Work Text:
The wait at the 24 hour surgery is long.
They've been waiting for nearly three and a half hours now, and Tango is almost falling asleep. His hand is cradled to his chest, the pain being just enough to keep him awake, and he's wrapped up in one of Jimmy's hoodies. Jimmy's arms are wrapped around him, and the couple watch stupid TikToks on Jimmy's phone, desperately waiting for the doctor to finally see Tango's hand.
Honestly, he's not even sure what he did to it. All he knows is that he woke up that morning and it hurt, and as he worked through the day, the pain got more and more intolerable until he just couldn't move his hand. Driving home was a nightmare, and it wasn't until him and Jimmy were eating dinner that he finally admitted he was in pain. Jimmy had immediately marched him to the car and driven him to the 24 hour surgery, and Tango had had an x-ray about a half hour after they'd arrived and now they were just waiting.
If he wasn't in so much pain, Tango thinks he'd have fallen asleep. Wrapped up in Jimmy's arms, feeling his heart beat through his chest... Tango thinks he'd be a happy man. If it wasn't for the pulsating pain in his hand.
When they'd checked in, the nurse had been incredibly condescending to him. He'd explained the situation and the pain, and her response was so what do you think we should do about that? Tango had almost punched her there and then, if letting go of his hand wasn't so painful.
"How's the pain, baby?" Jimmy asks softly, as to not disturb the other patients in the waiting room. "The painkillers working?"
"I want to amputate my hand," Tango grumbles. "It hurts so bad."
Jimmy presses a gentle kiss to his temple. "I know," he says, sympathy lacing his tone. "I wish I could do something to fix it."
"You being here is fixing it," Tango murmurs, his eyes fluttering shut. "I wanna go home and cuddle."
Jimmy presses another kiss to the top of his head. "Can't sleep yet, love. We gotta wait for the doctor to tell us what's wrong."
"They should hurry up. There's nobody here."
That much is true. It's almost half past midnight and there is very few people in the waiting room. If Tango opens his eyes, he can count about twelve people all up, fourteen including himself and Jimmy. But there's been barely any people in the three and a half hours they've been here.
He just wants to go home.
"Tango Tek?"
He glances up and makes eye contact with the doctor, getting up to follow them and mourning the loss of Jimmy's warmth. He follows the doctor into an office, and he takes a seat in between the darkened window and the desk. His knee starts bouncing from the anxiety, but he tries to keep it calm.
The doctor asks him questions, asking how he injured his hand - he doesn't know - and whether he'd injured it before - he's never injured his hand before - and what the pain is on a scale of one to ten - he's sitting at an eight. The doctor takes his hand and presses on it, trying to figure out where the pain is most prominent, which doesn't help Tango, who is trying not to shriek the entire time.
The doctor then finally looks at the x-rays, and Tango has to refrain from wincing at how awful his hand looks. From where he's sitting, he can't see anything wrong, but of course, he's not a medically trained doctor. He’s a trained software engineer who spent too much time today working on a project for some medical practice. Ironic, now that he thinks about it, considering he’s ended up in a 24 hour surgery.
"You have a fracture at the base of your thumb," the doctor says, and the blood drains from Tango's face. "Not bad enough for surgery, which is always a positive. We'll get you in a plaster cast, and you'll be in that for six weeks."
Fracture. Can't work. No money.
Tango nods aimlessly, wondering how on earth he's going to survive six weeks with no work and one less hand. He follows the doctor out of the office, and Jimmy runs over to him, but Tango doesn't say anything until he's been situated in the plaster area and left alone.
"Fracture at the base of my thumb," he finally mumbles, and Jimmy wraps his arms around his waist, allowing Tango to tip his head into his boyfriend's chest. "I can't work for six weeks."
"That's okay–"
"Jim, I can't work."
"I know, baby, but–"
"The rent, our cars, Jim–"
"Your work pays health insurance, darling. We're going to be okay."
He forgot. He forgot his job paid out health insurance and paid out for health or injury related leave.
"Oh," he whispers, blinking back the tears that had started to pool up in his spiral. "I forgot."
"It's okay," Jimmy reassures him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "It's been a stressful night. You're gonna be okay, baby."
He's gonna be okay. He keeps repeating it in his mind, when they finally put the plaster cast on his hand and it's so painful that he has to squeeze Jimmy's hand. He keeps repeating it in his mind when they're finally dismissed from the 24 hour surgery. He keeps repeating it in his mind when they go to some awful fast food place and get ice creams at two in the morning. He keeps repeating it in his mind when they finally get back to their apartment and Jimmy has to help him take his shoes off and get changed because he doesn't have both hands.
Yeah, he thinks, when they finally get into bed, his head tucked into Jimmy's chest. He's going to be okay.