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Kallus used to live in a world of strict timetables and exact schedules, a machine of efficiency and unflinching progress. He’d thrived in that world, and he’d been good at his job, his purpose. It had been as challenging as it had been rewarding, a lifelong career that would see him through to retirement with honors and medals. It had all felt so right until he’d seen how diseased the machine had become, how it had been rotting from the very beginning, and the life he thought he’d wanted turned out to be an empty promise.
Now he lived in a world that was messy and nonsensical in comparison to the Empire, something he assumed he would have hated. After all, he’d resisted when Ezra came to help him escape, unwilling to give up the life he’d known for so long. Kallus knew he’d have to leave eventually, dead or otherwise, but it was a leap into the unknown he hadn’t been ready to take. He still hadn’t been ready when he’d jumped in that escape pod, and he wasn’t certain he was ready even years after joining the rebellion, then fighting and winning their war.
It took one last leap into the unknown, through secret hyperspace lanes in Wild Space, for him to finally feel settled. There was still a routine and rhythm to his life, it was just… more relaxed. Every day was a little better than the last, though adjustments still needed to be made.
One such adjustment needed to be dealt with immediately: getting out from under Zeb before Kallus roasted to death. In the cold of space, they’d gotten used to clinging to one another in their bunk, Kallus happy to let the lasat’s higher body temperature keep him warm. They’d traded that bunk on a starship for a home on Lira San, in a province that bordered on tropical. It wasn’t the full blown heat and humidity of a jungle, but once he had a full grown lasat draped over him, it started to feel like it.
Despite knowing he’d never get up without waking Zeb, Kallus still moved as cautiously as he could. The sun had already risen, which meant it was well past time to start their day. Sleeping in was a novelty, though he didn’t want to make a habit of it. Kallus had managed to sit up and get his legs over the side of the bed when he felt Zeb’s arm tighten around his waist.
“Don’t --” Kallus could hardly begin his protest before Zeb rolled him back onto the bed, flipping him to the opposite side. Resisting was useless, so he didn’t even try. Besides, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it when Zeb threw him around.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Zeb growled, sending a thrill through Kallus that made his toes curl. With that sort of tone, there were a few ways this morning could go. Keeping a schedule, unfortunately, was a hard habit to break. He could indulge Zeb later.
“As I recall,” Kallus said, trying and nearly failing to alter the course of where Zeb’s enormous paws were touching him. “You were the one that said we had plans today. You didn’t share just what those plans were, though.”
Zeb stopped, his ears flicking back in realization. Twisting around, he checked the chono by the bedside. “Karabast. We’ll be late.”
And just like that, Zeb had launched himself out of the bed. Kallus lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling. One moment he was sweltering, the next he was left bereft, cold and alone. Sighing, Kallus got up, following Zeb out into the kitchen where they shared a hasty breakfast of fresh fruits and dried meats. Eating without utensils had been just one more thing out of thousands to get used to, changes in custom and culture that not even Zeb could have predicted for him.
Even on the hardest days of transitioning his life, at least he knew he wasn’t alone. Hundreds of years separated the lasat on Lira San from the lasat on Lasan. Social norms and dialects had deviated, and Zeb had been caught flat-footed more than a few times while integrating. No one had been unkind about it -- the depth of patience in his people was surprising, and comforting. They’d been welcomed here, Kallus had been welcomed here, and while the guilt would never truly fade, it was dulled.
Despite insisting they’d be late, Zeb also insisted they walk to town rather than take the speeder. In general, Zeb preferred walking. It was also an excuse to force Kallus into practicing the next phase of culture shock: going barefoot. Kallus had resisted that above all else, until he learned that walking the path to town actually was easier without his boots. It was slow going, of course, relearning how to use his feet like this after a lifetime of restrictive footwear. Zeb sometimes made fun of him, and other humans, for their choices, but he was always there to catch him if he stumbled.
“You’re sulking,” Zeb said when they were about halfway to town, his tone lilting.
“I’m concentrating on my footing,” Kallus replied, which wasn’t a lie. He did tend to look down at where he was walking more than Zeb.
“You can walk and talk at the same time. You’ve done it before.”
Kallus huffed, slowing his pace. “I worked in the intelligence division of both the Empire and the Alliance, Zeb. Deliberately keeping things from me makes me cranky,”
“Heh,” Zeb grinned, showing off all of his teeth. “Sure, but this ain’t you cranky. You were a lot worse in the ISB. A real ass.”
“Part of the job,” Kallus said, looking smug, even if he felt anything but. He’d been someone else, then. “You were easy to rile, as I recall.”
Zeb snorted, and Kallus felt that perhaps he’d said the wrong thing. Kallus had thrown the loss of his people into his face more times than he cared to recall. Zeb just swatted his shoulder, though, apparently unaffected. “It got better. But really, Kallus. What’s eating you?”
“It’s…” he sighed. ‘Nothing’ wasn’t an acceptable answer, though it was how he felt. If Zeb thought something was off about him, Kallus wouldn’t question it. Zeb had an uncanny ability to sense Kallus’ moods, which had gotten them through some long, dark nights together. “There are days when it’s… it’s a lot. Being here, I mean.”
“Kallus, you know we can go any -- “ Zeb stopped when Kallus held up his hand.
“There isn’t anywhere in the galaxy I’d rather be, and you know that,” Kallus said. “And you understand, even if these are your people. The transition hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it. Every day is… good. Today is just tougher than usual. I can’t control it.”
Kallus didn’t realize how tense he’d been until Zeb moved in to nuzzle his face against his neck, and he relaxed under that familiar brand of affection. He nearly went limp every time Zeb did that, tipping his head back to give him full access. It lasted until he felt Zeb’s broad tongue swipe up his throat.
“Alright,” Kallus coughed, feeling his face grow hot. “Keep that up and we might as well head home.”
“Not a chance,” Zeb said, though he pulled back, looking smug as he took Kallus’ hand in his own. Kallus couldn’t help but notice Zeb now looked a little… nervous. He worried that what he’d said had upset Zeb, but the lasat didn’t say anything about it.
They walked in silence for the rest of the trip, hand in hand. The first thing Kallus noticed when they arrived in town was the off world shuttle parked in the field. Lira San had every intention of remaining isolated and self sufficient, choosing to remain out of the New Republic and guard its secrecy. Visitors and shipments were far and few between, but the government here had taken in a number of refugees from the war. Kallus supposed he was counted among them, and it also meant he wasn’t the only human on this world, though he didn’t see them often.
A quick glance at the crowd that had gathered for this shuttle didn’t reveal anyone they might know, so he couldn’t guess at why Zeb wanted this to be a surprise. It was a group of lasat refugees that had been hiding out on Lasan for years, consisting almost entirely of children and the lone woman that had kept them safe. She looked overwhelmed yet relieved, while the children were skittish and wary, not quite joining with the local kids. Kallus reached out to touch Zeb’s arm without thinking about it, searching for an anchor.
Living on Lira San meant facing what he’d done on Lasan every single day. It ought to be torture, and it had every opportunity to be so, were it not for the forgiveness of Zeb’s people. Forgiving himself was the hard part, and seeing these children, displaced by a war he participated in, was nearly enough to drop the ground out from under his feet.
“Look, it’s Zeb and Kallus!” One of the local boys called out, pointing towards them, before he could ask to flee. All at once they had the attention of every child in the square, and Kallus felt a stab of fear. Had the refugee children seen a human before, or would they think him a stormtrooper?
“Hey, kids,” Zeb said, putting one hand on Kallus’ shoulder and apparently sharing none of his anxiety. Zeb squeezed, harder than usual, encouraging Kallus to stick around. “Heard you were going to be meeting some new friends today.”
“Yeah, they’re from Lasan, just like you!” That did the trick -- suddenly the refugee children had something in common with one of the people here, and their interest in Zeb quickly shifted to Kallus.
A boy, the youngest of the lot and held protectively in his sister’s arms, blurted: “How come he’s pink?”
The boy hid his face when the other children laughed, which made his sister scowl.
“I’m human, not lasat,” Kallus said, hoping he sounded kind. His experience with children, even the ones here, was admittedly limited. No one kept them from him, but at times he felt he had no right to speak to them. “We’re different species.”
“You should see his feet, he’s got five toes!”
Zeb laughed, then tried to swallow it. “Come on kids, we’re not here to pick on Kallus, right?”
“I don’t mind,” Kallus shrugged. “I’m happy to answer your questions. I wouldn’t have learned anything about your people if I’d never asked.”
When Kallus crouched down to field more questions, he could feel something loosening in his chest. Without Zeb behind him, he might have fled this gathering. Instead, he had curious children staring at his nose, tugging on his beard and asking the sorts of questions only children could think up. He found himself laughing harder than he had in awhile, not feeling like an oddity or pretender on this world, but someone who really belonged.
“Did you lose your home, too?” One of the girls asked.
“Not really. I didn’t have a home, but I was offered one here,” Kallus said.
“Do you like it?” That question came from the girl who still hadn’t let go of her brother, despite his restless squirming. It was the first time she’d spoken, he thought.
“I do, very much. The people here are very kind. I’m sure you’ll like it, too.”
The girl looked thoughtful, if not entirely convinced. Kallus’ attention was drawn to another question, and he took a moment to locate Zeb, who had strayed to speak with the other adults. He caught Zeb staring at him with an inscrutable expression, something he’d never seen before. Zeb’s smile was awkward when he realized he’d been caught staring, before excusing himself from the others. Kallus only had to handle a few more questions before the children were called away, giving him a reprieve.
Zeb stood apart from the rest of the group, looking sheepish, when Kallus joined him.
“Garazeb Orrelios,” Kallus said, watching Zeb’s ears perk up and then flatten in anticipation of whatever came after the use of his full name. “When were you going to tell me you wanted a family?”
Zeb looked surprised, then embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck with one big hand. “Well, it was, uh… You see, I didn’t really -- I thought --”
“I ruined it on the way over, didn’t I?” Zeb didn’t answer, but the look on his face was enough. “I meant what I said, Zeb. Nothing will make me regret coming here, and while some days aren’t perfect, I never meant to imply that it was at the cost of discussing the future.”
“Did you ever want kids, before, you know, in the Empire?” Zeb asked. Kallus hesitated, then shook his head.
“In my line of work, that sort of… relationship wasn’t really feasible. I had my career, and that was all I wanted. All I needed.” He looked over at Zeb, smirking. “Then I met someone with a habit of changing the trajectory of my life.”
“That a good habit or a bad habit?”
“What do you think?” Kallus felt Zeb’s hand on the back of his neck, and reflexively tipped his head forward in anticipation of the kiss Zeb placed on his forehead. Zeb dropped his hand to grab Kallus’ hip, pulling him close. Kallus settled in against him, resting his hand on the small of Zeb’s back.
“It doesn’t have to be a lasat,” Zeb said. This was likely going to be the last of any lasat refugees found out in the wider galaxy, anyways, and there were thousands of families on Lira San that would take them in. Meanwhile, the war had made countless orphans across hundreds of worlds, and few homes to accept them.
“I think it makes sense,” Kallus gestured towards the children. “They’re from Lasan, after all, and you’d understand them best. They’d have an easier time integrating.”
“There’s ten of them.” Zeb sounded slightly panicked, and Kallus laughed.
“I didn’t mean all of them, and you know it.” Kallus had the feeling the woman that had kept them safe all these years would take on a few as her own, officially. If the rest stayed in town, or nearby, that would likely be for the best. Breaking them up and scattering them across the planet would be cruel, though Kallus knew the realities of adoption were not always clear cut.
At the very least, the girl and her brother ought to remain together. The girl had kept sneaking looks towards himself and Zeb after they’d left the group, and switched to outright staring when they’d started acting affectionate. She was sizing them up, he thought. Judging how genuine they were, and weighing it against what she knew of the world. He imagined it was bleak -- with just enough hope to keep her going, for her brother’s sake.
“You’re serious, though,” Zeb said, looking between Kallus and the children.
“I’m serious. Although, we do need to have a long talk about logistics.”
“Oh?” Zeb raised one brow, amused by Kallus’ usual return to pragmatism.
“Yes. For example, any lasat child we adopt will outweigh me by the time they’re a teenager.”
Zeb snorted, then laughed outright, squeezing Kallus’ hip. “Yeah, I can see where that would be a problem. Well, agent Kallus, I expect a full report on my desk by the end of tomorrow.”
“Come off it,” Kallus pushed at Zeb’s chest, with no result. “You never outranked me anyways, seniority notwithstanding. And you never had a desk.”
“Spoilsport,” Zeb growled, pressing his face down under Kallus’ ear and kissing his neck.
“Children are watching,” Kallus warned, in case Zeb got too carried away. The lasat cleared his throat, straightening up and looping his arm over Kallus’ shoulders.
“Should we head home? You’re the one writing the list of demands.”
“No,” Kallus shook his head. When he looked back over at the group, the girl had her back to them, but her little brother was staring at them over her shoulder. He raised one hand and gave an uncertain wave. Kallus returned it with a smile. “Might as well get lunch while we’re here. Plus, I’d like to get to know them better. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Zeb said, rubbing his hand up and down Kallus’ arm. “Yeah, I think I would.”
A few of the new children immediately ran over to Kallus when they rejoined the group, excited that they could pepper him with questions again. How could he hear if his ears were so small? Was it weird having five fingers? Why didn’t he have any stripes? Kallus was content to let them climb all over him, and when he looked up to see where Zeb had gone, he watched the young girl lift her brother up into Zeb’s arms. When their eyes met, this time he understood the look on Zeb’s face, what he was asking and what he’d hoped to convey.
It was another grand leap into the unknown; except this time, he wasn’t making that jump alone.