Tom Hiddleston Oneshots

A Brief Accidents

"(Y/N)," Tom's voice thick and heavy and not all together right. "Come to the theatre. I need you, love." My body tensed at the sound of his voice, every nerve on high alert, singing with stress. My pulse jumped when I heard him hiss in pain.

"Hey, what's happened?" The worry and the concern tripped my voice up a few notches in pitch, the tone quivering uncertainly. Frantically I looked around my dressing room, searching for my bag and a handle on the moment. It was rare that Tom ever needed me that I was on edge immediately. Tom and I were meant to meet for dinner in Covent Garden shortly to celebrate his complete and successful run in Coriolanus. He was so proud of this production, the combination of returning to the stage since our play and performing Shakespeare, his passion, excited him no end.

We were doing well as a couple, living together, spending as much time with one another, whenever our schedule allowed. After our pregnancy scare, his family accepting me, and surviving a little hiccup, small bout of jealousy over my ex-boyfriend, we were happy and content, a stable relationship. A sense of domesticity settled over us, and I was hoping that we were headed towards marriage, my deepest, sincerest wish, one I kept to myself.

"There's been an accident. I need you here, (Y/N)." His tongue sounded a bit lazy, his speech slow and measured.

Throwing my bag over my shoulder and diving towards the door, I nearly pulled it off its hinges in my haste to get to him as quickly as humanly possible. "Baby, I'm on my way, leaving now. I'll be there straightaway." I sidestepped around some of my castmates and hit the rainy London night at a run. The theatre where I was working was only a few short blocks from the Donmar, where my boyfriend was working. I ran as quickly as the after West End theatre crowd and my feet would allow, closing the distance between me and my man in need.

I struggled to maintain my composure, I'd never heard Tom sound so dissociative. My mind simultaneously went blank and raced, bouncing from one calamity to another, landing on nothing concrete. I avoided the front entrance of the Donmar, skipping the queue of umbrelled fans, lined against the brick wall, awaiting my man, and circled around the back. The door was propped open for me or for strike, I couldn't say.

Stage assistant, Marcus called to me as soon as I entered the fluorescent lighted vestibule. "(Y/N)! Here!"

Gasping, I exclaimed, "Marcus!" I surged towards him, grasping his arm with frenetic energy. "Where is he? Is he alright?"

My chest heaved, the oxygen burning my lungs with the effort of catching my breath from the rush to get there. My eyes bore into those of the brash, straight-laced Englishman, willing him to alleviate my worry.

"He's upstairs. Only a brief accident."

I tried to take the steps two at a time but my legs were too short and the stairs too wide. The atmosphere backstage was different, stagnant, disturbing, and quiet. I made a beeline for Tom's dressing room and found him sitting heavily in a chair with his castmate, Mark standing over him. My eyes swept the room for clues as to why my boyfriend had an icepack held to his head. There were tissues and gauze pads coloured red with blood beside the men on the table.

Driven forward by my concern, I went to him, his eyes closed, his breathing shallower. Modulating my voice, I breathed out, "Tom! What happened?"

My boyfriend groaned in pain, reaching for me with his right hand. I clutched his hand in mine, inching towards him, my gaze shifting between Tom, his head and his castmate.

With an almost permanent expression of gentile sympathy and a soothing soft-spoken voice, Mark comforted, "A bit of a run-in with a door." Guilt laced over his syllables, "Rushed in to lend a hand with his bags... afraid I whacked him a good one in the head with the door." He turned to my boyfriend and apologized, "I'm sorry, Tom. May I do anything?"