Work Text:
Holland March had always been somewhat crossed with his soulmark. Who could blame him, really? After all, it did say a pretty unpleasant thing. What could possibly have his soulmate written that made that better?
Holland lived in a world where soulmates were a thing. Who thought of implementing that? Why not let people choose whoever they wanted? Not like they didn't already do it, but still. Why would fate choose to do that?
At some point in one's life, half a sentence would appear on someone's skin. The other half would be on the soulmate's body.
Was it some kind of sick joke from destiny? What was he supposed to do with that?
"You will never be happy"
Bullshit.
He could be perfectly happy. And without a soulmate, at that. He had the best daughter anyone could ask for. And his private investigation thingy wasn't going half bad. He didn't need them.
He had already found love before. And without help from a higher being: his late wife.
Their soulmarks didn't match. At all. But when a pregnancy test comes back positive, very little else matters. They had to drop out of college and figure things out.
But that's water under the bridge. She was long gone.
The point is, Holland March didn't need anyone else in his life. Not his soulmate, not another wife.
And then you showed up.
It happened on a regular day. If you call throwing hands at someone regular— which for both Holland and Jackson did.
They were following up on some clue about a house break-in and theft. A posh woman had called them, in a desperate attempt to find her stolen jewelry. The police were apparently too busy to look into it so they were called right after them.
After investigating a bit and messing around some more at the scene, Holland found a single button.
"Leave it already." Told him Jackson after a while. "Are you even trying to find anything?" He called him out as he dug into a small mount of broken debris.
Holland fumbled, almost dropping what he was holding.
"I am investigating!" He bashfully answered. "I've been checking the closets."
He returned the last garment to the closet before going back to his partner.
"Found anything else?" He asked and Holland could only shake his head in denial.
Fast forward that same night, Holland pulled up to their usual bar. He already knew Jackson was inside, nursing a drink. He never waited for him.
Mid afternoon Jackson had to leave to take care of some personal issues and they had agreed to meet up again after dark.
And, unlike him, Healy was punctual.
Holland strode inside the dive bar without even bothering to take off his shades. His eyes were already where he expected his partner to be. And he found him right where he was supposed to be: on the same stool as always.
Plopping down by his side with a sigh, Holland ordered himself a whiskey. Neat, of course.
"I assume you got nothing done after I left?" Jackson said as he sipped his drink.
Holland gasped with feigned offence, a hand grasping dramatically at his chest.
"Why do you think so lowly of me?" He cried
"Am I wrong?" Pried Jackson with a tired look.
Holland blinked a couple times, perplexed, but answered anyway.
"Well— Yeah." He said, flippantly in his voice.
"Yeah?" Parroted Jackson, genuinely surprised.
Holland wasn't the smartest cookie of the batch. That was undeniable. But sometimes he did have brilliant moments. Fool's luck, one might say. But when the fool narrowly escapes death more than twice, maybe it's skill.
Was he underestimating Holland? Quite a lot.
Should he have more credit than what he already gave him— which was practically none? Probably.
Holland did have some interesting findings from time to time.
...from time to time.
Was this one of those moments? Jackson would know shortly.
"What did you find?" He asked with a mix of expectation and scepticism.
"You remember the button?" Holland drew out a small zip-lock bag, immediately eliciting a loud groan from Jackson.
"Are you still with that stupid thing?" He said, dragging a hand down his face.
He should have expected something like that from him.
"Hey! Don't call it stupid." Holland scolded, as if the button had feelings that could get hurt.
Jackson could only roll his eyes and raise his eyebrows.
Seeing he had nothing to say, Holland went on.
"You see, while you were doing God-knows-what, I went to my tailor." Now Jackson wanted to say something, but March just didn't stop talking. "I asked her about our little friend here-" he flicked the bagged button "-and she knows where it comes from."
Holland reached out his hands as if he were Jesus Christ performing a miracle.
And, well. Jackson would have perfectly bought it. Again, poor Holland March wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. So when he did make a breakthrough, it could perfectly pass as a miracle.
"Really??" Jackson asked in genuine disbelief.
Holland nodded confidently. "Mhm. Wanna go over there now?"
His mischievous smirk was something dangerous, taking into account the time. It was pitch black. What were they gonna do at the place? Wake everyone up?
...Yep. That's exactly what they did.
Well, they were already awake. And they were either on high alert or they were waiting for them. Because as soon as Holland and Jackson got out of the car, bullets started raining on them.
Seems like March did hit the nail on the head this time.
Fastforward a lot of shooting, ducking and whatnot, the fight turned physical for some reason. That's what usually happens when both sides run out of bullets.
Jackson was dealing with two of them, and was doing fairly well on his own. Hitting people was kind of his thing, after all.
Holland... Well, he wasn't doing so well.
He was fighting the last guy and somehow the whole thing looked a bit too much like a cat fight. There was a lot of back and forth involved with multiple feints and barely dodged hits.
Fortunately for him, his enemy fought in a similar way to him, making the fight surprisingly balanced, skilfully speaking.
"March!" Jackson called as he dodged a kick, retaliating with a punch. "Are you done over there?"
"Not at a- Jesus!" Answered Holland with a high pitched tone. His opponent had taken out a pocket knife.
Apparently the poor bloke had forgotten he had it. If not, he'd taken it out from the start.
"Healy?" It was now Holland's turn to call for help. "I need a-a hand or whatever!" He said with a panicked voice.
Jackson rolled his eyes. He often thought about driving to the country and dropping him off in there. But March's like that puppy you don't want. It ends growing up on you and you can't throw him out anymore.
Using the inertia of a hit, he moved through the wrecked space towards anything that could be of use.
His hand came in contact with a crowbar. That'd work just fine.
Wait, who has a crowbar out in the open at home? These guys, apparently.
His luck, as he'd been the one to get it first.
Now armed with something more blunt, Jackson had a bit more leverage. Which allowed him barely enough time to grab something and toss it to Holland.
... a wooden plank.
These guys seriously had to get their shit together. This was no space to live in. Full of dangerous stuff, unfit for everyday life.
Holland fumbled with the incoming plank, almost dropping it. He glanced at it and made a face.
"Seriously?!"
He whined as he swung the board around like a bat in an attempt to either hit the other guy or drive him away. It was not the finest weapon. But he was not in a position to choose.
"Would you rather fight unarmed?" Retorted Jackson and Holland's mind was quick to change.
"NO!" He grumbled loudly as his grip on the wood tightened.
A surge of determination coursed through his veins and he swung the plank with purpose.
The knife guy was not expecting it and narrowly avoided the hit. Unfortunately for him, Holland had finally locked in. Doubling down, his speed increased and his adversary was forced to walk a couple steps back in order to keep dodging.
But he stumbled with something on his backwards walk and Holland took the opportunity to disarm him. The wooden plank smashed against his hand, forcing him to drop the pocket knife.
The poor bastard let out a pained scream as he cradled his obliterated hand.
It was far from obliterated, but it did sure feel like it.
Holland lifted the board one last time with the intention of delivering a final— and hopefully incapacitating —blow. But as he was about to swing down, someone else swung.
One of the guys who were handling Jackson had managed to get away from him long enough to sneak up to Holland. In a swift move, the butt of his gun came down on Holland's head. And just like that, he was out like a light.
When he opened his eyes again, Holland March was absolutely sure he had died and was now in heaven— for some reason.
The most beautiful woman was right in front of his eyes. A soft aura was around her that made everything but her blurry. Her mouth moved but nothing came out of it. Or at least not that he could hear. Her hand was stroking his hair and she looked oh so concerned for him.
He definitely had to have died.
Fortunately, he had not.
As his mind fog faded away, his vision cleared up and his hearing came back.
"—ar me, sir? Sir? Can you hear me?" Oh, even your voice was nice. It was soft and calm and made him giddy.
"Wh- wh- where..." Holland attempted as he tried to sit up. Big mistake, everything hurt.
But then your— albeit gloved —hand came down to his chest and gently pushed him down again. And he complied. How could he not? Your hand was warm under the latex, your voice made him feel at ease, what else could he ask for?
Jackson.
Where's Jackson?
Holland immediately sits up and you cannot stop him. His eyes start to dart everywhere. He's inside an ambulance. The doors are open and he can hear sirens.
He's still at the scene. Okay. Someone called the cops.
Still, no Jackson.
"Wheee's Heelee?" He mutters and you only manage to understand him thanks to your experience in the job. It seems his brain is still booting.
"Your partner?" You asked and he nodded wobbly, yet energetically. "He's getting checked up over there. He's fine, don't worry." You smile at him.
A wave of relief washes over his body and he lays back down, closing his eyes. Now that he thought about it, his head was killing him.
What in the world had happened? All he had was foggy memories.
Taking advantage of his now calm state, you got back to work. With careful hands you cleaned scratches and patched up cuts. He was mostly fine. The worst had taken it his head.
The hand on his hair moved and that's when Holland realised. You were not stroking his hair. You were cleaning the wound on it.
Ouch.
Both physically and emotionally.
Once he was all fixed up, you sighed at the good work.
"Do you want me to bring your friend?" You asked.
You were so nice. Offering to do stuff for him and taking care of him. Yeah, yeah. It was your job or whatever. Who cared? The point is that he was being taken cared of by the most ethereal looking woman he'd ever seen.
"Yes, please." He croaked out, both from a dry throat and the fact that he had to talk to you. Holland hoped it hadn't sounded as pathetic as he thought.
It did.
But you didn't care. He was kind of cute and dorky. Like a confused puppy.
Without another word, you handed him a water bottle and jumped off the ambulance.
Holland loved the gesture, even if it was only made out of politeness or protocol compliance. He still loved it. What he didn't love as much was you leaving him.
As soon as you left his vision field, he felt compelled to follow after you. It didn't really make any sense. But something in him was telling him to go with you, to stay with you.
Perhaps he had a concussion. Yup, that gotta be it.
Also, his right hand was kinda itchy. A bug bite, probably. It was starting to be that time of the year anyway. And at night time? Mosquito party.
Stop, because why does his body want to get up so damn much? He's hurting all over his body. He'd rather be laying down, like he was doing right now.
You came back just in time because he was about to get up, against his own wishes. Jackson Healy trailed after you.
"Hey, March. You look awful." He pointed out and Holland sighed.
"Yeah?" He nodded. "You know what? You're not doing much better, uh." He said, making an attempt of a counter.
Reaching into the pockets of his dress pants, Holland took out a cigarette and his beaten up zippo. How they managed to stay in his pockets was a mystery. He placed the butt between his lips and just when he was about to light it up, you yanked the tube off of his lips.
"No smoking here, mister." You scolded him like one would do to a child.
He pouted but did nothing about it. He still couldn't bring himself to go against you. Jackson laughed. Obviously.
You turned around to look at the man, who schooled his face in record speed.
"Your friend here is good to go. But I fear your car has been totaled." You said, wincing at the last part. "If you want, I could drop you off—"
Before you could even finish speaking, Holland barged in.
"Yes please!" He said, sounding strangely close to a plea.
Both your head and Jackson's turned to stare at him, who in exchange looked like a deer in the headlights.
He had absolutely no clue why he'd spoken up, but he did. Did he regret it? Not at all.
You only smiled and nodded, like the angel you were.
"Sure. I'm going to wrap some things up and tell my partners I'm done for tonight. Join me out there when you can." And after that you were out of the ambulance, laving the two of them alone.
"March." Jackson called with a warning tone and a raised eyebrow. "What was that?" He asked.
"I don't know!" Answered Holland with a perplexed expression as he hastily sat up in the ambulance's stretcher.
"You don't?"
"I panicked!"
"You panicked?"
"She's so beautiful and her voice is so soft!" Holland started to rant nervously. "I don't even know what I'm doing!" He hissed-yelled.
Jackson stared at him with a mix of awe and appalment. Holland was gesturing profusely, hands flying all over the place as he spoke. They went from his face to loosen his tie, then to his hair and lastly back to his face.
"I just know that she's perfect or whatever!"
The older man starts to get concerned. He hasn't seen his friend so confused and distressed in a very long time. Whatever's going on inside his mind is serious.
"I just-"
Holland stops halfway with a choked voice, unable to continue. Dragging a hand down his face, a shaky sigh left his lips.
Jackson quietly passed him the water bottle, and Holland was quick to chug half of it. The water was cold and comforting. The temperature decrease helped him calm down a little bit and think.
"It's that-"
The second attempt didn't make it either. Holland looked away, joining together his shaky hands.
"...it feels like her." He finally croaked out, choking something really similar to a small sob.
Oh.
Jackson Healey knew pretty well who she was.
March's late wife.
He'd told her a lot of times, mostly when he was drunk. They weren't soulmates, but they did love each other. Even if the circumstances for the start of their life together were not the best.
The loss of his wife was a huge blow for him, even if it's not as noticeable now— he still wore the ring on a chain around his neck. In short, Holland March was not over his wife's death.
At all.
"She feels like her." Holland confessed, burying his face in his hands.
He shouldn't feel like this. He should be mourning his wife. After all, it was his fault that she died. If only he'd listened to her, she'd still be here to take care of their daughter. And Holly wouldn't hate him for killing her mother.
Now Jackson understood— to some degree —what was going through his partner's mind. It was a feeling that surrounded him like a warm embrace, but instead of comforting him it was suffocating him in guilt.
After a while, Holland had calmed down enough to finally get out and face you again.
As soon as he was out, his eyes found you automatically. You were leaning against a car, talking to a colleague of yours, taking the uniform.
Your eyes found his and he forced himself to look away. It burnt at him to look at you.
Jackson caught the interaction but remained quiet.
You waved off your coworker and waited as they walked up to you.
"Ready to go home?" You asked and a strangled sound left Holland's throat.
Jackson was quick to cover up for it.
"Thank you for doing this, you didn't have to." He said gratefully as he slid to the passenger seat. There was no way Holland sat there, taking into account everything that now swam in his head.
The engine came to life and soon you were on the move. You drove gently, like everything else you did. The gear shift was practically unnoticeable and you braked so softly he didn't even notice.
Holland shook his head. Every time he thought about you, the face of his wife appeared in front of his eyes.
"Who should I drop off first?" You asked.
"No need. We're going to his place." Jackson said before giving you the address. "Gotta watch he doesn't trip and die."
A light chuckle left your lips and Holland wanted to die for real. It was lovely in a way that gnawed at him.
He shouldn't be feeling like this.
His hands reached down to take out a cigarette, but then your words echoed in his mind. 'No smoking here, mister.'
He was gonna be sick.
The rest of the drive was quiet. The night wind felt cold against your skin in a nice way.
Not long after you arrived at a nice looking house that matched the address.
One after the other, the three of you got out of your car.
"I'm sorry if I keep repeating myself, but thank you." Said Jackson
"It's nothing, really." You waved it off. "I couldn't just leave you guys there. It's so late that there are barely any taxis available."
You were barely turning back to your car when Holland spoke up.
"Would you like to come in?" It was short and chipped, but it sounded genuine.
Jackson shot him a quick look that screamed 'what are you doing?'
Your face softened when you looked at him. He sounded genuinely confused by his own actions.
"It's alright. I should head home anywa-"
"I insist."
Jackson glared at him again.
Now it was your turn to be unable to decline.
"I, uh. Yeah, sure." You nodded and followed them inside.
As soon as Holland crossed the threshold, he regretted his words. He didn't want you coming in anymore.
The whole place was filled with alcohol containers of any kind: cans, stubbies, whole bottles, cartons, even a decanter was somewhere. If he wanted to look good in your eyes, this was not it.
Also, God knew what it smelt like. Not like he could know. But he figured out it'd be a mix of stale beer and cigarettes.
He decided to barrel straight through all of it and go straight to the kitchen. At least that area was decent.
"You, uh- You want anything? Whiskey, wine?" He anxiously asked as he shuffled around for glassware.
You gave him a sheepish smile.
"I gotta drive, so water if you don't mind."
"Yeah, right! Of course!" He said as he rushed to get you a glass of water.
Then he attempted to get himself a whiskey.
"Nuh-uh, sir." You said as you reached to take the bottle from his hands. "No alcohol for you for at least a couple days." You told him with a serious face.
Holland looked around awkwardly. He was used to drink all the time. What was he supposed to do now?
He could ignore your words. After all, you'd be gone forever after this. Also, he was an adult. He could do whatever he wanted.
How it happened can be only called coincidence. Perhaps some people would call it destiny. Because if it was not that, then there was no way of explaining how Holland March's soulmate ended up at his home without him even knowing.
It was either a coincidence or fate's cruel way of messing up with his life.
It was Jackson who broke the awkward tension in the room.
"Uh, I don't think we've introduced each other properly. Have we?" He said after clearing his throat to draw the attention to him.
You quickly fumbled at his words. He was right. You did know their names— or at least their last names. But they didn't know yours.
You had both hands busy: one with the whiskey bottle and the other one with the glass of water Holland had given you. A handshake required a free hand.
This is where fate's influence came in. Because it was the only explanation why you— a right handed person —decided to set down the item in your left hand and reach out for a handshake with said hand.
"It completely slipped my mind, sorry." You apologetically said as you introduced yourself. "Nice to meet you-"
"-Jackson Healy." Jackson said as he shook your hand.
His keen eye caught it, even if he only saw it for a fleeting moment. There was something on your left hand.
Could be a work related scribble? Sure, but you worked with gloves on.
Perhaps your kid wrote on you? No, you'd probably washed it away for work.
Was it- was it your soulmark?
In truth, it could be anything or nothing at all. Still, Jackson filed it in his mind.
Then it was Holland's turn. When you spun to look at him he was already reaching out to shake your hand.
"Holland March, at your service." He said with a smile, trying to sound smooth. It came out as awkward. Obviously.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr March."
You gave him a smile so bright and genuine he had the urge to squint, as if he were looking at the sun. But he did not. He'd look at you even if you burnt his retinas to a crisp.
Perhaps it was destiny's doing too that Holly happened to come out of her room, despite the late hour.
"Are you even aware of what time it is?" She said as she walked up to them. She hadn't noticed you yet. "And what happened to you?"
Holly's gaze darted between both men as she folded her arms over her chest.
"We were following a lead-" Holland attempted, but his daughter was having none of it.
"Yeah, sure. Because clues make you come home all roughened up!"
Holly rolled her eyes and that's when she finally spotted you out of the corner of her eye. A frown set on her face as she spun her head to look at you.
"Who are you?" She snapped at you. You couldn't blame her.
But Holland could.
"Holly, manners."
She was about to talk back but you cut in before she could. The last thing you wanted was a fight, taking into account Holland and Jackson's state and the late hour. Everyone was tired, there was no reason to squabble.
"I just drove them home. Their car is in a pretty rough shape." You explained with a calm expression. "It was not their fault, though."
Somehow that was enough to defuse Holly's anger. You were so... soothing?
Holland thought that maybe you were an angel for real. Because there was no way a regular person could placate a teenage girl that easily.
You reached out to her to introduce yourself, even if you might never see that kid again. "Nice to meet you, Holly."
Of course, Jackson's gaze was zeroed in on your hand. Specifically on the inside of your palm, where your thumb met your wrist. This time he could see what was on it.
And Holly saw it too.
'on your own.' was imprinted on your skin in a familiar handwriting. And right above it was a smiley face upside down.
Both of them knew where they'd seen that before.
Hell, it was on one of the four people in the kitchen.
Holly made a not-so-subtle face at the sight before shooting Jackson a quick look. He raised his eyebrows in response and then they scurried off without nothing more but a "Healy, want to see what Janet did now?" "Sure, let's go."
Not suspicious at all.
Which now left you alone with Holland March, who was about to vibrate himself into another timeline.
His eyes zipped from you to the whiskey bottle, and back at you. He wanted a sip so bad. But you were giving him the warning look. That one you put when a child is about to do something they shouldn't.
But instead of a kid it's a thirty-something man with too many issues.
But you found it endearing, for some reason. You had seen a lot of people in the years you've been working as a paramedic to know Holland was a severe alcoholic and a chain-smoker. And watching someone that far in try so hard just because you said so was heartwarming. Like a puppy struggling not to look at a treat you left on the ground.
"So, uh... Lovely weather we're having." Holland croaked out as he fidgeted with the buttons of his sleeve.
You could only smile in fondness. He was so awkward.
"It's 2 in the morning, Mr March." You said, almost feeling bad at pointing it out.
"CallmeHolland-" He sputtered and immediately regretted saying anything. You could see it on his face.
Gosh, he was an open book.
"I- Yeah- I knew that." He attempted a recovery. "I meant the night. Yeah, that."
He dragged a hand down his face nervously as he looked away.
Fuck, he was making a fool of himself. Wasn't he?
You hummed lightly in agreement.
"It is a nice night." You nodded, gazing through the open window.
A nice breeze came through and you briefly closed your eyes.
Of course, Holland used that few seconds to ogle you shamelessly.
You were beautiful under his eyes. And the thought still made something in his gut churn. Both in excitement and guilt.
He needed to do something. Anything.
"Wanna go out?"
Your eyes snapped open to look at him.
Oh no, that came out the wrong way.
"To the backyard- I mean." He fumbled, tripping over his own words.
His shoulders were all stiff as he motioned with his chin to the glass door. You followed with your gaze and soon enough the two of you were standing in front of the world's biggest ashtray, as Jackson called it that one time.
Once again, Holland regretted inviting you out there. It wasn't worse than inside the house, but this didn't help with your mental image of him either.
You didn't seem to mind, though. And he was definitely going to cling onto that like his life depended on it.
Holland walked over to the pool and got on the diving board, sitting on it like he'd done so many times. The aluminium sheet wobbled under his weight. He took a deep breath with closed eyes and unstiffened his body. He could feel his muscles complaining at the prolonged tension.
It's alright. He could do it. You only were the most beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on, but he could do it. He could not make a fool of himself for 5 minutes.
When he opened his eyes again, you were still where he left you. Standing by the door, eyes shut and hands behind your back. You looked at ease as you let the night breeze kiss your skin.
Mustering all the bravery he had, he spoke up.
"Wanna come over?" This time his voice didn't waver.
You opened your eyes, orbs immediately on him. He looked calm, for a change. Sure of himself even. It made something in your chest stir.
He patted the space beside him and you felt tempted to join him. Very tempted.
So you did it.
You started walking to the diving board with the intention of getting on it. But as soon as you put the first foot on it, your phone rang.
Both of you cursed internally.
You looked at the caller and your face fell.
You were not gonna stay, were you?
"Sorry, I-"
"It's alright." Said Holland with a smile.
You could only give him back an apologetic one before stepping back to take the call.
Once your eyes were off him, Holland sighed deeply. His mind was a mess and he was running around like a headless chicken.
He really shouldn't be doing this.
But why did it feel so... right?
He didn't have a lot of time to delve into it as you came back. And he didn't like your face at all.
"It's an emergency, I gotta go." You gave him a sad smile and his heart clenched at the sight.
'No, please. Don't go. Stay with me.' Wanted to say Holland. But he knew it wouldn't be okay.
"Yeah, of course." He answered instead, with a small smile.
You started to walk away but stopped halfway and spun to look at him again.
"Mr Mar-"
"Holland." He interrupted.
"Holland." You parroted.
Oh, he loved his name on your lips. It almost gave him 5 years of life. As if the ash and smoke covering his lungs faded away into nothingness.
"No smoking and no drinking." You told him with your stern work face.
Holland felt himself nod, as if he couldn't say no to you. And some part of him didn't want to.
"I'm serious, Holland." You shot him a look and he nodded again.
"I won't."
His name was the seal on the deal. You just had to call his name and he was at your feet, no matter how cross he felt with it.
"Good."
A last smile crept up your lips. Then you turned around and faded into the night.