(not my eridian grace fic, sorry…a marchly.)
this mission had been a little different. it had been even more chaotic than the Misty Mountains case, and the two were starting to lose hope. they had gone to an event that was supposedly going to have someone of interest to them at, but the building had mysteriously gone up in flames.
Healy had gotten out fairly quickly, but he now had no idea where March was. he thought he was right behind him, but clearly he had gotten held up. a moment two long passes for Healy to stay settled, and he bolts right back in there.
he knows March’s thing with fire. how careful he was with his lighter, how he would get up to check the gas was off multiple times a day, how quiet he got when there was smoke on the TV. its a lethal concoction of PTSD and OCD.
“March?!” he calls out, retracing his steps through the hallways. one of the rooms they had run through was completely caved in, the ceiling had collapsed and…
he could see part of his blazer underneath the panels of wood. fuck.
Healy dashes through the hallway. the adrenaline gives him the strength to lift the rubble and debris off of him, not caring if it burnt him or made him bleed. he needs to get March out.
he manages to uncover him surprisingly quickly. he grabs hold of his wrists and pulls him out with all of his strength. Healy alone could probably lift him. Healy with an adrenaline boost was strong.
March was conscious. just.
the PTSD he had developed from fire had scared him into a half-conscious, weak, feeble state. his body preparing for an apparent inevitable death to come. not of Healy could help it. he could feel the weight being lifted from him gradually and then feel himself be dragged out and scooped up, thrown over a shoulder.
he carries him all the way to the car. he pushes his seat back and pulls poor March into his lap, cradling his head so it places itself into his chest.
“Holland…you with me? you with me, buddy?” he cups his face, checking him for major injuries. the poor thing is essentially paralysed in fear. it reminds him of a baby bird. or a mouse.
March cant see well or hear well, one hand goes to grab for the front of Healy’s shirt. a desperate attempt at grounding. the only sound he can muster up is a pathetic, acceptable for his situation, whimper. tears are pouring down his cheeks at an alarming rate. when did he start crying?
Healy pulls off March’s blazer, tossing it into the back. he starts to unbutton his shirt and then adds it to the pile. he’s becoming more and more conscious and more and more terrified. his clothes were covered in soot anyway.
Healy tucks him against his chest again and slips off his blue leather jacket. he wraps it around the other’s shoulders and then wraps both of his arms around him.
“J-Jack…” he manages, eyes opening to look up at him, still sobbing. the beautiful blue of his eyes is clouded with fear. he’s inconsolable. but the jacket is lovely and warm. it’s a few sizes too big, so acts as a blanket. his arms move to wrap around Healy’s middle and he clings.
“its okay...i have you. i have you.” he comforts, one hand moving to pet through his soot-covered hair. “its all gonna be okay…”
his voice is the softest that March had ever heard it.
“does anything hurt?” he asks, trying to wipe the soot off of his face but failing.
he nods weakly. he hurts all over, but there’s one place in particular. “ribs…”
he sighs in sympathy. that’s where most of the weight was rested.
“i’m gonna take a look, okay?” he says, prying him off gently so he can have a look at where the pain is.
being taken away from the warmth and comfort of his arms made March start to shake. horrible trembling. now he was almost fully conscious, so was the fear. it was slowly catching up on him. creeping up his soul. pressing sharp tallons into his very being.
the look on his face was enough to break Healy’s heart. he’s crying, cheeks soggy from all the tears, his lip is split and bleeding and he’s got finger-shaped soot marks on his face. clearly from his own hands.
he exhales, bringing a hand up to cup his face and wipe the tears away. he was getting more and more ash on himself. he doesn’t care. March leans with a quiet whine, soaking up the comfort.
Healy manoeuvres him so that he’s leaning against the car door, and he gently (ever so gently…) pats around his torso until he sees the wince. March flinches and whimpers in pain.
he starts to lift his undershirt until he gets to the part of his ribs with the pain. he can already see the beginning of a large bruise forming on the right side of his ribcage. he doesn’t think any of them are broken.
“that’s gonna be sore, huh.” he murmurs, letting the undershirt slide back down and then tucking him back into his arms.
one comes up to pet his hair again. just hoping anything will soothe him. the sobs and the little sounds of fear break his heart. he cant deny that he loves March. he’s the kindest person he’s ever met, and the two of them had grown very close. Healy always scooted closer on benches or found an excuse to put an arm around him when they walk. March would hug Healy after difficult cases or generally a hard day. he’s very cuddly. its the little things.
“Holly’s at Jessica’s, we’re in my car, we’ve got nothing to worry about. we can stay like this for as long as it takes for you to settle down.”
March nods, sniffling. one hand rests around Healy’s middle and the other holds onto the ring on his necklace, fidgeting with it between his fingers.
“thought…i was g-gonna die…” he confesses, face pressing further into Healy’s shirt, arm squeezing him. his voice is tiny and wobbly.
“mhm? talk to me. tell me.”
he rocks them from side to side, hand petting rhythmically through his hair. he can tell he’s starting to calm down despite the fact that he’s still shaking.
“every time there was more f-fire…all i could see was…h-her face…” he curls up, bringing his knees up closer to himself, heels now against Healy’s thigh on the seat. “and the ‘what if’’s…like w-what if Holly had been in there?! what if- what if i’d lost her?! w-what if-“
Healy shushes him. “slow down…”
there’s a beat of silence, only broken when March sobs. he doesnt know how to word anything that’s going on in his brain. there’s no way to word it except to say, straight up…
Healy gives him a tight squeeze, burying his face into his hair. he doesnt care that it’s all tangled and covered in ash. he was also scared. what if he didnt save March? what if he was a gonner? he’d most likely fall back into that deep, deep depression…
the two were ill when they first met. neither of them fully knew it, but they were both depressed. March was grieving and using intoxicants to forget and Healy would wake up every morning and wish he hadnt. both of them were unknowingly in a dark place and both of them has dragged eachother up from probable eventual self-sabotage and then a personally inflicted death. it doesn’t come lightly. things of the sort never do.
“thought i was gonna lose you…” Healy whispers, then smiles a little. March feels it against his head where his face is still buried. “silly of me to think you could get away that easy. knew you’d put up a fight. have to drag you kicking and screaming to the afterlife.”
March manages a weak chuckle, sniffling and drying his eyes on Healy’s shirt. it was stained from carrying him anyway. whats a few more soot smears and tear stains?
“you’re exhausted, look at you.” Healy points out. he can see how hard March is fighting the sleep. his eyes want to close and his body wants to drift off. but he doesn’t want to leave the sweet sweet comfort and warmth of his arms.
Healy reaches a hand up to his face. he pets very gently with one finger up and down the bridge of his nose, encouraging his eyes to close. they slowly comply.
Healy holds him until he falls asleep.
and a little longer than that…
and maybe until he falls asleep himself.
theartofmadeline
romaincrisis
