Fuck.
It's the first thing that rushes through Tom's mind along with the searing pain. Fuck, because not only is he gonna have to walk around on crutches for god knows how long, he had a date tonight, and it had taken him nearly a month to work up the courage to ask the guy out.
He glances down at his leg, and the way it's twisted at an unnatural angle. Yeah, he should focus on the date, and not the incredible amount of pain here.
He seriously contemplates driving himself to the hospital - it is his left leg, after all, he doesn't even use that one - but he tries to stand up and almost passes out, so he settles down on the floor and grabs his cell.
"Hey - Mr. T? Um, is there any chance you could drive me to the hospital? I tripped going down the stairs, and I'm pretty sure my leg's broken. Okay. Thanks."
It's less than a minute before his neighbor knocks - and then Tom has to drag himself to the door, swearing profusely as he staggers over and latches onto the door handle. When he swings it open, he's met with the slightly worried but mainly just exasperated face of the elderly man.
"You know, one of these days you're going to kill yourself." He comments, and Tom rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. Can we just focus on getting to the car?"
It takes a while for them to walk over, with Mr. T helping Tom walk as best he can, and when they get to his van Tom manages to pull himself into a somewhat-less-painful position lying across the back seats.
"You ever think about getting something smaller than a minivan?" He asks once Mr. T starts driving, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the bumpy road.
"You ever think about shutting your mouth?" The man replies good-naturedly. "Also, it's been a whole month since you've come over. Mary was just about ready to drag you over by force."
"I've been busy." Tom winces as they go over a pothole. These fucking roads.
"Too busy to have dinner with us? Christ, kid, don't make me tell her that."
"I have work." Tom exclaims indignantly, and the other man huffs.
"No, you're just pissed that we had your folks over."
Tom doesn't answer.
"Y'know, it wouldn't kill you to talk to them every once in a while. Your ma misses you, and so does Cecey."
"How's my dad doing?" Tom bites viciously. He hasn't talked to his family in three years - he's not about to start now. There's a long sigh from the front seat.
"Fine." Mr. T mutters. "But don't say I didn't try."
They pull into the hospital parking lot ten minutes later, and repeat the awkward process of Tom trying to hobble his way to the doors.
"Watch your fucking mouth, kid." Mr. T snarks after he lets out a particularly creative string of curses, and Tom lets out a strangled laugh.
"Yes, sir." He mumbles. And then, finally, he can sit down. Mr. T heads over to talk to the receptionist, and he leans against the wall and closes his eyes.
Okay, so this is fine. He's been through worse - jesus, it's just one bone. He's losing his edge. (The shit-talking doesn't take his mind off the pain, but it does make him feel a little better.)
"Okay, kid." Tom opens his eyes and Mr. T is standing in front of him with a nurse. "There's a bit of a line up -"
"That's fine, there always is." Tom rubs his eyes and offers up a wry grin. "I'll be good, Mr. T. Go home, I know you have work to do."
"Alright." The elderly man agrees reluctantly. "But you call me if you need anything, hear?"
"Got it."
The triage nurse goes through the usual drill - vitals, questions, pain level assessment (Tom lies a little about this - he's fairly certain he has a few bruised ribs, but he really doesn't want to have to stay in the hospital overnight), and then he's left alone with his thoughts and too much empty time on his hands.
Time - shit. He needs to call his date. Fuck, he was supposed to be there right now. He awkwardly maneuvers his phone out of his pocket, and dials the number.
"Yeah." The voice on the other end sounds only mildly pissed, which Tom takes as a good sign.
"Neil? It's Tom. Hey, um, I'm really sorry to do this - but I have to cancel."
"You have to cancel." Neil sounds more pissed, now - which, okay, he should be.
"Listen, I'm really sorry." Tom stammers. "I tripped down a flight of stairs, and I'm stuck in the ER -"
"What?" Immediately, Neil's voice takes on a worried tinge.
"Yeah, no, it's fine; I think I just broke my leg. But, anyway, I'm gonna be stuck here for a while -"
"Can I come down and meet you there?"
It takes Tom a second to register. "You want to come sit in the hospital?"
"We'd still be able to talk," Neil replies.
"Well, yeah, I mean, if you want to . . . but there's no guarantees on how long I'll be here. The nurse said three hours, so it'll probably be closer to five . . ."
"That's fine. I'll be right down."
Neil hangs up, and Tom stares at his phone for a second before setting it down. Okay, so this is different.
He goes to put his phone back in his pocket, and winces as a spike of pain shoots through his head. Fine, so he might have a concussion too. Whatever. He knows how to deal with it.
"Well, you look like hell." Tom opens his eyes a few minutes later (he can't really tell time right now,) to see Neil standing in front of him.
"Hey, this face is a thing of beauty." He murmurs, pulling himself into more of a sitting position.
"You have a black eye, is all." Neil says with a faint smile, as he settles into the chair beside Tom.
"Sorry about the last-minute cancellation." Tom says, bracing himself on the chair. It's getting minorly painful to breathe when he isn't sitting the the proper position. "Were you already at the restaurant?"
"Yeah." Neil shrugs. "It's fine, though - 's not like there was anything you could do about it." He leans in a little closer, and Tom tries his best not to focus on this fact (he's having enough trouble breathing as is). "How are you doing?"
"Me?" Tom forces a grin. "I'm terrific."
"Do you need any painkillers? An ice pack?" Neil's worried face is adorable. Okay, nope. Breathing. Breathing.
"Nah, I'm good." He replies, and this time the smile is a little more realistic. "I'm a perpetual klutz. I'm used to it."
"Okay." Neil doesn't look convinced. "Just let me know if that changes."
"So." Tom mutters, once he's gotten his breathing back under control. "Tell me about yourself."
Neil shrugs. "There isn't really anything to tell."
"Oh, come on." Tom replies with a quick grin. "I spent an entire month making awkward small talk in the lobby; give me something to work with."
Neil sighs. "Alright. I grew up in Yorkshire, worked in London as a cop for a couple years -"
"Wait, you were a cop?" Tom straightens up a little. "What made you decide to come to the US and work security? It can't be more interesting."
Neil clears his throat. "There was - an accident. My family didn't live in a great area of town, they caught caught in the middle of a gang fight." He stops, looks down at his clenched hands. "They, uh - they didn't make it out."
"Oh my god." Tom is suddenly profusely sorry for bringing up the subject. Jesus, no wonder he didn't want to talk about his past.
"It's fine." Neil finally looks back up at him with a wry smile. "I don't, uh - I don't usually talk about that on the first date, sorry."
"Are we still calling this a date, even though we're stuck in a hospital?" Tom muses, and Neil shrugs.
"If it makes it any better, this isn't anywhere close to the worst date I've been on."
"No kidding?" Tom grins. "C'mon, tell me about the rest."
"Fucking hell." Neil groans, but Tom can see the corners of his lips turning up. "Okay; so the first one happened when I was in high school. We were going to an amusement park, and the guy insists on jumping on the first spinning ride - throws up all over me right after we get off."
"No way." Tom's laughing, even though it hurts.
"Or the time I asked out a guy from my boxing club, and he showed up to the restaurant forty minutes late, inhaled his food, and ran off when he was finished - leaving me with the bill, obviously."
"Wow. You weren't kidding." Tom replies with a short laugh. "And hey - you took boxing?"
Neil shrugs. "I was pretty into martial arts when I was younger. Boxing, muay thai, karate - everything I could fit into my schedule, basically."
"Wow." Tom says again, taking in the information. God, like he needs more reasons to fall for the guy.
"So if I ever need - " he breaks off as a round of coughing hits him. Once it passes, he shakes his head a little to clear it, and goes back to where he left off. "So if I ever need someone's ass kicked, you're the guy to call?"
Neil doesn't answer, instead grabbing Tom's arm and stretching it out. "What -" Tom starts, then stops once he sees what Neil's looking at - the crook of his elbow is splattered with blood from where he'd coughed into it.
"Stay right here." Neil says immediately, and if Tom could breathe properly he would definitely be making a quip about oh, no, he might go for a little stroll -
Neil manages to find a nurse, who rushes over to where Tom's all but curled up in the fetal position. And he feels a little woozy, but he's pretty sure she's asking him something - maybe he's answering, he can't tell. And then he's being lifted in strong arms (he's not so out of it that he doesn't notice that they're Neil's) and carried to a gurney, and the world is spinning and flickering in and out of focus -
He's not really sure what happens for the next few hours. He hears Neil's voice, it's okay, you're going to be okay; and he focuses on that instead of the overwhelming pain.
He passes out at some point, and when he wakes up he's in a hospital bed, and Neil's sitting in the chair next to him.
"Hey." He murmurs, going to sit up - and stopping when his head immediately starts spinning. "Why doesn' it hurt?"
"They've got you on a lot of painkillers." Neil replies, and he attempts a smile but it doesn't quite work. "I didn't catch all of it, but the doctor said something about broken ribs, and a punctured lung - and maybe a concussion -"
"Mmkay." Tom mutters, and fuck, those drugs are really something. "Cool."
"Cool?" Neil demands, his tone tinged with exasperation. "You could've died."
"Yeah. Kinda shitty thing to do on a first date." Tom replies, and Neil rolls his eyes.
"I thought we weren't calling this a date."
"But think of what a good story it makes." Tom replies with a grin. "So much better than the bowling - boxing . . ."
Neil chuckles under his breath. "Don't hurt yourself." He says wryly. "More, at least."
"No, sir." Tom replies with a salute that somehow doesn't end up at his forehead. "So - this is a date? 'Cause I kind of want it to be. I mean, you're here, and I'm here, and you are looking stunningly attractive for someone who's been in a hospital for . . . for days."
Neil starts laughing, lifting a hand up to his forehead. Tom's fairly sure he's blushing. "It's only been a couple of hours, and I'm really not - how much morphine did they give you, exactly?"
"Soooo much." Tom slurs, trying to focus on Neil even though the room just started spinning. "Everything feels warm. Too warm. Can it be less warm?" He throws off the blanket, and starts reaching to pull the hospital gown over his head.
"Hey - hey!" Neil looks mildly alarmed as he reaches over to grab Tom's wrists. "How about you keep you clothes on for now, okay?"
"Okay." Tom agrees, settling back down onto the bed. "Okay, but jus' - for now. It's still warm." Neil lets go of his wrists, but Tom reaches out to grab his hand. "You smell nice." He murmurs, letting his eyes drift shut. He would stare at Neil longer if he could, but his eyelids are so heavy.
"Get some sleep," he hears Neil say, and the last thing he remembers before he drifts off is the feeling of Neil's fingers laced through his.
(He wakes up to complete mortification; but Neil's there, and he still wants to go out for dinner. So really, it could be worse.)