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mrsalwayswrite · 2 years

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To Call Forth Love - Chapter 17

I'm back! I'm so sorry its taken me months to update. Life took a turn for the busy. During this time I've had people ask and I promise I have no intentions of abandoning this fic, even if it takes me months to update. I'm enjoying this story too much, and I hope you are too.

Also this chapter was a tough one to write. So I suggest you buckle up your seatbelts because the angst train is here since its Ivar's POV! Hopefully the length also makes up for the wait!

min skatt– my treasure

Words: 9400

Warnings: language, implied drug use, mild sexual content, brief mentions of violence, Ivar doesn't handle feelings well

Series Masterlist

Ivar fucked up.

He knew it. His family knew it. Hell, it might as well be broadcasted on global news at this point.

He had fucked up.

Severely.

That thick, tar-like feeling of betrayal had coated his nerve endings, dulled his mind and made his black heart stone-cold. The sensation of betrayal was not unusual, but he hated it. With every cell of his body, he loathed it. Anger was an escape, a way to get out of the suffocating void that betrayal tried to drown him in. So he latched onto the familiar burn of anger, a welcomed friend by this point in his life.

But when the fire burned out, when he could see past the comforting haze of red…it was to the sight of fear in Kari's blue-green eyes and tears running down her cheeks.

Immediately, he knew he fucked up in the worst way possible. And when she ran from him, he could not blame her. Even if every step she took away from him was a knife repeatedly to the gut. But her expressive eyes, they told him how badly he had messed up. She had dealt with plenty of his shit but this…this was the line crossed. He could not even get mad at her for it, for self-loathing had wrapped its tentacles around him and squeezed.

He had lost her. His gift from the gods. His kitten.

His Kari.

He vaguely remembered screaming and demanding his brothers and Floki release him. Could barely recall landing a solid punch to Sigurd that busted his knuckles and broke his brother's nose. Somehow he ended up on the floor whimpering her name with cold tears slipping from his eyes as Floki kept his arms wrapped around him, either to keep him restrained or to comfort, Ivar was unsure. But it did not matter.

In a single moment, he knew he had lost her.

And it was his own fucking fault.

When Ragnar returned later, Ivar could barely get words to come out, his tongue felt heavy and his stomach full of stones. His father had taken one look at him and sighed.

"Leave her alone. I told her you'd stay away. Don't make me fucking put security on you to keep away from her. She's got enough shit to deal with now."

Ivar nodded silently. Promising himself he would.

But the next day he broke that promise.

It was an all-consuming need to see her, to check on her, to make sure she did not despise him as much as he did himself. He tried to sneak away, however idiotic that was. A crippled bastard trying to sneak out of the house, where every footfall was as loud as a gong. Standing at the door, phone in hand to call a driver, Floki had found him. He took one look at the child of his heart and told him to get into his car. That he would drive him, but only this once.

Ivar was unsure what he had expected when choosing to visit Kari. Hell, he was not even sure she would be home. All he knew was at some point during the night, while he laid awake on his bed, sleep evading him like a mocking ghost, he knew he had to see her. Fuck what Ragnar said.

When she walked away, she had taken part of his heart with her. Whoever cliché that sounded, and he would never admit it aloud. Yet that was how it felt. And now he needed to know if he would ever get that blackened, bleeding organ back from her delicate, gentle hands.

In his mind, the best case scenario of his unexpected arrival would involve her running into his arms, him reassuring her he never meant to hurt her, immediately followed by hot make-up sex that lasted for hours.

The worst case scenario? He would walk in the door and she would shoot him. No…he would walk in the door and she would coldly tell him she never wanted to see him again, that whatever they had was over and how much she hated him. He would gladly take being shot instead of hearing her say anything like that.

What he walked in on- seeing her curled up on the couch, with red-rimmed eyes and tear stains on her cheeks- that felt like someone took a whip at what remained of his heart and attempted to shred it.

When he happened to notice the faintest discoloration along her jawline…the lashings began in earnest.

Then her words, her hesitation. It all tore at him.

"I need time, Ivar."

Another lashing of the whip.

But he absorbed the pain, welcomed it because he deserved every stroke. What he did was unforgivable, but somehow he hoped she would.

Gods, he hoped she could forgive him.

He did not linger, feeling his concrete reinforced composure cracking under the weight of his self-loathing and turmoil.

Thankfully, Floki never said a word when Ivar reentered the car. Nor did he question when Ivar put in a food order to be delivered to Kari.

Afterwards, the entire drive was silent.

Back at the house, he could feel Floki's shrewd gaze on him but he ignored it. He only spared his brothers a glance before retreating to his room. To the isolation and darkness there. To where he could cry without anyone seeing.

At some point that despair morphed into anger and before he realized it, he found himself in the home gym. He had no recollection of walking out of his room and to the gym. But in the moment, it did not matter. All he cared about was ruthlessly pounding on the punching bag.

All of his self-loathing. All of his anger directed at himself, at his family, at the whole fucking world. All of his pain and despair. All for it he poured into his punches. Each slam of his fist on the fabric drained a little more from the reservoir overflowing inside of him.

When his bones broke under the onslaught, he never relented.

As blood splattered the bag, the floor and himself, he persevered.

His whole vision had tunneled into needing to feel the pain, into pouring out his frustration. He breathed in the pain and let it wash over him.

He was not one for going to church, none of the Lothbroks were. But this. Each punch. Each sharp stab of pain. Each coating of blood flying from his own body. It all felt like a penance. It was no Hail Mary or Our Father. But this was even more raw, more real for Ivar.

For he knew blood. He knew pain.

What better way to atone for his sins than to punish himself with both?

He was unsure how long he slaved away at his personal penance until they found him.

Ubbe and Hvitserk pinned him to the floor. His blood stained their hands. His heart and lungs were in overdrive yet his mind was blissfully silent. He could vaguely hear Floki say something about a broken hand and they needed to take him to the hospital.

The rest of the night was spent with nurses and doctors, x-rays and a black cast on his hand and forearm. The sterile smell of the hospital burned his nose. The grating voices of the hospital staff asking questions and reading his extensive records irritated him.

But he kept silent.

All he could hope for, all he could pray for, was his atonement could somehow make up for his sins. That his blood shed could replace the pain he caused.

That his offering would be enough.

*****

The following day he spent in solitude. No matter how many times someone knocked on his door, he never answered. The one time Hvitserk tried to stick his head in, Ivar threw a drinking glass at him. Immediately after, Ivar cursed himself for the now shattered glass on the carpet. He knew he was acting pitiful yet he could not seem to rise above the deep well of depression and its thick cords wrapped around his body, dragging him further into its dark depths.

The only person he willingly chose to answer was his mother, but that was more out of self-preservation when she continuously called him for three minutes straight without stopping. The conversation had been brief and then he returned to watching TV while laying on his bed, trying his hardest to ignore the cast on his right hand and forearm and how much it fucking sucked to deal with.

At some point during the day, he had tossed his phone across the room, uncaring whether it broke or not. The temptation, the need, to text Kari, to call her, to profusely apologize and beg for her forgiveness was too much. She said she needed time. So he was going to damn well give it to her.

Fuck, if he could just forget it all for a while. Instead of drowning in thoughts of her. Of his self-loathing. Of how he always fucked up the best things in his life.

The next day an idea came to mind, a way to find a temporary reprieve from the swirling vultures of his thoughts.

He just needed his brother's help.

*****

Ivar and Hvitserk settled back onto the couches, the short table in front of them already with beers waiting for their pleasure. The loud thumping from the bass of the club's speakers could be felt in Ivar's chest. The shrill cries of the inebriation mixed with excitement filled the air as much as the music.

He pointedly ignored the fact, this was the very place he first met Kari and became consumed by her.

Ivar's fierce blue eyes scanned the crowd from his advantageous position about the main floor. For a Sunday night, the dance floor was packed and the line along the bar was full. He wondered if there was a special event or celebration causing it to be busier than normal. Not that he truly cared. The more people the better for his plan.

"So why are we here, Ivar?"

He looked over at his flaxen-haired brother. "I needed to get out."

"Yeah? Well I'm personally shocked this is the place you'd choose." Hvitserk waved to someone walking by that called his name but swiftly returned his attention to his younger brother. "So why are we here?"

"I told you–"

"And I'm calling bullshit, Ivar."

Ivar scoffed, taking a long draw of the beer in front of him. Only after initially reaching for the beer with his right hand and belatedly remembering it was in a cast before grabbing it with his left. It was a miracle he had not needed surgery for all the broken bones in his hand and wrist. The dumbass that he was, he had not even thought to wrap his hands before pummeling the punching bag. But what was another surgery to him? What was more broken bones to his crippled body? Physical pain was his closest companion. But this constant ache in his heart, this roiling torment, it was more than he could bear.

Hvitserk sighed. "I know you're hurting– don't give me that look, asshole– it's obvious to everyone with eyes. Look, if you wanted to just get drunk, we could have done that at home. So why are we here? Do you need a distraction? Someone to suck your cock? Is that why we're here?"

Ivar leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees, mirroring his brother's pose. "I need something to get me out of my fucked up mind for a while."

"Okay…I'll go order a bottle of–"

"No," Ivar interrupted, "I need something else. I need the good stuff, Hvits."

Hvitserk blinked for a moment before immediately shaking his head and leaning back, as if distancing himself emphasized his refusal. "Ivar, no."

Ivar waited a second before continuing. "You know who has the best quality, who doesn't fuck around."

"Ivar….I don't do that anymore–I won't…not this."

The youngest Lothbrok understood his brother's hesitation, his wariness. It was a closely concealed secret of their family about Hvitserk's prior drug addiction and how it had almost killed it. He had been clean for close to two years now, but Ivar knew he still had connections even if he did not partake in the sampling anymore.

Ivar continued to stare at his older brother, just waiting. He knew he was an absolute, selfish bastard for asking this favor. Hvitserk had tried to protect his youngest brother as much as possible while he struggled with his addiction, and this was the one dark spot in Hvitserk's life that he tried to forget about or ignore. But right now, Ivar would do whatever necessary to get a break from his emotional pain. Including lying to his brother.

Hvitserk ran a hand down his face. "Just this once."

"Just this once." Ivar agreed.

He stood up, giving Ivar one more long look as if hoping Ivar would change his mind. When Ivar only stared back, Hvitserk shook his head, and wandered off with a "stay here" over his shoulder.

The dark-haired Lothbrok leaned back on the couch, arms across the back and surveyed the crowd once again. Years ago he had experimented with different substances, usually alongside Hvitserk, but while his brother enjoyed the sensations, Ivar did not. His mind was his greatest weapon, his most prolific asset. He disliked having his senses affected and his mind sluggish or useless. There had also been one too many accidents that left him in the hospital due to broken bones or lacerations that made him rethink the continued use. He did not mind getting a buzz from drinking, it was almost an obligation during family events, but he still felt in control then.

Tonight though, he wanted out of his head. Even for a little while.

Feeling eyes on him, his predatory gaze shifted towards the half stairs leading up to the restricted seating area. His blue eyes locked with a pair of bright green ones, belonging to a blonde with a black and gold dress that hugged her fit form like it had been painted on. He continued to watch her, curious to see what she would do next. Instead of looking away, she met his gaze head-on, running a finger along the low neckline of her dress.

A smirk grew on Ivar's face as he crooked a finger at her, beckoning her over.

It did not take long until his cock was down her throat.

He allowed the sweet bliss to fill him, to cloud his mind and focus on the pleasure her skilled tongue gave him. But even then, it was still Kari's name on the tip of his tongue when he came.

*****

Darkness swaddled Ivar in its cocoon of warmth, keeping him safe and at peace. Here, nothing mattered. In the darkness, he was nothing and everything. A serenity floated through and around him, even when his dreams were caked in blood and screams. Nothing could touch or harm him….

….until the abrupt sensation of cold water splashed across his face, delivering him back to the realm of the living.

"Fuckkkk….what the fuck?" Ivar groaned after jerking awake and wiping the water off this face. Now his pillow was wet. Whoever disturbed him was going to fucking die. Well, once the pounding in his head, echoing his heartbeat, stopped and pain no longer flared behind his eyelids. Fuck, the nausea churning in his gut threatened to escape its weak confines. His stomach itself was attempting to claw its way out of his body. Why did everything fucking hurt? What kind of hangover from hell was this?

"Mmm….what's going on, baby?" A sleep-laced, feminine voice said from beside him.

Her voice grated against his ears, only intensifying the psychotic marching band that had taken up residence in his brain. "Shut the fuck up." He growled as he screwed his eyes shut.

A signature giggle came from the end of the bed, quickly followed by, "does your head hurt? That's a shame."

Fuckkkkkkkk……

Silently, Ivar begged all the gods he knew of to kill him now. He could not deal with that deranged madman today. His whole body was revolting against him at the moment. Even his thoughts staggered and rolled like a drunken sailor onboard a ship. Why was everyone talking so loudly? Was it even possible for sound to hurt this much?

Of course, because the universe hated him and despised him since birth, the feminine voice began shrieking and flailing about on the bed. The hammers striking against his brain with each heartbeat magnified their strength, as if wielded by gods themselves. He groaned loudly, digging the heels of his hands into his forehead, wishing death on everyone who dared to make a single sound.

Finally, when he could not take her wordless panicking anymore, he rolled over (his stomach reminding him of the physical revolt it was currently throwing) and slapped his hand harshly over the woman's mouth.

"Shut up!"

After a moment, he could feel her give a slight nod and only then did he release her. With that, he finally opened his eyes. The morning light blazed through the window, the curtains fully drawn back allowing maximum light into the room. His eyes slammed shut once more, refusing to suffer another level of torture.

"Fucking sadists." He mumbled, pressing his face back into his damp pillow. He must have spoken loud enough because that signature giggle followed his statement, sending another wave of pain shooting through his brain.

Fingers abruptly started running through his hair and down his bare back. An attempt at soothing him but instead it did the opposite. His body stiffened and his fists clenched even as he laid face down on the bed.

"Don't touch me." He hissed through clenched teeth.

The fingers stilled.

Carefully he tilted his head and peeked over at the woman beside him. What he saw made him immediately regret it and curse his subconscious desires. She had brown hair that most likely had been straightened last night but was now sleep-tousled, with hints of curls returning. The mascara and eye shadow around her blue eyes was smudged. Full lips sat under a small, straight nose.

Wordlessly, Ivar turned away from her and felt his heart crack at the sight. He knew what it was and hated what his drunk self had done. With just that single glance, he knew his drunk self had chosen her for the faint similarities she had with Kari. Apparently his subconscious would only bring someone like her into his bed now. Gods, what was fucking wrong with him?

"Get out."

"What?" She questioned softly, her hand still on his shoulder.

He turned his head to glare at her. "Fucking leave."

"But baby…you said last night that you needed me. You made me promise to stay."

And there was the knife twisting in his gut, but he ignored the pain. He needed her and her irritating touch gone. He needed to wallow in his pain alone and without someone to remind him of his mistakes. Why the fuck would his drunk self pick her? What kind of masochist was he?

He closed his eyes, no longer willing to look at her. Someone that would never fulfill the throbbing ache in his chest. "Leave or I'll gut you."

He could sense the warring within her, the confusion and hesitation, and he wondered what else he had blathered at her about last night. What lies and promises had he spewed at her, even if it was truly another person those words were meant for.

"I suggest you go. I'm not in the mood to clean up blood today." Another bodiless voice said from somewhere in the room.

Ivar turned his head towards the voice but kept his eyes closed. "Hvits?"

"Morning, brother."

"Ugh. Fuck you."

His brother's answering chuckle made Ivar want to stab someone. Repeatedly.

The bed began to shift as the Kari look-alike started to get out, but when she tugged on the blanket to cover her nakedness, Ivar yanked the blanket back. He heard the quiet, surprised gasp but there was no remorse in him. She could parade naked down to the lobby for all he gave a shit. Shuffling and footsteps followed a clicking of what he assumed was the bathroom door.

"Here, you ungrateful bastard. Move that ass."

Ivar rolled over and carefully sat up. The room spun like a carnival ride and he held his head for a long moment, swearing and cursing amidst the pain. Once he was able to overcome the rising nausea, he accepted the water and pills, knowing he needed them since he doubted the two intruders would leave him alone anytime soon. Damn them.

As he sipped on the water, the bathroom door opened. The woman came out, wearing a maroon dress that looked like someone had taken artistic license to while wielding a knife. She met his eyes, holding one black heel. But whatever she was hoping for, Ivar refused to give her. He slid his gaze away from her, focusing straight ahead and the ugly artwork in the hotel room he found himself in. What hotel was this? It did not look familiar. He heard her scoff and her footsteps move towards the door.

"Hvitserk, help her out." The asshole said, who had taken a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Sure."

After the door closed, a pregnant silence fell on the two left in the hotel room. Ivar continued to sip on the water, staring straight ahead. The throbbing in his head felt relentless and his body ached as if he had gone a few rounds in the boxing ring. He thought about asking for someone to close the curtains, but his companion began speaking and it overshadowed his internal pain.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I lost my daughter in the woods?" Floki quietly asked.

Ivar's ears perked up, even as he kept staring forward. Floki hardly talked about his only child. Ivar had vague memories of her, influenced by his own young age since they were born a year apart. But he could never forget how at four years old she had died from leukemia. One of his earliest solid memories was watching Floki silently weeping as he cradled a hysterical Helga to his chest, his eyes never straying from the pyre he had built for his daughter's body.

Without waiting for Ivar's answer, he continued. "Hmmm….it was one of the few times she wasn't in the hospital. She was like her mother, always wanting fresh flowers, listening to the birds' sing, smiling at the sun. It was…" He sighed, and Ivar could hear the pain and regret in the man's voice.

"I needed a new tree for a boat and I promised she could come with me. She was so small for her age, so fragile. I got distracted…found the perfect tree and was measuring it. But that was long enough for her to wander off. The panic I felt, Ivar, I can't tell you the complete goddamn terror I experienced as I tried to find my little girl. When she didn't reply as I screamed her name…I thought she'd–" This time he shook his head. "I finally found her, watching birds in the trees above. I scolded her severely, made her cry, but then I hugged her like my life depended on it. I'll never forget the terror I felt that day. Even though it's been over twenty years and she's been gone just as long. I'll never forget." The last sentence came out in a whisper, an audible ode to the harrowing event.

The next several seconds passed in silence before Ivar broke it. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Do you know what day it is, Ivar?"

"What? Why does that fucking matter?"

Floki reached out his long arm and swatted the side of Ivar's head. "Because you selfish, crippled bastard, you've been missing for thirty hours."

"The fuck–'"

"Ivar, listen," Floki interrupted before Ivar could question the validity of the statement. "The gods may have taken my daughter but they gifted me you as a son. And the fear I felt when Hvitserk told me he couldn't find you and you weren't answering your phone…I should beat your ass. I'm too old to deal with this shit anymore."

Ivar sat mutely, his mind reeling with everything Floki had said. How could he be missing for that long? That made no sense. He remembered going to the club with Hvitserk and his brother bringing him the chosen poison and deliverance he had practically begged for. Then there was a girl with blue eyes….or were they green? He could vaguely recall, like looking through a cloudy window, talking with someone about how they had more of the good stuff at their apartment. He remembered huge tits in his face and a woman moaning his name above him.

He glanced down at his right hand, seeing the cast on it still. There were new drawings and several phone numbers on it now from a bright silver marker. Why could he not remember any of that? When did he arrive at the hotel? What kind of shit had he been on?

Logically, he knew Floki had every right to scold him. It was a miracle it was not Ragnar himself chastising him. All the Lothbroks knew that with their rise in power and business accomplishments, it also painted a target on their backs for any that would seek to undermine or destroy them. For one of them to go missing…that would become paramount. Everything else would screech to a staggering halt until the missing person was returned. And for it to be him…with the vast wealth of information and security locked away in his mind. It could easily eradicate the company and their family if that knowledge was given to the wrong person.

As if sensing where Ivar's thoughts led, Floki softly spoke. "Your father doesn't know. He thinks you've been holed up at home. Hvitserk came to me."

A whoosh of air expelled from his lungs, draining the staggering concern and stress that had momentarily crashed over him. "Thanks." He murmured.

"I know you're hurting. You can't deny what my old eyes see. So I've one question for you…what in the hel are you doing, boy?"

"What are you–"

Floki swatted his head again. "Have you numbed the pain? Do you feel better now?"

"Fuck off. You don't know–"

"And that's where you're wrong again, foolish child. I do know." He leaned forward, forcing Ivar's gaze to meet his, the bed shifting under the movement. "What happened with Kari? I drove you there, if you can even remember. I didn't push you then, but I think I damn well deserve an answer. Saved your dumbass from punching through the bag and now this….what happened?"

Ivar flinched but knew the father of his heart was correct. Especially with it just being the two of them, he knew he could speak freely. He opened his mouth to reply, but the words stuck there. What agony he had tried to temporarily escape flooded him. Wave after wave slammed into his chest, especially with the reminder that even drunk and high, he still craved her. Waking up to find someone not her beside him. The pounding in his head was subsiding but now his heart took the brunt of the pain.

Ripping his gaze away from Floki's, he stared down at the empty cup in his hand. His thoughts and memories swirled and clashed, like an intricate swordplay. But those edges were live and sharp, cutting and slashing at him with every pass. Her face, tears trickling down her cheeks. The fear and pain in her eyes. The mark he left on her. The self-loathing that threatened to shatter his control. The desperate need to forget and escape. Pain and blood. Gods, he has fucked up.

Why did he always fuck everything up?

"She said she needed time." He whispered. "She said….fuck– I can't remember everything, but she didn't want to see me. She said….she knows I'm sorry but she still needed time." His eyes blurred, tears welling in them, as he finally looked back up at his companion. Thick emotion choked his throat, making it hard to speak. "What if she…Floki, I can't lose her. I can't–"

Floki gathered Ivar into his arms and just held him as he cried. The youngest Lothbrok could not remember the last time someone held him as he cried like this, his body quivering with the sobs ripped from his very soul. Most likely his mother or Floki, but that would have been years ago. For he had learned to wrap himself in his anger, allowing his fury to be the suit of armor needed to protect him from the world and all the ways it attempted to rend him apart.

But then she walked into his life, with her soft curves, kind heart and ability to see past all his barriers, to see past the thorns and thistles wrapped around his blackened heart, to hear the faint beating there, and to cherish its sound. For her to choose him, to want him for simply being Ivar.

He was undone by her. And yet, he had never felt more powerful and happy than when he was with her.

Eventually his tears subsided, draining him completely. He leaned back against the headrest of the bed as Floki went to refill his water cup. His body still ached, his stomach unsteady and his head hurt from the hangover and from the crying. It felt like someone had stuck a hose in him and sucked all the vitality out of him, leaving him a dry husk of who he should be, or rung out like a rag and tossed onto the floor to be trampled.

Floki handed over the new cup of water, settling back onto the edge of the bed. Wordlessly, Ivar drank it slowly, even as he suppressed the urge to just chug it. He was not that stupid. It would most likely come back up. And he despised the taste of vomit.

Of course, the old man delved into a new level of cruelty. Instead of sitting silently and allowing Ivar time to recover, he resumed speaking.

The asshole.

"How do you think Kari would feel if she found you like this? Hmmm?" He asked thoughtfully, as if they were speculating about the weather. "Think she'd take your ass back seeing you hungover like this? Or hearing about all the women you apparently fucked? Hmmm? Why should she want you after this?"

Shame rolled in his gut, rising with the nausea he could taste in the back of his throat. "She doesn't want me anymore."

Floki swatted his head again. "Damn foolish boy, can't see past his own nose."

"Stop fucking hitting me." Ivar growled.

"Oh, I'll hit you enough times until you start using that brain of yours." Floki leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, a calculating look in his eyes as he observed the dark-haired Lothbrok. "You want her back?"

Ivar furrowed his brows. "What are you talking about?"

"You still want her, yes?"

"What kind of dumb, fucking question is that? She's the reason I–"

"Yes or no, Ivar."

"Yes!" Ivar threw the cup, hearing it hit the nearby wall but kept his gaze locked on Floki's, a tension swirling around them like a rising tide. "Fuck! Yes, I need her! Gods, I miss her so much it hurts!"

"Good." Floki nodded. "You want her back. Now prove it."

"But she said…"

"Yes, yes, she needs time. That doesn't give you the excuse to fuck off and be a disaster. She could still choose you…." Floki's calculating gaze intensified, immediately making Ivar uneasy, "....but not if you're like this. I'll keep her away from you myself if you keep this shit up."

"You wouldn't."

Floki giggled. "Think I won't? I might not know her well, but I do know she deserves better than this." He accused, gesturing to Ivar.

And he was right.

Fuck.

Ivar had always known Kari deserved better than someone like him. She was too pure. Too good. She was the bright, summer sunshine and he was the devastating, dark storm waiting on the horizon. And now…gods, would she even look at him if she knew the self-destruction he had spiraled into because he could not handle her loss? The potential of her rejection. Would she pity him? Would she become even more fearful of him? Would she hate him?

Would she feel betrayed if she knew he had picked someone that looked like her to blindly fuck in a drunken attempt to alleviate his misery? Shit…she would probably never speak to his sorry ass again. And why should she? He had raged at her when hearing she had gone out on a date and here he had been fucking any woman he could.

Why would she want him now? What goddamn right did he had to demand of her loyalty if he could not give his own?

And yet he still wanted her. Still needed her. Would do whatever it took to win her back. To prove how much she meant to him. Even after all the shit he had done. It was still her he thought of constantly, that he wanted by his side, that he wanted to talk to and listen to her laugh, that he wanted to kiss and hold and make love to. Even if fucking was the only thing he knew. He wanted to learn how to make love with her. Floki said to prove it. But how? And the answer to that eluded Ivar.

Slowly, Ivar shifted his gaze back to meet the piercing eyes watching him. He sighed quietly before speaking. "What do I do?"

Floki studied him for a long moment before smiling. "You're coming home with me to Norway. Helga has been asking when you're coming to stay and I want you to see my new boat."

Ivar thought about it then shrugged. "Fine." It was probably the best place for him at the moment anyway.

"Yeah, you ungrateful bastard. I'd drag your ass there anyway. My Helga always gets what she wants."

"You're whipped, Floki."

"Yeah, so are you."

Ivar groaned at the shit-eating grin on Floki's face but could not deny it. Not this time. With all his confessions and actions, it would be futile to try and deny it.

Pushing himself off the bed, Floki started to search around the hotel room. "Where's your clothes, boy?"

"Stop calling me that."

"When you stop acting like a spoiled brat, I will."

"Fuck off."

"No, we've got a plane to catch and I highly doubt you can walk a straight line."

"Fuck me." Ivar groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes in resignation while Floki's giggles filled the room.

It took some time for Floki to locate all of Ivar's things. Thankfully, Ivar still had his pants on. Not that it surprised him. Even drunk and high, apparently his subconscious still was overly aware of the state of his mangled legs and did not want others to see them. Amidst copious amounts of swearing, Floki plying him with an excessive amount of water, and only one trip to the bathroom to puke up half of the contents of his stomach, the two of them finally made it out of the hotel.

The morning sunlight burned Ivar's eyes as he stepped outside, refueling the hammering in his head. Squinting, he could see Hvitserk standing just off to the side of the door, smoking a cigarette. Without a word, he moved to join his brother.

"You look like shit." Hvitserk greeted him. "Smell like sex and vodka."

Ivar took the offered cigarette and inhaled deeply, feeling it curl in his lungs. "It's an improvement over what you always look like."

His brother snorted, taking the cigarette back. "Here." He handed over a pair of sunglasses.

With a nod of thanks, Ivar slipped them on gratefully.

"Don't ever pull this shit again. I was worried." Hvitserk stated as he handed the cigarette back over.

"I know. I think Floki will kill me if I do."

"Slowly and painfully!" The asshole yelled out from where he stood a few paces away on the phone.

Hvitserk chuckled while Ivar rolled his eyes.

"You good?"

Ivar thought about his answer, about all the revelation he had received up in the hotel room and what all Floki had said to him. He answered softly, "I will be."

Hvitserk hummed. "Might want to get tested soon. The number of girls who sucked your cock at the club….if I wasn't so pissed at you, I'd say you deserve an award. Then you fucked off when I walked away and I couldn't fucking find you."

Ivar smirked, as he finished off their now shared cigarette, dropping the butt to the ground and watching Hvitserk step on it.

The three of them loaded up in Hvitserk's car and headed towards the brothers' house. Head against the window, eyes closed during the drive, Ivar listened to Floki's words replay over and over in his mind. How could he 'prove it'? What did that even mean?

He decided to analyze that more later when he was not hungover and exhausted.

Once they finally made it back to the house, Ivar trudged to his room, ignoring the sounds of his family. What in the hell were they doing here in the late morning? Making a quick side trip to vomit once more then pop some strong pain pills he kept in his bathroom, he grabbed a few essentials from his room to bring with him to Floki's.

Over the years, one of the spare bedrooms in Floki's house had become Ivar's since he spent so much time with them, especially as a child. It was the only place Aslaug would allow her youngest to go without her ever-watchful eyes on him. With the frequency and duration of time spent there, it had become easier to leave a decent amount of clothing and other personal belongings to await his return.

With a backpack slung over his back, he grabbed his cane and his computer bag. That would be sufficient for now. If he needed something later, it would not be hard to have his father or brothers deliver it to him.

Voices coming from the kitchen drew his attention and he headed that way after exiting his bedroom. He could hear Ubbe arguing with someone and mild shock spilled over him to hear Gyda. What the fuck was she doing here? And who the hell pissed her off so badly? However much she tried not to associate with the Lothbrok business and keep herself clear of all that entailed, she was certainly a Lothbrok through and through. Her temper alone was evidence of that.

Stepping into the kitchen, he could see Gyda squaring off to Ubbe, hands on her hips and tension coating every inch of her body. Ubbe stood meeting her gaze head-on, arms over his chest. Hvitserk and Floki stood off to the side, seemingly watching the verbal sparring take place with no intention to intervene. Of course, Hvitserk had food in his mouth, one of his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

Hearing his footsteps and cane tapping as he entered the room, all eyes focused on him. Before he could question what was going on, the tall, blonde female practically flew across the room to shove him. It was only through sheer instinct and luck that he managed to only stumble backward and not lose his balance, having to drop his computer bag to reach out for a nearby wall to steady himself.

"What the fu–"

"If you lay a finger on Kari again, I swear I will castrate you…" Gyda spat through gritted teeth with a vengeful fire blazing in her eyes. "...and then I'll cut off all your fingers, one by one. I don't give a single fuck that you're family. You hurt her again, I WILL come for you. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Ivar slowly enunciated, fury boiling in his chest at her threats. But for once, he kept his anger in check.

"Good." She took a step back, hands returning to her hips. It was now she eyed him critically, as if seeing him for the first time. "Holy hell, you do look like shit. I'm still pissed enough I'll beat your sorry ass with your own cane though."

"Gyda, leave him alone, alright?" Ubbe said, coming around the large kitchen island. "You delivered your message, that's enough now."

Any other time, Ivar might have sneered at Ubbe attempting to be the peacemaker in the family, like always. But right now, he was too exhausted, too heartsore, too grateful for his older brother stepping in to say anything. It was taking all the miniscule strength he barely possessed to not lash out at Gyda, even if a small voice in the back of his mind reminded him that Gyda was only standing up for her friend. He met Ubbe's eyes for a moment, hoping he could see the thanks in them before dropping his eyes to his cane in hand.

Floki came over to his side, picking up the dropped computer bag. "Ready?"

He just silently nodded. The frustration and anger coiled and burned in his chest but he bit his tongue for once. Gyda had every right to be pissed at him. Part of him wondered who told her about what happened between him and Kari.

Without a word, Ivar started towards the front door, Floki by his side. The two of them were almost to the door when Hvitserk called out his name, drawing closer.

"Don't stab me, but I'm going to hug you." Hvitserk quickly informed him before doing exactly that. And to both of their astonishment, Ivar readily reciprocated the hug. Neither of them acknowledged the tight grip Ivar had on Hvitserk's shirt, as if in that moment, his brother's touch was the only thing keeping him from crumbling.

"I'll keep an eye on her. I promise." Hvitserk whispered, pulling back enough to press his forehead against his youngest brother's.

"Thanks." Ivar murmured, although it came out more as a strangled croak.

Emotions rising and warring inside him, alongside the unrelenting hangover, he trudged towards the car waiting outside for them. Seeing which driver it was waiting for them, Ivar was thankful it was one that preferred silence instead of background music. Minutes later, they were on the road, heading to the airport and the private Lothbrok plane waiting for them there.

With eyes closed once again, he could not tear his thoughts away from Kari. Not after Hvitserk's comment.

He wondered what she was doing. Was she working today? Had her cramps gotten better? What was she thinking about? Did she miss him yet? It was now he realized how much he looked forward to their conversations, even if it was just over texting. She always made him smile somehow. His own personal sunshine amidst the dark clouds and storm that was his life. His kitten. Did he brighten her day as much as she did his?

An idea popped into his mind and without overthinking it for once, he acted on it.

Less than five minutes later, a bouquet of tulips was on its way to her with his message.

He turned the screen off his phone and tucked it back into his pocket. Gods, he prayed she liked the flowers. She had said they were her favorite. She would be less likely to toss them in the garbage then, right? Fuck. He hoped she liked the gesture, that it brightened her day.

Floki's advice still swirled in his mind, like a maelstrom. Kari had told him to stay away, that she needed time. He could– no, he would honor that. She needed space from him. And she deserved it. But that did not mean he was going to let her go. Fuck that shit. He needed her. He silently swore to himself to do everything possible to show her how sorry he was for his actions and how much he missed her.

To prove how much she meant to him.

*****

Ivar stared out at the gorgeous scenery spread out before him like a painting masterpiece. The steep walls of the Norwegian fjord rose above the glittering blue river. The trees appeared ablaze with what was left of autumn's colors, transforming summer's green to something warmer. A deception to the present chill in the air, a taste of the coming winter. He could practically feel the impending cold in his bones.

His thoughts though were miles away from the picturesque scenery before him. He tapped his phone absent-mindedly against his leg with his left hand, since his right was still in its cast. Which was thankfully back to its original black and without random phone numbers in it. It had only taken a call to the local hospital to have them willing to redo his cast without any questions. One of the many times Ivar appreciated how easily he could use his name to bypass regulations and rules.

"Did you decide yet?"

"Yeah." A small smile turned up the corners of his lips. "I ordered the Armani sweater and Dior jacket."

Helga settled onto the wooden Adirondack chair next to Ivar's, her blonde hair catching in the faint breeze. "I bet she'll love them."

"Hopefully."

"Of course she will." She leaned over, whispering conspiracingly. "Think Floki will buy those for me?"

He chuckled. "If he doesn't, I will."

Laughing, she reached over and squeezed his hand. "I've missed having you here. Even if most of the time, you've been holed up in your room on your laptop."

He rolled his eyes at her pointed look. "I've been working."

"I know. Floki told me. I worry about you. You haven't been sleeping."

His brows pinched together as he tried to figure out how she knew that. Helga typically turned in early and rose with the dawn, quite opposite of Ivar who was a night owl. Aware of that, he made sure to be as quiet as possible when moving around the house, not wishing to disturb her or Floki when he finally retired for the night. At that point, he usually returned to his room but would remain awake for hours more, face illuminated by his computer or phone as he worked feverishly. If he let his mind wander freely too much, it would descend into solemn depths, he would rather avoid.

"Floki told me. He hears you moving around–"

"That asshole never sleeps either." Ivar muttered.

"--and those bags under your eyes are looking like you got into Floki's 'war paint'."

He smirked as the memory came to the forefront of his mind. "If I hide it again, what do you think he'll do?"

"Knowing what happened last time you stole it and drew penises all over the side of his shed….gods, what were you? Fifteen?" She shook her head, unable to fully restrain the amused, fond smile on her face, highlighting the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

He grinned mischievously. "I was thirteen, but it was all Hvitserk's idea though."

"Uh huh. I highly doubt that."

The door opening had both of them turning their heads to see Floki stepping out onto the back deck. He stepped out in his usual brown pants and dark, long-sleeve shirt, the tattoos on the sides of his head clearly visible. He must have finished shaving his head before coming out. Ivar silently wondered if Floki and Helga even noticed anymore that their attire always seemed to match in some way. Today, Floki's shirt was a dark, forest green, the color matching Helga's dress, even as it was covered in a floral design. Maybe they were so in tune with one another by this point in their decades long marriage, it was instinctual or unconscious.

A stray thought drifted through Ivar's mind, questioning if Kari and himself would ever be like that….he quickly brushed it away.

"He lives!' Floki gestured towards Ivar as he came closer. "I thought you'd finally died from glaring at your laptop. Save us all from your complaining and moaning. I was preparing to drag your crippled, scrawny ass down and throw you in a funeral boat."

"Like an old, fat fucker like you could carry me."

"Ivar, language!" Helga chastised.

"You see the abuse I have to deal with, min skatt?" Floki plopped on the arm of Helga's chair, wrapping his arm around her and faux pouting. "And I even shared my Brennivín with him."

She poked his side, making him giggle. "You just wanted an excuse to open the new bottle."

He hummed, noncommittally, before leaning over and placing a gentle kiss to his wife's lips.

Ivar dropped his gaze to his lap. Not because he was uncomfortable with their displays of affection, but because it made his heart ache. He had that and he fucked it up. He had someone to hold and kiss and tease, but he allowed himself to become blinded by perceived betrayal instead of trusting her. Someone who had only ever been genuine and selfless with him.

It was almost a week and a half since he destroyed whatever it was that was blooming between them, something he had never experienced before but craved now with every cell in his deformed body. Six days had passed since he arrived in Norway with Floki.

He had not heard from his kitten since she had texted him in thanks about the food he ordered when he found her on the couch. He could not think about it too much or he knew he would drive himself mad again. The gaping hole in his chest still bled her name, weeped with missing her touch.

He appreciated Floki returning home with him. There was a peace here, tucked away in the woods outside Kattegat, that he had never found anywhere else. Not even in his childhood house in the city. Maybe it was the location? Maybe it was the two people who filled it with pieces of themselves and transformed it from a house to a home? Whatever it was, Ivar was grateful to be here.

The only problem was the silence at night that pursued him. His demons of regret, self-loathing and insecurity stalked him in the darkness, wrapping their claws around his throat to strangle whatever buds of hope tried to blossom in his cheat.

So he threw himself into his work. Ignoring his body screaming for sleep until he passed out from exhaustion or drinking with Floki. He continued to monitor the traitorous fucker, further tightening the strings of his web until soon it would bind the turncoat and keep him immobile.

Then Ivar had lethal plans.

Until then, he kept an eye on other endeavors for Ragnar. Both for the company and off the books, anything to keep his mind busy. More often than not, he would work through the night, not even aware of the sun's arrival until he checked the time. Yet she still invaded his mind with frequency. It certainly did not help that third day, he had drunkenly proclaimed to Floki and Helga, he would send flowers to Kari every day until she took him back.

Floki had laughed.

Helga had sighed then leaned forward and told him to stop sending flowers and send something meaningful.

So far, he had no intentions of ceasing his array of offerings. But he had hoped….wished that by now, she would have texted him. At least thanked him for some of the presents. All he had gotten was radio silence. It burned like ice held against his skin for too long. A permanent chill took up residence in his chest, tightening its grasp on him with each passing day.

He knew she had received the packages. He was notified every time something was delivered but he also had a contact keeping an eye on her for him. Would she never speak to him again if she learned that she was being watched and followed? Most likely. But she already was giving him the silent treatment and he could not with good conscience allow her to be unprotected. He might not be around anymore but that did nothing to lessen his compelling need to keep her safe.

Hvitserk text him frequently, sometimes making a passing comment about how Kari was doing since he checked in with her often. Hearing the snippets of their conversations was both a knife to the chest, twisting and further ripping at his heart but also a cooling balm. To hear she was doing alright and she did not hate his family nor him. That she really did just need time to think.

But how much time? How much longer could he keep waiting? Why would she not just fucking talk to him? Yell at him. Scream until his ears bled. Break one of his bones to help her feel better. Gods, he would let her do anything if it would create a bridge over the void between them.

He just wanted to know if she thought of him as often as his thoughts turned towards her.

Sighing, he glanced down at his phone in his hand, bombarded with alerts and notifications but not from the one person he wanted.

Should he text her? Was it up to him to open that door of communication? But she said she needed time….why was all of this so damn confusing? Why did he have to fuck everything up in the first place?

"I'll go start on dinner." Helga announced, standing up. "Ivar, you should order those books for her next. That was a good idea."

He nodded silently, sending her a small, grateful smile.

After Helga left, the two men sat in the quietness of nature, gazing out over the water and fjord of Norway. A comfortable silence hovered over them.

Suddenly, Ivar's phone started ringing, startling him. With a raised brow, he unlocked the screen and brought the phone to his ear.

"What?"

"How's that vacation of yours?"

"Fuck off."

His father chuckled darkly before clearing his throat and turning serious. "Think you're sober enough to deal with our traitor?"

Ivar tensed, even as his stomach flipped and his fingers twitched in anticipation. "When?"

"Two days."

"Where?"

"Istanbul."

"Good."

Ragnar hummed thoughtly then continued. "He still has no notion we are aware of his activities, correct?"

Ivar snorted. "That goddamn fucker tried to send out information about your supplier in Libya…which does Bjorn even know about this supplier?"

"Not a fucking word, Ivar."

"Yeah, figured." Ivar scoffed, his hand tapped repetitively on his knee as his mind raced. "I'll leave tomorrow. Get everything ready there."

"Excellent. Tell Floki I need him next week."

"Sure."

The click on his phone notified Ivar that his father was no longer on the line and had not even attempted to end the call with a 'goodbye'. Like normal.

"Ragnar needs you next week." Ivar said, leaning back once again in his seat. Weeks of work, weeks of pouring through files and coded messages while digging deeper and deeper into the mire of corruption and betrayal. All of it would finally come into the light. All his hard work would showcase the snake he had caught, slithering through the henhouse. If only it had known Ivar was the bigger predator, with long-reaching claws and limitless resources.

"Hmmm….and what's got you so happy?" Floki asked, breaking Ivar from his thoughts.

He had not even realized a menacing smile covered his lips. Chuckling darkly, he could almost taste the spilled blood on his tongue. He stared straight ahead as he answered Floki, his gaze no longer seeing the fjord but a dark room where justice would be served. "My web has entangled a snake. And now it's time to rip its fangs out and watch it scream as I bleed it dry."

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