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Zeb wandered into the common area. Kallus stood out like a Hutt on Coruscant in his Imperial uniform. He was clearly battered and bruised, slumped against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, fingers digging into his biceps. From time to time, he dabbed at the oozing cut on his forehead or lip with the cuff of his tunic. More than one person noted Kallus’ injuries and offered to see to them or find the medical droid, but Kallus merely shook his head. He grew paler by the minute, a line deepening between his brows. That did it. Zeb slipped into his bunk and stuffed a few things into a bag. He approached Kallus, and offered him the traditional Lasat Honor Guard salute, one hand folded around a clenched fist, head inclined. Kallus pushed himself off the wall, swaying with exhaustion, but returned the gesture. ’C’mon…’ Zeb cupped one of Kallus’ elbows and guided him to a ladder, without waiting for a response. ‘Can ya climb?’
‘I - I think so.’ Kallus stared up at the rungs of the ladder. It looked as though it stretched on forever. His Imperial training took over, and he pushed the pain aside, grasping one of the rungs and hauled himself up. It was a slow, painful ascent, but he eventually tumbled into the cockpit of the little auxiliary craft. He fell into one of the seats, gazing at the hypnotizing blue-white light of hyperspace.
Zeb’s head poked through the hatch. ‘Thought I could help ya get cleaned up and give ya something to change into. So ya don’t walk off Ghost in an Imperial uniform.’ The rest of his body emerged into the cockpit, and he dropped a bag on one of the empty seats. He flipped back the flap of the bag and pulled out a small bottle, then shook a pill into his palm. ‘Might take the edge off…’
Kallus eyed it suspiciously. ‘What is it?’
Zeb peered at the Aurebesh on the label. ‘Standard analgesic.’ He turned the bottle toward Kallus, who shrugged and tilted Zeb’s hand so the pill fell into his own palm. ‘Lemme get ya some water…’
‘Don’t bother.’ Kallus brought his hand to his mouth and dry swallowed the pill, grimacing at the acidic, chalky taste. Oh… Karabast, he thought, groping for the bottle, holding it up to the light. ‘Kriff me,’ he muttered.
Zeb glanced up from the bag. ‘What?’
Kallus shook the bottle so the pills inside rattled. ‘Derived from ice mushrooms.’
‘So?’
‘I’m allergic.’
‘Oh, karabast.’ Kallus didn’t know the blood could drain from a Lasat’s face, but Zeb grew noticeably paler. ‘Tell me what to get…’
Kallus shook his head. ‘It’s fine. I’m not going to go into anaphylactic shock. Better to just ride it out.’ He glanced out the viewport, cheeks reddening. ‘I might say some things I ought not to say.’
Zeb resumed pawing through the bag. ‘Lowers yer inhibitions, eh?’
‘Lowers… Obliterates…’ Kallus could already feel his head spinning.
Zeb made a mental note to keep the conversation on the lighter side, and withdrew a bottle and a couple of clean rags. ‘It’s just a little diluted bacta,’ Zeb told him, soaking the cloth with the liquid in the bottle. He pressed a corner of the soft rag to the corner of Kallus’ mouth, then held it gently to his blackened eye. He really thought he should shove the agent’s face into a basin of bacta, but this would have to do. Even so, within minutes, the cuts and gashes were only pink and tender scars and the bruising faded to a mottled yellow that would be gone by morning. ‘Are ya hurt anywhere else?’
It was a foolish question. Of course he was. Someone like Thrawn wasn’t going to let a Fulcrum agent off with a slap on the wrist. Zeb was well versed with Imperial interrogation methods. And the beating Kallus had received at the hands of Thrawn and his guards had been broadcast over the comm channel. Kallus worked the gloves off his hands and pushed back his sleeves. Raw abrasions marked where Thrawn had used restraints. Zeb soaked another rag and swabbed the chafed skin around his wrists. Surmising that was all Kallus would allow him to do, Zeb rummaged through the bag and unearthed a dark russet shirt, and then held it out to him.
Kallus reached up to the shoulder straps of his cuirass, his stiff and swollen fingers fumbling with the fastenings. ‘Ach…’ Zeb nudged his hands away. He deftly released the shoulder straps, and set the armor aside, then removed the belt cinching Kallus’ lean waist. He used a fingertip to tilt Kallus’ chin back, and worked the collar of his tunic open, then followed the line of impossibly tiny hooks and eyes to his right shoulder, then down his torso. Zeb pushed it off Kallus’ shoulders in a move that in a different time and place would have been one of practiced seduction, but now served to handle the agent like a fragile object that might shatter if jostled too roughly. Thin pink welts crisscrossed his back. Zeb’s eyes widened, and one fingertip darted out to the trace the outline of a deep violet bruise on his stomach. ‘Karabast… Is that a boot?’ Incredulity made his voice more gruff than usual.
‘Boot sole,’ Kallus corrected wryly, ‘Don’t know if anything’s damaged. Suppose we’ll find out when I start pissing blood.’ A pained smile flashed across his face.
Zeb picked up another rag and drenched it with the bacta solution, then laid it over the worst of the bruises, holding it in place with his hand. He could feel the fine tremors rippling through Kallus’ body. Zeb was no medical droid, but he knew the signs of psychological shock when he saw them. ’Ya shoulda come with Ezra,’ he remarked.
‘If I had, you would not have have known Thrawn was going to attack your base,’ Kallus countered. He lifted Zeb’s hand and critically examined the wound. ‘I think that’s enough.’ He plucked the shirt from Zeb’s knee and pulled it over his head, hissing as the fabric brushed over the stinging whip marks. He sagged into the seat, and wrapped his arms around himself once more. The tremors intensified into outright shaking. Shock, Kallus noted to himself. He clenched his teeth together so they didn’t chatter. The Empire might still find and execute him someday, but he was safe for now, and the adrenaline that had fuelled his escape wore off.
Zeb stood behind Kallus with a blanket in his arms. He shook so hard, that Zeb was afraid he’d bite through his tongue. Ah, kriff it… He set the blanket aside, then scooped up the other man. He stretched out on a padded bench with Kallus’ back firmly against his chest. Zeb grabbed the blanket with his toes, and spread it over Kallus, tucking it securely around him. One arm slid over Kallus’ chest and the other over his middle. ‘Breathe with me…’ Zeb took a long breath, held it, then slowly released it. Kallus dutifully copied him. Inhale… hold… exhale… Over and over until the trembling gradually eased. ‘Useta shake like that… After Lasan… ‘Specially after a fight…’ Kallus shuddered, then his muscles went lax. Zeb started to ease from underneath him, but Kallus whimpered at the loss of warmth. Zeb dismissed it as a symptom of Kallus’ allergy, but settled on the bench all the same. ‘When was the last time you slept?’ Zeb inquired, pulling the edge of the blanket to Kallus’ chin. ‘Wouldn’t hurt if ya got some sleep.’
‘Night before my last official Fulcrum transmission.’ The whirling in his head increased. He wagged a finger in the air, a sardonic expression on his face. ‘You know one of the Empire’s favorite methods to break a prisoner is sleep deprivation. Loud, sustained noise at erratic time intervals. Stimulants. Bright lights…’ He heaved a sigh and buried his nose into the edge of the blanket, breathing in the scene of Zeb imbued into it. It reminded him of Bahryn, and how he’d slept leaning against Zeb. In truth, it had been the last night he’d slept soundly. ‘Alexsandr,’ he said suddenly.
‘Hah?’
‘My name.’ Kallus tilted his head back so he could see Zeb’s face. He smiled with a heart-stopping sweetness, hair falling into his eyes. ‘My given name is Alexsandr.’
‘Alexsandr, huh? Suits ya.’
‘My friends used to call me Alex, but nobody’s called me that in years.’ He snuggled into the blanket a little more, eyes growing heavy. ‘You could call me Alex, Garazeb,’ he murmured. Both of Zeb’s brows shot upward, initially at his confession, clearly borne on waves of exhaustion and unravelling self-control, but also at the proper pronunciation of his name. Very few humans ever managed to get it right.
‘If ya like. Alex.’ Zeb was certain Kallus wouldn’t remember a single thing come morning. At the very least his memories would be quite hazy. Ice mushroom allergies tended to give people all the symptoms of inebriation, including hangovers and foggy memories.
‘Still had that meteorite from Bahryn,’ Kallus continued. ‘I wish I’d had the time to fetch it and my bo-rifle from my quarters.’ He sighed wistfully. ‘Thrawn’s probably added my bo-rifle to his collection…’ He shifted until he could rest his cheek on Zeb’s chest. He blinked a few times, then fell asleep with a sigh.
Zeb gently stroked Kallus’ back, grazing his fingertips from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. ‘Yer one of us now. Don’t worry. We’ll end up on Thrawn’s Star Destroyer sooner or later…’ he crooned. ‘I’ll get it back for ya if I have to break into that blue-skinned bastard’s office myself.’ Zeb glanced around, then before he could talk himself out of it, brushed his cheek over the top of Kallus’ head. ‘I promise, Alex.’
Hera’s head appeared through the hatch. ‘There you are!’
Zeb shushed her. ‘Don’t wanna wake him up.’
Hera climbed into the cockpit, lips twitching at the incongruous sight of Agent Kallus curled in Zeb’s lap, sound asleep. She held out a mug of caf. ‘Just the way you like it.’
Zeb took a sip of the steaming liquid and let a beatific smile drift over his face. ‘Hmmmmm. Strong. Just the way I like my men…’ he added with a wicked gleam to his eye. He set the mug on the floor. ‘Ya didn’t come up here just to give me caf.’
‘No.’ Hera perched on one of the chairs. ‘Sabine’s been talking with the Mandalorians… It’s about her father… They might be able to break him out of prison.’
Zeb retrieved the mug and slowly sipped the caf. ‘I think I’ll sit this one out, if that’s all right.’
Hera’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re really turning down a chance to smash bucketheads — a lot of bucketheads — together?’
Zeb gestured to Kallus with his mug. ‘He’s gonna need a friendly face at the new base.’
‘And you’re his friendly face,’ Hera murmured.
Zeb chuckled softly. ‘Yeh.’
‘All right.’ Hera stood and dusted off her hands. She started to descend the ladder, but stopped. ‘Zeb…?’ Her voice was low, but intent. ‘Far be it from me to question anyone’s ability to forgive,’ she began.
Zeb stiffened, but managed to keep his voice quiet so as not to disturb Kallus. ‘Then don’t.’
‘How can you after what he did?’ She held up her hands at the narrow-eyed glare Zeb sent her way. ‘I’m all for Imps defecting, and he did a lot of good work as Fulcrum.’ Hera made a helpless gesture with her hands. ‘It’s not that I don’t trust him as a member of the Rebellion. I do. But he helped destroy your family. And until recently, you thought he had destroyed your entire species.’ She drew in a breath. ‘He hurt you.’
Zeb took another sip of the caf. ‘After we found Lira San, some of the stuff Kanan told Ezra made a lot of sense.’ He shifted slightly to settle Kallus a little more securely. ‘Anger leads to hate… hate leads to suffering… I hated him for a long time, Hera, and it ate me up inside. And I could keep hating him or…’ He shrugged. ‘Or I could make my peace with him. So I did.’ Zeb squirmed a little under Hera’s unflinching gaze. ‘Wasn’t his idea to use the T-7s anyway.’ He studied the depths of his caf. ‘He’s a victim of the Empire, too. And not just because he got caught acting as Fulcrum.’ He drained the mug and returned it to the floor. ‘People can change. You, me, Kanan, Sabine, Ezra. None of us are the same as when we set foot on Ghost the first time.’
Hera leaned forward and squeezed Zeb’s free hand. ‘He hurts you in any way, I will be first in line to shove him out of an airlock.’
‘Understood.’
Hera slid down the first few rungs of the ladder. ‘I’ll keep Chop busy on Ghost. Save you from incriminating holograms.’