Title: Final Masquerade Pairing: Ivar x Heahmund (Modern AU) Other Characters: Mention of Bjorn, Ubbe and Hvitserk - Sigurd got one or two sentences as well :D Words: ~8100 [AO3] Warnings: Insults, Bad opinions about gays, Swearing, Heartbreak, Angst, Hurt Summary: After the death of Sigurd, Ivar had only one task. To approach the investigating cop, get information about the state of the investigation, and distract him. He always did his job well, was proud of that too, but this time he had done one part too well. He had gotten too close to the cop named Heahmund, infecting himself with something he didn't know how to deal with along the way, which was slowly destroying his self from the inside out.
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He felt sick.
Not only since today and also not only since yesterday. The feeling that something was wrong with him had been tormenting Ivar for quite a while now. It wasn't just a runny nose or a scratchy throat. With such things, he could have easily coped. No, it was much worse than that. Much more fatal. This particular disease ate its way torturously slowly through his insides and, judging by recent events, began to affect his entire existence and sense of self as well.
Since his early childhood, Ivar knew what it felt like to be sick. Ever since he was able to consciously perceive the world around him and put it into perspective for himself, it was clear to him that his body was different. Weak and sickly, not as resilient as the bodies of his healthy brothers.
However, this newly appeared disease was worse for him, harder to bear than his constantly aching legs. At least that's how it seemed to Ivar, because, unlike the impairment of his lower body, which he now considered normal, he was not used to it. Pain was his constant companion, and to many, it might seem strange, but he would prefer even worse pain over his current condition any day. What people might forget was that he had painkillers for his legs. He could take them and within a few minutes, the aching would become more bearable. He could also wrap himself in warm blankets or rub some herbal oil into his scarred skin there. Over the years, he had picked up a few tricks to make his life more comfortable, but with his recent problems, Ivar wasn't sure if there was any cure at all.
Everything had started about a year ago when he had been asked to do what he initially thought would be a simple job for the so-called family business. The contagion went unnoticed and insidiously until it had infected his entire body. Step by step. The more he became aware of it, the more it freaked Ivar out. There was nothing he had experienced so far that could explain these silly symptoms.
It had started with an accelerated heartbeat, which led to sweaty palms and a feeling of fever that kept creeping across his cheeks at the most inappropriate moments. His stomach reacted in the strangest way as well. It felt as if he had eaten a battery that still emitted electrical impulses from time to time. Even his lips were affected. They twisted into a smile more often than he would have liked, and he had also caught himself chuckling inanely, although what had been said had not even been funny. It had simply overtaken him, without his consent.
His once so clever and rational mind was also infected, if not to the highest degree. It felt as if maggots had taken up residence in his brain and were now cheerfully eating away his intelligence. This led to him catching himself saying stupid things or thinking of even stupider things almost every day. In the past, he had been able to concentrate on his work for several hours without any problems and had developed clever and, above all, successful strategies with which he had made a name for himself in the family business. But those days seemed to be over, because concentration was no longer so easy to achieve today. Every time Ivar tried to concentrate on his work, his thoughts would wander. They always revolved around the same topic, which really shouldn't be as important to him as it had become over the last months.
His relationship with his brothers was also marred due to constant quarrels and heated discussions about how he should handle the matter. But what did they know? After all, they didn't feel what he felt. They didn't know what it felt like for him, who had always been so level-headed and determined before, to feel so lost and helpless. Torn in a way. Being at the mercy of something intangible was tugging at the image he had of himself and, above all, wanted to maintain. He was no victim, no one to be ordered around, only he found it increasingly difficult to remain true to this image.
Everything just sucked - and not in the way he liked it.
Some time back, he had seen a documentary about a parasite that had made itself at home in the brain of its host and had taken over all its movements. The poor creature was doomed to spend the rest of his life as an empty shell, no longer in control of his body. It had become like a zombie and that's exactly how his situation felt to Ivar at times.
He was controlled from the outside, like a puppet hanging by strings or a moth magically attracted to the light without being able to do anything about it. The light source was its holy grail and so often its doom at the same time.
It was the same in his case.
His light, around which he thoughtlessly circled, went by the name of Heahmund. Heahmund van Sherborne to be more precise. He was both his holy grail and downfall.
Heahmund was the trigger of his symptoms, which his brothers had already quite quickly categorized under the non-medically versed diagnosis - love.
For a long time, Ivar had vehemently resisted this insinuation and had repeatedly emphasized how ridiculous this claim was. Every time his brothers started talking about it, he had become angrier at how they could accuse him of such a dumb thing. They should know him better. He was convinced he was not able to love, nor did he strive to do so. He used people for his own benefit, made them dance according to his will. That's how things worked out for him, and with Heahmund it shouldn't have been any different, since the cop was only supposed to provide useful information.
Back then, after Sigurd's sudden death, things in the family business had been a bit out of joint. The police, who usually never came too close to them, were suddenly investigating, asking too many unpleasant questions. Heahmund, one of the lead investigators at the time, had been particularly nice when he had questioned him - simply as a family member of the person who had died in such tragic circumstances. In the process, it had been impossible to overlook the fact that he had triggered a weak spot in the cop.
So, out of pure calculation, Ivar had crept into Heahmund's life. More and more often, he had visited him in his office for trivial matters, perfecting his role as a grieving brother who needed some comfort, a shoulder to lean on, and some distraction in the process.
He and his brothers always had to be one step ahead of the game. It wasn't just a saying that it was best to be close to your enemies. It worked in reality, too. Perhaps too well in his case.
That Heahmund would fall in love with him had never been the intention. Ivar never made plans that played on emotions. They were too uncertain as a basis and he knew too little about them himself - back then at least. Now he knew too much, carried too many of them around with him.
Ivar found little comfort in the fact that he had done his job too well. The grieving younger brother, searching for justice and a sense of purpose in all the tragedy was certainly one of his best acting performances so far. Little did Heahmund know that Ivar did not care at all about Sigurd's death. It was only important to him that the background that had led to his brother's demise remained hidden. Therefore, of course, he had taken advantage of Heahmund's blinded heart. The man, who was a little more than 10 years older, had voluntarily given it into his hands. Who wouldn't have used such a great foundation to his own advantage?
Of course, it hadn't been easy to play along at first as their interactions became more intimate. It had definitely been a challenge to appear sweet and in love when he was around Heahmund. After all, he had no experience with love and how people should behave when they are in that silly state. In addition, it had cost him quite a bit to overcome the first tender advances, to allow closeness and still smile and not murder. But apparently, he had done his job well, or Heahmund had just really bad taste in partners. Whatever had caused his triumph, he had managed to keep up the facade, and one day the facade had unexpectedly transformed into reality.
Now Ivar felt like he was living in a fever dream from which he hasn't woken up yet.
That he would make a fool out of himself and also fall in love had surely also not been on his agenda. He certainly couldn't have foreseen it, and even if someone had prophesied it to him, Ivar wouldn't have believed them. It would have seemed too absurd to him, and yet it had happened. He had fallen head over heels in love with the handsome cop and it was the worst and best feeling at the same time.
It was also a feeling he tried to hide from everyone except Heahmund, as he was already struggling to admit it to himself. To acknowledge it in front of others, to admit his failure - in his eyes - he was still miles away from that.
On weekends, and actually most other nights, he now preferred to stay at Heahmund's house on the outskirts of town. It was quiet there and the view was fantastic as well. His rational mind would like to consider these points as decisive, but of course, he preferred to spend his time at this place because Heahmund himself was present there. If not in person, then at least in all sorts of details that made his home his home. Ivar felt comfortable there, almost like at home.
In the moments when Heahmund trusted him enough to leave him alone in his house - sometimes getting them something to eat or having to leave urgently due to a job-related emergency - Ivar at least managed to remember his actual plan of looking for information about the Lothbrok case. It had been easy to figure out the password for Heahmund's private laptop. For being a police officer, he didn't necessarily protect his private data very well. Ivar had had more problems with the work laptop, but with the help of Ubbe and Hvitserk, he had been able to hack into it without leaving any traces as well. That's where he had gotten most of his useful information so far.
Toward his brothers, he felt a little better after such deeds, because he could justify his constant absence more easily. After all, he had achieved results by spending time with Heahmund, and he never grew tired of emphasizing that this was thanks to his tactics and sacrifice. Nevertheless, they kept accusing him of self-interest, of being in love with Heahmund, and Ivar also never grew tired of vehemently denying these accusations.
In front of his brothers, he tried to maintain his cool and emotionless facade. Every time he returned to his real home, he tried to pretend that he was glad to finally be back. By now, Ivar had become quite the performer among his brothers. He made a spectacle of taking extensive showers, as if he had to clean himself from all the touches he had suffered. At least that's how he told it, not shying away from making fun of Heahmund and his feelings for him in the process as well.
Every time he exploited Heahmund's trust in this way, and especially when he spoke so badly about him behind his back, his heart ached and he simply felt guilty. It was no longer easy for him to fall asleep right away, because he was probably experiencing what others call a guilty conscience for the first time.
None of what he told his brothers was true.
Of course, he enjoyed being with Heahmund, usually could hardly wait to get back to the outskirts after a short time apart. Just listening to Heahmund talk about the most mundane things had become special to him. It soothed him, made him feel at peace in a certain way. Heahmund gave him a serenity that Ivar hadn't previously known he needed in his life to balance his aggression. This man had such a wonderfully soothing voice and so much knowledge in his handsome head that it was never boring just to sit next to him and listen.
Most of the time, however, it didn't stop there. Heahmund was a person who wanted and needed physical contact. He always made sure that they could somehow feel connected to each other through tender touches. He would either let his fingers dance over his back, massage his legs, hold him in a hug, or just intertwine their fingers together. Heahmund always found a way to be close to him, to kiss and caress him in the most fabulous way.
To this day, Ivar still couldn't bear hugs from other people, his brothers included - even if they were very rare - but in Heahmund's arms, Ivar could spend whole nights, sleeping like a baby without a care in the world. He had no idea what was different about them, what Heahmund did differently, but they just felt so much better. In fact, he didn't want to be without all these sweet little gestures anymore. By now, he also sought the initially hated closeness of his own accord.
The fact that he preferred to spend his time with Heahmund and came home less and less often with something concrete, because he neglected his research, led to increased quarrels with his brothers, especially with his eldest. One particularly heated argument had ended with Bjorn now forever bearing a souvenir in the form of a scar on his forehead - and rightly so.
—---------- AT SOME POINT IN THE PAST —-----------
"Wow, it's rare to see you home, Ivar. I'll tell you again, you're getting too close to the cop. You've become reckless, too soft since you developed feelings for this idiot."
Bjorn had just walked in the door, hadn't even taken off his jacket, and immediately started talking to him without being asked. Probably some frustration had built up during the days of his absence, Ivar thought.
"Welcome home, brother." There was a false sweetness in his voice. Only briefly, Ivar looked up from his laptop and offered Bjorn an equally fake smile. "No, I'm not getting too close to him, because, given the urgency of the matter, I can't be close enough. You know as well as I do that we need to know how far they've gotten with their investigation. I'm not reckless either. I know what I'm doing." It was one thing to admit to himself his feelings for Heahmund. That alone still gave him a twinge of self-loathing. To do it in front of his family, his brothers, and especially Bjorn was out of the question.
"It doesn't look like it," Bjorn answered as he approached the table where Ivar had made himself comfortable in their communal space - something he already started to regret.
"For you, maybe, but you've never really understood strategically elaborate plans either, so I'm not too worried about your concerns." Ivar couldn't help himself. He had to grin cheekily in Bjorn's face; any other reaction would simply not fit his brother's ridiculous accusations.
"Go ahead and tell yourself that, but what I saw looked pretty much like my little brother was all hearty eyes over that bastard. You should be ashamed of yourself." The disgusted expression on Bjorn's face clearly highlighted his opinion about the matter. Thankfully, Ivar didn't have to endure this for long, as Bjorn turned around and went to the fridge to grab himself a glass of some chilled apple juice.
"What are you talking about?" On the outside, Ivar remained cool, pretended to be semi-interested in what Bjorn had to say, even started writing in his open document again. Inwardly, however, his thoughts were racing. He went through all the opportunities within the last week where he had been out with Heahmund. Where could Bjorn have seen them? In the ice cream parlor in the middle of town? Had he watched them on their shopping trip afterward? Or a few days later in the park when they had met for an impromptu picnic? Or maybe he had just seen them out for a walk. In the evenings, they often went for walks together, as long as his legs would allow. As he reviewed everything, it struck Ivar himself how cheesy all these meetings - he refrained from calling them dates - had been. Perhaps he had indeed become a little careless.
"About you disrespecting yourself by kissing him, and that not just once and not just fleetingly. You clung to him like a schoolgirl in love ready to lift her skirt."
The comparison made Ivar's face grimace. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself. He didn't want to give his brother the satisfaction of knowing he had hit a nerve, even though everyone around him knew that an attack on his ego always elicited the best reactions. With a snort, he let the held air escape and looked up, looking right into Bjorn's face, who had now turned around again and was pointing his finger at him.
"Don't even start denying it."
"It's called acting, Bjorn. I pretend that I care for him, otherwise, I couldn't get so close to high-value information. Like the ones, I'm trying to process right now. I really don’t have time for your bullshit."
"As if!" Bjorn positioned himself in front of the table, tapping his index finger vehemently against the tabletop as if this would give his statement more emphasis. "I saw you. You don't need to tell me anything about pretending." Bjorn raised his hands and gestured quotation marks with his index and middle fingers. "It looked zero like you didn't enjoy it."
Ivar laughed with a sneer. "So what? Just because your girlfriends make sad faces around you and act distant and uninvolved when you try to initiate physical contact doesn't mean that other couples can't show a little more affection. Even fake ones. Is this your real issue? You're jealous because my fake love life is better than your real one? If so, that's pathetic, even for you." Turning to insults might not be the best idea, but it was the first one that came to Ivar's mind to get out of the center of the accusations himself.
The tactic proved unsuccessful. Although Bjorn's expression turned to anger and he clenched his fists, he recognized the intent behind Ivar's words.
"Don't change the subject, you little bastard."
Slightly amused by the insult, but still more and more annoyed by the whole situation, Ivar leaned back in his chair, looking defiantly at his brother. "You accuse me that my efforts look too real? Are you serious about that? Well, maybe it's because I'm just really good at pretending. Or how else could you think that I give a damn about your opinion, huh? Because I let you believe that I care what you think, but let me tell you a secret, Bjorn. I don't. Never have, surely never will. So how about you stop stealing my time and instead you find yourself a bunch of old ladies with whom you can talk about feelings, hm?" To make it clear that he really wasn't interested in any further conversation, Ivar grabbed his headphones, but before he could put them on, Bjorn snatched them out of his hands.
"Give them back. Right now!" Ivar was on the verge of losing his already meager patience. Hastily, he tried to grab Bjorn's arm to prevent him from moving the headphones out of his reach, but he hadn't been fast enough. Because of his impaired legs, he couldn't just jump up and get them back himself either. Getting up always took a little longer for him, as he had to proceed carefully so as not to overstrain his legs. It made him angry that Bjorn had to exploit this weakness now, and instead of complying with the expressed request, his brother only chuckled and certainly didn't waste one single thought on finally leaving him alone. Instead, he leaned toward him, sniffing exaggeratedly.
"His stench is all over you, I can smell him from here."
This statement caused Ivar to roll his eyes. "Don't confuse Heahmund's expensive fragrance with the bullshit that's coming out of your mouth. Just shut the fuck up and you'll notice it will stop reeking. And now give me my headphones back!" He tried again, holding out his hand expectantly.
Bjorn demonstratively hung the headphones over the back of the chair next to him, far enough away from Ivar's reach so that he wouldn't be able to grab them from his current position. Satisfied with his little revenge, he grinned, hiding his actually upset state of mind. Bjorn hated that Ivar always managed to turn the tables, but he too knew where his brother's weak spots were.
"You've got a pretty big mouth for someone who's turned into such a pussy lately."
Now Ivar raised his hand and index finger admonishingly. "You'd better watch how you talk to me," he said in a cold voice, making it clear that he'd really had enough.
"Oh yeah, why is that?" Bjorn asked challengingly as he pushed back the chair right next to Ivar's to sit on it.
"Because I'm the one who's doing the most here. I operate far away from my comfort zone to protect all of us. Maybe just show a little gratitude, huh?" Ivar spat out and rolled his eyes in annoyance when Bjorn, instead of finally leaving, made himself comfortable.
"Oh come on. Like your comfort zone isn't between the cop's legs."
Yes, it was, but it was nothing like Bjorn seemed to imagine with his limited brain capacity. Heahmund had become like a safe place for him, and when they watched TV together, Ivar usually sat with his back leaning against Heahmund's chest, snuggled close to him, and in that position, of course, also between his legs. Quite innocently, as almost all their more intimate moments were. More than handjobs hadn't happened so far. Despite all the feelings raging inside him, Ivar wasn't ready for sex yet, Heahmund wasn't pushing him either. It was a subject that was very much on Ivar's mind. He felt that he wanted it, that his body responded to Heahmund, craving for more. After all, he also was just a boy with needs, but his head kept him from initiating more on his own. Sex in itself was already an upsetting subject, sex with another man and one he shouldn't even be attracted to in the first place made it all even more complicated and embarrassing. That's why Ivar felt so grossed out by his brother's new accusation.
There was the fear of losing respect from his brothers if they realized the extent of his feelings or if he confirmed their already existing suspicions one day. Would they despise him? Feel that he was worth less? Ivar assumed so.
"Your mind is so rotten, it’s disgusting," Ivar said, shaking his head in disbelief at what he had to deal with. He still tried to stay calm, to not let his own embarrassment about the whole situation creep to the surface as well as his anger that Bjorn was insulting him in such a way. His ego had definitely been bruised already.
"You are rotten, Ivar, a fucking faggot who claims that letting yourself be fucked in the ass qualifies as information gathering."
Ivar had already had enough ten minutes ago, but this new allusion made his patience thread snap. Quickly enough that Bjorn couldn’t react in time, he jerked upright, grabbed his brother by a tuft of hair on the top of his head and yanked his head down by it. Satisfaction spread through him as he heard the dull sound of a head hitting the tabletop with full force. When he saw fine drops of blood splattering on the surface, Ivar's grin grew even wider. He ignored the pain this sudden movement caused in his legs, his fury was pumping too hard in his veins for that to stop him.
Bjorn groaned in pain and grabbed his forehead to feel the now wet spot.
"Who's the pussy now, huh?" Ivar asked mockingly as he slid his hand to the back of his brother's head and pushed him forward again. All the hurtful things Bjorn had said before were far from settled with a simple laceration. His brother, however, regained his composure faster than Ivar would have liked. He resisted the pressure and instead gave Ivar a hard blow to the chest that drove the air out of his lungs and made him fall backward along with his chair.
Within seconds, Bjorn stood up, staggered briefly, and settled down on his shins next to Ivar. He grabbed his youngest brother by the collar of his shirt, yanked him up and, without hesitation, slapped him across the face with the flat of his hand.
Ivar reacted quickly, clenching his hand into a fist and striking back blindly, sensing only from the pain in his hand that he had landed a blow somewhere.
A fight broke out, which was only interrupted by the arrival of Ubbe and Hvitserk, who had been alerted by the loud noises and shouting of insults. Due to the quick intervention, the confrontation ended without any serious consequences. Only the laceration on Bjorn's forehead and a bruised rib on Ivar's side and some scratches and bruises remained. As well as a large portion of injured pride on both sides.
"Never forget what happened to Sigurd," Ivar called out to Bjorn as he was being pulled out of the room by Ubbe. It had almost led to another brawl, but Ubbe and Hvitserk did their best to keep the two away from each other.
"Is that a threat?"
"No, just well-intentioned advice, my dear brother."
—---------- BACK IN THE PRESENT —-----------
Since then, it had only gotten worse.
His relationship with Bjorn had remained frosty, as his brother continued to spy on him and didn't even feel the need to make a secret of it. He had also begun to ask more and more often, and especially more insistently, why he had been to Heahmund several times in a row and had come home without anything useful. He especially liked to do this in front of Ubbe and Hvitserk, which led to growing suspicion among them as well. Excuses were increasingly difficult to find and less and less accepted by all his brothers.
Bjorn's accusation that he had gone soft also unintentionally still haunted Ivar. Like a thorn, it had lodged itself deep inside him, causing unpleasant feelings from time to time. To compensate for this, he acted even more cold-heartedly than before in other areas. Only a few days ago, he had shot someone in front of his brothers without batting an eye. It had been absolutely not necessary. They could have made a statement in some other, less fatal way, but he had done it anyway, and so far no guilty conscience plagued him. Instead, it had felt good, somehow reassuring that his old reckless self was still there, shimmering menacingly beneath the surface.
However, in all areas that had to do with Heahmund, Bjorn was unfortunately right. Of course, Ivar already knew this by heart, but the extent to which this had already invaded his whole being nonetheless surprised him in the end.
It had brought him to a hospital. Not as a patient. No. Although the consideration was there to have himself admitted because Ivar felt sicker than ever before. Maybe, if he would ask nicely, his heart could be removed and replaced with a better, a smarter one. None that hurt so damn much since it had been smashed into a thousand little pieces not even 36 hours ago.
His stomach also rebelled, felt so heavy like it was filled with cement. The cause wasn't that he had eaten too much, for he hadn't been able to eat anything since yesterday. What was heavy on his stomach were the thoughts of what lay ahead and the pressure of knowing exactly what was now expected of him. All the doubts about whether all the last months had just been an illusion that he had blindly fed himself only added to the weight.
He was angry, very angry in fact. At Bjorn, at Heahmund and above all at himself. This also contributed to his discomfort, but the worst was the hurt and disappointment he was struggling with at the same time. Ivar felt completely lost, not sure what to believe and how to go on.
The reason for his inner turmoil was a simple file, not even a thick one. Bjorn had handed it to him yesterday morning with an arrogant grin that only widened when he saw the color drain from his face while looking at the contents. In it were photos, various documents, and half-scribbled notes. He had, after the first understanding of what he was looking at had set in, only been able to see it as if through a veil. Today he would no longer be able to describe exactly what he had seen, but Bjorn's taunting expression, Ivar had not forgotten - probably would not be able to forget for a long time. Too much shame had spread through him at the moment of realizing the full implications.
Shame that he had allowed himself to be toyed with, that he hadn't seen through Heahmund himself, but had fallen into his trap, blinded by something trivial like feelings.
It had pissed him off even more that Bjorn, in a way, had front-row tickets to his personal misery and that, of course, he had to be the one to rub his failure into his face. It wouldn't have been any easier to digest if Ubbe or Hvisterk had shared this information with him, but it would have been easier to lose his face in front of them. None of them would have enjoyed it as much as his oldest brother had.
Ivar also felt ashamed, because his first thought after becoming aware of the consequences was along the lines that Bjorn must have falsified the evidence presented. Despite the amount of proof, he still refused to believe what he had seen and read. He would prefer to turn off reason to avoid having to deal with the consequences of his misjudgment. To be betrayed by the person he had accepted into his heart was too bitter a pill to swallow.
The rage that had multiplied in him since then should have been enough to fuel his personal vendetta, to teach everyone involved in this spectacle a lesson. At least, that's what his old self would have done in a heartbeat. His old, uninfected self. Anything would be more understandable than him sitting here now, next to a hospital bed like a desperate wife, watching Heahmund's every little move, hoping that he would open his eyes again.
Fuck this thing called love! Fuck him in the first place that he had fallen for it! And fuck him, that he still couldn’t break loose from it.
Originally he had come into this room to put an end to his suffering, to really kill his source of light this time when three bullets were not enough to bring Heahmund down. Bullets that Bjorn had fired while Ivar had only been able to stand by, watching as if in trance as the bullets forced their way out of the gun in small explosions, only to burst into Heahmund's body milliseconds later. It all had happened as if in slow motion, and yet too quickly for him to have been able to prevent it.
The terrible feeling of seeing the person to whom one's heart belonged lying motionless on the floor still weighed heavily on Ivar. He would certainly not be able to forget those images either. At that moment, it had felt as if he himself was dying, or at least an important part of him. All the anger and rage he had felt towards Heahmund before had vanished the moment he had thought him dead. For a split second, there had been only emptiness inside him. Utter silence, until suddenly he was swept away by a wave of various emotions. All at once. The sheer force almost sent him to his knees had he not been leaning heavily against the car behind him.
Grief had been one of those feelings. Something he had never felt before, not even with Sigurd, his own brother. The emotion had been so strong that it had brought tears to his eyes, and with it, it had also brought him a new wave of ridicule from Bjorn. While his brother had dragged him into the getaway car, he had heard him laughing and calling him names again.
Ivar hadn't been able to pay much attention to that, which in retrospect had probably been better that way. A new quarrel, which might have ended in them killing each other, would certainly have broken out otherwise. His focus was solely directed at what was happening in the distance, as long as he could still catch a glimpse of it. The last thing he had seen was Heahmund's colleagues starting to take care of him. They all had rushed to his side, starting to put pressure on the wounds, shouting for an ambulance.
Back at home, Ivar hadn't wasted another second. He had immediately barricaded himself in his part of the house, making phone calls and calling in favors as if in a frenzy. Thus he had been able to find out quite quickly to which hospital Heahmund had been taken and that he had been brought there as an emergency and not as a corpse.
It was hard to put into words how relieved he had felt at that moment, and after he had finished that last call, he had simply sunk to the floor, tears freely streaming down his face - even though he was deeply ashamed of it, because crying was indeed something for sissies in his worldview. But at that moment he had been unable to control himself, even less than before. He had to surrender to his feelings in this way.
Although he didn't want to cry again, Ivar was on the verge of losing his composure once more. Seeing Heahmund so vulnerable hurt immensely. Ivar let his gaze glide over him. Heahmund was so pale and his face was adorned with a violet-bluish discoloration that Ivar couldn't make sense of. His hair was disheveled, and his half-naked torso was decorated with thick bandages over his shoulder and chest area.
He was sitting here for 30 minutes now, and so far he had done nothing but sink into self-pity and stare at Heahmund's deceptively peaceful-looking face, questioning for the hundredth time everything they had experienced together so far.
The more he questioned everything, the more little things he found that should have made him suspicious. That Heahmund had never forced himself on him or even tried to get further into his pants was one of those things that he now found strange. Back then, Ivar had simply thought of him as a gentleman who could sense his discomfort in this regard and therefore didn't rush things between them. All in all, they had only been seeing each other for real for about six months. Wasn't this still a normal period of time for couples to slowly get to know each other? Ivar thought so at least and had also felt comfortable with their pacing. But now it seemed to him as if Heahmund had had no interest in going that far from the beginning. For undercover missions, there were certainly guidelines that he was not allowed to exceed for the sake of his internal police credibility.
Ivar wondered if perhaps handjobs weren't supposed as too much as well, or if he could use the fact that they had done this to continue to trust Heahmund after all?
He had trusted him. Too much, probably, as he had to admit to himself now in retrospect. He had never told Heahmund anything that could be the undoing of his family, but he had been careless with his cell phone. He had often left it unattended while he was not in the same room. One situation, that should have made him more alert, Ivar still remembered.
He had gone to the bathroom shortly after they decided to call it a night and go to sleep. When he had left the room again, Heahmund came up to him with his cell phone in his hand. Whether the display had been on, Ivar could no longer tell, but that they had both paused for a moment, he still remembered. Heahmund had explained to him that he wanted to take it into the bedroom with him, and apologized just as directly in case he had crossed a line by doing so. That had been enough for Ivar to dismiss the incident as a thoughtful gesture, but of course, Heahmund had had plenty of time to snoop at that moment, and in many more later. Cops were certainly just as good at hacking access points as he was.
Love had indeed made him completely stupid.
Ivar leaned back in his chair and sighed heavily. His gaze fell on the small object he held in his sweaty palm. Thoughtfully, he let his thumb glide over the smooth surface, watching the clear liquid sloshing around in it, wondering whether or not he should use it. Perhaps he had found the cure for the parasite inside him? He could end its torment. It was just a simple act. He had actually done it before, and he hadn't thought much about it then, he had just done it, without hesitation. Efficiently, quickly, 100% successfully.
A small part of him hoped that he would get his old self back when Heahmund was gone. But could he simply leave everything behind then? Act coldly and calculatingly in all situations again, without letting himself be guided by feelings? Or had too much of Heahmund's light already spread through him? Damaged him forever?
These were questions that buzzed through his head in addition to everything else. Ivar couldn't answer any of those with certainty, nor could he answer the question if he even wanted to return to this version of his old self if it meant losing Heahmund for good.
With another heavy sigh caused by his mental struggles, Ivar slid forward in his seat and propped himself up on the edge of the bed with both forearms. Carefully, he placed the syringe from his hand next to him on the mattress and then reached for Heahmund's hand, which he clasped with both of his. He was careful not to touch the cannula sticking out of the back of the hand, which looked chalky white due to the heavy blood loss Heahmund had suffered.
The thought of not wanting to inflict more pain on Heahmund crossed his mind, and Ivar shook his head with a sigh only seconds later. What a fool he was. He felt so stupid and useless.
He had come here to take revenge on Heahmund and also to restore his standing among his brothers. Yet he was worried he might harm Heahmund with simple touches, yet he felt relief every time he saw the chest in front of him lifts a little due to a shallow inhale. He didn’t want to find the rhythmic sound of Heahmund’s heart monitors to be soothing for him. But he did.
Just as carefully as before, he moved their joined hands to his lips and pressed them against the unusually cold fingers. Immediately Ivar thought back to the beautiful moments during the past months, how Heahmund had stroked his hair with those very fingers or grabbed his chin to pull him into a kiss. The memories still gave him a comforting feeling. The anger and disappointment at the possible betrayal couldn't repress that. His softness was obviously stronger, and that also made Ivar realize that he wouldn't be able to do what he had come here for. There was simply no way he could end Heahmund's life, too great was the relief that he had survived the three gunshot wounds - two of them to the chest - in the first place.
How deluded had he been, to not be well aware of this before? Perhaps he had only had to lie to himself sufficiently, to convince himself that he could kill Heahmund, in order to appear convincing in front of his brothers, too. If he wouldn't be here, one of them would have taken it from him, and then the matter would surely have been settled. None of his brothers would be sitting here brooding.
Ivar kissed Heahmund's fingers again, letting his lips stay attached to them for a while longer. Another thought crossed his mind, making his eyes water again. Even if he wasn’t going to kill the man in front of him, he could not return to his side and pretend that nothing had happened either.
He had lost him one way or another. His first love, the first person he felt at ease with. The realization hurt more than the knowledge that he might have been betrayed.
If only he could confront Heahmund and ask him his side of things. Ivar still hoped that Bjorn had made everything up, that of course Heahmund loved him, and that they could just go on from where they had left off less than 36 hours ago. But Heahmund was sound asleep, had only been discharged from his second emergency operation an hour ago, and was actually not even allowed visitors yet. Ivar had been lucky that one of the nurses knew him and therefore also knew that she would be in a similar condition in another bed if she hadn't let him through.
Ivar sat in silence as time passed mercilessly. The ticking of the clock on the other side of the room echoed louder and louder in his head.
He tried to think. He knew he had to act, the faster the better. He couldn't return home and ask his brothers to spare Heahmund's life and himself the ridicule that would follow. At least Bjorn wouldn't think anything of it and wouldn't want to hear about compromise. The fronts between them were too hardened by now. Ivar was less concerned about Ubbe and Hvitserk. Those two were not so iron-fisted, didn’t see only black and white. They would somehow understand him, accept even a compromise maybe.
While thinking about a possible strategy, he could not refrain from running his fingertips over Heahmund's arm all the way up to his exposed shoulder. These would be the last moments he could be close to him, so Ivar wanted to be as close as possible. Make good use of them without being too creepy. He simply had to feel Heahmund one more time, to absorb everything that would be denied to him from now on. He was probably only torturing himself even more, but Ivar pushed this awareness aside. He would enjoy it now and would have plenty of time later to hate himself for having acted that way, inflicting even more pain onto him.
Secretly, Ivar also hoped that he could give Heahmund a good feeling with his presence, that he would feel safe in case he was able to perceive anything around him. The thought that he might be the last person Heahmund would want with him now, he repressed as well. Instead, thoughts about kissing Heahmund one more time took over the wheel.
Only gently, tentatively, worried he might disrupt the oxygen supply, Ivar joined their lips in a brief kiss before pulling away again, looking down at the handsome face that showed no emotion or sign that he was aware of his surroundings.
How he would like to look once again into Heahmund's bright eyes, which in the best case were still filled with love and admiration. But this wish would remain unfulfilled and maybe it was better that way. Ivar didn't know how he would bear it when there was no more love in them. This way he could hold on to the memory and his wishful thinking.
Except for the beeping of the monitor next to the bed and the ticking of the clock, the room remained quiet. The silence invited Ivar to indulge in one more moment of togetherness.
He moved the chair more to the headboard and leaned his upper body down. It was uncomfortable, but he managed to lie halfway on the bed so that at least his head and half of his chest rested on the mattress. His nose nudged against Heahmund's temple while his lips pressed feather-light kisses on every spot he reached. In a low voice, he began to speak, telling Heahmund that he was sorry. He made no confession about his former crimes, he still had that much sense left, but he still felt the need to apologize.
So close to Heahmund, once again enjoying his soothing aura, Ivar's head cleared a little, coming up with an idea that formed into a promising strategy the more he pursued this train of thought. After the plan took shape and still seemed promising, Ivar slowly straightened up. Once again he kissed Heahmund, at first only on top of his head, then again fleetingly on his lips before he leaned down to reach his backpack, which stood next to the chair he was sitting on. He opened it, reached in, rummaged around searching, and finally pulled out the item he was looking for.
It was one of his prepaid cell phones, which he often needed in his job. While he switched it on, he turned his gaze back to Heahmund, weighing once again whether he was doing the right thing. But without a magic crystal ball, who knew in the end? More important was that it felt right to him now at this moment and despite his overall confused state, it actually did.
After activating the phone, he first dragged the Memo app to the center of the screen and then opened it. Nimbly, his thumbs slid across the screen as he began to write. He had to control himself to remain matter-of-fact, like he normally was, so his presumably last message to Heahmund wouldn’t end up in a dime novel, which middle-aged women bought in newsstands to bring the lost romance back into their lives.
It was difficult, though. He still wanted to tell him so much, preferably explain everything to him in the smallest detail, so that Heahmund would understand him and how it had ended like this. It was his pitiful attempt to avoid the possibility of Heahmund hating him as soon as regained consciousness.
I love you - he had never said it out loud before, nor did he write it at the end of his message now, but Ivar allowed himself to say these words clearly in his thoughts for once, giving them room to come into existence.
Carefully, he placed the phone into Heahmund's hand after he had finished his message, grabbed his crutch, which he currently needed because all the stress was also making itself felt physically, and stood up ponderously. He had already lost too much time, and yet he paused for another moment, looking down at Heahmund, waiting for something he himself didn't even know what it was.
Of course, nothing happened, and so Ivar turned and headed for the door. Tears welled up in his eyes again, clouding his vision. He didn't want to leave, wanted to hold on to his illness a little longer, but with every step he took he got infected with another one.
No longer visible to him, Heahmund's eyelids began to twitch, and as Ivar pushed open the door and stepped through, not looking back again, they lifted, clearing the way for a pair of bright eyes.
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Author's Note: It could be the first chapter of several more - the idea itself is bigger than this, but it can also be read as a sad - somehow strange - Oneshot in case I get sidetracked again.
Suddenly, I also feel the need to explore their early stages a bit more. This chapter was supposed to be a little bit of a setting, since the actual story starts after that, but I feel a little bit like I should have started right from the beginning, then this one wouldn't be so packed with info without much actual plot. Right? Well, it's a learning process, right²?