by T. T. Kove
Jørgen's breath caught in his throat at the sight that met him.
"Yes, it is," he whispered. "It's a dead polar bear."
Chapter Three
Frey swallowed heavily, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. He sat back up on the snowmobile and drove up to the fallen bear. A trail of blood lit up the snow, leading a few metres in the opposite direction to where the bear lay.
"Fuck!"
Jørgen's exclamation startled Frey so much that he jumped in his seat.
Frey watched as Jørgen got off the snowmobile and walked over to the bear, checking out the enormous animal.
"Shot," Jørgen mumbled before he straightened up again. His eyes, normally a clear green, had darkened. "Someone shot him two times"
Jørgen's clenched fists trembled.
"The first time only wounded him, so they shot him again. I hope that shot killed him—so that he didn't have to suffer any more."
Frey really hoped so too. The bear obviously had suffered; he had dragged himself to where he now lay.
"Did you see anyone?" Jørgen looked right at Frey, and for once he wasn't smiling or his usual nice self. He was angry, really angry. But Frey knew Jørgen wasn't angry at him, and though it would usually bother him to see such blatant rage in someone, it somehow didn't now.
"I'm not sure," Frey muttered uncertainly. "I saw the bear lying there, and at first I thought it was just napping, but then I think I saw someone driving away, but they were so far away, I can't be sure. Then I realised the bear wasn't moving, so I stopped."
"Shit!" Jørgen ran his gloved hand over his face. "Shooting a polar bear is a crime. We have to get back to the settlement and alert the governor. This has to be investigated." His expression was grim as he went over to his snowmobile again.
"Can we just leave the carcass?" Frey asked quietly as he looked back over at the unmoving bear.
Jørgen looked conflicted. "We shouldn't, but we don't have any choice. Whoever shot him could come back, and it's better that we're not around if they do. If they take the carcass... At least we know there's someone out there who's shot a bear, so the governor can investigate it."
Frey glanced around uncertainly. The tundra was empty as far as he could see and silent except for their snowmobiles.
"They probably left because they heard us," Jørgen continued. "The quicker we get back to Longyearbyen, the quicker someone can get out here to take care of it. They wouldn't dare come back quite yet, I'd imagine." Jørgen ran his gloved hand over his face again and sighed. "This is bad. If this had been self-defence, they never would've left. No, this isn't the result of a bear attack. We've got poachers on the island."
Frey didn't like the sound of that.
*~*~*
The days went by, with the sun rising higher and higher, making the nights lighter for each one that passed. Frey had to close the blinds on his bedroom window to be able to sleep. The sun was lighting up the landscape twenty-four seven now, until autumn would once again take over and it would sink again.
Frey had been feeling restless since the snowmobile trip with Jørgen. Jørgen was constantly on his mind and Frey found himself wishing for things he wasn't sure he could deal with. He shouldn't want Jørgen like he did, but he couldn't help it. Jørgen had got under his skin and now that he had, there was nothing Frey could do about it.
He had known he was attracted to Jørgen, but seeing Jørgen talking to that Russian man, being so familiar with him, had caused Frey to feel something he never had before: jealousy. It was even worse now when he knew Jørgen used to sleep with that man. Andreas had confirmed his suspicions a few days after the trip.
Frey hadn't seen much of Jørgen since, but Jørgen had apologised for being so busy. Frey didn't know why he had apologised, it wasn't his fault tourist season had started, but he guessed that was how Jørgen was.
Jørgen was always so kind. Frey had nothing to worry about with him.
Which was why he was currently standing outside Jørgen's house. It wasn't the biggest house, but it was more than enough for one person. As the other houses in Longyearbyen, it was painted in bright colours: green. It should have been a hideous colour on a house, but here on Svalbard it fit in, as did all the other various colours scattered around the settlement.
Frey bit his lower lip. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? Why was he standing here to begin with? He was falling for Jørgen, but could he really do something about it? If Jørgen, by some miracle, felt the same, would Frey be able to give him what he needed?
Frey lifted his hand to press the bell, then took a step back. It shouldn't have been so hard. He shouldn't have been so terrified. Varg never had trouble getting blokes. He'd even managed to get Jonathan, whom Frey had heard quite a lot about since moving up to Longyearbyen. Andreas too had gone for what he wanted. He and Christian were happy together. Why couldn't Frey master the courage to confess his feelings, maybe try a relationship? One bad experience was not akin to all experiences being bad, he knew that. But the fear was still there and he couldn't still it.
Frey startled when the door opened.
The man standing in front of him was familiar: the pitch-black hair, those cold, ice-blue eyes, the toned, lean build. It was Jonathan, Christian's best mate and Varg's boyfriend. The one Andreas had once said used to sleep with Jørgen, before Varg had come up to Svalbard and taken Jonathan for himself.
Frey swallowed heavily and took several steps back. Jonathan eyed him for a moment, then swept by Frey without a word. Frey turned slightly to look after him, dread gutting in his stomach. Why had he been inside Jørgen's house? It was relatively early in the day, not yet twelve o'clock.
"Frey?"
Frey jumped at the familiar voice and turned around to face the doorway. Jørgen stood there, watching him curiously. He was dressed normally, Frey took notice with relief. But then again, that didn't say much.
"Hi." Frey twiddled his fingers. What was he going to do now that he stood face to face with Jørgen? Especially now that Jørgen might have or might not have done something with Jonathan. But Jørgen did not have to answer to Frey, so why shouldn't he be with Jonathan, if they both wanted to? Even if Jonathan had a boyfriend... Frey'd heard that it hadn't stopped him before, but it was only rumours and Frey knew not to trust them completely, but still... God, Frey was a wreck when it came to such things.
"You look like you're freezing. Come in."
Frey started again when Jørgen grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. He stumbled over the threshold and quickly pulled his arm out of Jørgen's grip, keeping it tightly pressed over his chest. He glanced at the door Jørgen had closed after him.
"What's the matter?" Jørgen's voice had gone from friendly to concerned. "Frey. Did I hurt you? I didn't mean to, I swear."
Frey's eyes flickered to Jørgen's worried face. Why was he standing here afraid of Jørgen? Jørgen had never done anything to him to deserve it. Jørgen had only ever been kind to him.
"I'm sorry." Frey felt mortified at his behaviour. "I should leave." He made for the door.
"Please don't." Jørgen took a hold of his other arm, and this time Frey managed to refrain from pulling away. Instead he turned to look up at Jørgen, who was looking at him searchingly. "Come in, have a drink with me. I make the best hot chocolate."
Frey thought about refusing but how could he when all he wanted was to be with Jørgen? So instead he nodded, got undressed, and followed Jørgen inside. Jørgen's house was sparsely but homely furnished, no knick-knacks scattered around. Jørgen had what he needed, and it was enough. Frey sat down precariously on Jørgen's leather sofa, watching Jørgen's back disappear into the kitchen.
When Jørgen was gone, he looked around again. A big, flat-screen TV sat opposite him and in-between was a coffee table. Frey looked down at the soft rug and his eyes caught something sticking out from under the sofa. Frey bent down to see what it was and found a stuffed animal, a pink rabbit with very long ears.
That's right, Jørgen has children.
Andreas had mentioned it when Frey had just moved up here, but it had completely skipped his mind since. Jørgen had two children, both with his lesbian best friends. How come Frey had completely forgot that simple fact? Those two children were an important part of Jørgen's life.
"Here."
Frey turned at the voice. Jørgen held a steaming mug out for him and Frey dropped the stuffed animal on the sofa beside him to take it.
"Thank you."
The mug was warm to the touch and Frey wrapped both hands around it. He wondered, again, what he was doing here. What was he going to tell Jørgen if he asked? He couldn't tell him the real reason, that he simply wanted to see Jørgen again. Especially not when Jørgen had just had Jonathan over.
"It's nice of you to stop by." Jørgen sat down on the sofa next to Frey and Frey couldn't help but tense up. Jørgen was sitting close. They weren't touching, but they weren't far from it.
"It's been a while," Frey murmured, taking a tentative sip of the hot cocoa.
"It sure has. I've been busy lately. My boss has decided to sell the bar and move back to the mainland."
Frey turned to look at Jørgen. "What will happen to your job?"
"Well." Jørgen turned thoughtful. "I've been thinking about buying it. I asked Jonathan over for a chat about it. He has a degree in business and management."
So Jonathan hadn't spent the night. That made the lump in Frey's chest lose considerable weight. "And what did he have to say?"
Jørgen smiled. "He thought it was a good idea. He thought I could make it. I'd need a loan to buy the bar, but the bar is successful, so Jonathan didn't see any problems with my economy in the foreseeable future."
Frey couldn't help but smile back, the excitement in Jørgen's voice catching. "I'm really happy for you."
Jørgen looked at him, his lips still smiling, but his eyes held such an intensity that Frey had to look away. He felt his face flush and kept it bowed, staring down into his mug.
"Hey." Jørgen's hand slid under Frey's chin, gently urging him to look up.
Frey turned his head slowly and raised his eyes to meet Jørgen's. Jørgen had touched him, and that touch... It hadn't made him panic, hadn't made him flinch back in fear. Jørgen still had that intensity in his eyes, that emotion Frey couldn't decipher, and it made goose bumps pop up down his back.
Frey held his breath, scared and excited all at once at what might happen. Jørgen bent closer and Frey felt himself starting to tremble. Jørgen stopped and a frowned marred his forehead as he sat back.
Frey let his breath out, allowing himself to breathe again. He was disappointed that Jørgen had pulled back, the feeling so heavy he felt like it could almost crush him. But he shouldn't have felt disappointed. What would've happened if Jørgen had kissed him? Frey was too damaged to do anything. Yet, he still wished Jørgen had bent just a little closer.
Frey stared at Jørgen's profile, seeing that the frown was still there.
"Jørgen," Frey said; he didn't know what to say, but he had to say something.
The frown disappeared when Frey spoke, but when Jørgen looked at him again, his smile was gone and his eyes were guarded.
"Want to go out riding?" His voice was as friendly as ever, but there was a hesitance to it. "It's early in the day and the weathers nice. It'd be a good trip."
Frey nodded slowly, relieved that Jørgen still wanted to spend time with him. His stomach was tied up in knots though, and he didn't know quite why he was nervous.
*~*~*
It was good to be back outside on horseback. Frey remembered clearly their first horseback trip, how easily they had fallen into talking. How Jørgen had told him about his friends and how all three of them had come to move up to Svalbard. That had been a fine day. Frey had hoped today would be a lot like it, but the awkwardness lay heavy between them.
Frey didn't know how to break it either. He didn't know how he felt at all. On one hand, he had wanted Jørgen to kiss him, on the other it scared him to death. Jørgen was safe now, Frey knew Jørgen wouldn't hurt him, but what if they got closer... Desires weren't always so easy to control. Frey had experienced that first-hand, after all, and it had not been at all pleasant.
Frey lifted his head to look at Jørgen's straight back ahead of him. They were on a narrow path, rounding a slope that would lead them further up on the tundra. Jørgen's broad back made a fine figure and Frey couldn't help staring longingly at him.
Bang!
A loud shot rang out, momentarily paralysing Frey in shock as his horse reared, throwing him off. It all felt like it happened in slow motion. One moment he was in the saddle, then he was in free air, seeing the ground coming up to meet him before he landed with a cry of pain.
Then a second shot rang.
Frey rolled over, but a flash of pain flared up his leg and he cried out again. He saw Jørgen fall to the ground in the crook of his eye and he turned his head in panic as he realised that Jørgen's horse was falling too. Jørgen barely managed to roll out of the way before the heavy animal landed on the tundra with a loud thump.
Jørgen looked at Frey, worried. He crouched down low as he ran over to Frey, dragging him back around the slope again. Frey's leg was throbbing, but he refrained from crying out again as he was deposited behind the slope. Frey couldn't see Jørgen's fallen horse anymore and his own had bolted. Hopefully whoever had shot couldn't see them either.
"Are you okay?" Jørgen stared anxiously at Frey, one gloved hand reaching out to cup one side of Frey's face.
"My leg," Frey replied, his voice strained. He reached down to feel it, only for pain to flare through it again. "I think it's fractured."
"Shit." Jørgen glanced from Frey to the turn ahead of them. "I—Just stay here quietly for a moment." He got up and made for the turn.
Panic bubbled up inside Frey. "Don't leave me here!"
Jørgen looked back at him with an apologetic look. "I've got to see if they're still here. And I got to get the rifle from the saddlebag. They shot the horse, Frey, and if they didn't do the job properly and he's suffering... then I have to end it for him."
Frey could see how the last scenario pained Jørgen and he knew that Jørgen had to go check on the horse. Frey didn't want it to suffer either. So he'd just have to trust that the shooters were gone and that Jørgen would come right back to him. That they wouldn't shoot Jørgen like they had the horse.
Frey bowed his head and stayed silent as Jørgen disappeared around the slope. His eyes filled with tears and Frey squeezed them shut. Tears from the pain he was in, tears from the fear he was currently feeling.
When no more shots came, he let out a relieved sigh. The poachers weren't there anymore then. They'd had no qualms shooting the horses, they wouldn't have qualms about shooting humans either. It also meant that the horse must be dead, that Jørgen didn't have to shoot it himself.
Jørgen came hurrying back to him, rifle and saddlebags in hand. "Bloody poachers," he grumbled as he crouched down in front of Frey. He put the saddlebags on the ground and slid the strap of the rifle over one shoulder. "Russians. Friends of Radimir. They shot another bear. That's what one of the shots were for. I'm not sure which was killed first though, the horse or the bear." He opened the saddle bags and rifled through the content. "I cannot believe we're so unlucky as to get this close to those poachers twice. It's unbelievable."
Frey agreed wholeheartedly, but he stayed silent and just watched Jørgen as he pulled out a small first aid kit.
Jørgen looked up at him, worry plain on his face. "What can I do for your leg, Frey? You're the nurse; tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Frey thought quickly through the pain. "Splinting it would be best, but we don't have any wood, so we got to just bandage it. That'll have to do until we get to the hospital."
Hospital. When would they get there? They had only been out a couple of hours tops, but it would take them a very long time to go all the
way back without the horses. Frey couldn't even make the trek back, not in the condition his leg was in.
"You could—" He swallowed heavily, trying his best not to start crying. "You could go back to the horse and get the girth. You can use that on my leg. I think that... that it'll help at least a little bit."
Jørgen nodded tersely, then took the rifle in hand and went back around the turn. A few minutes later he was back. He hurriedly tied the girth around the leg with Frey's guidance.
"We have to get away from here," Jørgen said, glancing around anxiously. "They didn't get the last bear they shot; they'll surely come back for this one."
Frey nodded, though he dreaded having to get up and start walking. It wouldn't even be walking; he would most likely limp, if not hop, on his good leg.
Jørgen looked back at him. "I have some painkillers. You want one? It'll help a little bit at least."
Frey wanted one, he really did. "I can't. Painkillers make me too sleepy."
Jørgen bit his lower lip in thought. He looked around with a frown. "I think there should be a small hunting cabin a few kilometres from here. If we can make it there, we can spend the night and hope that someone will eventually find us. You can take painkillers there and go to sleep, that way the time will go faster." He reached out and touched Frey's cheek with one hand. "They will come looking for us. When we're not back by tonight, Karina and Sara will alert the Governor and they'll send someone out to find us."
Frey smiled as well as he was able to through the fear and pain, and he found himself leaning his cheek slightly into Jørgen's hand, wishing that it hadn't been gloved, that Jørgen's warm skin would press against his cold cheek. "I hope I can make it to that cabin. I'm going to try."
"Good." Jørgen helped him stand up. Frey almost lost his balance for a moment but managed to stay on foot by clutching onto Jørgen's arm. Jørgen smiled slightly and when he'd made sure Frey wouldn't topple head-first into the snow he bent down to hoist the saddlebags over one shoulder. He held the rifle ready in hand.
Jørgen's free hand wrapped around Frey's waist, supporting him as they started walking back the way they had come. Pain shot up Frey's leg for every half-limp, half-jump he made, but he stubbornly kept from voicing his pain. There were a few kilometres from that cabin and he was going to make it there no matter what. He wanted to be inside, not out in the cold with the danger of poachers and polar bears around.
