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Chapter Text

Kallus looked at the six rebels across from them, half training their blasters on him, the other half pointing their blasters at Zeb. His heart sank. He had been suspicious when he and Zeb had been separated from the rest of their team from the Rebel Alliance, but this new rebel group had been investigated, and appeared legitimate. They had important intel about a valuable target, and had seemed welcoming when the Ghost and the other Alliance members had arrived at the new group's hideout, where they were to spend the evening planning the next day's mission.

These other rebels were keeping a safe distance from him and Zeb, and Kallus knew, with a chilling clarity, that they had no chance against six of them. They had no option but to let the situation play out, and hope it would not turn deadly.

One of the rebels gestured with his blaster. “Drop your weapons, and kick them over there,” he said. Kallus glanced at Zeb, and saw they were in agreement, they had to comply for the moment. He dropped his blaster, and kicked it in the indicated direction. He felt a burst of anger as he saw Zeb do the same with his bo-rifle.

The spokesperson, a weequay, sneered, and said, “That's better. Don't want any armed Imps on our base.”

Zeb growled. “There's no Imps here.”

The rebel pointed at Kallus, and said, “We know who he is.”

Ah. Now he understood what was happening. He supposed it was inevitable, and a little surprising it hadn't happened sooner. Giving Zeb another quick glance, Kallus said, calmly, “I have no quarrel with you. We are all on the same side.”

A deep voice rumbled from behind them, and said, “Well, I have a quarrel with you, Agent Kallus.”

Kallus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. That voice. He hadn't heard it in person, but he had seen enough holo recordings to be sure. He froze, his breath caught in his chest, as the lasat mercenary from Onderon came into view. He had hunted him on and off, once he had made field agent, but he hadn't had any success. How ironic, that they would meet now, when he could no longer honourably seek his revenge.

“I know what you did on Lasan,“ said the mercenary, harshly. “Let's see if you can fight a lasat without your Imperial weapons, just one on one.

“I don't want to fight you.”

“That's too bad. Cos if you don't, my friends will shoot you and the traitor right now. Fight me, and I'll let that sorry excuse for a lasat go, once we are done.”

“Kallus,” said Zeb, worriedly.

“I don't seem to have much choice,” he replied, fear for Zeb almost paralysing him. He couldn't let Zeb pay for his crimes. He didn't know if he could trust the lasat to keep his word, but he knew he and Zeb had no chance against those blasters. Agreeing to fight was the only hope he had.

“Good decision,” said the mercenary. “Doesn't look like either of us have a bo-rifle. We'll fight with these.” He handed Kallus a vibro-staff.

As he took it, he felt his usual battle calm wash through him, his fears fading away. “And I assume the fight ends with one of us dead?” he said.

The weequay replied, saying, “It's not like that. He's just gonna teach you a lesson.”

Kallus found that doubtful, based on the expression on the lasat's face. Even more so, after he felt the strength of his first blow. The lasat was strong, but so was he, and he was faster. He found himself smiling as he ducked and weaved, easily parrying the mercenary's strikes.

His exhilaration didn't last long, as he realised he had no desire to switch from defence to attack. But he couldn't keep this up forever; he knew he would tire more rapidly than the lasat. “We don't have to do this,” he said, without much hope.

The lasat didn't reply, just snarled, and kept attacking. Kallus saw an opening, but hesitated, moving too slowly to take advantage. The mercenary easily blocked him, sneering in triumph, and redoubling his efforts. Kallus was forced back, his arms starting to tire. He was starting to feel desperate: if he was unwilling to strike the lasat, this could only end one way.

“Kallus, try that trick I showed you,” Zeb called out.

Kallus smiled, wondering how he could have forgotten that move. He feinted, manoeuvring the mercenary into the right position, then performed a quick series of motions that ended with the lasat's staff clattering to the floor, several metres away. The lasat immediately grabbed onto his staff with one hand, pushing hard. Kallus braced, then stumbled forward as the lasat suddenly pulled on it instead. Too late, he saw the mercenary's other hand held a knife, already red with blood as he drew it back from the space between them.

The lasat let go of the staff suddenly, stepping back, and Kallus fell to his knees, unbalanced and dizzy. He put one hand to the ground, to steady himself; the other hand groping at his stomach, trying to determine the extent of his injury. He brought his hand up to his face, unsurprised to find it smeared with his blood. However, the wound didn't appear to be too deep; rather, it was a long, horizontal slash that hadn't penetrated to his guts. Painful, but it was unlikely to be fatal. Maybe the weequay was right, and the lasat just wanted to teach him a lesson.

“Is that enough?" he said. “You've bested me. Are we done?”

“Yeah, we're done,” said the lasat, smirking.

“Good. I'm glad we could settle this without any fatalities.”

“Nah. You're dead. You just don't know it yet.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice betraying his fear. He had found he was unable to stand, feeling weaker than he should, based on the lack of severity of his injury. He also appeared to be experiencing problems with his eyes; blackness was creeping in at the edge of his vision. “Did you poison me?” he asked, his voice cracking.

“Yeah. You have about five minutes. You might want to say goodbye to your Imp lover, traitor.”

Kallus turned to look at Zeb. He was vaguely aware of some noise and movement in the background, the other rebels possibly. But he was focused on Zeb, the look of horror on his face the last thing he saw before his vision blacked out completely. He felt his arm give way, no longer strong enough to hold him up.

—--

As Kallus collapsed, Zeb rushed forward to catch him. As he cradled Kallus in his arms, he heard the weequay say, angrily, ”This isn't what we agreed to. You said you just wanted to scare them, teach them a lesson.”

“You can leave if you don't want to watch.”

“But what about him?” the rebel said worriedly, gesturing at Zeb. “We can't let him tell the Alliance what we did.”

“Don't worry about him. Once the Imp is dead, I'll deal with the traitor. You can blame everything on me.”

After they had left, the mercenary spat on the floor, sneering, “Cowards.”

“You're the coward,” said Zeb in disgust. “Using poison.”

“Like he deserved anything better. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill you. Want you to suffer, knowing he's dead.”

Zeb ignored him, concentrating on Kallus, now he knew they were safe from further attack. “Kallus, I'm here,” he said, brushing his hair back from his face. He knew it was probably pointless, but he slipped off Kallus’ jacket, and used it to staunch the bleeding.

“I'm sorry. I should've..,” Kallus said, weakly.

“Shh,” Zeb interrupted him, “Don't try and talk.” They sat in silence for a few moments, Zeb gently stroking his hair, trying not to let Kallus feel how much he was panicking on the inside.

“Zeb,” Kallus wheezed. Zeb could barely hear him. He leant in closer, and heard Kallus whisper, “don't..” But he fell silent before he could finish, and went limp in Zeb’s arms. Zeb had never seen him so pale, his spots so starkly obvious.

Zeb desperately checked him for signs of life, but he couldn't feel him breathing anymore. He felt disbelief; Kallus had been impossible to kill as an Imperial, how could he have been defeated so easily now? Although he knew that was a foolish thought; both Kanan and Ezra were gone, and they had been Jedi.

He laid Kallus gently on the ground, then turned to the mercenary with a snarl, hate and anguish rushing through him. “You're gonna regret doing that,” he growled, getting ready to attack.

The mercenary smirked. “You want to fight? Good.” He threw away the poisoned knife, and said, “Let's do this the old fashioned way, traitor, just teeth and claws.”

With a roar, Zeb sprang at him, desperate to inflict pain on the man who had caused his. But the lasat was ready for him, and they ended up in a stalemate, grappling with each other, claws tearing into fur and skin. The mercenary was too strong, he had grown soft fighting Stormtroopers for so long. He strained his head forward, his grief and anger overwhelming him, reaching towards the other's neck, wanting to rip open his throat with his teeth, if that's what it took to take him down.

The mercenary took advantage of his desperation, managing to hook a leg around his, bringing them both to the ground, Zeb pinned underneath. The mercenary smiled. Zeb gave him a feral grin back. He had underestimated Zeb; Honor Guard training was extensive, and it had covered getting out of many holds, including this one. He positioned himself in readiness, twisted, and pushed against the floor, ending up on top of the other lasat, two legs and an arm holding him down, claws at his throat, ready to take the final strike.

His opponent spat at him, then laughed and said, “Gonna kill one of the last of your people for your Imp boyfriend? And you look down on me. Funny, huh.”

Zeb paused, the anger rushing from his body. He felt sick. He ran his claws along the lasat's throat, scoring him hard enough to scar, a traditional symbol of victory. Then he stood, releasing the mercenary, and said sorrowfully, “You're right. What's the point? It won't change anything. He's still dead.”

The mercenary just looked at him, disgust and confusion warring on his face.

“And I don't think he would have wanted me to kill you,“ Zeb continued, mostly to himself. “Would make his death worthless, if I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was following part of the Tarin Keeraw. You spared his life once, back on Onderon. It's the most dishonourable thing you can do, killing someone who spared you. That's why he hesitated, couldn't take the killing blow. He would have easily beaten you, otherwise.”

“I know how the Tarin Keeraw works, traitor,” spat the mercenary. “He could never have beaten me.”

“You're an even worse fighter than I thought, if you believe that.”

The mercenary was silent. Zeb could tell he was thinking. “He's not dead, your Imp,” he said, finally.

Chapter Text

“He's not dead, your Imp,” said the mercenary. Zeb froze in disbelief, his ears flattening. “But thanks to the Empire, he might as well be,” he continued.

“What do you mean?”

“The poison. It mimics death, but he ain't dead yet. He'll last another day like that, longer if you look after him.”

“But what did you mean, thanks to the Empire, he might as well be? Is there a cure?” said Zeb, desperately.

The lasat mercenary smiled unpleasantly. “Not anymore, thanks to him. You need an Arkesana, one strongly connected to the Ashla, to mix up the antidote. And the right plants, from Lasan. There's nothing you can do for him.”

“There might be,” said Zeb, hope flickering to life. “Not sure about the plants, but I know an Arkesana who could help.”

“Banthashit. They're all dead. Just us left now,” he said, bitterly.

“Nah, that's not true,” Zeb said, without thinking. He hesitated, torn. He didn't want to tell the mercenary about Lira San, but he had sworn to himself he would take any lasat he found there, to keep them safe from the Empire. “There's a planet full of lasat,” he said reluctantly. “I'll take you, if you want. But you need to swear, you won't do anything to hurt Kallus, or try to stop me from saving him.”

The lasat laughed. “You're insane. I'll come, and I'll leave the Imp alone. S’not like you can save him, but it'll be fun to watch you try. And it'd be best if I got off this planet now, doubt I'm welcome here anymore.”

“Karabast,” Zeb muttered to himself. He'd hoped the mercenary would reject the offer. This was going to be awkward. Part of him still wanted to kill the vo’arik, and he was sure the feeling was mutual.

He extracted his comm from his jumpsuit, and said, “Hera. We ran into a problem. Can you prep the Phantom, and have a medkit ready?”

“Zeb! What problem? Where have you been? We've been waiting for you, we have a mission to plan.”

“I'll explain when I get there. Hurry, please,” he said, urgently. He quickly retrieved his bo-rifle from where it lay, then gently picked up Kallus. “Come on, then,” he said over his shoulder, as he began walking back to the Ghost, heart thumping hard in his chest as he tried not to think about how close he had been to killing the lasat, and unknowingly condemning Kallus to death.

—-

Hera had been horrified when he had arrived at the Ghost, coated in his and Kallus’ blood. Once he had explained what had happened, she had been happy to lend him the Phantom for a trip to Lira San, but had been extremely concerned that he intended to take the lasat mercenary with him. He had had to promise, several times, that he would be careful, before she had reluctantly accepted his plan.

Once they had entered hyperspace, he went back to check on Kallus. He had cleaned his wound, and treated it with bacta, before they left, and he wanted to see if it was having any effect. His own arms had been treated and bandaged, Hera insisting that she wouldn't let him leave, until she was satisfied he was looked after too.

“I can't see any change,” Zeb said, worriedly. “Is that normal? With this poison, I mean?”

“Dunno, maybe. Think it slows everything down. Not like I usually stick around to see its effects.”

“You've used it before?”

“Yeah. Been hunting down Imperials that were on Lasan during the Fall. Like to get them with a poison from Lasan, knowing they helped destroy any hope they had of surviving it. And it just makes it better, if I manage not to kill them straight away. Watching their fellow Imperials abandon them, or bury them alive. But you didn't kill me when you could've, so I thought I'd spare you that.”

“You're sick,” said Zeb, in disgust. “And why did you come after Kallus? He's on our side now. He's helping fight the Empire.”

“Yeah, lucky for me. He was too difficult a target when he was still in the ISB. Was almost too easy to get to him, now he's a rebel. Doesn't change what he did though. He still deserves to die.”

Zeb didn't bother to respond, instead turning back to look at Kallus. It was hard to believe he wasn't dead, lying there, pale and unmoving. It was even harder to keep the flame of hope alive, and beat back the waves of despair that were threatening to overwhelm him. But he held on to the words Kallus had said to him, back when they were still enemies. Lasat never know when to give up.

—--

“This is gonna take awhile,” Zeb said, eventually. “Might as well know each other's names. I'm Zeb.”

“Dar, short for Keredar,” said the mercenary, grudgingly. “And I know who you are. I did my research, before coming after the Imp. Garazeb Orrelios, Honor Guard Captain. What would they think of you now, if they could see you, worrying over that murderer.”

“You don't know him,” said Zeb, angrily. “He's a good person, as honourable as any Guard. You don't know how much he regrets what he did on Lasan.”

“Didn't stop him at the time. You're the one that's sick. You should be killing him, not kriffing him.”

“He thought he was doing the right thing. The Empire lied to him about Lasan, like they lie about everything. As soon as he found out the truth, he started working against them.”

“How long was he in the Empire? Took him that long to work out right from wrong?” Dar scoffed.

“I told you, they lie to them,” Zeb growled. “They start early. Mess with their heads in the Academy, break ‘em down so they can remake ‘em into perfect Imperials.”

“Heh, he's really done a number on you, hasn't he? Got you loving all Imps now, not just him. You sure you can still fight them?”

“Been fighting ‘em,” Zeb snarled. “I just don't take much pleasure in it, anymore,” he added, less aggressively. They both fell silent, Zeb thinking back to the aftermath of the liberation of Lothal, when Kallus had first opened up to him about his time in the Academy. He had been badly affected by the destruction of the Dome, initially trying to hide it from Zeb, as he knew Zeb was struggling with the loss of Kanan and Ezra. But Zeb had sensed something was wrong, and eventually he had managed to get Kallus to admit how much he regretted the loss of life. Zeb hadn't understood, until Kallus had explained, in detail, the level of indoctrination that Imperial recruits underwent, and continued to undergo throughout their service. He still felt sick, when he thought of a young Kallus being molded into a willing and obedient pawn of the Empire.

—--

Kallus woke up gradually, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, sense by sense. First he felt warmth, and softness, his body cocooned by it. Noises started to penetrate, disturbing his feelings of safety, adrift in a comfortable darkness. Rustling, steady breathing, and in the background, bird calls and distant voices. Smell was next; the complex, musky scent of a male lasat. Not Zeb, and not the mercenary, the memory of his harsher scent still fresh.

His heart rate increased, panic not far away. His thoughts were scattered, his recent memories patchy. He knew the lasat mercenary had been there; an image of him standing in front of him, his impressive muscles flexing as he sneered, was forcing itself to the front of his mind. But where was he now? And where was Zeb? He tried to open his eyes, the darkness no longer comforting. But it was a struggle, feeling like the unpleasant dreams he sometimes had, where he dreamt he woke but couldn't open his eyes, blindly groping around his room, sometimes barely able to move, until he finally woke up for real, relief rushing through him.

“Good. You're awake,” he heard. He felt hands manoeuvre him into a slightly less reclined position in the bed. A glass of water was guided to his mouth, then removed, once he had been helped to take a few sips. “Are you feeling ok?” he was asked. Kallus just nodded, he felt disturbingly weak, but he wasn't about to admit it. The lasat continued, “I'm sure this all looks very strange to you, but you're safe here.”

Kallus felt adrenaline rush through him, as he suddenly realised he must have succeeded in opening his eyes, after all. But he could see nothing, just blackness. The familiarity prompted his memory. He remembered losing his vision, falling to the floor, the comforting smell of Zeb as he caught him. The fight with the lasat mercenary, being poisoned.

“Where am I?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Who are you?” He decided not to mention his blindness, at least not until he understood the situation, hating the feeling of vulnerability it brought.

“I'm Gron.”

“Are you going to tell me where I am?”

“I'll let Zeb explain that to you.”

Kallus almost felt dizzy with the relief: Zeb must be alright. “Where is he?” he asked.

“Resting. He's spent a lot of time here, waiting for you to wake up.” Gron paused for a moment, then added, ”He cares about you a lot.” Kallus didn't respond, not wanting to talk about his personal life with a stranger, someone he couldn't even see. “I don't know if Zeb told you,” Gron said, “but many lasat only find love a few times in their lives. Zeb never found anyone before Lasan fell.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Kallus felt compelled to ask.

“Because if you aren't serious, if this is just a guilt thing for you, or worse, some kink, then you need to let him go now, before it's too late.”

“Understood,” said Kallus tersely, biting back a more scathing reply.

“Good. I hope you do. Let me help you lie down again, you should get more rest.”

“Thank you,” he said, feeling shaky and exhausted from the stress of the situation, the conversation only having made it worse. He hoped when he woke next, Zeb would be there.

—---

Kallus opened his eyes, dread pooling in his stomach as he realised he still couldn't see. But then he smelled Zeb's scent, and found he barely cared. As he heard Zeb say his name, low and intense, warmth flooded him.

“Zeb,” he managed, his voice dry and cracking.

“Karabast, you sound terrible.” But Kallus could hear the relief in Zeb's voice. Zeb helped him drink some water, then gently stroked his face.

Kallus held onto his arm, needing the comfort of his warm, soft fur under his fingers. “Zeb,” he said again, fervently. Gron's words had haunted him, as he had drifted in and out of a restless sleep. He tightened his grip on Zeb's arm, grateful he had survived the poison, for Zeb's sake. He hadn't thought of it at the time, too distracted by the fear of Zeb being hurt, but he had almost broken Zeb’s heart. He vowed to himself to be more careful in the future.