warnings : friend's ex-boyfriend; stealing money; intimidation; some violence; terrified Holland
Holland March [The Nice Guys] x Reader
Your friend has just been robbed by her now ex-boyfriend. The money she'd been saving for a new car is gone. She's devastated, crying, completely heartbroken. You want to help. After some thought, you decide that calling in Jackson Healy would be the easiest solution. He'd get the money back without breaking a sweat, though her ex would probably end up regretting his life choices afterward.
Unfortunately, your boyfriend, Holland March, overhears the conversation. And for reasons known only to Holland March, he immediately feels obligated to help. You try talking him out of it, but it's too late. He's already emotionally invested, mentally committed, and probably imagining himself as some kind of heroic private investigator.
That evening, the two of you drive to Michael's apartment. The building isn't exactly inviting, and Holland notices that immediately. As you're walking toward the entrance, you suddenly remember that you've left something in the car. Holland waits by the door, already halfway through his third cigarette, trying and failing to hide how nervous he is. His brain is probably screaming that this was a terrible idea.
You return a moment later. "Babe, isn't there another way to handle this?" Holland asks as you enter the building and start climbing the stairs toward the fourth floor. "Maybe a mediator?" "You'll be fine." "That's not really reassuring." "Besides, this asshole is impossible to talk to." "You know violence isn't the answer, right?" he says. "I tell Holly that all the time." "This will take ten minutes, tops."
You stop in front of a battered apartment door. "You knocking, or am I?" Michael is clearly surprised to see the two of you. He's obviously been drinking. The smell of beer and cigarettes rolls out of the apartment as he looks you both over. "She sent you?" he scoffs, pointing at you. Then he eyes Holland. "And you brought some clown with you?" "Private investigator," you reply. You feel Holland shift proudly behind you. "The best in the city."
Michael snorts. "We came for the money you took," Holland says. "The money you stole," you correct. "The money that, due to an unfortunate misunderstanding, you mistakenly considered your own," Holland continues smoothly. "I'm sure you never intended for her to…" "He fucking stole it!" Your raised voice echoes down the hallway.
"Doll," Michael says, pointing a finger at you, "if you don't shut that pretty mouth of yours, we're gonna have a different conversation." That gets Holland moving. "Don't threaten her." Michael laughs. "Or what? What are you gonna do, clown? Your pants are so tight I don't even know how you made it up the stairs."
He starts closing the door. The conversation is over or at least he thinks it is. Then your hand slams against the door hard enough to make both men freeze. "We're not done talking." Your voice comes out as a growl. "Give the money back, asshole." "Are you insane?" Michael takes half a step backward. That turns out to be a mistake. Because Holland suddenly realizes why you went back to the car.
A baseball bat flashes through the air in your hand. You push your way into the apartment. "Shit!" Holland yelps, stumbling after you. "You owe her six hundred dollars!" you snap. "You can hand it over nicely, or I start by breaking your fingers and then…" "She's crazy!" Michael shouts at Holland. "Control her!" "That seems highly unlikely at this point," Holland admits helplessly. "Honey…" "Not now." You shoot him a look. Something in your eyes makes him immediately reconsider whatever argument he was about to make.
"Six hundred dollars. Now." "Or what?" Michael mocks. The answer comes a second later. The baseball bat whistles through the air and crashes into a glass coffee table. The table explodes. Glass scatters across the carpet. You take a slow breath. "I've been quite emotional lately, Michael." The bat points toward the television. "Don't make it worse."
"Shit!" Holland squeaks. Michael pales. "Okay! Okay! Jesus!" He rushes to a dresser and starts digging through a drawer. Moments later, he pulls out an envelope. You immediately recognize your friend's handwriting. He extends it toward you. You glance at Holland. "Count it."
Like an obedient assistant, Holland takes the envelope, counts the cash, and nods. "It's all here." "Good." You smile. The kind of smile that makes Michael look even more nervous. Stepping closer, you rest the baseball bat against your shoulder. "If I ever see you near her again..." Your voice drops to almost a whisper. "Then he'll deal with you." You nod toward Holland. Michael's eyes move between the two of you. Eventually, he swallows and nods.
Neither of you says a word until you're outside. You take the envelope from Holland and tuck it into your pocket while heading back toward the car. Holland trails several steps behind. Only when you reach the vehicle does he finally find his voice again. "What the hell was that?" "Negotiation." "That was violence!" You toss the bat into the back seat and look at his shaken expression. "I got upset when he called you a clown." You shrug. "And when he said your pants were too tight. They aren't."
Holland stares. Then swallows hard. "If we ever break up," he says carefully, "I'm giving you the house. No negotiations." You grin and open the passenger door. "That was kind of hot." Holland remains frozen beside the car. "Don't ever tell Healy that," he says. "He'll probably propose to you or something. Jesus Christ..." He quickly circles the car and climbs into the driver's seat. Nothing had terrified him this much in a very long time. And Holland March knows one thing for certain: Neither of you is getting any sleep tonight.
