Chapter Text
“No one will ever know the violence it took to become this gentle.”
-Nitya Prakash
…oOo…
“Mr. March, how wonderful to see you again. Thank you for coming.”
Holland resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the school secretary as he walked up to her desk in the front office of the school. He and Mrs. Barbara Hunter had had several run-ins over the years, and it was no secret that they were not each other’s biggest fans. Barbara thought Holland was a “good for nothing milksop” while Holland thought that Barbara was, frankly, a bitch. Neither were ever thrilled at having to interact with the other, and Barbara made sure her general disdain bled into her tone as she greeted him.
“Well, when you call my office and tell me that ‘there’s been an incident’ and that I need to get here as soon as possible, you aren’t giving me much of a choice, Barb.” Holland sniffed, thrusting his hands in his pockets to keep them from fidgeting. “So can we cut the crap and let me see my daughter now?”
Barbara glared at him over her glasses.
“She’s in Principal Harrison’s office now.” She said. “You may go in.”
Holland gave her a two finger salute as he walked past her desk towards the door on the right. He didn’t bother to knock and opened the door, waltzing in like he owned the place.
Principal Harrison’s office was not what Holland would describe as minimalist; it was covered, wall to wall, in kitschy motivational posters and children’s artwork, some of it impressively good, but most of it expectedly terrible; was that a mongoose, or a bear? His desk was littered with knickknacks and picture frames, depicting him standing with a beautiful woman who was obviously his wife, and then another showing him holding up a large fish while he grinned at the camera. A chipped coffee mug with a faded rainbow on the side stood off to his left, sweating slightly in the humidity of the tiny office.
Holly sat in the chair closest to the door, slumped as far as she could go without actually falling out of the thing, her arms crossed, her chin tucked to her collarbone, steadfastly refusing to look up as her father entered the room. Her right knuckles were red and slightly swollen, and suddenly, Holland had a pretty good idea of what kind of “incident” had happened here.
“Mr. March,” Principal Harrison greeted him. “Thank you for coming so quickly at such short notice.”
“Going out on a limb here, but I’m guessing this isn’t about her turning her homework in early.” Holland quipped as he plopped down into the seat beside Holly.
“Unfortunately, no.” Principal Harrison said, sighing. “Holly got into a physical altercation with another student today, resulting in the black eye of the other student, as well as a bloody nose.”
Holland’s eyebrows rose, and he resisted the urge to whistle appreciatively.
“Did the other kid deserve it?” He asked.
“Excuse me?” Principal Harrison frowned.
“Well, listen, I’m just saying, if the other kid deserved it…” Holland started, but Principal Harrison cut him off.
“Mr. March, we are not here to discuss whether or not the other student ‘deserved it’!” He said, sharply, in a way that made Holland feel like he was the one in trouble with the principal rather than his kid. “We are here to discuss the severity of such an act of violence on school grounds!”
Holland sniffed and spread his hands in surrender, settling back against the chair a little more casually than he felt; he was starting to feel like he was the one about to be chewed out. Dammit, he wanted a cigarette.
Principal Harrison eyed him for a moment, annoyance clear in his pinched face, before he folded his hands atop his desk and continued. He looked at Holly.
“Ms. March, now that your father has joined us, would you care to tell me why you engaged in such behavior?”
Holly, still steadfastly refusing to look at anything but the floor, shrugged.
“Just felt like it.” She grumbled.
“Young lady, that’s not an answer.” Holland said, trying to sound stern. He hadn’t always been the best father, but he’d tried to instill manners into his daughter, and at this lesson, she was failing miserably.
She glared at him, but she didn’t snark back like he expected her to. That definitely sent alarm bells off in his head.
“I have to say, I’m disappointed, Ms. March.” Principal Harrison sighed. “You’re an exemplary student, and while in the past we’ve had a bit of an issue with truancy from time to time—” He looked pointedly at Holland when he said this; Holland resisted the urge to squirm by biting his tongue. “—you have never once given me any grief, until now. The fact that you so brazenly hit Ms. Klein—”
“Whoa, wait, back up.” Holland instantly sat up in his seat, grabbing hold of the arm so he could twist round to face Holly. “Klein? As in Janet Klein? Did you fucking punch Janet?!”
“Mr. March!” Principal Harrison admonished, “Language!”
Holland gave him an apologetic wince before he looked back at Holly.
“Holly,” he said, gentler, “Look at me.” He waited until Holly complied with his request. “Honey, did you punch Janet in the face?”
Holly looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes glassy with tears, but she looked away to glare at the poster of the kitten hanging from a branch on the wall.
Holland took a deep breath and held it. Obviously whatever had happened between Holly and Janet, it was bad enough that Holly didn’t want to talk about it here.
Somehow, that only made him worry more.
“As you can see,” Principal Harrison continued, trying to reign Holland’s attention back to him; he ignored him and continued to study his daughter’s face. “Holly has refused to give us any details as to the reasons behind her little display of aggression towards a fellow student. It brings me not an ounce of joy to have to do this, but I’m afraid Holly is suspended for the remainder of the week. She may return to school Monday morning.”
Holland sucked on his teeth for a moment, regarding his daughter inquisitively, like she was a riddle he was trying to solve, before he looked away with a sigh and gave a tight smile to Principal Harrison; the same smile he usually reserved for difficult clients that were starting to make him itch for a drink rather than a cigarette even now, seven months on the wagon.
“Thank you, Principal Harrison, I’ll be sure to discuss Holly’s proclivity for violence as soon as we get home.”
“See that you do, Mr. March.” Principal Harrison advised gravely. “I would hate for this to interfere with Holly’s education.” He picked up a manila folder on his desk with March, Holly written on the tab. Principal Harrison pulled out two pieces of paper and flipped them towards Holland, twisting open a pen and laying it down next to them. “You’ll need to sign both of these acknowledgment forms before you go.”
“And what am I acknowledging, exactly?” Holland asked, suspicion gnawing at his gut. Hey, he was a detective; so what if he didn’t believe in signing shit without knowing whose soul he was signing away. Especially if that soul was his daughter’s.
Principal Harrison took what seemed to be a fortifying breath, obviously just as ready for this meeting to be over with as both Marches.
“It’s a suspension acknowledgment form, Mr. March.” Principal Harrison said. “It includes details of the incident, vague as they may be, and lays out the terms of Holly’s punishment. That’s all.”
Holland did a precursory read through of the page, and just as Harrison had said, the details were sparse. Whatever had happened, Holly hadn’t caved to pressure and said anything, and from the looks of it, neither had Janet.
He didn’t pick up the pen.
“And what about Janet?” he asked; his voice had lost all of its earlier flippancy; it was low, edged. “If she was part of this, is she getting anything? Detention, suspension, talk with her mother? Because my kid doesn’t just haul off and deck people for no reason. Especially ones she considers her friends.”
“Ms. Klein has been spoken to.” Principal Harrison said, a tad snippily. “Her mother has already been notified.”
“Spoken to,” Holland repeated, like he was tasting the words and finding them sour. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Holly’s shoulders tightening, chin tucking in even further. Whatever this was, she wasn’t going to crack here. Not for him, not for this guy.
“Yes.” Principal Harrison answered.
“About what? Her part in this? Or is it just my kid facing consequences while Janet walks out with a talking-to and a pat on the head? Because there’s no way Holly just punched her friend for no reason.”
A muscle in Harrison’s jaw jumped. “Discipline for other students is not something I can discuss with you, Mr. March,” He said. “I can assure you the matter is being handled.”
Pretty sure my kid “handled” it better than you, Holland thought, but did not say. He picked up the pen and scrawled his name on the x-ed line, setting it down a bit more forcefully than was necessary.
“Thank you again for coming, Mr. March. Hopefully next time we will meet under better circumstances.” Principal Harrison handed Holland one of the pages, and tucked his copy of the form back into Holly’s file and held it in front of him, crossing his hands. He turned to Holly. “Ms. March, I hope you’ll take the next few days to think about the seriousness of the offense you’ve committed and return to school on Monday with a better outlook on how to handle disagreements with friends.”
Holly sniffed, and Holland could see the way her cheeks burned red and the tears building in her eyes, despite trying to hide her face in her own shoulder.
“C’mon, let’s go.” He said quietly, holding his hand out for her. She dismissed the gesture and got up quickly, pushing past him into the front office, her shoulder knocking into his. Holland rushed after her, grabbing hold of her upper arm to slow her down. They walked past a sniveling Barbara, who eyed Holly with clear disappointment.
“Always a pleasure, Barb,” he called over his shoulder. “We’ll catch up next time.”
Once they were in the hallway and out of earshot of anyone in the front office, Holland squeezed Holly’s shoulder.
“Do you have all your things?” He asked.
Holly shook her head, and she wiped her nose on her sleeve, giving Holland another view of how red and swollen her knuckles were.
“I need my books and backpack,” She said, quietly.
“Okay,” Holland said. “C’mon, let’s go get them so we can blow this popsicle stand, huh?”
Holly nodded and led the way down the hall. The bell rang, and students began filtering out of the classrooms in a flourish, and Holland tried to keep an eye on his daughter’s blonde head as she expertly weaved through the sea of middle schoolers, all the while trying not to get pushed out by the tide himself.
“Whoa, not an astronaut, so don’t send me into orbit with that thing, kid,” he said as he narrowly ducked to avoid getting beaned in the head by one kid’s solar system model.
He raised onto his tiptoes to get past a gaggle of girls gossiping, their heads bent together, like a single celled organism. He got elbowed pretty hard in the ribcage by a comically large child that looked like he was 25 as opposed to 12, and he tried not to look pained as more than one child tread on his feet, leaving chalky dust prints on his loafer.
“Holly!” He called out over the din, realizing he could no longer see Holly’s head in the crowd of other kids. His voice went up several octaves, as it usually did when he was beginning to get overwhelmed or freaked out. “Holly! Holl-eeeeee!”
He felt a hand wrap around his wrist and Holly yanked him toward, pulling him into her slipstream as she forced her way through the crowd like an otter cutting through water.
They finally stopped at a locker on the hallway side, and Holly didn’t look at him as she released his wrist and spun the dial of the lock. Holland leaned his shoulder against the other lockers and watched as Holly furiously stuffed books and notebooks into her backpack, not even looking at them.
“Do you really need all of that?” He asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for his cigarettes; smoking was strictly prohibited on school grounds and he really didn’t need another reason for Barbara to bitch at him the next time she saw him.
Holly sighed exasperatedly. “I don’t know, probably!” She said. “I’m missing three days of school so I’d rather have everything than be without something important.”
Well, couldn’t argue with that logic, he supposed. He shrugged and Holly went back to stuffing what seemed to be the entire contents of her locker into her bag, zipping it up with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.
“Holly!” Holland startled slightly as a dark haired young woman came barreling towards them from the crowd, instantly throwing herself at Holly, who caught her in the embrace. Holland relaxed when he saw that it was Jessica, Holly’s best friend.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Jessica said, stepping back from the hug but keeping her hands on Holly’s shoulders.
“Been in Principal Harrison’s office since it happened.” Holly said with a shrug.
“Are you in trouble?” Jessica asked. Holly nodded.
“Three days suspension,” she said. She looked at Holland. “And probably grounded.”
“So grounded.” He agreed. “Definitely grounded.”
Jessica noticed Holland for the first time and smiled at him before turning her attention back to Holly.
“What Janet said,” She started. “She—”
“Jess, not here.” Holly cut her off, her voice strangely strangled. Holland saw her eyes flick to him for a split second, and his suspicion deepened; something had definitely gone wrong today.
For all her little flippant defaults, Jessica got the message. She nodded and grabbed Holly in a hug.
“I’m here for you, okay? I support you a thousand percent.”
Holly buried her face in her best friend’s shoulder for a moment, hugging her tighter, and Holland’s heart broke a little when he saw the slight shuddering breath she took in before she released Jessica.
“I’ll call you later,” Jessica promised.
“Grounded.” Holly reminded her.
Jessica sighed. “I’ll send a smoke signal, then.”
“I wouldn't recommend it,” Holland said. “Might cause a bush fire with the drought we’ve been having.”
“Tin can and a string?” Jessica ventured.
“In this economy? The long distance fees would be outrageous.”
“Carrier pigeon?”
“Shit all over the place.”
“Postcard?”
Holland clicked his tongue and gave her a trigger finger.
“Now we’re talking.”
Holly rolled her eyes. “Bye, Jess,” She said, slamming her locker shut and slinging her backpack onto one shoulder. “C’mon, Dad.”
Holland fell into step beside his daughter as they walked towards the doors to the parking lot, passing by the windows of the front office. Barbara Hunter watched them as they passed, and Holland couldn’t resist the urge to wave at her cheerfully as they did so.
Get fucked, Barb. He thought. Might make you less of a stuck up bitch.
***
The ride home was excruciatingly silent, with Holly steadfastly refusing to speak to Holland the entire drive, slumping down into the passenger seat like she was trying to make herself one with the leather upholstery.
Holland drummed his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel, sneaking glances over at his daughter. This wasn’t the first time she’d given him the silent treatment, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last; she was fourteen, after all. Barely a teenager. It was obvious that whatever had happened involving Janet, Holly was pissed and she wasn’t discriminatory as to who was at the other end of her ire.
“Do you wanna pick the radio station?” He asked for the sake of trying to breach the silence.
“No.” Holly said shortly.
“Are you sure? Because I could put it on the channel that plays Blondie,” he offered.
“I said no, Dad.”
“Just trying to…have a conversation.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.” Holly snapped. “Drop it, Dad.”
“Hey, no need for the attitude.” Holland defended, trying to inflect his voice with as much dad energy as he could. He turned onto the main road that would eventually taper into their neighborhood.
Holly growled; actually, legitimately growled, like a damn Rottweiler in a junkyard. She didn’t want Blondie, she wanted blood.
He tried again.
“Holly, this is serious.” He said. “You got in trouble at school. You got suspended. We are going to have to talk about this eventually.”
“Well, I don’t want to talk about it right now!” Holly said through clenched teeth. “So can you please drop it?!”
“Holly March, I don’t appreciate your tone.” He said. He’d meant for it to sound teasingly, but he really was a little miffed. He hadn’t been the one to punch one of his so-called friends at lunch and get suspended for three days. He’d just been the one to come and pull her from the fallout.
Holly rolled her eyes and growled again, but whatever sarcastic retort she was going to say died in her throat as she turned back towards the window.
Holland sighed. He’d been trying to repair their father-daughter relationship slowly over the past year, but it hadn’t been without its bumps in the road. Ever since the Amelia Kuttner case, creating the Nice Guys Agency, and finally, finally rebuilding the house on the old plot, he’d been doing the work to get and stay sober; he was currently seven months without drink, and he felt clearer in ways he hadn’t realized had been hazed over with all the booze and blackouts. He felt good.
And yeah, maybe it was because he was sober, and maybe it was because he and Healy had finally gotten their heads out of their asses (and started putting each other's dicks there instead), but Holland was happy. And Holly had seemed happy, too.
He knew she still chaffed under it sometimes, his parenting. She’d been on her own for so long, raising herself, being the parent to him instead of the other way around. So when he went into dad-mode, he knew she sometimes pushed back against it.
She’d lost her mother, her home, and she’d had to turn caretaker for her alcoholic father who was barely able to function at any degree deemed acceptable by societal standards. She should have been able to grieve her mother with stability, not chaos. But, much as he’d like to, Holland couldn’t take that time back, couldn’t give her her childhood back. But what he could do was build her a new home with strong bones, with a solid foundation, where her father was sober, present, and engaged, and trying his best to be better for her, alongside a partner (both business and romantic) that kept him on the straight (ha!) and narrow and loved them both.
It would take a long time for them to fully understand what it meant to be father and daughter when she had spent as long as she had being the adult in the room, but they were trying, and that meant the entire world.
But in moments like this, where Holland had to be the metaphorical bad guy, the grown up, the father, the disconnect was loud.
“Sweetheart,” He tried again. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.”
He pulled the car into the driveway and killed the engine.
“I don’t need your help!” Holly hollered and opened the door to get out. Holland followed her, trying to match her pace as she stormed towards the front door.
“Holly!” He barked as she opened the door. “Holly, we need to talk about this!”
Holly ignored him, and stomped up the stairs towards her bedroom.
“Young lady, don’t even think about slamming that—!”
Too late. The door to Holly’s bedroom slammed with a resounding bang that shook some of the pictures hanging on the wall.
Holland sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and flopped down on the couch. Goddammit, he wanted a drink so fucking bad.
“Everything alright?” Jack asked as he came into the room from the kitchen.
“Peachy.” Holland said, flatly. He dropped his hand and reached for his pack of cigarettes on the table, but his hands were shaking so bad he could barely shake one out of the pack, let alone hold the lighter.
He felt the couch dip beside him and Jack reached out, clicking open the zippo. He held it up to Holland’s cigarette and lit the end.
“Thanks,” Holland said gratefully. He took a long drag, letting the smoke sit in his lungs for a moment before he blew it out, leaning his head back against the couch.
“You want a drink.” Jack said. It was a statement, not a question.
“Fuck yeah I do.” Holland admitted wretchedly. “One measly meeting with my kid’s principal about her behavior and then a tense ride home and I’m reduced to a fucking mess. The fuck is wrong with me?”
Jack rubbed his palm against Holland’s bouncing knee.
“Nothing,” he said lowly. “Wanting one isn’t the same as giving in and having one, Holl. You’re doing good.”
“Fuck if it doesn’t feel like I’m not, though.” Holland huffed bitterly. He felt miserable.
“I get it. It’s like it’s always there, right under the skin, huh?”
Holland nodded. “Like it’s trying to claw its way out.”
“I remember when I first got sober,” Jack told him. “It felt a lot like losing my mind for a while. But you’re seven months in and doing so good, March. You just have to keep telling yourself it’s worth it.”
Holland swallowed and looked at Jack, whose blue eyes were soft and understanding. He put his free hand on top of Jack’s on his knee.
“Couldn’t do this without you.” He said softly.
“Yeah you could. If you had to.” Jack corrected. Holland shook his head and gave him a half grin as he took another drag on his cigarette. It was nearly to the filter now, ash drifting like little comets onto the carpet, which Jack eyed disdainfully; he was awfully persnickety about the carpet these days.
“Glad I don’t have to, then.”
Jack smiled and reached across him to pluck the cigarette from his hand, stubbing it out in the ashtray.
“C’mon, tell me what happened.” He prodded.
Holland exhaled, puffing out his cheeks.
“Well, Barb was a bitch, as usual.” He started. Jack only nodded in acknowledgement. “And then Harrison was all ‘we are extremely disappointed in you’ to Holly and kept making passive-aggressive digs at my past parenting, as if I didn’t already know how much of a fuck up I am—”
Jack cleared his throat pointedly at this, and Holland rolled his eyes; Jack never let him give in to the self-deprecating speech for very long.
“—and then he said that her actions were unacceptable, and that punching Janet Klein in the face is a serious offense, and—”
“Whoa, hold on, back up.” Jack interrupted. “She punched Janet? Janet Klein? As in her…friend?”
“The self-righteous bible thumping one, yeah.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s, uh…”
“A plot twist? Yeah, that’s what I thought too!”
“So why did she hit her?”
“I dunno, man!” Holland threw his hands in the air. “She won’t say shit about it! She just said ‘because I felt like it’ when Harrison and I asked her, and even the fucking acknowledgement form he had me sign had bupkiss about it. All I know is that Holly punched the shit out of Janet at lunch, and she has a black eye and a bloody nose, and Holly is coughing up jackshit as to why.” He winced. “She gave me the silent treatment the whole way home. I even offered Blondie!”
“And then she stormed into the house and slammed her door.” Jack nodded, filling in the gaps.
Holland sighed. “Yeah.” He dropped his head into his hands and gripped his hair. “Fuck, Heals, why does it feel like I’m fucking this up?”
“Because you’re stressed, and you want to drink.” Jack answered easily. “But you gotta remember, that’s the call of the drink talking, not you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Holland said, feeling defeated. “It’s just…I can’t help but feel like she’s acting this way because she doesn’t trust me, you know? And I don’t blame her if she doesn’t; she was figuring it all out on her own for years, and I know she still hates me for that.”
“She does not hate you.” Jack said sternly. “In any capacity. That girl adores you, Holland.”
“Doesn’t mean she trusts me.”
“Of course she does. Even when I barely knew you, I could see how much that girl loved and trusted you. That night at Sid Shattuck’s place, when you rolled up in that car you stole? She only had eyes for you, and she ran straight to you. That’s not a kid who doesn’t trust her dad.”
Holland looked at him, and Jack’s blue eyes were sincere. He couldn’t help but reach out and touch Jack’s face, where salt and pepper stubble had grown in over the last few days.
“It just. It feels that way, you know?”
Jack smiled sadly and captured his hand with his own, kissed his palm.
“I know.” He said. “But I promise you, Holly isn’t punishing you. She’s fourteen, she's upset, and she’s embarrassed that she got in trouble and her dad had to come get her in the principal’s office. We just need to let her calm down for a bit and then we’ll talk to her about what happened, and go from there.”
Holland nodded and leaned forward, pressing his forehead to Jack’s.
“Look at you, doing the dad thing.” He teased.
“Learned from the best,” Jack replied.
Holland pulled back. “Alright, who is he?! Are you seeing someone else besides me?!” He demanded playfully, trying to sound offended. “Do I need to call that Nice Guys Agency I saw in the paper and see if you’ve been running around town, Jackson Healy?”
“They won’t take the case.” Jack said, matter of fact. “Word on the street is, one of them is a little squirrelly and easily distracted by older men.”
“Well, I never.” Holland concluded, but he could not help the smile on his face.
Jack chuckled. “C’mon, let’s leave Holly to it for a while. I’m making lunch.”
Holland perked up at the promise of food. “Ooh, ham n’cream cheese pinwheels?” He asked hopefully.
Jack scrunched his nose. “I don’t know how you can eat those things.”
“They’re good!”
“They’re gooey from the cream cheese!”
“That’s the best part!”
Jack rolled his eyes. “You know what, I’m making grown up food. Sandwiches.”
Holland’s eyes lit up. “Extra pickles?”
Jack’s smile was effervescent.
“Sure.”