Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no money.

Author's Note: These last couple of chapters have been very important to me and this one continues along the same vein. I really hope that it does justice to these characters. Thank you for your love, readers. Enjoy!

Interlocking

Chapter Fourteen: Open

"One of her hands drifts unconsciously across the edge of his collar bone, the skin smooth and tanned beneath her touch. She hears his slight intake of breath." - Krem and Harding find each other in a world torn apart. A story told in brief glimpses.

Harding realizes that Krem was only wounded because of her. She plays the incident back in her mind. Tries to remember the desperate run through the swamp to escape the gurguts. She curses herself for disregarding the dangers of going off just the two of them. She hadn't thought they'd encounter much danger, seeing as the Inquisitor had already cleared the Venatori camps littering the Exalted Plains. And the gurguts had not been seen since that first pack nested in what now serves as their camp in Ghilan'nain's Grove. They thought all the creatures were cleared out. Apparently they missed a pack. Harding grits her teeth in frustration. Being cornered in that cave they were investigating would have certainly guaranteed a worse situation, especially when it was just the two of them against more than a half dozen of them. And Harding realizes belatedly that Krem had acted out of concern for her. He could not have charged the gurguts if it left her unprotected. He didn't doubt her skill with the bow. But if one got past his line of defense and caught Harding in close quarters, then she was done. If he fell, she was soon to follow. He could only ensure her safety if they ran. And so they did.

Harding tries to recall the short and frantic trudging through the grassy swamp. The memory is blurred by fear and what she imagines is a mild concussion from the fall over the rock ledge. But she can remember the sound of Krem splashing through the muddy water behind her. She plays the sounds back through her mind and discovers his run was slowed. By what? She blinks in surprise and guilt when it dawns on her. He had slowed purposely so as not to pass her, so as to remain protectively between her and the gurguts. Her shorter legs couldn't plod through the water as quickly as his human legs could. And he had adjusted his pace accordingly, even knowing it put him in danger himself.

Harding is flooded with an angry guilt, her body trembling in raging shame. She shakes her head, her teeth grit tightly, and tries to find the words to thank him. But there are no words.

Harding locks eyes with Krem, her hands stilled against the wound in his shoulder, bandages bloody in her grip. There is nothing in his gaze that speaks of regret or anger at his choice. Nothing that tells her he expects this debt to be paid, even to be recognized. There is only the faint warmth of acceptance, the soft breath of relief at her wellbeing. And somewhere laced beneath all this is a demand. Nothing at all to do with acknowledging his actions in the heated encounter and everything to do with the intimate vulnerability of his state at the moment.

Harding's eyes glance reverently along the soft stretch of his shoulders, the tapered broadness. One of her hands drifts unconsciously across the edge of his collar bone, the skin smooth and tanned beneath her touch. She hears his slight intake of breath. There is grace and suppleness and strength to his form. All tangled up into one striking image. The lines of his shoulders, the firmness of his muscles, even the strip of thin leather binding wrapped around his chest. It all melds together to create one smooth, elegant line of human form. It all melds together to bring Harding to breathlessness.

Her eyes flick to his once more and finds he has not stopped staring at her. It lights a heat within her. He does not move to cover himself. He does not shy away from her gaze or touch. And the notion makes her bold. She opens her mouth to speak, finds herself leaning slightly toward him, one hand held against his wound, the other resting lightly along his collarbone.

Krem's eyes flick momentarily to her lips.

"Thank you," she breathes.

Krem furrows his brows at her, swallows thickly beneath her steady gaze.

She pulls her lip in and watches him. She does not know why she thanks him. Whether it is for protecting her or whether it is for this moment of open vulnerability he offers her. She wonders if it matters that it be clarified. She couldn't put it in any further words regardless. She wonders if anything else is needed when her heart already bears itself shamelessly and longingly to him. She wonders if "thank you" needs to be picked apart and critiqued and dissected past the simple thought it offers. She wonders if she even knows what she thanks him for herself.

Krem lifts his chin so that his head is inclined toward hers, and she instinctively moves her mouth toward his. There is a moment of breathless anticipation between them. Their eyes locked on each other's, their breathes halted in their chests, their hearts thudding in anxious trepidation. Harding can feel his breath along her lips when he suddenly pulls back with a wince of pain, his good hand coming up to grip tightly at his arm.

Harding blinks in surprise and then pulls back, her hands retreating from his wound. She can only wait helplessly until he steadies himself. She watches the beads of sweat trickle down his brow for a silent moment until he has finished breathing through the pain. She swallows tightly and moves her hands back to the bandages, continuing to wrap them around his shoulder, her eyes fixed and determined on his wound. "If Stitches is as good as you claim, that poultice should be kicking in anytime now."

Krem releases a tight, unsteady breath. "He is. Not to worry. Helps to have a beautiful woman bandaging me though."

She raises her gaze to him and finds him smirking, his face marred with pain and dirt and an inherent warm humor.

She cannot help the smile that breaks across her features, or the sudden flush that creeps over her. "Careful, Krem, a girl could get used to this."

"Maybe she should."

There is something knowing and longing passed between their gazes. And then Harding hears her name called out in the distance, the familiar and welcomed voice of one of her scouts.