Warning: Spoilers ahead for Zero Hour. You have been warned.

Well, it's a surprise to me that Kallus got into my head. I never would have expected it. That's what I really love about this show. Every time I think I have settled into it, something else happens to surprise me. This was a little something that came to mind after watching the third season finale last night. It refused to stay inside my head, so now it's here.

Enjoy.

The Rebel survivors of Atollon shuffled about the open spaces of the Ghost as if they were ghosts themselves. They were the walking wounded, the beaten, the bloodied, the tired, and the soul-sick. But somehow, they were not broken. It was amazing, quite frankly. Just as they had been poised to make their first major offensive against the Empire, they had suddenly suffered this devastating blow. And yet, they simply picked up and moved on like drifters on the wind.

Agent Kallus - no, not Agent Kallus, he reminded himself, not any longer - leaned against the wall and sunk to the deck, his legs no longer willing to support him. As the adrenaline of his desperate flight in an escape capsule faded, the various aches and pains of the day's events set in and sapped his strength. Kallus was no slouch in a fight, as evidenced by the two troopers he had fairly effortlessly dispatched even while cuffed to make his escape. But Thrawn had been something else entirely. Seemingly as effortlessly as Kallus had taken out the Stormtroopers, Thrawn had brought Kallus to his knees. And then he had proceeded to give him a sound beating for good measure. Kallus was certain he had a cracked rib or two and his vision was a little swimmy. His wrists were stiff, raw, and chaffed from where he had been trussed up on the bridge of Thrawn's ship to watch the bloody massacre unfold.

The other survivors were keeping their distance, obviously unsure what to think of him. Kallus didn't blame them. After all, very few members of Phoenix Squadron knew that he had been the Fulcrum who was feeding them information these last few months. And even the ones who had known - Jarrus, Syndulla, and the rest - had been cautiously skeptical of him. He decided that was a good thing. The fact that this idealistic band of transients and rogues had a sense of suspicion about him boded well for the fact that they could handle the more covert aspects of a war against the Empire. They obviously didn't like the tactics, but they understood them.

He cast his gaze down the center hallway of the Ghost, looking forward to the bright swirl of hyperspace that was glowing through the window of the forward gun turret. Silhouetted against the blue, Kallus saw two figures having a quiet conversation. It was Jarrus and Bridger, likely engaged in some kind of warm, fuzzy, Jedi heart-to-heart. There was a calm acceptance surrounding the two of them that Kallus just couldn't quite understand. Even the short thanks he had exchanged with the elder Jedi a few moments before had been utterly genuine and soft; welcoming, even. Given everything that he had put the Ghost crew through in the beginning, Kallus wasn't sure he would have been able to be so magnanimous. Of the two of them, Jarrus was certainly the better man.

Though, wasn't that why he was here? Maybe he was himself a monster. But even monsters reached a point where they could no longer suffer the actions of other monsters. It wasn't that he felt guilt over having been a part of the Empire. He still believed that his actions at the time had been correct and justified. But he still had to admit that the ruthlessness of it all, the absolute, iron-fisted control the Empire exerted, had beaten away at the armor he had placed around his heart until it had shattered. In a way, Kallus supposed, the Empire had broken him.

He must have drifted off at some point, while all these thoughts were swirling in his mind. The next thing that Kallus registered was a gentle hand on one side of his face. Startled awake, he snapped upright, grabbing the wrist of the intruding hand in a vice-like grip before his eyes had even focused. He was halfway to a kip-up to his feet to face a hostile before he realized who he was looking at.

"Yikes! Calm down!" Syndulla said gently, looking down at him with a look somewhere between concern and amusement. "It's all right, you're safe."

Kallus released a held breath and relaxed letting go of her wrist. "Sorry," he began, but halted when she held up a hand.

"No, it's my fault," she said, "I should have known better. I'd probably do the same myself. Have, actually."

It was an odd admission to hear from her, Kallus decided, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"You look like poodoo," Syndulla went on, "we should get you cleaned up a little."

"I've had worse," Kallus replied, "you should see to your people first."

Syndulla gave a wry roll of her eyes. "Okay, let's get two things straight," she said, "one, we know how to triage. You've been passed out against the wall for three hours while we worked on the people who were actively bleeding. So you're next. And two, you're one of our people now, so get used to it."

Her voice left little room for argument. But some reflex made him want to protest at being ordered about by her, even as the logical part of his brain reminded him that she was probably the highest-ranking member of Phoenix Squadron to have survived. It would likely be expected that he would obey her orders.

"Don't bother trying to argue," a gruff voice rumbled from the other end of the hallway and Kallus turned to see the Lasat, Orellios, standing there with his arms defiantly crossed over his chest, "we've all tried and failed to the last man. She gets her way when it comes to this, every time."

Being perfectly honest with himself, he was too tired to argue anyway. "All right," he said, "I surrender."

"Good choice," Syndulla said with a smirk, "can you stand?"

Kallus gave a nod and found Syndulla's hand being held out in front of him. He took it before he even really thought about it and found himself being pulled to his feet. He gave a suppressed groan at the sharp pain of his doubtlessly cracked ribs in his side. The deck tilted a little under him and there was another, larger hand, at his elbow keeping him up.

"Well, he's on his feet, I suppose," said Orellios, "not so sure I'd call this standing. What the yotz happened to you?"

"Grand Admiral Thrawn is... rather accomplished in hand-to-hand combat," Kallus replied.

Syndulla had pushed back the sleeve on one hand and pulled off his glove, making the marks on his wrist visible.

"Yeah," she said, "this wasn't just a fight. They worked you over, didn't they?"

Kallus couldn't quite bring himself to admit it out loud. He let the sigh and the sidelong glance away from them do the talking. "The Empire doesn't exactly take betrayal lightly."

"Neither do we," Orellios replied with disgust as the trio began to shuffle down the hallway toward the common area, "but we don't beat our prisoners while they're in restraints."

Surprisingly, when Kallus found himself deposited in a chair in the corner, he found only one other occupant in the common room. Jarrus was sitting in the booth, leaning back in the seat tiredly, holding an ice pack to a swelling knot on the side of his head. There was no sign of any of the other Phoenix Squadron survivors.

"He gonna live?" Jarrus asked, not moving a muscle from his own position.

"Try not to sound too disappointed, Jedi," Kallus replied around a pained groan as he settled into the chair. To his surprise, Jarrus gave a chuckle. "Where are the others?"

"Sabine and Ezra are making them as comfortable as we can in the cargo hold," Syndulla replied, "it'll be several hours yet and we thought it best to keep you away from them for a while."

"Likely prudent," said Kallus, "thank you."

"Let's start with these," Syndulla said, pulling Kallus' other glove off and setting them aside. She reached for a small med kit that was set on the dejarik table and pulled out some disinfecting solution. She got to work on his left wrist, cleaning away the dried blood and grime. "Any trouble with movement?"

Gingerly, Kallus tested his right hand, slowly bending his wrist in various directions. It ached, but there wasn't any sharp pain and he found his full range of motion was there. "Doesn't look like it," he said.

"I'm not seeing any serious external damage, either," Syndulla confirmed, "this might sting a little." That was all the warning he got before she began wiping disinfectant over the torn skin. He sucked in a short breath through his teeth before he could stop it. "I see the black eye and several other places it looks like they hit you," she went on, "what else?"

"Bruises, scrapes," Kallus replied, "the usual from kicks and punches."

"Hey," Jarrus snapped from his place in the booth, his blind eyes suddenly pointed directly at Kallus, "rule one of Rebellion medical treatment; lies of omission are still lies." Something about the look blasted through every emotional defense that Kallus had. He had to suppress a shiver.

"I... may have a couple of cracked ribs," he admitted, slowly. As soon as he said that, Jarrus' other-worldly gaze shifted away again, seemingly satisfied. "Does he do that often?" he asked as he leaned over toward Orellios, keeping his voice as low as he could. "That was disquieting."

"Oh, he cultivates it," Syndulla mumbled back in kind.

"Along with my hearing," Jarrus said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"We know," Syndulla and Orellios responded in unison.

Their easy manner within Kallus' presence was completely baffling. He had heard them banter back and forth in this manner before, during their various run-ins. He had honestly thought it was a show, a display of bravado that they put on for the sake of throwing off their enemies. But now, he was beginning to suspect that it was something more than that; a coping mechanism, perhaps. And this time, they were enfolding him into it. He wasn't really sure how he felt about that.

They went on like that for a while, Syndulla carefully tending to his injuries and Jarrus and Orellios giving biting commentary on the whole thing. At last, he was pronounced to be "patched up," though Syndulla was concerned he might have a concussion and was pushing some pain-killers into his hand along with a glass of water. Then, Syndulla and Orellios both went aft and down to the cargo hold to check in on their other passengers, leaving Kallus stiffly trying to get comfortable in the chair and Jarrus sitting in the booth with his ice pack still on the side of his head.

"Welp," Jarrus said easily, "guess you're in it now. Welcome to the ranks of the Rebel Scum."

Kallus gave a hum in the back of his throat, disguising it somewhat with a sigh. "I have to admit, I'm surprised to hear you say that," he said, "if our roles were reversed, I'm not sure I would have been able to be as accepting."

"Well, it's probably easier to just overlook how long it took you to come to the basic human decency party and embrace the fact that you showed up at all," Jarrus drawled out.

Kallus' mood soured somewhat at this. He straightened a little in the chair, and bit back a whimper as a spike of pain flared in his side. "Do not mistake my change of loyalties for some sort of an attack of conscience," he said, "I have no qualms about my actions before or after taking up the mantel of Fulcrum."

"That so?"

"It is."

"Really? Not one?"

"Not one."

Once again, the Jedi's sightless eyes moved to stare directly at him, sending another cold jolt racing down Kallus' spine. "You sure about that?" Jarrus asked.

The question hung in the air for a while and Kallus felt the temperature in the room drop a few degrees. An image flashed through his mind, two years faded. Arekso and Grint, their heads jumping off of their shoulders following a sudden flash of red light, executed for little more than their ineptitude. Treachery was one thing, but stupidity? Had that really warranted a death sentence?

As quickly as the image had appeared in his head, it vanished again, leaving him reeling as if he had just taken a slap to the face. Jarrus' eyes had drifted away from him again and Kallus couldn't help but put two and two together.

"Hey! What are you-?"

"I'm just saying," Jarrus interrupted him, backing off to an easier tone again, "something obviously changed your mind about it all. Zeb told us about what happened to you two on that moon over Geonosis. But that isn't enough to change the loyalties of a person who fought for a cause the way you did. I have a hard time thinking that you don't regret some of the things you did for the Empire."

"You're mistaking me again," Kallus replied, "I never said I did not have regrets. I said I have a clear conscience about them. The Empire is... not what I once believed it to be. They bought my loyalty with lies and machinations and then traded it like a commodity. Is it really such a wonder I have none left for them?"

"You tell me," Jarrus shot back, "I'm not the one surprised that you're here."

"What do you mean?" Kallus asked, unable to keep the suspicion from coloring his words.

Jarrus rolled his eyes and sat up, setting his ice pack down in front of him on the dejarik table. "C'mon, Kallus, enough with the back and forth," he said, "this isn't an interrogation. So the Empire lied to you, used you. Big deal! It's an old story. Half of the rebellion will spin you the same one if asked. There's more to it with you."

"What would you even know about it?" Kallus shot back, perhaps a little more shortly than he would have liked. But the damned Jedi was getting to him.

"Nothing, you haven't said anything," Jarrus replied, "but I do know you're surprised that you're alive right now. So how about you ask the question you want to ask so we can all move on, huh?" The Jedi's eyes were boring into him again, digging down through layers of himself that Kallus hadn't even known were there.

Kallus sat back in the chair once again, adjusting his posture so that he was more comfortable as he studied the creepy-ass gaze coming from the Jedi like two lasers. "You really are genuinely concerned with my state of mind," he said with surprise, "you absolutely baffle me, Kanan Jarrus. All of you rebels do, but you in particular." He paused to gauge Jarrus' reaction.

"Um hm," the Jedi said with a nod, "keep goin'."

Damn, but the the jackass was enjoying watching him squirm. Kallus had a moment of annoyance before he realized that he didn't actually care. And with that revelation, he found himself looking at Jarrus again. Behind the eyes clouded over with scar tissue, there was a sense of calm sadness, but not one of spite or retribution. Kallus suddenly had the sense that this conversation was just as difficult for the Jedi as it was for him. He was not enjoying this one iota.

"You are astoundingly magnanimous," Kallus finally said after a long, contemplative pause, "there are not many people in the galaxy who would extend a hand to help a man who had once shackled him to a table and tortured him for four days. And yet here we both sit, on your ship-"

"Hera's ship."

"This ship. And you are looking at me as if you are actually grateful for all that I've done. If I were faced with such a man, I would have little mercy. You could have left me to my fate with Thrawn. No one would have blamed you, of all people, for wanting that pound of flesh."

"Maybe so," Jarrus replied, "but there's one problem with that."

"And that is...?"

"I don't see that man here."

Kallus was genuinely thrown off by that. He had been prepared to fend off arguments as to why he should feel guilt over things he had done without all the facts. He had been ready to try and justify each and every one of his actions. What he had not expected was no attack at all. It stunned him into silence.

"Also there's the whole Jedi don't do revenge thing," Jarrus added flippantly, "but that doesn't really apply here. Sure, I could rail at you, blame you, make your every moment aboard the Ghost into one that made you wish to go back to Thrawn. But what would that get me? It wouldn't change anything that happened and it would make you regret your choice, maybe even make you turn back to the Empire. Most people in the galaxy... they're going to be lucky enough not to go through something that makes them into a completely different person. Now me, the Force has seen fit to slap around that way twice. The first made me into something pretty terrible. The second fixed that damage, made me someone I never could have expected to be."

Kallus gave a nod. "Order sixty-six, I presume, was the first," he said, "and the second?"

"I met a maddeningly stubborn Twi'lek by the name of Hera Syndulla."

"Ah." Kallus couldn't help but give a small smirk of understanding.

"Doesn't even begin to cover it," Jarrus added, "but the point is this. I've become a different person twice. There's a lot in my past I'm not proud of. But I can either put it aside or let it drag me down. It took me a long time to get that, to realize that the person who was the hardest on me was me. You're going to be hurting yourself enough. You don't need my help."

Jarrus leaned back into his seat again, letting that statement hang in the air for a while. Silence settled around them for a long while as they both seemed to contemplate it.

"Well," Kallus said at last, "that's... refreshingly enlightened, actually."

"I mean it, Kallus," Jarrus said, this time not bothering to turn his eyes back to the other man, "the guy that cuffed me to a table and shot electricity through me is not the same guy who helped Zeb on that moon, or got Sabine and those cadets out of the academy, or rescued me and Ezra from the factory on Lothal. And he sure as yotz wasn't the guy who risked everything to try and warn the people I care about most that they were in danger today. You have my respect for that." He gave a chuckle. "It may not always sound like it, but you do."

Kallus gave a sigh. "Well, it's a place to start, I guess," he said, "I don't suppose I can count on too many more of your people thinking the same way?"

"Yeah," Jarrus said with a grimace, "probably not, but... give 'em time. Meanwhile, for what it's worth, I'm in your corner." Slowly, with several pops in his joints and while massaging a sore spot on his neck, the Jedi stood up. "I'm gonna grab some caf. You want any?"

"I don't suppose you have anything stronger," said Kallus.

"Sorry," Jarrus replied with a shrug, "haven't touched the stuff in four years."

"Caf will have to do then."

"Sit tight," the Jedi told him, "be right back."

Kallus watched Jarrus disappear down the hallway and around the corner into the galley. He leaned back in the chair once again, working a throb out of his side carefully as he did. Mercifully, the pain-killers were starting to kick in. With little else to do, he cast his gaze about the Ghost's common room, his eyes finally settling on one of the myriad of artistic expressions that the Mandalorian girl had left on the walls. He recognized the symbol. The first time he had seen it, it had literally blown up in his face.

But there was something fitting about it; about all of Phoenix Squadron, really. Something new rising from the ashes of something old and gone.

He could work with that.