Chapter Text
Sitting at the bar counter of his recently finished kitchen, in his recently rebuilt house, Holland March was walking the razor’s edge of his sobriety.
Well, he was sitting down- but still!
He rested his head in his hands, groaning quietly to himself. Holly was at school and Healy was out doing who knows what- the man was allowed to have a life of his own!
That was the root of his problem unfortunately. Jackson fucking Healy.
He was, after several months of hinting from both nuisances that went by the names ‘Holly’ and ‘Healy’, he’d finally caved and gone stone cold sober. And he had been! For almost two months now he hadn’t had a goddamn drop. Though he was more often than not smoking like a chimney, or chugging a soda or two (and yes, sometimes the occasional yoo-hoo) he was staying on the sober train for now.
Holly is acting more and more cautiously optimistic by the day and the last thing he wants to do is disappoint her (for the millionth time now, as he seems to be very good at doing something he hates so much) he can see it, the way they always pick her up from school, on time or not. She hasn’t had to drive either her or himself anywhere in a long time, even before he stopped drinking completely.
Anyways, he really doesn’t wanna disappoint his daughter, but there’s only so much a man can take. The withdrawal has been a real bitch, the shakes, the headaches, the nausea, even the insomnia- not that he was very good at sleeping before.
The uncontrollable raging urge to kiss Jackson Healy at pretty much every turn- that’s going to his undoing.
He can’t stop fucking fanatasizing about coming home to a house where he and Healy wake up in the same goddam bed and wake up and eat an fucking awful sugary breakfast and drive Holly to school together. Where they go to work together and go home together and just do everything together. God, he sounds like a clingy fucking schoolgirl with a crush.
He’s not sure how much more he can take. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.
This was not okay at all- not because of any reason other than the fact that Healy was his business partner, and probably the best fucking thing to happen to him in a long time. He had had a few . . . ’encounters’ with other men before. Both before and after his wife. Sue him, it was the 60s and then 70s, everyone was experimenting, he was just the only one with the guts to admit it. At least to himself.
So yeah, Holland knew he was probably as queer as a three dollar bill, and that was just fine by him. The problem was the way he felt about Healy threatened to make his brain fall out of his ears. He felt like his skin was burning and his stomach threatened to take off into a swarm of butterflies or severely oxygen-deprived birds. He couldn’t get the image of Healy’s thick broad shoulders out of his mind. The way he was solid muscle underneath his worn leather jacket. The soft curling of dark hair over his forehead. The way he scrunched his face up in confusion sometimes, as if debating to put on those stupidly sexy old man glasses he kept tucked away. Glasses were not supposed to be sexy!
And that was just the way he looked- not to mention the things he did. He felt like he could watch Healy for hours, like the world’s most interesting stakeout. The way Healy barely laughed, but when he did it was either a low chuckle, or a startling bark of laughter, both of which zipped straight up his spine with a jolt of heat when they happened so rarely. Sometimes, Healy would complain about an issue or a client before he could get a word in edgewise, and then he would end up enamored by the way the older man droned on and on like a valve releasing pressure until he would clear his throat and shrug, moving on like it never happened. The way Healy lit up sometimes when Holly came home from school with a day's worth of stories; all too ready to go on and on to Healy about classes and other kids they knew nothing about. It was always when he didn’t think Holland could see him, but the image of Healy looking at his little girl like she was the best damn thing since sliced bread was burned into his brain, like the most perfect picture.
He let his forehead fall to the counter now, “goddam it” he hissed into the wood grain.
Since when did he think crazy shit like this? Was he always this ridiculous sober?
He was pretty sure Healy was sleeping in their guest bedroom more often than not. He drove Holly to school just as often as he did, and even then most of the time they were both dropping her off and heading straight to work after. It felt like something bordering normal and nice and dangerously close to happy family.
It scared the ever loving shit out of him.
His fingers twitched against the counter. The phantom taste of whiskey was sitting in the back of his mouth like bile and he swallowed reflexively. It didn’t quite help, so he threw himself off the stool with only the slightest of stumbling- Jesus he was pretty sure he’d permanently fucked up his balance or something after all his benders.
There was one single coke left in the fridge, like it was waiting for him specifically.
“Thank fucking god” he sniped out. The cracking noise it made when it opened gave him a fucking, Pavlov-somethingreaction and his brain tried to tell him it was beer after the first sip. That only had him shaking himself loose from the thought of a real drink. How pathetic was that? That his brain couldn’t imagine anything but alcohol at the sound?
The door to the back porch was silent and smooth with newness as he opened it and shut it behind him most of the way. He flopped down at the pool’s edge and started ruffling his pant legs up to his knees. Holly had demanded they fill it the second the concrete was dry to keep him from making ‘the world’s biggest ashtray number two’ so he settled for the little rinky-dink one he’d drug out he from who knows where.
His coke was empty and he was on cigarette number three when Healy came home.
‘When Healy came home’ Healy doesn’t actually live here, idiot!
His brain seemed determined to betray him today. He all but jumped into the pool when he heard footsteps behind him.
“Whatcha doin’ out here?” Healy’s voice was warm behind him, it made him feel like he was standing in the sun, the shakes he’d been fighting off all afternoon suddenly disappearing.
He shrugged, blowing smoke off towards the deep end. He made a noise in the back of his throat that could mean a thousand things. He’d let Healy decide what it meant.
Healy grunted as he sat next to him, shrugging off one shoe than the other. His jeans took some convincing before he was finally dipping his feet in the pool beside March. He could feel the other man staring at him.
Healy leaned ever so slightly left, bumping shoulders gently. He might as well have just shoved him into the pool, anything was preferable to the urge to shove himself up into his space and steal all of the warmth he emitted.
“You okay?” Healy was still boring holes right through him, staring at him like he was going to explode at any moment. Maybe he was.
He shrugged again, waving a hand in forced casualty. He took another hard drag on his cigarette, it was almost gone now.
Healy bumped him again, harder. “See? That. You’re weirdly quiet. You’re freakin’ me out over here”
Oh. Was he quiet? He felt like his brain was going a million miles an hour, but like, still through a haze.
“I dunno, just” he shrugged again. “I think I’m tired” how underwhelming of him. He was always tired, it wasn’t new information or anything, it wasn’t like Healy didn’t know that.
“Oh.” Jackson said quietly, like he didn’t expect that. “You . . .you sleeping okay?”
He shrugged again. Maybe that was his new thing. Maybe he’d wasted all his energy spiraling about Jackson and his stupid perfect face and now he was going to be the quiet one of the pair. Let Healy talk their clients ears off- he’d be more than happy to just stand there and listen to him all day.
“Meh, I always sleep like shit so-“ he huffed out the last bit of smoke from his cigarette, but didn’t even bother to take it out of his mouth. “I think maybe today is just not my day”
When was it his day then? He didn't know. He glanced down at where his hands rested limp against his thighs. He flexed his hand absentmindedly, watching as his tattoo wiggle back up at him.
He jumped when a large hand entered his vision, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it down into the ashtray on the other side of him. Healy had to lean almost entirely over him to get to it. He thought he had been tired but the insane amount of body heat the other man generated seemed to wake him up, like his blood was suddenly trying to rush to every part of his body all at once. When Healy leaned back over him he had this strange look in his eyes, like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at March or pity him. He wasn’t quite sure which option he preferred.
“You should probably get inside before you fall in and drown, March.”
“Hmm. Wouldn’t be the first time I took a dip fully clothed.”
Healy furrowed his brow, groaning as he slowly got to his feet.
“See- it’s when you say shit like that I only get more worried about your clumsy ass”
The hand was back in front of his face, he looked up at Healy from his new vantage point. He took his hand and tried not to think about warm callouses. Fuck too fucking late, what he wouldn’t give to have those rough hands on him.
Healy pulled him up and he overbalanced almost immediately, sending himself straight into the soft fabric of a Hawaiian shirt. He just- stood there, nose practically touching Healy’s collarbone. He could probably die happy like this- maybe. The burning itch under his skin was coming back, except now instead of craving a drink, his hands twitched as the thought of trying to wrap his arms around the beast of a man that was Jackson Healy.
His hand twitched in an aborted moment. He grabbed ahold of it with his other arm- vaguely aware that Healy was talking to him.
“-arch, March- seriously are you okay? You look like you’re stroking out or’somethin”
He stepped back quickly, summoning a half strangled laugh from his throat. There, something bordering normal.
“Yeah! Erm- yeah, yea I’m just. Tired. I’ll- I’m going to bed early.”
He ducked around Healy to enter the house again, listening as the man followed him.
“March. It’s four thirty in the afternoon.”
”Really early then!”
He swerved around the kitchen peninsula and managed not to graze his hip.
“We have that meeting with our client at eight- remember? Mr. Darnell”
he spun in the kitchen, looking for something to occupy himself. He stuck his hands in his pockets.
“I- Jesus Christ then I’ll take a nap. Promise I’m good.” He shrugged for the millionth time. “I just- I’m fine”
He sent Healy what he hoped was a reassuring smile. It felt gross on his face but Healy seemed to be pacified by it.
The other man looked at him for only a moment longer before he nodded.
“Okay. Take your nap then- I’ll come get you when it’s time to go, I guess”
He watched as he bent to grab a book from the side table and slumped down into the couch. With Healy looking away now, he opened the fridge, futile as he knew it was. He just took the last coke an hour ago.
A row of fresh cokes greeted him, nestled up against new vegetables and a package of deli meat from the grocery down the block.
Healy had been at the store. Buying food. Buying the cokes Holland was drinking by the dozen.
He took the first one in the row and stalked out to his dark room. He kicked the door shut behind him and waded through the mess of clothes he left laying wherever they fell. He curled up in bed and pretended like the coke tasted like something other than just pure want.
He didn’t sleep.