Chapter Warning: As of this chapter, the story is now rated M. In addition, this chapter contains an attempted sexual assault and mentions of a previous rape. It's not graphic, but the non-con might be a trigger.

One Step Closer

Hours later, Natasja awoke as a cool breeze wafted under the thick sabre skin covering her. Alone on her bedroll, she heard scuffling sounds near the trees. She bolted upright only to see Brynjolf hacking the claw off a mudcrab near their horses.

"Ah ha! Got you, you bastard!" With a proud smile on his face as he held up the claw, he looked over at her. "I've secured breakfast, lass!"

"Great." Mudcrab was the last thing she wanted to eat, having lived on it for weeks at a time. "It's all yours, Brynjolf! I'll just have some of this…." She reached over and tore at the small loaf. "Bread… Stale bread. Great."

The smile on his face widened into a boyish grin. "You don't know what you're missing, lass!" The memory of how her heart had raced the first time she saw him react in the same way flooded her mind; the day she'd successfully planted Madesi's ring on Brand-Shei. Yes, her need was well beyond wanting to feel just any set of strong arms wrapped around her and protecting her. Only Brynjolf's arms would do, and she ached for him to hold her again.

Standing up, she ignored the desire to throw herself at him and shouted instead. "We need to head out if we're going to make Whiterun by nightfall, Bryn!"

"I agree! Pack up and move out!" Without another thought, he tossed the claw over his shoulder and walked toward her.

Restless before her day even began, Natasja set to packing up. She threw what few things she had taken out of her bag, back into it. A small, lavender flower head peeked through the sand when she lifted her bedroll and she paused. It wasn't something she had picked. She glanced over her shoulder at Brynjolf, who was coming toward her and whistling as if he hadn't a care in the world. Could he have…? No, not a chance. Blown in by the wind, no doubt.

"Ready yet, lass?" he asked, eying the flower in her hand. "What do you have there?"

"I found this flower in the sand." She slid the stem behind her ear and turned her head so he could see. "What do you think? Too feminine? I mean I'll be in brown armor shortly and it clashes anyway, right?"

He grabbed the rest of the bread from her hand and took a bite. "I didn't realize you cared about making a fashion statement. But the flower is as lovely as the woman it adorns."

"Flatterer." Ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks, she stared him for a long moment. "And just why are you so chipper today?"

"Because I don't have to deal with Mercer's rotten attitude." Her face fell, a forced little smile on her lips. "And, because my travel companion is not as annoying as I thought she'd be."

"That is certainly not a compliment."

"If you want more compliments, I'm afraid you will have to earn them, lass."

"Maybe I've been too quick to befriend you. After all, why pursue the second in command when the Guildmaster is so appealing." No he isn't! Why did I say that?

"Chasing me, are you?" The dig at his status in the Guild barely hurt. Her smart mouth, however, drove him to seek her true intentions. "I think you like your men a bit complicated, rather than dull and predictable. Am I right?"

"Tch. You think you're complicated? I had you figured out the day we met, Brynjolf." Turning her back to him, she bent over to pick up her armor. "Although I'd like to stay here and argue with you about what I want in a man, we should go." As she snatched up the armor, a pair of strong arms slipped around her and pulled her back against his hard body. She relaxed into his comforting embrace, allowing the leather to slip from her fingers.

"You are as temperamental as a child," he murmured, his lips brushing her neck and sending shivers down her spine. "And you're wearing that scowl again."

"Not anymore." Sighing, she folded her hands over his and tipped her head to the side, allowing him better access to her neck. "We won't get very far if this continues," she said under her breath. He slid his hands up, resting just below her breasts. When he didn't speak immediately, she glanced up. Awareness jolted through her like a magical energy. His eyes were wide with desire. Damn him! "Why are you teasing me like this?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" His hands moved to her shoulders and down her arms to her wrists.

"How dare you mock me?" She spun around, glaring. "You pushed me away last night," she said as she planted her hands on his chest and pushed his body. It wasn't a strong nudge, but he took a step back. "Not physically, but emotionally. You shut me out." She shoved at his shoulders this time. "If all you need is a woman to bed, why bother with these silly overtures only to decide I'm not worth it? A damn heartless control freak, that's what you are!"

The intense heat of her words smothered him. Worse was how her words stung, more painful than any blow that could mark his body, even though he felt he hadn't shut her out. Not really. Infuriating woman…. His hands tightened over hers. "All right, I see your point." A devilish smile stole across his face, but she wasn't about to fall for it this time.

"You tell me to me to keep my hands off you, and then you…." He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "You do that!"

"Forgive me, lass. I feel like…." He paused, uneasy with the thoughts going through his mind.

"Feel like what? Be honest with me, Brynjolf. I've had enough of dishonest men to last me a lifetime!"

"I will, but calm down first."

She was working herself into a greater snit than usual. She tried to pull away, but he held her hands… and smirked. With her whole body's weight, she jerked away and slashed wildly at him, but he caught her again and pinned her arms behind her back. "Natasja…."

Her name fell from his lips like a caress and she stilled. He trailed his lips across her cheek to the curve of her throat. The tender, whisper-soft kisses set her skin ablaze. Senses reeling, all thoughts flew from her head, and she was aware of nothing but him. He kissed her deeply, then forced himself to break away and meet her gaze.

"Bryn, that was… highly inappropriate."

He laughed and seized her curled hands in his. "I thought it was a fitting way to shut you up."

She liked the way his eyes wrinkled just a little at the corners when his mouth curved up into a smile, a smile that had her heart beating out a rhythm against her ribs. The thick fringe of his eyelashes hid his eyes and deep dimples scored his cheeks. But most of all she liked the sound of his laughter, the surprised pleasure in it. "Why are you looking at me like that? What are you thinking?"

"Do you want to know how I feel when I look at you?" Suddenly, her face was in his hands, his voice deep and rough with desire. She waited open-mouthed, holding her breath. "When I look at you… I feel like a starved man who is so confused by the first sight of food that he wants to devour it all in one swallow."

He kissed her, and the kiss was tentative, soft, and achingly gentle at first. But when his arms encircled her and brought her hard against him, she whimpered her surrender. He looked into her eyes boldly, as though asking if she understood.

She understood, far more than she wanted to. He'd laid his desire – no, his heart - bare before her, and she saw in it all that stirred in her own heart: hurt, despair, longing, passion. She smoothed the hair along his cheek and pushed it behind his ear, whispering softly. "That was a hard-earned compliment."

"It was given sincerely."

"Then why postpone the inevitable?"

Good question. This moment never would have occurred in Riften. By the Nine, he was amazed it was occurring at all. He had a good idea what she wanted. But what did he want? He'd always liked to keep things simple. He'd been interested in her from the first day he met her, not even thinking about where it might lead. He'd operated on blind instinct. The chase had been fun because he'd never had to chase a woman before. Did he want her in his life? As his friend and companion, absolutely. The thought of walking away from that camaraderie wasn't acceptable. Did he want her heart as well as her body? More importantly, was he capable of love again? How else could he explain the powerful emotions he felt for her? If his hunger for her was merely carnal desire, it wouldn't touch his heart and mind. But there was no safety in the life they led, no promise of hearth and home, of grandchildren to dote on. So many questions and so few answers. There was nothing simple about it at all.

"Because I don't know if I can risk it."

"Risk what?"

"Caring for a woman only to see her slain."

The brutal honesty in his words caught her off guard; the thud she heard was her heart hitting the ground. She nodded slowly and her lips trembled. "Your love for Anabel did not bring about her death, Brynjolf. And I'm not asking for your love. I don't know if my heart has the capacity for love anyway. I just want… your company, your friendship, and maybe a shoulder to lay my head on every now and again. That's all."

"I can give you what you need, but you may find it is not enough."

"It will be," she said, forcing a smile. "We are more alike than I realized."

"Perhaps. Anyway, we have a job to do." He glanced over at the horses. "We should get going."

She nodded, and they packed up and left the camp in silence.

After several hours of riding, their heads were still reeling from their earlier conversation, but they both managed to keep their horses at a measured pace, side by side. They made small talk, and Natasja excelled at small talk. She felt at home talking about herbs and wildlife, even local politics. If she also felt a bit let down, he didn't notice and she didn't think about it. But an hour or so from Whiterun, anxiety began to wend its way into her veins.

"Don't you ever get tired of it all, Bryn? I mean, Mercer is an arrogant jackass, the guards are always out to get you, and you barely get any rest. Can't you just take your money and move on?"

It was an easy enough question, and he answered automatically. "If I had the inclination to do so. But even if I had, it's not that easy."

"It is easy. I've done it, more often than I've wanted, but it can be done."

"Once the Guild is on its feet again, I may give it some thought."

"Yeah, yeah, sit and wait for that to happen."

"I do not sit and wait." He leaned sideways, balancing on his horse precariously just to poke her in the arm. "I contemplate while stealing."

"Is that what you call it?" She slapped his arm before he could straighten up. "I call it killing time."

"Isn't that what you're doing? You have such exciting business taking you all over Skyrim, and yet you joined the Guild."

"Strictly a temporary situation, I'm sure," she countered.

"Is it?" His heart sank. She was acting as if what happened at camp meant nothing to her. But he was sending mixed signals of his own, and maybe she just needed to numb herself until this all played out. "And where will you head to after-"

"Did you hear that?" she cut in, and slowed her horse.

Pulling his horse to a stop, he peered through the thick forest along the path and listened, then shook his head. "What did you hear?"

"It was… a woman… screaming." She leapt from her horse and ran in the direction she thought the cry came from.

Brynjolf jumped down and threw both of the horses' reins around a tree. Dashing in the same direction, he couldn't see Natasja anywhere in the dense vegetation, but followed the sounds of leaves and branches being trampled. When he reached Natasja, her sword was buried in a man's skull, splitting his head in two while a young girl cowered near a shrub. He ran to the girl and scanned her for injuries.

"Are you all right, lass?" The girl nodded, unwilling, or unable to speak coherently, tears streaming down her face.

The bandit was dead, yet Natasja continued to stab at his lifeless body with her dagger. Brynjolf saw that the girl beside him was watching in horror, too innocent of age to appreciate how much the man deserved what he had gotten. However, Natasja's wrath was upsetting the child.

"Stop, lass! That's enough!" Natasja continued to stab the body for at least a full minute. Yet the fact that she continued to stab the body wasn't nearly so disturbing as how she began to direct her rage toward a specific part of the body. She was slowing down, though, growing more tired with each thrust, and Brynjolf had to put an end to it. He reached out and took hold of her wrist, and spoke in a commanding tone. "Natasja, stop. She's been through enough," he said as his eyes flicked toward the girl huddled in the underbrush.

Wild eyed, Natasja looked at the girl, and her heart broke instantly. "Is she… did he…?"

"You got to her in time." Brynjolf watched her face. Natasja was unaware she looked so guarded and fearless, and at the same time vulnerable, like a lamb brought to slaughter. As if in a daze, she closed her eyes and began to sway on her feet. Brynjolf grabbed her shoulders. "Natasja!"

Her eyes flew open and she blinked furiously, drawing in a deep breath. "I'm all right," was all she said and she dislodged from his grasp, dropping down beside the girl. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she squeaked.

"Are you from Whiterun?" As she nodded, a tangle of small curls tumbled across her forehead and on to her cheeks. Natasja delicately pushed the knots aside and looked into her frightened eyes.

"She can ride with me," Brynjolf offered with a kind smile. The girl scurried away from Brynjolf when he reached out to pick her up.

Natasja shook her head, silently indicating she would take care of the girl. "What's your name, sweetheart?" Natasja asked as she brushed more leaves from the girl's hair. Reluctant to speak, her eyes darted between Natasja and Brynjolf. "You're safe now, I promise."

Brynjolf was mystified. Within the span of a few minutes, Natasja had acted the part of savage executioner, then softened instantly, seeming as tender as a mother nursing a new babe. A mystery to him from the day he first saw her, she was a mystery to him still. Had Natasja been raped? The possibility had him furious, bloodthirsty even. As harsh as it seemed, he could only hope that it happened to another. But still, if she witnessed it… Gods, her sister. When Natasja spoke, he was jolted out of his thoughts.

"You can call me Natasja. What shall I call you, sweetheart?"

"Se… Serena."

"What a pretty name, Serena." Natasja released a held breath and smiled. "And who are your parents?"

"Min and Gerda… Lindgren."

Natasja glanced at Brynjolf. "I know of them. They keep a produce stall in the marketplace." Serena moved a little closer to Natasja. "Come with me. I'll take you home on my beautiful horse, Saturnalia." Natasja leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You can hold her reins." With a small smile, Serena allowed Natasja to hold her hand under the pretense of examining her glove more closely; but Serena did not raise her eyes again, only shuffled alongside Natasja.

The rest of the short journey to Whiterun was quiet. Natasja felt Brynjolf's eyes of upon her often, admiration clear in his gaze every time he offered a sympathetic smile to her. I guess I'd better prepare for his questions. Natasja sighed as they approached the Whiterun stables. They took their packs, and once the horses were taken away, began the short walk to the gates of the city, where two guards greeted Natasja enthusiastically.

"If it isn't our fair Thane!" one shouted as he patted Natasja on her shoulder. "What brings you home?" the other asked with a wide grin.

"Just some business. Do me a favor and take this girl to her mother, Gerda Lindgren."

A burly guard bent over and wagged a finger at Serena. "Tryin' to run off again, eh? Your mum will take more than a switch to ya this time."

Natasja saw Serena shudder at his words. "Hear me now, Olaf. You will tell her mother that if she cannot keep her child safe from the scum lurking out here, I will forcibly take Serena away and keep her for my own. You got that?" The guard nodded, a slight twinge of fear on his lip. "And tell her if she lays one hand on that child again, the Thane of Whiterun will have her imprisoned in the dungeons for the rest of her wretched life."

The guard nodded repeatedly. "Understood."

Brynjolf was not entirely surprised by Natasja's threats. However, he wondered how she could make-good on a promise to care for a child. Perhaps it was simply her way of intimidation. In any case, he felt pride swelling in his heart, and questions filling his head.

The guard walked next to Serena and led them through the gates where Natasja veered off and pointed to her house. "It's that one, Bryn." She glanced at the girl and offered a smile just before she reached the front door. Skipping along next to the guard, Serena waved to Natasja and smiled back.

"She'll be fine, lass," Brynjolf said quietly. "We can check on her tomorrow."

Almost overcome with emotion at hearing his comforting words, she fussed with her armor and kept her head down. From deep in a pocket, she pulled out a key and unlocked the door. Tossing her pack to the side, she let out a low moan. "I am worn out."

"No doubt. Not the kind of excitement I enjoy either."

The door slammed shut after she kicked it, and she turned to face Brynjolf. "I imagine you have a few questions burning to be asked."

"Only if you're ready to answer, lass. I'll not pressure you."

She smiled. "Yes, you will. Maybe not vocally, but with those inquisitive stares of yours."

"You can be as open with me as you're comfortable with." She lowered her eyelids and her glance moved sideways to the darkness beyond the stairs. For a moment, he thought she was going to reveal what was on her mind, but she paced to the fireplace and threw some kindling into the hearth.

"First, we need a fire. It's chilly, don't you think? And maybe some mead. There should be a bottle in that cabinet there," she said, pointing across the room.

Brynjolf opened the cupboard, snatched a bottle and two goblets, and returned to her side. "Will this do?" She nodded as she lit the fire, her eyes staring at the small blaze. When he touched her shoulder, she recoiled at the contact. He dropped his hand and she warily glanced at him. "Are you all right, Natasja?"

"Yes. No. I…." She realized that her flinching at his touch caused him upset, and she slumped onto the sofa and sighed. "You must think I'm insane."

"No, that is not the word I'd use. I'd say you are… troubled."

"You're being too kind now, Bryn. Speak plainly with me. "

What to ask her first? Her emotions were so complex that Brynjolf's heart started to beat unevenly, scared that he would make a mistake whatever question he decided to ask. "Can you tell me why you couldn't stop stabbing that bastard?"

His words were her undoing. Tears filled her eyes and she turned her back on him. This time, when he touched her shoulder, she didn't flinch. She just sat there, her hands covering her face as the tears flowed.

He gathered her into his arms and held her while she cried. "Let it out, lass. It's okay…."

"I did what I thought was right. He deserved to die that way," she said, forcing the words out between sniffles. "But I'm okay, Bryn. Really I am," she murmured. "I suppose I should be angry with myself for frightening Serena, if that's what you want to hear." She drew back a little, a sheepish look in her eyes. "But I'm not sorry I hacked him to pieces."

"You saved her and that's all that matters." His hand covered hers, uncomfortable with her suffering. "And if you think I'm angry with you, you are wrong. Your wellbeing is my only concern." By the fierce look in his eyes, she realized his conviction ran deep in his bones.

She smiled through her tears, wiping a hand carelessly across her eyes. "You'd better watch out, Bryn. A woman could get used to this kind of attention." At that moment, two emotions passed through his gaze: alarm and satisfaction. He remained silent though. "Does that expression mean I've just scared you?"

"Not exactly." He allowed a smile to grow on his face. "I suppose I'm not used to you approving of my actions." She let out a short laugh, and relief flooded his veins. "If you would you like to tell me your story, from the beginning, I will listen. It may help to get it off your chest, lass."

"The beginning.…" She sighed deeply and sat back in the chair, gathering her thoughts. "Well, my father was a blacksmith who had incurred a lot of debt over time. Gambling and women mostly. The men he owed money to came to our house one night while my sister and I were cleaning up the evening meal. After some heated words, they realized he couldn't pay them, so…." Her fingers gripped the arm of the sofa more tightly. "Right in front of us, they cut off my father's hands and then killed my mother."

Brynjolf's shock was nothing compared to the rush of fury burning in his blood. He clenched his fists tightly and said nothing as she continued to stare blankly into the fire, knowing the worst was yet to come.

"While my father bled to death on the floor, they held me, but I fought back. One of them punched me so hard I fell backwards and hit my head on the table, and I was knocked out cold for a few minutes. Meanwhile, Cora had been dragged upstairs and… I heard her screams but I was dizzy, and my eye was swollen shut. I couldn't see and… they overpowered me, of course. I got a pretty good beating before they fled." She sighed, a mixture of exhaustion and despair. "After that, all I could think of was how I was going to make them suffer when I got the chance." The look she gave Brynjolf then was hard, resilient. "Two weeks later, I killed them all. Slowly and painfully. That bastard was lucky today. Anyway, we left Ivarstead and never spoke of that night again."

He moved toward her. Don't pull away from me, he told her silently. Please, don't pull away from me. She very nearly did. He saw her muscles tense and thought she was about to get up, but then the tension fell away and her shoulders dropped. He held her, tight as he dared, until she spoke.

"I haven't told anyone about it, until now." Reaching out, she picked up a goblet from the side table. "I'd like some mead, please."

Outrage mixed with compassion still radiated through him, rendering him unable to speak in complete sentences. "Ah… yes." He picked up the bottle next to his foot and poured, scarcely realizing what he was doing. Brynjolf was so visibly stunned, he could only stare at her as she drained her goblet.

In return, her gaze was unbearably soft as it searched his face. "It's all right, Brynjolf." She rested her hand on his forearm. "You can say what's on your mind. I've lived with this long enough to be able to push it back… at least until the next time."

"I'm so sorry. Honestly, lass, I'm not sure what I should say." He realized her ferocity was more a survival instinct than a feigned attitude meant to scare, like so many other women he'd known, including Vex. He took the goblet away from her and set it down, then he covered her hand with his own. "I have to admit, though, I had thought something like that was in your past."

"It seems I'm more obvious than I'd realized. Not surprising I lose at cards often, is it?"

"Delvin did warn me that you cheat a lot."

She laughed then, and it was a real laugh, and not for his benefit. Her resilience was reinforced by his gentle touch, spurring her on, and her laughter dispelled the sorrow she wouldn't let get a hold of her. "It feels good to laugh. But I really don't want our friendship to be based on dreadful stories from our past. Live in the moment, right?"

"Aye, live in the moment."

She caressed his face, her fingers trailing from his temple to his chin, and for a second, she didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him or tell him how hungry she was. Her hand drifted down his chest as she spoke. "I wonder how it is that you've gotten me to tell you things I've never told another soul. Maybe it's because you're so unlike any man I've ever known. Then maybe down deep, you are like all the others. You're… encouraging me, because there's something you want."

"Maybe there is." He embraced her powerfully then, and held her, unyielding, to deepen their connection. With dark eyes and unsteady breaths, he took her hands and held them tightly. "I want to kiss you."

She stilled when she saw him regarding her through intensely serious eyes. "And I want you to kiss me, so much so I can barely think straight," she said in a husky voice while his thumbs continued to draw slow, soothing circles on the backs of her hands. "Although a small part of not being able to think straight has to do with my stomach rumbling, but most of it is because of you," she said as the smile returned to her face.

A combination of heat and humor glinted in his eyes. "We can go up to the inn for some food if you're hungry."

Her expression softened, so enamored by his selflessness. His hands were almost trembling when he cupped her cheeks and studied her face.

"Kiss me first."

And so he did. He kissed her with everything he had come to feel for her. He kissed her in memory of Anabel. He kissed her in memory of all the times Natasja had made him laugh. He kissed her for every time he'd wanted to touch her but hadn't allowed himself to. And, most of all, he kissed her for… well, he didn't want to put a name to the sense of tranquility settling in him yet.

In the frenzy of movements, his hand had found her thigh but went no further. The moment would come soon enough; he knew it would, although it was more and more difficult to keep his desires in check. "Ah, lass, you'll be the death of me."

She laughed, almost bitterly. "There is little left in my heart for any man, Brynjolf, but… what little there is, I have already given to you. And I know you don't want to hear that, but I think it's only fair to tell you the truth now."

"I'd rather you tell me what you feel, and not what you think I want to hear." He regarded her with undisguised affection then. "Perhaps your heart can hold more than you know."

"Can yours?" she blurted.

His mouth opened just as a knock on the door startled them, and Brynjolf accidentally kicked over the bottle of mead at his feet. "Blast!"

"There is a cloth in that cupboard there," she said rising from the sofa and gesturing with her hand.

Walking to the door, she stopped to adjust her armor and smiled at the reason for its disarray. Brynjolf was on his hands and knees cleaning up the spill and muttering under his breath. For a moment, she watched him. She was doing a poor job of hiding her fondness for him, taking pleasure in the frustration that tightened his neck.

When he looked up and saw her so pleased, he smiled and spoke in a clear and smooth tone that stirred her heart to race. "The sooner you get rid of that visitor, the sooner we can continue with our night."

Wordless, she blinked and nodded, stunned by his seductive response. She grabbed the doorknob, flinging the door open impatiently.

Curiosity drove Brynjolf to watch as the door opened. Standing there was a large man, all brawn with charcoal-colored hair and shadowy eyes, a giant sword slung across his back. The way he looked at Natasja, with the yellow eyes of a predatory wolf, he knew this man was a lycanthrope. Damn werewolves.

"Farkas? How did you know I was here?"

"We have eyes everywhere." Farkas took another step closer to her. "You know that, Tasja."

At hearing his nickname for her, she embraced the dark, hulking man intimately as Brynjolf watched from the hearth. Not wanting to physically intrude on her privacy, he honed in to hear their impending conversation. Natasja spoke in a familiar and soothing voice as she held the werewolf, and Brynjolf knew immediately they had been close friends.

Thankfully, jealousy was not in his nature. Not usually.

But the werewolf's arms were around Natasja and he held her tight, gripping her with such fervor, the embrace seemed passionately aggressive. The urge to go to her was so intense, and Brynjolf had never felt a pull that strong. He couldn't drag his gaze away from them. It took all of his energy, all his mental toughness to keep his feet firmly planted where they were. He picked up a book and started leafing through it, but his eyes rolled up anyway. Damn it, what am I thinking? That was the problem — he wasn't thinking at all. The plain and simple fact was he simply could not stay uninvolved any longer.

~To be continued~

A/N: Sorry to end there, but this chapter was becoming much too long. However, that means the next chapter, Into the Unknown, is almost finished. And fear not, I will be getting to some quest action very soon. I just thought it was necessary to set out the relationship between Natasja and Brynjolf clearly, before I could advance the story. In the next chapter, Natasja and Brynjolf come to an understanding. *wink, wink*

Thank you, kind readers, for all the alerts and favs, and especially for the reviews. Without your thoughts, the muse tends to wander off. Please continue to leave me your comments.

Many hugs and kisses to my friend, Biff McLaughlin, for working her beta magic, as always. And to Biff, Zute, Breogan on deviantArt, Jen4306, Gixxer600, and massivelyattacked, you ladies inspire me in more ways than I can list.