Work Text:
Kallus still couldn't believe his luck. He had actually escaped from his capture, Thrawn caught him - found out that he was the one behind codename Fulcrum - and yet, here he was, alive. Barely so, but he was. When he came into his position as rebel spy, he knew it would be dangerous, knew he could be caught, captured and killed every moment, especially with Thrawn out to catch him. The thought had cost Kallus more than one night of sleep. He couldn't remember a single night of good rest since he began his role, yet he deemed it an acceptable sacrifice.
He found himself on board of the the Ghost, his escape pod having been picked up by the Rebels, and leaned against one of the walls of the cargo holds.
Kanan had come by shortly after he entered the ship and thanked him for his service before he took to taking care of some of the actual rebels who had gotten hurt in the battle of Atollon, in passing, Kallus had seen a few people who had seen better days. Some had wounds that would be healed in no time with a bit of Bacta, others on the other hand didn't get so lucky, just by glancing at them Kallus could tell they would need surgery and physiotherapy. They would need to take it easy - take some time to rest and heal - despite the present circumstances lacking everything but a relaxing environment.
Kallus considered himself one of the lucky ones. Maybe he couldn't breathe as easily as usual and his leg was acting up again, but he knew what Thrawn was capable of. What the Chiss could and would have done to Kallus if he hadn't been after the Rebels. He wouldn't have gotten away with a few broken ribs and a black eye. He probably wouldn't have gotten away at all if Pryce hadn't been stupid enough to put him in an elevator with two stormtroopers. He was injured, but he was still an ISB-agent.
He took a look around the ship. He had spent years chasing after the VCX-100, and now he was actually aboard, even if he wasn't after the crew now, he was still curious to see what it looked like from the inside. He could tell this wasn't just a ship to the spectres, it was a home. Beyond the technical modifications it had objects scattered across every surface, a cup of caf here, a helmet there.
Looking around he also saw the looks of the other passengers, the rebels who had risked their life every day to fight for the rebellion, the ones he had once chased and tried to kill, they threw at him. They still saw him as an imperial. And the uniform he was still wearing was definitely not helping.
They looked at him like he was the enemy, casting glances at him and then continuing to whisper between each other. He couldn't blame them really, he wouldn't trust himself either. They didn't know what he had been through, what he had done and sacrificed to help the rebellion from within the empire. He couldn't take it anymore and fled to a more secluded area of the ship that he vaguely believed to be a storage room.
Suddenly his leg gave out under his weight and he let out a pained groan. Using the wall to support his weight, he slowly sat down on the floor, his leg throbbing with pain worse than it had during his time on Bahryn. It had never healed after his venture on the ice-moon, partially because he didn't go to the infirmary despite the pain, having only bandaged it himself with the few bandages and bacta patches he could nick from the infirmary. It had probably never healed properly. And the way Thrawn kicked the exact spot it had been broken in originally all that time ago, he knew where it hurt. The way Kallus got to know him, the Chiss could probably hear how his other leg carried more weight since Bahryn. With the luck Kallus had had regarding his leg and judging by the blinding pain he was currently in, it was likely to be broken again.
Only now did he notice that his vision was worse than it usually was. Everything was blurry and especially fuzzy around the edges.
His head pounded. Despite his sitting down, the world spun and he felt the urge to vomit, and most likely would have done so, if he would have been able to stomach more than a quarter of his ration bar that morning. He rested his head in his hands and gently rubbed his temples, trying to massage away the headache - with no luck.
With the adrenaline leaving his body, the pain grew to be worse and the fatigue overcame him, the humming of the ship and the soft murmuring of voices lulling him to sleep.
He woke up with a start, and was confused where he was for a moment, not finding himself in the sparse room he had called his home for the past years. He was disoriented, the last thing he remembered was Thrawn catching him in the act of sending a transmission as Fulcrum. As he checked his surroundings, the memories slipped back into his mind. The escape. The rescue by the rebels. The other passengers.
The headache was still there, along with the blurred vision.
Looking around, he found the reason for his stumbling awake, the blurry outline of the orange C1 astromech droid that usually accompanied the other rebels stood at his side, beeping abuse at him, rolling back and forth prodding his (fortunately healthy) leg in the process. The robot seemed to want to tell Kallus something, but he wasn't overly familiar with decimal, especially not in his current state. The droid kept nodding in one direction, and Kallus understood that he was supposed to follow him.
Getting up seemed more of a challenge than anticipated. His leg still gave out under him, not able to carry his weight. The pants he wore seemed to have ripped alongside his ache, and just a glance in its direction revealed, that his leg definitely was not doing too well; it was swelling and already bruised in a dark and hideous purple-black.
No wonder it had hurt like hell.
Kallus heaved himself from the ground, once again groaning at the pain the movement shot through his head and leg. Using the astromech - Chopper - he remembered now, to support himself take the weight off his leg and limp beside the droid, the C1 led the ex-imperial to the common room. The door opened with a loud swoosh, notifying everyone of his presence.
The crew, consisting of Hera Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus, Ezra Bridger, Sabine Wren, an ex-clone trooper Kallus didn't know the name of and, lastly, Garazeb Orrelios was gathered there. They all looked at him with wide eyes. The urge to leave filled Kallus, but it was no use. They had already seen them. Kallus glanced around the small room, his gaze lingering on Zeb for a moment and the spy could swear he could see something adjacent to worry in Garazeb’s eyes.
The phoenix cell sat around a small table, the clone-trooper and Zeb competing in a game of holotactics. And it looked like the clone was winning, judging by the way his Gorger ripped Zeb’s droids head off.
The whole room was way too noisy for Kallus’ liking. The cacophony going on only increased his severe headache. The monitors beeping, the loud laughs of the crew, the quieter mix of noises by the other passengers and the ever present hum of the engines. Kallus wished he could just cover his ears. His head was aching and the lights were way too bright. Was it hot in here? It couldn't be, they were in space after all.
“Hey Kal, you alright?” His thoughts were interrupted by the Lasat. He must have gotten up while Kallus was stuck in his thoughts as he stood right in front of him now. His paw hovering over Kallus’ shoulder, not sure if he was allowed to touch him, clearly not wanting to overstep Kallus’ boundaries. The Lasat usually towered over the human, but now, they were practically eye to eye. He must have crouched down.
“Kallus?”
Oh right, he was so dumbfounded by Zeb suddenly being by his side that he forgot to answer.
“Yeah, yeah. I'm alright” he answered absentmindedly. Before his vision filled with black dots and breathing got harder with every second. He could feel himself sweating, cold and clammy. He could feel himself fall in slow-motion and then everything went black.
He heard voices, first muffled and he couldn't make out what they said, but slowly they began getting clearer and he could hear them properly now.
Someone repeatedly asked “What do we do know?”, while another voice suggested that he’d have to eat something to get his blood sugar up while another proposed checking for inward injury.
He couldn't make out the people behind the voices yet, still slightly disoriented.
He opened his eyes and everything seemed fuzzy. He stared ahead, and after a few moments realised he looked up at the ceiling. Was he lying down? He must have collapsed, but he couldn't remember it. He tried sitting up, using his hand to prop himself up, but every movement made his chest ache.
"Look!” a voice called out, and Kallus identified it as Ezra Bridger. He gazed at him, but his vision didn't clear. He blinked a few times, but to no avail.
He made out the vague shape of the blue-haired boy, standing next to a blob of green, Hera, and a big figure of purple, Garazeb.
Ezra pointed at him, and the others looked in his direction. Despite his blurred vision, Kallus could see how Garazeb’s expression changed. From worry to relief.
“Kallus!” He yelped before crossing the room in a quick stride “You're up".
“Excellent observation” was Kallus sarcastic remark, a tiny smile on his face.
“Why didn't you say anything? You just collapsed while I was talking to you. You could have hurt your head if I hadn't caught you.” The concern had made a return.
“If I would have known I would pass out I would have told you"
Kallus was saved by Hera, handing him a ration bar. “Eat this” she commanded.
He reached out a hand to grab it, and missed it by a landslide, grabbing nothing but air. He tried again, and luckily got the bar in his hand.
Garazeb would never let him hear the end of this, if he found out he had problems with his vision. He'd probably urge him to go to the medical bay and waste the little resources the rebellion had.
He quickly ate his ration bar while Zeb and Ezra rattled on about one of their past missions, but Kallus only half listened to them.
“Not long now” Hera called out, and after about half a standard hour later, the Ghost touched ground again.
They got up and made their way outside when Kallus bumped straight into Chopper, who beeped abuse at him for the second time that day. He brushed it off, saying he just hadn't seen the droid, and the spectres paid it no further mind. All except Garazeb. He noticed something was off about the ex-ISB-agent and put his arm around Kallus shoulder, guiding him outside with no further accidents.
Kallus wasn't sure where exactly they were, but lots of green filled his vision.
Judging by the green and the humidity they must have been on some kind of jungle planet.
Zeb exclaimed “Welcome to Yavin 4” and let Kallus take it all in for a moment.
Hera, Kanan, Ezra, Sabine and Chopper already made their way towards the base, ready to debrief, but Zeb just let them pass, until he was alone with Kallus.
“Kallus, what’s going on with you?” he inquired with a soft voice, his paw once again resting on Kallus shoulder.
“I don't know what you mean, I am perfectly fine”, was the curt answer he received.
“Don't lie to me, Kal. The others might believe you, but I can see that you're not alright. You keep bumping into things. You, the one who is usually hyper-vigilant of his surroundings. And I saw how you took two tries to take that ration bar. I’m not stupid Kal, what's truly going on? You can tell me, I just want to help you.” He insisted.
Kallus hesitated for a moment before giving in “Fine. Since I woke up after I collapsed everything is slightly blurry. I seem to have struggles with my depth perception and the chronic pain in my head and chest isn't helping the situation.”
“Oh, Kal.” Was all Zeb said, before taking hold of Kallus, leading him away, straight past where the others were debriefing their mission. Kallus was still limping, his leg not better yet.
“Wait! Zeb! Don’t I have to give my side of the battle as well?”
“Yes, but not now. Now, you need to heal.” He pressed with a gentleness and led him further, and Kallus just let him.
They stood in the room that Zeb had called the med bay. And Kallus began to miss the Empire. This was the med bay? They were a few beds with accompanying curtains, all taken up by people that seemed like they really needed it.
What confused Kallus was the lack of med-droids. If this was the med-bay, where were they? He watched as a woman made her way to one of the beds and took to taking care of a pilot in orange uniform, who ended up with a deep flesh wound that was bleeding uncontrollably, dressing his wounds with bacta and bandages.
They had people take care of the wounded? That was unusual.
The whole bay also seemed different than the ones Kallus was used to. Less cold, less eerily white and quiet. Everything seemed to be sterile, but there were paintings on the walls and the persons seemed to talk to each other.
This would take some getting used to.
Luckily Zeb pushed him into the room and they were seen to quickly.
After a few tests and scans, they got rushed out of the room, with fresh bacta, bandages and painkillers and Kallus got told to rest as much as possible.
Zeb continued to lead him, and led him straight to a small room, with a bed and cupboard, the room was dim, since there was no window.
‘So this is it then’, Kallus thought, recognising the room as a prison cell.
Zeb put down his medicine and left, excusing himself with a “be back soon”.
And now Kallus was alone. Again.
He sat down and put his leg up. Taking the weight off of it, relieved his pain immediately and the headache had gotten better as well.
The loneliness creeped up on him; the room being relatively empty and way too quiet.
Suddenly there was a knock at a door, before it opened with a whoosh and Zeb re-entered, carrying a stack of clothes.
“Are these my prison garments?” Kallus questioned, his tone colder than earlier that day on the Ghost.
“Prison?” Zeb asked flabbergasted before clarifying, “You're not a prisoner, Kal.”
“But you left me in this room. Alone. And I did so many terrible things. I killed so many people and hurt even more. I killed your people.” He began sobbing and went on “I ruined so many lives, just because I was told to, I never questioned it until Bahryn. I - I-” he stuttered, interrupted by the sobs breaking from his throat.
Zeb put the clothes down on the bed and sat beside the blond “Hey, hey, Kallus. Calm down. You're here now. So what if it took a little longer? You reached your destination and that's all that matters. You asked questions and realised what you did was wrong. You risked your life for us. For the rebellion; doesn't that count for something?” While he talked, he stroked his hand over Kallus back in a calming motion, feeling his breathing slow down with each spoken word.
Kallus nodded, too tired for words, his head practically leaning on the lasats shoulder.
They stayed like that for a moment - just enjoying each other's company.
It wasn't long until Kallus’ eyes took longer to open after every blink until they stayed closed and he dozed off, head naturally finding its new position on Garazeb’s shoulder. This soon was accompanied by a soft, rhythmic snoring. To be fair he was barely snoring - it was more like a gentle steady inhale-exhale pattern.
Zeb enjoyed the moment for as long as he could. Seeing Kallus be completely unguarded and vulnerable. It was a new sight to the man he usually perceived as untouchable and cold. It made his chest ache with an indescribable warmth, leaning into the soft touch on his shoulder; softly stroking the other man’s back. Until his comlink beeped and he had to go, do his part of the debrief. Their silence was interrupted, but Kallus didn't seem to mind, apparently having drifted off into a deep slumber.
Zeb gently took Kallus’ head of his shoulder and tried his best to put him into a comfortable horizontal position, complicated by the fact that a) Kallus was an injured man and b) he was still wearing his uniform.
For a moment, Zeb considered taking it off, or at least removing the chest plate, allow Kallus to be a bit more comfortable, but he decided against it, not wanting to invade the ex-imperials privacy, when there was already going on so much Kallus had to get used to.
Kallus bolted upright, unaware of his surroundings. This wasn't his usual room, and the machines seemed louder than usual. His heart was pounding and he was gasping for air. He was looking around and started to panic. Had the empire put him away for good? Would he be put on trial or prosecuted? He committed high treason, it would be more than enough for the death penalty. His panic was interrupted as he spotted the rebel logo he had often seen sprayed by Sabine. He was with the rebels? Huh.
It struck him finally as the memories of the day before (was it the day before? Kallus wasn't sure, it was incredibly hard to navigate time in a room without natural lighting, especially on an unfamiliar planet) of Garazeb dropping of some clothes. His shoulder rose and fell rapidly in time with his ragged breath just getting back to normal. He was safe. Or as safe as he could be in the midst of war.
Kallus took a deep breath, attempting to control his breathing like he learned all those years ago at the academy.
This seemed to have been a mistake, as he did not just inhale some fresh air, but he also caught a whiff of himself. He stank. He was still in his uniform. He had worn it for a few days straight now. He needed a shower.
He took off his uniform slowly, his ribs still sore from the beating by the Chiss.
It felt odd, taking off his uniform, knowing that he wouldn't put it on again. He folded the shirt and pants in a neat pile, before putting his chest plate upon it. One more glance, and he was off towards the fresher connected to his little room. He adjusted the heat, after pulling the handle of the temperature controller, not quite used to such a device. He jumped, when warm water hit his head. In the empire, all freshers had the same temperature- a pleasant 16°C. The warmth was new; pleasant and irritating at the same time.
Tuning slowly in the fresher, he was perplexed by someone staring right at him. It took him a long second until realisation hit him that it was his reflection looking back at him. He was looking into a mirror. He scanned himself up and down, observing that he was leaner (well skinnier, but Kallus preferred the term leaner) than usual. His shoulders and legs were well muscled by all his years spent sparring. He was well scarred all over; On the right side of his chest a three-inch jagged white line. His earliest mission injury, Onderon. The rebel mercenary, had got him good and knocked him out. Killed everyone, but let him get away with a few bruises and scars. On the outside of his left knee, he had a patch of red raised skin. A burn scar, that still followed him at night.
His body was a map of war. Of destruction. Destruction that he had caused. So much destruction. Pain. Suffering. Misery. All because of him.
He was stuck in his thoughts again. He didn’t even notice, until suddenly Zeb appeared in his field of vision.
“Kal?” A moment.
“Kal, are you alright? You’ve been in here for quite some time“ he pressed again. No answer. “Kallus, I’m going to come in if you don't respond”. Receiving no answer, Zeb made the call to check in on Kal, and burged in the fresher.
Clearly, Kallus hadn't been expecting him to do that. The human stared at the lasat. His usually ginger hair was darkened by the water, contrasting the pale skin. His eyes were teary and Zeb wasted no time asking
“What happened?”
Everything. Nothing. He couldn't say. He didn't know. He couldn't remember a life without the empire. Without the pain.
A sob broke from his throat “I-, I-” he swallowed hard and took a deep breath "I-, I killed all these people. Innocent people. Children. Mothers. Fathers. Without me, they’d- they’d still be alive.” His knees bucked, and he slid down the fresher wall, sitting there all curled in on himself. His shoulders rising and falling from the sobs shaking his body.
Now that he though of it, his entire life was a mistake.
“Kal, stop.” The lasat entered Kallus space, and put a paw on each of his shoulders, trying to calm him down, while still signaling that he would be there for him.
"Alexandr, you have done some terrible things. But we’ve all done things we aren't proud of now. What matters is, that you realised that. You stopped. You’ve left the empire. And now you could be whoever you wanna be, even someone good. If you want to”.