, Healy was supervising March. All the adults had been lingering around the garden while the kids splashed in the pool.
“Wonderful to see you around the neighbourhood, Mr. Healy.” Janet’s mother had begun.
“Oh?”
“That girl needs more stability than Mr. March can provide for her.”
“Well-”
“Especially considering his condition.”
“Condition?” The alcoholism? The nose thing?
Janet’s mother gave him a pitying smile.”Well, he is r-tarded, dear. You do know that, don’t you?”
Healy’s mind blanked.
“Really, people like him shouldn’t be allowed to have children. But the Lord gave us these people to test us, I suppose.”
“Right.” He’d gritted his teeth and made an escape as soon as possible after that.
Holland, who had heard the entire exchange, sat on the grass behind the fence drinking whisky from the bottle. Jackson had struggled with what exactly to say. He’d even paced nervously for a moment before he remembered who he fucking was.
"March–"
His partner had just tipped the bottle back again. Jackson didn’t see much in his eyes. No sadness, or anger, or even embarrassment. But what he could see made him nervous.
Acceptance.
Agreement.
-
Back then, he hadn’t known what to say. Since then, he’d done his research. He’d learned all about ‘hyperkinetic impulse dysfunction’ and how each and every description seemed like a character study of Holland. Granted, all those scientists believed kids grew out of it. Healy, quite frankly, had to call bullshit, as he’d watched March’s behaviour with a new perspective.
Now, he bent down to make sure he could look Holland in those blue eyes of his.
“Holly is a wonderful girl, and you helped make her like that.”
March shook his head with a blank refusal. “No.”
“You did!”
“She can’t. She can’t be like me.” He balled his fists, crumpling the report. For a moment, Jackson thought he was going to hit himself, but March just ground his knuckles against his temples. “Not like me. M’wrong. I'm a fuck-up, Heals, a fuckin-.”
Healy noticed the trembling muscles and pulsing vein. He grabbed his wrists and pulled them away.
“She’s perfect, March.” He reassured. “Don’t worry. She’s perfect.”
Holland nodded hesitantly, still not looking him in the eye.
“She’s perfect.” Healy repeated, just to make sure.
His partner breathed. “Yeah.”