Work Text:
They’re slammed at the A&E, and Alfie’s on his twelfth hour of a fourteen-hour shift, so he’s already not in the best mood when he goes to fetch his next patient from the crowded waiting room. But it’s about to get even worse, as it so often does during a busy evening. A Friday evening, at that.
“Andrew Wiley?” Alfie says and looks up from his chart to see which one of these poor sods has a ‘presumably’ broken ankle. A man in his early twenties with a pair of crutches attempts to stand up, but he’s blocked from Alfie’s view as a tall, dark haired man with sharp cut features marches towards him. He’s wearing a suit that probably costs more than- well, Alfie makes good money, doesn’t he, but it’s an expensive suit, is the point, and moreover, who wears a fucking suit at this hour at night and in the bloody A&E? The man walks straight up to him. Right, here comes fucking trouble-
“We’ve been here for two fucking hours,” he says. A Brooklyn accent. Somehow fitting. “How long are we supposed to wait?”
“Sorry mate, I don’t make the rules, I just take whoever’s next on my list here,” Alfie says and taps his clipboard. “And we’ve got to prioritize-“
“Well, who do I speak to about re-prioritizing, then? Because you’ve fetched at least two people with nothing worse than a fucking sprained ankle so far.”
Alfie sees Lizzie give him eyes from reception, but he shakes his head subtly, before putting on the most composed look he can manage and telling the suit, “Now, listen, mate, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to get security. And I’m sure we’d all like to avoid that.”
The man’s face is tense. He takes a long, slow breath in through his nose and a muscle by his eye twitches momentarily, but then he mirrors Alfie’s calm expression.
“Apologies, Doctor-“ The classic look at the nametag. ”Solomons. I’m a bit out of sorts. Been a bit of a stressful evening. And I’m just concerned for my husband.”
“Your husband, hm, ‘s that who you’re here with?”
“Yes. Thomas Changretta,” the man says, looking towards the plastic chairs and a blue eyed little thing with dark hair, longer and curling slightly at the top of his head and cropped at the sides. A right beauty, he is, in that ethereal, high end model sort of way, soft lips and sharp cheekbones. Even clad in sweats and a too big hoodie -though Alfie guesses both have cost hundreds of pounds- he stands out. He’s holding himself gingerly, clutching his left arm to his chest.
And yeah, Alfie sees why his husband is concerned, because he’s not looking well, is he? Pale, clammy and glassy eyed, the classic signs of shock. Alfie wonders why the fuck he hasn’t been seen to yet. And he shouldn’t reward this kind of behaviour, but now when he’s actually seen how bad it is, how can he dismiss him to treat what yes, is most likely another twisted ankle?
And perhaps he’s an immoral and awful person, but he makes a quick decision.
“Give me a second,” he tells the man, and goes over to Lizzie in reception. “Thomas Changretta, how long’s he been here, hm?”
Lizzie looks at her screen, taps away at the keyboard. “Came in… let me see… About eight o clock. Suspected fracture in his left wrist.”
Shit, that’s nearly three hours. He looks over to the dark-haired little figure. He’s turned on his side to curl up against the hard plastic seat, trembling slightly.
“Right, he’s not doing well, clearly,” Alfie says. “Have Carlton take my patient and move him up in the order. I’m thinking he at least needs to lie down.”
Lizzie raises her eyebrows, but her expression softens as she looks over to the miserable looking man.
“Fine, it’s your call,” she says.
He gives her a wink, “You’re a gem, Liz.”
To that, she just rolls her eyes, but he can see the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. He returns to the angry suit. Mr. Changretta.
“Good news, I’ve done a magic trick, so I can take a look at your husband now,” he says. “But I want to make it clear it’s because he’s not looking so hot right now, and not because you took the liberty of telling me how to do my job.”
Mr. Changretta nods, shoulders relaxing.
“Thank you, doctor” he says, reaching out a hand that Alfie begrudgingly takes. Unnecessary to make things harder than they have to be… With the polite gestures over and done with, he walks up to the man, Thomas, whose glassy eyes are fastened on the floor. Mr Changretta sits down beside him, putting an arm carefully around his shoulders. He flinches ever so slightly at the touch and looks up.
“Hi there, Thomas,” Alfie says. “I’m Alfie. Doctor Solomons, if we’re going to be like that. How’re you doing?”
“Alright,” Thomas says, voice devoid of all emotion. Hm.
“Okay, but you’re in some pain, I suppose? So you can come with me now and we’ll take a look at that arm, alright?”
Thomas stands, thankfully still with his husband’s arm around his shoulder because he’s dangerously close to falling over. But Changretta steadies him against his side.
“You alright there, treacle?” Alfie asks. “I can get you a wheelchair if-“
“He’s okay,” Changretta says and gently brushes a dark lock of hair away from his face. “Right, Tommy.”
Tommy. Now, that’s sweet, innit?
He nods, Tommy does, leaning into his husband’s side. He’s not a tall fellow to begin with, but he looks positively tiny there, the top of his head barely reaching his shoulder. Must get up on his tiptoes to kiss, right. Or perhaps Changretta just lifts him- and where the fuck did that thought come from, eh? Highly unprofessional. Alfie blames the lack of sleep.
“Alright, we all steady on our feet then?” he asks and waits until Tommy nods. “Right, follow me then.”
The ER is overcrowded, with people being propped up on various meds in the hallway, but Alfie takes Tommy to an empty examination room. Tommy virtually melts into the mattress the second he gets to lie down. His husband sits down in the chair at the foot of the bed. Alfie takes a final look at his chart: 31 years old, no pre-existing conditions, no medication, no allergies. Fit as a fiddle then. Well, blood pressure’s on the lower side, but nothing too out of the ordinary. He deposits the chart on the desk and swivels the chair up close to the bed.
“Right, let’s take a look at that arm, shall we?” he says. “Gonna have to take this off, yeah, so if we just-“
“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Tommy says, shifting away from his hands. He sits up and it’s clear that he’s very much hasn’t got it, can’t even get the zipper down. Changretta comes up to the bed and Alfie swerves the chair away to give him some room. He unzips the hoodie, and very gently helps Tommy manoeuvre his left arm out of it. A slight tension around his eyes is the only sign that it must hurt like hell, because the arm, looks fucked. It’s clearly broken, and seeing it now makes Alfie wonder how he's been left alone for three fucking hours in that waiting room, no matter how busy they’ve been. Can sort of understand the husband too, can’t he? It’s bruised and swollen, the arm, all the way from his fingers to his elbow.
“Scoot over a bit, mate,” he tells Changretta, and receives a surprisingly dark look, before he goes back to sit giving Alfie room to move his spinning chair back to Tommy’s bedside.
He’s not wearing anything underneath the hoodie, and there are more bruises, along his pronounced collarbones. But it’s the older ones, big enough to cover a large expanse of his ribcage, going yellow at the edges, that gives Alfie that feeling in the pit of the stomach, the slight tug of knowing that something is amiss.
But first things first, that wrist needs taking care of. He carefully puts a hand underneath Tommy’s elbow and one further down, lifting the arm to assess the damage. Tommy stares straight ahead.
“Right, would you mind telling me how you got this injury, Tommy?”
“I fell in the shower,” he says.
Fell in the fucking shower, eh?
Alfie watches his face for any signs that’ll betray the lie because that’s what it is, a fucking lie, he can bet his life’s savings on it.
“Hm,” he says, and sees the first flicker of uncertainty in the blue eyes, and Tommy looks to his husband, just for a fraction of a second, but it’s enough.
“Don’t know quite how it happened,” Changretta says. “Just heard a crash. Came in and found him on the floor.”
Tommy nods.
“Did you hit your head when you fell?” Alfie asks and Tommy shakes his head. “Well, suppose you got lucky there. Could’ve ended very badly, this. What about these other bruises, then?” He nods towards the older ones, covering the right side of his ribcage.
“Got kicked by a horse.”
And that, that’s just so ridiculous that Alfie snorts, for which he receives a glare sharp enough to kill from Mr. Changretta, while Tommy just keeps staring blankly at the wall.
“Tommy rides,” Changretta says. “Quite brilliant, at it, too. But they’re unpredictable creatures, horses.”
“Is that right?” Alfie says and tries to catch Tommy’s gaze, without success. He’s slumped back against the pillows and begun shivering, without the hoodie on. Alfie takes the folded blanket from the bottom of the bed and covers him with it. His husband seems to be trying to glare a fucking hole in the back of his neck…
“I can do it myself,” Tommy mutters when he tries to tuck the blanket around his shoulders.
“Right, but you really can’t, with that arm,” Alfie says and does it anyway. “And we can’t have you getting cold, can we?” he eyes Changretta, who stares back, unblinking. Alfie swivels his chair over to the computer. “Alright, Tommy, I think it’s safe to say that your wrist is broken, but I’m going to need an x-ray to determine how badly, and how we’re going to treat it. I’m scheduling you for one right now.” He gives Tommy a onceover, pale and quivering and looking absolutely fucking exhausted. “And I really don’t think you should be on your feet, so how about we just take you for a ride in the bed, hm?”
“Okay,” Tommy says. And he suddenly looks very small, there under the blanket.
“Don’t worry, Tommy, this’ll be a breeze,” Alfie says, gets up and uses his foot to lift the breaks keeping the bed in place. “You happen to be in luck, because my specialty just so happens to be orthopaedic surgery, aka bones and especially broken ones. So we’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
He pushes the bed towards the door and Changretta gets up from his chair to walk alongside him.
“Don’t you have staff for this kind of thing?” he asks as they walk down the hallway. “Seems like a waste of your time, pushing around beds.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy that I’m personally making sure your husband gets the best possible care, Mr. Changretta,” Alfie says and returns Changretta’s glare with a completely blank expression, before once more focusing on turning the bed down the right corridor.
They spend the rest of the way in silence.
“Alright, there we are. Now you have to say goodbye for a few minutes, because unfortunately no one except licensed personnel’s allowed in there,” Alfie says and taps on a sign on the door when they eventually reach their destination. “So if you just wait out here Mr-“
“Out of the question,” Changretta says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Right. Alfie’s just about had it with this man. He squares his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Listen here, mate, I’ve been more than fucking lenient with you, but if you refuse to follow even the simplest of directives, I’ll have you removed from the premises.”
“Luca, it’s okay,” Tommy says softly and reaches for his arm, but Changretta pulls away, getting closer to Alfie instead.
“You should know that I’m a lawyer. And if I decided to, I could find about a million different ways to make sure your medical license is revoked,” he says. “So I’d be very careful about how you speak to me.”
“Luca-“
“Not now, Thomas,” Luca hisses, but Tommy gently grabs his arm and looks up at him with the most emotion he’s shown all evening, eyes big and scared and voice trembling ever so slightly as he speaks, “My wrist hurts and I’m tired, can we please just get this over with so we can go home?”
Immediately, Luca’s gaze softens and he takes Tommy’s hand in one of his, stroking his hair gently with the other, “Of course, love. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you.” Tommy leans into the touch and gives him a soft smile that would make any man melt into a puddle and possibly attempt to conquer a neighbouring country just to please him.
“I know.”
Alfie clear his throat and grabs the metal rod at the head of the bed again. “Right, think we can get on with it then?”
Luca gives him another one of those looks, as if he’s trying to set him on fire and freeze him both at the same time through the sheer force of glaring. Fuck him. Not the first time Alfie’s met a man like him. He simply stares back, until eventually, Luca backs down, moving to sit in one of the chairs with ugly patterns on them, placed opposite the door.
Alfie pushes the large button by the door and it opens, allowing him to wheel the bed into the room. Ollie, a young, lanky lad who’s the radiology nurse working tonight comes up to help him, and soon they’ve got Tommy laid on the table under the x-ray generator.
“That’s alright, I’ll get the machine set up,” Alfie tells the Ollie, who takes the hint and goes into the adjacent windowed space, closing the door behind him. He pretends to be very focused on getting the extension arm set up in the right position.
Luca is right of course. This really isn’t part of his job. But he feels it’s essential that he doesn’t let Tommy out of his sight, and gets a moment alone with him.
“So, fell in the shower, eh?” he says and turns a knob that does absolutely nothing.
“Yeah,” Tommy says, his tone once again flat, face carefully blank. Alfie hums.
“And how did that happen?”
“How do people usually fall over in the shower?”
“In my experience, they rarely do,” Alfie says and looks at him. His eyes don’t betray a single emotion. “At least not in a way that results in a broken wrist. Unless they’re old, right, or got some condition. Which I could see from your chart that you don’t.”
“I’ve got low blood pressure. Can get a bit dizzy sometimes.”
Alfie turns another knob first in one direction and then the other, brow furrowed in pretend concentration.
“Right. I just want you to know, yeah, for the record, that we’ve got strict policies around here, and anything you decide to tell me, hypothetically, would stay between the two of us. And if, say, you’d like me to call someone, a family member or something of the sort, we could make that happen without anyone else knowing about it.”
When he looks at Tommy again, Tommy stares back with ice in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re implying here, but I’d like to get this x-ray over with. Or I’m going to request another doctor.”
And he might think, Tommy, that he’s putting on a good enough act to fool Alfie. But the thing is, if Alfie had been completely wrong, his first reaction would’ve been confusion. Outrage, after that. But it’s not, because Tommy knows exactly what he’s implying. Because Alfie is right. Problem is he can do fuck all about it. Especially if he can’t even get Tommy to trust him.
“Sure, of course, we’ll get that x-ray sorted,” he says, and can see Tommy visibly relax. “If you just stay right there, put your arm to your side, yeah, good boy, and keep it still for me, eh? I’ll just be behind that glass for a moment.”
Ollie gives him a quizzical look when he enters, but he just shakes his head, focusing instead on the screens before him and with a few clicks, he gets a perfect view of what turns out to be, a rather nasty set of fractures. The scaphoid and trapezium are cracked, and the ulna is fully broken, displaced enough that it’s going to take surgery to re-align the bones properly. A hot flash of anger surges through him but he forces himself to refocus his energy. If he starts thinking too hard about it, he’s going to go straight out to that waiting room and do something he’ll regret.
“Make sure to send me those images right away,” he tells Ollie and goes back out to Tommy. “There we are, all done. We’ll talk a bit more about the results when we’ve gotten you back to a room, because I assume you want your husband there?”
“Yes,” Tommy answers immediately. And Alfie simply nods.
Luca only gives him a quick glare when he reappears with Tommy in the hallway, and is then blissfully quiet all the way to Tommy’s new room. With such a bad fracture, it’s not safe to send him home to wait for surgery, Alfie’s reasoned. And this way, he’ll hopefully find some moment alone with him again. Because he needs to try at least one more time…
“Right, as we suspected, your wrist is broken,” he tells Tommy once he’s been wheeled into the right room and provided with another blanket. Luca sits next to the bed, arms crossed and steely eyes set on him. Alfie continues, “Well, more precisely, two of the smaller bones, down by your hand, are cracked. And one of the bones in your forearm is broken. It’s a clean break, but we’ll need to do surgery to re-align it. I’m going to schedule you for surgery, and I suspect we’ll get to it by tomorrow afternoon.”
Strangely enough, Luca chooses not to once again complain about having to wait.
“Will you do the surgery?” Tommy asks.
“Don’t know yet, might be one of my colleagues,” Alfie says and tries to figure out what answer Tommy would’ve liked to get. “But would you prefer it if I did it?”
Tommy looks down at his blanket and shrugs. Yes, that’s a yes, otherwise Alfie would’ve known. And he finds himself wanting to make him feel safe. “Most likely, I’ll do it. As I said, I’m an orthopaedist, so it’ll definitely be on my table. And I do have the most experience,” he adds with a look in Luca’s direction. The curt nod tells him he apparently has his approval, personal differences aside.
“Right, so I’m going to give you something for the pain, because that arm must be killing you by now, and then I’ll let you sleep for a couple of hours.” He’s just about to tell Changretta to go home and do the same, when he realizes that’s just going to end in disaster. And he’ll get his ass handed to him by Lizzie soon enough, if he decides to ignore visiting hours. No need for Alfie to make the situation any more strained than it already is.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Tommy. Try to get some sleep.”
Tommy simply nods. The last thing he sees before closing the door is Changretta seating himself on the edge of the bed, stroking his hair.
…
Things move quickly after that. Alfie does the surgery, nothing unexpected happens, Tommy gets a cast and not twenty-four hours after their first meeting, it’s time for him to go home. Alfie’s anticipated it with a growing sense of dread. Knows he’s got no reason to keep him there, but he needs another moment alone with him, won’t ever forgive himself if he doesn’t at least ask, if he doesn’t tell him- Only his husband leaves him alone for precisely zero seconds, unless Tommy’s also surrounded by other members of staff. So Alfie hovers, doesn’t he, sticks close by his room, and when Luca by some miracle exits and disappears down the corridor, he slips through the door and finds Tommy sitting on the bed dressed in a new, probably just expensive, set of sweats, arm hanging in a protective sling.
“Where’s your husband gone to?” Alfie asks, as if he hasn’t been circling his room, waiting for the moment Luca would leave.
“To fetch my prescriptions,” Tommy says stiffly. Alfie hums. Steels himself as he plops down onto the chair opposite Tommy’s bed. No time to be sensitive about this, he’s not winning anyone over here, he just needs to be blunt… He looks Tommy in the eye.
“Tommy, I’m going to ask you one more time: did you really slip in the shower?”
Tommy’s face goes, if possible, even whiter. “Yes,” he answers stiffly.
Alfie rests his elbows on his knees.
“Right. But let’s say, hypothetically, that you didn’t. That there’s in fact something happening in your home that gave you those injuries. I want you to know there’s help, yeah? Even if you think you’ve got no one to fucking turn to. There are places to go to. And I can make one call, and have you in one of those by tonight, without your husband knowing. There are people who can help.”
Alfie meets Tommy’s icy gaze head on, refuses to budge, and perhaps it’s just his imagination but he thinks he sees the tiniest little crack of desperation and it’s enough to let him know that this isn’t just his own imagination. But then it’s gone just as quickly as it came.
“If we’re all done here, I’d like you to leave now.” Tommy says, voice sharp enough to cut.
Alfie gives it another moment, but now he’s running a real risk of Tommy’s fucking brute of a husband showing up. He sighs, reaches into his coat pocket for his notepad, tears off a corner and scribbles three phone numbers on it, a letter before each one. Then, he takes Tommy’s good hand, puts the note into his palm and closes his fingers around it. Holds onto it for a moment.
“First one is someplace you can go. They’ll send you a car to pick you up if you can’t make it on your own. Second is for a support line. Third’s… when you don’t know where else to call.”
Tommy stares down at his hand with the note, as if it’s not really part of his own body. But he doesn’t throw it away. Instead he quickly shoves it into the pocket of his hoodie, and as if on fucking que, the door opens and Luca comes in, carrying a small plastic bag in one hand and a takeaway cup in the other. Alfie’s so used to his glares by now that he barely registers it. But the way his gaze shifts between him and Tommy, now that’s more concerning. Tommy does his best doe impression, though, and Alfie would be surprised if any man on earth could resist that.
“We all set to go home?” Luca asks and comes up to the bed, running his fingers through Tommy’s hair. “Got you some tea for the car ride, love. And your painkillers.”
“Right. Be very careful with that arm now,” Alfie says. “Been over that, haven’t we? You’ll probably be quite tired for a while. Body spends a lot of energy, healing an injury like that. So remember to take it easy. I’ll write you a note to make sure you get sick-leave from your job-“
“Tommy doesn’t work,” Luca cuts him off with a faint quirk of his lip. “I make more than enough money.” For the first time since Alfie met him, Tommy lowers his gaze, cheeks flushing as Luca lays a hand on the back of his neck. “And I’m going to take very good care of him, of course. Make sure he gets plenty of rest.”
Alfie gets out of his chair. Not tall enough to tower over Changretta, but he’s got a bit on him muscle wise. And he’s got the ability to make himself appear bigger.
“I’m sure you will,” he says, and forces himself to smile, if only for Tommy’s sake. Tommy doesn’t quite look at him when he turns his attention away from his husband. He gets off the bed and Luca puts an arm around his shoulders. It takes everything he’s got for Alfie not to cringe.
“Well, suppose we’ll see each other again when that cast comes off. Take care, eh, Tommy?” he says, and shakes Luca’s hand when he extends it.
“Thank you, Mr Solomons.”
“Just doing my job, Mr. Changretta,” Alfie says and wants to fucking kick himself.
Arm still around his shoulders, Luca gently leads Tommy out of the room. Alfie goes to stand in the door to watch them leave, disappearing further and further down the hallway. Tommy doesn’t turn around. And then they’re gone and he just stands there, stares and keeps staring until Lizzie appears before him, frown on her face.
“What’s going on?” she asks. Like a fucking blood hound when it comes to sniffing up emotional turmoil. He sighs and rubs a hand over his face.
“Just sent a patient home with his husband. Who I have good reason to believe broke his wrist in three fucking places.”
“Did you-"
“Yeah, did the routine, didn’t I? Asked questions, told him about the- the fucking shelters and the hotlines and of course he looked me straight in the eye and insisted he did in fact break his wrist falling in the bloody shower, even if we both know it’s a lie.”
Lizzie folds her arms across her chest, her expression sympathetic but too fucking… calm, for his taste.
“You’ve done what you can. It’s complicated, you know that.”
“Course I fucking know,” he hisses. “The thing is, the fucking thing is, men like that don’t stop. He had old bruises. And now a broken wrist. Next time it’ll be a wrist and a clavicle and the fucking ribs and then one day, he’s coming through that door on a gurney with a broken fucking skull instead.”
He pauses to breathe. Feels his heart thud in his throat. Lizzie lets out a sigh and takes him by the arm.
“Alright, I know you have a window between patients now. We can take ten minutes. I’m taking you across the road for a proper cup of coffee, rather than the breakroom for some terrible coffee.”
He allows himself to be dragged along. And soon he finds himself across from her in a secluded corner of the coffeeshop across the road. They sit in silence. Which is a rare treat in their line of work.
“I know this is a shit situation,” Lizzie says when he’s managed to at least drink half of his coffee. “But you never know. Maybe no one has ever noticed before. And maybe you doing that could be the start of something.”
Alfie grunts in response.
“And I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but you can’t save everyone.”
“Yeah, you’re right. ‘s not what I want to fucking hear.”
Images of blue eyes keep replaying in his mind. That slight crack, the short moment when the desperation slipped through. And he thinks that no, maybe he can’t save everyone, but he so badly wanted to be able to save Tommy.