Note: This story will be taking place during the months that separate season three from season four set over multiple chapters. The shipping between Garazeb and Kallus will be slow-burn.

Warnings: Descriptions of torture, homoeroticism, violence, blood. (If I miss something that can seen as a potential trigger for someone, please let me know in the comments.)

Summary: Kallus' heart is with the Rebellion, however his mind has yet to catch up. From his recovery on Yavin IV to his first mission as a Rebel soldier, this is Kallus' journey from former Agent turned Fulcrum, to Captain Kallus of the Rebellion. Garazeb/Kallus


The scent of burnt flesh and blood was thick in the air. The nauseating smell grew to a near unbearable stench, a crescendo to the chorus of pain, orchestrated by broken sobs and choked moans that sang throughout the ship's overcrowded passageway. The symphony of scent descended into a soft piano, temporarily, as the ship's ventilation system cycled clean oxygen through its vents. Once the cycling stopped, the smell rose again and with it, the Rebels' anger and fury also increased. Hateful glares and furiously spat insults grew more bold and blatant with every passing minute, for with all their suffering, there was an easy target to blame, one that wore the black bullseye of an imperial officer. A rather infamous one, in fact.

Agent Kallus. No, that was not right. Former Agent Kallus.

He stood leaning lightly against the ship's bulkhead toward the front of the vessel, arms crossed over his armor and perfectly trimmed brows furrowed.

Much as he was owed their ire, he did not have time for it, arrogant as that may sound. The pain could also be ignored for the moment, as the former Agent had more pressing matters to consider than a few cracked ribs and potential internal bleeding, for with every parsec the Ghost flew closer toward Yavin IV, Kallus' window of opportunity to plan his escape slipped farther away. Once they reached the planet's orbit, it would be gone from him completely.

He could not fully formulate his plan without seeing the Rebel's base first, but he at least needed to be partially prepared for their arrival.

Kallus held no illusions regarding his status aboard the Ghost. He was a captive in all but name. The only reason there were no shackles on his wrists was that there were none to be had. Understandable; he doubted cuffs had been at the top of the priority list of Rebellion leadership as they made their evacuation. There was also the injured to tend to, though not Kallus, of course. He had expected as much, but of the nineteen Rebels who had used the Ghost as their means of escape, two had perished. Three were mortally wounded and essentially waiting for death.

Putting them out of their misery now would be Kallus' suggestion, if he were in any position to give suggestions. Their pained breathing added to the ventilation system's strain, they used up medical supplies that would ultimately prove redundant, and consumed rations better left to those who still stood a chance at survival.

He knew the medical supplies and rations, what little the ship held, would not be making their way to him. The single Rebel medic onboard had not asked if he required attention and Kallus had not requested any. He would not deepen the debt he already owed to the crew of the Ghost by using what little they had on himself.

He would not—he did not…

Kallus' fist clenched and he held back a wince. During his skirmish with Grand Admiral Thrawn his right thumb had been jammed and he had yet had the time to set it right. Doing so during his escape from Thrawn's Star Destroyer would have likely cost him his life. But pulling it now, in front of the Rebels, would cost him is pride: currently his most valuable possession.

It was all the former Agent had left.

So much as a slight tremor or shakily taken breath could give away his weakness to hateful, hungry eyes, starving to see the Imperial hurt as they do: bleed as they do, and to see him battered and broken. And while Kallus was indeed battered, he was certainly not broken. Though their suffering did strike deep into the ex-agent's… heart(?) and he felt guilt, he did not give into it. Would not give into it so long as he was aboard the Ghost.

There would be time for self-pity later- after he was well and truly free, if such a thing was even possible.

Kallus' good eye twitched as a scent far worse than death began clogging the halls with its foul odor. His stomach rolled. It would appear as though the corpses had finally begun releasing their bowels.

Well, if that was not a sign to leave, Kallus did not know what was, other than Governor Pryce ordering him to be thrown out an airlock, of course.

Kallus smirked at his own internally made joke, causing the scab over his lip to split open and blood to slowly ooze to its surface. He quickly swiped it away with his tongue.

Uncrossing his arms from his chest, Kallus placed his hands against the gray bulkhead and braced for the pain as he pushed himself from the wall, preparing to find solitude and a datapad. There was much information to impart before he… departed. A partial plan already began to form in the Imperial's head.

The sound of a door sliding open caused him to freeze, almost guiltily, where he stood.

He turned to see the Jedi Knight, Kanan Jarrus, walking toward the front of the ship with a slow, measured gait. Even without eyes to direct the man's steps, it was obvious to all in the room whom the masked man was seeking: not his fellow Rebels, but the Imperial who stood among them. Could… Did the Jedi sense Kallus' desire for escape? Or had the man simply realized the crew's earlier blunder in not locking him up immediately after boarding the Ghost?

The cold grip of fear, the one that had held his heart captive for nearly four months, clenched just a little bit tighter around the organ.

The ex-Agent hoped—blast there was that word again – it was the latter. The latter he could work with, the former would complicate things, like his escape plans once the vessel was grounded. Shackles he could deal with, but a suspicious Jedi had more than once proven too much for the former Agent's abilities. Perhaps he could waylay the Jedi's suspicions with honesty, sincerity, and genuinely felt gratitude.

His stomach churned at the thought. Maker, what had become of him?

The Jedi stopped directly in front of Kallus and the Imperial used the opportunity to express himself.

"Kanan, thank you," he said, pausing to collect his thoughts. "For taking me in." There. That had been simple. That had been sincere. He watched the blind man hesitantly, waiting to see if he... bought it? No, no, believed him. There was a difference in the phrasing. He truly was grateful for the rescue, one he had not deser—

A hand clamped down on his bruised shoulder and Kallus once again had to force back a wince.

"Thank you for risking," the Jedi wavered for a split-second, before continuing, voice stronger than before. "Everything." The last word was spoken louder than the others and Kallus' eyes flashed briefly toward the Rebels who were strewn about the passageway. Their hate filled eyes lowered as his own hazel-brown met them. Ah, so that was it.

Clever Jedi.

Jarrus left and it was all the former Agent could do to keep himself from chuckling. The man had laid the rabble to rest. Speaking out against the Imperial openly after that little speech would be to speak out against their Jedi Knight, something no intelligent Rebel would do if they ever wanted to climb in the ranks of their Rebellion.

With the Jedi gone and the Rebels no longer murmuring threats of his demise under their breath, two of Kallus' largest obstacles toward his goal had been removed. Now all the ex-Agent needed was a datapad and solitude. From what he had overheard from the Clone in the bridge, only three hyper-space jumps stood before him and Yavin IV, perhaps leaving him with just enough time to prepare for their landing and his own escape, but only if he were to obtain what he needed in a timely manner.

He doubted the Clone, Rex, would be able to procure what Kallus needed. Neither would the AP-5 unit, but the other droid, the C1-10P, had behaved quite cordially toward him upon their meeting in the Lothol factory. If there was any being likely to have a datapad readily available, it was the astromech. Asking was worth an attempt, at least.

He pressed the button next to him, the one that opened the bridge's doors, and stepped through them as they opened. The metal doors slid softly shut once he was fully inside and the Clone turned his bald head to look at who had joined them only to swiftly turn back toward the blue expanse of hyperspace. The man had reacted quickly, but not before the former Agent had been given the opportunity to see into Rex's eyes. The previous mirth had been replaced with cold distrust, though not hate, Kallus was surprised to note. A rarity among the Ghost's crew.

"Oh, Agent Kallus," a monotone voice called to him, pulling his attention away from the Clone. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

Kallus raised an eyebrow at that, but never the less gave the AP-5 unit his full attention.

"Is that so?" He intoned.

"Oh, yes, I once served aboard a ship under your command. I recall you having quite an attention to detail."

The former agent stared at the droid for several solid seconds before he finally spoke. Though, not entirely familiar with the AP-5, Kallus had read enough about the unit to know how his response ought to be tailored to gain a favorable result.

"Ah, the AP-5 inventory unit. Yes, I remember you." He tilted his head in false recognition. "I also seem to recall the ship's stores never being as organized as they were under your expert direction."

The unit stared at him with its large, inexpressive optical sensors, then turned down to look at its C1-10P companion. Then back to Kallus. Then once again back to the astromech. Then—

Rex let out a loud sigh and the C1-10P shook its orange helm solemnly, beeping at him.

He gave them both an incredulous look. "What do you mean he'll be impossible now?"

The orange and white astromech beeped some more, bringing out its miniature arms and crossing them over its wide-round chassis.

That seemed to snap the AP-5 unit out of whatever daze he had been in. The droid turned sharply toward his companion and leveled it with a sound smack across the helm. Kallus startled at the sudden turn to violence.

"What—"

He was interrupted.

"Why of course I deserved the compliment. You're just jealous no one ever finds you useful." The AP-5 unit turned his helm up at the shorter mech.

More beeps and whirs came from the C1-10P and Kallus didn't even bother to stop his eyes from rolling.

"You're both useful. Much of the Rebels' early success can be solely credited to C1-10P and the Empire's custom of underestimating droids." He shifted, putting more of his weight onto his good leg. "And much of their success afterward can be accredited to you both." He puffed hot air through his nose, glaring at them both. Glory hounds turned out to be just as insufferable within the Rebellion as they had in the Empire.

Both metallic beings regarded one another in silence, glaring without eyes. It was Rex who finally broke the silence.

By laughing.

"You heard it from the Imp himself," the man shook with his laughter. "You're both the secret to the Rebellion's success. So how about you two stop bickering every time so much as a button's pushed, eh?"

Kallus eyed the navigation console. There were quite a few buttons to be found there.

"We do make a pretty good team," AP-5 conceded. The smaller of the mechs whirred in agreement.

"Now that that's settled," Rex once again looked upon the Imperial with distrustful eyes, though the coldness there had faded, Kallus was amazed to note. "What can we do you for, Agent Kallus? I doubt you came in here for the company." An accusatory glance was given to the droid and astromech before the Clone's gaze once again settled on Kallus.

"Former Agent," he corrected before continuing. "And while I find nothing wrong with your particular company, you are correct in assuming it is not the reason for my visit." He looked down at the C1-10P unit. "I find myself in need of a datapad. I had hoped," he stopped, recalling the astromech's name. "Chopper, would be able to assist me in this matter."

The astromech did not even hesitate, reaching into its own chassis to pull out a faintly glowing datapad. Kallus reached for it, but before he could grasp it, the Clone stopped him.

"Wait," there was that distrust. "What do you need it for?"

Kallus stared directly into Rex's suspicious brown eyes and offered nothing but the truth in return.

"There is a limited time frame for the Imperial access codes and passwords I possess to be useful to your Rebellion. I intend to use the datapad to record them so that they may be given to your command expediently upon reaching Yavin IV. The sooner your leaders are given this information, the sooner you Rebels can put it to good use," he paused, adding, "Before it's too late."

The Clone's brows raised and the suspicion in his eyes gave way to another emotion- surprise.

"You're right," the older man agreed. "Good idea, former Agent Kallus." The last was said with a smile and now it was Kallus' turn to be surprised. He hid it poorly.

"Ah, thank you, Rex."

What had just happened?

The X-1 series, apparently having grown impatient with the former Agent, tossed the datapad at Kallus' chest. The Imperial almost didn't catch it, too busy still reeling from the shock of the Clone's sudden change in demeanor. He was pulled from his confusion when the astromech shocked him, literally.

"Ow!" Kallus growled. "Why, you little…"

He lifted the datapad in his hand high and even as his shoulders protested from the strain, Kallus thought the resulting pain would be worth it if only to enact some small amount of revenge against the mechanoid for shocking him.

"Now, now, none of that Chopper," The AP-5 unit scolded his companion. "Everyone is more well liked than you."

Kallus could see the ensuing argument was going to be a rather lengthy one, most likely violent, and certainly not one he had any intention of staying for.

"With that," he shot the C1-10P unit a glare. "I'll take my leave. Unless of course," he turned his attention back to Rex. "You require something of me?" Maker, he hoped not. While being polite and playing to the Rebels' overly trusting nature was essential for his plan to work, he really was in no position to be taking requests. Not with his broken leg, cracked ribs, swollen eye, bruised and strained muscles, and if Kallus could get a good look at his pupils in a mirror to confirm- a possible concussion.

"No, think I'm all good here. Well," Rex jabbed a thumb in the droids' direction. "Good as I can be with these two around."

Kallus offered a smile, knowing the comment was intended to be humorous. His lip split open again.

"Then I should be going. There is much to do before we land." He nodded toward the clone then the two bickering mechs, though he doubted they even noticed him as he left the ship's bridge, managing to limp only slightly through its open doors.

Before he could close the doors, the Clone called out to him once more, softer than before. "Oh, and Kallus," Rex looked intentionally down at the Imperial's right leg then back up to his battered face. "You might want to get that looked at."

His response was to close the doors while still looking the Clone directly in the eyes, making sure no weakness shown in their hazel-brown depths.

Once the doors were closed, Kallus allowed his own eyelids to droop, closing his eyes for only a moment. That was all he needed, just a moment to gather his strength and steel himself for the oncoming walk he would have to take to find the solitude he needed. Before he began, though, he would need to think through his possible options; he had time to rest, if only for a few short moments.

The cargo bay was out of the question, as was the ship's recreational room. Both cannons were currently manned, and the former Agent knew better than to go snooping though the Ghost crews' personal quarters. He was looking for solitude, not to get shot. That left him with…

The refresher.

Repulsive as the prospect was, with so many invalids and unconscious aboard the ship, the refresher was unlikely to be occupied. And even if it was, Kallus was confident his presence alone would be enough to scare off any Rebels within. Well, most Rebels, he thought ruefully. The Imperial doubted young Ezra Bridger would be deterred by the stormy gaze of an ex-Agent he had literally flung though a glass pane with little more than a wave of his hand.

Barring the Crew of the Ghost, Kallus was confident in his ability to procure the much-needed solitude within the refresher. With that in mind he opened his eyes and began to walk, slowly, not bothering to use the walls to support his own almost too heavy body weight. There were still Rebels in the passageway, though fewer than before. But one Rebel was one too many; none could be privy to his current state.

The near unbearable pain, how his ribs screamed with every movement, the broken pieces pressing dangerously close to his lungs, his shoulder and arms pushed to their limits after being stretched up over his head as he was hung from the center of an interrogation cell. The deep bone aching pain of his leg that had never set right, only to be broken again by Thrawn shortly after his capture, how his eyes burned with the effort to remain open, and let's not forget his almost-certain concussion.

Every step he took, as calm and steady as he appeared, was agony. What saved him from falling was his Imperial Security Bureau training and the fact that he had honestly been through worse, long ago, while orbiting the troubled world of Alderaan.

He took in a deep breath- pushing the thought from his mind -and could not stop the wince that flashed across his face as his lungs protested the action.

Close, he was so very close to his destination. Black spots began to dance across the ex-Agent's vision, but he continued, albeit with less straightforward steps. What few Rebels remained in the corridor eyed him warily, much of their hate having given way to exhaustion. Hate took work, and the tired Rebels were in no condition to expand that much energy on an Imperial. Not that he blamed them, he was hardly worth the effort. Not worth anything, really…

It was with that thought that Kallus pressed the bright red button that would open the refresher door. His steps into the room were hastily taken, and the former Agent almost tripped over his own feet as his broken leg decided it no longer wanted to cooperate.

The door slid shut behind him and, as he predicted, the refresher was empty, though he did notice several splatters of blood and even vomit on its greasy floors. Filthy, he sneered down at it. He had intended to sit as he filed his report, but now it seemed the ex-Agent would have to remain standing. A groan of frustration left him and with it the room's unfiltered air came rushing into his lungs.

It was then that the smell hit him.

He turned abruptly, facing one of the steel grey urinals and fell to his knees- retching.

The meager contents of his stomach poured out of him in broken, choked bursts. Acid felt as though it was clawing its way up his throat and his eyes stung, their corners pricking with tears.

It took several minutes before the horrid moment passed, leaving him breathless, with no choice but to breathe in the damn near toxic air that filled the refresher's small confines. Its scent stuck to his skin and filled his every pore, infecting him with its foul stench. Maker— He swiped his tongue around the confines of his mouth, collecting stray bits of vomit in his saliva. Sucking his cheeks in once to ensure it was all gathered, he spat into the urinal, then reached up with a shaking hand to flush away its grotesque contents.

He felt sick. Worse than the pain in his ribs was now the way his stomach felt, as though acid was eating its way through the walls. Logically, Kallus knew it was not; had what he felt actually been true, he would already be dead. But it hurt, Maker, did it hurt. And now that he was alone, away from prying Rebel eyes, he could allow the pain to show on his bruised face.

His brows rose with the pain and his eyes widened, the arm previously holding the urinal's handle coming down to wrap around his middle, as though that alone would be enough mend his cracked ribs. For the time being, it would have to be.

While he had wanted to avoid the refresher's disgusting floor, he no longer had the luxury of choice. His own weakness had seen to that. His current position was appropriate, really. Fallen as he was metaphorically, it had only been a matter of time before his body caught up literally.

He picked up the datapad that had fallen with him and placed it on his lap as he spread his legs out on the floor, grimacing as he felt its wet contents seep through his pants legs and stain them.

Twisting his body around so that his back faced the room's far end wall, he watched with trepidation as the hand that had been holding the datapad touched the disgusting ground and began to weakly push his body away from the urinal. His bruised frame slid along the ground until he was at the far end of the refresher, where he then pressed his back against a cold metal wall. He let out a sigh of relief, only to choke as the room's odor once again filled his lungs.

Kallus swallowed down vomit.

What a sight he must make: Imperial uniform torn and stained, his left eye swollen, lip split, with bruises along his jaw and forehead, and then there was the awkward way his right leg was lain out on the floor, its angle nearly unnatural.

Pathetic as he looked, Kallus was grateful for the solitude and sorely tempted to kill any Rebel who dared disturb him. But no, that's not who he was anymore, and not who he would ever be again, so any Rebel unfortunate to come across him would simply be met with a very displeased look.

With a shuddering breath, and another gag, he picked up the datapad, scooting a little on the floor to better settle himself for a good few solid hours of work. Three and a half, to be precise. Barring any complications, that's how long it should take the ship to arrive at Yavin IV. Though through his own experiences with the Ghost, complications were to be expected aboard the Rebel ship. Hopefully- there it was again- there would be none. Complications for the ship meant complications for his own plans.

And with that thought, he set to work, the room's stink growing more bearable with every passing minute. Either he grew used to it, or his sense of smell had finally given out due to the overwhelming power of it.

His gloved digits glided gracefully over the datapad's keypad as he imparted all he knew of the Empire and its secrets into it. He used only one hand, the one that had been holding his ribs together as he slid across the floor, not wanting to get any of the filth on his left hand onto the device that was to house all his information.

The refresher was silent. For thirty-five solid minutes, ex-Agent Kallus was able to work diligently on his self-assigned task. He had even begun to relax, marginally, as the steady routine of workflow settled his frayed nerves. With the datapad resting in his lap, the solitude, and lack of sound, he could almost pretend he wasn't aboard a Rebel vessel, sitting on the floor in a filthy refresher, that he hadn't been discovered as a traitor.

That he was still Fulcrum, still useful.

But like all good things in Kallus' life, the moment ultimately came to an end as some Rebel opened the refresher's door and dared to interrupt his alone time.

A look filled with displeasure and silent threats spread across the Imperial's face, with his lips thinning and head tilting downward so he could cast his glare upwards, giving his eyes that shadowed, ominous look Rebels so seemed to fear.

"Is there something I can help you with…" He trailed off, eyes widening, his previously hostile expression stricken from his face.

Of all the Rebels who could have come through that door, it had to be—

"You look like bantha shit." The Lasat regarded his position on the floor with a raised brow and crossed arms.

Even if Kallus silently acknowledged the other's words to be true, that didn't mean he had to be grateful for them. He had enough dignity left within him to look cross at the assessment.

"The same could be said of yourself, Orrelios." He cocked his head to the side. "Though, I suppose that's standard for your kind." Not true, but if a pretense of xenophobia would get the Rebel Captain to leave...

"Funny," Garazeb said. "Looks like you finally got that sense of humor."

Kallus' eyes narrowed. Seemed he would have to try a different approach to convince the Lasat to leave.

"Hardly," he looked at the urinal then back to the Rebel. "… If you need to use the refresher, I can look away," the Imperial generously offered.

"Naw, it's fine." The Lasat shook his head, his beard swaying as he did so. Kallus' hazel eyes followed its movements. "I'm here for you, actually."

That snapped him out of his momentary daze.

"Is that so," he inquired. "Whatever for?"

The Lasat's posture didn't change as he responded. "Rex."

Kallus muttered a curse under his breath. Meddlesome Clone.

"Yeah," Garazeb continued. "Seems he thinks you need medical treatment, and by the looks of you." Large, yellow-green eyes roved over his battered body. "Seems he was right."

The ex-Agent stiffened.

"He was wrong."

Orrelios did not look convinced.

"Yeah?" The Lasat took a step closer and Kallus began to sweat. "Then why don't you get up from there, eh? Hera could use your help in the cargo bay taking care of the injured." Another step. "Since you're clearly not."

It took a moment for Kallus to formulate a response.

"Much as I would like to assist Captain Syndulla," he gestured at the datapad in his lap. "I'm currently in the middle of something- recording access codes and passwords for your Rebellion."

Garazeb still did not appear convinced. "Here, on the floor of the refresher?" Nothing was said about said floor's disgusting state. "That can wait till we've landed on Yavin four and you've gotten yourself properly looked at."

The taller man nodded his head toward the door. "Come on, up." Then his eyes narrowed. "If you can."

Kallus tried not to let his voice shake as he said, "That's really not necessary, Garazeb. My work is important, and if these codes are not given to your command immediately upon our landing, their window of opportunity to use them may very well close."

It was the truth. The truth had won the Clone over, how much more difficult could a Lasat be to convince?

"Uh-huh, there a reason you're recording these codes on the floor of the refresher, surrounded by blood, spill, and stars know what else?" Orrelios took yet another step closer. "Could write 'em just as well in the cargo bay."

Kallus had an answer to this.

"I do my best work alone."

Kallus lowered his gaze to the datapad in his lap, no longer able to meet the genuine concern he found in the Lasat's eyes.

"… I wish to be alone, Garazeb."

He heard a sigh.

"Can't let you, Kallus. You should know that, but…" There was a pause and the ex-Agent wondered if the Lasat was going to let him be. "You can't get up on your own. I'm not blind." There was a Jedi Knight jab to be made there, but Kallus held himself in check.

A large, furred hand was held out to him, obvious in its non-humanness.

Kallus' brows furrowed, then he held out a hand of his own, the one that had been used on the floor, the black glove coated in blood and all manner of other fluids. It was his last defense.

Garazeb took it without hesitation. The glove squished in his palm; something yellow dripped from where their hands were connected, and Kallus thought, with some amount of wonder, that it was not the first time they had been in this position.

The Imperial, unable to walk on his own and needing the Lasat's help.

He was pulled to his feet by the other only to nearly fall back to the floor, had a strong arm not caught him around his shoulders. Kallus' vision swam. He had stood too fast. His legs, good and bad, were trembling under his own weight and the ex-agent groaned in pain, his breath coming out in harsh pants. Garazeb had known, been prepared for the Imperial's inability to stand on his own.

He had never for a moment fooled the man.

"Yeah, you're fine all right," the Lasat sounded angry. "Come on, let's get you to the cargo bay."

Kallus jerked against the arm around him.

"No," he protested fiercely. "I have to finish my work. Garazeb." He hated how he sounded. Pitiful, pleading. "Please, I need to finish my work."

He finally met those owlish eyes again, hoping something in his own conveyed just how much he needed to continue his work. He could not allow himself to be… To sit and be taken care of… There were Rebels far worse off than him. Some had lost limbs, some soon would lose their lives. Some already had. The last thing they needed was to see an Imperial among them, using their medical supplies, their rations, when they could go to ones much more deserving than he.

Then there were his plans for escape.

"… Alright." Kallus could not help but smile at the other's agreement. His lip started bleeding again. "But you'll continue in my quarters. While we're on this ship, I don't want you going anywhere I can't see you."

His smile slipped, eyes hardened.

"Are those your terms?"

The Rebel smiled and had the audacity to look amused. "Yeah, those are my terms. Do you accept?"

Kallus sighed, defeated. It was what, the third, fourth time? All in under twenty-four hours.

"Yes."

He let out a yelp as he was lifted from his feet, held in the Lasat's arms in a bridal-carry.

"Let's get going then." The refresher door opened and Garazeb stepped through it. "Wouldn't want to keep you from your precious work, would we?"

Kallus leveled the Lasat with an unimpressed glare.

"No, we would not."

Garazeb chuckled.

Kallus fumed.

The walk to Orrelios' quarters was a mercifully short one. Only two Rebels had been unfortunate enough to spot them on their journey, and the Imperial's expression had threatened death should they ever speak about what they saw.

The ex-Agent was shifted and he felt rather than saw the Lasat reaching for the door panel to his room. Through slanted eyes, he watched as the other's purple face lit up in delight over his success of opening the door while still holding the human.

Kallus was heavier than he looked, after all.

Garazeb stepped through the door and it closed behind him. Then, before the Imperial had time to take stock of his surroundings, he was sat, unexpectedly gently, on the bottom rack. The smell emanating from its soft mattress and thin sheets was an obvious tell of whom it belonged to.

"Don't go anywhere," the Lasat instructed him.

Kallus raised a finely trimmed brow at that.

"I think we both know that won't be happening."

The door opened and Orrelios took a backwards step toward it. "Still needed saying, and…" Garazeb rubbed the back of his neck. "You need anything? Besides medical supplies of course."

The Imperial was tempted to retort that he did not need the medical supplies, but thought better of it, instead responding with a more neutral, honest answer.

"Some water would be nice."

Not that he deserved it, but if the fool Lasat was already willing to waste something so valuable as medical supplies on him…

"Alright then," a smile was directed toward him, one full of warmth and such genuine kindness that it shot straight through his already beating-too-fast heart. The expression suited the Lasat, brought out his eyes, and looked much better on him than the grimace or growl Kallus was typically faced with.

He quickly banished those thoughts away.

The Rebel left and the Imperial leaned back, nearly lying down on Garazeb's rack.

It was soft, much softer than his own had been back on the Lawbringer. To lay back on it and rest, if only for a few minutes, was nearly too much temptation for the ex-Agent to resist. Almost. If recording his codes and passwords had not truly been as important as he claimed, he would have given in. Because even better than being soft, the rack had another advantage over his own that tested the former ISB's very strength of will; it was warm.

Kallus hated the cold. He had not been warm since, strangely enough, the Bahryn incident, since before the Lasat had tossed him that damnable meteorite.

The former Agent leaned forward, hardening his resolve. Enough of that. Back to plotting. For his plan to be successful, it was imperative that he finish recording the information before landing on Yavin IV.

He set about typing, only to once again be interrupted by the door opening. Revealing a pleased looking Lasat holding a bundle of medical supplies in his arms and a container of water.

"… Please, tell me all those are not meant for me."

The man did not even have the decency to look ashamed with his answer.

"Yup, broken leg and whatever else you've got going on there is gonna need more than just a few bandages."

Kallus frowned. "My leg is all that requires attention."

"Uh-huh, sure," Orrelios ignored his protests. "Here, your water."

The former Agent reached out to take it with his clean hand, not wanting to contaminate the water any more than it likely already was. Before he could pull the water to himself, Garazeb unceremoniously dumped the medical supplies onto the rack, then reached out to open the container for the Kallus.

"… Thank you." The Imperial clenched his filthy hand around a sheet. He felt like an invalid.

"Now," the Lasat said as he sat next to him. "Let's get you fixed up."

The fixing up started simple, with antibacterial swabs along the bruises and cuts on his face. Then Garazeb asked Kallus to remove his gloves, which the Imperial refused to do. Orrelios did not argue. The Lasat instead pulled out a long bacta-strip.

"Rex got a good look at your eyes in the bridge, thinks you might have a concussion," he said and began wrapping the strip around Kallus' head, just above his eyebrows. "Gotta say I agree with him."

"I would also have to agree," the ex-Agent said. "There were more than a few blows directed toward my head during my… interrogation."

Garazeb looked like he wanted to ask something. Just what kind of interrogation did Kallus receive from his formal Imperial allies? The Lasat no doubt had a guess.

"Not," Kallus took a deep breath. "Not now, please."

The larger man nodded slowly, wide eyes aglow understanding.

"Later then."

Never, more like it, but he was not about to tell Orrelios that. Lasat never knew when to give up.

Since he could use the concussion as an excuse, Kallus used their proximity to study the non-human. It proved a much easier task when they were not trying to kill each other. The darker shaded stripes that started from the edges of Garazeb's face and pointed inward. How strange his nose was, how lines formed around it down to his mouth, framing it in not an all unattractive way. Darker whiskers made up the man's sideburns and long, thin beard. The beard could use work; there were bits sticking out and Kallus would have liked to take a comb to it. He despised unkempt facial hair. Then there were the Lasat's eyes, those wide, far too expressive yellow-green eyes. They looked… They looked…

"You're exhausted." It was a statement of fact.

"What? Me? No, I'm good. Fine, really." The Lasat gave him a clearly forced smile, probably meant to reassure him. It did not work.

The man had no doubt been part of the battle at Chopper base, running around and preparing for hours, fighting, and finally doing what he could to ensure survivors of Grand Admiral Thrawn's assault escaped. The Lasat did not look outwardly injured, but internally? Well, Kallus knew how much pain could be hidden beneath the surface.

"Uh-huh," he mimicked Garazeb's earlier tone. "And I don't have a broken leg."

"Huh, imagine that," Garazeb retorted. "Guess we won't be needing this then."

The man tossed the bandages that were meant to hold his broken leg together to the side. Kallus tried not to mourn their loss, as they would have been a temporary fix and were better suited to a Rebel who deserved them.

"I suppose not," was his short reply, one Garazeb apparently did not like.

"I'm taking you to the medbay once we're planet-side." Orrelios gave him stern look. "You can't say no. You're getting a proper look over."

He tsked. "We shall see."

The Lasat grumbled something under his breath that Kallus could not quite make out. The words had sounded alien. Speaking in his native tongue then?

He could see Orrelios' hands shake as he moved the medical supplies to a drawer beneath the rack. The man's eyes roved almost wildly around the room, a poor method often used to stave off exhaustion. Garazeb was close to collapsing, the stress and physical strain of the day's events finally catching up to the powerful warrior.

Trying again, the ex-Agent allowed some of the concern he felt for the Lasat to slip through his voice. Only some of it.

"You should sleep, Garazeb, while you can."

The other regarded him with suspicion. "There a reason you want me knocked out so badly, Kallus?"

The Imperial let out a huff of annoyance. Of all the times to be stubborn.

"Once we reach Yavin IV you will likely not receive the opportunity. Not for a long while. You should… I'm simply…" Kallus struggled with the words. "You should sleep," he finished.

There were well over two hours left in their journey to the Rebel base. He would use the time to complete his personal mission and return some of the kindness the Lasat had shown him, even if that meant beating down at the larger man's resolve until he complied.

Orrelios growled something that sounded suspiciously like a no.

"Resorting to petulant pouting, are we?" Hazel eyes narrowed. "Very well." He pulled the datapad to his chest, leaning toward the bulky Rebel. He decided it was time to use the Lasat's own kind nature against him.

"Then I will not be visiting the medbay once we reach Yavin IV."

Orrelios' eyes widened, recognizing the Imperial's dirty tactic for what it was. The larger man growled, baring his sharp canines. Kallus could not care less; he had faced worse from the Lasat than an angry look, and if it got him what he wanted, he would use every underhanded method available to him.

Garazeb did not respond, but the growling subsided to a mere low grumble as he threw his weight onto the mattress in an exasperated heap, causing Kallus to bounce where he sat. He hissed as his leg was jostled.

"… Sorry."

Kallus was relentless. "Sorry enough to rest?"

The Lasat's lips twisted. "You never give up, do ya?"

He smirked. "I suppose that's something we have in common."

Garazeb's eyes turned upward to the top rack.

"Yeah, suppose it is."

Kallus' mouth went dry as he realized exactly what he had said. Ignoring his blunder, he took a sip from his water before continuing.

"How about this," he said as he scooted farther down the rack. "Once we reach the Rebel base, after I've delivered my information, I'll head straight for the medbay?" It was a question, not a promise.

"If I do that, will you rest here, while you can?" It was still a question; Kallus had not promised anything, whether the Lasat agreed or not. When there was no immediate answer, he added, "If you want me to take care of myself, you must first take care of yourself. You know..." The corner of his split lip quirked. "Set a good example for the Imperial."

The Lasat snorted, rolling on the mattress to face him, expression unreadable.

"Those your terms?" Garazeb asked.

Kallus' smile was soft at the call-back.

"They are."

There was shuffling behind him and the other's strange feet lifted off the floor and disappeared behind him, then he felt something press against his back. Looking behind him, he could see it was the Lasat's own. The man was actually going to rest. With Kallus awake in the room. True, it had been done before, but that had been under different circumstances, one where they had needed each other to survive. Or so Kallus liked to tell himself.

Here, now? Garazeb Orrelios did not need him. There was no reason behind the alien's kindness, his trust. It was, for one, becoming a habit with the Lasat, and two, something the former ISB could not comprehend.

He leaned back against the sturdy frame behind him and was silently pleased when he was not immediately shaken off. The rack had been warm before, but Kallus had remained cold. With Garazeb at his back, however, the Imperial could feel his temperature rising with the larger male's body heat seeping into his own. It was… nice.

Relaxing ever so slightly, Kallus set himself back to task.

Ten, then twenty, then thirty minutes passed by, and then he heard it.

A snore.

He twisted his head around to look at the sleeping man behind him, for once allowing his amusement to show on his face. So, Garazeb Orrelios, Captain of the Honor Guard, was a snorer? With the Lasat's strange nose, Kallus would have never guessed. He supposed it made sense, in a way, what with the rest of the man being so burly; snoring fit the image well. The sounds coming from Orrelios were not overly loud though, nothing the former Agent could not work through. They were even soothing, in a way, like white noise.

Kallus once again refocused himself to his work, only to stop typing mid-sentence as a realization struck him. Garazeb Orrelios, one of the last Lasat alive, former Captain of the Honor Guard, was sleeping peacefully behind him. Him. Agent Kallus. The man credited with the Lasan massacre. He would be leaving soon, never to see each other again once his plans to escape took effect. He was facing his one and only opportunity to do something he had been embarrassingly curious about ever since he had realized, in another life, that he and Garazeb could have been… friends.

Former ISB Agent Kallus reached behind him and placed a gloved hand on the Lasat's striped arm. Then slowly, gently, cautiously, he began to pet it, brushing long strokes from elbow to shoulder. He could not feel the man's short fur, not through his glove, but from the way it moved beneath him, he could imagine its softness. Strange, Kallus had always assumed it would be rough, coarse, like the man himself. Temptation came beckoning to him again as the Imperial played with the idea of removing his glove to confirm the hair's softness. But no, it was too much of a risk. He was already taking a large enough one just by touching Garazeb as he was.

The snoring stopped and Kallus froze. His hand remained where it was on the Lasat's arm, but he dared not continue to move it. Not until—

The snoring continued.

Kallus let out a breath of relief he had not realized he had been holding.

His ministrations continued, the action oddly soothing, much like the Lasat's quiet snores.

He continued like that, typing away quietly with one hand and petting Garazeb's arm with the other, for the remainder of the trip. Even as his arm grew tired, no less sore and bruised than before, he continued. He felt at peace, with Orrelios at his back and necessary work at his front. Kallus held no illusions about his life after escape. The peace he currently felt was not likely to happen again, not any time soon. Possibly never. The same could be said for the warmth that spread throughout his battered body.

And while many would call him a bastard for using the man behind him for his own personal gain, they would be right. He was an Imperial after all. Not much else could- should be expected of him.

Little over two hours had passed with Kallus only stopping his ministrations once his arm could no longer physically hold itself up. He had finished his intelligence report roughly fifteen minutes ago. All that was left was review. There was a gentle knock on the door and the Imperial looked up at it, expecting it to open despite the lack of answer. Instead, Kanan Jarrus spoke through it, whispering as though he knew the Lasat within was sleeping. Jedi that he was, the idea was entirely possible.

"Thirty minutes till landing. Hera wants you in the bridge to discuss our plans once we get there." A pause. "Both of you."

Well, Garazeb did not need to know the last bit. He did, however, need to be woken. Kallus coughed loudly once and when there was no response, he gripped a large uncovered shoulder and shook. The resting man's response was less than promising.

"Wake me, you die."

He could not help but chuckle at that.

"And waste all your hard work?"

That seemed to pull the Lasat from his sleepy stupor.

"Nn, Kal?" Garazeb mumbled.

"Kallus," he corrected.

Orrelios huffed, finally blinking his far-too large eyes open. Kallus shifted toward the end of the bed and gave the larger man room to sit up.

"We landing?" Garazeb asked.

The former Agent nodded. "Twenty-five minutes."

"Hurr."

Kallus did not have a name for what that sound was.

"You done with your secret codes?"

He nodded again.

"Good," another huff from the Lasat. "Maybe now you'll get some damn rest."

"Not likely," he responded. "I still need to deliver them to your Rebel leaders."

Garazeb held open a palm. "Hand 'em here and I'll do it for you."

"No," he refused. "This is something I have to do."

The hard set of his hazel eyes stopped the Lasat from protesting.

"Alright." There was an alien hand on his shoulder, then a squeeze. "I get it."

Somehow, Kallus knew the other was not lying. Somehow, the Lasat understood him. He got it. A twinge of remorse for using Orrelios to accomplish his own ends traveled through the former Agent.

Garazeb stood from the rack, stretching backwards and groaning as his back popped. Kallus winced at the sound. Then, once again, a hand was held out to him. No words offered, just a hand.

Kallus took it, with the hand that had been previously holding the datapad, the clean hand. He wondered what that alien's hand would feel like without the glove.

Ah, well, some mysteries were never meant to be solved. Not by him, at least.

"Gonna head to the bridge, see what Hera's got planned for our arrival."

He was lifted onto his feet, slowly.

"You were ordered there by the Jedi, anyway," he said as his hand was released. "And where will you be depositing me in the meantime?"

Garazeb's face contorted in confusion.

"You're coming with me. That was the deal, remember?"

His eyes widened. "Ah, yes, the deal."

He had honestly forgotten. Poor form, former ISB or not.

"Very well then," he said as he positioned his stance to best hide his limping. "Lead the way."

"Yeah," Garazeb gave him a look. "That's not gonna work."

Kallus sniffed. "If you pick me up again…" His voice was low in warning.

"Relax, princess." The Lasat reached for his bo-rifle. "You aren't exactly light. Here," the weapon was handed to him in its fully extended form, though it was not activated. "Use this."

He took the weapon.

"… Am I to assume you want me to use it as a crutch?"

Garazeb rubbed the back of his neck. It seemed to be a behavioral tick for the man.

"That was the idea, yeah."

Kallus looked from the weapon to its owner.

"You trust too easily," he spoke softly. "Thank you."

"…Just don't get used to holding it," Garazeb said.

"Well, I am currently looking for a replacement…," he taunted.

Garazeb flicked the stray strand of hair that had fallen into the ex-Agent's face, much to the Imperial's dismay.

"Like I said, don't get used to it."

Kallus smirked. Garazeb rolled his owlish eyes.

"Come on, you." With that, their conversation ended.

Kallus' thinned his lips in preparation for the walk to the bridge. He would no longer be alone with Orrelios. He could no longer allow his pain to show, for while he trusted the Lasat not to take advantage of his weakened state, as he had not on the frozen moon, the rest could not be said for the other members of the Ghost's crew. Especially not a certain young Padawan.

Garazeb left first, though he walked slowly, awkwardly so with how long his legs were and short gait the man had to adopt for Kallus to keep pace with him had to be trying the warrior's patience. But Orrelios said nothing, and neither did Kallus. It was a kind gesture, what the ex-ISB could only assume to be a friendly one. He wanted to savor it while he could.

The passageway was empty, finally. The Rebels were no doubt waiting in the cargo bay to be released from the confines of the ship, away from the death that cloyed at the Ghost's very walls. An apt name, Kallus mused, as now there was a possibility the ship could be haunted, if one were to believe in such things.

Garazeb reached ahead of him, opening the door to the bridge. Kallus entered first and immediately noticed the pair of ancient, barbaric pre-spaceflight crutches being held out to him by Sabine Wren.

"You must be joking," he said, his voice full of distaste.

"Nope," the Mandalorian beamed at him. "These are for you to use until we get you something better."

Kallus glowered but nevertheless took the crutches and handing the bo-rifle back to Garazeb with no small amount of reluctance. Ezra Bridger looked at the bo-rifle then to the Lasat, face falling as he realized just who had been holding a weapon. None of the other crew appeared to have been concerned by it, though, and Captain Syndulla began her debriefing.

"There's going to be a lot of work to do once we're planet side." She looked at her battle hardened, weary crew with vibrant green eyes set in determination. "Agent Kallus can give his datapad to Sabine, who will—"Kallus cut the Captain off.

"Former Agent-" He paused to make sure he got his point across before continuing. "No, I would like to deliver the datapad myself." The ex-Agent would like to, but could not. So technically, not a lie.

"… Alright." Captain Syndulla did not sound as though she had wanted to relent, yet she had, With very little prodding.

Interesting.

"While Agent Kallus—"

"Former Agent," he interrupted.

She looked annoyed. "While former Agent Kallus is turning in his report, Rex and I will be briefing Senator Mon Mothma on what happened at Chopper base. Chopper and AP-5," the Twi'lek looked at the mechanisms directly. "I want you two running diagnostics on the ship. Check for everything."

Once again, he interrupted.

"Include tracking devices in your diagnostics check." They all looked at him and he shrugged. Well, best as he could on his crutches. "It's best to make the practice a habit, with the number of times the Empire had been able to track your location from one being injected onto your ship."

Kallus could count three occasions where he had used the tactic himself to track the Rebel cell.

His suggestion, mild as it had been delivered, did not go over as well as he had hoped.

"Are you telling me, me, how to do my job?" The monotone droid somehow managed to sound offended at the very notion. The C1-10P unit beeped his thoughts on the suggestion as well. It was more colorfully worded than his companion's.

He watched as Syndulla placed a slim hand on her temple and focused on a vein as it pulsed. The woman likely had a migraine, not that he could blame her with the troublesome lot she worked with.

"Not. Now. You two." Her tone brokered no room for argument.

"Kanan, Ezra, I want you to coordinate the survivors. Make sure they're getting treated. It's going to be hectic when we land and I don't want anyone going unnoticed."

The two force-wielders said something that was essentially an informal yes ma'am. Why they could not simply reply the correct way to a superior officer, he did not know. Perhaps it was a Jedi trait.

"And Zeb..." She bit her lip, as though expecting her next words not to go over well with the Lasat. "I want you to stick with Kallus. He can't be left unsupervised once we land. It's dangerous."

Garazeb opened his mouth, but it was Kallus who protested first.

"Is that really necessary?" He tried not to sound hostile, but it was difficult. "It's not as though, I could cause much harm in my current state. Even if I wanted to," he hastily added. "Which I don't."

Captain Syndulla shook her head. "It's for your protection as much as ours, Ag- Kallus," she quickly corrected. "What do you think the personnel there will do if they see an infamous Imperial Security Bureau agent walking around freely on base?"

His eyes narrowed. Kallus had never intended to stick around long enough to find out.

"Attack, most likely," he responded in a clipped tone.

"Exactly."

She then moved on to other topics and the former Agent was left to stew in his own resentment. It did not help that the Lasat was now looking at him with what could only be described as curiosity, those absurdly large eyes of his only making the expression of interest worse. But whatever Garazeb was thinking, he kept it to himself, wide eyes never once leaving Kallus' silently fuming form.

That was that, then. Garazeb was his official chaperone. Hopefully- damnation, again -the Rebels' good luck would rub off on him during his short time among them and an opportunity to lose his guard would present itself.

The meeting was dismissed without much more being discussed, and Kallus hobbled his way to the cargo bay, frowning as he realized there was a ladder in the way of his path to freedom. Orrelios was not far behind him, and soon the Lasat was directly at his back. The man gripped the railing on either side of the Imperial's body and just as he was about to ask what exactly Garazeb thought he was doing, he felt something grip the back of his uniform, lifting him from the ground. His good leg swung in the air.

"Hey, what are you—Put me down!"

Safely on the ground, he turned back to glare at the inconsiderate man as he climbed down the ladder.

"What," Garazeb smirked. "Said you didn't want to be carried."

The man had lifted the ex-Agent with his feet. His feet. Kallus let out a groan of frustration and swung his way toward the cargo bay door.

The Lasat was right behind him, then beside him, and Kallus had to try one more time to convince the other to leave him be.

"You really don't have to follow me around. I'm sure as a Captain you have better things to do."

"Nope," Orrelios side-eyed him. "There a reason you don't want me following you around?"

Kallus sighed; he hated the unsaid implications in that sentence.

"It's not what you think," he said despite the look of suspicion he received. "Really," he continued. "Much as I appreciate your help, I do not wish to…" He paused, pondering how to phrase his next words. "Get used to it- It won't always be there." You will not always be there. "To support me. I cannot allow myself to become compliant."

"That's not true, you know." The man looked perplexed. "You're a Rebel now. We take care of our own."

Kallus snorted. "You and your crew take care of each other."

Which I am not a part of, was left unsaid.

The ramp lowered, cutting off whatever argument Orrelios was about to give him. Kallus was glad for it. He really did not want his last moments with the Lasat to devolve into an argument where he appeared ungrateful for all the help he had been given.

He preferred Garazeb's smile over his scowl, strange as that admission still was.

The Imperial walked down the metal ramp, doing his best not to appear unstable on the archaic crutches. Garazeb was quick to follow him, looking upon the ex-Agent as though he might fall at any moment. Not an entirely impossible outcome, given how unfamiliar he was with the use of crutches.

"Need a hand there?" The larger man offered.

"No, no, I have to get used to them." To being alone once more.

Once safely off the ramp, Kallus took a deep breath and did what ISB Agents did best.

Observed.

The hangar's walls were lined with crates, many stacked precariously high. They would topple if stuck at a precise point. A line of refugees had already formed, leading out of the hangar bay and out around its left corner entrance. Gauging from the haggard appearance of the Rebels who stood in its line, they were likely headed toward a medical center. Six ships that had not been part of the evacuation on Atollon were lined up in columns of three and two of those ships were stationed outside of the hangar. The farthest one away, also the smallest of the craft, was in the process of being loaded. Only one Rebel was overseeing the operation. Only two appeared to be—

A furry hand waved in front of his face, snapping him from his thoughts.

"Kallus, you there? Knew I should have given you something more for the concussion…"

He shook his head, turning his attention to his guard.

"No, I'm quite all right. I was just... surprised. Thrawn had suggested a larger Rebellion to be in the works, but I doubt even he suspected it to be of such a large scale."

The hangar itself was massive.

"Heh, yeah, was surprised myself when I first found out."

He tilted his head in question.

"When you found out?"

Garazeb's right ear twitched. Kallus had no idea what that meant.

"Mm-hm, you know when we first met we were just a bunch of doo-gooders sticking it to the Empire. None of this big picture stuff we've got going on now."

Kallus' jaw dropped.

Orrelios had the nerve to laugh.

"You-" the Imperial reigned in his temper. "Did I somehow play a part in driving you toward the bigger picture?" If not for the crutches and datapad, he would have used air quotes.

The Lasat eyed him thoughtfully, taking his time to consider the question.

"Yes, in a way, I suppose. Why does it matter?"

The answer was so obvious Kallus was flabbergasted Garazeb had not figured it out for himself. Perhaps he had overestimated the Lasat's intelligence.

"Because then there is at least one good thing I've done in the name of the Empire."

The Lasat opened his mouth then closed it, and only after a full twenty seconds of thinking did Orrelios appear to finally settle on what he was going to say in response to Kallus pointing out the obvious. He opened his mouth once more, giving the ex-Agent an eyeful of his fanged teeth.

A loud crash interrupted whatever Garazeb's next words were to be.

Perhaps the Rebels' good luck had rubbed off on him.

"What was that?" He asked.

Furred brows furrowed.

"They dropped some cargo, some had to be moved manually. Overheard the workers talking about how heavy they were and..." There was that neck rubbing again. "Karabast." Ah, so that was what the ear-twitch had been for.

Even if the Lasat did not say it, Kallus knew what he was thinking. The ex-Agent's opportunity had come.

"You go, I'll remain here."

It was the first full lie he had told since boarding the Rebel ship. He saw the hesitancy in Garazeb's eyes and dismissed it, urging him on.

"They need your help."

The Lasat sat his bo-rifle down, leaning it against a stack of crates to his left. Kallus forced himself not to look at it.

"I'll be right back." It sounded like a warning more than a reassurance.

He nodded in acknowledgment, watching as the Lasat turned to leave. The Imperial's grip on the datapad tightened, and once Garazeb had exited his field of vision, he turned to look at the now readily available bo-rifle.


End Chapter One