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The mess was unusually crowded for so early in the morning. Although, given the cavernous dimensions of the space, crowded was a relative term. Kallus generally ate breakfast so early, the mess was practically deserted this time of day. It looked as though most of the supply runners had all returned at the roughly the same time. Zeb stood and waved a hand to get his attention. Kallus collected his breakfast and took his tray to one end of a long table occupied by the other Spectres. He gave Zeb a delighted smile and leaned forward, rubbing their cheeks together. Zeb threaded his hand through the hair on the back of Kallus’ head and brought their foreheads together. ‘When did you land?’
‘Bout an hour ago,’ Sabine told him. She wrinkled her nose at them. ‘Y’know, it’s pretty early in the morning for all… that.’ She flapped her hand in Zeb and Kallus’ direction.
Kallus’ cheeks went pink, but he shot her a impish grin all the same, and took a seat next to Zeb. Picking up his caf, he asked, ‘How long are you going to be here this time?’ The last time the Spectres had gone on a mission, they’d managed to stay at Massassi Base for two days before they headed back out again.
‘We’re gonna be here for at least a week,’ Hera said. ‘Just in time for Life Day.’ She moved a chunk of juicemelon around her plate with a fork. She lifted it to her nose and gave it an experimental sniff, then hurriedly put it back on the plate, the skin around her eyes tightening. ‘Doesn’t give us much time to prepare for it.’ She pushed her tray aside, leaving most of the food on it.
Kallus stared at her over the rim of his cup, putting it down just before the caf could slosh over the edge. ‘You celebrate Life Day?’
The Spectres gaped at him for a long, very uncomfortable moment.
‘You don’t?’ Rex asked incredulously. ‘Even the clones celebrated Life Day,’ he added under his breath.
Kallus blushed and poked the porridge on his tray with a spoon. ‘The Imperial military doesn’t,’ he reminded them stiffly.
‘Never with yer family?’ Zeb inquired, one brow quirked up. Kallus was old enough to have celebrated Life Day before the Empire officially frowned upon it. The most down-and-out types who would have cheerfully sold their grannies for a hit of spice that he’d encountered on Nar Shaddaa managed to celebrate Life Day.
‘Not really. We might have done so when I was very small, but I don’t remember. And we certainly did not when I was older,’ Kallus replied. ‘My father said it was a load of utter… non… sense…’ he trailed off, looking at their faces set in various expressions of surprise. ‘What?’
‘You’ve never had the tree or lights or candy or anything?’ Sabine blurted.
‘No.’
Sabine and Rex shared a glance that clearly said they were already planning something potentially embarrassing. ‘Right.’ Sabine rubbed her hands together. ‘How much leave have you accumulated?’
‘I wasn’t aware the Rebellion granted such a thing.’ Kallus pushed a piece of juicemelon around its plate, his eyes glued to it.
‘Intelligence types never remember personal leave exists,’ Rex retorted. ‘Worse than Jedi, and that’s saying something.’
Hera hummed as she swiped through a datapad. ‘Says here you’ve got a few days banked, and you haven’t taken so much as an hour.’ She tutted softly.
’Great!’ Sabine sipped her caf. ‘Hera can ask Draven to give you the day off, and you’re going to spend it with us.’
‘There’s work to do,’ Kallus protested, but Rex cut him off.
‘Work which will still be there the next day. The Rebellion’s not going to fail because you took a day off.’
‘We’ve still got some decorations on the Ghost,’ Hera commented. ‘No wroshyr trees, but that doesn’t matter.’
Kallus frowned and shoveled a few bites of porridge into his mouth as quickly as he could without coming off as unforgivably rude. Wroshyr trees? Decorations? Candy? He shook his head slightly, as though he were trying to dislodge an irksome insect around his ear. What was next? Some arcane group dance in which they would expect him to particiapte? Stars knew Sabine could tell him he had to wear some outlandish costume, and he wouldn’t know any better.
‘Don’t suppose anyone has a stash of gifts hidden on Ghost somewhere. Or we could make gifts,’ Zeb mused. ‘We always made our gifts on Lasan.’
‘Life Day is the day after tomorrow,’ Sabine reminded him.
‘Doesn’t have to be something fancy,’ Zeb argued.
Kallus froze, spoon midway to his open mouth. Gifts? Where the kark was he supposed to acquire gifts? More to the point, he had no experience giving gifts to anyone.
‘Maybe we should hit the brakes on gifts, too,’ Rex suggested, with a tilt of his head toward Kallus, who looked like a shiny in his first run in the Citadel test back on Kamino by the barrage of information and questions.
Hera glanced at Kallus, took in his wide-eyed pallor and hummed an assent. ‘Probably a good idea this year. We’ve had a lot of other things on our minds.’
‘Runnin’ low on joopa jerky to give away, are ya?’ Zeb chortled.
‘You don’t know what you’re missing,’ Rex insisted. ‘Parsecs better’n bantha jerky.’
‘Not sayin’ much,’ Zeb drawled. ‘Eat enough bantha jerky and ya won’t need a ‘fresher for days.’ He grinned. ‘Not for lack of tryin’, though.’
‘If you’ll excuse me…’ Kallus gathered his tray with the remains of his meal and stood.
‘Ya haven’t finished yer breakfast,’ Zeb noted, with a significant glance at at Kallus’ tray. He’d barely touched the food at all.
‘Not very hungry, as it turns out,’ Kallus muttered, edging his way toward the end of the table.
‘Wait up. I’ll walk ya to Intelligence.’ Zeb scraped the last of his porridge from the bowl and shuffled to the conveyor belt that ran down the back wall, where he deposited his tray. It didn’t take Jedi powers to notice the sudden change in Kallus’ demeanor once they started talking about Life Day. It wasn’t uncommon for him to withdraw, especially when the Spectres spoke of their homeworlds and various local customs the Empire tried to eradicate, seeing only his own complicity in the system. It was going to take a long time for him to work past it. No matter. When it came to Alexsandr Kallus, Zeb was in. He was all in.
Kallus said little on the way to Intelligence. That wasn’t unusual, in of itself. He wasn’t inclined to idle chatter in the first place. ‘Hope we didn’t scare ya off Life Day. We get a little worked up about it. Tends to be one of the few bright spots in the year.’
Kallus shook his head and jammed his hands into the pockets of his coat. ‘No.’
They had nearly arrived at the Intelligence offices when Zeb tugged Kallus into a handy alcove. ‘Alex… You know you don’t have to do Life Day with us, if you don’t want to.’
Kallus shifted from one foot to the other. ‘I do, but…’ Mostly because it seemed to important to Zeb. He exhaled with a huff. ‘If you informed me that I would have to perform some dance wearing nothing more than a flower wreath on my head…’
Zeb felt his ribs creak with suppressed laughter. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing that.’ He grinned and ran his claws gently through Kallus’ muttonchops. ‘But maybe just the two of us, yeh?’ The mirth faded from his voice. ‘It’s a day to be with yer family. Remember the ones ya love that aren’t with ya anymore. That’s the important part. The rest of it’s…’ He shrugged. ‘Extra. Nice, but not necessary. At least that’s the way my family did it on Lasan.’ He tipped Kallus’ chin up with a forefinger. ‘Now don’t spend all yer free time lookin’ up Life Day customs.’
‘I… How…?’ Kallus spluttered. He was, in fact, already creating search terms and planning tactics to slice into the Republic archives.
‘Because I know you.’ Zeb gently pushed Kallus toward the Intelligence office. ‘Dinner tonight? About nineteen hundred hours?’
‘Fine.’
‘I’ll meet ya at our place?’
Kallus felt a brief, burning ache where he’d broken his femur on Bahryn. ‘Perhaps my quarters? I have a feeling it’s going to rain most of the day. Gavyn’s on a mission and not due back until tomorrow.’
’I’ll get our meals, then.’ Zeb started off toward Security. ‘Don’t be late, yeh?’
Kallus watched him turn the corner, then trudged into the cramped room and dropped into the chair at his desk. Relationships, he had lately discovered, were hard. Not only did one have to navigate their partner’s various moods and idiosyncrasies, but their family’s as well. Truth be told, the Spectres, which included Rex, as far as Kallus was concerned, went out of their way to make him feel included. They had a wealth of shared experiences and jokes, but no matter how often they drew Kallus into their tightly-knit family circle, he still found himself standing on the margins sometimes. This was no exception.
He didn’t fault the Spectres. They made a concerted effort to involve him for Zeb’s sake. Still, it felt like yet another wall the Empire threw between itself and the people it ruled. Remove things that bound them together and it instantly created an us-versus-them scenario, where the Imperial doctrine was far superior to, well… everyone else’s.
He blinked at the sheet of flimsi in his hand. He’d read the same manifest five times and none of it registered. Kallus huffed with irritation at himself. He’d been distracted and unfocused all day, trying to put what he felt into words he didn’t have. A stolen glance at the chrono told him it was close enough to the usual time he stopped working in the Intelligence office for the day so as to not invite comment. He tidied his desk with his normal efficiency and locked it, then headed to his quarters.
He took a circuitous route back to his quarters, jogging through the winding corridors of the temple, eager to get in a little exercise to burn off his nervous energy.
‘My old gran, she would tuck me into bed with a cup of warm milk and a story when I was a kit.’ Zeb’s face brightened and he chuckled softly. ‘Can do that tomorrow night.’
‘What? Tuck me into bed with warm milk and a Lasat fairy tale?’ It came out far more sarcastically than Kallus intended. He clamped his lips together before anything else could come out.
If Zeb was offended, he didn’t show it. ‘It’s nice,’ he said mildly, noticing the tense set of Kallus’ shoulders. He massaged the back of Kallus’ neck, digging his fingertips into the taut ridges of muscle. ‘Help ya sleep, if nothing else.’
‘I sleep fine, Garazeb.’
‘Like hell ya do.’ Zeb pressed a thumb into a knot, making Kallus moan with pleasure. ‘How much did ya sleep at night this time?'
‘Five... six hours...’ Kallus lied. He usually got about four hours at most when Zeb was away. And that was on a good night.
‘Mmm-hmmm.’ Zeb’s hand slid into Kallus’ hair and he began to run his claws through it. He mentally divided the amount of time Kallus said in half, if the dark circles under his eyes were any indication.
Kallus snorted, but leaned into Zeb’s touch all the same. ‘You said this was a day for families…?’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
‘It might be best if I… Perhaps I should…’ Kallus looked down at his hands. ‘Not… I’m not… You and I aren’t…’
Zeb’s hand stilled and slid from Kallus’ hair. ’Spit it out, Alex.’
‘I’m not a part of your family,’ he muttered, feeling more foolish as the words left his mouth. ‘You and the other Specters… You’re a family… And you and I… We…’ He pushed himself to his feet and began to pace the length of his bunk. ‘We’re only…’
‘Only what, Alex?’ Zeb’s voice rolled through the bunk in a dangerously low growl.
‘Our relationship isn’t such that you can force the rest of the Spectres to tolerate my presence among them.’ Kallus kicked a pile of Gavyn’s abandoned towels under his bed. He got on well enough with Rex and Sabine, and he was one of the few people for whom Chopper would do as asked without a string of profanities and at least three arguments. Which was all well and good, but Hera still tended to hold him at arm’s length. He didn’t blame her. He’d hold a grudge, too, if someone had inflicted the amount of pain on his loved ones as he had on hers. It didn’t seem right without Hera’s approval. He could be on his deathbed, and still strive for her blessing.
‘Are ya tryin’ to say we’re not in a committed relationship?’
‘What would you call it?’ Kallus’ jaw tightened.
‘What the kark’s gotten into ya?’ Zeb shouted, rising to his full height.
‘I’m not your family!’ Kallus exploded.
‘What do ya mean yer not my family?’ Zeb planted himself directly in front of Kallus and placed a hand in the middle of Kallus’ chest to stop his incessant pacing. It was making him dizzy. ‘Not my family,’ he muttered. ‘Yer everything I didn’t know I wanted!’ He loomed over Kallus and shoved his face close to his. ‘Didn’t know I could love someone so kriffin’ unreasonable!’
It was Kallus’ turn to look dumbfounded. He swallowed hard. ‘That’s the first time you’ve said that,’ he said tightly.
‘Yeh? Well, I mean it,’ Zeb snarled. He glared at Kallus for a long moment. ‘I’m gonna kiss ya now.’
‘I wish you would, Gara— Mmmmpphhh!’ Zeb’s mouth came crashing down on Kallus’, cutting off whatever he was going to say.
‘Not my family...’ Zeb muttered. ‘Anyone with a nose would know yer my family.’ He rubbed his cheeks against Kallus’ with long, languorous swipes. ‘Surprised you haven’t caught on, Alex...’ Any species that used pheromones to mark their families would have caught the overtones in Zeb’s scent when he marked Kallus. He lifted his chin. ‘Go on, then,’ he said in invitation. ‘I’ll bet even yer puny human nose can tell.’
Kallus’ fingers convulsed on Zeb’s forearms, but he leaned forward, and buried his nose in the crease between Zeb’s neck and shoulder. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Something rich and smooth. A scent he’d begun to associate with feelings of contentment and belonging. It was similar to the way Zeb smelled around the Spectres, but shot through with something heady that Kallus now realized he only exuded around him. It had a vastly different undertone than what he remembered from what they referred to as the time before, when Kallus still wore the forbidding black of an ISB agent.
Oh…
He rose on his toes, pressing a kiss to the corner of Zeb’s wide mouth. Kallus’ lips parted, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue when his comm squawked. Cursing with enough pungency in Lasat to make even Zeb’s ears turn violet, he grabbed it from his belt and barked, ‘What?’
‘Uh, sir... General Draven said you needed to come down to Intelligence. Something new just came in, and it’s an Imperial cipher...’ The voice trailed off. The young woman on the other end coughed softly. ‘I know your shift ended two hours ago, but the general says it can’t wait,’ she added apologetically.
‘I’m on my way...’ Kallus sighed with a weary glance at the chrono. Nearly twenty-one hundred. If he fell into bed by oh-three hundred, it would be a bloody miracle. Chances were better than none that he would end up staying there all night. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered to Zeb, who wore a disapproving frown. ‘It happens.’
‘Yah. I know.’ Zeb picked up Kallus’ jacket and held it out. ‘I’ll see ya at breakfast?’
Kallus nodded, sliding his arms into the sleeves, already aching with exhaustion. His only consolation was the caf in Intelligence could revive the dead with a mere sip. He was going to need liters of it.
Zeb watched him all but march down the corridor, and then struck off in the direction of the mess. He could give Kallus the gift of one day’s rest. And if they had to skimp in some areas, he was damned if he was going to skimp in others.
‘What do you think?’ Sabine stood back, airbrush held aloft. ‘Needs more leaves, maybe?’
Kallus glanced up from the tangled string of lights in his hands. The image on the wall of the common area bore little resemblance to the wroshyr trees he’d seen in holos or on Kashyyyk, but Sabine’s artistic style could veer into the abstract at times. He picked apart a knot as he studied the painting. ‘I’m sure it will do,’ he said, unraveling the snarled mess.
‘It will do is not what I’m after.’ She took a step forward and with a few deft sprays, added a few more bulbous blobs of green meant to depict a wroshyr’s spreading branches.
‘It will have to,’ Hera said. She looked odd, tight-lipped and pale. Not her usual sense of calm authority. ‘Sorry, Sabine, but the smell...’. She gestured to her middle. ‘Making me...’. Her lips pressed together in a thin line.
Sabine tossed the airbrush to the table and peered at her. Hera had never minded when inspiration struck before. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine.’ Hera swallowed and closed her eyes. ‘Just fine.’
Kallus privately felt she didn’t look fine. And frankly, repeating that she was didn’t seem to help. ‘Can we get you anything?’
‘Just need some air,’ Hera muttered, opening her lips as little as she possibly could and still form coherent words. She strode to the ladder and descended into the hold.
Sabine shook her head. ‘She’s been like that a lot lately,’ she remarked. Kallus made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. She heaved a sigh and picked up the end of the now-distangled string of lights. ‘Can you see the hooks in the ceiling?’ Kallus squinted at the dimly lit ceiling and nodded, just able to make out a series of small hooks overhead. ’Just run the lights through the hooks.’
‘Any particular pattern?’
‘Nope. Just however you want.’ She ducked out of the way. ’Ezra’s first year with us, he couldn’t be bothered to untangle the lights and just hung them up in a big ball.’
‘Certainly more efficient,’ Kallus grunted, as he stretched up and clipped the string to the hook directly overhead. While he crisscrossed the ceiling with the lights, Sabine swept and washed the floor, then threw down several cushions as he connected the lights to a power source. The gloominess receded as the bright, multicolored lights glowed.
Sabine grinned and folded herself to the floor. ‘This is the best part,’ she assured him, lying back on a pillow and gesturing the the lights. ‘Come on.’ She patted the floor beside her. Kallus hoped it wasn’t a prank, but lowered himself to his back next to Sabine, accepting the cushion she pushed under his head with a murmured word of thanks.
She was right. It was the best part.
Well.
So far it was.
The lights twinkled, dimming and brightening in a random sequence, casting kaleidoscopic shafts of light over the walls and floor. It reminded Kallus of the first time he went into space, fascinated by the endless fields of stars. He could recall other families in their tenement celebrating Life Day, and the tiny colored lights that ringed their windows. Only the Kallus flat was cold and dark. ‘I must admit, I do envy you at times,’ Kallus remarked, eyes fixed on a sparkling light.
Sabine gave a half-suppressed sardonic laugh. ‘I don’t know why. I spent years estranged from my parents and brother. Was branded as a traitor… Designed weapons that could have wiped out a large portion of the Mandalorian people…’
‘Not you in particular… But, yes. You. Hera. Garazeb. Even Rex.’
‘Why?’
‘I do not have siblings and I barely saw my parents,’ Kallus said in such a matter-of-fact tone that Sabine gaped at him. ‘At least you know what it feels like.’ He gestured vaguely around the common area. ‘And you were lucky enough to create a family with the Spectres.’
Sabine wrinkled her nose at Kallus. ‘You’re not wrong. Hera and Kanan were more like our parents than I think they realized or wanted to admit.’
‘Obviously.’
‘Zeb, Ezra, and I are like siblings.’ She giggled. ‘Zeb and Ezra certainly fought like brothers when Ezra first joined us.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘He was such a brat…’
‘Ezra or Garazeb?’ Kallus deadpanned.
Sabine’s lips twitched, and she hooted softly with amusement. ‘Both.’
Chopper bleated in the cockpit. Kallus motioned with his chin toward the door. ‘Where does Chopper fit in this family structure?’
‘Oh, easy. He’s the asshole uncle you don’t always like, but you love with utter devotion.’
‘That’s… not inaccurate.’ He could hear Rex’s gravelly voice mingled with Zeb’s equally gruff one. ‘And the esteemed Captain Rex?’
‘Cool grandpa that teaches you how to fight dirty,’ Sabine replied promptly. ‘Seen everything, so not much surprises him.’ They gazed at the twinkling lights for several more minutes before Sabine nudged Kallus in the ribs. ‘You didn’t ask about you.’
‘I wasn’t aware I had a role to play in your family.’
Sabine turned her head to gaze at him. Kallus had a tone when he was trying to shield himself emotionally. Flat. Bordering on emotionless. Even the timbre of his voice got deeper.
Regardless of how odd she thought Zeb and Kallus’ relationship, it had brought Zeb a measure of contentment she’d never seen in him before. It was a lot like the satisfaction she’d seen in him when they found Lira San. That alone formed the basis of her unsentimental reply. ‘My older brother’s boyfriend who ran away from home and came to live with us, because his family is awful and abusive.’
Kallus coughed lightly to clear the sudden thickness in his throat. ‘I see.’
‘There are two things in the world that make Zeb happy. One involves flinging bucketheads around like ragdolls. The other… is you.’
In the kitchen, Rex pushed a mug toward Zeb. ‘She’s not wrong,’ he commented. ‘Flinging bucketheads around is your favorite hobby.’
Zeb sniffed the fragrant liquid. ‘What did ya put in here?’
‘The 501st Life Day Special. Hot milk, but not too hot. A little honey. A few spices for flavor.’
‘Spices, huh?’ Zeb eyed the cup. ‘One of those wouldn’t happen to be a sedative, would it?’ he muttered, partially in jest, but he wouldn’t deny Kallus’ somewhat haggard appearance nudged him to want to engage in a bit of subterfuge, if it meant his mate would sleep for a full eight hours. Zeb did have other means at his disposal that could put Alexsandr Kallus into that sort of stupor, but despite the mutual want and need that swirled between them, they had yet to actually do anything about it. Zeb was rarely on base longer than a few days, and just when they had accustomed themselves to being together again, the Rebellion sent the Spectres off on another mission.
Rex’s thick brow quirked upward. He knew the types like Kallus. Hell, he’d been one of those types back in the Clone War when it took Anakin, Ahsoka, Cody, or even Obi-wan to make him stop long enough to get some rest. You’re no use dead, the other clones had muttered in his direction when he all but reeled from a lack of sleep. The sleeping pills in the medkits weren’t nearly strong enough for someone like Kallus, he knew from personal experience. ’You think that would work?’ he drawled, letting the skepticism hang heavy between them.
‘No.’ Zeb’s ears drooped slightly with resignation. ‘Be nice if it did. Don’t think he’s slept in two days.’ He picked up the cup and made his way into the common area. ‘Time for bed,’ he announced.
Kallus peered up at him from his position on the floor with Sabine looking up at the lights strung around the common area. Zeb had changed from his usual jumpsuit into a pair of loose linen pants and tunic. He turned his wrist and studied the face of the chrono he wore against the inside of his wrist. It was barely twenty hundred hours. ‘You’re joking.’
‘Emcee won’t come until yer asleep,’ Zeb said blithely.
Kallus tilted his head to take in Zeb looming over them. ‘I’m not a child, Garazeb.’
‘You call him Emcee?’ Sabine asked. ‘Pretty casual of you. On Mandalore he’s the Master of Ceremonies,’ she proclaimed with all the pomp of a melodramatic holovid.
‘Everyone uses Master of Ceremonies,’ Rex commented, entering the common area in Zeb’s wake. He handed a cup of the warm milk to Sabine, then took a seat at the padded bench and grinned into a mug of caf.
Satine twisted around and nudged Rex’s knee with her foot. ‘Really? You know everyone?’
‘Been around the galaxy a few times,’ Rex grunted.
Zeb waved them off. ‘Eh. That’s a mouthful. Takes too long to say.’
Kallus allowed a small smile to curve his mouth. He greatly enjoyed the banter that flew between the Spectres, even if he didn’t participate. He sat up, eyeing the steaming cup in Zeb’s hand. ‘Is that… Warm Bantha milk?’
‘I promised ya I’d tuck ya in with a cup of warm Bantha milk and a bedtime story, didn’t I?’
‘I didn’t think you were serious.’
Zeb adopted a serious mien. ‘I never joke about warm Bantha milk and bedtime stories.’ He offered his free hand to Kallus, who took and allowed Zeb to haul him to his feet.
‘Good night, Sabine... Rex...’
Zeb steered him into his bunk and locked the door. He set the cup down and slid the coat from Kallus’ shoulders and hung it on a hook. ‘I know we said no gifts, but I wanted to give this to ya.’ Zeb crouched and withdrew a small parcel from one of the storage compartments under the bed.
‘But I don’t have anything for you,’ Kallus protested.
Zeb waved it aside. ‘Doesn’t matter.’ He drummed is fingertips on the parcel, anticipation making his ears quiver. ‘Open it.’
Kallus scowled at Zeb, then carefully broke the seals on the lid. ‘It’s a hologram transmitter…’
‘Teach ya that in yer Imperial Academy, did they?’ Zeb chortled. ‘Turn it on.’
An image of the two of them in the aftermath of the liberation of Lothal sprang up. Kallus remembered that moment, out in the grasslands far from the capitol where they stopped to rest, recover, and mourn before returning to Yavin 4. Zeb had dragged a few crates from the hold and arranged them into a space where they could sit with the sun on their faces. The hologram caught them in a candid moment. Kallus’ head rested on Zeb’s thigh, while Zeb ran his fingers through Kallus’ hair. Whoever took the hologram had managed to get them both mid-laugh. ‘Where — how — did you get this?’
‘Chopper.’ Zeb chuckled. ‘That little bugger argued with me until I said it was for you. Then he couldn’t load it fast enough. The only person he likes more’n you is Hera.’
‘He’s got good taste,’ Kallus shot back, irrationally pleased to be in the cantankerous droid’s good graces. He switched the projector off and carefully replaced it in its case.
‘Into bed with ya,’ Zeb said, turning around so he could offer Kallus some privacy, scant as it was. It always felt as though they had to start over in some aspects of their relationship when he returned to base. Sharing a bed was the easy part. So was talking. They did it sporadically while he was gone. If Kallus wasn’t working. And Zeb could actually take the call. But most of all, Kallus had asked for patience in order to untangle the rather transactional nature of his previous experiences from what he wanted with Zeb. In all honesty, it wasn’t a hard ask. Trust and respect came first. Always. One thump followed by another in rapid succession told him Kallus had removed his boots, then the rustle of fabric as he doffed his shirt and pants, and draped them over the back of the small chair. Then the soft creak of the bunk as someone climbed into it.
‘All right. Bring on the milk and story.’ Kallus arranged the blanket on Zeb’s bunk over his hips, and accepted the mug Zeb held out, cradling it between his palms.
Zeb nudged him a little and slid into the bunk. Kallus turned to him and nestled against Zeb’s side, savoring the warmth of his body. He sipped the warm milk, then glanced down at it in surprise. The Imperial fleet routinely derided such beverages as suitable for only small children. The insults crew members hurled at one another for ordering something like it while on leave were rather harsh and vicious. The spices warmed him from the inside, carried on the rich and decadent sweetened milk. ‘This is… far better than I had expected.’
‘Ya can give Rex yer compliments in the morning.’ He wrapped an arm around Kallus’ shoulders. It was a tight fit, but they would make do. They always did. Just as well neither of them were prone to flailing about in their sleep.
He launched into one of his favorite stories, a fanciful thing where a sick princess begged for the moon and the only person who bothered to ask her how to capture it was a lowly servant who arranged for the king’s metalsmith to turn a sliver of songsteel into a replica of the moon they could put on a chain for the princess to wear around her neck.
The low rumble of Zeb’s voice combined with the warm milk lulled Kallus into sleep. Zeb plucked the cup from his lax hand before it could tip over and drained it in a single gulp. Alex was right. It is good, he mused somewhat in surprise. There were things he ate with relish that Zeb turned his nose up at. Kallus had somewhat eclectic tastes in food, given he’d spent most of his life eating or drinking the bland protein concentrate the Imperials gave their crew members.
Kallus let out a soft snore and Zeb rearranged himself, pillowing Kallus’ head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the top of Kallus’ head, then fell asleep himself, the memory of his grandmother’s stories and his family twirling through his head.
The urgent need to piss woke him up. One moment he was sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks, and the next, he was wide awake, and trying to figure out how to climb over the small mountain that was Garazeb Orrelios without waking him. Take the path of least resistance, Alexsandr, he told himself, easing from underneath Zeb’s heavy arm, then scooting to the foot of the bed. He used the railing of the upper bunk to swing himself over Zeb’s feet, then padded the short distance to the chair where he’d left his clothes earlier. He quickly and quietly pulled on his shirt and pants, then palmed the door controls and peered into the deserted, darkened corridor. He felt slightly foolish for dressing just to scamper across the corridor. At least he’d stopped putting on his boots as well. Besides, who was going to see him in his undershorts? Rex? Sabine? Chopper? They’d only make snarky comments, and tease him later. Chopper would take holos so he might keep them for future blackmail opportunities. Hera? She’d merely give him that single-brow raised look of long-suffering disapproval. No doubt to mentally add it to his growing list of deficiencies.
Physical needs attended to, Kallus stole back to Zeb’s bunk. The dull gleam of the transmitter caught his attention. He picked it up and cradled it in the palm of his hand, then slipped back out, and headed to the common area. Sabine had left the string of lights on. It was just bright enough for him to pick his way to Zeb’s sturdy chair, bolted to the floor. He curled up in it, then thumbed the transmitter on. The small image appeared with a flare of bluish light. He lifted his other hand and traced the swooping point of Zeb’s ear. He couldn’t remember anyone ever giving him a gift before. Not even on his birthday. Kallus surmised that to most people, this would be a mere trifle, but to him, it was worth all the meryx in the galaxy. He let out a shuddering sigh and tears tricked from the corners of his eyes. He snuffled, and roughly swiped the side of his hand over his cheeks.
‘Alex?’ Zeb murmured in a throaty rasp.
Kallus inhaled sharply and sat up. Zeb stood in the middle of the common area, sleepy and rumpled. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘Ya comin’ back to bed?’
‘Yes.’ Kallus turned off the transmitter and got to his feet. ‘Of course.’ He followed Zeb back to his bunk, and pulled off his clothes before crawling back into the bed with him. Kallus realized what he’d been waiting for. Perfect moments didn’t exist during a war. If they did at all. ‘Garazeb?’ he whispered.
‘Hah?’ Zeb grunted.
Kallus mouthed the words several times, running through a dozen scenarios of where to put his hands, and which language to use, and should he kiss Zeb after; and if so, should he do it in the manner of humans or Lasat? He tried out the phrase in Lasat, but it felt like an affectation. He switched to Basic, but the words still felt alien and awkward on his tongue, like they didn’t belong there. Maybe he didn’t need to say it. Zeb knew, even without hearing it. But the words offered a sort of permanence and commitment. He couldn’t take them back. Kallus swallowed hard, then took a deep breath.
‘I love you.’
It was almost soundless, but Zeb’s sensitive ears heard him with no trouble at all, if Kallus had to judge by the slight upward curve of Zeb’s mouth before he drifted to sleep.
Mealtimes with the Spectres on Ghost quickly become loud and chaotic affairs. Between Rex and Zeb taking the piss out of each other, Chopper’s querulous squawks, Sabine enthusiastically describing the cache of weapons the Rebellion recently acquired and her plans to tweak them, it was a wonder anyone managed to stop speaking long enough to eat. Or manage to make themselves heard over the truly spectacular cacophony of noise three humans, one Twi’lek, one Lasat, and one perpetually fractious droid could make at nine hundred hours. Kallus felt at times the rest of the Spectres attempted to make up for the absence of Kanan and Ezra with sheer volume, as though the sound could somehow fill the spaces where they used to be. Kallus glanced at Hera from the corner of his eye. She sat with her eyes closed and the suggestion of a smile on her face that they seldom saw of late.
He leaned back in his seat, cradling a cup of caf between his hands. They all eschewed their usual day-to-day dress this morning. All save him, because he had nothing else. As often as he reminded himself to rectify the situation, something else always seemed to take priority. Sabine set aside her armor in favor of a black knee-length dress over leggings, the fabric patterned with the elongated hexagonal shape of the Mandalorian Diamond. Rex, too, left off his battle-scarred clone trooper armor, and puttered about the kitchen in a pair of khaki pants and a black pullover shirt. Zeb wore the linen pants and tunic he’d worn the previous night, the deep blue of the fabric making his eyes gleam an even brighter green. Hera even set her flight suit aside for a loose, dark brown sleeveless dress in a style preferred by Twi’leks.
Rex slid a stack of space waffles onto the table with a flourish. ‘Breakfast is served.’
Zeb forked one onto his plate and leaned over it, directing the fragrant steam into his nose with a delicate swish of his hand. ‘Ahhhh. Delicious.’ He pointed his fork at Rex. ‘One day I’m gonna get the recipe outta ya. Don’t know how ya get ‘em so fluffy…’
Rex snorted into his caf. ‘Experience. I’ve been making these longer than you’ve been able to hold your own cock to piss.’
Kallus choked on his caf and coughed, spluttering.
Zeb pounded his mate helpfully on the back while he retorted, ‘Is that clone humor?’
‘At least I have a sense of humor.’ Rex and Zeb glared at each other for a moment, then Rex could no longer maintain his glower. His mouth twitched, then he and Zeb broke into uproarious guffaws.
Sabine glanced around the table, ignoring their antics. Hunger combined with Rex’s waffles were no match for Zeb and Rex’s good-natured taunts. ‘No muja sauce?’
Rex snaked an arm back to the cooker and plopped a dish with a chunky orange sauce in it, swirled with warm spices in the middle of the table. ‘Just the way Kanan liked it.’
Hera cleared her throat with a self-conscious gurgle in the lull as they forked waffles onto their plates. ‘Speaking of Kanan…’ She let one hand rest on a pronounced, but slight, bulge at her middle. Kallus sent an inquiring glance at Zeb, who shrugged with a puzzled look of his own. Clearly the baggy flight suit kept her secrets better than a Fulcrum agent. ‘We’re going to need an extra chair next time.’
Zeb, Sabine, and Rex exchanged a look. Sabine set her fork down and covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes flicking rapidly between Hera’s face and her belly. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
Hera bit her lip and nodded. ‘I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure everything would be okay.’
Sabine clapped her hands with barely restrained glee. ‘You’re having a baby!’ She bounced to her feet and happily danced around the common area. ‘When?’
‘In six months.’
A small line appeared between Sabine’s brows. ‘But Kanan… that was more than five months ago…’
Rex snorted and spooned muja sauce over his waffles. ‘Twi’leks take nearly a year,’ he informed Sabine in an undertone. ‘Now…’ He pointed to her abandoned breakfast with his fork. ‘Your waffles’re getting cold.’
Sabine flashed a cheeky grin at him before she plopped back into her seat. She picked up her cup and held it aloft. ‘To Spectre 7!’
For once, the typical nighttime rains of the Yavin 4 jungle held off. Kallus, Zeb, Rex, Sabine, and Hera sat clustered around a portable heater, each with a steaming cup of Rex’s warm milk. Music and laughter rang through the Rebel base, punctuated with jovial exclamations. They soon discovered the source of the bursts of joy when Wedge stopped long enough at the Ghost to lob a parcel at them that Rex caught one-handed. It turned out to be a small box full of sparklemint sticks. ‘Yes!’ Sabine cheered, plucking out a sparklemint stick. ‘My favorite!’ She passed the box to Rex. ‘Way better than tepasi taffy.’
Rex held it out to Kallus. ‘Go on. Can’t say you’ve celebrated Life Day unless you’ve had a sparklemint stick.’
Kallus took one of the spindly, sparkly, striped sticks and gave it a cautious sniff, then an even more cautious lick. Nothing more nefarious than cool mint flooded his sinuses, and he settled in with the treat with a great deal more enthusiasm, while the others talked about the Life Days of their pasts. He listened to their stories and reminiscences of their families with only half an ear. Instead, he gazed at the indigo sky, clotted with stars. That was his biggest regret at joining Intelligence. Not the long, grueling hours that tied him to a desk. He sorely missed the stars. It seemed strange to him that he only just realized that he had never seen the stars on Coruscant. It was always too bright or his level was shrouded in the fetid smog that drifted in from the industrial sector. Then again, he’d rarely bothered to search the skies for the few pinpricks of light that fought valiantly against the ever-present illumination of the city. A faint whisper in an weary rumble slipped through his memory. No use lookin’ up, Alexsandr. On’y give you hope. An’ it’s the hope that’ll kill you.
How old had he been? Ten? Eleven? Certainly old enough to understand his father only saw the galaxy with blinders on. Just a few short years later, they were gone. A few specks in the billions of lives that comprised the Galactic Republic, then the Empire. To this day he had no idea if they’d left Coruscant or quietly died from overwork and exhaustion. But that day… He recalled that particular day with a stark clarity he didn’t usually have with memories of his parents. He’d pushed the flimsi pamphlet for the Academy across the table to his father, who crumpled it up as well as one could crumple flimsi, and tossed it into a corner with a dismissive grunt. That day had begun to unravel the seams of his family.
The warmth of Zeb’s arm around his waist brought Kallus back into the present. As much as he tried not to let himself think more than a day or two into the future, hazy pictures formed in his head of the kind of life he wanted to live if they managed to succeed. Zeb. A child or two. Warm spiced, honeyed milk. Waffles and sparklemint sticks.
And the story of how they became a family.