Chapter Text
This was supposed to be easy.
Easy as always.
Of course, you always had to account for March’s clumsiness and his almost god-like bad luck, but even then, it. was. supposed. to. be. easy.
All they had to do, was stay in this rich lady’s house to check if there weren’t any intruders that came in during the night.
Surely, they weren’t expecting a gang of half a dozen men getting in specifically to beat them up.
Lying on the ground, Jack was lost in thought.
At the tips of his boots lay two men he knew only for their ability to throw punches.
Fortunately for him, the feeling was mutual. To them, he was just another guy to hit, and Healy had made a much stronger impression.
They were unconscious, and as he caught his breath, Jack found himself wondering how his ever-so-lucky March was doing.
(He shouldn’t be thinking of him as his March. That sounded weird.)
He didn’t have to wonder for long. He heard March before he saw him.
His work partner came sprinting across the balcony of the luxurious villa they had both entered oh so discreetly.
Right now, calling March “discreet” would have been a spectacular misjudgment. Not only was his scream echoing through the entire neighborhood, but his jacket was also on fire, making him look like a parody of the Human Torch.
March didn’t slow down.
Jack barely had time to get back on his feet before he saw his partner charging straight toward the glass wall of the balcony.
“March-”
His grunt died away with the crash of the glass. He wouldn’t have heard him anyway.
His colleague’s silhouette vanished through the glass in a shower of shards, followed a second later by a huge splash from the pool several meters below.
Jack closed his eyes.
Of fucking course.
He opened them just in time to see another man go through the exact same path.
“Ah,” Healy remarked, struggling to regain his composure after his own altercation.
Leaning precariously against the shattered railing, he caught sight of the two figures struggling underwater.
He couldn’t make out much: just arms, legs, and far too many splashes.
Several times, he thought he saw March disappear completely. Then a head finally emerged.
March.
He gasped for air like a drowning man returned from the dead, shoved the other man away with a particularly well-placed kick, and coughed his way out of the pool.
He climbed the few steps leading to the terrace with the grace of a man who’d just been washed by a concrete mixer.
His jacket was still steaming, his hair was dripping, and he was limping slightly.
But he was on his feet, now feeling around in his pockets for either his flask or his cigarettes. Maybe both.
While Holland March did slow down on his drinking habits, Healy was not expecting him to be sober at anytime of the day. As long as he did not get black out drunk, it was fine by him.
He finally reached Jack with a triumphant smile.
“Did you see that?” he said proudly. “It’s like I don’t even need you to beat up people for me anymo-”
Jack heard the engine a split second before he realized what was happening.
The wall of the villa exploded. A car plowed right through it as if it had never existed.
It slammed into March with full force.
His body bounced off the hood, was hurled against the opposite wall, then crashed heavily to the ground.
The silence that followed seemed to last an eternity.
March groaned. That was a good sign.
Jack limped over.
“Jeez man. I’m seriously starting to think the universe has it in for you personally.”
March responded with an indistinct sound.
He placed a hand on the ground and tried to get up. His arms trembled.
They gave way immediately.
He fell back with all his weight, letting out a muffled groan.
Jack stood there for a few seconds before letting out a deep sigh.
“Well. At least you’re still alive, right?”
“… Huh?” March managed to croak out.
Right.
Healy turned back to the car still lodged halfway through the wall. Empty.
Well. Whoever had been driving was gone.
He let out a sigh of relief, after what he looked over his shoulder.
March was still exactly where he’d left him, laying awkwardly against the wall with his eyes half-closed. He looked fragile, like each breath was painful, like he would not be able to hold his own body upright with all the strength in the world. His breathing had steadied a little, though he still looked like he’d been run over.
Well. Technically, he had.
“You still with me?”
March frowned as though the question required considerable thought.
“…Yeah.”
“You know where you are?”
Another pause.
“…Rich lady’s house.”
“Good.”
“And… we still gotta find the son of a bitch who hired these guys.”
Healy blinked. There he was again.
March sounded clearer. Not healthier (God, no) but somehow more focused.
“You remember getting hit?”
A crease appeared between March’s brows.
“…What?”
“The car.”
“What car?”
Healy stared at him for a beat.
“…Never mind.”
March rubbed absentmindedly at the side of his head, wincing when his fingers brushed a cut hidden beneath his hair. He finally cracked open his eyes to take a look at himself.
“ Elenore’s gonna kill me.”
Healy stopped moving.
“What?”
“My jacket.” March looked down at the charred remains of it with genuine annoyance. “I just bought this thing.”
Another pause.
“…She’s gonna say I smell like gasoline.”
He smiled to himself, a small, private smile.
Healy felt something cold settle in his stomach.
“…March.”
“Hm?”
“Who are you talking about?”
March looked up at him as if he’d asked who was Holly.
“My wife?”
Healy said nothing, incapable of mustering up anything that would be appropriate.
Then March pushed himself upright with obvious effort after a few failed attempts, swayed once, steadied himself with the hand Healy offered, and looked around the destroyed terrace.
“So…” he muttered, brushing glass from his sleeves. “Who the hell were these guys?”