Who: Felix Weissman and Njall Strand What: Njall Gets Some Devastating News When: Monday, June 24, 2019 | Right as the Memo Goes Out Where: Njall's office and then apartment Warnings: Plot, Big Feels (incl. a panic attack), Language
Two envelopes sat on his desk.
At first glance, they were innocuous enough: white envelopes with AWC postage and neat, black printed type that contained his name and current address.
Of course, these were actually copies, triplicates to the ones that were no doubt waiting for him at home and also the ones currently housed in HR. Edie had been kind enough to drop these off herself, and they had chatted for a bit about what the envelopes meant for him in the immediate sense. Well, it had been less chatting and more Ms. Hazel talking to him in thankfully low and not unsympathetic tones. Mostly all that Njall had done was sit there in stunned silence and perhaps nodded in key places to show that he understood anything in this utterly incomprehensible situation.
His phone dinged with notifications—phone calls, texts, voicemails, etc.—but he hadn't heard a single one of them after texting Felix much, much earlier. Njall wasn't even sure what it had even been about. The world was narrowed down to those two envelopes. All he could do was stare at them; his world was being dictated by two letter sized folded and glued bits of paper that contained even more paper that contained the same kind of neat, black printed type found on the exterior.
Fuck the person who ever invented paper. And ink for that matter. Fuck everything.
Felix had waited at his office for awhile after finishing up, as he and Njall had plans to leave together from there. When the healer didn't show at the expected time, Felix had texted. And texted again. And again. After the third unanswered text, he assumed an emergency had come up that didn't allow Njall to check his phone, so he'd packed up his things and headed over to the medical building.
His first indication that something was Not Right was the complete lack of other personnel with any appearance of emergency handling. The second was the empty look on his boyfriend's face when Felix stepped into the open doorway of his office and called his name. The third—completely unnecessary, at that point—was the unrecognizable expression that took its place when Njall seemed to truly see him.
Felix closed the door gently behind him as he went inside. He dropped to one knee next to the other man and rested one hand on Njall's leg, because the physical contact was necessary. "What's wrong?"
A sharp intake of breath shuddered through his chest as he stared at Felix. Njall didn't blink for long moments, but when he did, he could feel that it was a weird, fluttery thing, and that his eyes were hot and stinging. He wanted so badly to tell him everything, but also desperately afraid that the instant he opened his mouth he would just start screaming every awful thing he was feeling and thinking and never want to ever stop. Instead, he carefully picked up the envelopes, fingers pressed just into the edges like they were toxic, and handed them over.
The first was a notice from his insurance company that stated, in no uncertain terms, that his General Professional Liability and Malpractice plan had been canceled. The other was from the American Board of Healers telling him that his license had been suspended, pending review of his "circumstance." Both were dated that day, the 24th. News had traveled fucking fast. He watched Felix read both, or more likely skim them, as the anxiety that had settled in his gut reached a fever pitch. What he wanted to do just then was throw up so badly, but that would have required him to open his mouth. (See above, re: screaming.) Just edging that out, however, was his sudden desire to crawl into Felix's arms and never leave them.
Njall licked lips that had long since gone dry and tasted salt.
Immediately, Felix had an internal fight between wanting—and, at this point, needing—to read those letters and wanting to wrap his arms around Njall, because there had been enough cause for tears thus far in their relationship for him to read between the lines...and something was very wrong here. He stood as he reached for the letters, repositioning himself to lean against the desk next to Njall, facing him.
The first letter suspending the man's healing license was enough. It hardly mattered what the other one said right now. Felix laid them both back on the desk without bothering to replace the first in its envelope, being very deliberate with his actions in an attempt to keep back the tide of anger that wouldn't be particularly useful yet. Yet. Even without the letter being explicit, it was obvious enough what this was about. Had Rory or Thorne lodged a complaint, or had this gone beyond that small circle to the bystanders who probably hadn't even understood what was happening?
He put one hand on either side of Njall's face, swiping at tears with his thumbs without really trying to get rid of them. If ever a man had the right to cry, this was one of them. "I'm here," he said softly, because it appeared to be far too soon for any version of 'It's going to be okay' to mean anything. "I've got you." Even if no one else does.
The hands that came up to hold Felix's in place were shaking so badly that only pressing them hard onto the other's was enough to stop them. He tried to take in a breath, but his lungs weren't cooperating. Another try, but this one was less successful than the first. In the next second, Njall was gasping, eyes going wide and staring into Felix's face with helpless fear. An intellectual, and therefore completely drowned out, part of him recognized this exactly for what it was: a panic attack. A low croak was all this throat would allow. "I can't… I can't… Felix..."
"Breathe, love," Felix said, still in that quiet tone, thumbs stroking his cheeks in a steady rhythm. "Just listen to my voice and breathe, all right? I'm not going anywhere, but as soon as you feel up to it, we're going to go back to your place for some space. One step at a time, one breath at a time." He kept repeating various versions of that little speech, eyes on Njall's but also watching his breathing and posture. There might not have been any black eyes this time, but it was far more concerning.
It took no small effort for him to do just that, to focus on that low rumble, to watch—in the periphery—the rhythmic way his chest rose and fell. Njall's began to match its rise and fall, not at all on a level that he was even aware of. Everything in him that wasn't in a shambles of devastation was oddly quiet, almost conspicuous in its absence. The waves were silent, the ocean retreating deep as though cowed by the unforeseen consequences of their actions. It took a while before he could summon up a coherent thought pattern, let alone the words to go with them, but he managed a few, in what was becoming a running theme with them it seemed, "Take me home, please."
Felix was relieved when the other's breath started to slow again, even if the anxiety that had caused it obviously wasn't gone. He nodded and pressed a kiss to the man's forehead before he stood. With one hand he stuffed those awful letters into his bag, unsure whether Njall would need them, and with the other he grabbed Njall's hand to steady the man onto his feet. He caught sight of Njall's bag, and grabbed that, too.
"Deep breath," he said once he had his arms around his distressed boyfriend. He watched to make sure Njall had done it, and then apparated. From there, it was a quick thing to get the bags dropped inside the door and to maneuver Njall into the bedroom to sit on the bed. He pulled off his shoes and socks, then did the same with his own before climbing up next to him and pulling Njall into his arms.
The haze that had descended over his brain never lifted. He'd gone through all the motions, followed all of Felix's prompting on autopilot, trusting Felix completely. A deep part of him warned against that kind of reliance and knew that it was by no means fair to the other man. He'd been present for all of their movements, but not at all aware of any of it until suddenly he was in his room, on his bed, and in Felix's hold. Njall sagged against him with a full body shudder. His own grip was a ghost of what it usually was, but at least he had something solid in them, something tangible that he could cling to, something that was his. Slowly the words came, forced out into the world. If he didn't let them, he knew they'd just fester.
"Edie dropped them by. Didn't want to just send an email or text or have it just show up without warning. They sent copies here too, but made damned sure HR got them first. Nice, right?" His bitterness was acidic on his tongue, and bile rose in the back of his throat. "He was kind about it, but we both knew what this meant. I can't work there until this gets resolved. I can't work anywhere until this gets resolved. Not as a healer. And I don't even know who I get to blame for this. Was it the Dominicos? Someone from the Kestral that night? Or was it someone from the gala? Patients have been dropping me for the last two weeks. It might have been one of them. Or enough of them that the Board finally had to do something."
A harsh laugh bubbled out of him, grating even to his ears. Furious tears soaked into the front of Felix's shirt, and Njall was powerless to stop them. Story of his stupid life. "Actually, I know exactly who to fucking blame for this. And he conveniently jumped into the goddamned sea forty-odd years ago."
Felix paid little attention to what his hands were doing while Njall spoke, but they were in constant motion, smoothing, caressing, soothing, tracing. He was glad to have his boyfriend held against his chest, because it meant that he didn't have to school the myriad of expressions that flitted across his face in that short timeframe. He had no idea what the right thing was to say or do here, but he did know that his response mattered, and so he was careful to moderate it until he'd decided. But his face? That was pure fury, because he needed an outlet for that right the fuck now.
But then, suddenly, all that mattered was making Njall understand the one thing that was making him so angry, and he shifted as he tipped the other's chin up, trying to catch his eyes again. "I'm only going to say this once, because I know it's not helpful for the problem at hand, nor probably what you want to hear right now." He brushed at those tears with his thumb, hating that anything could have made this man feel this way. "You are beautiful. Every goddamned thing about you, even the ones that came from your deadbeat dad. And the blame goes to anyone who thinks they can prove to me otherwise. Because they can't."
Yes, there were things that Njall hadn't figured out about himself related to his Selkie heritage, and Felix could see how they might freak someone out. But you didn't punish a child for discovering he had magic, no matter how chaotic the spurts of accidental spells were. You praised his natural talent and found ways to help him shape it.
"Give me a direction, love." Felix pressed his forehead to Njall's as that word repeated itself over and over in his head, though in an entirely different context. "Because whatever it takes to clear this up, appeal this, take it to the bloody Minister of Magic, Prime Minister, President—whatever the fuck you have in this country—I'm going to be right here doing whatever it is that you need to me to do to fix this."
Njall was pretty sure that his heart was going to burst. He could feel the tension coming from Felix, radiating off of him in waves that pulled Njall in rather than pushing him away. His lips parted in tiny gasps, and suddenly he was laughing. The tears were still there, but they were something else entirely now. Maybe he was just broken too much to fix right now, and maybe that was even okay, because there were precisely two people in the entire world who mattered to him more than anything, with one more on the way soon, and one of them had his arms around him and was ready to take on the thousand natural shocks that flesh was heir to just for him. Njall was still smiling, probably like a complete crazy person, when he leaned in and kissed him. It was deep and passionate and all the things he was feeling: terror, gratitude, anger, happiness. There was a maelstrom in his head, and he poured it into kissing his boyfriend.
He was panting hard when he finally broke off. Fingers sweeping over Felix's face, Njall couldn't stop grinning at him. "I have no doubts that you would fight the universe for me, and I appreciate that more than any stupid words can say, and it matters and all of this is still really important, and I'm still pissed off all to hell and back, but none of it is very important, because I love you." It came out in a rush, but the last sentiment desperately needed to be said again, to be emphasized. "I'm in love with you."
At first, Felix was bewildered and a little concerned at Njall's reaction. The anger that had fueled his speech was still bubbling under the surface, looking for an outlet, and it was harder to tamp down than usual, even with the other man smiling at him—and maybe especially because of that, because Felix desperately wanted that smile to be real. It wasn't until that kiss—that kiss—that he started to believe that maybe it was something more than post-stress delirium, and even then his expression was still a little confused at the brightness of Njall's smile when they broke off.
Those words chased away every bit of doubt. He'd love people before. He'd venture to say it came to him pretty easily, even. Sometimes he sought it, sometimes he chased it, sometimes he avoided it. But this? This was not easy. Somehow this man was bound so tightly to every fiber of his being that the idea of even breathing without him seemed difficult, even painful, and that was something he'd never wanted. Too many things had claim to his soul already; to give it up to a person for what had always seemed such a paltry reward had never been part of his plans. But here he was—here he'd been—more than willing to let Njall keep that part of him that was already so entangled that Felix was pretty sure separation wasn't even possible, let alone desired.
He couldn't even quite smile, because his expression was something closer to awe.
Felix hesitated, not because the words weren't begging to burst from his lips, but because every way he imagined saying them seemed entirely insufficient in the moment. Words had come so easily to him only moments before, fueled by righteous anger, but now that he needed to say very possibly the most important thing he'd ever said, words wanted to fail him. He closed his eyes, nuzzling Njall's jaw, and the whispered words came out almost as penance for the long, undeserved pause. "I love you. I love you. I love you."
It was a weird sensation, to feel both incandescently happy and also filled with unbridled rage and wounded indignation. Yet this was the emotional quagmire that Njall found himself in, and he was loath to even attempt to get himself free. Fortunately, he was tipped far more toward the former, and it allowed him to keep from dwelling for a little while longer. Or was that stewing? Wallowing? Wading through the muck of his existence?
It didn't matter. Well, it did, but it could matter on a delay, dammit. His lips trembled as he grinned at Felix, because his heart was definitely far too large for his chest, and all he had was this weirdly broken part-human body to contain it. "For the record," he laughed, tone not at all matching his words, "I'm still pissed as all fuck, but not even all that garbage can touch me right now. Not while you're touching me." He drew his fingers down the buttoned collar of Felix's shirt slowly, watching its progress before looking back up into his face. A sly smile slipped into place. "You know what this means, don't you?"
If Njall wanted to chase away the sad with the happy for a little while, Felix was more than willing to help him do that, even if his own feelings were still underscored with worry. He cupped the man's face between his hands, eyes searching for any sign that this was simply bravado. The last thing he wanted was to make Njall feel worse by accident. "I hope it means that you'll let me get you out of these scrubs and into the shower," he said finally, a bit of that lagging smile finally playing across his lips. "After that? It means whatever you want it to mean."
After shooting a scowl down at himself, and suddenly hating the accepted uniform of his profession, he took Felix's hands and put them against his chest. "It means that you shouldn't stop touching me for a really long time. Probably all night. Starting with these damned scrubs. And then tomorrow?" His face hardened into something flinty and determined, his smile suddenly fierce. "Tomorrow, I fight."