Alexsandr Kallus thought he was prepared.
He'd been working with Rebel intelligence ever since he'd recovered from his near fatal escape from the Empire. Utilizing his knowledge of Imperial protocol to help the Rebellion develop plans of attack, Kallus had been elbow deep in intel reports.
The reports were of things one couldn't find on the Holonet. Imperial atrocities. Detailed descriptions of things that no sane person would willingly imagine. The horror and carnage of quelling a rebellion came at a cost only the truly calloused could stomach. Some of the other agents would get riled up or depressed over the details, wanting to react out of emotion.
Not Kallus. He remained detached. Without much of an emotional response, he could glean from the report the bigger picture. Not that he lacked compassion, but he knew from years of experience what he had to do to get the job done.
He thought he was prepared.
The first time the name Saw Gerrera popped up was like a blaster bolt slamming into his chest. A pain, full and violent and real, consumed him. Angered him. Set his heart racing.
At nothing more than his name.
The guilt at his reaction lasted longer and bit deeper. A name. But that had come without warning, Kallus reasoned. He knew the reports he'd been reading would contain awful descriptions of carnage, but Gerrera was a surprise. It would be an easy fix. Next time he picked up a report, Kallus would close his eyes, briefly prepare himself for what he might come across.
If the other Rebels could have known his thoughts, they surely would have doubted his mettle. Or worse, been outraged at Kallus's reaction over a name when so many actual horrific things had happened without a similar reaction. And despite his assurances to himself, Kallus was suddenly on edge, as though knowing Gerrera still lived was as bad as what had happened…
Kallus thought he'd resolved that conflict… closed the book on the trauma, moved on. But it came back.
All from merely reading a name.
One day it got to be too much. Kallus asked how the Rebels could possibly work with a man like Gerrera, and he was more than relieved to hear from Mon Mothma's own mouth her disgust towards the man.
It wasn't enough to stop the hyper vigilance he found slowly creeping over him. The way he needed to prepare himself before reading over intelligence reports. The shorter temper he found himself having to apologize for.
To say nothing of the nightmares.
Those attacked when he was at his most defenseless, but thankfully, Zeb was there for those.
"It's nothing…" didn't work on Zeb. And Kallus certainly couldn't hide the sweat drenching the bed sheets, the hair clinging to his damp forehead. The panic in his eyes as he imagined he was there. Back on Onderon.
Yet, no matter how painful these lapses were becoming, it was nothing in comparison to knowing that Zeb's acceptance and assurances didn't do much in the long term to make it go away, either.
So Kallus resigned himself to suffering.
If acceptance didn't heal him. If time didn't heal him. If forgiveness couldn't stop his mind from bringing him back to Onderon… then the least he could do was stay silent about it and keep those he cared about from suffering for him.
Yet his disgust for Saw was slowly getting the better of him. It didn't help that the man was popping up more and more frequently in their intelligence reports. He seemed to have a hand in everything. And the more serious the Rebellion got about taking down the Empire, the more often they realized Saw's intel was better than theirs.
They didn't see it. They didn't know, but Kallus knew – once the Rebellion began to utilize Gerrera as an informant, they would only encourage him to continue his brutal methods.
Even if they hadn't suffered as he had, Kallus didn't want these Rebels to have any doubt what it would lead to. Especially once the Ghost crew were all assembled on Yavin IV.
"How does Saw's ragtag group have better intel than we do?," the clone trooper Rex asked.
Kallus's heart rate had kicked up at General Dodanna's mention of Gerrera's name. And even if ignorance of his past wasn't a crime, Rex's remarks only made Kallus more bitter.
"Because Gerrera has absolutely no qualms about how he acquires it," Kallus explained, trying to pour all of that anguish into his warning.
Kallus figured that would be the end of it. But then Ezra… that ideological, headstrong, oblivious Jedi, had to say the worst thing.
"Well, if he gets results."
Mon Mothma must have sensed something, because she quickly stepped in for damage control. Not that it seemed to have any impact on Ezra's opinions. Just a simple "We do not mistreat our prisoners." No true insight into the monstrous actions Saw was willing to take to get what he wanted. Not what they-
"Let's go."
Kallus snapped out of his brooding, making eye contact with Zeb. "What?"
"I know that look," Zeb explained. The human's lingering annoyance remained, so he clamped a clawed paw on Kallus's shoulder, manhandling Kallus away from the crowd. "Come on. Time for a breather."
Which meant walking out of the base, out into the fresh air, out past the flight line. Kallus was thankful for the concern, for he knew it for what it was – an offer to get away from everyone and vent. But it was slowly becoming clear that venting wasn't helping.
If anything, it was only making things worse. Venting triggered his anger, which meant his brain was flooding his body with adrenaline. At one time, that adrenaline had kept him alive. Now? The slightest annoyance would trigger the adrenaline rush. A new violent cycle starting. From which there was no real end game.
"They can't use Gerrera," Kallus said.
"And they won't," Zeb answered. "Mon won't allow it."
"Ezra-"
"Is still a kid. And he doesn't know."
"The way he talks… about results. It might not matter if he knows how Gerrera operates. He's been hurt by the Empire. He's lost people."
Zeb closed his distance with Kallus, that protective aura he seemed to so effortlessly project enveloping him. Kallus's guard dropped.
"Sounds like you need to do something." A slight growl on his tone. Kallus rolled his eyes. Adventurous romps in the jungle were not quite unheard of in the past. Just… now-
"I am doing something, Zeb, I-"
"Looking at reports isn't the same. You need to come on a mission with us."
"Mon Mothma will never allow me-"
"She will if Hera talks to her first. And I'll talk to Hera."
Kallus looked away. Why he was suddenly so reluctant to accept help, he had no idea. He knew what Zeb was getting at. Looking through intelligence was important, but it gave no resolution. Going out on a mission – with danger and action – would release some of those frustrations. And give his mind some closure. It would be something positive to put all that pent up anger towards.
"You're growing unhappy here-"
Kallus was quick to argue, but Zeb shushed him.
"I don't take it personal. All this safety and relaxation don't sit right with you. A man of action-"
Kallus's head snapped up.
"A ship's approaching," he said, narrowing his eyes.
Kallus had spent enough time over the past few weeks at the base to know how regularly missions came and went. This was no mission. It was a single ship, too small to be an Imperial scout, too large to be a Rebel patrol.
Kallus exchanged glances with Zeb.
No words needed to be said.
They'd walked far enough away from the base that by the time they reached the flight line, the ship had already landed and a crowd had amassed. A crowd large enough that it masked the identities of whoever it was who had arrived.
The ship itself, Kallus noticed, was certainly disguised well. It could have been anyone. Mercenaries. A senator in disguise. Even the torrents lining the underbelly didn't divulge any information. In the current atmosphere of impending open war, even the most innocent travelers were best to be prepared.
The crowds were buzzing, but dissipating.
"They're inside," was the only information Kallus was able to glean.
"Who?"
"Gerrera."
"Kal, wait!
Kallus was running before he was aware of his actions. A flat out sprint. He dodged between technicians and pilots, the roar of his heartbeat a steady wump wump wump in his ears. Adrenaline all but deafened him. His sight slowly bleeding over to a red haze of rage.
Saw was here.
Inside, eyes adjusting to the dimmed lights underneath the temple, Kallus could see nothing. His stride only lessened a moment while he decided upon a new course. No delegation would meet in the hangar bay.
The conference room.
He could hear the din of shouted confrontation… Saw's voice, and Mon's equally passionate retorts.
The time for debates had passed… Mothma's diplomatic idealism will die… Kallus rounded a corner. Saw will die….
The thoughts stopped.
Kallus had stepped into a hallway, the one leading into the heart of the base, to the conference room, where the voices continued to echo, but what was waiting at the other end was so unexpected the wind was knocked from Kallus's chest.
It was him.
Saw's Lasat.
The Lasat.
The anger was choked off in an instant, the blood draining from Kallus's face. He had been in mid-stride, and the fear that gripped him was paralyzing. He stumbled to an awkward halt. His eyes wide, his heart slamming, cutting as painfully as a knife, stabbing through his ribs.
All that desperate need for action. Dead.
Please…
The screams returned, loudly echoing in his ear. As tangible as if the other ISB agents were littered along the hallway right there with him. Begging for mercy… helpless against the monster.
The smells, too, returned. The dust of broken concrete, the tang of fuel… and the morbid ones, too. The smell of blood, freshly spilled. Human flesh. Burning. Impossibly tangible…. A morbid trick his brain played on him… making the horror worse.
The memories flooded back, and Kallus was helpless against the onslaught.
The Lasat looked back. Strangely curious. It's green eyes widening. Ever so slightly. Like a beast, curious about whether this was a threat to be fought, or prey to be conquered.
Kallus could only stare back, pressing himself against the wall.
It's coming… it's coming… The Lasat had begun its approach, the green monstrous eyes looking him up and down. No recognition yet… but the hunger was in its eyes. An evil grin on its face.
It was only then that Kallus noticed the other Partisans – when the Lasat turned to say something to them. Taunting him…
"Look at this one," the Lasat said. Even its voice was just as his memory had preserved it. The mocking… the false tenderness… Kallus slammed his eyes shut.
Please…
And in his memories… the knowledge of his helplessness… being forced to watch his friends get murdered… slowly… one by one. He could have done something… anything… and he didn't….
"Kallus, why're you-"
Kallus's eyes widened again. He locked eyes with Zeb… Zeb his protector… that defensive aura… once again enveloping him… warm and safe.
No… not enough…. Not enough to pull him out of the panic…. His hands… his hands were trembling…. Zeb….
There was something in his expression. He could tell by the way Zeb's mouth dropped and settled into a concerned frown. Kallus could only imagine what he must have looked like. His nightmares could never terrify him like this.
"A Lasat!"
Kallus cringed at the words. It was getting closer… the other Lasat… Kallus's breathing was erratic, catching in his throat, as if the air itself was choking him. And he cringed, cowering slightly. Weak… Just like he'd been…
The guilt… the screams… it all came back. You did nothing to save them.
Recognize him Zeb… Kallus pleaded, mentally, locking his eyes on Zeb… and not on the monster that approached…. still struggling to regain his breath. Recognize him….