A/N: This chapter could probably use its own trigger warning for references to rape, although keep in mind nothing actually happens.

The rain persisted throughout the rest of the day and up until dusk, so Greg and Sara made the decision to spend another night at camp. If the walkie-talkies and cellphones were still of no use in the morning, he would set out for the rental car.

She hoped there would be no need for that, since Greg seemed thoroughly exhausted. He slept nearly the entire day, only waking briefly when she would nudge him to check on him. That night after the rain finally ceased, she was able to rouse him at last and the two started a small fire and welcomed a hot meal. Neither was all that hungry, but forced the food down anyway.

They extinguished the fire and Greg hung food that might attract foraging animals from a tree. His movements were stiff and slow, but mentally he was more alert now. He helped Sara back into the tent and she replaced the bandage on his forehead which was once again soaked through.

"Why is it bleeding so much?" she wondered worriedly as she worked.

Wincing slightly from the ministrations, Greg shrugged. "It's a head wound. They bleed."

"Shouldn't it clot?"

"It won't if you keep tearing the bandage off like that," he responded with a playful glance.

They re-dosed with ibuprofen before huddling under the blankets to escape the chill that had crept through the forest once the sun dropped below the horizon.

Sara slept almost immediately, but Greg drifted in and out of a fitful sleep. Pain throbbed wihtin his skull with every beat of his heart, and throughout his chest with every breath. He was apparently successful at convincing Sara he felt fine each time she asked, but worry had still been evident in her expression and tone. He knew he shouldn't keep anything from her, but this wasn't his first rodeo when it came to broken ribs and blows to the head. He wasn't feeling physically abnormal given the circumstances.

For example, the pounding headache, blurry vision, and nausea could be explained by a concussion. A concussion could even cause the disorientation and vivid dreams...if only those hadn't begun long before that morning. He would also know by now if he had serious internal bleeding. He would be fine; this was nothing he hadn't been through before. With some rest, he would awaken the following day prepared; a bit sore, but prepared nonetheless.

But it was his racing thoughts more than the pain that kept him from resting easily. As he lay physically still, his mind was anything but peaceful. He worried for Sara and knew she was hurting more than she let on. Besides the pain, if her ankle began to heal while improperly aligned, it could be more complicated to surgically repair. It needed to be set into a stable position, but the process of setting a bone was something Greg was neither trained in nor eager to attempt.

If he managed to push past his worry for Sara, a voice in his head reminded him that his own pain was a bit too close for comfort to the torture he faced at the hands of Whitney Adams. Eyes closed, he saw the stone walls of the warehouse room where he'd been kept, so he opened them again and carefully rolled onto his back. In her sleep, Sara moved with him; her face found its way back to his shoulder and her arm draped protectively over his stomach. He craned his neck to check on her. Her brow was furrowed and she was frowning faintly.

'Hang in there,' he thought as he brushed his lips across her forehead. 'I'll get you help soon.'

Breathing in the scent of her hair and her skin, that Sidle scent, he closed his eyes again. Peace seemed within reach at last, and sleep began to lure him under…

There is a flash of light so intense that it penetrates deep beyond the meager protection his eyelids offer. It sears its way through his skull and he can't help but open his mouth to cry out in pain. He can't make a sound. His eyes pop open but the light has gone, leaving total darkness in its place. He can't see anything. Where is Sara? Where is the tent?

"Relax," croons a voice that echoes from all sides.

He looks down and realizes he can at least see himself, then sees Whitney looking up at him. She is straddling his thighs and from between her lips slides an impossibly long, forked tongue. It flicks up and laps against his chin, leaving a warm, slimy trail of saliva.

He shouts in disgust, shoves her away, and bolts to his feet. Sara is gone. The air mattress is gone. The tent is gone. Everything that should be there is gone and replaced by a dark, foul-smelling room with stained walls and chains that dangle from metal rings. It's hot, too hot, and he knows he's not in Norway anymore.

The room begins to spin. It's like he's in one of those saucer-shaped amusement park rides but there is no loud music and laughter; no safety straps or carnies to press the stop button. Greg tries to make it to the door but staggers and falls to his knees as the vertigo sets in.

He tries to use his hands to steady himself but finds that they're tied tightly behind his back. When did that happen? The air is thick and its weight, along with the disorientating rotation of the room brings him all the way to the ground.

"Oh dear. Your clothes are still soaking wet from your bath. I'll fetch Liam to help you undress."

No.

He struggles to right himself but his muscles are useless; tries to turn the stagnant air into something useful but his lungs won't cooperate. Panting, he lays his head down and wills it all to end.

"Better?" grunts a deeper voice just over his shoulder and now Greg is in only his underwear. Rough, groping fingers scrape a path from the nape of his neck down his spine all the way to the waistband of his boxers.

He can't move. He needs air.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?"

There is a hot breath on his neck and he shudders.

'This isn't right,' he thinks desperately. 'This never happened. Unless…'

No. In the warehouse, Harris had definitely threatened to help him undress—there was no forgetting that—but it had never come to this.

"There are things I wish never happened, too," Harris tells him. "I wish I was still alive. I wish you hadn't killed me, but I'm sorry to say there's nothing we can do about the past."

A hand slams down between his shoulder blades and pushes him against the ground.

'This isn't real, this isn't happening,' Greg repeats over and over in his head as if the words alone will make this hell tolerable.

"Please," he manages to whisper weakly. He's unsure why he's pleading because he knows by now that these ghosts will not take pity on him.

The weight grows and he squeezes his eyes shut. He hears his own panicked breaths, rapid and unfulfilling. He's suffocating again.

"I'll be gentle," Harris murmurs.

Greg awoke with a start, his eyes darting around. The nightmare seemed so real but the tent and Sara were back. She slept next to him and her expression finally seemed restful. He was thankful that he hadn't woken her, but he still found himself unable to catch his breath due to the sharp ache in his ribs. The sounds he made while trying to breathe were disconcerting and he clamped his mouth shut to muffle them.

Strangely, the sounds didn't stop or even change when he breathed through his nose. He held his breath; looked back at Sara, who slept on soundly. The deep huffing continued.

Suspecting that he must still be dreaming or that this was another hallucination, Greg swallowed thickly and waited for Harris or Whitney to show back up. Any remaining fog of sleep quickly dispersed when a large shadow caught his eye, cast by the moonlight on the side of the tent just opposite his pillow.

The shadow shifted slightly and Greg realized that whatever was out there was responsible for the noise. He was frozen as he watched the shadow sniff around, apparently engrossed with something. He could feel the heat from its breath through the wall of the tent. Judging by the size and shape, it could only be a bear. After realizing he was still holding his breath, he allowed it to leave his lungs in a slow, unsteady exhalation.

What does it want? There is no food in here.

Then, a realization occurred to him. He quickly raised a hand to his forehead and confirmed that the bandage had yet again soaked through with blood from his cut.

Bears are creatures of opportunity and instinct, and Greg reeked of opportunity; the metallic scent of downed prey.

If he laid quietly and patiently, would it simply leave? Another heavy snort and the sound of claws lightly scraping the outside of the tent answered his question. He sat up slowly, edged down further on the mattress, and sat facing the shadow. After a moment the bear let out a slight grunt and began to move along the side of the tent.

Greg held his breath again as he watched the shape leisurely circle the tent, pausing here and there to sniff at the fabric and the ground adjacent to it. Its footsteps were heavy and accented with the scrape of long claws over dirt and rocks. It stopped again on the opposite side, where a plastic bag lay on the tent's tarpaulin base. The bag sat near the tent's door and contained the soiled parts of the old bandage. He had made sure to hang their food, but Greg hadn't thought to get rid of the bag because the worst he believed they needed to deter were badgers and stoats.

Should he shout and try to scare it off? Would noise even scare it away? It was probably a brown bear, which were more likely to react poorly to confrontation. What if Sara awoke and said something before he could hush her? If he threw the bag—along with all of the bandage material—away from the tent, would that be enough to satisfy its curiosity? Or would the action simply encourage it to hang around for more?

Greg's eyes wandered to the pack that contained the gun Jerker had insisted they bring. He'd have to thank him later; at least it was there as a back-up plan. Would the noise alone scare it away? How many rounds could an adult bear withstand? What if the small-caliber bullets only angered it?

Too many questions.

We could have travelled to the Bahamas or Hawaii instead of Norway. Our days would have consisted of laying on beaches, surfing mojitos and sipping on waves. Wait…

He shook his head to clear it. A decision needed to be made, and everything else—including nonsensical hypotheticals—could wait.

The bear had now completed its circle around the perimeter of the tent and arrived back at the head of the mattress. From this vantage point Greg actually saw the outline of the bear's claws scrape the tent wall near Sara's head and he quickly made his choice.

He rose swiftly and quietly, careful not to disturb Sara as he made his way to the door of the tent. After checking behind his shoulder to ensure the creature hadn't moved, he began to unzip the door, tooth by tooth so as to remain silent. The process was excruciatingly slow but finally there was a sufficient opening. In one movement he ripped the bandage from his head, biting back the hiss of pain, and tossed it into the bag. After a moment of searching the nearby floor, he snagged a nearly bottle of insect repellent and added it to the bag for weight.

He tied the handles of the bag into a knot and chucked it from the tent and into the trees. The process of tying it made a rustling sound but he hoped that the plants and dirt it impacted with when it landed was enough to draw the bear's attention away.

There was another grunt at the back of the tent. Greg withdrew his arm and silently rezipped the tent's door. He clapped a hand over the cut on his forehead when he felt the trickle of blood, as if that action could rid the entire tent immediately of its scent. He retreated back a few feet and lowered himself to the floor at the foot of the mattress. If needed, the handgun was within reach, but for now he simply listened as the bear rounded the tent once more. It moved more quickly now and its fur brushed the exterior of the tent on its way.

He anxiously chewed at his bottom lip, grateful that his girlfriend was a heavy sleeper. The bear's footsteps retreated as it went to investigate, but Greg remained poised to protect himself and Sara if necessary. More rustling and huffing could be heard once the bear found the bag. The sounds went on for no longer than five minutes but it felt like hours.

Finally it sounded like the bear wandered further into the woods, stepping on twigs and through brush. The sounds faded then died completely, but Greg sat alert. Nocturnal insects and birds made their calls to each other, some forlorn and some cheery. Hours passed.

Dawn was near by the time he withdrew his hand from his forehead, gritting his teeth at the pain then sighing when blood trickled down again. It was disappointing but not shocking; he hadn't exactly been gentle when he took off the bandage. He reached into a nearby bag for the bandage supplies and packed several layers of gauze over the cut. He then did his best to tape them into place, cursing in a whisper once in a while and wishing he had a mirror.

"Greg?" Sara mumbled tiredly from beneath the blanket, causing him to jump slightly.

"Sorry. I just needed to change my bandage," he whispered back.

"Need help?"

"No." After patting one last piece of medical tape into place, Greg slipped under the covers and maneuvered close to Sara. He put an arm around her, kissed the side of her neck, and buried his face in her hair.

She tensed then rubbed her hand lightly on his forearm. "You're cold. Are you feeling okay?"

He realized he was shaking but didn't believe it was from cold; although Greg didn't know if she was responding to the shaking or the temperature of his skin after being out of the covers for so long. Instead of answering he hugged her tighter. Fortunately, Sara sighed and easily fell back to sleep.

Although he was still on high alert aurally, Greg let his eyes close against the storm raging side of his skull. Until the sun rose, he listened attentively for the bear's return.

When Sara woke, the sunlight flickered against the tent's walls and birds chirped their songs to the forest. Her leg ached deeply, but after staying off of it for the night it was a more tolerable pain than before. The ice packs still supplied some relief through the towels against her ankle.

Greg's arm was wrapped around her and he tightened his hold into a hug when he sensed she had awoken. She reached back to run a hand lightly through his hair and he kissed behind her ear. Despite their current situation and as always, Greg's lips on her flesh stirred a visceral longing. She shivered and grasped his hair a bit harder as he pressed against her. He exhaled a husky breath onto the back of her neck, and on her lower back she felt his desire. She was almost willing to risk their broken bodies and overlook the uncertain circumstances, but before she could turn around and let him know, he had moved from under the covers, the mattress sagging slightly when he left.

Sara closed her eyes again, hoping to delay the inevitable. She wished he didn't have to leave, but knew she would only slow him down in her condition. Hopefully he was feeling stronger today, and could make the trek with no issues.

There was a zipping sound then rustling as Greg looked through a bag. There was a pause then a sigh.

"What is it?" she asked, staying where she was. Sara feared that the moment she moved, pain would return full-force in her leg.

"Still no service on the phones," he replied distractedly.

A tone sounded from the walkie-talkies as he pressed the alert button then spoke into one, requesting help in both Norwegian and English. After receiving no response, he tucked the device back in the bag with another sigh. Greg shook out a couple ibuprofen and placed them in Sara's hand, along with a bottle of water.

He kissed her cheek and asked her to stay, meeting her eyes meaningfully as if to reassure her that he wouldn't wander off this time. When she got a good look at him, it was clear to her that he hadn't slept much if at all.

He left the tent and started a small fire, hanging their wet clothes from the previous day in branches above it. Then, he cooked them a hot breakfast and returned to the tent carrying a plate for each of them.

Sara thanked him and carefully sat up to eat. The movement wasn't as painful as she thought it would be; there were several sharp twinges but nothing unbearable.

"The rain cleared up," she observed.

"Not a cloud in the sky. At least, what I can see of it."

"Good. Well, I got to thinking that we packed those waterproof emergency blankets. If a storm rolls through again, it would at least keep your clothes dry."

He nodded.

"How did you sleep?" Sara questioned.

His eyebrows raised but he recovered quickly. "I miss our bed."

"Me too."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes.

"How's your ankle?" he asked suddenly. He had yet to start on his own food, just sat cross-legged on the floor watching her.

"I expected it to hurt worse," she began honestly. "I didn't think the ibuprofen and ice would make that much of a difference, but it's not awful."

Again, Greg only nodded and looked down at his plate thoughtfully. Sara attributed his tentative behavior to his confession the previous night.

"Greg, I'm not…I'm not mad at you."

He glanced up and smiled gratefully. His brown eyes were warm but somehow sad.

"You should eat," she nudged gently after another period of quiet. "You'll need the energy. If you want plenty of daylight you should head out soon."

He muttered something low, under his breath, and Sara asked him to repeat himself.

"We," he said louder, keeping his eyes on his plate. "We should head out soon."

Sara just stared quizzically at him.

"You're coming with me," he clarified. The words were a surprise even to him; the decision had been made by instinct or paranoia, perhaps both. When he looked up, his expression was determined.

"I don't think…I can't—"

"You can. I'm not leaving you."

She sat quietly for a moment, jabbing at the last few bits of food on her plate with the fork. Her mind grasped for any reasonable explanation but failed to find one for his one-eighty in plans. "What changed? Yesterday you didn't want me to try to walk at all."

Greg's eyes drifted down once more and she knew he was hiding something.

Again.

Sara set her plate down. "Didn't we have this big 'ah-ha' moment recently where we both agreed that lying does more harm than good?

After making a face like he tasted something sour, Greg huffed out a frustrated breath and set his plate next to hers, although he had barely touched his food. "It's not a big deal."

She prodded him gently with her good foot. "Look, if you're going to make me go on a nature walk with a broken ankle, I'm going to need a good reason."

"That's fair," he admitted, sighing. "I woke up early this morning to uh, something checking out the tent."

"Something. Something like what? A rodent?"

"Bigger," he replied with a frown.

Sara narrowed her eyes, thoughts rapidly drawn to the two-legged monsters that they tracked down in their jobs. "Bigfoot?" she joked, although in truth she'd rather it be a sasquatch than a human.

Before she could gander another guess, he continued. "Sara, there was a bear outside the tent this morning. Now before you say anything, it's true what I said before about bears being rare in this area, but—"

"Rare?! You said they aren't here at all!"

"Uh, I think I said nobody sees them here anymore. Anyway, it's off-putting but I think it just smelled the blood on my bandage. I threw it outside the tent and it didn't come back after that."

Sara's mouth dropped open and she made some indecipherable sounds before able to form words. "You intentionally fed a bear your blood-soaked bandage?"

"Should I have invited it in to help itself?" Greg snapped before he paused, placing his hands on either side of his head as if to hold it in one piece. "It was dumb but I didn't know what else to do. I don't think it will come back but if it does, I don't want it to find you here alone."

Her demeanor softened substantially as she realized that Greg already felt guilty enough. Even if a different choice should have been made, what could be done about it now? Sara had doubts that she would be able to get very far with her leg how it was, but she was willing to try for his peace of mind.

"I get it," she said simply.

His head lifted and he smiled appreciatively once more.

"So," Sara began, pulling a bag to her so that she could start to pack, "How are we going to do this?"

A/N: Sorry for the wait! Thanks for all the views, it's exciting to see how many countries my readers are from!