Chapter Text
ful·crum
/ˈfo͝olkrəm,ˈfəlkrəm/
noun
- a thing that plays a central or essential role in an activity, event, or situation.
- the main thing or person needed to support something or to make it work or happen:
Alexsandr had been through quite enough.
He had been brainwashed by the Empire, and forced to commit heinous atrocities in the name of a peace that was never to be found.
He’d managed to escape the lonely prison created by being part of the Empire, and by the last of a species he had destroyed, no less. Somehow he’d managed to escape the torture of the Grand Admiral Thrawn, with his limbs mostly intact, and make it to the Rebellion which, while they did not welcome him with open arms, they had at least accepted him.
He had even managed to earn the rank of Captain, garnering a coveted position with Rebel Intelligence, and, despite the blood that stained their past, somehow formed a friendly camaraderie with the Spectres, even becoming an auxiliary member of the crew.
Alex had been through quite a lot, and, despite the odds, despite the injuries, physical, mental and spiritually, he had managed to do well.
He had been saved by the Rebellion and learned who he truly was, all within a year of his escape from the years of indoctrinated service and propaganda and lies.
He’d been saved, and even managed to fall in love-not that he would ever admit that aloud, not even in the darkest reaches of night, when the weight of his feelings, and his loneliness, were at their height. But there was no denying his one-sided feelings, and he savoured them, savoured the smiles and brief touches. Kept them tucked away in his heart.
He had managed to find a place he called home, with people that he cared about deeply, in a Rebellion he believed in with his very soul. He believed he was finally doing something worth doing, and had found the family that would save the galaxy.
Alexsandr had, despite all the odds, managed to hold it all together.
But this…
This was pushing even Alexsandr to his limit.
‘This ’ being the entire Spectre team ignoring his existence. The Ghost was in port, had been over a week, and was expected to stay for several weeks more. And yet, despite his best attempts, Alex had yet to see or hear from any of the Spectres. He’d gone to the ship, more than once, looking for the telltale signs of the team- his team -yet they remained elusive.
Alex had gone so far as to send several messages to Garazeb, the one Spectre who normally would be the one searching for Alex, despite how his heart fluttered against his chest as he carefully crafted each message. Despite the emotional turmoil Alex felt sending each message, the cold hollow that filled his chest as each message remained unanswered was breaking whatever hold Alex had on his sanity.
Even he could admit to himself that, finally, he was going to lose it.
It wasn’t that Alex expected special treatment, or held any such notions that he was more than he was-a former Fulcrum turned Rebel. He had just, well. He had hoped. Had hoped to welcome his team, his makeshift family, home. Hoped to see that his team was safe, intact. Hoped to see one particular face smiling at him, ears perked, as happy to see Alex as he was to see him.
Alexsandr was currently refilling his mug of kaf in the mess hall, ears and eyes perked for a glimpse of his Spectres, a glimpse of purple fur, as a blur of a human nearly bumped into him, jostling his mug.
He looked up to see a familiar face, but not the one he’d been hoping for.
“Wedge.” he said, wiping the hot kaf from his hands.
“Captain Kallus, hey! Sorry about that, in a bit of a hurry. You know how it is.” The teen grinned, as he began filling up mug after mug of kaf.
The Empire would have destroyed Wedge Antillies and, while Alexsandr could not take the credit for saving the young man, he took great pride in the fact that becoming Fulcrum, and alerting the Rebellion of the potential deserters lead to the freedom of this brilliant, if energetic, young man.
“I do indeed. Did...did you need help with that?” Alex pointed to the mugs of kaf, nearly a dozen strong, that Wedge had filled.
“Ah, nah. I got this thing from Sabine…” he dug around his pockets before pulling out a collapsible tray. “It’s part of her art set, apparently, and she’ll murder me if I break it.”
Alex ignored the pang in his chest, hearing Sabine’s name. They had become closer, of late. Or, so Alex had thought.
“Right.”
The young man piled the tray full of the mugs, carefully placing them so the weight was even, and none of the drinks spilled.
“They’re just so busy, preparing for the celebration, you know? I want to help as much as I can, given how big the party is going-”
Alex watched as the boy froze, raising his eyes to look at Alex, the colour draining from his tan face.
“-to not be, because you are not supposed to know about it. Kriff .”
Alex cocked his head, eyebrow raised, stomach sinking.
Wedge picked up the tray, balanced perfectly, as his brow began to sweat. “Okay, look. You would have found out sooner or later, probably. But you, especially, aren’t supposed to know, and you know nothing, and you didn’t hear it from me.”
The boy was gone before Alex could even formulate a question, let alone ask one.
A celebration? For what? And why was he not supposed to know about it?
Alexsandr grabbed his mug, and began the trek back to his post.
Was it a surprise? For whom? Alex couldn’t think of a time he’d ever heard of the Rebels having any celebrations, let alone one that would be a surprise, so that was unlikely.
As he sat at his desk, his team working diligently to intercept all Empire transmission, Alex felt as his brain began to piece the puzzle together, his chest, his heart turning to ice.
The Spectres had not sought him out, had actively been avoiding him. The unanswered messages to Garazeb. The, seemingly, rebellion wide celebration that he specifically was not supposed to know about…
Alexsandr felt his face heat with complete and utter embarrassment as his frozen heart shattered, the pieces tearing into his soft chest, his lungs, and his breath was shallow. The small piece of him that had begun to believe, to hope , cracked and splintered his rib cage.
Rebellions may be built on hope, but Alexsandr was not.
Alex had hoped, despite knowing that he wasn’t deserving of any of the things he had longed for. Alex had hoped, despite knowing that, given the past, the hurt he had caused, he wasn’t worth even the time and chances he had been given. Had hoped that someday, he might be worthy of friendship, of family. He had hoped of lo- well. It didn’t matter.
Whatever hope he had had been shattered, splintered and broken. Hope did not matter. Now, all that mattered was the mission, the Rebellion.
Alex felt the part of him that was more Agent Kallus than Alex take over, running through report after report.
The spectres didn’t want him anymore.
The thoughts spiraled, like a broken holo, circling, repeating over and over and-
The spectres didn’t want him anymore. No one had truly wanted him, cared for him.
Kallus signed another report, and another. He began compiling another report, cross-referencing the data he was receiving from his team. He cleared his desk, searching for more to do. He had to keep busy, keep himself occupied.
Keep himself from feeling the remains of his heart dig into his throat, choking him.
The Spectres didn’t want him. Zeb didn’t want him-
“-sir?”
Kallus looked up at the soldier at his side. “Yes?”
“Your shift is over. Was there anything to report?”
Kallus blinked “No. Nothing to report, thank you.”
As he left his post, the part that was Kallus waned, the hurt creeping back into Alex as he walked to the barracks.
He thanked the stars he had his own room, the thought of even seeing anyone was too much. The tendrils that were keeping Alex going, that were holding him together were unraveling. He needed to be alone, needed to rage and scream and let himself fall to kriffing pieces.
That thought in mind, Alex pivoted on his heel and left the compound, the heat of the evening washing against his skin, the breeze ruffling his hair. Yavin 4 was so unlike all the other planets he’d been, hot and sticky, the air filled with the sweet fragrance of flowers and fruit, both of which were more than abundant in the verdant trees. He hadn’t had a lot of time to spend outside the compound, outside of his work and, despite the hollowness that ate at his soul, he was relieved to be in the fresh air.
Alex had no idea how far he’d walked, his feet carrying him through the thick jungle, his mind circling as he contemplated his lot. He would continue on with the Rebellion, of course. Perhaps request a transfer to one of the new bases, his talents would be welcome almost anywhere. Until the transfer was approved, he would work to avoid the Spectres, avoid Zeb, and the celebration, of course.
Alex wasn’t strong enough to see the family he had longed for, that had discarded him, in any capacity. He had lived through enough hurt, enough pain, enough loneliness. He didn’t need to see them, didn’t need to see Zeb. He’d rather cut out what remained of his shattered heart than see his rejection on any of their faces.
As he reached the top of a hill, Alex felt, well, he was numb. Hollow. But he had a plan. This would just be one more notch in his belt of experiences he never wanted to re-live. Another bit of trauma to add to an already traumatized mind.
Alex doubted it would be the last and, as much as that hurt, it was comforting to know that at least his life had some consistency.
Alex sat as the sun set around him, shadows crawling up the jungle trees, the sounds of animals echoing around him. He didn’t feel better, but he had a plan.
He had a plan, and his heart was dead. He would fight the Empire, until his dying breath, and he would feel nothing.
What was his feelings, his hurt, in the face of saving a galaxy? No one else cared about how he felt, and so why should Alex?
“There you are! Been lookin’ for ya!.”
It had been several days since Alex’s venture into the jungle. He had put in his transfer request for Hoth, the new base in the outer rim. An ice planet, but, at least Alex would be prepared this time. He was still waiting for approval but it was inevitable, really. He had also successfully avoided all the Spectres.
Until now.
The lavender fur of the lasat gleamed in the last light of the sun, green eyes glowing as he leaned against some crates, directly in Alex’s path to his quarters.
“Evening, Garazeb.” Alex said, eyes towards the ground, as he continued walking by.
A large paw reached around his arm, and Alex flinched, but slowed. “Wait, Kal, hold on-”
“I have somewhere to be, please, excuse me.” Alex interrupted quickly. He couldn’t do this. He’d had a plan, one that very specifically avoided Zeb, the object of his-unwanted-feelings. He needed to hold true to that plan, needed to forget the warmth of the fingers against his skin.
His heart, the stupid broken thing that it was, screamed against his chest, his throat.
“No you don’t.”
The words stopped Alex in his tracks.
“I checked with everyone, ya aren’t needed right now and-”
“Yes, thank you for reminding me of that, Garazeb.” Alex spat, ripping his arm out of Zeb’s paw, the claws catching against his skin. “Now, excuse me.”
Alex didn’t wait for a response, his teeth clenched as his body shook, arm throbbing with the new cuts, and he marched to his quarters. The blood was rushing through his body, anger and rage warring with the absolute gut punch of pain he’d felt on seeing Zeb.
If he could have slammed his door, Alex would have. Instead, he paced his room, adrenaline and anger and, stars, the absolute nerve of Zeb! Alex already knew he was unwanted, he didn’t need anyone else to tell him.
He needed to leave. He needed to get out, the walls of his room confining, suffocating.
A light knock at his door “Alex? Come’on”
He couldn’t do this, not again, not ever. He couldn’t-
Alex stopped his pacing, and, heart thundering, screamed as long and as loud as he could.
He screamed until his lungs burned, throat raw, and his head was dizzy.
It wasn’t enough.
He screamed again, voice hoarse, pain laced and so so broken.
The silence was loud when he finished, ears ringing, throat in tatters, and the first tears fell unchecked.
Alex fell to his knees, body spent. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He didn’t want to be anywhere.
“Alex? Are...did you...Please, Alex-”
Alex could hear the worry in the lasat’s voice, but he didn’t care. He was drained empty. There was nothing left.
He coughed, his throat burning as he croaked out “Go away, Zeb. Just, go away.”
Silence, and then the sound of bare feet walking away.
Alex finally let himself fall all the way to the floor, the metal cool against his cheek. He closed his eyes and let the tears fall unchecked. Whatever was left of Alex, whatever was keeping him going, had been screamed out of him, and now?
Now there was nothing.