Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a fun day out, Healy’s treat. The Nice Guys had been booked and busy, giving them plenty of expendable cash, and Holly had been working real hard in school. He’d promised to take her to see the daft film she kept going on about, Grease, if she got an A on her latest test. They both knew full well that she would, and she hadn’t let him forget. So, here they were, spending their Saturday at the movies watching teenagers sing about love. It had been better than he and March had been expecting, both of them quite enjoying the film to their surprise. It was better than sitting watching whatever crap was on Saturday afternoon telly that weekend.
The three of them exited the screen together, walking in a line with Holly in the middle of them as she excitedly babbled about her favourite parts of the film. March settled a hand on the top of her back as he steered her through the corridors back to the foyer. They half-listened, exchanging fond looks over her head. They didn’t always get time to go out as a trio, doing normal, ‘family’ things, but Healy could never believe his luck whenever they did. The reality was something he never would’ve expected for himself, or just how much he felt like he fit here. He’d slotted in perfectly with this strange family, and could barely remember what he was like without them.
They’d come early in the day, with plans to get take out on their way home and have a night of playing some board games, at Holly’s insistence. The theatre wasn’t that busy, still gearing up for the Saturday evening masses, for now mostly just filled with families coming to see kids movies.
“Hold on,” Holly said, peeling away from their formation and heading over to the bathroom, getting an affectionate pat on the shoulder from March as she passed him.
The two men stood outside the bathroom, fighting all the urges they had for the casual affection they did at home, and settled on very slightly leaning their shoulders against each other. Healy wasn’t blind to the fact that March seemed to be less twitchy the more of his weight he had against him. Any time Holland seemed to be going off the deep end, Healy would just lay his hand on the back of his neck, or squeeze his thigh, and it was like the excess energy would drain from him. Laying in bed together, one of Healy’s thick arms over his waist, seemed to help switch March’s brain off for the night. Not every time, but enough times that Healy relished in the idea that it was him calming him down.
“This was a good idea,” Holland mused, giving Healy a small nudge, “I think she really liked that this was your idea, your treat for her.”
Healy gave him a small smile before he had to look down at his shoes, his cheeks getting slightly warm at the compliment. He shrugged, playing it off as nothing, pausing before he replied.
“It feels… good, rewarding her. She works hard, she should be encouraged,” he said carefully.
A father figure was not a role he’d ever expected to fall into, but he was surprisingly good at it. Holly may not be his own, but that didn’t stop him from getting blown over by strong emotions when she so much as tidied her own room without being asked. This was his family, and he would love and care for them as best as he could. He would give anything.
March smiled at his words, eyes crinkling in the way they did whenever he was smiling about Holly. Quickly, the fondness on his face morphed into mischievousness, his eyes glinting.
“I could do with being rewarded tonight, as well,” March teased, snapping Healy out of his deep thoughts on love and belonging. “You know, a bit of encouragement.”
March wiggled his eyebrows at Healy with a smirk, who only shoved his shoulder and mumbled, “Oh sure, we’ll see about that.”
He could act annoyed at Holland, but it was pretty impossible to really be annoyed about the fact a man like that could be interested in a man like him. He was very much happy about the prospect of taking March to bed long after Holly had gone to sleep.
As Holland popped a cigarette into his mouth, the main entry doors swung open with a clatter. A man ran through, not stopping at the ticket desks, barging past the staff member checking tickets before the screens, and then disappeared down the corridor.
Definitely strange. They gave each other a look before watching two of the staff take off after him, at which March shrugged.
“I bet people try that one all the time,” he scoffed, not giving it another thought as Holly emerged from the bathroom.
She slotted herself back into place between them and they fell in step as started to make a move for the door.
“You know, when that Rizzo—”
Holly had begun to give them another marvelous opinion on the movie when another man came barrelling through the main doors, this time a lot louder and more frantic. He looked dishevelled, wild hair, clothes hanging off him and some intense body language. He came to a shrieking halt in front of the doors, wildly looking around the room as if searching for someone. Other people in the room also began to notice the man, the din of chatter getting quieter as more people came to the realisation: that man has a knife.
Not a small one either. A big one, one Healy had never seen anything like before. You certainly wouldn’t find that in your kitchen.
“Oh, Jesus,” March squeaked beside him, the cigarette dropping from his lips. He spotted the weapon a millisecond before Healy, but it was Healy that moved them into action.
His large arm swung out instinctively across the two Marches, pushing them all back a few steps, until their backs hit the wall. He then readjusted, cramming Holly between himself and the wall, and his arm still across March next to him. Healy’s mind whirred as the man started to scream incoherently about looking for someone and for his money.
The foyer was small, and the only way out of the building was through the double doors the man was standing in front of, effectively blocking everybody inside. There were three staff members in the room, and about thirty movie-goers of all ages. The guy was clearly unstable, still screaming and now starting to lunge at the people closest to him when no one responded.
Healy noticed the sniffles of a child trying to cry quietly not too far from them, and Holly was gripping so tightly onto his jacket that he thought she was going to pull it off. She’d peeked out around his side at first, but the fear had clearly outdone the curiosity, because now her forehead was pressed under his shoulder blade. There were too many kids in here, and they were frightened.
There was no one else in the room who looked like they’d be any help in this situation, it’s all families. Mothers, kids, teenagers. Someone will do something stupid, someone will get hurt. Someone needed to do something before that happened, and he didn’t fancy his chances of anyone else stepping up. If they’d just brought their guns, this could’ve been solved a whole lot easier, but they hadn’t. Why would they?
Healy slowly turned his head to look at March, not daring to say anything, but silent words and understanding passed between them as they read each other's body language. March must have realised what was going through Healy’s mind, because the shocked fear on his face darkened.
“Don’t you dare,” he hissed, grabbing onto Healy’s arm that was across his chest, like he was trying to anchor him in place. “Somebody’s probably already called the cops, we just need to… stay calm.”
Healy looked between Holland, the man, and back to Holland with a minute shake of his head. The guy lurched at another person, a woman, and he only missed her because she toppled backwards over an armchair behind her as she tried to get away. He watched as she cowered behind it.
“He’s gonna hurt someone. Holly, you.”
“Jack,” he whispered incredulously. Healy squeezed his bicep where his hand rested, hoping to drain some of that nervous energy, and started to pull away. He let his fingers trail down to March’s for one last touch before he let go.
Holly still had his jacket in a death grip, so he shrugged it off his shoulders as he moved, not wanting it anyway if he was going to fight. They might not have had guns, but thank God he never went anywhere without his brass knuckles. He slipped them from his jacket pocket to his jeans as he lost the jacket and edged forwards.
“Jackson,” Holland said, this time more sternly, becoming more of a whisper-shout.
The leather jacket dropped to the floor as Holly’s arms went limp, staring after Healy with her mouth hanging half-open. It wasn’t like this was anything new. Holly had seen him in situations like this before, even though they were trying to keep her away from the work, but it felt different. When they were on a case, it was somewhat controlled. They usually knew what they were getting into, they could go as prepared as possible with weapons and plenty of information, but this was utterly out of control.
They had no idea who this was, what he was capable of, or what situation he seemed to be in. Desperate people did desperate things, and that’s what was dangerous. He’d been sitting watching a stupid musical no less than ten minutes ago, he wasn’t expecting to need to fight. March wrapped his arm around Holly in Healy’s absence and pulled her into his side, during which Healy took a few more quiet steps forward.
It was then that the guy claimed he had a gun, and he wasn’t afraid to use it if no one gave him some answers quickly.
“Jack!” Holland pleaded helplessly, just wanting his partner to safely wait by his side until the cops inevitably showed up and sorted it all, armed with protective gear and weapons.
March lost his composure too much that time, because it was loud enough to alert the man out of his shouting tirade. He turned quickly and brandished the knife carelessly in Healy’s direction. Healy slowly raised his hands in surrender, edging closer still.
“Hey man, you need to calm down. These people are just here to catch a movie,” he vaguely gestured at the families around them without taking his eyes off the man, “you’re scaring people.”
Normally, he could’ve disarmed and knocked out this man within minutes, but there were too many variables here. Too many people who could potentially get hurt by a stray bullet. Plus, Holly is here and she didn't need to see anything bad happen to him, she’d seen enough violence. Maybe he was bluffing about having a gun, he probably was, but Healy couldn’t risk that. He didn’t have a plan, just that he knew he had to put himself between the danger and everyone else.
——-
“Ah, fuck,” Holland muttered under his breath as he stared at Jackson’s back. “Fuck.”
He knew Healy could handle himself, he’d taken on scarier men with bigger weapons, but this was different. This was like the diner, where he thinks he needs to self-sacrifice to save the people around him, because they’re more important than he is. Some righteous, self-deprecating bullshit that always seemed to get him hurt.
He should’ve just stayed back, Holland had already noticed one of the staff members slip into the back, hopefully to use the phone. If the guy had been running, screaming with a knife towards the cinema, someone else had probably already called the cops. They could’ve just waited like everyone else, keeping back from the guy and keeping him as calm as they could. They could’ve just pointed in the direction the first man had run, and all legged it out of the building as soon as he followed. Let them sort their own business out.
But, no. Healy had put himself out there before Holland had even had time to think. Holly was clinging onto his waist, and he was trying his best to keep a hold of his breathing for her sake. She didn’t need to be frightened any more than she already was. His grip around her shoulder tightened, and he shifted his weight back and to between his feet, unable to stop fidgeting.
The guy seemed to falter at Jackson’s words, briefly mulling them over before the crazed look came back onto his face, and his anger ten-fold. He thrust the knife at Healy, who casually sidestepped before he could get anywhere near him. It made the knife-wielding man lose his balance for a second, but he quickly righted himself, knife up in the air again.
They hadn’t been in many situations like this since things had changed. They’d been taking it easy, accepting simple cases that paid well and they could forget about by the weekend. Maybe they were being a little lazy, but they had enough to focus on in their personal lives. Navigating moving in together for work, leading to confusing-as-shit feelings, nurturing a business and relationship, cutting down the booze, and raising a teenager? As long as the bills were paid, they deserved to take it easy for a while, and indulge in themselves.
But that meant Holland wasn’t prepared for the paralysing fear that seemed to grip at his throat and make his stomach drop. Sure, he’d seen Jackson in plenty of violent situations, but they were usually instigated by his partner and he was in control, had the upper hand. Or, it was two of them armed with guns versus however many surprised criminals in an enclosed space. This situation was setting off alarm bells, screaming at him to fucking do something, but anything he tried would only escalate things further.
God, it was a big knife.
He felt utterly hopeless, staying back hanging onto a teenager whilst his partner put himself in front of a knife.
——-
“I don’t give a shit. Who the fuck are you? I just want my fucking money!”
“No one’s got your money,” Healy said evenly, using all the willpower he had to drop the ‘fucking’ he desperately wanted to say. This guy was really starting to piss him off. But, he needed to keep him as calm as possible and maybe he’d be able to subdue the guy without any violence, talk him out of it.
He should’ve known that would’ve been too much to hope for.
“Fucking liar,” the man snarled as he lunged and swiped, nicking the side of Healy’s face before he had the chance to move.
He heard Holland’s sharp intake of breath before he registered what had happened to his own body.
Instinctively, he shoved the guy away from him, making him stumble back as he tried to catch himself. It barely hurt, like a paper cut, but he felt the warm liquid pooling near his cheekbone, and starting to drip down his cheek.
It was obvious he was scared of using the knife. In Healy’s opinion, people underestimated using a knife. They’re so used to guns and being able to attack from afar, that when they’re up close and personal like this, they struggle to do the damage. That was thankfully something he did not suffer from. And if that was all the damage the guy could manage to do after he’d been waving the thing around for five minutes, Healy suddenly felt a lot more confident.
“Ah,” he clicked his tongue, “you shouldn’t have done that.” He could see the guy himself was somewhat shocked he’d done it and now realised he’d pissed off a guy twice his size.
They stood still for a brief second more as Healy wiped his cheek, and then he sprung into action. He hurled towards the guy and clocked him in the face once, hard and fast, before taking the recoil time to thrust his knuckles on. The guy reacted quicker than he expected given that he seemed pretty deranged. He must’ve been hopped up on a cocktail of drugs for how little he seemed to react to the pain.
Some people seemed to be escaping the room out of the front doors now the man was engaged. He had no idea if Holland was one of them because he now had pinhole vision on this man that dared to put his family in danger. He used his forearms to block the next swipes, crowding the guy back towards the screens and away from the doors to give people more room to escape. Despite all of his swinging, the man only managed to get a few shallow cuts on Healy’s arms before he landed a punch in his gut. As he doubled over, he finally had an opening to smash his brass knuckles into the side of the guy's cheek, knocking him down to his knees.
He was still fighting to keep his eyes open and throw another stab, but Healy yanked his wrist before he had a chance to regain his composure, pulling it back until the man cried out and dropped the knife to the floor. Healy quickly turned and kicked the knife back towards where March had been, catching a glimpse of the two of them still cowering behind him. They hadn’t left him, and he was immediately searching their faces to check they were ok.
——-
Holland had pathetically stood back the entire time they fought, wincing with each thud and grunt. He couldn’t have moved even if he’d tried with how tightly Holly was gripping him. He’d only get in the way if he tried to join the fight, and he had nothing around him he could even throw at the madman.
The guy was uncoordinated. He’d clearly never fought with a knife before and just brought the biggest one he could get his hands on with hopes it would scare people off enough to not have to use it. As soon as Jackson had his wrist in grip, March was prying Holly’s hands from around himself to go to his partner’s aid.
“It’s fine, honey, it’s fine,” he urged, managing to pull her tight grip off him and press her back against the wall.
As Healy kicked the knife towards him, he scrambled forwards to grab it before it could be used for anything else. He gripped the still-warm handle and felt the weight of it in his hand as he moved to Healy’s side. This thing could so easily be lethal.
The knife was distracting and he noticed what was going on in front of him a second too late, and was still too many steps away to do anything. Jackson was still looking at him, his attention lingering too long before he’d properly dealt with the man beneath him. The man had sagged back onto his haunches, blood dripping down one side of his face, but rather than collapsing backwards, he was reaching into his jacket and pulling something out.
“Jack!” he cried out in warning, but it was too slow.
He pulled out another knife, thankfully a tiny one in comparison, but with a serrated edge. He watched almost in slow motion as the guy lazily lifted his arm and sunk the knife hilt-deep into the meat of Healy’s shin. They all froze. For a second, all he could stupidly think about was how good it was he’d only managed to reach up as high as his shin and not his thigh. You couldn’t do much bodily damage in someone's shin, right?
Healy had been too distracted checking on him and Holly, which had allowed him to be vulnerable, creating an opening. Holland saw his reaction as it dawned on him, his features twisting into an ugly contortion of pain before a groan punched out of his throat. Holly yelped behind him, nearing on a scream, as Healy grunted and stumbled slightly. He looked like he was trying to clumsily coordinate his body to turn back to the man.
Holland watched as he lifted his brass-knuckled-fist to finally knock him down to the floor, but before he could, the man seemed to regain enough strength to slump back the other way and yank the knife out with him. Healy crashed down to one knee with the movement, now eye level with the guy. It didn’t take him long to react after that, smacking the guy in the temple with a crack and spray of blood.
The man crumpled to the floor with a thud, second knife clattering out of his hand, and Healy exhaled, still balancing on one knee.
“Fucking hell, Jackson, whatthefuck he stabbed you, he—”
“Yeah, I—,” Jackson wheezed, putting a hand to the ground to steady himself, “I did notice that, Holl.”
He started to sway as he fought to keep upright, so Holland rushed forward and grabbed onto Jackson’s shoulders. He maneuvered him to sit on the ground and stretched his legs out from underneath him as carefully as he could. He floundered a little, flapping his hands, before getting down to his knees to assess the damage. The denim was shredded by the serrated edge and blood had already soaked the side of his pants leg. He poked at the denim, but the laceration itself he couldn’t see through the alarming gush of blood.
“Why did he have to fucking pull it out?” Healy groaned, clearly trying to push through the initial lightheadedness.
Holly was suddenly on the other side of Healy, fingers ghosting over his sliced cheek before she turned her focus to the real injury. Both Marches looked down at his leg, and Holland felt his stomach turn. His face must have gone a new shade of white as he looked at the blood now pooling onto the ugly patterned carpet.
“That’s…” he began, trailing off as he immediately started pressing down on the wound with his bare hands.
“A lot of blood,” Holly finished for him in a whisper. She started to usher Healy backwards to lie flat, shoving his leather jacket under his head. She settled her knees in the crook of his neck, and placed one hand on his hair, her other on his shoulder. March could see how she was fighting to keep her calm, trying to act like the adult she thought she had to be.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Holland hissed, but all he got in return was another groan as he adjusted his weight to lean down in a better angle.
Holland lifted one hand and frantically tried to pull his blazer off to use to stem the bleeding, but a staff member came running over with a towel.
“Jesus Christ, he just stopped that guy from killing someone!” the teenager exclaimed, gawping at the trio for a few seconds before reassuring them “help is already on their way.”
He could barely hear them as he stared down at his hands that had quickly become covered in Healy’s warm blood. This looked pretty bad. At least it wasn’t a gun shot, or near any major organs, but Christ, he was scared out of his fucking mind. Jackson terrified him. Sometimes he could be so reckless, so dismissive of himself. This could have ended up so much worse, and the only reason it hadn't was luck. Healy picked up on his terror.
“It’s fine, Holland, I’m okay. Just a small stab wound. I’ve had worse,” he tried to reassure, but March could hear the way his words were starting to slur as the minutes went by.
He hissed as Holland quickly removed his hands and stuffed the towel where his hands had been, then replaced his grip. It felt like the towel wasn’t getting as soaked as fast as the denim had a few minutes earlier. That was good, right? Are there major arteries in the shins? He didn’t fucking know. Once he was positioned correctly again, he looked back up at Jack.
“You’re so—” March began, cutting himself off with a frustrated whine. “You’re such a fucking idiot!”
“Dad!” Holly chided harshly. Her eyes flit between their two faces, unable to keep her eyes on the wound for very long. All Jackson did was smirk sleepily.
Finally, they heard the sirens in the parking lot out front, and saw the flashing lights come through the windows. Holland glanced up to the entrance, but was pulled back when he felt Jackson’s hand lay on top of his. He gazed down at their joined hands, to Healy’s face. It was something they could get away with in public, it just looked like he was trying to help cover the wound. But his finger tips curled around the side of Holland’s palm when they didn’t need to. He barely even pushed down, doing nothing to help stop the bleeding but doing plenty to Holland’s heart.
Holland swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving Jackson’s face, and pressed down harder on his leg at the same time as curving his grip around Jackson’s fingers. What he would do to be able to scoop Jackson up across his knees and to hold onto him tightly, to reassure himself that he is still here and he’s ok. But not here, not with all these people. And anyway, he had to keep control of the bleeding. That, he could do. Once they were home, he was barely letting Jackson out of his grip, nevermind out of his sight.
“Eyes open, Jack,” March nudged the man’s thigh with his knee when he noticed Healy’s eyes rolling back, trying his best to keep it light for Holly. “We’ve got company.”
Holly looked nervous and started combing her fingers through the curls at the front of Healy’s head, and that seemed to bring him back into focus. Just in time for him to smile at the paramedics as they rushed in and loomed over him. Holland’s mouth started running before his brain had time to catch up, rattling off everything that had happened and any other relevant medical information they needed to know about Jackson. He was barely aware of the funny looks he was receiving from some of the emergency responders, he was used to ignoring how people interpreted their strange, outward relationship.
Eventually, someone took over stemming the blood for him and properly inspecting the wound, though it did take a few attempts to pry March away. No one looked too panicked as they uncovered the stab wound, and Holland felt some of the tension leave his shoulders at their lack of urgency. The fact that there was no spurting blood when the wound was uncovered was good enough for him.
Just a run of the mill injury, like Healy said. Didn’t mean he wasn’t still pissed off, but they could deal with that later. After he’s been treated. He’ll get him back to their home, wrap him up in blankets with plenty of hot food and drinks, keep him dosed up and comfortable, and then he’ll continue with yelling at him about how he can’t fucking do that again. There were two people who loved him now, two people who relied on him, and he meant too much to be putting himself in danger like that anymore. He needs to stop, and think first. Jackson Healy was too goddamn important, and the Marches needed him to stick around.
Holly leaned into his side with a hitching breath, clinging onto the arm around her. “Why is nothing ever easy with you two?”