Chapter Text
Guilt pressed down on him, like an ocean on his chest, constricting breath, squeezing the place where his heart should be.
He gasped for breath, but shame filled his lungs instead of air. He called for help and choked on his own name. He reached for the surface far, far above his head. Further, further, further he descended into blackness, and vileness, into depravity, where he belonged. The things he was made of, joined again with him.
He gasped awake, sucking in real air this time. Sweat clung to his neck and chest. His forehead was slick with it. His sheets were damp.
Alexsandr Kallus' bunk in the base on Yavin 4 was dark. Instinctually, he looked for the familiar glow of his meteor rock, saved from the moon of Geonosis. It wasn't there.
The rock was long gone. Likely ejected into space with a load of trash. Or maybe, possibly, kept as a trophy of his defeat in Grand Admiral Thrawn's collection, though that outcome seemed unlikely.
He hadn't been that serious of a foe to the Admiral. A mole, yes. A threat, yes. A foe vanquished, worthy of a trophy? Maybe not.
Kallus pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He sat up. The fresher down the hall was dark, but an automatic light strip lit up as he entered. He rinsed his face at the sink.
He forced himself to look in the mirror. He forced himself to face the shame that remained there, in the squint of his eyelids, in the turn of his lip. In the way he winced to himself, sometimes, when he spoke to Garazeb.
The walk back to his quarters was dim. His quarters remained dark. He didn't turn the light on. He didn't want to admit that he wouldn't sleep again tonight. The chrono on the wall above the hallway entryway read four hundred, planet time.
He sighed.
"Kallus?"
He looked up. Briefly he wondered how foolish he seemed, standing in silent thought in the middle of the hallway.
Garazeb Orrelios stood at the threshold of his own quarters, which he shared with Ezra Bridger when they were planetside, which was not often.
"Zeb," Kallus greeted, nodding.
"Everything alright?" Zeb asked, looking up and down the hall as if he should expect hostiles.
"Yes," he said. The lie was easy enough. Kallus was a liar. That was a fact.
"Okay," Zeb said. He readjusted a towel hanging off his shoulder. "What are you doing up?"
Suspicion. Of course Kallus expected suspicion from his allies — it was natural. He had been their hunter, once. He was also a traitor. Trust was slow to be earned, and Kallus understood that.
He stood a little more to attention, facing Zeb. "Just returning from the fresher. That's all."
"Right," Zeb said around a yawn, clawed hand rising to cover his mouth. "Well, see ya in the morning."
Zeb trundled down the hallway towards the fresher himself.
Kallus returned to his bunk. He didn't fall asleep again.
Daytime tasks were simple. Daytime tasks were distracting. It was good to be useful. He liked the Rebellion, and he especially liked Yavin 4. Being surrounded by wild nature was such a contrast to the cold gray of Imperial warships and complexes.
Kallus was grateful. He knew how to be grateful. What he didn't know was how else to pay that back, except to be useful.
So he tried very hard to be useful.
Plunging down, down, into the cold darkness. His heart seized with fear. He clutched at the hand around his throat, but there was none.
No one came to save him.
He awoke to sweaty sheets, as he always did when he had the nightmare — which was becoming more frequent.
It was more intense than any of the nightmares he'd had before Bahryn, the moon of Geonosis. That was when everything started to fall apart. Now he was slowly piecing everything back together, but the nightmare became worse every night.
The hallway chrono read four hundred thirty. The fresher was already lit when he entered. Steam clung to the edges of the mirror in front of him. Garazeb was combing his fur in front of another one.
Kallus wordlessly splashed his face with water, rinsing off the sweat. Maybe Zeb had the right idea — maybe he needed a shower.
"Are you always up this early?" Zeb asked, looking at Kallus briefly.
"No, not always."
Zeb hummed noncommittally. "Thought it might be a habit from the Imperial days."
"Not quite." Kallus paused. His fingers tapped against the edge of the sink. "Why are you up so early?"
"Shower. Apparently some people don't like the smell of wet lasat."
Kallus followed the logic. Bathe when no one was awake to smell you. Sound, he supposed. Except for the fact that Kallus could smell him now. He didn't smell bad, exactly, he just — he just smelled like Zeb, but more.
"Are you speaking primarily of Bridger?" Kallus asked.
Zeb scoffed. "Actually I think Ezra finally got used to it. It's everyone else on this hallway who likes to complain."
"I haven't complained."
The words left his mouth before he could tame them.
Zeb paused midstroke, holding his comb still for a moment. "I know. 'Preciate that."
Kallus' fingers twitched. He felt overwhelmed by a desire to touch Zeb's purple hair. He could offer his fingers as a comb. He could smooth out the tangles and lay his fur flat, in the way Zeb liked it.
Kallus shook his head to clear it.
No. His attentions were not reciprocated. Zeb would never allow Kallus to touch him, attraction irrelevant.
"Good night, Orrelios," Kallus said, standing up straight. He made to leave the fresher.
Zeb did not stop him. "Good morning, more like."
Kallus conceded with a nod, and then left.
Daytime tasks were simple. Daytime tasks were distracting.
Garazeb Orrelios was even more distracting. He and Kallus were moving supplies today. Up and down the ramp of the freighter they marched, with various crates in tow.
One of the supply officers directed them to different stacks, where the supplies were divided by type. Perishables over there, hardware over there, spare parts over there, and so on and so on.
Kallus enjoyed the mindless work. The problem was that he couldn't find the mindlessness he usually fell into — not with Zeb working beside him.
"Kallus," Zeb called from the cargo hold.
Kallus joined him immediately. "What is it?"
"The anti-grav on this crate is busted. Help me lift it."
It wasn't a question. Kallus stood on one end of the crate, and Zeb on the other. They lifted together. They walked out of the cargo hold, with Kallus walking backwards.
He found it difficult not to stare at Zeb. The sweat made his musk hang in the air more than usual. Zeb watched intently over Kallus' shoulder, guiding them down the ramp.
"Hold it," he said suddenly.
Kallus halted. They held the crate. He looked over his shoulder to see an astromech cross their path.
Once they were clear, Zeb nodded for them to continue.
"Weaponry," the supply officer said. "Right over there."
Zeb and Kallus set the crate down.
"Phew," Zeb made a show of wiping his forehead. He slung an arm across Kallus' shoulders. "About time for lunch, don't you think?"
Kallus would enjoy a break with Zeb. However… "There is more work to be done."
"Not that much. We've been at this since the sun rose. Relax a little," Zeb shoved him lightly. "This ain't the Empire."
Kallus was acutely aware of that. He just didn't think he'd reached the extent of usefulness yet today.
Zeb noticed the hesitation. "Come on," he insisted, pulling Kallus alongside him. "Let's get some grub."
He woke up startled and sweating. Rivulets poured down his face and neck. He searched for the glow rock. It was gone.
The nightmare was gone, too — for tonight, in any case. The dorm was dark. The hallway was dark, too.
Four hundred twenty-five.
Kallus pressed the control to open the fresher door, and Zeb stood on the other side of it, preparing to leave.
They met eyes for just a moment. Zeb backed away to give Kallus space to enter. Kallus nodded in thanks, and made his way to the sink.
Zeb did not leave. He leaned against the wall opposite the mirrors and crossed his arms. He was freshly showered. His fur had already been combed. Missed opportunity, Kallus thought with his nightmare-addled brain.
"How much sleep do you even get if you are up at o'four hundred every morning?" Zeb asked.
Kallus rinsed his face in the sink. Sweat still clung to his chest and limbs. He would wash later. "I could ask you the same thing."
"Well I always go back to bed after this." Zeb fixed him with a stare. "You don't."
True, Kallus rarely returned to his bunk after waking from a nightmare. He was more likely to get ready for the day and begin looking for something to do, some way to be useful. "It's nothing nefarious, I assure you," Kallus said, then paused. "Not that my assurance means much to you, I assume."
Zeb shrugged. "I'm not accusing you of anything. I just need to know that the team is in working condition. And if you're not getting enough sleep, then maybe you shouldn't be working."
"Does anyone in the Rebellion get enough sleep?" Kallus countered. Sometimes it seemed like the entire Rebellion ran on caf and hope.
Zeb didn't seem to have an immediate answer. He shifted on his feet. A damp towel was slung over his shoulder. He watched Kallus for an extended moment. "What's bothering you?"
Kallus paused. He looked up at Zeb through the mirror. Water dripped from his face. "What?"
"You're on edge. You're nervous. There's tension in your shoulders."
Kallus stilled. He didn't like being read so openly. Non-humans were sometimes better at reading humans than humans were themselves. Kallus didn't begrudge him that ability — he only wished it hadn't been Zeb that flayed him open.
"I am on edge," Kallus admitted, because vulnerability seemed wiser than a lie, even if that meant vulnerability in front of Zeb. "But it's nothing to be concerned about."
"Well consider me concerned." Zeb uncrossed his arms and offered his towel. "So spill."
Kallus turned to face him. Uncertainly, he took the towel. It was damp, but it would soak up the water droplets. Kallus pulled it over his face and breathed in. It smelled like Zeb. It smelled strongly like Zeb. Kallus pulled the towel away from his face before the motion could be read. Read like Zeb could do so keenly.
"I have nightmares. Recurring." Kallus said. His hands tightened around the towel. "It can't be helped."
"Have you told the medic?"
Kallus looked at him sharply. "The medic?"
"Yeah. He can give you things to help with sleep."
Hmm. "I didn't think of that."
"Well think about it." Zeb said. He started heading for the door. "We can't keep meeting like this." He winked, and then left.
He winked. He winked? What in the galaxy did that mean? Kallus stood with the towel in his hands, in the empty fresher, completely at a loss.
The Ghost crew left for a mission. Kallus was not needed. He remained on Yavin 4.
He found ways to be useful. He found himself missing the Ghost grew. It was strange: He used to chase them all across Lothal, and now he waited for them to return, like a loyal beast.
Damn them all. How did this happen to an ISB agent, of all people?
He washed Zeb's towel with the intention to return it. The Ghost crew did not return that evening.
Wake. Sweat. Three hundred fifty, planet time. Fresher. Rinse. Towel. Towel. Towel.
There was no Garazeb to meet him this morning.
He searched for the glow rock. It was gone. But so was the nightmare, for tonight. And so was sleep.
Kallus stood in the hallway. The sweat had been washed from his skin. Any evidence of his distress was surgically scrubbed away.
Garazeb and Bridger's door was closed. It wouldn't open if he knocked.
He didn't knock. It wasn’t locked.
He entered.
This was wrong. This was trespassing. If he got caught, it would raise questions about his loyalty.
It was easy to tell that Zeb's bunk was on the bottom, and Bridger's was on the top.
Kallus stared. He imagined the boys in their respective beds. He imagined Zeb splayed out, relaxed, fur mussed, chest rising slowly with breath.
Kallus imagined laying next to him.
He cut that thought short, and quickly exited.
In his own dorm, he found the towel that still smelled like Zeb, even after being washed. Though he didn't fall back asleep, the object did bring him comfort. It was wrapped in his hands, resting on his chest and stomach while he laid down.
When the Ghost crew returned, Kallus was relieved to hear the mission had been a success — with the usual hiccups, of course.
Zeb was back.
Kallus found him winding down in what passed as the Rebellion's mess hall, playing dejarik against himself. The hall was unusually quiet.
Zeb waved at him. Kallus closed the distance. He sat down at the dejarik table, across from Zeb.
"I heard your mission was a success," Kallus said.
Zeb nodded blandly. "Uh huh."
Kallus was silent for a few more moments, watching Zeb puzzle out his next move against himself.
"It was reconnaissance, correct?"
"Yup."
Hmm. Kallus tapped his fingers against his knee. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
"Nope. Just trying to figure out why you haven't offered to play me, yet."
Kallus blinked at him. "Oh. Of course I'll play with you." He straightened in his seat. "Whenever you're ready."
Zeb smiled a wide, toothy, dangerous smile, which gave Kallus the sense that he was going to offer a real challenge. "Your move first." He reset the holo.
Falling, falling, falling further into the depths, where light couldn't reach him — where no one could reach him. Cold, inky blackness surrounded him. A freezing current passed beneath his skin. He was caught in an undertow of guilt that throttled him. Shame made his entire frame shake as if he were on an ice moon with no warmth.
He called for help. He choked on something — something constricting his throat, and cutting off his breath. His chest struggled to intake anything.
Then he felt it: a hand reaching for him, clutching him, pulling him up through the waves.
Kallus gasped and sat up.
"Kallus," Garazeb said his name, urgently, as if it he'd been calling it. "Hey, Kallus."
He blinked at Zeb. "What?" He exhaled between panting breaths. The dorm was dark. He wondered what time it was.
"You alright?"
Kallus dragged in breath after breath, until the gait almost returned to normal. He swallowed hard. "Yes. I apologize if I woke you."
Zeb sat back on his digitigrade heels, hands still clasping Kallus' shoulders. He sighed. "It's fine." Slowly, carefully, he let go. One hand came up to nervously rub his scalp. "I was already up. I heard you from the hall."
"I'm sorry."
Zeb shook his head. "Don't apologize." He backed away from the bunk and stood up straight.
Kallus swung his feet over the edge of the bunk and made to stand, but he suddenly felt dizzy.
"Have you seen the medic yet?" Zeb asked him.
Kallus shook his head. "It's not important. Not enough to spend Rebellion resources on, anyways."
"Karabast," Zeb said. "What did the Empire do to you?"
Kallus was at a loss.
Zeb pointed at him. "You're seeing the med tomorrow. That's final."
Garazeb was not Kallus' commanding officer, though he did have rank on him. Kallus sensed the order had nothing to do with rank. "If you insist."
"I do. You can't go screaming your throat raw every night, runnin' on five hours of sleep a day. It's not right."
"Was I really screaming?"
Zeb paused. He sighed. "No, sounded more like you were choking."
Kallus took a moment to collect himself. He stood, and then swayed slightly on his feet. Zeb immediately reached out to steady him, placing a large hand on his arm.
"Easy, soldier," Zeb said.
"Excuse me," Kallus moved towards the door, and Zeb followed him, maintaining the contact.
When they got to the hallway, Kallus eyed Zeb. "I can walk fine, thank you."
Zeb eyed him right back, but conceded. He let go of Kallus' arm.
Kallus' face burned. Was lasat eyesight good enough to see the blush that raged across his skin in the darkness? He pushed his way to the fresher. Zeb followed him inside.
"I needed to talk to you anyways," Zeb said as Kallus began rinsing the sweat from his face.
Kallus looked at Zeb in the mirror, and raised a brow.
"You still have my towel. Ezra won't let me use his. Says I'll make it smell."
"It's in my —" Kallus stopped short.
"In your dorm?" Zeb finished, already heading for the door.
"N-no — I mean, yes, but —"
Zeb was already gone.
Kallus stood petrified. The towel was under his pillow. He prayed to whatever was out there in the universe that Zeb wouldn't find it. He bent over the sink and scrubbed his face so hard, his skin was going to turn pink, intense blush notwithstanding.
He shook loose droplets from the strands of hair that fell into his face. Kallus nearly jumped as Zeb returned.
"Found it," Zeb said without looking at him. He ambled straight to the showers.
Kallus didn't say anything. What could he say? He was mortified. He turned to leave.
"Good morning," Zeb called from behind a duraplastic curtain.
It made Kallus pause at the door. "Good morning," he responded before exiting.
Kallus leaned against the med's examination table without actually sitting on it. "Are you sure these will actually help?"
The medic, a kind mirialan man, finished preparing his prescription. "They might. You tell me if they don't, and we will find another solution."
He handed Kallus a bag and a bottle. Herbal tea, and a supplement that supposedly promoted restful sleep in humans and most humanoids.
Kallus was not convinced that anything would actually halt his nightmare. He took the items wordlessly.
The medic said his goodbye, and Kallus quickly returned to work — it was time to be useful again.
He hadn't seen Zeb all day. In some way, that was a blessing. Heat rose to his face every time he thought about their encounter the night before.
Kallus carried a cup that most people would put caf in. It had a detachable lid, and a hole to sip through. He'd made his tea in the refectory earlier, and was now retiring to his dorm.
It was dark when he entered. There was still no familiar glow from a glow rock.
He sipped the tea. It wasn't bad, but in fact teetering towards good. If it had any effect on him, though, he couldn't detect it.
There was a knock on the door.
Kallus answered it.
Zeb stood at the threshold. His tall frame blocked the light from the hallway. "Were you sleeping already?"
"No."
"So just sitting in the dark, then?"
Kallus sighed. "Yes. That is what I was doing."
"Alright." Zeb didn't question it. "Did you —"
"Yes, I saw the medic today," Kallus cut him off.
Zeb nodded. "Good. What'd he say?"
Kallus indicated his mug. "Gave me this, and a supplement. We'll see if it works."
"Yeah, guess we will."
Zeb shifted on his feet.
Kallus' fingers tapped against his mug.
"So —"
"What —"
They spoke at the same time.
"You first," Zeb said.
"No, please. What were you saying?"
Zeb tilted his head. "Just wondering if you wanted company. Falling asleep, I mean. So you weren't alone."
The question was jilted, like it came out uncertainly. Kallus inclined his head slightly. "That would be fine." He shifted backwards, allowing room for Zeb to enter.
Zeb lumbered into the room.
Kallus didn't turn the light on, and instead returned to his bunk in the darkness. "What made you offer such a thing?"
"I read something on the holonet," Zeb started. "Some people sleep better with company. I didn't know if there was anyone else on Yavin who would stay with you, so I offered."
Kallus nodded. Sound reasoning, at least. Logical. Practical. He sipped his tea.
Zeb leaned his elbows on his thighs. His frame was bent forward. Tension hugged his shoulders. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
"Is something wrong, Garazeb?" Kallus said.
"No, no. Nothing."
Kallus nodded. He set the mug aside and laid down.
"It's just…" Zeb trailed off. "I've been waiting for a while. I keep wondering how long I'm gonna keep waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
Zeb looked down at him. Even in the light that seeped in from the hallway, Kallus could see his piercing eyes. They stared at each other for an extended moment.
"Nevermind, soldier." Zeb finally said. "Just get some rest."
Kallus decided not to argue. He was too tired to play conversational dejarik.