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“By the way, it’s Zeb.” Zeb muttered. “My name. It’s Zeb.”
“Short for Garazeb. I know,” Kallus said flatly, wondering how impressive it was really if he only knew that from the times his ship’s control center had hijacked the rebels’ comms, then after hours on the bridge, reading through the Imperial files of every Lasat with “zeb” in their name. Not exactly what he was supposed to spend his time on.
The ISB agent and the rebel fighter looking away from each other, sitting awkwardly on the rough ground on either side of the heated rock, the snow outside a constant roar, closing them in, it was fascinating to Kallus how they hadn’t started mauling each other yet. Why hadn’t Zeb turned against him? Killing to survive was smart, and the Imperials took few prisoners. They took prisoners when they had use for them. And what use was an ISB agent, a guy who knew less than the Rebels did about his own empire, weakened from a fistfight and not strong enough to walk?
“…I almost feel flattered you haven’t killed me yet,” Kallus said, speaking low as to not betray his nerves.
“For someone constantly thinking of how I’m going to murder you, you sure aren’t doing anything about it,” Zeb rolled his eyes. “You make Imperials seem soft, just casually sitting there.” He sat up straighter, casually resting his hand near his blaster, probably to prove a point. Kallus couldn’t prove that point back with his leg in a splint, so he gave Zeb his best haughty look instead.
“You talk so much about us being soft, yet I’m here with a heat source you gave me and a leg brace you were kind enough to give up one of your deadly weapons for.”
He thought Zeb was going to get defensive, say he was capable enough without an extra gun.
“Oh, so you admit you couldn’t survive without your little underlings tending to your every need. Do they also tuck you in goodnight?” Zeb clasped his hands in fake adoration. Kallus internally raised an eyebrow; imperials weren’t usually mocking and when they were it was quite dry. He only got interesting banter from rebels, he noted.
“Is this you comparing yourself to a lowly medical droid?” Kallus resisted smirking. “I didn’t realize you were so insecure.” He didn’t want to move the arm that was supporting him, so he widened his eyes back at Zeb.
“Oh, now your soft human heart feels sorry for me, you poor thing,” Zeb leaned back on the rock wall, side-eyeing Kallus with those big green……orbs. Yeah, orbs. It was so frivolous to waste time bantering, but Kallus got a little thrill every time he got a reaction out of the other battle-hardened warrior. It was like when they fought and trash-talked, except, you know, without the fighting part. That feeling immediately crashed down when Kallus couldn’t think of anything to say back. He had a flash of insight that Zeb could have felt the same. Wow, aliens have feelings? This hadn’t been in the Imperial Academy curriculum.
“It’s you rebels who are… oh, never mind.” Mentioning the people who might not rescue them… probably bad for morale.
Zeb sat up straight and peered into the snow, which was now falling slowly and visibly piling higher.
“If this keeps on, we’ll be stuck here by the morning,” Zeb groaned.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that,” Kallus said. “You’re planning to walk out there and personally blast the snowflakes, I assume.”
“You give up so easily,” Zeb said.
“There is literally nothing—“
“I once fought an officer who turned tail as soon as I knocked out his stormtroopers, and one who didn’t even try to get back his pistol when I grabbed it,” Zeb said. “You all are a pessimistic lot.”
“Yes, and you’re the optimist ray of sunshine,” Kallus said.
“Thank you. We are. I am.” Zeb’s ears twitched — what did that mean, annoyance? pleasure? embarrassment that that sentence hadn’t sounded perfectly sarcastic? — and pushed the heat rock towards Kallus. “Take this. Humans freeze and die so easily.”
“Aw, you don’t even want me to have hypothermia,” Kallus said, shifting a little closer to the rock, which meant moving a little closer to his enemy. Ugh, what was that smell? “Also, take a shower sometime, would you? I don’t want to die of disgust either.”
“It’s me or go out in the snow,” Zeb grinned.
“Is that what you say to your crewmates too? ‘Shut up or I eject you!’”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Zeb shifted to a more relaxed posture, leaning back, hands farther from his weapons, with one knee up and one leg sticking out.
Kallus could just do a late-night hack of their comms to find out, but he decided not to say that. He itched to correct Zeb’s weird posture like Zeb was an unruly, full-of-himself cadet, but Kallus didn’t want to feel like a hypocrite with his injured leg preventing him from being ready to spring up and fight at any moment. Why are you letting your guard down, Garazeb?! We could get jumped at any moment, and it’s not like I’ll be any help.
All he had to do was trust… his enemy.
The snow fell slower, gentler, and Kallus stopped watching Zeb out of the corner of his eyes and looked around. The quiet from Zeb and the patterns outside made him sleepy, even without the comfortingly usual dim white light and gray steel walls surrounding him.
Kallus turned to Zeb; he’d fallen asleep, still sitting up, leaning against the wall, his head tilted away. Kallus copied him, leaning against the rough rock wall, but there was thin cloth protecting his human back instead of layers of fluff and armor, and after minutes and minutes he couldn’t force himself to give in to rest.
An idea.
Would Zeb wake up and kill me? Kallus stared at Zeb’s shoulderplate, near the height of Kallus’s head. It dawned on him that he’d been considering snuggling up to the enemy all evening. The thought turned his stomach but he was too tired to care.
He’s going to absolutely smash my skull against the rock wall, Kallus thought contentedly, resting his head against Zeb’s shoulder and holding Zeb’s upper arm, which wasn’t even covered by armor. Scary to be that brave. The fluff covering Zeb’s arms was coarse and rough, but to Kallus now it was softer than the snowfall.
______
Kallus strode as best he could through the outer halls of his ship, which was more like dignified limping. A black-haired officer, who’d served under him before getting promoted to a different job, glanced at his leg and offered a sympathetic twitch of the eyebrows. No one stopped him, not even as the pain became difficult to hide and his eyes unfocused. Locking himself in his room was a relief. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, taking weight off his leg until the pain was a low buzz.
He pressed the plus sign button on his comm. “Medical droid to room 187.”
“Approved. Estimated arrival: two hours 47 minutes 06 seconds.” The beep let him know the comm line closed. He tossed it onto his desk with a clatter. The room went quiet.
The imperial heaters hummed in a way that reminded him of yesterday’s falling snow. He was so tired, wanted to fall asleep and wait for the droid, but the room felt so empty. There was no warm body to fall asleep next to. He was used to being alone, wasn’t he?
But once you taste spice, withdrawal is pure pain, and normal life never feels the same. Life on the ship, he knew now, wouldn’t feel as right, as alive, as engaging, as that one evening in the snow had. He replayed his and Garazeb’s banter in his mind, not looking for anything, just dwelling on how interesting it’d been. Them being enemies of different ranks mattered so much and yet didn’t matter at all. Is that normal life for all rebels? On the ship, he’d fight harder than he ever had before. But he knew, he always knew, nothing could make him feel that alive again.
Kallus put his head in his hands. Despite the climate control dulling sharp memories of chill and snowfall, this night felt so much colder than the last.