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Chapter Text

The night was chilly. Cold dew coated the ship's hull, chilling the soles of his feet and hands unpleasantly. Zeb pulled himself nimbly to the top of the ship and saw the silhouette of the man he was looking for.

The fair-haired man sat shrunken, with his head bowed and his arms embracing his body, as if trying to warm himself. Intuition told Zeb, however, that it wasn't just the cold that had locked the man in his own embrace. And it wasn't the dew that made his shoulders tremble.

For a moment he felt uneasy. He shouldn't invade another's privacy like this, and though he didn't quite want to admit it, he was afraid the man would push him away.
When Alexsandr Kallus was around, Garazeb felt...different. Something had changed drastically since their first meeting. He remembered the anger that had consumed him then, remembered how much he had wanted to take his life, and before that, make him experience pain. A real one, on the verge of insanity.
That anger had robbed him of his ability to think then, and had it not been for Ezra's help, would have been the cause of his death.
Because Kallus was perfect at what he did. No man, ever before, had stood up to fight a Garazeb to victory. The Lasat didn't think it was possible, given the differences in body size and strength between their species. But then he faced someone who treated himself as a weapon, over the years mercilessly refining every edge of it, every blade, until it became reliable to the point of self-destruction.
That alone, in a perverse way, made him someone special.
The rest came later.

Your mind is the blade. Set a goal, set a direction, it will cut your path.
(But when he lost concentration for a moment, his thoughts turned purple and bright green).
Your body is a tool. Give it a task, train for it, and it will never let you down.
(But when a certain person is near, it begins to live its own life. It reacts in ways you don't want to admit. It embarrasses you.)
Your life is a mission. Remember the guidelines and don't deviate an inch. Desires are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is the outcome.
(But almost everyone died when that turned out to be a lie. And almost died when for a moment he thought he had lost it).

____
Alexsandr rubbed his eyes with his fingers, burning from sleeplessness. They sat, drinking and talking until Hera bid them farewell and went to bed. Zeb cleaned their vodka-scented mugs and Hera's thermos, from which she was sipping some sort of brew, then offered him Ezra's bunk.
Alexsandr first looked at him surprised, before nodding hesitantly. In Zeb's eyes, somewhere beneath the facade of casual, friendly nonchalance, he saw a request marked by such sadness that a man would not find it within himself to refuse.
The Lasat did not want to be alone.
Nor did the man want Garazeb to be alone. And he had drunk enough for his sense of what was right to be triggered belatedly.

The uneasiness was thankfully fogged by the alcohol he'd consumed as he shed his boots and jacket to climb to the top bunk. He heard Garazeb's body fall heavily onto the lower bedding. The Lasat held his breath for a moment, as if to say something, but after a moment he sighed, rolled over onto his side, and it wasn't long before he began to snore.
Alexsandr waited a few minutes to make sure his friend was deeply asleep and carefully jumped off the bed. He took his jacket and boots in hand and slipped out of the cabin.
The ramp was closed, but ships of this type had an extra hatch to the upper hull and the man intended to use it to avoid making noise. He planned to slip down the hull and head for his quarters in the city, as he should have done from the start.
As he emerged from the opening, a cool breeze attacked the loose flaps of his jacket, so he zipped it up hastily. That was better. He felt relief on his alcohol-flamed face and, closing his eyes, exposed his cheeks to the night breeze.
Time to go. He grabbed the hatch cover to slam it shut cutting off his way inside the ship. But his hand stopped in mid-motion.
He had a poignant sense of the irreversibility of the gesture.
Something surged in his chest and Alexsandr felt completely unable to control it. His heart was beating too fast. He was breathing heavily, as if after a long run. His head began to spin and when he felt himself losing his balance, he sat up embracing himself with his arms and closing his eyes. He won't come down from this height in this condition, he realized. He had to wait for some time before the world in front of him stopped spinning.
The moons covered a considerable distance in the sky, and the chill of the night made its presence strongly felt under the man's not quite warm clothing. Gradually, Alexsandr's breathing evened out and his heart began to beat in a steady rhythm.
He looked at the sea of grasses, slightly iridescent in the moonlight, on which the wind created gentle waves. Here and there an island of mottled rock formation emerged from it, with which the planet was dotted.
Alexsandr Kallus had never backed down from a challenge before. Never before had he so stubbornly contradicted himself, day after day twisting reality to fit his vision. Lying to himself had always been a sign of cowardice in his eyes. And today he discovered that he himself had been acting like a coward for some time.
He felt a deep sense of shame. He stood still for a moment, wrapping his arms around himself and gathering himself together.

He had been there when his world and everyone he knew and loved was dying.
His gun was sowing death, as were all those around him.
His hands were snapping the chains on the wrists of the battered, lifeless captives, his subordinates carrying bodies out of the transports. Some very small.
He wrote and reported, kept records of losses, recommended soldiers for promotion.
A civilization built over thousands of years had collapsed in a day when, along with the murder of the planet's inhabitants, all their cultural achievements were destroyed or looted.
He looked down at his hands. The 'bo' rifle he had lost over a year ago still marked the inside of his palm with a pattern of distinctive prints.
There were moments when, having forgotten about its absence, he would reflexively reach behind his back to retrieve his favorite weapon and each time feel painfully disappointed. The rifle was one of the last treasures of a lost world - and it too was lost forever. Because of him.

What is the punishment for those who murdered thousands? What tribunal should trial them, what sentence should be passed? Alexsandr clenched his eyelids, holding his breath for a moment. The only path he foresaw when deciding to take on Fulcrum's assignment was the one leading to his end. With no possibility of redemption, no chance of forgiveness, he should disappear having done all he could for the Rebellion, and his memory should be lost.
That's why he didn't leave with Ezra when Ezra tried to save him. There should be no rescue for people like him.
And besides... As long as he worked behind enemy lines without having to face Garazeb, he could hope. He could imagine different...scenarios. He could dream sweet dreams and write long letters in his mind during the lonely hours of the night, and in the morning, straightening his back and wearing a stony expression on his face, he could set off on another day of his sentence.
It was a good road, with a proper ending.
And he, in his habit, destroyed everything when he succumbed to the whispers of hope and boarded the escape pod.

He slowly let the air out of his lungs. He was now calm and basically sober enough to move on.
The plan was simple, like most successful things in life. All he had to do was return to the city to collect his meager possessions, pack a travel bag, and report to General Draven ready to take the assignment his superior had mentioned earlier. Within two days, he will disappear deep behind enemy lines, where he will again dance on the edge of life and death, lying, deceiving and betraying his supposed superiors. He will steal information, sabotage missions and pass messages to liaisons. He will never see anyone from the Ghost again. All he will have left are memories whose warmth will warm him on lonely, fearful nights. And dreams that will sometimes take him to another, better world, if he dares to dream them. Until one day his identity is revealed, and after a few days of torture, a merciful blaster shot will end it all.
And Alexsandr Kallus will smile at the soldier holding the gun, and be grateful to him for this longed-for ticket to ultimate peace.

There was a quiet sound behind him and the man reflexively tensed his muscles, ready to fight, only to recognize Garazeb's footsteps a moment later. The Lasat approached slowly to the kink in the sheathing where the man had sat a few hours ago and stopped.
"Alexsandr!" - a low, vibrating voice rang out and the man felt a warmth spreading through his gut. With an effort of will, he stifled the urge to get up and stand right next to his friend, as close as possible. Instead, he merely glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "Garazeb." - He replied in an emotionless voice.
The Lasat was silent for a moment, then crossed the review panel and sat down next to the man. Kallus could feel his gaze on him. He also felt his palms begin to sweat.

Garazeb Orrelios looked ahead, admiring the panorama of the ending night, before his voice rang out again.
"I never told you this, but after Bahryn for three days it didn't occur to me that by allowing you to stay there I was probably sentencing you to death. Kanan and Hera were discussing some topic, don't ask what topic, when the phrase 'the Imperials rarely save their own, they have their backs that it's not worth the effort and resources'. I was fixing something the other day and the wrench fell out of my hand. And I was unable to pick it up for quite some time.
The next night the nightmares started. Every evening, without exception, there was a foreboding fear that came over me soon after I fell asleep. And each time, I dreamed of you." Zeb paused, looking ahead, resting his palms against the metal. His right hand rested so close... Kallus grunted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've given you all enough reason to have nightmares."
Zeb looked at him in surprise, but after a moment understanding flashed in his eyes. "Oh," he began. "Kal... I didn't dream at all about what you could do to us. I was dreaming about what could happen to you."

That sentence finally broke through the wall the man had erected around himself. He looked hesitantly towards the Lasat, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He didn't look away again.
"Every night the dream began the same way. I walked across the snow-covered plateau, the wind tugging at the halves of the long coat I wore. My steps crunched loudly, one after another, one after another.... And suddenly I stopped in front of a small hill. For some reason it caught my attention, breaking the monotony of the plateau, the only unevenness in sight.
Something inside me screamed every time not to bend down. Not to reach my hand into the snow, not to rake it aside. But I always did. And under the snow, on the frozen ground, you lay. Motionless, cold, dead."
Alexsandr felt a shiver run down his spine. Zeb was recounting the dream as if it really was terrifying to him. It...it didn't make sense.
"It went on for months. Until Sabine came across you and relayed to me what you did and what you said. But I only heard one thing: he's alive."
The man's eyes opened in shock. He turned his head away, unable to bear the Lasat's gaze. Garazeb also returned to contemplating the night skyline as he continued speaking.
"That night the nightmare did not come. Nor any of the next. Instead, there was a growing fear for your safety. And anger when you didn't escape with Ezra. And despair when everything said you died at Thrawn's hand," Zeb sighed heavily. "Yes. That was the worst part. The thought that you died, after all that time, before I had a chance to talk to you."

Alexsandr swallowed the bullet blocking his throat.
"Zeb." - He spoke up in a stifled voice. "What are you talking about. To be afraid...of me? I'm the last person you should be thinking about. You have a family that needs you. A cause you're fighting for. When the war is over, you'll build a life all over again. And I... I'll help in any way I can, but we both know I shouldn't be here. There is no future for someone who did what I did. I have to end this, no matter what the cost, because otherwise...this would all be even more wicked." He broke off, unable to find any more words.
The Lasat looked at him intently. "You plan to die for the cause, Kallus, am I right?" The man hesitated, but after a moment he nodded. "I have nightmares too, Zeb. And none of the dead will suddenly come back to interrupt them."
"Hmmm..." muttered the Lasat. He stood up, and his figure seemed even more powerful compared to the seated man.

"Alexsandr Kallus. You are guilty of many crimes. You are guilty of the death of my people." He saw all the blood drain from the man's face at those words.
"You owe me a debt that you cannot repay. But I can collect it, here and now. I just need your permission."
The man slowly stood up. With an effort of will, he mastered the trembling in his knees to face what he believed was the coming end. He lifted his gaze to his friend. "You have my permission," he said quietly and lowered his head. Strands of light hair fell across his forehead.
He was sure Garazeb would not make him suffer. He waited for the blow.
Instead, he heard his friend's calm voice.
"When on Lasan a warrior saved someone's life, it became his property. According to our tradition, your life, Alexsandr Kallus, still belongs to me. So, I will collect the debt you have incurred to my people by enforcing your right." The Lasat looked solemnly at the man who stared at him without a word, only a slight trembling of his body betraying the emotions that were gripping him.
"For the next three weeks you will belong to me. Literally. If I ask for something, you will do it immediately. If I go somewhere, you will follow me. You will not ask or question anything. You will eat when I feed you, drink when I give you a drink, and sleep when I say it's time. You will speak only in response to what I say to you.
For three weeks you will forget your name and what you have done. There will be no Alexsandr Kallus, former agent of the Empire, criminal and murderer. There will only be my shadow. And that is how I will address you. The question is," here Garazeb's voice quieted as he gently leaned toward the man, "do I have your permission. Think carefully, for there will be no turning back. You cannot do this half-heartedly. Three weeks of your life completely placed in my hands and the bills between us will truly be settled."

The man slowly let out a breath.
He didn't know how Garazeb intended to arrange this, but here, at this moment, there was no more important thing to him than the chance he had just been offered. He would do anything to earn his friend's forgiveness.
He looked down at his clenched hands and watched as they slowly relaxed, revealing the tender insides. Nothing was less natural to him than being owned by another being. The lack of self-determination, the total dependence, the renunciation of his name - the prospect would have been terrifying if it weren't for the fact that this was Garazeb, whom he trusted completely. About the possibility of spending three weeks close to him.
"What happens next?" - He asked, lifting his gaze and meeting the Lasat's calm gaze.
"After that," Zeb replied slowly, "each of us will receive our reward."
The man nodded. "I agree. Three weeks of my life will be yours."
The Lasat smiled and Alexsandr could have sworn an expression of relief ran across his face. He placed a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. "Go to your quarters, pack and rest. I look forward to seeing you in the Ghost tomorrow at 700."
Motionless, he watched as the man's silhouette cut through the sea of grass and moved away toward the city. In his chest he felt a growing anticipation, anxiety and excitement. He too had been given a chance today. A chance to save someone he loved.

Chapter Text

A hand covered in short, purple fur gently pushed aside a rough bush overgrown with yellowed leaves. There was a time when this and its predecessors, growing over nearly the entire plane of the slope stretching before them, were covered with sweet fruit.
But years of imperial occupation have left their mark on the planet as well, poisoning its air and soil. The once rich vegetation is dying, the animals that fed on it have disappeared, and the last predators were killed or starved to death some time ago.
What survived, as always, were the insects. The ones feeding on the dead remains couldn't have waited for better times than the last years of Kashyyyk. Those hunting other insects have adapted perfectly to the change, and not only their numbers, but their sizes have become impressive. Wanderers passing through the wilderness covered in the stumps of giant trees were surprised (or, in the Lasat's case, not so well concealed fear) to pass giant nets of tentacles stretched over rotting trunks, the likes of which would not have been seen here a decade ago. They had to learn not to recoil in fear every time beetles the size of a human forearm ran toward them at dusk, lured by the light they both harbored in their eyes adapted to pick up the slightest trace of heat.
But there was nothing they could do against the attacks of the hungry bloodsuckers, who waited for months for prey. No measure could stop them from raiding, they were too desperate, and the smell of living bodies filled with blood drove them mad. When a swarm surrounded them, they would perch under the cover of a net taken especially for that purpose and wait for all of them to arrive from the area, which usually only took a few minutes. Then the Lasat would open a container of poison and they would hold their breath for twenty seconds. After that, all they had to do was shake off the rustling insect bodies and move on, with a sense of having accomplished another small crime on this planet.

____
Zeb looked at the man standing before him with a mixture of concern and mild amusement. Kallus looked miserable. His blackened eyes showed evidence of a sleepless night, his face had an expression of uncertainty, and he was clutching the strap of the backpack thrown over his shoulder as tightly as if he were holding a safety line.
Zeb held out his hand with his palm upward, and it took the man a moment before he realized that he was supposed to hand him his luggage. He did so with a hesitation Zeb could not miss and the Lasat smiled slightly. "Come, my Shadow, I will show you where you will sleep. And take it easy. No one is going to eat you... for now," he joked. It took the man a moment to recover from those words and move after him, but he finally did, catching up with Garazeb in the hallway outside the cabin.
The door of the familiar room opened and they stepped inside, after which Zeb threw Alexsandr's backpack onto the top bunk. "This will be your bed; I'll sleep where I usually do. I'm a strong sleeper, so you can snore, recite codes, bury your pad late, or whatever else you spies do. I'm guessing Draven won't let you off work for almost a month, so whenever there's free time, take advantage, even at night. Just please very much without poking me or waking me up unnecessarily, I'll get unpleasant if I'm sleep-deprived." Zeb furrowed his brow, but the human knew even without that it was better not to make an adult Lasat 'unpleasant'. So, he nodded and looked around uncertainly, not really sure what to do next.
"Do you want to ask something?" Zeb tilted his head slightly, looking at the man. The man nodded affirmatively, then spoke quietly. "I don't quite understand what my role is supposed to be. Last night, what you said sounded a bit... dark. And ominous." - He added, looking at Zeb with concern. The man laughed slightly, but immediately became more serious and looked at Alexsandr carefully. "You're not wrong, this is a bit dark. No more so than what was going on with you yesterday, though." He headed for the exit, beckoning Kallus behind him. "Let's go to the lounge, I need to explain a few things to you."

____
The road to the destination was not an easy one. The planet was still under occupation and there weren't many places where a small shuttle could land unnoticed. Leaving the Phantom in the wilderness hidden among the rocks, they set off across barren lands where harvesters had passed through years ago leaving almost no trace of the original forests. They moved carefully to reduce the risk of detection as much as possible.
Their target was in an uninhabited area, but its nature meant that they were not allowed to attract anyone's attention to it. Therefore, for two days they had to sweep through the wilderness, vigilantly looking for any sign of detection. They had already seen one probe scouring the rocks at the edge of the steaming swamps, but it flew off in the direction of the complex after half an hour of circling over the area and everything seemed to indicate only a routine patrol.
So, they took up the arduous trek. Step by step, spreading their strength over the long route, the odd couple made their way through the desolate landscape. Leading the way, the Lasat carried a rifle in the bend of his arm, usually strapped to the armor on his back, now occupied by an impressive amount of luggage. Behind him walked a fair-haired man carrying a backpack reaching the top of his head. Both supported themselves with sticks on the way, and both wrapped soft scarves around their necks to cover their mouths and noses as they passed the stinking swamps.
Night was approaching and they both felt fatigue creeping over them, the Lasat looked for a place to stop. Soon he spotted a sandy patch surrounded by low boulders, at the edge of dead water where a few skeletons of low bushes, long since stripped of their bark, still gleamed white on the sand. He dropped his backpack and nodded to the man to do the same. The man lowered his pack to the ground and crouched for a moment, sighing heavily. His companion straightened his aching back with a groan, then stretched his neck and turned to the man.
"Get your sleep ready, Shadow. That's enough for tonight." As the man prepared the bedding, the Lasat retrieved two rations and a thermos from his luggage, then handed one to the man. They sat on their sleeping bags and ate in silence, sipping the brew. When they were finished, the man took both ration packs and stowed them in his backpack. He took one last sip from the thermos his companion handed him, after which the Lasat tucked the drink away and headed to the side. The man did the same, after which they both lay down on the mat, zipped up in their sleeping bags.

The quiet rustling of synthetic material and the sound of jawing teeth woke Garazeb. There were still three hours until dawn, and the night was very dark, but he could see the outline of the huddled figure of the man in the sleeping bag beside him.
The chill of the night proved too much for his companion, and not even the thermal fabric could help it. Garazeb reached out and placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Hey, you alive?" - his low voice interrupted for a moment the trembling of the man, who turned his face towards him. "Y... yes," he mouthed, trying with all his might to control his voice. "I can just see that. Unzip your sleeping bag," his companion instructed him softly. The man wanted to carry out the order, but his fingers, gnarled from the cold, would not listen to him. When the zipper fell out of his fingers for the third time, the Lasat unzipped his sleeping bag, leaned over the man and did it for him. He quickly joined the top zippers of both sleeping bags together, then lay down on his side of the bed and gestured for the man to come to him. As the combined garment enveloped them both, the man clung to his companion's chest with a sigh, drinking in the warmth radiating from him with his whole being. Garazeb drew the man close and felt the trembling of his body subside and his icy hands slowly regain their proper temperature. It was not long before the weary man fell into a deep sleep, safe in the Lasat's embrace.
Garazeb smiled in the falling darkness.

*Why isn't he saying anything?* the girl asked. Petite for a Wookiee, but smart, agile and resourceful, Turrua was the right hand of the camp's guardian for a reason.
Several hours had passed since their arrival in this cavern hidden among the rocks, during which time they had unpacked the food rations they had brought, energy cells, device parts, disks and medicines - everything that was missing from the survivors' camp on Kashyyk, which was kept in the greatest secrecy. In which most of the survivors were orphaned children.
The now elderly, powerful Wookiee in charge, with his honey-gold fur streaked with gray, had been organizing the lives of his thirty-two wards for several years.
When the Spectres first saw this place, Hera was ready to move the Galaxy to the ground just to arrange their evacuation. Rokhyyrr then gently placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, interrupting the Twi'lek's torrent of words, then asked her one question.
*Where will they be safe?*
Hera didn't know what to say. It wasn't just the Empire that hunted Wookiees everywhere. Bounty and slave hunters spared no effort or currency to capture the last of them, destining them for slave labor or putting them on display in arenas. The Hutts catacombs claimed irretrievably dozens of captured warriors who languished in gladiatorial cages. And they had no base to offer as shelter back then.
She looked at the children running around the small valley, at the few low huts, admittedly having little in common with the structures of their former world suspended among the branches of the giants, but still made of natural material, with an exit to the grassy ground, not the deck of a ship or station or, worse, the cobblestones of a mine. And the sun shone over the children's heads, not the cells.
It may have been crazy, but Rokhyyrr may have been right to want to stay here. No hunter would find a trace of these children, and right under the eye of the Empire's unsuspecting audacity, they could live for years, safe by the enemy's side. Hera finally gave up and tried to get a fairly regular supply for the survivors, who could not feed themselves from the dozen or so raised seedbeds.
And so, every few months, one of the crew trudged through the wilderness, carrying supplies, while the young grew up in relative safety, learning under Rokhyyrr's tutelage and waiting for their longed-for freedom.

Though Alexsandr didn't ask for anything, he couldn't turn off his analytical mind, and soon after arriving at the camp he had a fairly well-defined idea of where they had ended up. Showing this refuge to anyone outside of the Ghost's crew had to be a sign of immense confidence, which, to the best of his knowledge, he completely undeserved. He surreptitiously glanced at his friend, who was busy with some repairs talking to one of the children. When the girl looked in his direction, Alexsandr became convinced that they were talking about him. He lowered his gaze and returned to shaking the earth with an eagerness worthy of a better cause.

____
They sat at the communal table, used by the crew for practically everything, and the Lasat collected his thoughts for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the man. After a moment he coughed and began to speak.
"It used to happen on my world that during a battle a warrior would give his life to an enemy. However, this one was not safe from the warrior's companions. Nor did he usually have a chance of survival in someone else's territory, especially if he was wounded. If he tried to reach his own through foreign soil, even if he did not die of wounds or starvation, he would be bludgeoned to death by the inhabitants of the first settlement he encountered.
Therefore, if a warrior wanted to give life to someone, he had to take full responsibility for that person.
This was called the Path of the Shadow.
Seeing that the man really wanted to ask something, Zeb interrupted. "Yes?" Alexsandr hesitated. "Did something like this happen often?" he finally asked. Zeb shrugged his shoulders.
"It's old history, back in the days of the tribes' battles. But as far as I know, rather rare. Although," he smiled slightly, "apparently often enough for the custom to get a name. Keep listening." - He added with playful impatience.
"The shadow formally became the property of the warrior and his family. This made him safe, for no one would raise a hand without permission over property belonging to another of the clan. However, he was not a slave in the sense you understand it today. Ownership implies responsibility, and so with us children were owned by their parents, older parents were owned by their adult children, and partners owned each other. The shadow was owned, so the responsibility both for his harm and for what he would do against another of the clan fell on the warrior and his family. He himself, however, was not even responsible for himself. He was like a little child who knows nothing. And given that he was among strangers whose customs he mostly did not know well, this condition helped him survive, especially in the beginning." The Lasat sighed out, gathering his thoughts, and continued.
" The shadow accompanied his warrior almost everywhere. He followed his every command and spoke only to him. However, he did not have to answer questions related to his people and custom practically forbade asking them."
Alexsandr's eyebrows lifted high. Not to use such a source of information? That's absurd, he thought. Who were these warriors, characters from a naive holodrama? His friend noticed his consternation and quickly guessed what he meant. He leaned slightly towards the man sitting in front of him.
"You see, my Shadow, sometimes winning is what matters. And sometimes something far more valuable."

____
Garazeb smiled slightly, pressing the part of the holoprojector he had just repaired. With each visit, several pieces of equipment were in need of maintenance or repair, something the Lasat was happy to take care of. He always had a steady hand when it came to bringing even the most challenging equipment back to life, and it was clear that he enjoyed the work.
"Well. Done," he said with satisfaction, putting down the projector and glancing toward the man busy spreading the manure-scented soil brought to the stilted vegetable bed.
"Shadow has a difficult past," he began, gathering his tools and arranging them in the compartments of his belt. "He made a mistake that caused others to suffer. He remains silent, searching for a way to be better. The only person he talks to is me." It was the closest to the truth of a lie he could afford to tell the child. The girl opened her eyes wide, looking all the more carefully at the man.
*What mistake*, she asked, handing Garazeb the last key. The man sighed heavily and half playfully, half affectionately tousled the little one's hair.
"Too terrible to talk about, Sparky. Too terrible."

Night fell quickly. For understandable reasons, no one in the camp burned lights after dark, so everyone went to bed early. From the huts there was still the murmur of excited chatter from the youths, fascinated by the new holodisks brought by the guests, when Rokhyyrr sat down heavily next to Zeb and Alexsandr, accepting the canteen that the Lasat had given him and taking a large sip from it. The look of approval on his face was impossible to miss as he nodded as he returned the canteen to its owner. With a sigh, he sat back, looking out over the darkening panorama of the valley.
*How many years has it been, Zeb?* he asked the Lasat, looking in his direction. Yellow-green eyes flashed, only to disappear behind his eyelids a moment later. "It will be six, counting lightly," Zeb replied. Rokhyyrr was silent for a moment before he spoke again.
*Six years is enough time for the Empire to smash a weak rebellion. Meanwhile, year after year, not only are you alive, but there are more and more of you. And you keep coming back to us, despite the danger*. Garazeb shrugged his shoulders. "You need us, and I owe a debt to your people that cannot be repaid. We will keep coming until you can safely leave this place."
*You see Zeb... * - the Wookie began - *most of the children I took into my care are now young adults. I've raised them, protected them, and taught them what I could, but that doesn't change the fact that they're trapped here. They have had enough. They want to join the Rebellion, and frankly, I have no reason to stop them anymore. They are responsible and mature, eager for knowledge and action, they just need proper training*. As he spoke, Garazeb's eyes grew larger and larger that of amazement. "Rokhyyrr. Do you mean to say what I think I hear?" - He asked the Wookiee, not hiding the hope in his voice. The inquiring man nodded, reaching for the canteen once more. *I want, on behalf of myself and my wards, to ask you to evacuate and allow us to join the Rebellion. I know it will take some time, but we are ready to go at any time of the day or night. Until then, we'll do what we've always done - but the sooner we leave here, the better*.
The Lasat looked at Rokhyyrr for another fraction of a moment, then embraced the Wookiee in a crushing hug, which the latter reciprocated without hesitation.
"Tomorrow at dawn we set out. When the Ghost takes us over, I'll relay your request to Hera immediately, and I don't think you'll have to wait long for help," he patted the Wookiee on the back before they broke the embrace. "You'll be fine, old friend. It's about time."
They sat outside the hut for some more time. As Rokhyyrr tried to hand the canteen to the strange, silent man, the Lasat's hand got in the way. The Wookie looked at Zeb in surprise, but the man only shook his head and took over the canteen. The man continued to sit quietly with his legs crossed, as if he hadn't noticed anything, and Rokhyyrr shrugged his shoulders in repose - it was clearly their business.
The veterans talked for some more time, passing the beverage to each other, until old Rokhyyrr somewhat shakily went to rest and Garazeb with Alexsandr went under the roof.

They had already laid out the mat and bedding. This time Alexsandr immediately joined their sleeping bags at Zeb's request, who pulled off his armor, reinforced gloves and knee pads before slipping under the covering. The man also removed his gloves, jacket, and boots before quickly following in his companion's footsteps, already feeling the first stabs of cold. He settled himself comfortably in the enveloping warmth, facing the Lasat lying right next to him on his left side, silently watching as his friend's features relaxed into a sleepy calm and his chest heaved an even breath.

___
Alexsandr digested the information he had received in silence for a moment. Garazeb, sitting in front of him, leaned comfortably against the bench and watched him silently. As she left the cockpit Hera entered the lounge to prepare herself a mug of coffee, walking past Kallus she looked at him warmly and patted him lightly on the shoulder. She didn't say a word and Kallus suddenly realized that she was fully aware of what was going on here.
It was as if something snapped in his mind.
She was part of Zeb's family.
Zeb was the warrior who had saved his life.
They were all on the Path of the Shadow.
For...him?
Alexsandr felt himself begin to run out of air and his heart begin to tear at his chest. Black flakes danced in front of his eyes and he gripped the edge of the table, afraid he would fall off the bench in a moment.

On his shoulders he felt the warmth of large, strong hands that held him securely in place. As if through a fog, his friend's voice reached him. "Breathe, Shadow. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale." The calmness of that voice and the palpable concern in it slowly stopped the whirlpool that threatened to pull the man into something blacker than night.

Once he was able to register what his eyes were seeing, the first thing was the face of the Lasat looking at him with relief.
Zeb held his shoulders for a moment longer, then retreated to his seat, allowing the man to regain a bit of space.
Alexsandr was both grateful and deeply ashamed. He felt a wave of red cover his cheeks and longed to hide from his friend's gaze. But there was nowhere to go. He realized that he would probably not be able to hide anything from Garazeb for the next three weeks. The thought nearly triggered another panic attack.
He breathed in silence for a moment more before lifting his tired gaze to the Lasat.
"Zeb." - He spoke up quietly - "If the one being saved was becoming a Shadow in order to protect him...
What are you protecting me from?"
The Lasat smiled sadly, looking into the man's eyes and Alex felt strange under that look.
"From the most dangerous enemy you've ever had, my Shadow," his friend replied. A coldness spread through Alexsandr's guts and at that moment he didn't want to ask anything more.

___
He was exhausted from his two-day trek, but he could not sleep. He was overcome with emotions he had never felt so powerful before.
Frustration came to the forefront. He did not understand Garazeb, he did not understand what the Lasat expected of him. The arrangement, which he understood to be a form of atonement for the crimes of the past, turned out to be something entirely else. It was molded in a way that made him equate justice with punishment and he did not comprehend what his friend was doing to him. All he knew was that since their peculiar agreement Zeb had treated him with an attention and care he had never shown him before, apparently wanting nothing in return.
Alex had accompanied him the whole time. He never let him out of his sight when they took off from Lothal and they silently stared at each other, as if each wanted to assess the other's resolve. From then on, they slept together, ate together, worked together, and fought together. And then Alexsandr was intimidated by the trust with which Garazeb entrusted him with his own life.
With guns in hand, he had insured the Lasat during their raid for supplies for the hidden camp on Kashyyk, firing on the pirates as Zeb loaded crates onto the Ghost. When they took off and the ship's ramp slammed shut and they, panting heavily, settled down on the deck with their backs leaning against the side, Zeb looked at him appreciatively and squeezed his shoulder in thanks.
Beyond that, however, Zeb seemed to be deliberately limiting their physical contact, which was sometimes difficult in a small spaceship.
Things were very similar with their verbal contact.
The first conversation was actually the longest and last one they had had so far. Apart from the short sentences they exchanged from time to time, Garazeb locked them in a silence that even Hera respected, a silence that for a human was at times unbearable. But on the other hand, Alexsandr began to notice that in their being together, few words were needed to get tasks done efficiently. Minor repairs to equipment, preparing to descend to the planet's surface, packing luggage, cooking a meal aboard the Ghost, cleaning weapons - hundreds of activities each day that did not require a single word. After a few days, the man began to read his companion like imperial codes, discovering in the process the richness of the Lasat's ear expressions. How could he not have paid attention to them before? Now, even standing behind Garazeb's back, he could easily determine his mood as if he were looking him straight in the face.

Alexsandr continued to watch his sleeping friend. The back of his left hand rested on the mat, exposing the soft interior, and the man dreamed of slipping his hand there. He thought of the tips of claws gently scratching his skin, of the rough yet sensitive fingertips that would entwine with his slender fingers. With the eyes of his imagination, he saw his hand travel down the inside of the Lasat's wrist and higher, climbing up to the muscular forearm where his fingers would comb through the longer, velvety feel of the fur, following the trail of purple stripes up to the powerful curves of his arm. Later, the same hand, caressing the bulge of his collarbone, would reach for the zipper of his suit....

Stop! The man thought, feeling himself getting hot. His usually pale face was covered with a blush, coming up in a red wave all the way to his eyes. His breathing was fast, and his body tensed to the point of pain. He had never felt such intense arousal as he did at this moment.
He was furious with himself. What had been brooding in his sick head in moments of inattention, he considered a betrayal of his friend's trust. If Garazeb knew what thoughts he was having about him, it was likely that Alexsandr would never see him again. Assuming, of course, that the Lasan warrior would not have ripped his head off in righteous anger over such an insult. Alexsandr didn't know what a stain on the guard's honor it was to stop with someone like him. And what he would be able to do with him to erase that stain.

He clenched his fists and slowly, gradually began to calm his breathing. He closed his eyes, trying to think of nothing this time. It took a painfully long time before the tension began to subside and an even longer time before he was able to relax his fists and move freely. He did not want to look at his sleeping companion anymore, so he turned on his left side and putting his elbow under his head, after a few moments he was relieved to feel that he was asleep. In the next minute his consciousness fled completely.

The Lasat opened his eyes and looked at the back of the man lying next to him. In his nostrils he still had the scent of longing and excitement, frustration and fear. It was not easy for him to keep his cool in all this, but he was determined.
His right ear drooped in a gesture of concern, but he refrained from reaching out and touching the man.
The time would come for that.
After a moment, he too was plunged into sleep.

Chapter Text

Hera felt excitement fill her. She listened intently to Zeb's report, and with every word, her recently dimmed eyes filled with a will to act.
"We will inform command immediately. Are you volunteering for action?" - she asked, basically not sure why, since she knew the answer in advance. Zeb and Alex both nodded in the affirmative simultaneously, so she disappeared into the cockpit to establish a direct link to Yavin IV.

When they entered the cabin, Zeb sank heavily onto the lower bunk. With a tired gesture, he waved a hand weighing as much as a large boulder in the direction of the bathroom. "You go first," he muttered to Alexsandr, "I'll sit here for a while." The man nodded gratefully - he had never dreamt of anything more than rinsing off the toil and grime of the last few dozen hours. He took a bag of clean clothes and went to take a shower.
When he returned to his cabin, refreshed and with his hair dripping with water droplets, he saw Garazeb lying on his back, fully equipped, with his feet still on the floor, as if the Lasat had fallen asleep in a sitting position and simply rolled over onto the bed. It was a sight to behold, and Kallus was certain that if Chopper or even Sabine had been on board, Garazeb would have been doomed to watch his holo and listen to his taunts for the rest of his life.
(Of which Ezra was the master, but he preferred not to think about that now.)
Alex, of course, would do no such thing. He slowly approached his friend and gently shook his shoulder. "Zeb." - He said, and when he didn't get a response, he shook harder. "Zeb!" - he repeated, and the next second he was lying on the floor, face down, with his arm painfully trapped in a merciless grip. He did not even flinch. He knew that the slightest resistance would tear his elbow out of joint, so he let his trained reflexes guide him and softly yielded to the pressure. The grip disappeared as quickly as it had overpowered him earlier and Alexsandr slowly stretched his arm as two strong hands grabbed his shoulders and lifted him off the floor. He turned and looked directly into the Lasat's slightly frightened face.
"Are you okay?" - Zeb asked, looking worriedly at his forearm. The man moved his arm and sensed nothing but a slight stretching of the muscles. "Yeah, I'm fine," Alex replied, then lowered his gaze in embarrassment. "I shouldn't surprise you like this. After all, you warned that suddenly waking up could be, as you said, unpleasant. Now I understand what you meant." - He shrugged his shoulders. Zeb looked up at him for a moment, then merriment flashed in his eyes, which after a moment turned into a snort. The avalanche moved and after a moment, the Lasat was laughing at full throat and the man couldn't help but echo him.
Alexsandr felt the tension of the last few days drain from him as he laughed. For a moment he felt lighter, younger, free of the burden that had overwhelmed him.
After a few moments they sat on the bunk side by side, the last echoes of their merriment dying somewhere at the level of their stomachs, and suddenly Alexsandr noticed that his friend's face and ears expressed a peculiar mixture of emotions. Expectation. And hope.
His smile was extinguished like a blown out flame and the man shut down in an instant. He shouldn't imagine the non-existent. He too easily lost control of his desires then.

Garazeb closed his eyes in the rain of warm drops, relishing the bath. He would have to spend some time drying his wet fur, but he wasn't going to rush today.
Wiping himself with a towel and standing under the streams of warm air, he had enough time to think in peace.

____
Hera took a sip from her thermos, immersed in her thoughts, when she heard the bathroom door slide open and a moment later Zeb entered the lounge dressed only in his sleeping shorts. He was... Hmm, fluffy is the wrong word, Hera thought with amusement as she watched the ex-guardman, changed by the dryer into a ball of striped fur, pour himself a cup of water at the stove. Zeb took a sip and turned toward the table she was sitting at, then nearly drowned, startled by her unexpected sight. The captain walked over to the coughing Lasat and patted him firmly on the back.
"Thank you," he whispered, recovering. "I thought you were already asleep," he added, looking at Hera with concern. "Are you okay?"
Hera sighed, looking at him with sadness in her tired eyes. "You know how it is, Zeb." - She said quietly, and the Lasat embraced and hugged her in response. "Sometimes I think nothing will ever be right again." - she whispered, closing her eyes and soaking up the warmth and peace emanating from Garazeb.
They continued like that for a few moments, then Hera gently pulled away from her friend and returned to the table, embracing the thermos with slender fingers. With a glance she indicated the seat next to her and Zeb sat down, taking advantage of the invitation.
"We've just been cleared for action," she spoke up after a moment, her voice regaining its former strength. "In twenty-six hours, reinforcements will jump into the sector to provide us with a diversion during the evacuation. We need to take everyone at once, so we are landing the Ghost."
Zeb felt joy fill him. He nodded with a smile and, crossing his arms over his chest, breathed deeply. "Quick action," he stated, and his eyes sparkled. Hera couldn't hold back a smile at this sight.
"I think so." - She replied, and toasted with the brew. She took a sip and looked at Zeb intently.
"And how are things with you?" - She asked quietly.

____
The squadron flashed by once again, firing on the destroyers. All the attention of the Imperial forces was directed at the Reds and their acrobatic feats. So far, the fighters had nimbly dodged turbolasers, dealt with Thais and Commander Dreis' men had yet to suffer any losses. That could change quickly, however, so Hera squeezed two hundred percent power out of the Ghost and landed near Rokhyyrr's camp a few moments after entering the atmosphere. The ship's hull plating was still hot when the ramp came down and Garazeb and Alexsandr ran out to help the survivors board with their necessary belongings. The young Wookiees showed excellent organization, letting the youngest ones go ahead as the older ones closed up the rear and Zeb with Alex basically didn't have much work to do. Rokhyyrr boarded last, the Lasat and his human jumped in his wake and Hera closed the ship, dismissing the commander and his pilots.
Minutes later they were in hyperspace, calculating a series of jumps to Yavin.

They were... disarming. Kallus searched his mind for a long time for the word to properly describe the demeanor of the group of young Wookiees, most of whom were seeing the inside of a starship for the first time in their lives, let alone being aboard one.
Eyes wide open. Unsteady steps. Startled squeals as more systems picked up and stopped. At first, most were afraid to touch anything, for fear of damaging their carrier, so they and Zeb had to calmly explain the simplest things. For example, how to use the bathroom. Or that you could sit on a crate without risking blowing up the ship.
Zeb, being the only one who understood shyriiwook, was flooded with questions and after half an hour of answering them, he simply went hoarse. He was relieved to see Rokhyyrr emerge from the cockpit after a long conversation with Mon Mothma, Dodonna and Draven, then take over from the Lasat as guardian of his band of adolescents.
"Thirsty for knowledge, acct," Zeb mumbled under his breath as he performed a quick auto-evacuation to his cabin. "With an attitude like that, they'll all end up in Intelligence like nothing!" - he finished, punching in the code to enter the cozy interior and take his mind off the hustle and bustle for a moment.

He entered the cabin only for a moment. He needed one of Zeb's keys after the youngster nearly ripped the water dispenser out of the wall in an attempt to pour himself some liquid into a mug. Frightened by the crunch of metal, he dropped the pot and had it not been for Kallus' reflexes, Sabine's favorite mug would have turned into a clumsily cobbled together souvenir. The youngster was clearly trying to apologize, so Alexsandr patted him on the shoulder, assured him that he didn't understand a word, sat him down behind the table with a mug of water he'd poured himself, and headed for the cabin to get something with which to bolt the installation into place. He just hoped the mountain of fur-covered muscle didn't destroy something else before he returned to the lounge.
Finding the right wrench wasn't difficult; Zeb kept his tools in impeccable order - with almost imperial discipline, the man thought, reaching into the chest. Each tool rested in its own compartment, all screws and bolts sorted by size were locked in their respective containers, and boxes of lubricants and cleaning pastes were carefully secured. He knew that when he lifted the compartment he would see a meter, a steel brush, a set of abrasives of varying densities, and underneath them two pairs of stained work gloves. One of which had five fingers.
He tapped out the code and hurriedly started through the open door of the cabin when the momentum of his body was abruptly halted by the obstacle of a startled Garazeb. Kallus groaned, stepped back and reflexively covered his cheek with his hand, which had just collided with the Lasat's armor.
The Lasat was already opening his mouth, but closed it at the last moment in annoyance with a clatter of sharp teeth. No, he wasn't going to ask anyone again today if they were okay. The kids had just exhausted his daily word limit. Instead, he reached over and pushed the man's hand away from his cheek to see the blood running up the mark that would soon turn into an ugly bruise. Like after a blow with a combat glove, he thought.
"Karabast. If you don't bandage that right away, you're going to look like a victim of boarding violence." - he muttered, shoving the man back into the cabin. "Why did you even run like that, Shadow? As far as I know, nothing's burning." - He added in exasperation. Kallus lifted the key he was carrying. "Well," he replied in a tired tone, "the deck is crawling with kids capable of tearing equipment from the walls, not to mention the limbs of other beings. I have no reluctance to put it under the category of burning." He sat down, or rather was seated on the lower berth, and waited for Zeb to pull the gel from the med kit. The Lasat found the container and squeezed some of the bacta onto his fingers, rubbing the gel gently into the man's cheek. The redness momentarily began to fade.
Zeb smiled half-heartedly, putting the container down.
"Ha. Then we better get back in there before they take down the Ghost completely." - He stood up, grabbing the toolbox, and reached out to Alexsandr, who grasped his hand and rose to his feet. The Lasat tapped the door controls and they both left the cabin.

Kallus involuntarily clenched the hand that had just held Garazeb's fingers. Their warmth survived inside it for a few more seconds.

_____
Zeb mused for a moment, hanging his gaze on the empty table, scratched by years of use. He leaned his back against the side and crossed his forearms over his chest. He looks worried, Hera thought, but that's not surprising after all. Considering the situation, he'd packed himself into - which he'd packed them into, she corrected herself in her mind - things were going well for now anyway. At least so far no one had died.

"It won't be easy, Hera," he sighed heavily. "He's really messed up in the head. Heart where it needs to be, but here." - He tapped a finger against his forehead - 'a complete mess. Something's starting to get to him, but I can see he's still expecting me to drag him out of his bunk one night and kick him into a corner somewhere."
Hera snickered slightly. "I'm not sure that's such a bad idea," she laughed, and Zeb looked at her with feigned indignation. Hera set her dish down and squatted down next to the Lasat, resting her head against his shoulder.
"He trusts you, after all, you can see that. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gone along with this deal. He's been like your shadow for a long time now - always somewhere nearby, always ready to help. And with you, he's always lost that... arrogance."
Zeb laughed quietly, so apt was Hera's observation. Though he had to admit, calling Kallus arrogant was a slight exaggeration. The bastard was cold and confident, but not out of any desire to exalt himself - he simply knew when he was good at something and didn't hesitate to show it.
And so far, only the crew of the Ghost, and one of its members in particular, had been able to shake that confidence.

____
A punch to the stomach folds his body like one of those knives that are easy to hide in the upper part of a shoe so as not to give the impression of being armed. In fact, he should have one. It would be enough now to reach in, remove the blade, and... He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, though it hurt. His father's fist was hard.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a still shape against the wall.
"K'din! " - he shouted, throwing himself towards the lying man. But a kick to his leg threw him to the ground and the boy curled up, crying out in pain and pressing his right knee to his chest.
The Colonel was not going to turn a blind eye this time. He wasn't going to show any mercy either. The brat had disgraced the family enough, and now, just when Constantin Kallus' path to a real career was opening up, his own son nearly ruined everything with his perverted urges. The Colonel had crossed the line where he knew he would either pacify the brat and force him into submission or kill him.

He wanted to hide it. He sneaked into forbidden districts, where recognizing him would cause a scandal, let alone being caught with it... At the thought of the degenerate his son was dating, the Colonel gritted his teeth harder. A trash from the lower levels. A child of the gutter, whose parents probably lived by fucking and stealing. A parasite who had found himself a rich gullible man, his means to get out of the cesspool he had grown up in.
Constantin felt a cold fury sweep over him. There was much he could bear, but when it was reported to him that Alexsandr had brought this trash into their home...
He decided not to take it out on the humans and take matters into his own hands.

The rat did not suffer. The Colonel was an experienced soldier, he broke his neck without difficulty. He hurled his corpse against the wall and waited for his prodigal descendant. Soon the door to the room opened quietly and Alexsandr's voice rang out in the silence.
"K'din? Are you here?"

He entered and closed the old-fashioned carved door leaf behind him.
The latch made a quiet cracking sound.
His father's fist slammed into the boy's stomach.

Chapter Text

They landed on Yavin late that night. The base crew was well prepared, however, and the Wookiees were fed, housed, and soon most of the base was asleep, gathering strength for the next day.
Garazeb and Alexsandr did not leave the Ghost while the survivors were deployed - the base did not need their help, and the man did not want to unnecessarily get in the eyes of his superior. Hera had admittedly "borrowed" him for three weeks, but why pull the string.

They set out on a reconnaissance mission. After the destruction of Scariff, the horror of a battle station capable of blowing up planets, orbiting somewhere in space, was all too real. After the battle, the Imperial forces had regrouped, and the station, despite its size, was effectively hidden. The Empire was undoubtedly preparing to attack and the survival of the rebellion depended on the speed at which they were able to gather information on its movements.
Having an ex-agent on board who knew the enemy very well, someone who not only knew Imperial procedures but was also able to decipher intercepted communications, could be invaluable - and, well, even for a waspish general it made sense. So, he released Kallus, albeit reluctantly, from under his watchful eye.
So, they drew fuel, replenished supplies, and ten hours after landing at the base, the Ghost left the Yavin system.

"Where are we going, Hera?" - Garazeb asked, rubbing his tired eyes. They were sitting in the lounge over their first meal since evacuating the camp, and the need for sleep was evident on the faces of all three. Hera had been given the coordinates of the locations that command wanted to check extremely discreetly, for which the Ghost was perfectly suited.
Hera placed the data bone in front of Kallus. "The Commander's crew picked up a suspicious transmission from Thila yesterday. We're flying there to see what it's about. Alexsandr, get as much out of it as you can," she turned to the man, her head indicating the chip.
"How much time do we have?" - Garazeb asked. "We have to do some circling, so about eleven hours." - She replied. "I'm going to go catch some sleep, you Zeb lay down too. Alexsandr, you stay on the bridge. I'll change you in four hours." "Yes sir." - The man replied, throwing the captain a surprised look.
Garazeb did not lift his gaze from his meal this time, though a fleeting smile crossed his face.

He sat in the pilot's chair, checking the coordinates from time to time. With concentration, he once again tore through the data encrypted on the dice, slowly deciphering successive levels of information. When he finally unpacked the whole thing, there were thirty minutes left until the end of his shift, so he decided not to wake Hera, but to check everything again and wait for the captain.

The door slid open and Hera entered the cockpit. Alexsandr immediately rose from his seat and made way for her. Hera took a seat and then looked at the man. "Did you manage to read anything?"
"Actually, yes, though I'm not sure on a few points yet. But what I decoded..." - the man paused and shook his head, seriousness painted on his face, "was a series of distress calls that were drowned out. Apparently hurriedly and insufficiently, since the Commander was able to pick up the transmission. The last one cut off in the middle."
As he handed Hera the datapad, the door slid open again and Garazeb stepped into the cockpit. He looks much better, the man thought, and at that moment he felt fatigue overwhelm him. The Lasat looked at him with concern.
"Any news?" - He turned to Hera, who was running her eyes over the pad screen. The captain rubbed the base of her nose with her fingers furrowed her brow.
"It looks like something happened in the system. Someone called for help, and their transmission was attempted to be jammed. And it was on an Imperial frequency."

Alexsandr wanted to stay with them, but Zeb just looked at his exhausted face and shook his head. "You go lie down, Shadow. Now." It was the first time the Lasat had used that name in Hera's presence and Kallus subconsciously expected some sort of reaction from her. However, Hera merely looked away, going back to reviewing the data, leaving them a minimum of privacy.
The man only sighed and moved towards the cabin, the door closing behind him with a quiet hiss.

____
The Colonel looked at his son curled up on the floor. A sob shook the boy's body as he lay like that, bleeding from a broken nose, his arms hugging his knees, pathetic evidence of his parental failure. The man felt his anger slowly subsiding. Still, he was willing to give the boy a chance. He crouched over Alex, who reflexively tensed all over in anticipation of more blows, stifling a cry, trying to become invisible.
"You'll get yourself cleaned up," his father's quiet, cold voice hit the boy like a whip. "When you're ready, you'll pack, say goodbye to your mother, and come to my office. You will sign the papers from the Academy." The man leaned even lower.
"You will forget what happened. You will forget all this nonsense and all the previous stories; you will forget these degenerates. I know." - his tone changed abruptly as he moved his hand through his son's hair, at which his son curled up even tighter - "It's not your fault. They approached you, tricked you, wanted to take advantage. I should have reacted sooner. I'm sorry, son."
The boy petrified. Sadness sounded in his father's voice. This man may have really believed what he was saying and that was even more frightening. It suddenly came to Alex with full force how deep and dark his trap was.

When the door of the room closed behind his father, the boy still lay motionless for a moment. Finally, he lifted his head.
The motionless shape against the wall seemed so foreign.
Alexsandr began to crawl toward it until his icy fingers touched the motionless back. Slowly he turned the stiffening body and looked at his beloved's face. At the half-open, glassy eyes. At the neck twisted at an absurd angle. The cheeks and lips drooping under their own weight, inert.
Those eyes had looked at him in so many ways just a moment ago. With love, with mockery, with challenge and awe. It was from them that he learned what devotion was.
Those lips were a hot source of kisses and the tenderest of words.
In the hollow of his neck, he sought solace when, after a particularly difficult day, K'din simply held him in an embrace and Alex inhaled his scent, listened to his breathing and slowly regained his composure and strength.
All dead.
And the world had not ended.
He clenched his fists; afraid he would go mad in a moment.

____
Garazeb was sitting at the table cleaning his weapons when he heard a scream. At first, he couldn't locate its source, so surprisingly animalistic was the sound, only after a moment did, he realize that the sound was coming from his cabin.
The rifle part he held in his hand fell with a clatter onto the table top as he sprang from his seat.

Lights from the corridor flooded the room and the Lasat paused for a moment at the threshold, unsure of what he would find once inside. At first glance, everything was fine, so he stepped in and pressed a switch, flooding the interior with warm light.
The shape huddled on the top bunk moved violently and the frantic eyes of someone who had just seen his worst nightmare looked at Garazeb.
"Shadow?..." – The Lasat asked uncertainly, feeling a strange feeling bordering on fear come over him at the sight of this suddenly alien face of a man who seemed not to recognize him. The man began to shake as if in shock, so Zeb quickly quelled his anxiety and took a step forward. This time his voice sounded more confident.
"Relax. You're safe. It's just a dream," he spoke quietly, moving closer to the berth. Whatever demons inhabited Alexsandr's head had decided to strike at him just now, and truth be told, the Lasat was not surprised. The man had been through hell more than once that he had never talked to anyone about and had experienced things that he had so far never had the opportunity to unwind other than with violence. Nowhere and never had he felt quite safe.... Until now.
Zeb grabbed the edge of the bed and jumped nimbly on top, at which Alexsandr retreated to the opposite end of it. He put his arms around his knees and froze in that position, staring at the Lasat. The initial shock and unrecognition were replaced by a helplessness that Garazeb would never have expected to see on this man's face.
He carefully sat down next to the man. The man did not try to move away, so Zeb slowly, giving him time to react, put his left arm around Alexsandr and pulled him close. When he put his other arm around him and the man's forehead touched his collarbone, the Lasat felt his friend's body shake with sobs, and after a moment the first tears flowed onto his suit. He bowed his head, resting his chin against his light hair.
"Take it easy. Get it out of your system. Everything will be all right. You're among your own," the Lasat spoke basically just so his friend could hear someone else's voice, to further indicate that he wasn't alone.
Then Alexsandr surprised him. He snuggled into Garazeb, clenching his fists and eyelids, and a stifled, hoarse voice came from his throat.
"He's dead. I loved him so much... And he him...my own father.... " - the last word was so quiet that Zeb barely heard it, feeling the fur on the back of his neck turn black. Alexsandr said nothing more, so the Lasat just embraced him tighter, rocking slightly until the tears stopped flowing.

____
They had a few hours left to get to Thila's system, so Garazeb didn't need to rush anything. Hera would summon them, if necessary, but for now he had time.
Once the man had calmed down, he tried, in his usual fashion, to move away from the Lasat and closed behind a stony expression that was meant to mask shame and pain.
This time, however, Garazeb was not going to let that happen. He had heard something very important today, the man's armor had cracked for a moment and he would be damned if he was going to let go now. He would shred that crack with his bare hands if he had to.
"Listen to me carefully now, Shadow. If you understood what I told you at the beginning, you should know that there is no place in the entire Galaxy safer than where you are sitting right now. I am here for you. Hera is here for you. So stop running away, especially when you most want the opposite. Stop being afraid of me, because as long as we're bound by the pact, I'd rather die myself than let you get hurt."
Alexsandr was initially unable to say anything. Zeb could see his larynx working, his jaws tensing, his fists alternately clenching and relaxing. But they had time, and Zeb was willing to wait. He thought about what he had heard. He knew the man, like all of them, carried the baggage of war and he wished he could finally open up, but he didn't think something else had marked him so deeply.
"I'm going to ask you something now," the Lasat said quietly. "If it's too much, don't fulfill my request." He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and his cheek touched Alexsandr's hair.
"Yes?" - The man's voice sounded deafening, but to Zeb, the mere fact that the man had begun to answer him was another small victory.
Garazeb's arms held him firmly and securely.
"Tell me." – The Lasat said.

____
He didn't know how much time he had spent sitting on the floor of his room, with the body of his beloved in his arms. Minutes? Hours? More likely the latter, because when he tried to get up, he had no feeling in his right leg and almost fell.
He already knew what he had to do.
He closed K'din's eyelids, stroked his night-black hair and never looked at him again.
He took clean clothes from the dresser and stalked to the bathroom. Slowly, methodically, he undressed, stepped into the shower, and washed off the blood.
Then he took out his travel bag and packed the bare minimum of essentials, gave his room one last glance, carefully avoiding one spot with his eyes, then crossed the threshold with an iron resolve never to return here again.

Constantine Kallus heard the door to his office open and was already raising his gaze from under his furrowed brows to reproach his son for keeping him waiting when the words froze on his lips.
Someone had entered the Colonel's office.... someone else.
The young man walked over to the wide wooden desk, picked up and reviewed the papers with the Imperial Academy's signature on them in a decisive motion, then reached for a pen and signed his name in the space designated for a recruit.
He handed the file to his father, looking him in the eye and the old military man felt a slight shiver down his spine, so cool and still was his son's gaze.
There was no trace of the previous weakness in him.
The man accepted the papers, looking at Alex from under a slightly raised eyebrow.
"You're making a wise decision, son. I'm glad you've finally regained your sanity," he said, putting the papers down. Alexsandr nodded his head.
"I'm glad too, Father," he replied in a voice from which no emotion could be read.
The colonel was unaware that by signing the papers, his son was signing a sentence against him.

He was careful, thorough, and very, very cautious. When the first anonymous information regarding Senator Kallus' side business pursued reached General Hess, no one would have been able to trace its source. They were, however, accompanied by disturbingly detailed financial reports, which were methodically checked.
Two months later, the Senator was discreetly arrested and transported to a prison of the kind you don't leave alive.
Agent Kallus underwent a thorough background check after that, which showed not the slightest disloyalty on his part, and returned to his duties. He never learned of his father's further fate.

____
"Nine years ago, news was delivered to my desk that inmate P-542 had died in his cell. I put it out of my mind to the extent that I initially thought it was some kind of mistake. It wasn't until I read the prisoner's name..." Kallus rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. "It was justice, a life for a life. I would handle it differently today, but back then it was the only solution. To keep from going insane." He paused for a moment, then his voice sounded grave cold. "Then there was Onderon and another revenge. Lasan. You see now who I am. You see who you saved."

Garazeb felt something burst in his chest. If he thought he was in love before, in that moment he stopped, because what he felt for this man went several levels deeper.
He knew who he was dealing with. He knew how dangerous this man could be and what he could go to.
At the same time, he knew why the same man who had coldly disposed of the lives of his subordinates and killed on command, the same man who had participated in the destruction of his world, the man who he claimed had sentenced his own father to death - was so vulnerable with him.
At last, he saw him. And it was a sight both terrible and beautiful at the same time.
Garazeb Orrelios realized that he was utterly doomed. So, he decided to take it as a Lasat warrior should: with honor, with a raised brow and to the very end.

The Lasat pushed the huddled man away and took his chin with two fingers, lifting it gently. Had the man been unwilling to allow the gesture, he would have interrupted him without the slightest effort, but nothing of the sort happened. Dilated pupils intercepted each other; quickened breaths mingled into each other. They stood like that for a moment and the Lasat saw the man's gaze become clouded and his lip’s part slightly. Then he bent his head and captured those lips with his own, and the man let out a quiet moan in which were delight and fear, joy and sorrow.
"You can no longer be my Shadow, Alexsandr." - whispered the Lasat quietly as they separated for breath.
The man looked at him, not understanding, and furrowed his brow. "Why?" - He asked, stiffening in his arms, and Zeb could almost see the cogs in his head begin to turn violently, threatening to enter a sequence of self-destruction. He wasn't going to let that happen, though.
He stroked the line of the man's jaw with his thumb, and a smile lit up his face.
"For you have just reached the end of the road, Kal," the Lasat said, still smiling, "And now you must decide."
The man straightened up slowly, looking at the Lasat in concentration.
"What to decide, Garazeb?" - He asked in a slightly trembling voice.
His friend looked into his eyes again, already without a smile, instead with such tenderness that something dangerously prickled under Alexsandr's eyelids.
"About whether you want to go back to where you came from," the Lasat replied, "Whether you want to be theirs or you want to be ... Mine."

Chapter Text

The Thila system was marked on maps basically only out of necessity. The planet lay in the middle of nowhere, unconnected to any major hyperspace route, and reaching it required either blind faith that no gravitational fluctuations would destroy the ship along the way, or many arduous hours in subspace. However, much Garazeb Orrelios would have preferred the latter option, he understood, after all, that neither the Ghost's captain nor the rest of them could waste priceless time.
Hera chose the hybrid solution. Based on the residual information on gravitational shifts in the surrounding sectors, she calculated a route largely running in hyperspace, with a few jumps.
Now, however, they were already moving at the pace of non-hyperdrive pioneers, marvelling at constellations whose luminous palette was turning to an unsettling blackness where another black hole was believed to have appeared.
These massive objects roamed space devouring even light along the way, and entering their gravity well meant a close encounter with the event horizon - and an irrevocable passage to the other side of existence unknown to anyone. For some reason, the Thila system was one of several where singularities occurred frequently, and that made it so inhospitable.

Silence was enforced aboard the Ghost. Hera had shut down all systems except life support, propulsion and minimal lighting. The ship was in semi-darkness, and if that condition was maintained for a few more hours, an unbearable chill would set in as well.
They were an hour and a half away from the planet and the captain was watching the monitors in concentration, looking out for anything that looked suspicious.
So far, nothing of the sort was visible, but given the intercepted communications, Hera's attention was sharpened to the limit. It's about time to call the crew to the bridge, she thought, silently hoping that their many hours of absence meant something good.
She was reaching for the intercom button when her hand froze in mid-air a few centimeters above the console.

There were bodies floating in the cosmic void.

Hera was a pilot fighting in space. She was aware of the horror of death waiting just beyond the walls of the ship.
She was the captain of a squadron belonging to the Rebel forces. She had seen the deaths of many pilots, some of whom were her friends. She was not a sensitive civilian.
But what she saw before her had nothing to do with war.
It was murder.

____
"Is the transmitter sending a signal, Colonel?" A tall, morbidly thin man stood facing the view panel, watching the flickering streaks of blue and white. The battle station was making another in a series of short jumps that would lead it to a signal source that might indicate a Rebel base. Soon they would reach the Thila system, a communications worthless place, but with the presence of gravitational anomalies perfect for masking their presence. A station the size of a small moon didn't have many options for hiding in more densely populated space.
"Yes, Moff Tarkin," the older, gray-haired man replied, slightly surprised. The Chief of Intelligence was not directly in charge of the current operation, but as a rule he was supposed to know everything, so he merely sighed in thought. Standing a step behind his superior despite his shorter height, he kept himself straight and confident, making him seem taller than he actually was.
"Excellent." The station commander turned back to the older man. "Any complications in the system?" - He asked.
These complications were the reason the Colonel had chosen to speak with the Moff, and Tarkin knew that Yularen would not take up his time unnecessarily.
"A habitation station has been erected in Thila orbit. Recon reports that there are almost exclusively civilians there - the complex is run by a few ex-military personnel, but other than that they have no regular troops. They are not heavily armed, with one ion cannon and one medium range laser. They don't have shields, or at least they don't keep them active. The agent was able to determine that most of the inhabitants are refugees from Imperial domains who have been living in the system for years. A large group, on the other hand, just arrived from the Tantive IV."
The Moff mused for a moment. If they slipped past Drommel after communications with Alderaan broke down, they might suspect the truth. Which means that when they see the station that was supposed to be hiding in the system, the Rebel alliance will be alerted. Well - the commander thought - their mistake. He reached into the communications panel.
"Open fire immediately upon exiting hyperspace," he instructed dryly.

____
"Zeb, I need you. Now." Hera's voice sounded strange, raising the fur on the Lasat's neck. He reached for the communicator.
"I'm going," he replied, sitting down on the bedding.
He was about to tuck the communicator back into his suit pocket when a human hand stopped him halfway, removing the device from between strong, purple fingers.
"Let's go." - Kallus corrected the Lasat and Zeb met the gaze of eyes the color of liquid honey, sure, warm and yet hard as durasteel.
In that second the Lasat understood and his heart stopped for a single beat.

Shock and horror were still painted on Hera's face as the cockpit door opened and the two of them stood behind her seat. The captain heard the Lasat, glancing at the window panels, draw in air loudly. Standing at his side, Alexsandr didn't even make a sound, just gripped Garazeb's forearm tightly and inched even closer to his friend.

Slowly spinning on its axis, the shape was surrounded by a web of long hair. A motionless hand pressed a colorful object to his chest, and Alexsandr recognized in it after a moment a toy sewn to resemble a Lothal cat. The shoe torn from her left foot floated at the height of the girl's face in its own absurd rotation. The man still noticed the chain surrounding the child's ankle before he clenched his eyes shut, resting his forehead against Zeb's shoulder to avoid seeing her face as the inexorable movement turned her body toward them.
As he looked again into the space stretching out in front of the ship, he saw the remains of what might have been an orbital station before a powerful beam of energy turned it into space debris. Shards of construction, fragments of everyday equipment, and dead bodies-all that remained of a place that, judging by what they saw, had been teeming with life not so long ago.

"What happened here?" - Zeb finally managed to croak out. Hera swept her eyes over the landscape of destruction. "I don't know, but we already know the source of our signal." - She replied quietly, trying to control her voice.
"We need to search this place." - They heard Alexsandr's strained voice. "If there is any chance that someone survived this, we need to take it."
Hera nodded. "Eyes around your head, gentlemen." - She said, directing the Ghost to take the first lap around the destroyed complex. "We're looking out for anything that might protect the survivors."

"There," Garazeb indicated as they peered out from behind the tangled remains of the station core. Three shapes, one of which was still attached to the remains of the docking collar floated a short distance from the core.
Capsules. Alexsandr felt hope tentatively sprout in his heart.

____
She felt that in a moment her skull would shatter into pieces. Each beat of her heart made her temple and occiput pierce with nails of pain. She reached out and looked at her hand, in the red of the emergency lights, covered in a tarry, sticky liquid. She tried to lift herself up on her other hand, but only screamed when the broken bone in her forearm brutally announced its condition.
She tried to move her legs and the pain did not reappear. Good, she thought. At least she's okay here.
The rest of the world around her spoke of death, which she just hadn't accepted yet.

As the moment of weakness passed, the woman opened her eyes. She looked around the interior of the capsule, allowing her mind to freely search for a way out of the trap. The station was gone, so she was left with only a meager supply of oxygen. The status bar indicated 60%, so she had some time. It was cold, and she realized that the temperature would get lower every hour... But perhaps there was much less time.
Transponder. But the distress signal wouldn't call for rescue, it would only bring her to the attention of this monster that had killed nearly half a thousand lives with a single shot - and no doubt no witnesses were wished to be left on board.
She felt a stab of panic. She had no options. This time all signs pointed to the end of her story.
She clenched the fist of her healthy hand, trying to get her breathing under control. Fear wouldn't help here anymore, screaming and crying even less. If these are to be her last hours, she will act accordingly. She will not go to the other side without dignity.
With a groan, she lifted herself up, grabbing the chair. The artificial gravity was not fully working, but enough for orientation in space. With a groan, she climbed into the seat and, with a healthy hand, fastened the seatbelt. She sat up straight, tightened the straps, pressed her broken forearm to her chest and stared into space. The sight made her turn her head away breathing deeply to control her scream. But she quickly picked herself up. They were all gone without a single goodbye. Someone has to take it upon themselves, and there was no one else here but her. With a shudder, she let the air out of her lungs and forced herself to look through the panels of the pod again. She no longer looked away as she began to say goodbye to the dead, at first in a whisper and then in a quiet chant.

____
"I'm scanning." - Hera said, following the readings on the screen. The beams penetrated the first of the pods, finding no sign of life, which was not surprising when they saw its front open with a laser strike. Whoever was inside was violently sucked into the void as the energy beam cut the hatch, leaving an empty shell.
The second capsule appeared to be sealed, so they held their breath as the scanners went to work. Unfortunately, they detected nothing alive in it and Hera lowered her head, sighing. "They didn't stand a chance," she said quietly into space as Zeb placed a heavy hand on her shoulder.
They had already approached the last one without much hope. Hera activated the device and when a faint heat signature appeared on the screen, for a moment they didn't register what they were looking at. The stillness of the three was interrupted by Kallus.
"Quick, pick them up. They are already in hypothermia after all these hours," his firm voice roused Hera to action, and after a moment a loud clang announced that the pod had safely connected to the Ghost's docking port.
"Go ahead. I'll keep checking." - instructed the captain.

The hatch design was antiquated, so it took them a moment to punch in the sequence in reverse and unscrew the safeties. The hatch lifted with a hiss, split in half into two, each sliding into a side pocket. The interior of the capsule was not surprising, after all, packing the necessary systems and equipment into a small space did not allow for much ingenuity on the part of the designers.
"How old is this thing?" - muttered Zeb with a note of awe in his voice.
A shape rested on a chair facing the hatch.
Alexsandr stepped into the icy interior and turned the chair to which the woman was pinned. Her face was very pale, and the trickles of stagnant blood, almost black in the dim light, only emphasized that pallor. Her blue lips were slightly ajar and she pressed her left hand to her chest. Kallus unbuckled her harness and grabbed the body sliding off the seat, turning to hand the survivor to Garazeb. The man lifted the woman with ease and laid her gently on the floor of the compartment to check for signs of life.
"Barely, but alive," he said, lifting his gaze to the man. "I'm carrying her to Kanan's cabin. Take the medpac." Kallus ran ahead and entered the Jedi's bedroom with the medpac under his arm as Garazeb laid the survivor on the berth.
With a towel wet in warm water, they washed the blood off the woman's face and head, dressing the cut above her temple. Zeb gently examined the wounded woman's left arm, which elicited a quiet groan. He cut open the sleeve of her uniform-like jacket, covered the broken section with a layer of gel and secured it with gauze over which he placed a stabilizer. Then, with the help of bandages, they immobilized the elbow-bent limb on her chest. This had to be enough until the wounded was attended to by a medic.
They were wrapping the injured woman in blankets when suddenly the woman's eyes opened and her gaze fell on Alexsandr. She gasped for air and let out a squawk that did not resemble a human voice.
Both men turned towards her in surprise. They saw her clench her eyelids, the underside of which flowed two tears. When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was driven into the man's face with such anger and despair that Alexsandr almost took a step back.
" YOU!" - she almost wailed and tried to get up, at which Garazeb jumped to her and gently but firmly pressed her shoulders against the berth until once again the woman's head fell back against the pillow. After a moment she gave up, having no more strength.
"Shhhh, take it easy. You're hurt and cold, you can't get up. Calm down, you are safe now," the Lasat spoke as gently as he could.
The woman cried out and Zeb reflexively stroked her hair, the way someone had once soothed his grief in another world.
But the woman did not respond well to the touch. She stiffened, and her face contorted in despair. After a moment, she gazed with burning anger into Garazeb's pupils.
"Don't you know who that is?" - She asked, pointing with her head at the man standing motionless. "It's a monster."

Alexsandr felt his hands shaking.

Garazeb found him in the hallway, sitting against the wall with his face hidden in his arms supported by his knees. He crouched down and lightly touched the man's elbow.
"Are you okay?" - He asked, knowing full well that he was not. But Alexsandr understood the meaning of the question. He lifted his head and looked at the Lasat sadly.
"It will happen, Zeb." - He said, grasping his friend's hand. Garazeb sighed and leaned down so their foreheads could touch. "I know," he replied quietly.
"How does she feel?" - Alexsandr asked after a moment as Zeb stood up and held out his hand to him. The Lasat moved toward the cockpit and the man followed.
"She's sleeping. She was given painkillers, but before she fell asleep, she told me what happened. It was a battle station, like the ones over Scariff and Jedha. They fired on the complex right after we came out of hyperspace. Hera!" - He called out as the door slid open and they stepped inside. "We need to get out of here. The station above Scariff is in this system." Hera gave him a wary glance. "Sensors aren't detecting anything. So, either this thing is already out of here, or..." - her gaze shifted to the Ghost's vision panels, where a massive globe loomed in space. Zeb's ears stuck flat against his skull as he realized the threat. "Or it's orbiting the planet, and any minute now, yes, it will fly out, but right at us." - he finished.
And just then, as if triggered by a spell, a shape emerged from behind the planet that the Spectres could not mistake for anything else. A shockingly gigantic battle station, which could easily have been taken for a natural moon, rose above the planet like a mock satellite.
"Hera..." - Zeb hissed with a compressed throat as the Ghost detected the Station's scanners and an alarm sounded in the cockpit.
With a firm motion, the captain moved the lever and a moment later the familiar, safe glow of blue-white streaks surrounded them.

____
They were asleep when the fire took the first house into its embrace. The screams of the trapped people inside woke up the neighbors, who ran straight into the blaster fire of the squad passing through the settlement. They were all falling. Or burned if they didn't leave their homes fast enough.
She knew she would never forget the smell of burning hair. And the horrible screams of children trapped by fire.
He had been there. The years had passed, he had aged, his hair was longer... But the height, the figure, the facial hair, and those eyes - terrible, the color of honey, and cold as ice. She would not forget him even on her deathbed.
She knelt there among the ashes, dazed from screaming, not understanding why the world had not burned with them. And he stopped over her, looked at her like an animal, and stunned her.
Only a monster could deny someone death at such a moment.

____
With a yell, she broke away, only to fall back on the bed a moment later. She was weak, and her head was beginning to pulsate with pain again. The needles penetrated her left arm as well, so she closed her eyes and remained motionless for a moment.
When she opened them again, she saw a stranger, a Lasat in appearance, sitting on the edge of the bed.
She remembered. In a panic she looked around the room, clearly searching for someone with her eyes.
"Alexsandr is not here." The Lasat said softly. The woman jerked at those words as if he had touched an open wound. And maybe that's exactly what happened, Garazeb thought.
"We are on our way to Yavin IV. We need to warn the Rebel base about that...thing that destroyed your complex." Zeb patted the injured woman's blanket.
The woman looked at him in shock. "You're from the Rebellion?" Zeb nodded, at which the woman raised herself slightly on her elbow. An expression of fear crossed her face.
"You can't fly there. You have a spy and a murderer on board. This man, this Alexsandr...he's an agent of the Empire," she sank back against the pillow, exhausted. "Please get him off the ship as soon as possible, for your sake. He will kill you all."
Zeb looked at her carefully. "Where did you see him last?" - He asked, with an effort to remain calm.
She closed her eyes for a moment and a look of sadness came over her face.
"Many years ago, I lived on Lah'mu. I had family, friends, neighbors and a piece of land. We lived in an agricultural settlement and worked hard for our livelihood, but we had peace from wars and the games of politicians. We helped the new settlers until they became independent, and we also helped one family who chose to live away from people," she paused for a moment, looking ahead with unseeing eyes. "However, it turned out that the family was being tracked by the Empire. One day they flew in to get them. The father and daughter disappeared, and we found the mother's body in a field." The wounded woman's breathing quickened, she clenched her fists.
"Not long after, they came for us. They killed...everyone. And he was there."
Zeb felt his heart break.
"You don't know what it means to see your friends die. Your sister...lying...on the ground. People you've worked with, laughed with and grieved with are burning in their homes. And suddenly you see the one who did this in front of you." Tears streamed down her pale face.

Zeb gently placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly.
"I know," he said quietly, looking into her eyes long and serious. Then she understood.
"You are from Lasan," she whispered, and when he confirmed with a nod, she covered his hand with hers.
"I am Yorde. What do they call you?"
"Zeb."
"Do you ever think of your home, Zeb?"

They talked for hours before the woman fell asleep. Garazeb came out of his cabin to check on Alexsandr and found the man sleeping on his bunk, snuggled into his old pillow.
He wrapped a blanket around him and stroked his hair, then joined Hera for the rest of the flight.

They landed on Yavin before noon. The fear that had surreptitiously germinated in their hearts was in contrast to the natural beauty surrounding the ship. The sun was blazing so hard. The greenery was luscious, and birds and insects punctuated the blue sky busy with their own affairs.
The base crew was not yet aware of the danger. People were working, laughing, training.
Command was about to get a report and Hera drew in a deep breath, sorting out the events in her mind and reviewing the datapad.
Kallus was already waiting in the cargo bay when Hera left the ramp getting ready to leave, so for a moment he was alone.
And then he heard the footsteps of two people approaching the ladder, followed by the Lasat and the woman he was supporting coming down it.
She looked better, though she stopped for a moment with each step on the rungs. Finally, she stood on the floor of the cargo bay, and saw Kallus.
The Lasat wandered his gaze from her to Alexsandr, and his ears drooped with sadness. He sent the man a look of affection, but did nothing to stop the woman as she moved towards Alexsandr.
The man was unable to move. He stood frozen by one of the crates, staring at the approaching figure who fixed him with a gaze full of hatred.
As she took a step away from him, she struck a blow. Her open palm fell on his face with a clatter, and he staggered from the force of the blow. As he caught his balance, the woman spat and he felt moisture on his burning cheek.
He leaned back against the crate and looked at her, doing nothing to defend himself. His pupils only dilated when the woman pulled out a knife. She came close, and the blade danced over Alexsandr's heart.
"It should be right there." - She pointed to the man's chest. "For all the lives you have taken, for my village, for the world of this Lasat, for every death, and even that would not be enough. Even though you died a hundred times, it would still not be enough." She paused, still resting the blade against the man's chest. She looked into the honey eyes, once cold and inhuman, but now full of sadness. She took her hand away from the blade and tucked the knife away.
"But Garazeb Orrelios believes in you," she said, taking a step back. "I still don't fully understand why, but we've talked long enough for me to believe him in turn." - She gave the Lasat a long look.
"He is the one who stood between you and death today. Don't forget that, man. Never."

The young pilot climbed the ramp.
"Captain, I'm to take the wounded person to the medic," he turned to the Lasat, saluting. Garazeb nodded and indicated the female soldier. "Go with him, Yorde." - He said softly. "I will see you after you report back." The woman turned to Zeb and bowed her head in a respectful gesture, which the Lasat immediately reciprocated. No longer looking in Kallus' direction, she walked slowly away behind the pilot.

Zeb walked over to Alexsandr, still leaning against the crates. He reached up to touch the red cheek, his own hand gently wiping away the spit. He rubbed his hand over his overalls and clutched the man to his chest. A moment passed before Alexsandr breathed and relaxed, returning the embrace.
The Lasat pulled his head back slightly so he could look into the honeyed eyes and smiled slightly, pushing an unruly strand of hair away from the man's face.
Alexsandr slowly moved his hand along his friend's jaw, combing his fingers through the soft stubble.
He closed his eyes as their foreheads touched in a gesture so simple, yet full of intimacy.
"Yours" he whispered versus the edge of audibility. Garazeb laughed lightly, drawing the man closer.
"I had no doubt even for a moment, Alexsandr." The Lasat replied quietly. "Not even for a moment."