#lee!march

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"Heyyy, aren't you that diner guy?" March's tipsy half-smirk beamed at his hitman colleague, his uninjured arm raising to point a finger at Healy, while the other digits held firm around a glass of whiskey. The ring on his pinky finger glinted in the porchlight reflection.

Healy paused, eyes flicking downward from the detective to the empty swimming pool below, then back up again. He knew March would try bringing the story up one way or another, but that didn't make him any less hesitant to spill it. Another beat of silence passed, before Holland spoke again.

"Come on c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon- I gotta know." He added, his tone equal parts playful and genuinely curious. Healy tilted his head a bit dismissively. "I don't wanna get into it." A shame, but to be expected from someone like Jack. However, March was drunk, which made him all the more persistent and invasive than he usually was.

"You gotta get into it," March lightly shrugged, not backing down. "I gotta know. You're the diner guy." He repeated the title for emphasis, blue eyes boring expectantly into Healy's, who looked off to the side to weigh his options. A second passed, and Jack sighed.

"Alright."

"Yes!" Holland whisper-shouted, briefly tipping his head back and squeezing his eyes shut in victory. While Healy started to tell his tale, March decided to get comfy. He took up the alcohol bottle next to him on the diving board and leaned over sideways to place it further away from him, so that he had room to lie down. As though preparing for a bedtime story. This dork.

"Right about a year ago.. I was at a diner in Hollywood." Healy began, gently pacing near the pool edge. He faintly recounted the day in his head, visualising himself at the bar stool in that diner. "And this asshole with a shotgun started threatening people." Cue asshole with shotgun appearing in his mind's eye, as he recalled it. Though Holland's voice cut through and broke the illusion a bit.

"I love it, it's the best story I've ever heard." The P.I. was now lying on his back, lower legs dangling over the end of the diving board and forearms folded over his chest, holding the whiskey glass between both hands. Healy barely caught it, but March did seem to be.. a little fatigued now. From the alcohol, most likely.

Still, Healy continued his story. "So I did something about it. I acted. I didn't plan to, I didn't.. y'know..." He trailed off for a moment. "I just did it."

In his mind, he saw himself lunging up from the bar stool and trying to yank away that guy's shotgun, earning a bullet to his bicep in the process. Nevertheless, he fought on. "I took that guy out." Healy managed to grab the shotgun, hand gripping the barrel tightly as he slammed the butt into that asshole's face.

"I didn't even get paid for it." Jack then flipped the gun around to weild it more like a sword, before swinging it around the side of the perpetrator's head. And again, from the other side. He had been thrown into a blind rage.

"So I ended up with a bullet in the bicep and 500 bucks of hospital bills. It was stupid, really." Healy's gaze was still pointed downward, trailing along the miserable littering of cigarettes that had accumulated on the bottom of the pool.

His vision then cut back to that day, and the asshole was now on the floor, as Jackson hammered the shotgun butt repeatedly against his body from above. The memory then faded again, once it was over.

"But when I think about it..." Healy finally snapped out of his trance and looked back up at March again, a short huff of laughter preceding what he had to say next. A little smirk was on his face, now. "It was the best day of my life."

However, it appeared that as Healy was reminiscing, his colleague had fallen fast asleep. He wasn't quite sure when, because he hadn't heard any snoring up until now, but nevertheless, Jack couldn't help raising both eyebrows in irritation.

"Unbelievable. Sharing a personal story of mine, about the only time I felt useful.. and you go noddin' off to Dreamland like a dick." He murmured, hands in his pockets as he considered for a moment. The wise thing to do would be going inside and leaving him there to sleep off his drunken state.

But since when was Jackson Healy ever a fan of wise ideas?

He sighed, deciding to act on his annoyance instead. Acting, just like he did at the diner. Healy made his way over to the base of the diving board, crouching down to grab that half-empty bottle of scotch and put it safely to one side first, before he crawled closer to March. The man halted in a kneel just behind Holland's head. Christ, he could smell his partner's foul breath even from here.

Still, Healy gently pried the whiskey glass from March's hands and leaned back to place it alongside the bottle. Safe and out of the way. With that, he reached out a hand and poked experimentally at Holland's cheek. "Ey, you there? You didn't hear the rest of my diner story."

The drunkard stirred a little, but ultimately just groaned and mumbled something incoherent before he dozed off again. However, he seemed to subconsciously shuffle backwards on his elbows a bit, so that his head could land on Healy's lap. The hitman didn't know what was worse, the fact that March was this comfortable with him, or the fact that he himself didn't try to pull away from being a makeshift pillow.

All in all, Healy would definitely have to poke either a little more or a little harder. He chose the former, since March was already injured enough. That same hand came out again, this time poking at the base of Holland's neck. A twitch, the slight scrunching of a shoulder, and one corner of the sleeping man's lips quirking upwards, but that was about it.

Oh, except that wasn't just 'about it'. That was everything Healy needed, actually. What a treat, to discover that the boastful detective was secretly ticklish. Jack found himself smirking again, this would be fun.

"Hey, wake up. Last warning, March." He said, emphasising with one more prod to the jaw. The man's smirk all but widened when Holland ignored it, turning his head away from the touch and groaning again. Well, that sounded enough like permission to Healy. The man scooped underneath both of March's shoulders and pulled him more into his lap, so that his neck wasn't craned and he had more access to it.

Now, all he had to do was take eight of his digits and flutter them along either side of March's throat. The reaction was quite wonderful to watch. The P.I. scrunched up again, this time on both sides, and his lips meandered upwards to form a dopey smile that Healy didn't mean to stare at for as long as he did.

The tickles were working their magic, though. Holland appeared to be a little stuck between twisting away and.. oddly leaning into it, which Jack was most definitely filing away for blackmail later. Anyway, this was all well and cute, but Healy desired something a little more.

His fingers trailed downwards a bit and began gently scritching at the base of his partner's neck, which certainly garnered the 'more' that he was wanting. The softest of snorts was elicited, and March couldn't help the breathy titters that were now freely spilling from his lips. He sluggishly clasped and wrung his hands together in his sleep, seeming to try and stop himself from swatting Healy's hands away. Despite that, March was beginning to stir some more now, closed eyelids squeezing together before they just barely seperated to show slits of the irises beneath.

Being under the influence, albeit somewhat less, things were more hazy for March than if he had woken up sober. The porch light shone in the corner of his vision, but other than that he couldn't see much other than the night sky. Well, there was laughter, so that had to mean something good, right? He then became aware of the tingling sensation on his neck, and a sudden surge of consciousness brought him back to his bearings. He was the one laughing.

He caught the first glimpse of Healy's smirking face above him and he flinched, hard. "JESUS!!" He no less than screamed, though it was riddled with residue mirth. March was quick to scramble upright and shove the attacking hands away, bringing his own up to his chest in some kind of pathetic martial arts defense. Both shoulders were still scrunched, and he looked like a spooked hamster more than anything.

Healy could only chuckle, arms retreating into his lap as he shook his head fondly. "Oh now you're paying attention, huh? What happened to hearin' about Mr. Diner Guy?" Healy 'scolded' him, though it sounded suspiciously close to a tease, which honestly dumbfounded Holland. Jackson Healy the Hitman... was teasing him?!

A very faint dust of pink settled atop March's ears before he could stop it. He didn't even realise he'd slipped from consciousness during the tale, but now he felt a little stupid, considering he'd been wanting to hear about it so bad. Still, Holland went for the defense as per usual.

"Well- maybe don't have such a soothing voice next time and I won't need to wake up with you hoverin' over me like the Grim fuckin' Reaper!" He argued, cast-clad arm gesturing wildly as if Healy's complaint was completely irrational. "And what were you even d- why the hell was I laugh-..."

The tingling sensation, that he'd felt on his neck. That was Healy. His colleague had tickled him awake?! This was a dream, had to be. Though the slight burn that now spread from his ears to his cheeks certainly felt real enough. Jack could practically hear the pieces snapping together in his partner's mind, and decided to add some commentary.

"For the record, I didn't know you were ticklish.. It's kinda funny though, you're out here demanding me to spill my secrets, yet you keep this little gem from me?" Healy countered, one eyebrow raised as he tilted his head with that fuckass smirk. Now March wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had enough wits about him to paint a picture of where this was leading. And boy did that make him excit- NERVOUS. Nervous. It made him nervous. That wobbly smile from just earlier threatened to etch along his features again.

A part of him wished Holly were here, to protect him from this deviant. He knew she wouldn't, in fact she'd probably just encourage Healy. But fuck you, he could dream. Dreaming wouldn't save him from the absolute bear of a man that had him stranded on a diving board with tickly murder in his eyes, though.

"I- I didn't see how it was relevant! Y'know, I mean everyone is- and- th-there are more interesting things and-!"

"You're stammerin', March-"

"IKNOWI'MSTAMMERING- look point is, you think I wasn't listening to your story, right? B-but that's not true, actually! I got all of it, it was a very cool story!..." By this point, Holland was just desperate to change the topic and save as much face as possible. However, unfortunately, Healy was rather set on getting the opportunity to tickle the living daylights out of his partner in crime-solving. That man had certainly pissed him off enough these past few days to earn it.

"..What was the name of the diner?" Jack asked out of the blue, a mischievous glint of challenge in his gaze.

"Hm?" Came the reply of a detective that was a little too lost in his own head to process the question.

"The diner. What was it called?" He inquired again, a little firmer. Holland instantly knew it was a test, to see if he'd actually been listening. He hadn't, and now he was getting called out on his bluff. Even though, unbeknownst to him, Healy had never actually mentioned the diner's name.

Still, March found himself opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, like a fish. How inconvenient that the pool below didn't have any water for him to flop into and complete the look. His brain buffered, he had no idea what to say. Being honest didn't even cross his mind, but there was no lie he could tell to get out of this.

...

March made a break for it. Healy was blocking the safe way off of the diving board, so he instead immediately tried to clamber down into the swimming pool without hurting himself. He forgot Jack had quick reflexes. The hitman caught hold of his ankles before he'd even gotten a limb off the board. However, Holland seemed to have some rotten luck tonight, because he'd swiveled over onto his front and had both hands planted on the edge, meaning that they were prone to slipping off if he were jolted off balance. And slip they did, when he felt that grip around his legs and flinched.

He fell forwards head first towards the pool floor with a high-pitched yell, but with Healy yanking him back by the ankles, he ended up with his upper body dangling over the front of the diving board. Not ideal. His arms flailed, but he did stop screaming. A blessing to Jackson's ears.

"So. Why'd you lie to me, hm?" Healy said, shifting forward to kneel on the back of March's thighs. His victim just spluttered and groaned loudly in embarrassment, covering his face with both hands. Holland chose not to answer him, but he was too distracted about being almost upside down, that he didn't notice his untucked undershirt fell with him, leaving his midriff exposed to the evening air.

Jack, ever the opportunist, offered no hesitation in outstretching his hand and abruptly vibrating four clawed fingers into the side of the detective's bare ribs. "You gonna give me a clear fuckin' response, March?"

March screamed. Again. But this time there were hysterical cackles to pair with it, and a lot of fruitless writhing. How Holly hadn't been alerted by the sound of her father's volume, was beyond them both.

"NoNOnon-OHOHO GEHEheT OHOFF! YOhoHOU'RE SO MEHEHEAN!!" March had a rather bumpy and hiccupy laugh, which Healy found kind of adorable, but that still didn't answer his question. Holland March was a shitfaced liar, and he needed to pay for it. "Me?! I'm not the one skipping off with the Candy Man in the middle of someone else's life story!"

March was trying his darnedest to pull his clothing back over his sensitive torso, but he was rather weakened by the circumstances, only managing to pathetically swipe his suit jacket upwards about ten centimeters before it flopped back down again. Ah, gravity, his age old nemesis. Fuck. Well, back to flailing as Healy changed tactics to reach his hand around and gently rake across his tummy.

"EEK-!! NOHO FUHUHUHAHAHAHA THIHIS IS CRUHUHUELLL!!! AHAND YOUR STOHORY SUHUHUCKED!" In the heat of the moment, any thoughts of consequences for his words had gone out of the window. March had no filter right now, and Healy? Oh he was living for the excuses to keep going. The hitman gave a faux dramatic scoff, pressing his free hand to his heart as he paused the onslaught briefly.

"Excuse me? Would you like to repeat that, Mr. March?" Healy peered down at the blonde, relishing in his red face and wild toothy grin, crazed excess giggles seeping through. And actually, if he wasn't mistaken, he could almost swear he was perceiving more excitement than anxiousness from his colleague. Though he was still deafeningly anxious with anticipation.

Holland, on the other hand, was currently regretting every decision that led up to this. He hadn't realised what he'd said until it was too late, now the shovel was broken and he had no way to dig himself out of this giggly grave. Admittedly, a part of him was having a blast, but he'd tried to squash that part down at the very first traces of it.

"Uhhm... Buhut I thought you preferred me to shut the fuhuck up.." Maybe it was an attempt at backsass, maybe March was just too nervous to think straight. Either way, Healy kissed his teeth and nodded absently, pretending to consider it as a real answer. His smirk wormed its way back out.

"Mm. Yeah. I see your point... but the thing is, uh.. is I'd prefer it if you shut the fuck up by laughing your stupid head off. Think you could do that for me? Great." There was barely enough time for March to start panicking again, before Healy utilised both hands in reaching over to go pinching and scratching softly just above his hips. Coincidentally, the man had just hit a jackpot spot.

And Holland.went.nuts. Another high pitched scream, of course, except now accompanied by the loudest snort known to mankind, the bucking force of an honest to God stallion, and delightful belly laughter that could probably fill the entire pool below if it were a physical substance.

"NNNAAHAHAHHAA-" Another snort. "FUHUHUCKSHIHIT IHI HAHAHAHATE YOHOHOHAHAHAHA!! THIHIHIS IHIS-" Snort number three. "AHABUHUHUSE!!" It was a shame that March was still half coherent, it would've been better if the insults were drowned out by chortles completely, but that would also just feel a bit mean to do. So this would.. suffice.

"Oh you're so dramatic, little fuckin' Piggy. Just be happy I didn't slap you awake earlier." He did make himself cringe a bit with the nickname, but it seemed to redden March's cheeks some more, so he stuck with it.

"IHIHI'M NAHAHAHAT A PIHIHI-" Snort.

Even Healy couldn't help barking out a laugh at the irony. "Hah! Yeah, sure you ain't." For a few more moments, he kept up the torment on Holland's waistline, until the string of protests died down into near silent laughter. It was only then that the hitman granted mercy, hands retracting back to cross over his lap as he peeked over the edge of the diving board at his friend.

Said friend was then greedily horking down oxygen for almost a whole minute before he felt just about sane enough to try speaking, clumsily swiping away the mirthful tears in his eyes as residual breathy giggles laced his words. "Ihi'm so... lihihightheaded... help."

"Oh. Right. Uh- yeah my bad. Here." Healy suddenly felt a wave of concern wash over him, fearing how much blood had probably rushed to March's head. Swiftly, he reached backwards to take firm hold of the P.I.'s ankles again, before shuffling the rest of his own body back to the base of the diving board and rising to a crouch, so that he could pull March back up from dangling over the front end.

Now with his whole body back onto the board, March honestly couldn't be bothered to curl in on himself or anything, he just laid on his stomach and folded both arms beneath his head to relax, still panting slightly. A lopsided, tickle-drunk grin was now permanently plastered to his face, but honestly he didn't care. His dignity was already in shambles, anyway.

Healy was a little ashamed to admit that he didn't know how long he'd been staring at that smile, before he even realised he was doing it. He mentally slapped himself and flicked his gaze elsewhere. Mind you, March's clothes were still ridden up, and it was very tempting to set his sights (and fingers) on Holland's spine instead. To be fair, Jack did have one more excuse to use.

"...You never apologised, by the way." The brunet said after a long pause, now sitting half on the diving board and half on the garden with one knee bent up. His tone was still playful, like he'd already forgiven March. But he wanted to hear the man say sorry anyway, and he wanted to hear it through those pretty giggles.

As soon as Holland opened his mouth, two fingers were suddenly trailing up and down either side of his lower spine, light as a feather. Anything the detective had wished to say dissolved right at the tip of his tongue. Instead, soft lower-pitched giggles spilled into his sleeve and he instantly opted to hide his refreshed fluster in the crook of his elbow. Even better, he was kicking his feet behind him like a schoolgirl. How was this man both such an asshole and such a cutie? The world may never know. Well, the feet-kicking did get in Healy's way a little bit, but he didn't mind that.

"Sss... ssssahahaha-! S-sahahaharraha-!!"

"C'mon, you can do it.. just two syllables, that's all I need to hear."

"F-fuhuck yohohouhaha!!.. Ssohohaharry!" There, was that so hard? Chuckling lowly, Healy decided he was satisfied and let up completely, finally pulling March's shirt and waistcoat down before both of his arms retreated to become support pillars as he leaned back on them,

"Well, that was technically four syllables, but I'll allow it." Jackson grumbled, though it was mostly playful. Soon enough, Holland regained pretty much all of his stamina. Well, he was still bone tired, but he was as energetic as he could be right now. With that energy, he found the courage to look in Healy's direction with his face still a little flushed. Adorable.

"So umm, aren't you that Diner Guy?.." He asked as though that might get him in trouble again, his shoulders going a little tense when Jack returned his eye contact.

"...Y'know, not once did I hear you say the word 'stop'-"

"Go fuck yourself I hate you I hope you die in a deep dark hole." Well that certainly reignited the fire in Holland's face quick. Unfortunately Healy could only savour a glimpse of it before it was stuffed back against the detective's ripped sleeve.

Healy chuckled at the sight, but refrained from teasing him further. Instead, he regarded the blonde for one more moment, before sighing. It was heavy, but fond. Damn his heart, he was going to open up a second time.

"Alright alright. Fine, I'll tell you the stupid story again. You promise you'll stay conscious this time?" He relented, looking down upon his partner with an expectant look that the man wouldn't even see. Still, one hand unfolded from underneath March's head, and he waved it dismissively, now relaxed once he knew there were no more tickles coming. "Yeah, sure, promise."

Another sigh, and Healy started from the top. "Right about a year ago, I was at a diner in Hollywood..."

-

"Just for.. once, I felt useful." Jackson was staring idly at the night sky now, having visualised the entire scene in his head once more. But he didn't hear snores from beside him, so that was a good sign. Hopefully.

Healy turned his head to face the P.I., waiting to hear commentary about that little tale. But, oh, quelle surprise, his eyes were closed and he was lightly drooling onto his sleeve. Oddly though, Jack felt a bit less disappointed than before, mostly just... peaceful. Well, maybe they'd tuckered themselves out enough for tonight.

"Sweet dreams, March."

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Hope you enjoyeddd! I know that The Nice Guys has a VERY slim tkl community but I wanted to share this anyway lol, especially since it's that rare time of year in which I ACTUALLY finish a damn fic 🥹❤️‍🩹