Chapter Text
Part 1
The van comes to a hard stop, Isak’s body slides on the rusted metal floor, the ridges bitingly painful pressure points against all his bruises, his ribs, his cuts. His strained muscles. He realizes where he is, his hands and ankles are still handcuffed and shackled to massive stainless steel rings welded into the floor of the van. He welcomes the temporary halt to the shaking the van has been doing for at least two losses of consciousness, the pain level of his battered and aching body, too high even for him to withstand any more.
His eyes feel swollen, almost shut. He tastes the familiar metallic taste of blood in his mouth, and he feels dried blood on his face, pulling on his skin. His captors had beat his face up to a pulp before putting him in the van. He tries to push through the star-inducing headache, the soreness to his face and his eyes’ swelling. He tries to open his eyes anyway. Only one eye cracks open, he manages to barely lift one of his eyelids, trying to make out his surroundings. In the darkness, the smell of death and human frailty invade his nostrils. His entire body feels broken, bruised and battered. He’s learned to live with it for days. Or is it weeks?
—Fuck!— He realizes he can’t remember how much time has passed since he was ambushed by his Russian captors during the covert ops. The image of Even smiling at him, that private smile he reserves just for him, making a fleeting sense of fear skitters across his brain, before his training on automatic, squashes it down. He makes himself take a deep breath pushing through the pain in his lungs, and in his ribs, never focusing on one type of ache for two long, using all the techniques he’s been taught to survive interrogations.
He’s startled when the doors to the back of the van open up, a light shining right in his one eye, the freezing temperatures hitting his body. He raises his handcuffed hands to ward against the light, but the movement is halted by the shackles, making him turn his head away to escape the beam aimed at him.
“Up and at’em, pretty boy! Time to do your job.” A harsh booming voice says, the sound making his ears hurt. That voice brings up a visceral dread in Isak. For too many days, he’s heard the manner in which Booming Voice deceived with pleasure the worst that Isak has had to endure. He steels himself for what’s coming. The voice in his head being the goddamned, cheer-fucking-leader telling him he’s made it this long, he can keep going, until he’s rescued. But will he? Doubt temporarily assails him. Even would certainly be in that rescue ops, once more fear returns, this time for Even’s safety.
“Unshackle his arms, I’ll do the ankles.” Booming Voice says to someone else. The punishing van floor under Isak rocks and bounces, as someone steps inside the van, coming to stand above him, straddling his body. As soon as he feels his arms release, with what seems to him a superhuman effort he swings them hard up, hitting with satisfaction balls, making the person above him cry out, and fall to his knees.
“Mutherfucker!” his victim curses between clenched teeth. Isak’s satisfaction is short-lived, a harsh fist smashes against his right cheekbone and jaw, making his head bounce against the steel floor from the force that almost knocks him out, and sets off a loud ringing in his right ear—let’s add deafness to the rest.
“Stop fucking around, get back out here.” Booming Voice orders the kneeling and moaning figure towering above Isak.
He feels himself be pulled by the tatters of remnants of his jeans, a gust of frigid air finds its way up his exposed skin, a temporary welcomed numbing of all aches. His legs bend dangling off the back edge of the van’s floor, the bottom of his tortured feet without shoes graze dirt and rocks shooting pain up his back, straight to his brain. Isak feels someone pass beside him and kick him in the ribs, making a cry escape his clenched jaws, his chapped and split lips. Then his shirt is fisted, and his torso yanked to sitting, his head lolling uncontrolled.
“Hey pretty boy?” The second voice says, “Hey, come on pretty boy, I’ll let you suck my cock after,” a rough hand slapping his face a few times.
“Stop fucking around! Grab him under that arm.” Booming Voice says, putting an end to the slapping. Isak’s arms are lifted and rested on two sets of shoulders, every muscle and tendon in his arms and shoulders screaming back at him in excruciating pain, even the frigid air no longer can numb him from it. He screams as they stand him up on his feet, the pain even greater than the one radiating from his shoulders, making his knees buckle just to get his weight off his feet.
His captors start walking forward bodily hauling him, his legs dragging behind him, his head lolling forward, moaning sounds involuntarily escaping from his mouth. Isak has a vague sense through the fog of pain that they bring him around the van, they push him to sit in a rickety chair, a huffed moan escaping him when his ass lands on the seat. They separately handcuff his wrists to the vertical stiles of the chair, on either side of his body. He can feel the heat of the van’s headlights shining bright from behind him, and the last waning sunlight disappearing under the mantle of the moonless night, as the temperature keeps lowering.
He forces himself to lift his head, and tries to open his one eye, managing with difficulty to make out a clearing. He sits in the middle of the dirt path that cleaves it in half, surrounded by tall pine trees and mountainous terrain on all sides. He focuses briefly on the outline of his captor’s massive shoulders, in front of him, before his eye shuts down and he’s got nothing left in him to make it open again. He directs his energies to his ears.
“Your man is not here, as agreed.” Booming Voice says his voice a hint of grim disappointment. Isak hears the flicks of a cigarette butt, Booming Voice stepping on it and squashing it in the dirt, then the sounds of his steps coming closer toward Isak, “Looks like your guys don’t give a shit about getting you back.” the tone sneering. Even’s face reappears behind his eyelids—damn it!—He can’t let himself be distracted this way. He needs to focus his waning energies. He knows this. His training dictates it. But. But there’s a part of him that knows that Even would jeopardize his life, if he had to, just to save him, and he doesn’t want that. He feels powerless to stop it from happening, and frightened in the face of a future without Even he’d rather not even give a name to.
Out of the darkness a voice says, “I’m here,” making Isak find the strength to open the slit of his eye in time to see his captor’s sneer disappear. Before Booming Voice turns back toward the voice in the darkness, a lop-sided smile appears on Isak’s battered face. —Jan!—Even!—He knows he’s inviting another beatdown, but he doesn't care anymore, he’s so far past caring. All he knows is that the beat of his heart pounding in his ears, just went up a notch just at the thought of Even, a thought that is warming him. The memories of Even’s touch on his body, invading his brain, spreading warmth through him. He shrugs himself out of his reverie, shoving his protective feelings toward Even further down, making himself pay closer attention to his surroundings, clearing his head, because shit is going down and he’s dead center of it all. And, he’s not made it this far just to die on this fucking dirt road in the middle of nowhere!
“Where’s the package?” Isak hears Booming Voice ask with a steely tone.
“What? Oh, I didn’t keep my promises?” Jan mocks in a childish sing-song.
“We have a sniper pointed at your man.” Booming Voice warns.
“You mean the sniper behind those trees?” Isak hears Jan ask with a reasonable tone, followed by a sharp inhale from Booming Voice, and a string of Russian swearing.
Isak’s head is too heavy for him to lift it up anymore. But he knows what Jan is capable of, and how he takes care of spies that form his squadron—poor devil probably never knew what hit him—from Booming Voice’s reaction, that sniper is probably hanging somewhere. Isak smiles again before he realizes what this means—Even is here!
He forcefully reminds himself that he’s in the fucking middle if—no, when—the shooting begins, handcuffed to a fucking chair. At the prospect of freedom, his brain goes in overdrive. He could probably break the chair—easy like—but that’s not going to get him anywhere, he can hardly stand let alone walk or run anywhere—I’m fucked!
He hears the first shot before it hits its target on the other side of him with a sickening sound of a bullet hitting flesh and bone, then the unmistakable sound of a body flopping to the ground. He’d recognize the sound of a bullet leaving a McMillan TAC-50 sniping rifle with a silencer, anywhere. His brain suddenly screaming at him—MOVE!
He grits his teeth and pushes down on his feet to stand, the pain radiating all the way to his brain again, making him stridently yowl, as his brain explodes. He lets his whole body weight come down on the chair braking it under him, making him sprawl on the dirt path—hopefully out of direct aiming range—he bites back curses and pain, as he tries to slide his handcuffs out of the vertical stiles, but he keeps lying there trying to catch his breath, his body screaming pain at him from everywhere, everything sounding like it’s in a fog above him, shots, then someone screaming, “Fucking run him over!” the voice sounding like it’s moving away, in a tunnel—oh to feel nothing anymore—He wants it. His consciousness slowly closing, he goes toward the nothingness, until he hears the voice in his ear, low, rumbly, and insistent. His heart starts beating fast against his ribcage—Even!
“Get the fuck up Isak! I’m taking you to safety!” he’s been dreaming of this moment, he doesn't know whether it’s real or not. His eyes burn by the saltiness of his tears streaming down his face.
“Get the fuck up, Isak!” A hand reaches under his arm to haul him up bodily. He attempts to lift his head but his eyes won’t open anymore, he tries to say he can’t stand, but his moans do the job for him.
“Motherfuckers!” Even swears, bending down and hoisting Isak over his shoulder fire-fighter style, knocking the wind out of Isak’s lungs, and starts running across the clearing for the protection of the trees and the forest beyond.
Part 2
They’d driven most of the night and had snuck into Russia and made their way to the appointed rendezvous in two separate cars, him and Jonas in one, Jan and Elias in the other. In the early hours of the morning they had stopped for food, while still in Norway. Their stomachs filled, their plans confirmed once more, their radios and earpieces activated, their watches synchronized, they had taken off and split up; Jan and Elias taking a northern route into Russia and then into the Pasvik Nature Preserve, just on the other side of Lake Vaggatem, and the appointed location provided by Isak’s captors of 69.28 degrees North, 29.34 degrees East. He and Jonas had driven South instead, and entered Russia south of the Park, near a power plant, then turned North and made their way to the agreed meeting place.
A few hours ago they entered the park, followed dirt paths as close as possible to where they needed to be. They’d found a good hiding place for the car, had erased all tracks on the dirt road that they’d even arrived, camouflaged the vehicle, and parked in such a way that they could get away as fast as possible, if they needed to. After driving all night, Even took the first watch, letting Jonas sleep in the car, while he went to reconnoiter the terrain and find the best point for him to set up his long range rifle. He was careful, he ducked and weaved and took cover silently behind foliage. Never underestimate the enemy, was how they were all trained, and they had done that mistake once, become to cock-sure of how the ops was going to finish, and the next thing they knew, they were watching one of their own being dragged away, taken prisoner.
He clenches his jaw. That scene lives rent-free in his head now, tormenting him, filling him with guilt, making him second guess what they, he, could have done differently and avoid Isak from being taken. He can’t shake it’s reemergence, but he can sure shove it to a far corner of his brain with one, well placed mental shove, and hope that it’s place in his brain doesn't instead get filled by memories of them together, Isak desirous, lying in Even’s arms, the soft responsiveness of his body to his. He shakes himself, seeking to cut off that train of thought too. They were here, for one main purpose, to get their own back. To get Isak back. He reminds himself he needs to keep his focus.
Kneeling on the ground, hidden by the foliage, he hears the sound of a car driving the path into the clearing, watches as two guys jump out, one with a rifle holster on his back, one very much like the one he has—another sniper.—The car turns around and departs the area back the way it came in. Even lies still, his eyes focused on the two men discussing something, pointing around them then at the sky, obviously tactical and logistics, ”not over here” he whispers like a hopeful but discouraging mantra under his breath, attempting to ward against that decision. Exahales somewhat relieved, when he sees them take off at a crouched lope toward the tree line on the opposite side of the clearing, once reached they disappear. Slowly he backs away, retracing his steps making no sound, leaving no trace he was there.
He returns to the car under its camouflage. He unlocks the door and closes it with barely any sound, once he’s seated in the driver's seat. He checks his watch, then lays his hand on Jonas’ shoulder and gives him a friendly shove, “Jonas, wake up,” repeating the gesture, calling until Jonas stirs and sits up, “Time?” He asks groggily.
“T minus four hours.” Even replies, adding “We’ve got company.”
“How many?”
“Two, one a sniper.” Even replies, a wicked smile playing on his lips. He proceeds to describe for Jonas where the two individuals entered the forest, as Jonas reaches for one of the thermoses in the back seat and brings it to his lap to pour himself some luke-warm coffee.
“Anybody else?” Jonas asks, as he offers to pour some coffee for Even; he shakes him off.
“Unknown. Not while I was doing reconnaissance. But others could have come into the park any other way, so be careful.” He says putting his hand back on Jonas’ shoulder and giving it a gentle shake.
“Always!” Jonas replies, with grim determination.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jonas then grabs his weapon, holsters it under his armpit and dons his jacket and hat.
“Lock the door after I leave, I’ll be back in a few hours. Rest.” Jonas says, receiving a stiffer shove back from Even in retaliation this time.
“Yes mother!” Even replies mocking him, and a lifted middle finger.
Once Jonas leaves, Even climbs over to the passenger seat, lays the back of it down as far as it can go, and lets his body find sleep. He needs his wits about him in a few hours. He’ll let Jonas do his thing, tracking and eliminating the enemy.
“Even. Even wake up!”
Even slowly stir awake, his mind slowly taking stock of his body - feeling it stiff in too many places - and where he is by the sounds around him.
“Even! Come on, wake up!” Recognition of Jonas’ voice, brings Even back in an instant, where and what their objectives are, waking him completely, his mind alert. He lifts his arms over his head, stretching his whole body, as it lies on the front passenger seat of the car. He feels re-invigorated, despite the yawn that escapes from his mouth.
“Update?” He asks of Jonas, as his brain debates the merit of drinking a cup of, by now, disgustingly old and cold coffee, or not, “Seen anybody else?”
“No.”
“Previous visitors?” Even inquires with a side glance and a raised eyebrow.
“Taken care of,” Jonas telegraphically replies, adding “they had radios with geo locators, but not turned on. I left them with the bodies. Got the rifle though.”
They exchange fist bumps and satisfied smiles, then silently begin preparations by painting their faces in camouflage paint. Even assembles his rifle, checks it twice, but doesnt load it until they are ready to leave the car. With the sun still up, they insert their radio earpieces and their larynx microphones around their necks. Then one last mutual check of their gear, they nod and fist bump each other’s shoulders, then Even loads his rifle, before they quietly open their doors and stealthily slide out of the vehicle, and melt into the low brush of the pine forest around them, without making a noise.
They function on hand signals as they make their way to their positions. Even sets up on a small knoll at the edge of the trees, overlooking the appointed exchange location, with a good view down the path to see anyone approaching. Silently Jonas and him go about setting him up, covering his prone body with foliage, the butt of his long-range rifle against his shoulder. Through his long-distance view finder, he checks the forest’s perimeter at the opposite side of the clearing, finds the two bodies Jonas took care of earlier, and doesn't find anyone else moving about. Even looks at Jonas, gives him the thumbs up and turns on his radio as Jonas taps Even on the shoulder and signals he’s going on patrol. Jonas steps over his body in a hunched position and disappears into the underbrush.
As soon as the radio crackles in his ear, Jan's voice comes on.
“I was beginning to wonder where you were.”
“We’re in position.” Even whispers, his voice picked up by his larynx microphone.
“So are we,” comes Elias' reply in Even’s ear, “hiding around the bend in the road, don’t want to make it too easy for those guys.” Even turns his aim-finder toward the direction, and sees the glint of the sun, shining on something metallic.
“I can see you, the sun is reflecting off the car. Fix it!” He whispers back, the biting tone not going unheeded.
“Roger that.” Elias replies immediately. When Even looks again, the glint is gone, replaced by foliage that looks like it had been there for centuries.
Nothing to do now, but wait. The quiet before the storm, as the saying goes. Even hates this time. Well, he liked it well enough when he and Isak were on covert ops together, Isak his field partner, doing exactly what Jonas is doing now, assisting and protecting while he performs his job. He looks at his watch: one hour to go. An hour of struggling to keep his mind focused on the mission, on retrieving Isak, getting the fuck out of Dodge, and back onto Norwegian territory. An hour of keeping his mind from conjuring images of their intimacies, their happier times, their forbidden times. Fraternizing between operatives regardless of gender, now that the army had acknowledged and accepted LGBTQ individuals, is still punishable by court-marshaling, they both know it. Still, their mutual attraction had been something they had both at first ignored, then resisted, and in the end mutually admitted, fearful of the consequences had either of them not been on the same page or interest.
From the moment they had mutually admitted their very much non-platonic attraction, their lives had become a series of very long periods of pretense at work, during missions. Punctuated by short intense bursts of disappearance for both of them, maintaining radio silence on any device, and finding solace and understanding in each others’ arms. Feigning consummate professionalism and distance, Isak and Even avoid any demonstration that can be construed as something other than that of military camaraderie, or the type of connection that can only exist between members that rely entirely on a few others for their very lives, and vice versa. Brotherly love under these circumstances often takes on an entirely different dimension. Slowly memories resurface of him and Isak, alone, intimate, playful, somewhere remote, where they can enjoy being themselves. Slowly his dark worries overtake his pleasant memories, dispelling and replacing them with imagined violence that his brain is only too happy to serve him. Even shakes his head vigorously, interrupting that line of remembrances and grim suppositions, because all they lead to is danger and distraction, and he needs his wits about him.
The radio crackles in his ear with Jonas’ voice, “We’ve got company. Van approaching.” Even puts his eye through the viewfinder, finds the lights of the beat-up, white, soviet Simon van bouncing and tottering at slow speed down the dirt path. It comes to a stop short of Even’s position. Two men climb down from the van, one of them retrieves a chair strapped to the roof, dragging it behind him until the chair is jammed into the dirt straight in front of Even. He releases a breath, he didn’t know he was holding when he feels grateful for having eliminated the opponent’s sniper. The two men make their way to the back of the van. The doors open, the van ceding under the weight of one of them. Then he hears a human cry, he swings the weapon and aims in the direction of the sound, his body tensing, his finger on the trigger.
They’ve all had the same training, taught to withstand for as long as possible any aggression inflicted, in an eventual capture from the enemy. They were given psychological or physical techniques, shown pictures of captives, and videos of long interrogations. Still. None of it was enough preparation for Even once he sees Isak’s slack body, being dragged out of the van, his clothes in tatters while the temperature descends rapidly toward freezing. Pushed to sit on the chair, Isak sits limply, his hair hanging dirty and limp in his face, his face looking like it had been put through hell. At first his eye avidly searches all the details he can of a lank Isak, sitting and being barely responsive. Even sucks air hard when the viewfinder captures Isak’s exposed torso. Even’s heart hardens, his ire stokes his determination, his iron will and his ability to find a zen-like calmness and concentration, letting all of it settle on him like a mantle. He welcomes the familiar feeling, that which permits him to be the best long range sniper in the country, and several others too—you got this!
“Not yet!” Comes Jan’s order in his ear. Even clenches his teeth in frustration, moves his hand away from the trigger, flexing his hand a few times. Jonas is back, he touches him on the ankle, just to let Even know where he is.
“Motherfuckers!” Elias' biting whisper barks in Even’s ear, taking the words right out of Even’s mouth.
Jonas touches him again, pointing in toward the darkness, and Jan’s tall figure in a black coat skirting the edges of the lights, keeping away from the van’s beams. He looks back at the guys from the van. One standing slightly to his side of Isak, the other standing in front with his back to Isak, abruptly turning around to talk to him. Jan chooses that moment to melt out of the darkness, and appear in the middle of the lights shining from the van.
Even can hear the exchange, he aims his rifle at the darkened silhouettes hanging from the trees of the two guys Jonas dispatched, hanging on the other side of the clearing. He holds his breath and pulls the trigger, to make them fall to the ground. The guys on the path look annoyed—Good!
“I’ve got the sidekick in my sight.” Even whispers
“Hold.” is Jan’s order. Even makes himself breathe slowly, his finger on the trigger. Waiting. Ready. Praying that his target doesn’t move, especially behind Isak.
“Now!” is Jens’ order. Even goes through his list of checks, breathes in, holds his breath, and pulls the trigger.
A bullet zings right above him, “Fuck!” Jonas bites between clenched teeth, “Where did that come from?” He asks ducking behind a tree. Another bullet, but the sound and the red tell-tale, distinct, light of a fired gun barrel, at the top of the van.
“Where did that fucker come from?” Elias asks in everyone’s ears, as bullets keep zinging above Even’s head.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Even exclaims, as he watches Isak stand up, “Cover me!” He says to Jonas, letting the camouflage over him fall in a heap, while he takes off at a dead run in the direction of Isak’s figure laying in the dirt, his wide-brim bucket hat falling off his head, releasing his dirty blond hair. He slides feet first right next to Isak, his hand on his back feeling his muscles straining.
He puts his mouth close to Isak’s hear and barks an order, “Get the fuck up, Isak! I’m taking you to safety!” anything to get Isak to react. He puts his feet under him and still crouching he pulls on Isak’s body to get up. But to no avail, Isak is straining to push himself off the dirt.
“Get the fuck up, Isak!” he hisses again closer to Isak’s ear, but all he gets in return are mournful moans that hammer at his self control. He has no choice. With bullets flying he doesn't want to take this risk. But he has no choice. He ducks down to put his shoulder at Isak’s waist, he hoists him over one shoulder fire-fighter style. He puts his arm around the back of Isak’s thighs, and takes off running up the knoll to seek the cover of the trees. Jonas meets him saying, “Go! Go! Go!”, urging him to get Isak to cover and away, while he continues to shoot, covering their escape.
Even runs, shouldering Isak’s full weight. He crashes through the underbrush, no longer caring about noise, just that they make it to the car. He can hear Jonas right behind him. He reaches their hidden vehicle, opens the back door and lowers Isak’s limp body gently to the ground guiding it to sit on the edge of the back sea, before he allows himself to hold Isak in his arms, not as a comrade, but as the lovers they are. Urgently he speaks in Isak’s ear, “I’ve got you babe, I’ve got you. I’m getting you out of here. You’re safe.” He allows himself to be demonstrative, knowing he’s risking everything in that moment, but he’s no longer capable of being cold and removed, depositing a short soft kiss on Isak’s chapped and split lips.
He lowers Isak down onto the back seat, arranges his legs inside the vehicle, covering his cold body with a blanket before he closes the door, and gets the last of the camouflage off the car, then jumps in behind the wheel. Another car comes rushing at them, stops skidding on the dirt path. Jonas leans in close to him, “I’ve got both rifles, just in case they inspect the car too closely at the border, Elia has more room, and fresher decoys to throw off scents. Go! I’ll ride with Jan and Elias, I’ll see you at the safehouse in Tromsø. The airplane is waiting for you in Kirkenes. Keep your radio on. Godspeed!” He taps the top of the car after he closes the door. Even puts on his night vision goggles, puts the car in gear, and takes off at breakneck speed out of the park. The car bounces on the uneven dirt path until he reaches a paved road leading to the exit from the park, the same road he and Jonas had taken to enter the park. His senses are on high alert. They don’t really know how many people were in that forest, and someone could be giving the alarm right now, so the chances of being stopped and detained are high. Someone is bound to find three dead people in the park sooner or later. Sooner if their radio silence becomes noticed. And he and Isak are two foreign operatives in a foreign territory that is none too friendly to foreign operatives. He pushes down harder on the accelerator.
Even looks in his rear-view mirror, seeing Elias at the wheel of the other car, lights out, just like him. He catches a glimpse of the sign pointing to the entry to the park, “Be open. Be open” he murmurs under his breath, hoping that if there are gates, they were left open. The are; luck is with them a little longer. When he reaches the main road, he lets himself blow one long breath, before turning South, and watching the other car turn North. Elias will drive for a few kilometers before making a ‘uey’, following Even South to the nearest border crossing at Hestefoss, near the power plant. He looks at his watch, calculating they’ll be at the border crossing in the next hour. His night vision goggles still on, he punches the accelerator and speeds through the moonless night as fast as he can to get them across the border.
The road is deserted, they don’t cross paths with any cars or trucks. On the one hand that’s a good thing. On the other hand, if they do, he’ll know they’re in trouble because those are people coming to look for the dead guys they left, back in the park. That’s when their contingency plans go into effect. He makes himself recall them, in detail. It’s a good distraction for him, keeping him focused. Keeping him and Isak alive is priority one. Keeping him from giving in to his need to turn and look behind him to check on Isak, when he should be looking ahead. Keeping him from pondering whether this mission is what will make Isak finally tender his resignation. Keeping himself from daring to hope that this is when they’ll finally turn the page in their lives— Fuck! No! You’re more disciplined than this!—He forces himself to return to the contingency plans, and starts going over each step, making sure he’s not forgotten any detail. The hour flies by.
When he sees the orange hews in the sky coming from the power plant’s powerful halogen lights, he knows he’s relatively close. He stops behind the last bend in the road, at the side of the road to change into civilian clothes, wiping his hands of any traces of gunpowder or its smell, wiping his face of green paint. He leaves moving Isak to the hiding place under the back seat to one of the last things he does. He’s gentle, almost reverent of Isak’s bruised and scarred body. “Crossing the border, Isak” he says by way of justifying the uncomfortable position he has to bend him to make him fit in the small space. Isak doesn’t respond, making all his fears rise in his throat. He takes out the decoy meat he and Jonas had brought to hide any scents, in case of dogs. They can’t take any chances, if an alarm has been sounded, the Russians will be on the lookout for all of them. He douses some vodka over his clothes, then throws the bottle away, hides the night vision goggles, his earpiece and the larynx mike, and gets behind the wheel once again. At a more moderate speed, his lights on, Even makes his approach at the desolate checkpoint.
There’s some commotion and added guards at the Russian checkpoint—an alarm has certainly been issued—Even keeps himself on high alert, while adopting the demeanor of a Norwegian having one too many drinks, returning home. He exchanges pleasantries in heavily accented Russian, after handing over his fake passport with a smile, and a slight slurring to his words, receiving a knowing look from the guard. They bring out the dog and circle the car. Once the dog walks around without any signaling, he’s waved through to the Norwegian checkpoint, with a warning that Norwegian police don’t take kindly to drunk drivers, and a wink.
He pulls up, handing the same passport, but this time his Secret Services ID is between the pages, “Do not salute,” He says staring at the guard, “now lean closer to the window, and talk to me like there’s something wrong, and wave me over there, and give me a breathalyzer test.” The guard obeys, and Even parks the car where he’s being directed, to. He looks over to see the Russian guards looking over, shaking their heads then turning their backs, and walking away to their shelter. The guard waves him through, he gets back into the car and takes off.
Shortly after, when the sickly orange no longer colors the night’s sky and he’s sure there is no one else on the road he stops, discards his vodka-reeking clothes, takes out a water canteen and some food, offering them to Isak after moving him back onto the back seat. He helps Isak sit up, holding Isak’s head he slowly pours some water in his mouth past his lips. Isak is thirsty, but his face is not permitting him to drink very well, and Even is letting him drink only a little bit at the time. Isak takes only a few bites of what food Even offers him, then pushes Even’s hand away, his wrists still bound in handcuffs. “I’ll take these off now,” Even says as he repositions Isak lying down on the back seat, giving Isak a makeshift pillow with his camo clothes; he takes out his handcuff universal key, and removes them from Isak’s wrists, before covering him once again under the blanket and gliding feather-light his thumb over Isak’s bruised face.
He sits behind the wheel of the car once more, puts on his radio gear, then takes off speeding into the night, destination Kirkenes, and the Secret Service’s private plane that will bring them to Tromsø, the safehouse and medical attention. He looks into his rearview mirror, seeing lights approaching behind him on the deserted road. Even’s training comes unbidden back to high alert, until his radio crackles in his ear, “A car is tailing you.”
“Yeah, I see it.”
“How many times is it flashing at you?” Elias asks
“Four,” he replies, “no, wait two more.”
“It’s us.”
“Mission accomplished,” Jan says to everyone, “Let’s get Isak to safety.”
“Roger that.” Even replies, accelerating into the night, Elias keeping pace, right behind him.
Part 3
For three days and nights Even sat in the punishing chair next to Isak’s bed, watching over him and his bandaged and stitched body, his swollen face and eyes slowly returning back to his chiseled features. Back to the face Even had first fallen in love with. Minus the angry, black shades underscoring his eyes, slowly turning Isak’s skin all the colors of the rainbow. Even made simple foods for them, waking Isak up only to spoon feed him bird-like portions of liquid food for as long as he would stay awake, making sure he’d take his meds and slowly replenish his water intake. He attended to changing Isak’s dressed wounds, checking for signs of infections, rubbed unguents over his bruises.
He slept poorly. Dozing on and off at all times of the day, sitting next to Isak, whenever he could catch a break from Isak’s restless sleep. At best he stirred unrequited, his head moving back and forth on the pillow, tiny yowls escaping his mouth. At worst his body would seize, his back arching off the mattress, crying out, his body thrashing. The worst were his blood-curdling wails, that made Even choke with a mixture of ire and impotence, he had no idea how to process any of this.
He didn’t have to do this. He knew it. But the compunction was stronger than him. It wasn’t a ‘want,’ it was a ‘need.’ He had to be at Isak’s side.
He didn’t have to do it. Jan had said as much when he put a firm but soft hand against Even’s sternum and looked him straight in the eye when he said, “Let them do their work, Even,” referring to the medical team that came, and closed the door to the room where Even had carefully laid Isak on the bed; he had carried Isak inside in his arms, Isak’s head cradled against his chest. The feeling of Isak’s fragility in his arms, sending his head reeling. Because that is not the way Isak ever felt in his arms; he had always felt lean, solid without being hard, his muscles well defined, an unassuming presence of being—a quiet strength without declaring it.
“Let them do their work.” Jan had repeated, when he’d pushed back against Jan’s hand. “We can get him 24-hour nursing.” Jan assured Even.
“No.” Even had replied vehemently, the word catapulting out of his mouth between clenched teeth, before he could stop it, raising Jan’s brow in surprise.
“You don’t have to do this.” Jan insisted
“I’m doing it.” Even replied, his tone clear that he wasn’t going to explain himself.
For two interminable hours the door to the room only opened when one of the two nurses was set to retrieve something specific, then return to the room closing the door behind them. Every time it happened, the four of them would stop, stand, turn and track the movement of the nurse, their faces a mixture of dreaded anticipation, their breaths held, releasing only when the nurse would disappear once more behind the closed door. Even had never felt more useless in his life than during those two hours. Powerless to do anything, constrained to moderate his own reactions—which he barely could, risking putting himself and Isak both in jeopardy of outing themselves for unsanctioned fraternization. Jonas’s strong hand on his shoulder was the only thing that had managed to bring back some sense and, somehow, ground him. Just barely.
When the medical team had opened the door, all four of them again stood simultaneously, ready to receive the bad news. The chief medical officer had walked decisively toward Jan, as the squad leader, to give him an account of what was Isak’s condition and what he would need medically, both short and long term. Even had shut out the voices and without hesitation had walked past them and entered the room. What greeted his eyes would forever brand his brain with that image of Isak. A battered and bruised Isak hooked to IV’s, a low hum and beeping in the background of monitoring medical devices, the whole scene almost too incongruous to accept as reality given the residential feel of the room.
Isak slept. Partially induced by sedation, mostly due to sheer exhaustion. So it was a surprise for Even to hear his name being called, while he was in the kitchen preparing yet another small meal.
“Even?” it was almost a dry whisper, he nearly misses it completely thinking it’s some random noise. When his brain realizes, he drops everything in his hands with a clanging noise that reverberates throughout the apartment, runs to the bedroom, flinging the door open with such force it almost perforates the wall. Standing frozen at the threshold, his emotions a cacophony of inner voices just asking questions.
“Even?” Isak says again, turning his head slowly, his eyes slowly opening,
“I’m here.” He makes himself answer, taking a few steps into the room.
“Thirsty,” Isak says with an uncertain, raspy voice, his vocal cords probably overused and overstrained, “water?” he asks; the question tentative, almost unsure whether this is reality. Even’s throat clenches further, at the recognition of that note of fear he hears—those fucking bastards!
“Yes, of course,” Even replies, when he finally makes himself fill the glass on the nightstand, then sit on the edge of the bed supporting Isak’s head and neck as he pours the water slowly between Isak’s dry lips, letting him take short sips. It’s slow going, but a good sign that Isak is voluntarily drinking this much.
“More?” Even asks silently questions by raising his eyebrows, acquiescing Isak’s short nods each time, until he shakes his head, the movement extracting a short moan of pain from him. Even eases him back down onto the pillows, watching how exhaustion etches Isak’s face once more.
“Alone?”
“Yes, just you and me for a few hours.” Even says, watching Isak’s hand searching and finding his. Their fingers finding the familiar position, laced, holding tightly.
“Thank you. I—I—” Isak murmurs with difficulty. Even doesn’t know what Isak is trying to push out, but if it’s how he had lost hope, he doesn’t know that he can hear that and be rational about any of it. So he interrupts Isak’s stuttering.
“You would have done the same. We don’t leave our own behind.” He says, pushing the words out with difficulty.
Isak opens his eyes again, capturing Even’s gaze and holding it, a look of pure adoration, making Even’s heart accelerate so much he thinks it’s going to burst through his ribcage.The gaze pulls him physically forward, their faces hovering mere centimeters from each other.
“I want to kiss you. Can I?” he asks. Isak nods. Leaning closer Even his mouth ajar glides his lips softly across Isak’s dry lips, wetting them faintly before depositing the reverent kiss on them. The moment is full of unspoken anxieties and unresolved affections. Pulling back just enough to nuzzle their noses together, Even’s arms carefully wrap around Isak’s shoulders, pulling him back to sitting, Isak leaning against Even’s chest, holding him closely as tightly as he feels he can, without causing Isak any pain. Isak’s slots with ease in the crook of Even’s neck, his forehead against his neck. In their close proximity, a sigh of relief and contentment haltingly escapes Isak’s lips, freeing Even to release his own held at bay. The moment stretches, until they reluctantly let go of each other, Even with tenderness, laying Isak back down, then seeking Isak’s hand, their fingers lacing once again, as he slowly drifts back asleep.
Even startles awake, his head lifting, then dropping back into his hand, blinking his eyes to scan the darkness for threats, it’s an automatic action. He makes himself breathe, slow down, pull himself back from his defensive instincts, and look at Isak’s sleeping form, surprised to find his eyes open, staring back at him.
“Need anything?” he mumbles sleepily, allowing his body to relax again, then smiles.
“Why do you sleep there?” Isak asks
“What?”
“I mean, why not lie down?” Isak asks, a calm whisper. Even knew at some point he was going to have to answer that question, the longer he stayed in the chair beside the bed. But he’s not ready to explain how unhinged he can become when any references are made, or even implied, about Isak’s captivity. He’s not given himself the luxury to speak to his own psych yet. He’s got too much of everything to work through. But that’s too much to say right now. So he doesn’t, slightly hitching his shoulder in response. Then feeling shame at Isak’s disappointed, sideways frown.
“I see.”
“Just—let it go, Isak.” Even replies, his voice sounding tired.
“Let what go, Even? All I did was ask a question.” Isak justifies right away, a slight irritation in his tone. Silence settles between them, slowly stretching from inconvenient, past uneasy, and straight into awkward.
“Just—”
“What?” It’s a charged question, there’s as much belligerence in the sound of it, as there is frustration and a genuine need to know more. And in truth, Even knows he’s been avoiding long conversations with Isak. He’s been tip-toeing around Isak, both metaphorically and physically, as if Isak were some fragile thing; Even knows that. And he’s been shutting down, redirecting or simply avoiding any topic remotely close to Isak’s abduction, especially when it comes to talking of themselves, together. His own internal dialog is interrupted when Isak decides to turn away, letting out a hitched breath,—disappointment—pulling the covers over his shoulder.
“You don’t need to sit here any more, I can handle things on my own now.” Isak says from the folds of his blankets—Fuck!—Even pushes his stiffened body out of the chair. He looks back at Isak’s silhouette, one last time, regret filling him until the knot in his throat threatens to undo him, “Good night.”
Even wakes up the following morning and shuffles to the kitchen. The night was a bust. He feels his tiredness like a weight on his shoulder he can’t seem to shed. He knows this is when mistakes are made. Bad mistakes, life-altering mistakes. He realizes he’s not heard Isak stir or move around, is about to go check in on him, when he notices his phone vibrating.
“ Calling a meeting with Jan for this afternoon. Went for an errand, will return. ”
Even punches the counter hard, “Fuck!!!” he says aloud, his voice reverberating against the hard surfaces, angry at himself, anxious of why Isak is asking for the meeting, his heart aching already in anticipation of what could happen. He doesn’t want to push Isak away, yet he realizes that’s all he’s been doing, feeling powerless to stop himself. Like he’s on some runaway train moving too fast, derailment a certainty. He looks around himself at a loss, fear gripping his entrails, bile rising in his chest.
His inner voice screaming at him, his breathing becoming shallower, he runs to the spare bedroom to grab his meds. Looking at his trembling hands, Even forces himself through his breathing exercises, he needs to focus on regaining control of his body, before he triggers a phase. He doesn’t registester Isak’s return, until Isak stands in front of him.
Even looks up from his trembling hands, to look at Isak’s concerned, questioning look.
“I needed to think,” Isak begins to explain, “I want us back how we were, but I don’t know how to do that when you’re pushing me away.” Isak keeps his gaze on Even’s face, “I’m not giving up, Even. I don’t know what is happening with you, because you won’t talk with me. All I know is that you wouldn’t have stayed by me day and night, unless you’d wanted to.” Isak pauses, their phones ring simultaneously disturbing the peace, “I guess you need time. Perhaps we should give ourselves that.”
Even looks at Isak, drinking avidly at the image before him, his heart in turmoil. Nothing to do but accept the proposal. He knows his silence, by de facto, is an acceptance.
They both reach for their phones, slide the screens to open, Jan’s face appears. After the first few pleasantries, he asks about the purpose for the call.
“I’m tendering my resignation, you’ll have my letter in your inbox by the end of the day.” Isak replies, his eyes fixed, boring into Even, like he wanted to make sure Even knew he was doing this—for them?
“We’ll need to go through formal debriefs…” Even tunes Jan’s and Isak’s voices out, feeling suddenly adrift, unmoored, without purpose, his brain seeking to make sense, but unable to define what his life is for. In a desperate move to act on something,—anything, to stop listening to them–he interrupts Jan, “I think Isak can function with adequate nursing help, if you could arrange it. I’ll be on the first plane out tonight, back to Oslo.” Even blurts out, looking at the screen, refusing to lift his eyes and look at Isak’s face, convinced it’s probably showing disappointment and, he—definitely doesn’t want to fucking see that—he couldn’t bear it.
“If you’ll both excuse me, I have packing and reservations to make, I’ll leave you to discuss the details. Congratulations Isak for becoming a civilian again.” He claps gently on Isak's shoulder with one hand as he leaves the room, pocketing his phone with the other.
Even leaves later that evening, their goodbyes—awkward as fuck—they wish each other good luck. They stand well far away from each other, avoiding any attempt or implication of possibility of touch, holding, intimacy even of the most mundane variety. Later, sitting on the plane, a bottle of whiskey emptied in the plastic cup in front of him, his mind can’t make heads nor tails of what happened. It’s like he was having an out of body experience, and he was powerless to stop himself from doing or saying all the wrong things.
When he walks through the door of his small apartment, the smell of stale air hitting his nostrils, he dumps everything right in front of the door, stepping over his bag he goes to secure his weapon in its safe, on automatic. He’s pleasantly buzzed but a tightness around his temples makes him weary, he walks toward the kitchen for a glass of water, noticing his plants are all dead, and for some reason he can’t figure out he’s suddenly sad, a sadness that is more than he can bear, more than a simple ‘planticide’ would elicit. After all, yellow stalks and brown, dried leaves drooping miserably over the edges of their ceramic pots, were all to be expected since he hadn’t really anticipated to be away for so long.
He drains three glasses of water before he feels the familiar twinge happen in his brain, like a rubber band being plucked; the weight of his self-reproach settle on his shoulders; the voice in his head rises up and begins it’s litanies of shame and degradation; then the familiar descent into the darkness; his energy draining right into the floorboards.
He’s left with just enough energy to send his agreed-upon signal to Mikael, his childhood friend, as they’d agreed to do so many years before specifically for times like these; just enough presence of mind to prepare his meds and a glass of water next to his bed; just enough will to drag his heavy limbs through changing into comfortable clothes, his strength leaving him impressively fast; and crawl under his duvet. He had forgotten a minor detail: he and Isak had spent time together in this bed before their ops almost a month prior. The scent of Isak’s shampoo and soap on the sheets and pillow, send him reeling into the dark desperation that are his triggered depressive phases.
Mikael lets himself into Even’s apartment, takes stock of the condition he finds it in, checks in on Even, his body outlined under the covers, unmoving. This is nothing he’s unfamiliar with. He walks back to gather his and Even’s bags and begins settling in for the long haul of watching over and caring for his friend, as they had agreed he would, many years ago.