A Collection of Odds & Ends

Two Strangers : Want You (Ivar - Vikings)

Ivar was miserable and his idiot brother, Ubbe, wasn't making it better by inviting everybody they knew over for dinner. Slouched in his wheelchair, Ivar gritted his teeth at Hvitserk who was energetically waving his hands around mid-story.

He'd woke up this morning, his back was paining and his left knee felt as though someone has used his knee cap as a football over the course of the night. The pain had been taken care of rather quickly, but the hurt in his ego would need some time. When he had tried to FaceTime you; Ivar had been met by a brief glimpse of your face which wore a frown as you hurriedly told him that you were off to tend to a work emergency.

Some one year anniversary this was going to be.

Ivar was spending it surrounded by morons, an unfair assumption since none of this could be blamed on any of them. Listening to people be happy, while he wasn't had always drove Ivar a little crazy.

"Ivar," Ubbe's girlfriend, Margrethe, gently touched his shoulder to grab his attention, "Do you need me to get you anything?" She was getting up, it was nice of her to ask. Ivar's reply could have been nicer.

"Did I ask for help?" His blue eyes glared at her.

"I'm sorry, I was only offering." Margrethe shrugged it off. Ubbe had warned her, when she had arrived that his little brother was in a mood. Again.

"Ivar," Ubbe scolded as he would a child.

"Ubbe." Ivar mocked his older brother, rolling his eyes.

"Because you are in a bad mood, gives you no right to treat all of us like shit." Ubbe pointed his finger, in a dad-like lecturing way, at Ivar. His tones and actions were almost as if someone has brought Ragnar back and placed him next to Hvitserk on the couch.

If his father were here, at least someone would be kind enough to allow Ivar his self-pity.

"Whatever," Ivar grumbled, pushing himself out of the living room. If they needed him, unlikely, they would know where to find him.

His bad mood had been on going, he heard Sigurd inform someone in the living room, as he rolled down the hall. Ivar had been snapping and yelling at everyone, with no real reason, for the past two weeks. If he told them, then they would mock him or try to tell him that he was being paranoid.

For the last two weeks, every time Ivar tried to contact you, it was a disaster. You were either too busy to FactTime, your calls were almost non-existent, and even your texts were short one word replies. Ivar wasn't stupid. He knew that the possibility of you finding someone else or losing interest in him was very likely.

Your mother sent him a message almost daily, asking how he was, or sending him silly little jokes or links that she felt he'd enjoy. Ivar didn't want to mention the strain to her, in case your new found interest – man or otherwise – wasn't common knowledge. The one time Ivar attempted to bring it up with Ubbe, his older brother rolled his eyes and told Ivar that you were probably busy with work. His advice had been to give you space.

Space?

Ubbe was crazy.

The next time Ivar got to talk with you, for more than two minutes, he was going to tell you just how he felt. Ivar Lothbrok was no a toy, he could not be used and then replaced, not without a damn good reason. If it was distance, then Ivar wanted to know. If it was him, then he deserved to know. Whatever the reason, Ivar wanted you to look him in the eye and tell him.

Every time he thought about it, Ivar could feel the urge the cry creeping up. A good cry wouldn't hurt, but that was best left for when he was alone. Not in a house full of people. If one of his brothers found him crying over a girl, they would never let it go. Ivar would carry that with him for the rest of his life and he couldn't have that.