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Phyr doesn't see the blow coming. It's a sudden impact at her back, pain blossoming as heat swallows her. Fire, burning, the metal of her armor scorching her skin even through her padded gambeson. She cries out and whirls just in time to see a crossbow bolt lodge itself in the throat of the goblin who flung the spell. Red fletching. Karlach's.
"Phyr!" Gale's voice. "A little help?"
She turns toward him, flinging up a Shield of Faith as he thunderwaves away a cluster of goblins, Lae'zel picking them off as they scatter prone.
Phyr's back screams in agony even as the heat abates. The fabric scrapes the raw skin, and she suspects it was enough to blister and bleed.
But there's a battle still to be fought, allies still to protect. Her gaze darts toward Karlach, bellowing a roar of rage and mowing down enemies with her greataxe, crossbow returned to her back.
She's magnificent.
It's a long fight, and a brutal one. Dozens of goblins, wave after wave. Until suddenly, the onslaught stops. No more enemies left.
And not a moment too soon. Phyr is spent, unable to summon the energy needed to channel her goddess's blessings. No more healing. She sinks to her knees, wincing at the agony in her back.
Karlach rushes toward her. "Shit. Are you okay?" Unable to touch to help Phyr stand, the tiefling watches in worry as she struggles back up.
"I'm all right," Phyr says with a wince. There's nothing to be done about her back right now, throbbing in pain. No reason to make the others fret.
They regroup, looting the battlefield. At first Phyr had balked at such desecration of even their enemies, but they need the money and supplies if they're to survive. Desperate times. They retreat to camp, tending their wounds. Shadowheart sees to Astarion, who took a few too many strikes and is swaying on his feet. It's the last of Shadowheart's energy, too. The rest are left to nurse their injuries through mundane means.
Phyr's burns won't kill her before she regains enough energy to heal, and their potions are precious. In her tent, she strips off her armor and everything under it, falling onto her stomach. She's too weary even to eat or to drag out her bedroll. The dusty ground is gritty against her stomach, her breasts.
Even the air hurts against her blistered back. She closes her eyes and sucks in long breaths. Just a few hours, then she'll have recovered enough to heal the worst of it.
She hasn't even properly spoken to Halsin to welcome him, now that the goblins are defeated. Hopefully the others are able to see to him for now. She's in no shape to be welcoming new allies.
"Hey?" The voice outside Phyr's tent makes her wince. Karlach, concern heavy in her tone. "You okay in there?"
Phyr sucks in a breath. "I'm fine."
She must not have been very convincing, because Karlach replies with, "it doesn't sound like it. Can I come in?"
Say no. She should suffer in solitude until she can fix it. What will Karlach say when she sees this? Still, she utters a simple, "Yes."
The flap opens, Karlach's flames casting an orange glow. Heat brushes Phyr's back painfully, and she hisses a breath as she turns to look at the tiefling.
"Oh, no." Karlach's gaze is dark, worried. "That looks bad."
"Can't say I love it. But I'll survive until I can heal it."
"One sec." Karlach slips out of the flap, leaving Phyr in the dimness of the tent. A moment later, she returns holding a pitcher. She kneels beside Phyr and pours a slow trickle of water onto the burn.
It's heaven. Easing the immediate agony enough that Phyr can breathe. She makes a small sound somewhere between a sigh and a sob.
"You should have told someone," Karlach says.
"And what would they do?"
"This." She pours a little more water on. It soaks into the dry, packed dirt under Phyr, but she can endure a little mud on her chest.
Gods, her chest. She's nude from the waist up, and even though Karlach can only see her back, Phyr suddenly realizes just how intimate this situation is.
But Karlach only sighs. Her voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "This is what it would look like if I touched—" a pause. "—someone."
You. Phyr's greedy mind fills in the blanks. She was going to say 'you'. She swallows.
Karlach came to her side the moment the battle was over. Then she sought Phyr's tent, after. She sits here now, tending the wound as much as she can.
It would be willful ignorance to dismiss the signs, anymore. Every moment spent in each other's company builds the bridge between them, every shared laugh and weighted glance.
Silence falls for a few moments, broken only by the water trickling from the pitcher, the rustle of Karlach's movements. It's almost a growl when the tiefling says, "I hate seeing you like this."
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You don't have to be strong all the time, you know."
A pause. "I do. If I fall apart, who keeps us going?"
Karlach dribbles on a little more water, and Phyr shivers at the way it trickles along her sides. Karlach replies, "the group isn't that breakable. But you're not indestructible." A pause. "And… it hurts. To see you in pain."
It's not an admission of anything save friendship. But it feels like it, the way Karlach's normal boisterous tone dips into something soft and husky.
Even while Phyr is in anguish, it makes her chest tighten. "I… thank you." She turns her head but can't quite look up enough to meet Karlach's gaze and settles her chin back on her arms. "It's helping."
"I would do more, if I could touch you." The intention in the phrase may have been pure, referring only to tending the wound, but Phyr's mind takes it elsewhere. What she'd want to do if they could touch, after she is healed.
"I know. This… for now, this is enough." She breathes a sigh and closes her eyes. "Tell me a story. Something to distract from the pain."
"I could tell you about the dragonborn I lost a bet to, a couple of years before the Hells…"
Karlach stays with her until she can heal herself. Two hours, perhaps a bit more. Leaving only to refill the pitcher briefly with cool fresh water.
Only later does Phyr realize it means Karlach skipped supper for her too.
***
They've done it. Made their way back to the Grove, the return from the goblin camp remarkably uneventful for once. And now Phyr is certain. She wasn't imagining the extra heat and longing in Karlach's eyes when their gazes meet. The two walk beside each other the whole way, laughing and talking.
Acceptance happens suddenly. A simple moment, nothing remarkable about it. Wyll and Karlach are trading increasingly awful puns. After a particularly egregious one, Karlach turns to Phyr with a wild grin to see her reaction. There's something terribly open and unfeigned about Karlach's expression, her smile inviting Phyr into the joke.
It's such a mundane thing to make Phyr's heart stutter, but it does all the same, a swelling pressure in her chest, unbearable and perfect at the same time.
And she knows then. She can't linger in this feeling forever, twisted up in knots. There's something in Karlach's eyes, in the moments of quiet hesitation from the otherwise brash tiefling, that make Phyr think this isn't one-sided.
She's going to tell Karlach. But when. How?
She frets over it for days.
And now it's a party. One final celebration before the Elturel refugees leave for Baldur's Gate, and Phyr's group goes to find Lae'zel's creche.
Phyr clutches her mug of wine. She's barely touched it, her stomach already turning flips. She doesn't want to do this drunk.
She straightens her shoulders. Now. It has to be now, before she loses her nerve. Heart pounding, she approaches Karlach, who has some effusive words about the party and their victory.
It could be the perfect opening for an escape. Phyr doesn't have to change the subject. She can go along with the discussion and remark on the wine. But no.
"I think—" Her voice cracks like an adolescent's, and she clears her throat. "I think I've finally drummed up the courage to tell you how much I like you." It's like falling off a cliff, the plunge, the unbearable moment waiting on a reply. To find out if she's misread this and made a monumental fool of herself.
The grin on Karlach's face is from ear to ear. "I like you too. A lot. I'm sure you know that by now."
It's dizzying. Phyr feels like she's chugged two glasses of wine, the way her head spins. The second half of the conversation is a blur, an agreement to meet later after the party has wound down.
The rest of the celebration is a wave of giddiness, making merry with the tieflings and with the others. Shadowheart's knowing smile when she toasts to Phyr's later meeting with Karlach. A prickly moment with Astarion at an unexpected proposition. She's given him no indication of interest, and chalks it up to the festive mood. He'll recover.
Wyll's distance from the festivities makes her heart ache, but she understands. He's still reeling from his new appearance, himself, and worried over his father's fate. No wonder he doesn't feel like celebrating. She won't force him, but coaxes a promise of a future dance lesson from him.
She mingles, and drinks, and even joins a few of the tieflings in a dance, surprising them with an unexpected nimbleness. But dance is sacred to her goddess, after all. It's something cherished among the temple. Despite the revelry, her thoughts keep drifting to later. There will be no stolen kisses, no thrilling brush of hands beneath clothing, not while Karlach's engine still burns hot. But just knowing they both feel the same is enough, for now.
Or at least she thinks so, until the party winds down and Karlach finds Phyr's bedroll. The knowing might be worse, staring into those ember eyes now burning with open longing. Aching to reach out, to brush hair behind an ear, to touch those crimson lips with her own.
Then Karlach voices that yearning aloud. "I want to ride you until you see stars."
Phyr's mind blanks out. Lust, hot and piercing and sudden, lances through her. A tightness in her belly, between her legs. A heat of her own burning inside.
"Gods," she breathes. "The moment we get that engine fixed…"
Karlach laughs.
They move on to other topics, but the desire lingers, a tight ball of need wound up inside Phyr's chest. It's somehow both lightened and fed by the easy camaraderie. She'll get barely a wink of sleep tonight after their long conversation, but she doesn't care. They talk nearly until dawn, when they both settle back into their own bedrolls for a scant scrap of rest.
She'd made a comment about cooling Karlach down, half as a jest. But now, as slumber begins to pluck at her, she wonders. Would it work? At least a little?
She settles into her nightly trance as she ponders.
And in the morning when she approaches Karlach, she has the answer. Something she can ask her goddess for. She thinks Eilistraee would approve, a goddess of beauty and the joy of life.
Create Water. A simple enough enchantment. A small prayer, and a cool rain drenches both Phyr and Karlach. The tiefling is exuberant, pulling her in for a breathless kiss. Their longing slips out in hushed sighs. Karlach tastes hot and sweet like the honey cake she's eaten for breakfast, with the faint aftertaste of fiery smoke.
Gods, it's perfect. Karlach's lips are soft but demanding, the faintest brush of tongue before heat flares, scorching. A spark of literal flame between them, and instinct makes Phyr step back.
She touches her lips with light fingertips. The kiss had burned, stung, but it was worth it.
"When we find more iron, then get to the city and meet back up with Dammon…" Phyr says, shaking her head. "We're spending the night in my tent and not coming out until dawn."
"Oh fuck yes."
"Let's go. The faster these things are out of our brains, the faster we can get there."
"Right behind you." Karlach grins. "And enjoying the view from back here, too."
Phyr laughs, turning and adding an extra sway to her hips, only to be met with an appreciative whistle.
It's a dizzy feeling, this weight lifted. The high that Karlach feels the same. That with Dammon's aid, miles down the road, they'll fix her engine and can be together.
A future, for both of them.