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“Got ‘em!” Hera announced as the Ghost’s cargo drop hatch closed around Kallus’ escape pod, the General speeding off from the interstellar battlefield as quickly as they’d come. She punched in the coordinates, and initiated the hyperdrive, sending them straight into one of many swirling blue hyperspace lanes.
Zeb’s muscles relaxed and he flopped back on his chair in the cockpit with a sigh of relief. Their base may have been compromised, but they were safe. His friends were safe; things were going to be okay. As they sped off into hyperspace, Zeb let himself breathe. He realized just how quickly his heart had been pounding, and he held his chest to try and lower the adrenaline pumping in his blood, an instinctive purr in his throat releasing to calm his body.
No matter how many times Zeb went into a fight, it never got any less nerve-wracking. After a battle, his hands would continue to randomly tremble or twitch like they were still holding his bow rifle or the Ghost’s blaster controls, and his dreams would be plagued with memories of Lasan with the added bodies of his Ghost family. One day, the stress would kill him, but for now, he had no plans on stopping until the Empire was defeated.
The Empire…
Zeb only had a momentary respite because the realization that Kallus was back in the same vicinity as him made his stomach begin to churn.
Why exactly? Zeb couldn’t pinpoint it.
It’s not that he had missed Kallus. However, the ex-ISB Agent had crossed his mind more often than he liked to admit. Perhaps it was the near-death experience shared between the two of them that made the blond spy stick out in his mind. The huddling in the cold while sharing small talk through chattering teeth, the vulnerability both had shown each other so suddenly after wanting to kill the other, their shared histories. There was a lot both hadn’t said to each other, and a lot they had.
Regrettably so, the Lasat captain had really worried about Kallus’ safety while he’d been away. Zeb had the hypercapability to care for others; it was why he was fighting in the Rebellion in the first place. He cared immensely for his friends & family, the safety of the Galaxy, and those who need hope to continue onward for another day; thus, he forced his body and mind to the brink of collapse every day just for that little push towards a brighter future.
So, when he heard that Kallus was working with them as a spy straight in the heart of the rancor’s den, Zeb couldn’t help but worry for the guy. He could hold his own, and was deeply resilient; he had to be if he never gave up fighting after multiple humiliating defeats against the Rebellion. However, he was spending 24/7 surrounded by folks who would turn him in for less than a credit's worth of a raise. He had often imagined Kallus looking over his shoulder anytime he walked down a corridor, or staying awake at night out of fear of not waking up. Zeb always preferred being on the front lines instead of sneaking around on stealth missions like Ezra and Sabine, so he knew he couldn’t last a day in Kallus’ shoes.
But he still didn’t fully like the guy. He sympathized with him more, admired him for the sacrifices he made for the Rebellion; however, he was way too cocky. The way he rolled his eyes at Zeb and snickered like a Hutt when proven correct… the memory of his sneers made Zeb want to go and jettison him back into space. He stunk a load of bantha fodder at times, yet, Zeb couldn’t bring himself to hate him. Even after everything he had done on Lasan, Zeb still couldn’t fucking hate him. Barely close. In fact, he found his stomach sinking with disappointment when he hadn’t left Bahryn with him, or left with Ezra when they originally tried to extract him from the Empire.
The two hadn’t really spoken since their time on Bahryn. The only bits of interaction they’ve had were between the Rebels and Kallus’ encrypted Fulcrum transmissions, and usually those conversations were aimed towards Hera and other higher ranked Rebel officials. Zeb hadn’t spoken to him again officially since, and he didn’t know if he was ready to start now.
“You should go check on him,” Hera’s voice broke Zeb out of his thoughts.
“Huh?”
Hera had turned her pilot seat around to look at him. “You seemed worried–“
Zeb wrinkled his nose, “Worried?” he shook his head, “Nah, I’m… You know me, just… collectin’ myself a bit.”
“Garazeb.” Hera stared back at him with narrowed, doubtful eyes which made his fur prickle up his spine. She sighed, "You're the only one he really has a connection with here–“
“‘Connection’?”
“–So make yourself useful and be sure he’s not critically injured.”
“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, standing up, “But not because I’m worried.”
“Right.”
Zeb made sure his grumbles were heard on the way down to the loading room of the Ghost, excusing himself between the wounded soldiers and pilots they’d picked up. Most Rebels knew their base wouldn’t last forever; that’s just the nature of their duty. There was an overhanging weight of exhaustion in the air, but it was lightened by the sheer relief everyone felt at still being alive to fight another day. They’d just managed to skirt past Admiral Thrawn’s barrage of attacks with barely their lives, and, though exhausted, everyone was chattering together.
All except one. In the midst of the moving bodies was a lonesome Agent Kallus. No, just Kallus. A tired Kallus who was beaten badly; his hair was disheveled, right eye drooped from heavy bruising, scratches crusted with dried blood on his cheeks and lips. The Imperial uniform that usually was pristine every time Zeb saw him was torn and dirtied with dust and darker spots that could be blood from more unseen wounds.
He looked like he took a trip through hyperspace without the luxury of a ship.
A battered and bruised Kallus met Zeb’s gaze from across the room with exhausted eyes that perked up slightly as they looked at one another. Noticeably, one eye couldn't open as wide as the other.
“Zeb,” Kallus greeted as the Lasat came up to him, his voice strained.
“That all I get?” Zeb scoffed. “C’mere you lug–” the Lasat pulled the ex-Imperial into an embrace. Kallus puffed out a small gasp. “Glad you mostly made it back in one piece, mate.”
“Y-Yeah…” Kallus coughed. He was a pile of rocks in Zeb’s arms, his muscles tense and breath halting. He felt like a piece of driftwood awkwardly caught in between two rocks in a river.
Zeb got the message and set him down on the ground, his ears twitching back from embarrassment. Karabast, why did I do that? “Uh…” Staring at Kallus he realized he didn’t have that much to say. He settled for a lame “you okay?”
Kallus’ nodded, but his eyes were glazed over, focus seeming to be elsewhere. Probably a good thing, he couldn’t fully grasp the extent of Zeb’s awkward blabbering and fidgeting. Any awkwardness was replaced by panic though when Kallus’ eyes began to flutter closed while his body began to lightly sway. A hand came up to his head.
“Hey, hey–” Alarm sparked in Zeb’s voice. His arms reached out to steady Kallus’ shoulders. “Kallus? You alright? Sorry if I squeezed the rest of the life out of ya.”
Kallus took a few seconds to compose himself before pulling away from Zeb’s hands. “No, no, it’s fine. Sorry, just have a headache.”
“Ey, no need to apologize. They must’ve gotten ya real good, huh?”
Kallus shrugged lazily, leaning against the Ghost’s walls for some stabilization. “Something like that… Admiral Thrawn certainly knows how to send a message.” He looked at his hands and flexed his fingers in-and-out a few times. His eyes glazed over again.
Kallus’ usual fiery spirit that Zeb had grown used to seeing had nearly extinguished. He couldn’t blame him; who knew what agonizing torture he’d faced in the time he’d been captured? Who knew what he’d seen with the Empire before then? “Well, hey, we’ll get you patched up in no time. Anyone come check on ya?”
“No, I shared a few words with Kanan, but…. I didn’t want to ask. Besides, I don’t think they’d be particularly keen on treating me anyways,” Kallus snorted in quiet amusement. “Got a couple of stares when I climbed out of the escape pod. I can’t blame them.”
Zeb glanced around at the various rebels around them. “It’s just the chops. Everyone recognizes them. Shave ‘em and nobody will bat an eye,” he attempted to humor him.
Kallus looked up from his hands to give Zeb a flat stare.
Zeb’s ears flicked back, his awkwardness returning. “Erm, don’t worry about it, okay? It’ll just uh.. It’ll take some getting used to, but you’ve already proven yourself over and over again, mate. They’ll forget all about your past in no time.”
“Maybe,” he didn’t seem convinced. He breathed deeply before continuing, “Did you need something from me?”
Did he need something? Zeb was almost annoyed by the question. “I’m just checking up on ya. You’re one of us now, y’know. Plus, I don’t know… guess I wanted to see if the leg was back in action or not.”
Kallus blinked, his eyebrows raising as if he really didn’t believe Zeb was coming over just to “check up on him”. He then surprised Zeb by smiling; a warm smile Zeb wasn’t yet acquainted with. “You rebels and your soft hearts.”
Zeb scoffed, “Yours isn’t so tough either, deserter.”
“Touché.”
The Lasat tilted his head towards the exit. “C’mon, I’ll get you patched up.”
Kallus didn’t budge. “You really don’t have to do that, I’m fine licking my own wounds. I’m sure you have other rebels who need attending to before me.”
Zeb rolled his eyes. “Mate, you could barely stand earlier. You expect me to believe you can patch yourself up without hitting the ground? We still need your intel, it’d suck if you got a concussion and couldn’t remember half your time in the Empire.”
“Honestly, Garazeb, I’ll be fine. I’d much rather prefer to deal with it on my own.”
Zeb crossed his arms. He’d seen stubbornness like that in soldiers before. “Faster I get done patching ya up, the quicker I can go help the other rebels you desperately want treated. ‘Sides, I was given an order by General Syndulla to help. If ya don’t come get help, I’ll have ya answer to her.”
Kallus seemed to consider his options. Then, reluctantly, he nodded. “Fine… just make it brief, okay?”
“Sure, sure.”
The two slowly made their way through the Ghost, Zeb making sure to walk slow enough for Kallus to follow close behind. As they made their way through, Zeb realized what Kallus had been talking about. A few of the pilots and gunmen they’d picked up spared judging glances at Zeb’s blond shadow. A few whispers were shared. An annoyance pricked at Zeb’s fur, and he couldn’t help but shoot a glare at a couple of them in return. He understood their reasonings, he truly did. However, they had no idea what Kallus had sacrificed for them.
The two got away from the crowd over to Ezra and Zeb’s shared quarters.
“Heyyy, Fulcrum!” Ezra popped up beside Zeb to greet Kallus causing the Lasat to flinch in surprise. The kid’s Force connection made him the quietest walker in the Galaxy. “Fancy seeing you on this side of the firefight. Wow, you look like hell.”
Kallus cocked an eyebrow, “Jabba.”
Ezra nodded, “I also accept Spectre 6, Dev Morgan, and Lando Calrissian. Dealer’s choice.”
“Move it, meat-head,” Zeb said gruffly, pushing Ezra out of the way.
He gasped with mock hurt. “You see how he abuses me, Kal? No respect, even after I’ve saved his fluffy ass multiple times.”
“And who’ll save you after I toss ya out the airlock?“ Zeb growled, baring his teeth with no real bite. He pushed past a snickering Ezra through the doorway of their sleeping quarters, holding it open just long enough so Kallus could stumble in before letting it close in the kid’s face.
“Nice to see you two getting along,” Kallus mused.
Zeb grunted in response. He went over to the bunk bed and crouched down to grab one of the many medpacs they kept stored around the Ghost. It was Imperial, stolen from one of the supply crates they’d hijacked over the years, but it was spray painted with Sabine’s signature phoenix insignia. Inside were bacta-related supplies, rolls of bandages, medical tape, sanitary wipes, and a mediscanner that Ezra had dropped on the floor recently so it now wasn’t very accurate.
Kallus was still standing where Zeb left him by the door, his left hand messing with the end of his other glove. He moved his head around the room, scanning every surface. His body was stiff again, like moving would blow the room up with them inside.
“Ey, I’m not gonna bite. Take a seat.”
Kallus shifted over to a nearby revolving stool beside a small metal desk attached to the wall. He sat on it with legs and arms melded together as though glued.
Zeb would comment, but he could understand where Kallus was coming from. When he first was scooped up by Kanan and Hera after Lasan, he felt pretty out of place as well. Felt like he didn’t deserve to be there—safe and alive—after his own failures and mistakes. He had curled up in the corner of his bunk for what felt like whole rotations, just replaying the last few moments on Lasan in his head. Taking up as little room as possible.
“Where’s it worst?” Zeb asked, pulling another stool over with the medpac in his lap.
Kallus hesitated, his body moving back slightly. “It’s really fine, Garrazeb. I… appreciate the sentiment, but you guys having rescued me is truly enough.”
The captain’s lip upturned “You this stubborn towards Imperial medics too?”
Kallus smiled with no real joy. “I wouldn’t have let them near me even if they had offered to help.” His tone was humorous, but the reality of his words hit Zeb in his chest.
He tried not to think too long about Kallus limping around that cold, Imperial Starship with nobody offering to help. Cold and alone after Bahryn… Zeb had gone home to warmth and kindness. Sabine had gotten him blankets, Ezra cleaned his bed, and Hera & Kanan had made him tea and soup. Meanwhile, the warmest thing Kallus had experienced after being rescued was the meteorite Zeb left with him. The thought upset him more than he expected, so he made sure to calm himself before speaking, “Well… with the Rebellion, we care for each other. Anyone who needs help gets it, even ex-Imps with a tendency to annoy.”
Kallus’ smile turned more genuine. He looked extra tired there, Zeb noted. “Suppose I won’t be getting too much time to myself here?”
“Mate, I’ve been trying to get some alone time since The Agasar’s last album.”
A laugh Zeb had never heard before came from Kallus, “You listen to them too?”
Zeb’s ears perked up noticeably. “Karabast! Yes, what the hell… you listen to Eerin Siinaa?”
“Only like a hundred times.”
“Careful, mate, I’ll actually start liking ya with taste like that.” The two shared a laugh for what was probably the first time. Zeb noticed that the laugh made Kallus wince, so he continued poking at him. “A’ight, fun time is over. Lemme take a look at your wounds.”
The blond human was not at all excited by the ask, but this time he didn’t protest. He moved his arms with a wince to take off his chest armor and belt holding his shirt in place and dropped them onto the floor. He then more slowly lifted his shirt to show underneath; however, he froze when Zeb could barely see more than his naval.
“Gotta actually see what I’m working with if I’m gonna help,” Zeb said this more softly than before.
Did Kallus’ face get more red, or was it just his imagination? Either way, he hesitantly slipped one arm out of the Imperial shirt, careful in his movements and wincing occasionally as he did. He lifted his shirt up about three-quarters of the way, revealing a pretty muscular, scarred chest with an array of fresh bruises on his ribs, chest, and upper hips. One in particular near his left hip bloomed a magnificent shade of purple, almost as large as Zeb’s fist. It was bloody, the impact having ruptured skin and probably bruising, if not cracking, the rib underneath.
Zeb was about to ask Kallus to take off the whole shirt, but before he could, he swiveled the chair a little to the side to reveal a blaster wound had seared into his back near the still-covered shoulder. It had burned the fabric to his skin, which would make it very difficult to take off without tearing flesh or hurting exponentially from the movement. The blaster never exited, but significant damage had been done to the muscle and, most likely, the bone underneath.
“Karabast…” He hadn’t even seen it before then. Kriff, he hadn’t even looked at his backside, now that Zeb thought of it. Kallus had barely shown any indication that he was walking around with fresh blaster wounds in his back.
Kallus was dead silent now, looking away from Zeb’s face with an unreadable expression.
“Should’ve told someone… karabast, you should’ve told me before I hugged ya.”
“Nothing’s severe. Blaster was from a good distance, and a cheap red power cell. Plus I’ve… had worse.” He seemed embarrassed, spinning the chair around more so his back faced Zeb.
Zeb wondered just how severe the break must have been on Bahryn for Kallus to have so clearly shown his pain to him, even back when he was an enemy. He sighed loudly, not bothering to hide his disapproval. There was nothing he could do about it now though, except do what he could to patch him up.
“Gonna try and cut around the fabric… then I’ll help ya take the rest of the shirt off,” Zeb informed. When he got an approving nod, the Lasat used his claws to very carefully cut the fabric as close to the wound as he could without accidentally slicing melted flesh. Zeb’s hands had been shaking periodically since the end of the battle, so he had to double his focus to not jerk and cut the burn.
Eventually, he managed to cut the shirt free. Kallus raised the hurt arm partially so Zeb could slip the shirt off and over his head, careful not to accidentally touch the blaster wound. He then discarded it by the other cast-aside clothes.
With the rest of his shirt gone, Zeb could see the full extent of his injuries. Scars long healed over, and fresh wounds that would soon join them. During this time, Zeb noticed that the darker specks unique to Kallus’ face trailed down to the rest of his body. He hadn’t really paid them too much mind in the past, he had no reason to. However, now he couldn’t recall if he’d ever seen them on a human before.
“Well… let’s get to work,” Zeb commented.
Parts of his uniform had stuck to the burn, so Zeb tried to peel a piece of dark fabric off; however, it stuck tight. This elicited a small gasp of pain from Kallus, his body shuddering. “Sorry mate,” Zeb murmured, leaving the fabric alone. Instead, he grabbed a spray bottle from inside the pac with cool bacta inside, spraying the wound generously. The bacta inside was made particularly for burns; once it hit skin, it solidified more into a soothing gel that stuck more easily. It would hold the open wound together temporarily while waiting for stitches, and it would make it easier for the fabric to be removed later.
Kallus’ breathing had picked up the pace, his head falling to look down at his legs in front of him with eyes squeezed closed.
“Should help soothe the pain, at least until we can get you to proper medic droids,” Zeb reassured.
Kallus nodded. He hesitantly spun the chair back around, letting the front of his body get worked on.
Zeb tried to work quickly, but carefully. He put bacta patches on the worst bruises, cleaning off any cuts or crusted blood that came across his path, wrapping anything open. Human skin always felt odd. it was soft, not weirdly smooth like Zeb imagined it to be. Less coarse than his own exposed skin that wasn't covered with fur. Kallus had his face turned away the entire time Zeb was working on him, biting back any noises and stifling any flinches. Anytime he couldn’t manage to shove one down, he turned away a little further.
“Okay, just about done here,” Zeb commented, “Can move to your face now–”
“I can get that,” Kallus finally turned back to face Zeb, his voice cracking.
Zeb stared at him. He looked frightened, like any touch would send him screeching and dashing away like a startled tooka cat. More of his blond hair had fallen into his face while Zeb had been treating him, and he had sweat glistening on his skin.
Zeb frowned, but never lost the softness in his tone. “I won’t hurt ya, mate.”
“…I know.”
“Then let me help,” he placed a hand on Kallus’ good shoulder as a quiet ask for his trust.
Kallus’ glanced at the larger hand on him, before narrowing his good eye at Zeb. “Why are you doing this?”
Zeb pulled his hand back, crossing them again over his chest. “There’s no reason. It’s just what we do here. We care for each other like family, no matter what mistakes we’ve made or what it took to get to this point or how unreasonable it may be. If I had been injured, my Crew would be the one to fix me up again, and vice versa.” Zeb brought his hand back down to his side. “Maybe in the future if ya… stick around… you’ll be the one takin’ care of me–” he smirked. “–It’s doubtful though.”
Kallus faintly smiled then. His irises jumped around Zeb’s face, like he was looking for something that wasn't quite there. Looking for an out, or a sign of deception. He must have failed because he sighed, nodding in a quiet surrender.
“It’ll be quick,” Zeb promised, retrieving a small tub of bacta gel and wipes. The patches were too large, and he didn’t want to use the bacta spray on his face, so he opted to manually apply it. He moved some of his hair that was in the way and used the wipes to clean away the sweat and crusted blood. He then gently rubbed the bacta around his bruised eye, making sure to not miss any point of bruising.
Zeb could hear Kallus’ breathing halt, and felt his muscles tense under his touch. Zeb worried for a moment that he’d change his mind, but soon both of Kallus’ eyes fluttered closed and those same muscles began to relax, his body leaning ever so slightly into Zeb’s touch.
The Lasat’s fur prickled up his back, a nervous, fuzzy feeling squeezing his chest softly.
How long had Kallus been taking care of himself before now? Zeb thought of his time on Onderon that he'd detailed on Bahryn. Had he taken care of himself after that time as well? How many of the scars on his body would have healed fully if he’d been able to get proper treatment by another?
Once Zeb was finished, he leaned back a little too eagerly, setting the supplies down in the pac. “Alright, you’re good to go,” he announced, “We should be reaching our rendezvous point soon, so we can get you some proper treatment. I’ll uh, go see if Kanan has any spare shirts you can use while ya wait.”
Kallus opened his eyes, bringing a hand up to touch some of the bacta on his face. He then dipped his head with gratitude, “Thank you, Garazeb.”
A rough snort sounded from his throat. “Ey, c’mon. It’s Zeb,” he smiled, patting Kallus’ good shoulder playfully, “No need to be so strict. We’re friends now, aren’t we?”
Kallus was momentarily taken aback, but a smile was quick to replace it. “Something like that. Thank you… Zeb.”
Zeb nodded. Kallus still seemed tired, but a bit of the life he was used to seeing had returned to his face. The evidence of how badly it had been beaten out of him was apparent on his body, but the strength inside the ex-Imperial, now Rebel, shone even brighter. Zeb could no longer blame himself for not noticing the severity of his wounds prior; the man could probably take a lightsaber in the chest and be back logging reports that same night.
With nothing more to say, the two looked at each other for a few outstretched ticks.
Zeb’s ears twitched back. He should probably leave… let Kallus have some time to himself; however, that aching worry—that care he couldn’t seem to ever escape—it gnawed at his stomach as he thought of Kallus being alone with his wounds for too long again.
The man had aided the Empire in countless atrocities over the years, hurting and killing and torturing. He’d contributed to the fall of most of his planet’s people, ravaged his home and his dreams. He’d hurt him, but Zeb couldn’t hate him. Not since Bahryn. Not since he saved the new family he’s built from the ground from utter destruction. Not since he saw him crawl and fight tooth and nail to make up for his mistakes.
The human wasn’t helping Zeb either, staring up at him with gold that he’d never seen in human eyes before, framed with cheeks adorned with star maps. Who could ever leave him alone like that?
“Spectre-4, report to the cockpit.” Hera’s commanding voice over Zeb’s comm made both men start.
Zeb shook his head, rubbing his eyes to clear his unruly thoughts. “Guess that’s my cue.” He took the opportunity to close up the medpac then stood up from the stool to make his way out.
Kallus eyed him carefully. “Make sure you also get to those other Rebels like you mentioned.”
Zeb looked down at him with a playful smirk, “Look at you, letting that soft rebel heart loose already.”
Using his good arm, Kallus lightly pushed Zeb with a scoff. “I guess I… have an adequate role model.”
The Lasat smiled more kindly now, “”Adequate’... I’ll take it. Get some rest, and I’ll uh… come check up on ya in a bit. Bring that shirt.”
With nothing else tethering him to Kallus, Zeb scurried from his quarters. He only remained gazing at the other side of the shut door for a few thoughtful ticks before forcing his feet onward.