Off Guard (Modern!Ivar x reader)
Part 2
Part 1 here
A/N: Here is the second and last part of Off Guard. I obviously got carried away and I’m sorry. It’s obviously far too long and not good enough...
@inforapound 💐💞💐
Summary: Y/N bursts into Ivar’s office. He's clearly less thrilled than she expected. The ensuing discussion is painful.
Warnings: Not my best work ; sooooo long ; Ivar’s insecurities ; angst (with a happy ending).
Words: 4595 (🙈)
"See Ivar, that's the thing, I'm already here!"
Without bothering to close the door, you rush towards him, your heart thumping, startled when Ivar raises his oustretched hand, a dark look in his eyes. "No. Don't."
Abruptely stopping in your tracks, you look at him blankly, dumbstruck and frozen, mouth wide open. "Wh… what?" You stutter, blinking a few times, a cold feeling coursing through your veins. "I thought you… I… That's what you... what we…" Failing to find the words, you swallow, your breathing filling the deafening silence. "I… I thought you'd be happy." You eventually manage to say, tears beginning to flow down your cheeks.
"You could have warned me,” Ivar mumbles, avoiding eye contact and tapping his fingers nervously on the desk.
"What?" Actually, his words are clear enough, but you're just buying time, trying to process what's going on, yet fully aware it's pointless. Nothing makes sense. Ivar doesn't make sense. There's no way you could possibly understand.
"All I’m saying is, you could have warned me, Y/N." He talks like he's stating an objective fact, not like he's in the midst of a domestic quarrel. There's no annoyance in his voice, and if you were less troubled you'd think it was weird, but it's completely lost on you in the current situation.
"But… It wouldn't have been a surprise anymore…" Babbling, you repeatedly open and close your hands, your eyes frantically scanning the room. Feeling utterly lost, you choke back tears. Something is clearly out of whack but you can’t pinpoint what it is. Not yet.
"Maybe it would have been better that way, Y/N." Running a hand through his disheveled hair – an odd fact in itself and another hint you should have taken, as Ivar never keeps his hair down while working – Ivar then rubs it accross his face.
Taking two careful steps forward, you try to catch his blue eyes but to no avail. You're so confused. "I… I don't understand, Ivar…" Your voice shakier than you'd like it to be, you struggle to make sure your words don't get caught in your throat, your bottom lip quivering. "That's all we've ever wanted… I thought… no, I was sure you'd be happy. I truly don't understand, Ivar…"
Ivar shrugs, shaking his head. "Things change, Y/N."
Things change. Those two words were a knife driving through your heart. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. You wish you could just disappear, undo coming there. You want things to be the way they were before, when you were sure of Ivar's love, when he wasn't distant, and elusive, and cold, when you were his skatt, his elskede and the light of his life.
"Things change?" Your voice barely a whisper, your whole body shivers as you put a hand on the backrest of a chair, unsure you can stand upright without its support. "How, Ivar? Why? What has changed? Tell me. Talk to me."
"Everything has changed."
Not satisfied with his short reply, you hope he explains, but he just stares at his hands, with lips pursed and head down, his face inscrutable, the silence dense and unbearable.
You're dazed. Terrified. It seems everything around you is about to unravel. At that very moment, you love him as much as you hate him. He has no right to shatter your shared dream. Breathing is hard, tears are burning your eyes and you're sure Ivar can hear your pounding heart.
Collecting yourself as best you can, you sputter another question. "I'm not welcome, am I?" Panic flooding your body, you bite your lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. You don't think you can handle his answer. Whatever it is.
Clenching his eyes shut, Ivar's breath hitches. "That's not what I said." The… pain is now obvious on his face, confusing you even more. Why would he do that to himself if it's not what he wants? Nothing makes sense.
You shake your head, wiping tears from your eyes. "What did you say, then? I don't understand, Ivar... I need you to talk to me, please." Wincing at your imploring tone, you try once more to pull yourself together.
Burying his face in his hands, Ivar gives a heavy sigh. "I wish you'd let me know what you were planning. So we could talk about it." He snorts, looking down at his shaky hands. "Now's not a good time." He seems suddenly defeated, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
"Why?" You ask shyly, the lump in your throat getting harder and harder to ignore. Since he's not answering, you insist. "Why is now not a good time, Ivar?"
Folding his arms across his chest, Ivar retorts curtly, "Because it's not,” leaving no room for discussion. But you're not okay. Something is off, you can feel it, and you need to know what. Even if you're petrified.
"When is a good time, then?" Resounding in the painful silence, your question floats in the air, Ivar taking several seconds to answer, clearly hesitant. When he makes up his mind, it's in a whisper."I don't know."
"Will there ever be a good time?" You gasp, your tremulous voice giving away how distressed you are. You wait, biting your nails, every second feeling like an eternity.
His voice barely there, Ivar can't hold your gaze as he answers you. "I'm not sure."
He's not sure. The room begins to spin, there's a ringing in your ears. You can hardly breathe. Clinging to the chair with both hands, you gather what little strength you have left so you don't collapse, inhaling and exhaling deeply.
Ivar, behind his desk, remains stoic, stiff and strangely calm. You understand he won't talk unless you question him, leaving you no choice. Because you have to know.
So, drawing a long breath, you mentally cheer yourself up. 'Let's get this done, Y/N.'
"Ivar, do you want me to leave?" There's another question in the back of your mind, a question you're not brave enough to ask. At least not yet. Fidgeting your fingers, you hold your breath, tense and apprehensive.
Swaying back and forth, Ivar shrugs, fingers tangled in his hair.
“Now that you're here, I don't think I have much choice." The ghost of a sad smile glides across his lips, never reaching his eyes.
"That's not what I'm asking you, Ivar." Speaking softly, you try to slow down the frenetic rhythm of your heart. "I'm not helpless, you know? Sure, I dropped my bags at your place but I can easily pick it up. I could spend the night at Blæja's, I'm sure she wouldn't mind."
Shaking his head, Ivar hesitates, nibbling his inner cheek. "Guess you can stay at my place tonight. But tomorrow it would be better if you leave. Go home, Y/N." A silence. "I'm sorry."
Go home, Y/N. A knot of fear sitting in your stomach, you know you can no longer avoid it. The real question. The one you didn't dare to ask earlier. There's no point denying it, you've never been so scared in your whole life. Yet, you no longer have a choice. You must know.
You close briefly your eyes, rubbing your sweaty palms together while silently adressing a prayer to the gods. "Are you… Are you breaking up with me, Ivar?" Anguish wracking your body, you feel like dying waiting for his reply. Ivar's silence is like torture. You can't breathe. You can't.
When he finally nods slightly, it rips your heart out. Yet, his words don't completely match the gesture. "Believe me, I'm doing what's best for… for you." He hiccups, and that's when you realize he's falling apart. Literally. He can no longer hide it, no matter how hard he tries. If earlier he seemed defeated, now he is devastated. Empty. Off. You've never seen him like this and it's frightening. More frightening than his words.
The realization hits you hard, a surge of affection washes over you, as well as anger. Something is really wrong. Yet, instead of talking to you about it, he pushes you away, shutting you out of his life. You won't let him do, you won't let him destroy three years of love. Not without a fight at the very least. It's out of the question. All at once, things become clear. Ivar loves you, but for some reason he seems to believe you'd be better without him. All you have to do is find out what this is all about and figure out what he really wants. And because you know him, you don't doubt he wants you, no matter what he says.
Focused on the task before you, you narrow your eyes, choosing your next words carefully. You want him to be aware both of your unwavering love and your fighting spirit.
You step forward with determination, hands on your hips, clearing your throat before speaking. "You're not allowed to pretend to know what's best for me. I know what it is, and it is you. Besides, that's not the point, Ivar. The point is, I need to know what's going on with you and what do you want. So, tell me Ivar, do you really want to break up with me? Is that it?" You know you seem confident, and that's what you want, and surely what he needs. The truth is, you can scarcely stand, holding your breath and crossing your fingers in a vain and childish attempt to make sure everything goes right.
After what seems like forever, Ivar eventually shakes his head almost imperceptibly, keeping it down. "No." His whisper barely reaches your ears, but you can't help but feel hope blossom. Yet, you have to be sure. "No?" Startled by your high pitched tone, you clear your throat, playing with your fingers. "Look at me Ivar, please, and say it again."
Slowly raising his head, he locks his big blue eyes with yours, not even trying to hide the big tears now rolling down his cheeks. Seeing him like this is heartbreaking and you have to fight the urge to hug him, eager to chase his sorrow away. It's still too soon, though. Ivar still needs to talk. You want him to open up to you. "Ivar, is that what you want?" You ask the question again, biting down on your lip, the somersaults in your chest almost painful now.
"No, I don't,” he finally breathes, blinking a few times, "but you sure will,” he adds after a short silence, his voice broken with emotion.
Relief and confusion equally invade your mind as you try to make sense of what he said, you frown, the wheels turning in your head. You still don't know what's wrong, and there's only one way to find out. Overwhelmed with anxiety, you hesitate to move forward but eventually decide not to, not sure that your legs would carry you if you were to let go of the chair you're once again leaning on.
"What are you not telling me, Ivar?" You question him gently, softly, desperate to convey your love. Trying to be soothing when inside it feels like your guts are being torn apart is proving difficult. Still, you have to be strong because, surprisingly, Ivar is not.
Keeping his watery eyes on you, your lover clearly struggles. He doesn't like being pressured, but he knows how stubborn you are. "You won't leave me alone, will you?"
Slightly shaking your head, you flash him a faint smile, "No, I won't,” before motioning with your hands, "Do you want me to come close?"
"No." He quips immediately, loud and clear, but the next moment he mutters under his breath something you can hardly hear. "Might as well get it over with."
Not allowing you time to react, Ivar moves backwards before coming around the desk, or more precisely wheeling around the desk.
The sight of Ivar in a wheelchair, although uncommon, isn't unfamiliar to you. Regardless of the fact that he hates it, he sometimes just needs it, because the distance is excessive, because he overworks himself, because the wet and cold Norwegian winters hurt his legs… Still, you wince, knowing full well that Ivar in a wheelchair is never good news. Well, nothing seems to be good news today anyway.
Ivar stops three feet away from you, a distance you choose to keep for now. "Bad day?" You ask soberly, careful to keep an inexpressive face, Ivar being quick to detect pity even where there isn't any.
Shrugging, he nods awkwardly while tilting his head to the left. "Bad couple of months would probably be more accurate, Y/N." He gives you a cold glance, but there's so much more on his face than that: his marked lion's wrinkle giving away his concern, his puffy red eyes betraying his tiredness, the corners of his mouth pointing downwards showing undoubtedly how angry and frustrated he feels… How you didn't notice all this earlier is beyond your comprehension.
"Bad couple of months?" You mumble, furrowing your brows while trying to put two and two together. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, but you can't put your finger on it.
Ivar giving you, to your great annoyance, the silent treatment, you have no choice but to keep questioning him. "What happened, Ivar? Please, tell me." Moving ahead a few steps and reaching out, your fingers graze tentatively his cheek, a small smile on your lips. But Ivar immediately stiffens, and you withdraw your hand, stifling a sigh.
Out of the blue, Ivar grips your right wrist, squeezing it tight. "YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED? MY FUCKING CRIPPLED LIFE HAPPENED, Y/N!" Releasing your arm as fast as he grabbed it, Ivar gestures at his legs, the darkness in his eyes almost overwhelming.
His outburst makes you jump, of course, but it's mostly a relief though. If the despondency he was showing earlier made you feel powerless, you know how to handle his bad mood.
Obviously, the problem is way more serious than just sore legs. You're not expert when it comes to Ivar's disease, but you thought his condition wasn't supposed to get worse. "Why? What exactly happened?" Concern obvious in your voice, you get a little closer, kneeling next to him before wrapping your right hand around his forearm, your thumb stroking his bare skin. "Tell me Ivar."
Scowling, he snorts furiously. "Bad fall. Down the stairs." He grumbles, the knuckles gripping the push rims of his chair turning white. Shit. That can't be good.
"And?"
Ivar remains silent for a long time, but your questioning gaze prompts him to explain more, so he inhales sharply. "Displaced femur fracture. And I fucked up my knee." The hint of desperation in his voice shatters you heart.
"Which l–,” you begin, but Ivar doesn't give you time to finish your question, cutting you off. "The left one."
Holding your breath, you cringe at his words. Fuck. His left leg. The good one. Or rather the least worst. That's definitely not good, not good at all. Ivar confirms it to you the next moment, his tone bitter as he lets out a nervous laugh. "Physical damage is significant. Doctors aren't sure I'll be able to walk again."
The truth is, Ivar should never have been able to walk. That's what his parents were told when he was born. That was without counting his unfailing determination. Over the years, he underwent various operations as well as continuous and gruelling physical therapy. At the age of ten, he had traded his wheelchair for a walker. From then on, the steps had followed one another; massive armpit crutches, then forearm crutches, by his late teens he had managed to use only a simple cane and his much-needed titanium leg braces.
You can only fathom how devastating it must be to go back to the starting point with no guarantee of improvement.
"Well, it sucks." It's not what you want to say, but it's what you say nevertheless. Because you're aware Ivar couldn't stand you feeling sorry for him. Instead, you squeeze his arm a little tighter, your free hand grabbing his, your gaze staring straight into his piercing blue.
And that's exactly when you start to connect the dots.'Couple of months', he said. The realization sends shivers through your spine. "You've never been to China, have you?"
When Ivar shakes faintly his head, you straightaway continue. "Just like there's never been a shitty connection."
'A couple of months' ago, Ivar had cancelled a long-planned trip – two weeks with you in your country, during spring break – on the grounds that his father, who had recently moved to China with his third wife, needed help with his new business. In the following weeks, he had explained to you several times that the poor internet connexion in this godforsaken place – a small village in Sichuan Province – didn't allow video calls. All lies, you realize.
Staring down, Ivar finally turns his head away from you, stubbornly ignoring you. "Ivar?" Pressing him to talk to you, you place a finger beneath his chin, lifting his face to look at you. Reluctantly his eyes meet yours and he shrugs, giving a deep sigh. "You're right. No China. No shitty connection." His eyes now focusing on the ceiling, he keeps talking in a tired voice. "I was in the hospital for a few days. And then in rehab, until last month."
"Why didn't you tell me, Ivar?" Eyes wide with disbelief, you're less mad than disappointed. You wish you could have been there for him, even if only virtually. But most of all, you need to understand.
"I… didn't… I thought… I…" He stammers, freeing his hand and running it through his hair. "I didn't want you to see me like this. I thought I'd get better. I..,” he stops, clenching his fist before slamming it on the desk, "I was fucking wrong."
You should probably ask him when he was planning on telling you. But now is not the time. Not when he's so upset. Instead, a hand grazing his cheek, you lean forward, intending to kiss him. But Ivar pulls away immediately, wheeling himself backward, the gesture breaking your heart even more. "I'm not done yet, Y/N."
You're afraid of what he might say, yet you nod, encouraging him half-heartedly to go on while rubbing your clammy hands, a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach.
"As you can see," he looks down, hands tapping his wheels, "I'm stuck in this fucking wheelchair for gods know how long. Possibly for ever. Believe me, this is not how I pictured my life. Our life." His face breaks with anger and he sucks in a ragged breath, his hands trembling."That's why I wish you hadn't come. That's why I don't want you here. And that's why I think it would be for the best if you went home on the next flight." His words rushed, Ivar swallows, his big wet eyes locking on yours, as if to convince you. "Go home, Y/N. You still have time to cancel everything."
Your breathing starts to shake, you blink twice, but it's in vain, holding back your tears is impossible. You need to yell at him, beg him, maybe even slap him; you want to hate him, coddle him, threaten him. The chaos in your head is suffocating, it's like you're standing on the edge of a cliff. You can't think straight anymore, can't breathe. You don't want to live without him. You can't. Never.
"Ivar…" You eventually croak, eyes downcast, as you do your best to pull yourself together, licking your lips. "So… that's… why...you're pushing me… away? Because of this… wheelchair?" That's lame. That's not what you planned to say, but because you're so flustered, your brain isn't working properly and you fail to collect your thoughts.
Ivar's jaw tightens and he runs a hand through his dark hair, his stormy eyes piercing through you. "I told you earlier. It's for the best. You'll be better off without me."
As your stomach clenches and roils inside, Ivar's words hurt you deeply and you let out a choked sob. "Ivar…", you mumble, "you… you don't know that, you can't say such things… please…,” and he stiffens, grabbing your chin.
"You just don't get it, Y/N!" Brimming with tension, his whole body starts shaking and he bursts out. "FUCK! LOOK AT ME!"
Startled by his outburst, you clench your eyes shut for a few seconds. Swallowing the thick lump in your throat, you slowly raise your head, peeking at him through half-open eyelids as he releases a shuddering breath, a brooding look of anger on his face. "FUCKING LOOK AT ME!!!!"
Raggedly sucking air in through your nose and out through your mouth, when you next speak, it comes out strangled. "I am looking at you, Ivar. And you know what? All I can see is you. The man I love. You're still the same."
He rolls his eyes furiously, shaking his head. "You're wrong, I'm not." As to make his point, he hooks his wrists under his thighs, removing his legs from the footrest, then lays his hands flat on the desk. Huffing and groaning, he stands up, swaying, his arms supporting most of his weight. "Can't you see?" he hisses through clenched teeth, wincing,"I can barely stand." As he collapses back into his chair, letting out a huff of frustration, something flickers across his bloodshot eyes.
Hurt. Pain.
The tightness in your chest is almost unbearable, the weight and the sadness of his next, venomous words blow all the air out of your lungs. "I'm even more crippled than before, my legs more useless than ever.” Filled with self-hatred, he lowers his head right after, hiding his face with a curtain of black, tangled hair.
More tears spill from your eyes, you feel dizzy, a withering sigh escapes your lips. "Awww, Ivar…I want-" As your voice woobles, you shut up, your eyelids fluttering closed for a moment. Reaching out, you gently run your fingers along the side of his face before brushing his hair back, tucking it behind his ear. Still on your knees, you then cup his face tenderly in your hands, inhaling and exhaling deeply. When you're confident enough, you carry on."I want you to listen carefully, Ivar. When I first met you, I couldn't have been more attracted to you, even if you had two fully working legs. And when I fell in love, it wasn't with your walking skills. It was with you, and I forbid you to doubt my word.” Giving him a tentative smile, you place one hand right on his thumping heart. "As far as I know, you're still you, no matter what you say. Even in this chair, you're still my stubborn, grumpy and fucking handsome Norwegian lover. The man I love, and the only one I want."
"You… You sure…" His wide open eyes peer into yours and he sputters, bewildered. "There… There are lots of things I won't be able to do if I'm going to be stuck in this fucking chair. You sure… you want me? Really?” The hope in his voice is faint but real, you feel the knot inside you unwind slightly.
"Of course I am." You reassure him, letting your hand linger on his arm. "There's nothing out there better than you. Not for me. I don't look at this chair or at the braces on your legs. The things you can't do don't matter. I couldn't care less. You're incredible. Funny, smart, sarcastic and so fucking strong. I just want, no, I need to be by your side. So please, let me."
A frown creases his forehead and he gives you a befuddled look, scratching the back of his neck. "It doesn't… The chair… I mean… You still want to be with me? It… doesn't bother you?" A series of emotions run across his face and he tilts his head, raising his brows.
You don't hesitate, sure of yourself, sure of your love."It does. It bothers me if it bothers you, or rather because it bothers you. If the chair makes you unhappy, it makes me unhappy too. But no, you wheeling rather than walking doesn't bother me, Ivar. It doesn't bother me at all. It doesn't change anything. I love you as much sitting in this chair as I love you standing. And I'm aware you want to push me away, but I'm glad I'm here. And I'm going to stay. Because you deserve love and happiness, Ivar. Because I want to show you that you're so much more than what you've let yourself believe. And because I love you."
Swallowing tightly, Ivar wraps your hand in his, squeezing it a little too hard. Anger long gone, there's nothing left but insecurity and uncertainty on his face. "What are we going to do if I can't…" He stops, his words caught in his throat. "… if I can't walk again." His voice is barely a whisper and you can feel the panic pulsing through him, his blue eyes darting all over the place. "I'm not sure… I don't think I can… live like this."
"Of course you can." Your resolve obvious, you look him in the eye. If you have to be strong for the two of you, then you will be. And if he needs reassurance, you can be the one to reassure him. "If this is your new reality, we'll go through it together. I'm not going anywhere, Ivar. I intend to stay here, with you. If this is your new reality, you'll need to learn to live 'with this' rather than 'like this', you know, and I'll be right beside you every step of the way." Gently patting his left knee, you brush your lips against his knuckles. "I can't promise you'll walk again. I'm not a doctor, nor a seer. But I do know for sure that you won't be alone, never. Sitting or standing, you'll always find me by your side. Because there's nowhere else I want to be. And it's going to be okay, Ivar. You're going to be okay." A smile tugs at your lips and you stand up awkwardly, feeling pins and needles in your legs, before straddling him cautiously, pressing lightly your mouth against his. "So, what do you say?" You murmur in his ear as he putts his hands on your hips.
Waiting for his answer, you nervously bite your lower lip, your heart is pounding and your palms sweaty. You know him well enough not to get too excited. He might still push you away.
Taking a big gasp of air while staring at you, he eventually cracks a smile, blinking a few times. "Guess we'll give it a try, if this is what you want." You should be slightly disappointed but you know you couldn't expect more. He‘s giving the two of you a chance, and this is already a lot.
A wave of relief washes over you as Ivar pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. You have to blink back happy tears, determined not to cry anymore. You stay several minutes like that, Ivar gently stroking your back, and you peppering light kisses over his jaw. And as you suddenly heard a whispered "I love you so fucking much,” you know you were right. Things may not be easy for a while, but in the end, everything will be okay.
"Love you too, Ivar."
🛡⚔️🛡
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