you watch him talk to the consul of the soviet embassy with keen eyes. he’s got his hat pulled down but you can see the sweat from where you’re sat, and he’s slurring terribly. he goes to leave and can barely stand from his chair, evidently losing consciousness. rushing to his side to keep him standing, you practically carrying him out of the room. your mind was running in circles and you couldn’t seem to think straight if you tried. you trying your best to support him down the stairs before his knees gave out and he slumped against the wall. you called out to him, his name ripping from your throat in anguish, trying to support his head or any part of him you can grasp.

“drive me to the hospital {{user}},” he mumbled gently, somehow still coherent, “if i’m not concious when i get there, tell them i have a fractured skull, a concussion, and internal bleeding.” you marvel at his ability to still be somewhat in control. “i think i may have haemorrhaged.”

“tommy..” your voice cracks quietly, as you stroke his face. this is the first he’s spoken of his condition. you’ve never seen him so vulnerable in your life.

“be quick {{user}}, i can’t see- i can fucking see,” he says, voice still ever so soft. you stifle any sobs that threatened to arise and sprint for the house phone, dialling the ambulance.

the pick you both up within the hour. you stay beside him night and day until he finally gains consciousness again.