Chapter Text
1. Alright Then, Keep Your Secrets
He’d never realised how much he talked until it was cruelly ripped away from him.
Being in the investigation business had come with its fair share of violence, kidnappings and stalking - even the occasional drive-by when it was a big enough case. Each event became less intimidating than the last, his brain rewiring itself to project humour and increase alcohol consumption as its sole method of protection.
No one had ever tried to cut his tongue out before, though. First time for everything.
March knew he should be grateful to even be alive, let alone have escaped any life-altering damage.
If Healy had gotten there ten seconds later-
But he didn’t. Healy had busted down the door and subdued his captors before their procedure could be finished. The restraints had been torn away and a slightly-grimey handkerchief (lovingly) shoved in his mouth, leaving him to try and not choke to death on the fountain of blood spurting out of his face while Healy rang for an ambulance.
Most of the immediate aftermath and hospital admission was murky. Bits and pieces of the first day after they operated had come back once he’d finally been weaned off the morphine. He only learned the extent of the damage when he could keep his eyes open for more a minute, but he’d quickly wished they hadn’t shown him.
Healy made sure to be sitting directly by his beside to ensure he couldn’t faint and tumble out of the bed for a second time.
The doctors had spared no detail in discussing his treatments and made it crystal clear that his future depended on how well he adhered to their instructions. By the time he came home, he’d been armed with a bucket load of pills, a strict hygiene and resting regime, and a list of appointments with the speech therapist that he was mandated to attend.
He was still allowed to be salty, right? The bastards had managed to slice a full inch into his tongue before his rescuers arrived, which necessitated an unholy amount of sutures, two blood transfusions, and absolute rest of the damaged appendage. They had still caused significant harm that was negatively impacting on his ability to live.
But did he die? No.
He would live, he would heal and he would talk again. Just not for a while.
He might as well have died and gone to hell. At least there he could scream.
Complete rest had been exactly what it said on the tin; absolutely nothing. No solid foods, no alcohol and absolutely no attempts at speech for the first week at the bare minimum. March had never been the most compliant patient with his health, as Holly had proudly announced to the doctors, but without a voice to conjure excuses and talk his way out, he had no choice but to obey.
“You see, the thing about keeping your mouth closed is that it prevents you from speaking.”
Talking had helped to fill the void when Marjorie passed. Sometimes it had helped even more than the alcohol.
Nothing could fill the void now, and it was torture.
Healy had been continuing their investigation while he recovered, leaving March alone for the majority of daylight hours. Most of the first two days out of hospital had been in a semi-permanent numbness, rarely moving from the couch as he desperately tried to fry his brain with the rot that was daytime television.
Blood kept congealing in his mouth, the metallic taste making him even more nauseous than he already was. He was supposed to be using the rinse the speech pathologist gave him three times a day, but he’d been ignoring it.
It was all he could feel.
He heard himself gurgling weakly as his body thrashed under the hands that restrained his chin, blood pouring in a hot stream out of his mouth and across his front. His eyes were rolling back in his head, he was going to drown in his own blood in some rotting basement and they would ensure his body would never be fully recovered and Holly would finally be an orphan-
“Dad?”
Holly’s voice made him jump, the flashback vanishing into the back of his mind. His gaze flickered between his daughter and the nearest clock. School must’ve gotten out early, as she was home a full fifteen minutes sooner than usual. “Hmm?”
She lowered herself onto the couch beside him, the first aid box clutched in her tiny hands. Healy must’ve restocked it earlier this morning; he was sure that they’d run out of sterile water yesterday. “Your, uh, your bandages need changing. They’re looking a bit gross and stuff.”
He pressed his hand to the gauze wrapped around his mouth, his fingertips returning with a fresh layer of blood. Now that he was aware of it, his face was feeling pretty sticky. He was supposed to be changing them twice a day, but that had rarely happened without Holly’s insistence. “Mmhmm.”
“Do…you want help? Looks like you haven’t touched it today,” Holly asked softly. She pulled a fresh roll of gauze from the kit and began unravelling it. “We know how useless you are with any blood, let alone yours.”
“Hmmeh!” March let out an indignant scoff. He tried puffing his chest out in an exaggerated manner, secretly proud at succeeding in making his daughter giggle.
“Alright, tough guy. Let’s get rid of this gross thing,” Holly snickered as she retrieved the mini pair of scissors from the kit, gently sliding it under the bandage around her father’s face. A single snip and the cotton peeled away from his skin, Holly gently pulling the bloodied section from his lips.
He gasped with relief as he coughed the small piece of gauze out of his mouth, the material so thick with blood that it almost looked alive. He took a tentative swallow, grimacing as what little saliva he had in his mouth irritated the damaged tissue.
“You okay, Dad?”
His throat was tingling painfully; he’d tried to avoid drinking anything as much as possible because of the hassle it had now become, but the vague headache that was forming behind his eyes made him change his mind. March mimed taking a drink, grateful that Holly had interpreted enough of his drunken charades in the past that she could practically read his mind.
“Do you want any of your meds?” Holly yelled from the kitchen.
He’d almost given a verbal response before his tongue spasmed painfully. The speech therapist’s warnings fresh in his mind, March compliantly closed it again and gave his loudest attempt at an “Mm-mn!”
Damn, this was getting annoying. Part of him wondered why they didn’t just sew his mouth shut as well. Would’ve made things a lot easier for everybody.
They’d probably never let him open it again when they had that level of peace and quiet
He gratefully accepted the glass of water when it was delivered, though he raised his brow at the bright pink straw sticking out of the top.
“What? The doctor said you have to use it. I didn’t make the rules,” Holly admonished. “But he didn’t say it had to be a boring straw, either.”
Rolling his eyes, March took a small sip, hissing as the lukewarm water rushed over the stitches and rinsed away the iron and cotton aftertaste. The gauze had sucked most of the saliva out of him, and the more he drank, the more he felt like a sponge being thrown back into the ocean.
He could feel Holly’s gaze studying him. “Are you in pain?”
March had barely shaken his head before she groaned.
“Liar! You’re so bad at hiding it too! Why do you have to lie about being in pain?! It’s not a competition, for God’s sake!” She snapped, her tiny brow crinkling in frustration. “You should have some painkillers if it’s that sore. It’s not hard!”
March shook his head again. It wasn’t that bad - it had healed enough that it just felt like having a scraped knee, except it was the inside of his mouth. He’d just sneak in a shot or two of the good vodka bottle once Holly went to bed and that would numb everything quite nicely.
In his defence, alcohol was an antiseptic. He was practically a doctor himself.
Freshly drenched cotton was gently wiped across and around his lips, sending him a loud reminder of how chapped they still. He let out a strangled mix of a hiss and a shush, his eyes fluttering as he wrestled to stay still.
Duct tape tended to dry his skin out when it stayed on for longer than a couple of hours; he hated how he knew that. He’d been kidnapped or tied up so many times that he’d once joked with Healy about having a preference for what type of bondage he was subjected to. Tape was only acceptable when they wrapped it around clothing rather than limbs, he’d explained. Otherwise it ruins your skin routine.
Healy had knocked back three shots before giving him a sympathetic look that day.
He’d given March the same look when they’d reunited in his hospital room, the raw and ragged flesh telling Healy what he physically couldn’t.
Holly knew the essential details, and he had intended to keep it that way. She’d been through enough as it was, let alone at her age. He didn’t have the heart to tell her how he’d been bound and gagged for three consecutive days before they’d finally decided his tongue required removal.
It meant that she could dry his wounds and keep picking what colour lip balm he got to use without any further horrors clouding her innocent mind.
“Dad?”
He startled as his lips were moved aside.
“Here comes the airplane.” Holly gently manoeuvred a new piece of gauze into his mouth, relieved when her father finally returned to the moment and opened up.
He was the adult here, but not with this kind of thing. Marjorie had always been the one who patched them back together. Marjorie was-
“Dad? Earth to Dad?”
March blinked. He hadn’t realised how misty his eyes were becoming. For the briefest of moments, he saw Marjorie sitting across from him before his blurred vision refocused into Holly. She’d snipped a new section of gauze from the roll, loosely wrapping it across his lips before securing it behind his head.
She paused, noting how her father’s eyes seemed to be darting all over her. “Do you want the notebook? You look like you’ve got an essay in that head.”
The notebook had been her idea, of course. She knew her father too well to know that he wasn’t going to let this injury prevent the world from hearing him. He hadn’t utilised it as much as anticipated, but it had come in handy to put forward questions when Healy was taking phone calls from their client.
March gave no response. It was unnerving how often he’d found himself staring.
He didn’t usually space out this badly after these things.
You look so much like her-
Holly’s concern only grew. She slid her hand into his palm, her fingers just big enough to wrap around his hand. “…You okay, Dad?”
His burning eyes betrayed him.
Oh, how he wished he could speak.
I can’t care for you like she could. You deserve your mom, not some drunken old man who gets shot at every other Tuesday.
He lifted a shaky hand and cupped her cheek as though it were made of glass. A watery smile was just visible over the gauze. “Mm hmm-hu.”
It took a moment for Holly to process his mumbled words, but the relief on her face warmed what was left of his heart. “I love you too, Dad,” She squeezed his hand. “Now be a man and take your pills.”
“Hmmn!”