Archive of Our Own ^beta

I. The Agent

"So, let me get this straight," frowns Ezra, on his first day as an official Spectre. "You are a girl?"

"Woman," corrects Zeb. "But yeah, I am. Don't be weird about it."

"But -"

Hera gives Ezra a warning look. "Everything you're about to say about her is a feminine trait in Lasat culture."

"Even the beard?"

"Especially the beard," frowns Zeb.

"Maybe you should bunk with me," Sabine tells her, "instead of a gross boy like him."

Zeb rolls her eyes. "You know I can't stand the smell a paint. He can bunk with me, but -" she waves a finger at Ezra - "if yer a dick, I reserve the right to kick ya out."

Ezra thinks for a moment, and then shrugs. “Works for me. So what’s next?”

What’s next, or very close to next, is that Ezra saves Zeb’s life for the first but certainly not the last time. It’s all the fault of the Universe’s worst weapons, the ones that have haunted Zeb’s nightmares for years. She longs to just plant a bomb underneath the T-7s and blow them all sky high so that no one can ever do what they did to Lasan again.

In the midst of all this inner turmoil, that ISB agent who’s been following them around decides to challenge her to a fight. Or rather, she catches sight of his weapon and challenges him.

“Only the Honour Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!”

“I know,” smirks the Agent. “I removed it from a Guard myself!”

That’s just another insult to Zeb’s already pretty shitty day: it gives the agent an opportunity to wear her down, physically dominating in a way Zeb didn’t really expect from a Human.

“It will give me great pleasure,” he pants, battering his bo-rifle (stolen, probably wrenched from a corpse with no idea of the symbolism, trophy) against Zeb’s, “to kill you off once and for all.”

“Not kriffin’ likely,” replies Zeb with gritted teeth, even as the agent knocks her to the ground.

“Or perhaps I should sell you,” sneers the agent, almost to himself. He holds the tip of his bo-rifle close to her throat. “I know of more than a few buyers who’d be interested in such a prime specimen of a male Lasat.”

“Fuck all the way off,” snarls Zeb, knocking the bo-rifle away and picking herself up without bothering to correct him. It’s not like they’re ever gonna meet again, after all. “I’m not goin’ back to bein’ a sex slave.” She goes for the attack again, swinging hard and fast so that the agent has no choice to back off: if he wasn’t so damned quick, she could finish this.

The agent’s gaze burns. “Experienced, are we?”

Zeb does not dignify that with a serious answer. There was a period in her life, after Lasan, when someone found out she was a woman and immediately labelled her exotic. It went like this: Look, that woman looks like a man! Or sometimes: Look, that man doesn’t have a dick! It’s big and furry and could sexually dominate nearly anyone!

Thank the Ashla for Kanan and Hera, is all she can say about that. They recognised her as a woman, a real woman, not just a sex object, not a man with unexpected private parts. They took her in, respected her as a powerful fighter, and the rest is history.

“Experienced in kicking your ass maybe,” she replies instead, and mentally kicks herself. What kind of stupid taunt was that? She’s never even met this guy.

The agent’s eyes spark with something manic, dangerous. “I know why you fear those disruptors, Lasat.” And then, when she falters: “Oh, yes, I know everything about your savage species and those nasty little weapons. I gave the order to use them!”

If he wanted to bait her, it works. Zeb stops being able to think straight: all she can see is red, all that fills her head is vengeance for her people and redemption for her own failure. She should have been able to stop this Agent. She will make up for that now, when she sees his skull crushed beneath her feet.

She throws herself at him, screaming with rage and a dozen years of bottled-up grief; he manages to keep up with her every move, dodge her wild swings. She’s not fighting well, not fighting like a former Captain of the Lasan High Honour Guard should, but frankly she doesn’t care. The Honour Guard doesn’t exist any more. There’s just her. And she -

The Agent knocks her down, jabs the electrified tip of his bo-rifle into her stomach, chest, and neck in quick succession so that she cannot help but collapse to her knees.

“I was there when Lasan fell,” he smirks, as he raises his bo-rifle up for one final blow. “It is only fitting that I should be the one to finish the job.”

Zeb wheezes. She wants to say something cool about how the Empire will never win, one final act of defiance, but everything hurts. She can barely take a breath. The weight of what the Agent is saying finally crashes down on her all at once: maybe he killed some of her friends, her family, her fellow Honour Guards. And now he’s going to kill her, too.

She has failed them. She is weak, useless, broken from years of fighting and grief. Her whole planet is dead, and here she is, the last of the Lasats, defeated with a weapon that the Agent admitted he removed from an Honour Guard himself. All that she’s good for now is to be some pretty purple rug on someone’s wall, isn’t it?

The Agent raises his bo-rifle. And then – and then he gets knocked to one side by a powerful, invisible – holy kriff that’s the Force! Kanan? No, it’s that kid. It’s Ezra. Ashla, he saved her! And she was so sceptical when Kanan said the kid had those mystical powers.

...Well, this is all a lot to process. She decides to deal with what’s in front of her first. As for that Agent, with any luck she’ll never see him again…

II. Kallus

Unfortunately, Zeb does see the agent – who she learns is called Kallus – again. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact. He’s a persistent little bastard, she’ll give him that, constantly on their tail or capturing one of them or trying to poison people to get their attention – that last one was particularly nasty.

He doesn’t address her directly too often after that first time, though. They have the occasional fight, quick and brutal, but there’s not that same angry tension in the air as there was over the T-7s. He’s just another enemy that blends into all the other hateful faces that don’t see Zeb as a woman.

Sure, there’s the issue of his involvement on Lasan, but Zeb has had quite a long time to let the wounds from that day scar over, and plenty of experience picking herself up and moving on. She can ignore the gash Kallus reopened in her heart, even if it stays raw and painful. She can tuck it away, add it to the pile of things she’s ignoring.

She can, until Gron and Chava show up. She hasn’t seen another Lasat in so long it’s almost a shock; being surrounded by Humans and near-Humans has conditioned her not to expect a Lasat face or Lasat ears or Lasat fur.

She recognises Chava immediately, or at least recognises her profession: from the staff to the shaved chin, it’s clear to Zeb that she is in the presence of a religious leader, a Revered One. Zeb may not believe in the old gods and the old religion any more, but she still respects Chava. She is one of the holders of their ancient culture, one of the people most likely to preserve all the things that Zeb has forgotten.

Gron is more difficult. For a start, Zeb isn’t sure about Gron’s gender at first; she’s so used to Human men all around her that she mistakes Gron for a man before she opens her mouth. Once Gron does begin to speak, Zeb begins to recognise her husky, deep voice, but can’t quite place it.

“…it is good to see that my Captain survived,” Gron says, and suddenly it clicks. Yes, Zeb remembers her now: Aragron Asriel, one of her Guards. So one has survived.

She doesn’t have much time to think about this, though. Kallus is on their tail again – honestly, if it isn’t him, it’s an Inquisitor or some other asshole – and the only hope is to find some mythical planet that might or might not even exist. Zeb remembers the stories of Lira San – children’s stories, she’d thought at the time. Who really believes in some lost ancient planet that Lasats are supposed to come from, anyway?

Chava, apparently. She has this whole prophecy about it, how the Child has to save the Warrior and the Fool. Which would be fine – she can believe whatever bantha shit she wants – but Zeb is supposed to be the Child. Worse, Kallus – that Kallus – is supposed to be the Warrior somehow. It doesn’t make sense. She would never, ever save Kallus’ life. Hondo, maybe, if he’s the Fool. But Kallus? Not in a million years.

In the end, changing her bo-rifle to its traditional trident configuration gets them to Lira San anyway. Zeb is too busy being amazed that millions of other Lasats are still alive and well on this planet and that she isn’t the last one in existence to think too much more about Chava’s weird prophecy. It doesn’t matter. It hasn’t come true, which means she can safely ignore it in favour of marvelling that she’s surrounded by people who look like her, even for just a short time.

III. Bahryn

Zeb wakes up feeling bruised. She’s pretty sure Kallus just tried to bash her face against a control panel – or, wait, did she do that to him? Maybe she has a concussion. Last thing she remembers is the escape pod they were both in hurtling straight towards one of the moons of Geonosis. Karabast, it’s cold.

There is a hiss of pain next to her. Great. Of course she had to get stranded with her least favourite Human in the entire Universe. She snaps into action immediately, bo-rifle at Kallus’ throat before he so much as moves a muscle. When he does open his eyes, he does so with a groan, clutching at his leg which, now that Zeb looks closer, looks Not Right. Is it broken? Karabast, she can’t just kill an injured man like that…

She makes a grab for his bo-rifle with her foot and throws it out of the escape pod. Kallus stares at her, expression guarded and confused; Zeb picks him up, too, and he yelps in pain. She ignores it in favour of dumping him on the icy ground outside the escape pod. They’ve crashed in some sort of cave under the ice: she can see a blizzard howling high above them through the hole the escape pod made, and grimaces.

“...Why?” Kallus asks.

“Too cramped in there,” she says simply. “Colder out here, but I ain’t takin’ my chances with the electrics sparkin’ like that. Could explode any minute.”

Kallus shakes his head. “No, I mean, why not kill me? You have your opportunity. I’m your enemy, I’m injured, and you took away my weapon.”

“Cause it ain’t honourable, that’s why.” She puts her hand on her hip. “Cause you’re injured, and it ain’t fair. I’d rather have a proper fight.”

“The Empire will find us eventually, you know,” says Kallus.

Zeb raises her eyebrow. “Yeah, nah, don’t think so. Don’t think they care enough about ya fer that. Or me, come ta it.” With that, she begins to hunt through the wreckage: the escape pod’s crummy little heater is working, so she takes it out, but the transmitter is busted. There is a slight shuffling; Zeb turns to see Kallus dragging himself towards his bo-rifle. That won’t do at all. She stomps over and puts her foot down on his weapon before he reaches it.

“I had enough respect fer ya not ta kill ya,” she growls. “I can easily rethink that choice.”

Kallus shivers. “Just put that damn heater on.”

She grins. “Whassamatter, Agent? Scared a the dark?” She puts it on anyway: even with her fur, she’s beginning to feel the chill of the ice and snow around.

“It won’t last very long,” says Kallus. “Not in this weather. It’ll freeze.”

“Thought Geonosis was a desert planet,” jokes Zeb.

Kallus sighs a deep, aggrieved sigh and gestures up towards where a giant orangey planet hangs in the sky. “That is Geonosis. This is one of its moons. Barhyn, if I remember correctly.” And then: “Honestly. I can’t believe you managed to best me in combat, even once. If this is the last Lasat in existence, he’s a pretty poor specimen.”

“Ya need ta get a sense a humour, Agent.” Zeb sits down on the other side of the heater to him and begins to fiddle with the transponder. “And it’s she, actually, by the way. She’s a pretty gods damned good specimen.”

“What?”

“I’m just sayin’,” explains Zeb, slowly and patiently, “that when ya talk about me, ya should call me she and her. I know I don’t look like a woman to a Human, but I am, right?”

Kallus stares at her. “I don’t understand.”

"What's there to understand?" growls Zeb. "I'm a woman. A girl. A lady."

Kallus begins to laugh, and then stops when he sees the expression on her face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Kriff you.” Zeb gives him a rude Human gesture. “We can’t all be dainty little nothings like – like Sabine or whatever. Ugh, I knew this would be a problem. You Imperial bastards can’t kriffin’ imagine anythin’ other ‘n what you’ve been taught. Soon as ya hear I’m a Miss not a Mister, everyone loses their minds. Well, actually, it’s Captain, anyway. But ya get the point.”

“Ah yes,” snarks Kallus. “Because you have such a feminine name.”

“’Tis, actually.” Zeb tips up her chin. “In Lasat, my name means ‘beautiful flower’.”

“You’re not exactly dressed in a… feminine way,” frowns Kallus, eyes narrow.

“First of all, what the hells does that even mean?” Zeb folds her arms. “Second of all, pretty clothes don’t tend ta last long when people ’re tryin’ ta kill ya.” She glares at Kallus pointedly.

“But,” objects Kallus, “you have a beard.”

“A pretty, feminine beard!” Zeb replies. “A Lasat ‘d look at that and go, wow, what a beautiful lady with a beautiful beard! It’s just Humans and your ilk who think that only fifty percent of the population ‘re allowed to have one. That’s weird.”

Kallus blinks at her for a good few moments; his eyes scan Zeb’s chest briefly before turning to her crotch. Zeb closes her legs primly and turns away.

“Don’t you kriffin’ dare,” she growls, “ask about my kriffin’ bits. If ya think that’s any a yer kriffin’ business, ya got another kriffin’ think comin’.”

“But since when have you -”

“All my life,” she replies. And then: “Even if I weren’t always a woman, it wouldn’t matter, cause I’m a woman now, an’ that’s what matters. So ya can kriffin shut up, an’ all.” She holds up the transponder. “Fixed now.”

Kallus nods. “So the Empire will find us before we freeze.” There is a roar somewhere away in the cave system around them. “Or worse.”

“I’d rather take my chances with the cold or – or whatever that is. I know what they do ta Lasats in Imperial prisons,” replies Zeb. “An’ I know what they do ta women like me, too. Women who don’t look like what they think of as women.”

“You don’t know much,” says Kallus, though Zeb notices the slightest trace of uncertainty seep its way into his voice. “You will get a fair trial if you cooperate.”

“And then a lovely holiday in the spice mines a Kessel, I bet,” she replies sarcastically. There is another roar, nearer this time. Well, at least being eaten is pretty quick.

Kallus’ face hardens. “Even if we don’t survive, the Empire will live on. It will always be there to stop Rebels like you.”

“Yeah?” Zeb pulls the heater closer to herself. “An’ every day more an’ more folks get sick a the Empire’s shit and turn Rebel. It -” The heater shuts off. “Karabast.”

“Oh, well done,” sneers Kallus. “You broke it.” And then, more morosely: “We’re next.”

Zeb tuts, even as she searches around the barren cave for something, anything, that could make a fire, anything to keep them warm. “Imperials. Always so quick ta give up hope.”

Indeed, there is something glowing lodged in the wall of the cave; Zeb gets up and goes to dig it out. The rock she finds is small, but the way the cave walls have melted around it tells her it’ll be enough.

“Here,” she grunts, chucking it in Kallus’ direction. “It’s warm an’ it throws light. An’ the transponder’s workin’, so that’s somethin’. Are ya gonna stop complainin’ now?”

Kallus stares at the rock. “Some sort of meteorite, I suppose.” He looks up. “No, actually. I don’t think the signal is going to get out through that thick ice above us.”

Zeb looks up. Karabast. He’s right. She sighs, sticks Kallus’ bo-rifle in a snow-bank, slings her own over her back, picks up the transponder, and cracks her knuckles.

“Right.” With that, she begins to climb up the slick, icy walls of the cave: her claws dig deep, and it sends chills up her hands. It’s hard work: the wall curves in on itself, and the ice is marble-hard and smooth so that she can barely get a grip. She falls before she even gets halfway.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” calls Kallus.

“Shut up,” she growls, already starting again. She can do this. She will do this. She can -

She falls. Kallus snorts.

“I said shut the fuck up -” An ear-splitting roar interrupts her. It’s some sort of gigantic creature – gods know how it evolved here, on some lifeless freezing shitpile of a moon – white and spiky and with a mouthful of very sharp teeth. Zeb raises her bo-rifle and begins to shoot, aiming for the eyes and the inside of the mouth and anywhere else she thinks might be sensitive.

The shots do nothing. The giant beast keeps kriffing coming, slavering and growling as Zeb keeps firing purple bolts into what must be an incredibly tough hide. Is this really how she’s going to go out? Eaten alive by some creature? It’s definitely focused on her, and getting way too close for comfort. She backs up towards the escape pod and climbs inside, trying to protect herself any way she can, not even thinking about -

Kallus. There is a shot from outside, and from the safety of the escape pod Zeb watches him fire at the beast until it finally notices him. That’s her cue to start shooting again as well, hitting the creature from both sides so that it begins to roar in pain and retreat. Neither of them stop shooting until the beast has disappeared back down the tunnel it came from and its roars begin to echo further and further away.

Zeb looks down at Kallus. Kallus looks back at Zeb. They’re both panting.

“It’ll be back,” says Kallus.

“Probably bring its friends, an’ all,” agrees Zeb.

“That is the natural order of things.” The way he looks at her – her body, which doesn’t conform to his standards of femininity – says a lot about what he thinks is the natural order of things. “The strong survive, and the weak… perish.”

“Is that why there’s no more life on Geonosis?” asks Zeb. “Cause they was all weak?”

Kallus tips up his chin, haughty as ever. “I have no idea. I never asked.”

“Maybe,” suggests Zeb, “ya should actually start thinkin’ fer once in yer life. Or are ya scared ya’ll see your precious Empire’s hands dirty?”

“What reason would the Empire possibly have for wiping out the Geonosians?” sneers Kallus. “They were our allies.”

Zeb tips her head and folds her arms. “Good question,” she says. “Chase the answers, and maybe ya’ll learn the truth.” With that, she climbs out of the escape pod, bringing a medpac with her, and looks at the wall again.

“You won’t get out without my help, you know.” Kallus’ hand is still clutched around his bo-rifle, finger dangerously close to the trigger. “I know how to get out of here.”

Zeb stares at him: from the way he shivers uncontrollably, to the distinctly bluish tinge of his lips (that’s never a good sign on a Human), to the way his leg won’t support his weight.

“I don’t think you’re in any shape to help anyone,” she tells him aloud, and puts the medpac in his hands so that she can take away his bo-rifle. She doesn’t want any nasty trigger discipline accidents or murder, after all.

He looks at the medpac as if he’s not sure what it is, and then turns back to Zeb with a fierce determination. “I can tell you exactly how to climb out of this cave without falling.”

“Fine,” she grunts. “We can work together.” With that, she pulls the wrappings off her own bo-rifle and begins to prepare Kallus’ bo-rifle to use as a splint. “Come on. This won’t hurt a bit.”

“Yes it will,” says Kallus, though he lets her take his broken leg and splint it.

“Yer bo-rifle,” she says, conversationally. “It’s modified fer close quarters combat.”

Kallus hisses at a particularly harsh tug on the bandages. “Yes.” And then, just as she’s sitting back to admire her handiwork (it is a pretty good splint, considering what she has to work with): “I did not expect that a woman -” his tone is still doubtful - “would take such a high ranking role in the Honour Guard.”

“Oh, so only men can be honourable warriors now?” Zeb growls.

“That’s not what I -”

“It is though, ain’t it?” She gestures loosely towards the bo-rifle acting as a splint. “Who’s healin’ yer kriffin’ broken bones with yer kriffin’ looted bo-rifle? This gal, that’s who. It’s not a trophy, you know. It’s got meaning.”

Kallus looks away. “I didn’t take it as a trophy. I… there was this Guardsman, on Lasan.”

“Guards-woman,” corrects Zeb. She’s so kriffing tired. Just one simple recognition that maybe Lasat genders don’t work the same way as Human ones, that’s all she’s asking. “You do know the Honour Guard was all female, right?”

For the first time, Kallus looks genuinely taken aback. “They were?”

“Lasats ‘re…” Zeb snaps her fingers a few times. “What’s the word fer when everythin’s run by women instead of men?”

“Matriarchal?”

“Probably.” She puts her hand on her hip. “So what happened?”

Kallus closes his eyes. “Just before death… the Guard gave me this bo-rifle.” He makes a gesture that Zeb recognises, one hand clasped in another. “It was an honourable death.”

“She gave you it? With that… kinda handshake, thing?”

Kallus opens his eyes again. “Yes. Why? Is it important?”

“Kriff yes that’s important.” Zeb stares at her. “That’s only the kriffing Boosahn keeraw. She must’ve really thought ya were worthy of that weapon.”

“I was only doing my duty,” murmurs Kallus, almost to himself.

“And she still gave it ta ya.” This is still a little unbelievable to Zeb: she’s struggling to imagine under what circumstances one of her Guards might have done something like that for an enemy. “Hell, she might’ve even thought ya were worthy of being a Guard.”

“Of… being a Guard? But -”

“She prob’ly thought ya were a woman. Happens - happened a lot when Lasats met Humans.” Zeb shrugs. “To us, Human men look like women, and Human women look like – what’s the word? Monks.”

Kallus blinks. “...Monks?”

“Yeah, I mean -” Zeb waves a hand vaguely. “In our religion holy people used ta shave their faces because… I dunno, it was symbolic, or summat.”

“I see…” Kallus frowns. “You really think I was mistaken for…?”

Zeb glances down at him. “Oh, right, yeah. Kanan gets super uncomfortable when I start talkin’ about that kinda thing. I get it. Not a lot a men like being mistaken fer a women, no matter the species. And vice versa.”

The look Kallus gives her is mostly confusion, but there’s some other strange emotion underneath it that Zeb doesn’t quite know how to read. For a moment, she expects it to turn into annoyance or anger; all that happens is that Kallus dips his head down.

“…What did you mean earlier by ‘feminine beard’?”

Zeb shrugs. “Yannow. Tidy. Well-groomed. Like mine is. Or yours, I guess.”

“Oh,” says Kallus. He puts a hand up to his beard. “Right.” And then: “I don’t think I’ll ever forget what that Guard did.”

“Yeah,” nods Zeb. “We all got shit we can’t forget.”

Kallus looks up at him, with an expression of sudden clarity. “Lasan.”

“What happened on Lasan, it – it’s over for me,” she says simply. It’s… almost true. “I’ve moved on. What I need from ya right now – well, ‘part from ya not killin’ me – what I need ‘s fer ya ta see me fer what I really am. Then maybe I can put up with ya long enough fer us both ta get outta here.” She fixes him with a steady look, daring him to object. “Understand?”

If Kallus were Lasat, his ears would be low in a combination of humility and guarded tension. As it is, all he has is those funny looking Human features to work with. Luckily Zeb’s pretty much got the hang of Human expressions by now.

“Yes,” he replies. Just one word. It’ll do. He follows it up with a confession, quiet and low: “Things we can’t forget – I – my first campaign. I was on Onderon. My unit was ambushed and – and there was an explosion. Knocked me out. And afterwards – there was a Lasat. Came out of the fire and the smoke like… I don’t know. Picked us off one by one, injured or not. Had a bo-rifle. Could’ve been stolen, I suppose. I’ve always wondered why I was the only one spared.”

The truth is, Zeb doesn’t know all Lasats, nor even all former Honour Guards. She remembers hearing rumours about a few, about Guards or even ordinary citizens who went to join the fight against the Empire before Lasan fell. She gets it, of course. She’d have been scared shitless.

“Yeah, that’s pretty nasty,” she says eventually. “But ya can’t judge all Lasats the same.”

Kallus gives her a look that she can only half interpret. “Does that sentiment apply to Imperials as well?”

Zeb snorts. “All the Imperials I know.” And then, while he ponders this: “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, then.”

“I could hold your bo-rifle,” suggests Kallus.

“Yeah, right. Not in a million years.” Zeb eyes the edge of the hole above them and takes aim; with one powerful throw, the bo-rifle lands somewhere outside, far above where the storm is ranging. She takes the meteorite and throws that, too, because there’s no way they’ll build a fire in that shit; then, she tosses up the transponder, because they’ll both need both their hands for other things. Finally, she picks Kallus up and slings his arms around her neck.

“Awright, Master Of Climbing,” she says, with the heaviest possible sarcasm. “Explain to this poor stupid tree-climbing Lasat where I’m going wrong.”

Kallus sighs deeply. “Just climb the pillars.” And then, when Zeb emanates scepticism from every cell in her body – the pillars are fragile ice, maybe big enough to support Kallus’ weight alone, but definitely not both of them – he adds: “They hold up the roof of this cave. Therefore they will hold us.”

“If yer wrong about this,” she grunts, cracking her knuckles, “I’ll kriffin throw ya to those creatures as a snack, see if I don’t.” As if to emphasize her point, another roar echoes from much too close for comfort.

Kallus shrugs. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Well, here goes nothing. Zeb grips at the most stable-looking pillar and finds to her surprise that it is actually very solid, almost like rock; she begins to climb, slowly and carefully, ignoring Kallus’ little whimpers as she jostles his bad leg. If only she wouldn’t keep slipping. Her claws keep losing purchase in the smooth ice, and it makes her jolt in fear every time.

“Karabast,” she grimaces, after a particularly large slip.

Kallus makes a despairing noise. “Karabast, karabast, what does that even mean?”

“Right now it means yer a whole lot heavier than ya look!” Again. Keep going. She needs to not let the slips get her down. Focus. Truthfully, this is going much better than her previous two attempts – she is almost halfway up, a new record – when two things happen almost at the same time.

First, two creatures appear from the tunnel, looking very hungry.

Second, Kallus begins to slip.

Zeb seriously considers just letting him drop. There’s that old joke about people being chased by a ravenous beast, isn’t there? The punchline goes like, “I don’t have to outrun that thing, I just have to outrun you!” Kallus could actually keep them occupied for a while. And she wouldn’t have the moral quandary of having killed him herself. It would just be nature taking its course.

“…Me an’ my big ol’ bleedin’ heart,” she grumbles, catching Kallus with one flexible foot just as he begins to fall. He gasps in pain: she’s gripping his broken leg, splint and all. Although… that does give her an idea. There’s a catch, she knows, just about – there. The bayonet spring out beside Kallus’ ankle, and she swings him upwards, so that the blade buries itself in the ceiling of the cave. Temporarily.

“Ohgodsohgodsohgods-”

Every now and again, Kanan or Hera or some other member of the Ghost crew will tell Zeb off for not thinking about something before she does it. This would probably be one of those times, if any of them were here to see her launch herself off the ice pillar, onto a startled beast’s head. She catches Kallus – again – and launches him up over the rim of the ice cave.

The beast bucks and roars beneath her. On an upwards jerk of its head, she leaps, using the momentum to launch herself upwards and grab on to the jutting ice around the rim of the hole the escape pod left.

Kallus is there. Holding her bo-rifle. Pointing it at her. She stares back at him, right into the barrel, every thought reduced to: karabast, she’s gonna die. And then – and then he twitches, just slightly, and fires not at her but at the beast snapping its teeth below her. The thing squeals in pain; both creatures retreat just long enough for Kallus to offer her a hand up.

She accepts, though she tries not to lean too much weight on him alone. Not many Humans can lift a full-grown Lasat with one arm. Not many Imperials would have done that, either. Once she’s safe on the surface of the planet, she takes a moment to stare at him, wondering what’s going through his head.

“It’s colder out here,” says Kallus. He already has the meteorite and the transponder.

“Rather freeze than be eaten,” says Zeb. “C’mon. Let’s find shelter.”

Kallus nods and hands her her bo-rifle back; the two of them trudge through the thick, swirling snow until they find a little hollow, barely big enough to fit both of them. Kallus curls up as best he can, minding his leg; Zeb hunches in on herself. The meteorite isn’t doing much, even if her fur provides her an extra bit of coverage.

Nevertheless. She fiddles with the transponder until it starts putting out a signal again.

“There’s no way of knowing who will find us,” points out Kallus. “That thing’s broadcasting on a general frequency.”

Zeb shrugs. “Not much we can do about it now ‘cept wait.”

Kallus nods. There is a long, long pause, while Kallus shivers. It’s too cold for a Human here. If they’re not picked up before long, there’ll be hypothermia and frostbite to worry about.

“It wasn’t meant to be a massacre,” Kallus admits, after a while. “Lasan, I mean.”

Zeb makes a face. “Oh yeah? An’ what was it meant ta be, a kriffin’ tea party?”

“I -” Kallus dips his head. “Even if those T-7s hadn’t been as lethal as they were – even if we’d just been using normal blasters we’d have tried to wipe you out. The Empire wanted to make an example of you. But we – I didn’t know what those weapons would do to organic beings. I wish I’d never found out.”

The screams of Zeb’s comrades echo in her ears. “...That makes two of us. Ya still did it, though. Ya still gave the… did ya actually give that order?”

“No.” The confession is small, quiet, more honesty than Zeb has heard from an Imperial in her entire life. “I was trying to rile you up by taking the credit and – and it worked. It wasn’t personal. I don’t know who gave the order. I simply followed it, and I…”

Shouldn’t have. That’s what he’s left off, isn’t it? He regrets what he’s done. And Zeb – now that Zeb knows she’s not the only one, now she knows Lira San is out there – she’s at least willing to hear him out.

“Right,” she says, simply. “Like I said. I’ve moved on. Whatever ya did – it’s in the past now. It’s who ya are now that matters. Ta be honest, I’m not overly fond of that either.”

Kallus says nothing.

“It’s Zeb, by the way,” she adds. If they’re being honest, then she’ll let him have this small bit of truth to chew on.

“Short for Garazeb, yes, I know,” replies Kallus.

“Yeah,” agrees Zeb. “Zeb is the part that means beautiful.”

Kallus’ thoughtful look follows her into her dreams.

IV. The Extraction

She doesn’t tell the rest of the Ghost crew about what happened with Kallus when they come to pick her up. Oh, she cheerfully tells of her great adventure chased by wild beasts out of a perilous ice cave, sure, but she carefully edits out all the bits that refer to Kallus even being there. She’s not really sure why. It just… feels like they wouldn’t get it, somehow.

At any rate, they all soon forget about the incident. There’s missions, and work to be done in the Rebellion. Months pass. Kanan loses his sight. Ahsoka dies. Zeb doesn’t hear from Kallus for a long time. For a while she thinks he might have died, frozen to death on that icy moon; in fact she’s almost convinced of it.

Except… there’s no way someone like Kallus would have just curled up and died. If nothing else, the power of spite would have kept him alive, she’s sure of it. So she waits and watches for any small sign of him and tries not to think about why she needs to know he’s alive.

There is a new Fulcrum. The code name isn’t exclusive to Ahsoka, but is common among the informants who keep an eye on the Empire for the Rebellion; it makes sense, at least to Zeb. What doesn’t make sense is how similar to Ahsoka the voice still sounds. Granted, the accent is closer to true Coruscanti, like a real high-up Imperial, but the voice itself…

“There are students at Skystrike Academy who wish to defect,” says the soft voice. It’s… almost pretty. Not high and squawking, but smooth and androgynous in the best way. Androgynous for Humans, that is: Zeb still doesn’t quite get that aspect of Human biology. Lasats all have very similar voices, with slight variations not at all based on gender.

“Are we sure that’s not Ahsoka?” asks Ezra.

Hera shakes her head. “It’s probably a voice modulator,” she replies. “So that we can’t recognise them from their voice if we ever meet them in person.”

Either way, it’s enough for Sabine to go undercover as a pilot cadet; she’s got the experience and she’s good enough at flying and trickery to get a whole three students out of that prison of an academy. Apparently they have racks to torture people on – to torture children on! Zeb will never get her head around the cruelty of these absolute bastards.

“So, uh…” Once Sabine’s safely back on the Ghost, back in her usual Mandalorian armour rather than that black flight suit, she comes to Zeb and Ezra’s room and sits beside Zeb. “I saw Kallus today. He helped me. And he said to give you a message.”

Zeb blinks. “Oh yeah? What was it?”

“He said, ‘tell Garazeb Orrelios she was right’. Those exact words.” She gives Zeb a look. “Right about what?”

“Uh…beats me.” Zeb frowns and scratches her head. “He finally called me she?”

“Yeah, he did.” Sabine bites her lip. “That was actually what made me trust him. ‘Cause if he was willing to finally recognise you for who you are… it makes me think he’s actually changing.”

“Oh,” says Zeb. “Huh.”

Sabine nods. “Yeah. Huh. I didn’t think he knew you were a woman.”

Zeb blinks at her. “I… I guess he does now?”

“Yeah,” agrees Sabine, though her face tells Zeb she’s not quite convinced. “I guess so.”

V. The Voice

“So – how exactly did you two get past Thrawn with those secret plans?” asks Hera. The holo versions of Kanan and Ezra look at one another: they’re just on their way to rejoin Hera, Zeb, and Sabine from a mission to the TIE defender factory. “Someone’s gonna lose more than their job if they slacked on security.”

“We can thank Kallus for that,” replies Kanan. “He knew the Fulcrum code phrase.”

“What?”

Sabine looks pointedly at Zeb. “How does Kallus being Fulcrum even make sense? Even if he did help me at Skystrike…”

There is only so much pointed looking that Zeb can take: she rubs the back of her neck. “I think I may have recruited him. Yannow. Accidentally.”

“It was that ice moon, wasn’t it?” accuses Ezra. “I knew there was something you weren’t telling us! He was there, wasn’t he?”

“….yeah.” And then, at everyone else’s incredulous looks: “I guess cause we didn’t kill each other, we’re kinda friends now?”

“Hmm,” says Hera, stroking her chin. “Well, we’d better be careful with your new friend, Zeb, until we know what kind of game he’s playing.”

“If it is a game, it’s a really weird one,” adds Ezra. “When he was talking, it was like he was trying to sound like that voice modulator. You know, the one that kinda sounds like Ahsoka?”

“Huh,” says Zeb. “Well, I can’t help ya there…”

From then on, the transmissions from Kallus-Fulcrum become more and more frequent; the Empire is ramping up its efforts to destroy the Rebels, and everyone has to work twice as hard just to survive – even if it seems like a quiet day.

Zeb should have known the new protocol droid she, Chopper, and AP-5 found was too good to be true. It’s smarter than AP-5, better at inventory; Zeb doesn’t think much of fixing it up and making it one of Chopper Base’s few functional droids. In fact, it seems like a really smart idea right up until she listens to the transmission that comes in.

“This is Fulcrum,” says the soft, pretty voice. It’s hard for Zeb to imagine that voice as Kallus, but it must be; there are other Fulcrums, but they use completely different modulators. “Thrawn has sent out these droids…”

The schematics that flash up on the holo begin to sound warning alarms in Zeb’s mind, until she has no choice but to go back to the new droid and find a way to defeat it, to somehow not destroy the Rebel Base while also not tipping off the Empire that they’re here. Which is pretty hard when there’s a live warhead to be dealt with. Nevertheless, she manages all right: she sends it off to explode back where it came from, and hopefully destroys a bunch of other ones as well.

It’s all worth it for the way that smooth voice congratulates her the next day: the feeling she gets, the weird bubbly mixture of oh that’s Kallus and oh that voice is nice, is… well, confusing, to say the least. Does he even know that she’s working base security? Does he know he’s speaking directly to her? Surely not, right? That would definitely be more information than he needs to know.

She’ll probably never know for sure. Not too long after that, they realise that the Fulcrum messages – at least those ones – are being monitored by the Empire. Ezra, Kanan, and Rex go to bring Kallus to safety, in case he’s in danger, and come back empty-handed.

“He really stayed with the Empire?” asks Zeb.

“Ugh, yeah,” groans Ezra. “I mean, he was really helpful an’ all, an’ he helped me an’ Chopper wipe Chopper Base off the maps, an’ he set Thrawn’s sentry droids against him, an’ then he blamed some other guy for all the Fulcrum transmissions. And he stayed. As Fulcrum.”

Zeb frowns. She has a feeling Thrawn is too smart to let any sort of subterfuge fool him; even if she does find herself hoping that Kallus survives, she doesn’t particularly expect it. He’ll be caught now, she’s sure, as soon as he makes the slightest misstep. And if he kriffs up… well, they all might be in danger.

VI. The Black Eye

The Battle of Atollon to try to protect Chopper Base is… a lot. Most of the Rebels escape with their lives; the base, of course, will have to be abandoned now that the Empire knows where it is. There is one thing, though, that sticks out significantly to Zeb in the aftermath.

Kallus is being seen to by a medic when she finds him. Hera picked up his escape pod barely minutes after the Ghost made its final escape from Atollon; somehow, Kallus managed to avoid getting spaced or executed by the Empire, and now… now, he’s here.

“Hiya,” says Zeb, and immediately kicks herself. Hiya? Is that the best she’s got? What is she supposed to say to a former enemy turned possibly-friend? Sure, she’s pleased that he listened to her when she said how bad the Empire is and defected, and she’s glad he’s here and alive now, but – well, now what?

Kallus looks up, then glances at the medic with a look of acknowledgement. Without a word, the medic ducks away to leave the two of them alone. Zeb waits until they’re gone, and then opens her mouth at the same time as Kallus takes a breath to speak; they both stare at each other until Kallus gestures for her to go first. Unfortunately, what’s on her mind isn’t exactly deep or interesting.

"Your eyes look..." She squints. One of his eyes is swollen, deeply bruised; both, though, seem accentuated in a way she doesn’t really understand. "Different."

Kallus’ cheeks flush red. "Thank you. It's eyeliner."

(His voice does sound like the modulator now – more than she was expecting, actually. Soft, pleasant. That’s… interesting. And very confusingly attractive.)

"Cool," nods Zeb, with a thumbs-up. "Suits you."

Kallus shifts in his seat. "I fear the black eye somewhat ruins the effect."

Zeb tips her head. "Nah," she decides, with a grin. "Just gives ya more of a rebellious edge.”

“Oh. Er. Good.”

“Well, anyway…” She rubs the back of her neck. “Good ta see ya made it.”

“Same to you,” agrees Kallus.

Zeb chuckles. “Ah, yannow me. I’mma survivor.”

Kallus manages an expression that looks like a very out-of-practice smile. “Indeed.”

“Ya need anythin’? Food, water, stuff like that? I could get ya some caf.”

“Perhaps later,” Kallus says. “Thank you.”

“Okay. Yeah. Cool. I should go help with -” Zeb hesitates. “With stuff. And things.”

A small nod. “I’m sure you’re very busy.”

She isn’t, not really, but she’s running out of things to say, so she retreats quickly before she embarrasses herself any further. Gods, that was… bad. The door slides shut behind her, shutting her safely off from Kallus, and she takes the opportunity to softly bonk her head against the wall. Stupid.

“What’s up, Zeb?” asks Kanan, coming up beside her.

Zeb groans. “I’m bad at small talk.”

“...Okay.” Kanan folds his arms. His mask covers his eyes and most of his expression, but he’s still good at that sceptical sort of look he’s always done. “What happened?”

Zeb waves vaguely at the closed door, even though she knows he can’t see her movements. “I tried ta talk ta Kallus. I mean, what’re ya even s’posed ta say ta someone that used ta be yer enemy and now is sorta maybe yer friend? I don’t kriffin’ know!”

“I see,” says Kanan. “I mean, it can’t be that bad. Remember how me and Rex were always at each other’s throats? And now we work together pretty well, I think.”

“It was pretty bad,” Zeb grimaces. “I didn’t exactly say that much. An’ then I ran off like an idiot cause I couldn’t think of anything else ta say.”

Kanan reaches up and puts a hand on her arm. “It’ll take time to adjust to him being here. It’s hard to stop instinctively thinking of someone like that as an enemy. Of course you’ll struggle at first. That’s normal, Zeb. But you’re a capable woman. I think if you managed to get him to change sides just by talking to him, you’ll learn to talk normally with him too.”

Zeb nods; she supposes it could have been a lot worse, on the whole. “Thanks.” And then: “Hey, uh, Kanan?”

“Yeah?”

“Do Human men normally wear eyeliner?”

Kanan startles a little. “Uh… well, I guess it depends on the man, but no, not generally.”

“Huh,” nods Zeb. “I thought so. Make-up’s generally a woman thing, right?”

“Well, sort of. It’s complicated.” Kanan frowns. “Why?”

Zeb nods towards the closed door. “Kallus was wearin’ eyeliner.”

“Kallus?” Kanan strokes his beard. “That is unexpected. Interesting.”

“Interestin’,” repeats Zeb. “Hmm.”

She should probably keep an eye on that. For… security reasons, of course.

VII. The Skirt

Kanan is right, of course, as usual: over the next few months, Zeb quickly gets accustomed to having Kallus around on their new base on Yavin IV, and even has whole casual conversations with him without spontaneously combusting. Mostly, they talk about Rebellion stuff, about missions that Zeb and the other Spectres have gone on, and sometimes about Kallus’ work in Intelligence if it’s low enough clearance for Zeb to hear. Zeb has also taken it upon herself to remind him to eat and sleep and drink something other than caf, because he tends to forget otherwise.

In other words, Operation: Make Friends With Kallus is going pretty well.

Kallus’ hair is growing out; he no longer uses hair gel, so the growing locks flop over his face in a style Zeb thinks is actually kinda cute. Pretty, even. With that well-kept, feminine facial hair, Kallus is looking more and more like a woman to Zeb. Which is nice, except she’s never sure that’s what Kallus is actually going for. Human stuff is… weird. Very weird.

She mulls over this as she strolls over to Kallus’ quarters one evening after the day’s shift is done: he hasn’t come to the mess hall, again, which means he’s probably overworking, again. If he isn’t in his room, he’ll be down at Intelligence with Draven, nose buried in a holopad. Zeb is trying her best to convince him to have a better work-life balance – as she keeps telling him, Kallus is actually allowed to have a life outside of work now.

For now, she starts with knocking on his door. When she doesn’t get an answer, she keys in the code on the keypad – she shouldn’t know it, since Kallus’ paranoia makes him keep changing it, but she has inside intel from Chopper. The door slides open to reveal Kallus, looking a little startled.

“I was jus’ wonderin’ -” Zeb blinks. “Are you wearing…?”

Kallus blushes to the tips of his ears and tugs at the skirt: a very long, swishy thing that hangs loosely almost to Kallus’ toes. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She gives a thumbs-up. “Cool. Looks good.”

“Th… thank you.”

There is a long, long, pause, and then Zeb remembers why she came. “Ya comin’ ta eat? It’s stew today, the kind ya like.”

A look of sudden and complete inexplicable panic crosses Kallus’ face.

“I told ya before,” says Zeb, shaking her head, “no one cares that ya used ta be an Imp. Sure, a few people got grudges, but they know yer on our side now, right?”

“It’s not – I’m not – Oh, never mind.” Kallus looks down. “Let me get changed first.”

Zeb tips her head. “Why, are yer clothes dirty? They don’t look dirty. Smell fine, too, if that’s what yer worried about.”

Kallus stares at her. “I cannot for the life of me tell whether you actually mean that or not.”

“I’m not good at all that lyin’ an’ stabbin’ people in the back,” replies Zeb, staring right back. “Yannow I says what I means and means what I says.”

“I…” Still, Kallus looks unusually shy.

“Come on, I’ll come with ya.” Zeb holds out a hand. “Ya need ta eat.”

A few slow, uncertain blinks; at last, Kallus reaches out for Zeb’s hand. “All right.”

Zeb beams, and the two of them walk together all the way to the canteen: the dinner rush is over, and there are only a few people still around. Nevertheless, Zeb feels a few eyes turn to follow her as they often do.

“People are staring,” mutters Kallus, walking close behind Zeb as if hiding in her shadow.

“What for? Ain’t they ever seen a Lasat before?” Zeb turns and winks. “Maybe they’re just jealous of how pretty I am.”

“Your self confidence never ceases to amaze me,” says Kallus. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Zeb lifts up her chin proudly. “Cause I’m kriffin’ gorgeous, that’s why.”

She takes a bowl, gets a helping of stew, and leads Kallus to a table where the two of them can sit opposite each other, eating their food. For a few minutes, neither of them say anything, too busy filling their bellies; eventually, though, Zeb puts down her spoon.

“When I was first integratin’ into Human society,” she begins, “I had a lotta trouble, ta be honest. I was really nervous an’ shy, just like you.” She scrapes up a few remnants of stew. “Thing is, people kept mistakin’ me fer a man, cause… well, yeah, I guess it’s easy ta mix up. Yannow there was even a time where I was thinkin’ a shavin’ off my beard, it was so bad. I mean, imagine, right? My beautiful beard!”

Kallus nods. “That would be a tragedy.”

“Right?” She shrugs. “Then I just kinda decided, kriff what they think. I’m a beautiful Lasat lady, I don’t have ta be like a Human. I’m prettier an’ happier if I just be myself.”

“I… I see,” murmurs Kallus.

“I still don’t really understand a lotta Human stuff,” adds Zeb. “Which things are feminine or masculine ta you lot. Lotta stuff just don’t make sense. Like beards. What’s the big deal, huh? Why can’t I be a woman and have a beard?”

“Yes,” says Kallus. “You’ve mentioned that confusion before.”

“Well, it is confusing.” She leans back in her chair. “And don’t even get me started on Human clothes! There are way too many rules about those! I mean, us Lasats, we just wear whatever, right? An’ we look kriffin’ good, too! Anyway, enough a my rantin’ on at ya. Good day at Intel?”

“Um… tolerable. But, er, I should go,” says Kallus. “I still have work to do.”

“Right,” Zeb nods. “Don’t stay up too late, ‘kay? Or I’ll take yer holopad an’ stuff away again, yannow I will.”

“…Understood.” With that, Kallus is gone, taking the two empty plates along.

For the next few days after that, Zeb only sees him in the same trousers he usually wears; it’s enough to make her wonder whether there’s some sort of Human taboo about skirts she’s completely missing. She doesn’t have that much time to think about it, though, what with the Rebellion keeping her and the rest of the Ghost crew busy as usual.

She’s almost forgotten about it by the time Sabine grabs her as she’s coming out of her room and pulls her into the Ghost’s common room.

“Hey, Zeb.” Sabine stares intently at her. “Do you know what Kallus just asked me for?”

“Uh… no?”

“Nail polish!” She flashes her own colourful nails. “I guess he must have seen mine, and he asked to borrow some. Well, of course, I couldn’t allow that. I mean, have you seen him try to draw? So, of course, I painted his nails for him.”

Zeb blinks. “Is that a fem-”

“Well, yes and no, but…” Sabine raises her eyebrows. “You know how Kanan talks about plausible deniability? Well, he’s talking about like, infiltration missions and stuff, but… My point is that there are definitely situations where a guy might wear nail polish, but…” She leaves the sentence unfinished.

“Huh,” nods Zeb. “Yannow, paintin’ ‘em sounds like a pain. I use my claws all the time, it’d get all chipped.”

Sabine’s eyes brighten. “Do you wanna try?”

“Well… heh, yeah, why not.” Zeb grins. “What colours ya got?”

In the end, Sabine picks the colours, because Zeb gets overwhelmed at the sheer variety of choice: her claws become green and orange and yellow, to match her outfit. It’s a surprisingly intimate little ritual, the way Sabine takes her hand and stretches out her fingers and drags the brushes meticulously down the curve of Zeb’s long, sharp claws.

It’s nice, even if the stench from them is going to give Zeb a headache later. It makes her feel… prettier somehow. She can definitely see the appeal. Just spending time with Sabine as sisters, watching Sabine’s brows furrow in concentration as she moves from finger to finger. By the time Sabine has moved onto her toes, Zeb’s thoughts have returned to the other day and the question she’d almost forgotten to ask.

“Hey, Sabine, are skirts feminine fer Humans?”

Sabine pauses on a downstroke and tips her head. “Well, there are some Human cultures where men wear those, but… yeah, pretty much. Why? Oh, wait. Let me guess. Begins with a K, ends with an S. Am I right?”

“...maybe.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t, like, a robe or something?” probes Sabine.

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Zeb makes a few descriptive gestures. “It was all flowy an’ long.”

Sabine’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, this is definitely beginning to stretch the limits of plausible deniability. Didn’t you say about the eyeliner, too?”

“Yeah, but, like…” Zeb shrugs helplessly, trying not to smudge her nails. “I dunno. It could just be, like. Gettin’ outta the Empire does that ta folks sometimes, don’t it? I mean, look at you. You went from all-black an’ straight-laced to all the colours at once.”

“True,” agrees Sabine. “You know it took me a while to finally feel like I was allowed to experiment with colours again. The Empire… takes away your individuality, a lot. I – I think it’s good that Kallus is beginning to find that again. The best thing we can probably do -”

“Is just be supportive,” finishes Zeb, with a nod. “I think we got that covered…”

VIII. The Lipstick

The thing is, Zeb is trying her best. The other thing is, like she keeps telling everyone, she’s bad at understanding Human gender. The more she learns, the more she gets confused. And not many people are willing to patiently explain things to her, because apparently everyone should just know the unspoken Human rules about eyeliner and skirts and things even if they didn’t grow up surrounded by Human culture.

She tries, and sometimes she fails. Like the time Kallus is on a mission with them in the Ghost – they’re just on the way back to Yavin, barrelling through hyperspace, and Zeb ducks into the ‘fresher before a quick nap. Kallus is in there, holding up a little tube and staring into the mirror with a frown.

“Ooh, somethin’ smells really nice.” Zeb sniffs. “Is that meiloorun I can smell?”

“It’s, uh, my lipstick,” says Kallus, holding up the small tube in explanation. “Would you… like to see how it tastes?”

“Sure,” nods Zeb, and takes the lipstick tube out of Kallus’ hands. Before Kallus can say anything. she bites down on the tip of the lipstick.

Kallus stares at her.

“Ugh,” grimaces Zeb, spitting the reddish paste out into her hand. “Nah, don’t like that.”

“You’re not supposed to eat it,” says Kallus.

“Well how was I s’posed ta know that! Lasats don’t really do makeup…”

Of course, Hera nearly falls off her chair laughing when Zeb tells her the story later. “You ate the lipstick? Oh my gods, Zeb.”

Zeb folds her arms. “Kallus told me I could see how it tastes.”

“Uhh…” Hera stares at her. “Well, from a Human, that’s either a cruel practical joke, or a really bad attempt at flirting, I think.”

Chopper makes an unhelpful noise that implies he would be very pleased to see Kallus pranking Zeb. Zeb, in return, gives him a rude gesture.

“Hold on, wait, Kallus?” adds Hera, as if it’s just registered who they’re talking about. “As in, former Imperial Agent Kallus?”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Why did he have lipstick on?” she asks.

Zeb blinks at her. “I dunno, just because. It’s supposed ta make yer lips look good, right?”

“Well…” Hera hesitates in a way that is becoming very familiar to Zeb when people talk about Kallus. Her lekku writhe in uncertainty.

“Lemme guess,” Zeb says. “It’s not a typically masculine thing.”

Hera frowns. “I don’t think so? I mean, for Twi’leks, the men traditionally wore lipstick into battle. It makes them look like they’ve been feasting on the blood of their enemies. But from what I’ve seen, Humans don’t use it that way.”

Well, there’s no way Zeb is going to get that image out of her head any time soon. “Does it help if I say the lipstick smelled a meiloorun? Definitely not like blood at all…”

“Hmm,” says Hera. “I don’t think I can help you there. Even after all this time with Kanan and the kids, sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything about Humans.”

Zeb sighs. “You an’ me both, sis.”

IX. Alexsandra

“Hey, I just thought a somethin’,” comments Zeb, as she and Kallus are cooling down from sparring with each other. “You know my name, but I only know ya as Kallus.”

Kallus blinks. “Kallus is fine.”

Zeb raises her hands above her head, stretching each muscle with a slow, methodical pull. “It’s a bit, like, unfriendly, though, ain’t it? It’d be like if people called me Orrelios. I mean, don’t Kallus mean somethin’ nasty anyway?”

“It… does have somewhat negative connotations,” admits Kallus.

“There ya are then.” Zeb nods. “Ain’t there somethin’ a little nicer I can call ya?”

“A-” begins Kallus, and then hesitates for a moment before: “Alexsandra.”

Zeb tips her head. “Phew, that’s a mouthful. Ya don’t happen ta have a nickname, do ya?”

“No,” frowns – karabast, Alexsandra really is just too many syllables. “People don’t generally call me by my first name.”

“We can think a one!” grins Zeb. “I bet we can come up with somethin’ soon enough!”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I mean, who is actually going to use that name?”

But Zeb isn’t paying attention. She’s already determined: she will come up with the best and coolest possible nickname. She’s just going to have to consult with some of the experts first…

“Alexsandra?” asks Ezra, later that night. The lights are off in the room Zeb shares with Ezra on the Ghost, so that even if he wasn’t on the top bunk Zeb wouldn’t be able to see his expression very clearly. “Not Alexsandr?”

Zeb fiddles with the blanket. “It’s one letter difference, what’s the big deal? Yeah, Alexsandra. With an A at the end.”

“Okay, that settles it,” says Ezra. “Alexsandra is definitely a girl’s name.”

“But -” Zeb frowns – “then your name is a girl’s name too. Shouldn’t it be Ezr?”

“My name is different!”

“Why are Human naming rules so weird?”

There is a groan from the bunk above her. “I don’t kriffing know, I’m not Lord of All Humans! That’s the Emperor’s job!”

Zeb strokes her chin. “So, about Kallus then…”

“I don’t think they wanna be a man any more,” says Ezra.

“Yeah,” she nods, “I kinda had a feelin’ that might be the case.”

“But, like, how do you even ask?” Ezra wonders. “Like, it would be rude to just go up all, ‘hey, I think you might be a girl – uh, woman’. Maybe it’s like, just a way to rebel against the Empire? Or they could just like to be… non-conforming, I guess.”

“Hmm,” nods Zeb. “We need to be sensitive. Well, maybe I’ll have a chat. Yannow. Woman to… ugh, I still ain’t come up with a good nickname. I guess I’ll stick with Kallus fer now.”

“Yeah,” agrees Ezra, with a loud yawn. “Chat. Sure. Tomorrow.”

Zeb stares up at the bottom of the bunk for a while, thinking hard. A quotation comes to mind, a line from an ancient Lasat poem that she really used to relate to. “Sweet mother, I cannot weave – golden Ashla has overcome me with longing for a woman.”

Ezra huffs. “Can you stop being an overdramatic lesbian for, like, five minutes? If you have a crush just say so! I’m trying to sleep here!”

Zeb pouts. “You don’t even speak Lasat, how do you know that’s what I was sayin’? Maybe I was talkin’ about breakfast.”

“I understand the word woman,” grumbles Ezra, “and I understand all that sighing pretty well, too. You don’t even know if they’re actually a woman!”

“Hah, joke’s on you, I like all genders.”

“Especially when it’s Kallus?”

“Especially when it’s Kal- shut up.” She turns to the wall. “Yannow, maybe we should just try ta go ta sleep.”

Ezra laughs in an annoyingly smug way. “Knew it. Go dream about your crush, Zeb…”

X. The Fight

Zeb spends almost a week trying to figure out how to approach the subject with Kallus. She’s… not very good with words, at least not in Basic. Not only that, she has a reputation for being way too blunt; she’s not good at subtle or sensitive. She doesn’t want to say completely the wrong thing and scare Kallus off completely.

Eventually, though, she has a few different lines of approach in mind. She’s ready. She marches up to Intelligence at the end of Kallus’ shift, so they can maybe go on a walk or go somewhere private or – or something. Karabast, she’s not normally this bad at planning.

In the end, all that comes out of her mouth when she finally does see Kallus coming out of the Intelligence offices is: “Fight me.”

“I beg your pardon?” says Kallus.

“Fight me,” repeats Zeb. Her brain is still frantically trying to catch up with what her lips are saying. “It’s been a few days since we’ve sparred.”

Kallus blinks at her. “...All right. Give me a minute.” A moment, a brief disappearance, and Kallus is back, wearing a pair of loose shorts and a tank top, with hair tied back in a short ponytail, as always when the two of them spar together. “Let’s go.”

…Karabast, that body is really going to be the worst kind of distraction. Kallus is furry in all the right places; since coming to the rebellion, their shape has changed ever-so-slightly from flat and rectangular to something softer, rounder in some parts. A better, fuller diet helps – most Imps gain a few kilos when they defect from eating more and better food.

Zeb tells herself sternly to get a grip. For now, the Rebellion’s official sparring ring is already occupied, as usual; there’s a space outside one of the smaller temples, a circle of packed earth that Zeb much prefers anyway. It’s quieter, for a start, away from prying eyes, and there’s a lot more space to swing a bo-rifle.

She finds it somehow much easier to think when she’s fighting. Something about the physical movement helps her focus, clears her head even as she flows easily between attack and defence. She has a physical advantage, obviously, but Kallus is small and quick and much more agile than she is, so they’re always fairly evenly matched; today, she’s going a little easier than she would normally, so that she has time between breaths to chat.

“There’s a nice smell out here.” She attacks swiftly, one-two-three short jabs. “Like flowers.”

“We are outside in a jungle,” replies Kallus, and hits back, hard, with a swing at Zeb’s legs. “One would hope that you could smell flowers.”

Zeb jumps back and blocks, twisting the electrostaff that Kallus uses since losing their bo-rifle away from herself. “I didn’t think nathema flowers grew on Yavin, though.”

(This is something she actually does know about, surprisingly: every now and again, Hera will spray herself with something very similar. All the rest of the Spectres know not to disturb her and Kanan on nights like that. And Ezra has rudely suggested that Zeb use perfume a few times, to cover up her natural Lasat scent.)

Kallus spins and points the electrostaff at Zeb. “Your nose is much better than mine. I can’t really tell one flower from another.”

“I could be wrong,” replies Zeb, reaching up with her foot to wrench the electrostaff down; before Kallus can recover, she aims her bo-rifle at their head. “I been wrong about stuff before, believe it or not. I was wrong about you.”

Kallus stares guardedly up at her. “How do you mean?”

“I used ta think ya were evil, fer a start.” She retreats back to the starting position, ready to begin again. “It’s been really cool ta see ya changin’ ta be better. I think ya look happier here, on our side. I was just wonderin’ -” She stops.

This time, Kallus is the one to start on the offensive. “Wondering what?”

Zeb blocks one strike and shifts to a different foot, bringing the weight of her bo-rifle down towards Kallus’ head. “Wonderin’ -” Kallus ducks away – “whether there was anythin’ else that needed changin’ ta make ya happy.”

For the first time, Kallus stumbles. “I… I don’t know.”

There is a moment, while Kallus recovers, that Zeb could take advantage of: she lets it go, waiting for Kallus to speak more. The smell in the air, the slightly artificial scent of nathema flowers, is beginning to mix with the pleasant earthy smell of Human sweat.

“After so long in the Empire,” Kallus begins, with an uncharacteristically hesitant feint to Zeb’s left, “it’s hard to know what happiness even feels like, never mind how to attain it.”

Zeb nods. With a slight movement, she avoids both the feint and the real attack behind it, and hits the electrostaff hard with her bo-rifle. “Sabine was tellin’ me about that the other day. How she felt like she wasn’t allowed ta be colourful afore she left.”

Kallus’ eyes flick to her claws. The nail polish has actually survived pretty well for both of them – Sabine’s work, as always, is flawless. Zeb notices suddenly that the colours on Kallus’ nails are weirdly similar to hers. The only difference really is that Kallus has one more finger than she does. Zeb tries to determine the colour of the fourth nail in between swings, and finally spots the slightest flash of – purple.

Nathema flowers are purple, too. Zeb wonders whether it was Sabine or Kallus who picked that colour. Either way, she doesn’t really know how to interpret it. All this is so much to think about, so confusing, overwhelming. She keeps moving, waiting for Kallus to gather thoughts.

“Yes,” Kallus admits, eventually. “It does feel like that. As though I’ve been colour-blind my whole life, and then…” A twist, a step, and the tip of the electrostaff hovers at Zeb’s throat. “Now I believe I am in somewhat of a quandary.”

“I could dangle ya upside down by yer feet for a few minutes if ya like,” offers Zeb kindly. “Always straightens Ezra out like nothin’ else.”

“...No thank you,” replies Kallus. “You did enough of that on the ice moon.”

“It worked, though, didn’t it?” She kicks out, sweeping Kallus off their feet. It’s always a bit of a dick move, what with that twice-broken leg, but she’s determined not to lose this fight. “Got ya ta go home and rethink yer life, right enough. What’s that word Kanan used the other day? Disi… dissing… um…”

“Disillusioned? Disillusioned? My whole identity was shattered!” protests Kallus, staring up at her. “I had to rebuild myself from the ground up!”

“Yer welcome!” grins Zeb, with a little wave. Then, she offers her hand to help Kallus up; after a few moments, Kallus accepts it. Without either of them discussing it, Zeb knows that they’re done, and begins to stretch through the cool-downs. Kallus follows her example, slowly, carefully.

“At first, I couldn’t figure out how I felt about you after that,” Kallus adds. “At first, I thought I hated you. We were still nominally enemies, after all, on opposite sides of a galactic conflict. And then…” A moment of hesitation.

“An’ then?” prompts Zeb. She’s barely even paying attention to the stretches at this point. She’ll probably be stiff tomorrow. Somehow that doesn’t seem very important right now.

“And then I started paying attention to the way your teammates treated you. They – they accept you implicitly, don’t they? They treat you like a woman, even if you don’t conform to their expectations. And I – I realised I was jealous.”

Zeb blinks. “Jealous?”

“I wanted – I want that,” Kallus admits, and the confession feels like one that’s been brewing deep inside for a very long time, only released now with a sudden rush of honesty. It sounds almost like a relief to voice it out loud. “I want to be treated like a woman. I want to be a woman.”

“Being a woman is pretty cool,” nods Zeb. And then: “Well, okay. We’ll treat ya like a woman if ya want. I think ya make a pretty good one already. I mean, what’s stoppin’ ya?”

Kallus shrinks. “The Empire, at first, but -”

“Kriff them,” Zeb says simply. “Yer here now. That means ya can be a woman if ya wanna be. We’ll be here fer ya.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Kallus’ hands bunch in the loose shorts. “I just – I’m six foot tall, built like – like a bloody AT-AT, and my voice -”

“And I,” interrupts Zeb, “I’m bigger ‘n you in every direction an’ guess what? Still a woman.”

Kallus gives her a look. “It’s different for Lasats.”

“Is it?” She opens her hands. “Nobody here knows fer sure ‘cept me. Like ya say, when I say what I am, people believe me. No ifs, no buts, no nothin’. They’ll believe you, too. I believe you.”

For a few moments, Kallus stares at her, looking both hopeful and a little disbelieving. At last: “All right then. Um. I -” a small cough, a slight sheepish shuffle – “I think I might be a woman?”

Zeb nods. “That’s a good start. So, when I talk about ya, should I call ya she and her?”

Another pause, while Kallus chews on a pinkish lip. “I – yes. Yes, that would be… I think I would like that very much. Please.”

“Awright,” she says. “No problem… Alexsandra.” And then: “Karabast, we really gotta find ya a nickname.”

XI. Sasha

“Alexsa.”

“No, I knew a droid once called A13-XA.”

“What’s the problem with namin’ yerself after a droid? Unless it’s Chopper.”

“I just… don’t like it, all right?”

“Hmm. Okay, then. Sandra?”

“That makes me sound like a middle aged divorcee who drinks wine to cope.”

“And the problem with that is…”

Kallus rolls her eyes. It’s later in the evening after their spar session; the two of them are eating together again, after a shower and a change of clothes for both of them. Zeb is pleased to see Kallus wearing her skirt and make-up a little more confidently now that everything’s out in the open.

…Well, almost everything, anyway. Zeb is struggling to find the line where friendly banter ends and actual flirting begins. Kallus’ dry sense of humour and moments of occasional playful snark aren’t helping to clear up the matter very much, either.

Kriff, is she even interested in women? Even if she is, she probably won’t be into a woman like Zeb. Would she be willing to consider an inter-species relationship at all? The Empire is very clear about that kind of thing. But then, it’s not generally very friendly to women like Zeb anyway.

“I think,” Kallus is saying, “I have a little more class than that.”

“Hmm. Lexi?”

“No, that’s not right either.”

Zeb rests her chin on her hand and frowns. “Well, I’m outta ideas. You got anything else?”

“Hmm,” frowns Kallus. “I… I think Sasha is a common shortening. For either men or women.”

“Oh, that’s cute.” Zeb blinks. “...How d’ya get Sasha from Alexsandra?”

“With a little creativity, you can do anything.”

“Heh, guess so.” A moment, and Zeb looks down at her empty plate. It was curry tonight, one of her favourites, but she finds she’s barely noticed the delicious flavours. “Awright then. Sasha it is. An’ if ya think of a better one, jus’ say, yeah?”

Kallus – Sasha beams at her. “Thank you. This is… this is so much more than I could have hoped for. You have been so – so kind to me.”

“Course,” replies Zeb, and then pauses. “Hey, so, the other Spectres… Do ya want me ta tell ‘em yet? Or tell ‘em yerself? Or maybe yer not ready fer that, that’s fine too.”

Sasha’s face pales a little. “I hadn’t thought of that. No, they… they deserve to know, too.”

“If it helps…” Zeb rubs the back of her neck. “I don’t think any of ‘em ‘re exactly gonna be surprised. They been helpin’ me figure out which stuff is feminine fer Humans.”

“Oh, gods.” Sasha buries her face in her hands. “Have I really been that obvious?”

Zeb thinks about this. “Well… ta them maybe, more ‘n me. Nunna it’s obvious ta me.”

Sasha sighs. “In that case, perhaps it is best if you do tell them and get it over with. I’m not sure how to broach the subject.”

“Here,” says Zeb, standing from the table and holding out her hand. “We can go together, if ya like. They’ll probably be on the Ghost at this hour anyway. Whaddaya say?”

“I -” A moment, while Sasha stares at Zeb’s hand, and then: “Well, all right.” She puts her hand in Zeb’s. “Let’s go.”

So they go, meandering hand in hand through the cool jungle evening towards the hangar where the Ghost is stationed. Zeb spots a flower on the way, and goes to pick it: without any further explanation, she tucks it gently behind Sasha’s ear.

“There ya go,” she smiles.

Sasha blushes. “How – how do I look?”

“Kinda pretty,” admits Zeb. “Fer a Human.”

Sasha raises an eyebrow. “And you are decently tolerable, for a Lasat.”

“Damn right I am,” Zeb grins. “I’m the prettiest Lasat alive.”

Sasha’s face goes from mild scepticism to abject horror to crushing guilt in about three seconds flat. Oh, right. There probably is something Zeb has been neglecting to mention to her.

“...Ya do know I’m not actually the only Lasat left alive, right?”

Sasha breathes a sigh of relief. “”Well, now I know.” Then, she stops. “...Well, here we are. The Ghost.”

Zeb looks up: there, indeed, is the Ghost, a home in every way that matters. She looks down at Sasha and gives a big, encouraging smile, and then leads her up the ramp towards the common room. All five of the other Spectres are hanging out in there, as they often do: Kanan meditating, Ezra and Sabine playing dejarik, Chopper recharging, and Hera reading a holo-novel.

It’s Hera who notices them first. “Oh, hey, Zeb. Hi, Kallus. Have you had dinner already?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” replies Zeb. “But I got somethin’ ta say. Kallus -” she nudges Sasha forward a little – “is a woman now. Her name’s Sasha.”

“Well, duh,” says Sabine, without even looking up from her game.

“She finally admits it,” agrees Ezra.

Chopper says something probably rude but still affirming in Binary.

Hera looks at Kanan, who turns his masked face towards Sasha. “We’re very glad you felt comfortable enough to tell us, Sasha. You are still welcome on the Ghost, no matter what.”

“We’ll always be here for you, Sasha,” agrees Hera. She pats the seat beside her. “Come on, sit with us. We’ve got a moment to relax, so let’s take advantage of it…”

XII. Lothal

Losing Kanan is hard. More than anything, Zeb wishes she’d said a better goodbye when he and the kids went off to save Hera. But there’s not too much time for grief. The effort to save Lothal is in full swing, and there’s one big final mission to undertake before Zeb can allow herself to even think of processing everything.

The mission which needs Sasha to try and dress how she used to: she needs to fit in again, after all, to conform to the Empire’s expectations of someone with a beard.

“Ya don’t have ta do this, yannow,” murmurs Zeb. “If yer not comfy in that uniform, we can find some other way ta do this. I’m sure there’s other people who could do it. Ya could just come as yerself, if ya wanted.”

Sasha shakes her head. “No, I – I’ll do it. It’s my duty.” She adjusts the belt, fiddles with a lock of her slicked-back hair. It’s getting too long to stay tamed with just hair gel. “It’s fine.”

Zeb doesn’t believe that for a minute. Nevertheless, she lets it go: if this is what Sasha feels she needs to do, there’s nothing Zeb can really do or say to change her mind. She keeps an eye on Sasha, just in case, as the Rebels take over Lothal’s Imperial Dome, and then goes with her and the two clones to sort out the situation in the reactor.

It’s bad. The Imps know something’s up now, and the blaster fire comes thick and fast. Zeb spots the saboteur who’s been fiddling with the engines: that grey alien, the one who can turn invisible and who Zeb nearly beat to death just the other day. He’s looking… more conscious than Zeb was expecting. Conscious enough, anyway.

“We’re gonna have to do something drastic!” shouts Gregor, and Zeb knows immediately what he means. It’s usually her job, among the Spectres, to do the more drastic things. She’s got the muscle, and the know-how, and a need for revenge that hasn’t yet been filled properly.

So, Zeb jumps into the reactor pit towards the grey bastard.

“Zeb!” yells Sasha.

Huh. She called her Zeb. That’s a pleasant surprise which Zeb does not have time to think about right now on account of the little grey bugger vigorously trying to kill her. She throws herself into the fight with renewed energy, putting her full strength into it. By the time the reactor is ready to come back online, she’s managed to trap the grey bastard in the power coils and climb free herself, so when Sasha presses the button there is a satisfying sizzling noise.

It takes slightly longer to climb back up to Sasha and the others (other, singular, now that Gregor has been shot), but Zeb doesn’t notice. She’s alive, and Sasha’s alive, and when Sasha spots her an incredible look of relief and joy crosses her face.

Every now and again, one of the members of the Ghost crew will tell Zeb off for not thinking about something before she does it. But Kanan is dead, and the rest of the Spectres aren’t here to see her; even Rex isn’t looking in her direction, mourning his fallen brother. And this might be the most inappropriate possible time, but then Zeb is operating entirely on adrenalin. There is no space or time to think. So she doesn’t.

Instead, she pulls Sasha in and kisses her, Human style, on the lips, revelling in the feeling of her beard and Sasha’s rubbing together. She’s still not a fan of that meiloorun flavoured lipstick, no matter how subtle it might be – too artificial and cloying for her. She does understand now, though, what Sasha meant when she offered Zeb a taste. It’s… good.

And Sasha kisses back. One of her hands comes up to cup Zeb’s face; the other brushes up against Zeb’s side, and Zeb shivers. Zeb weaves her fingers through Sasha’s hair. It’s so easy to get lost in the kiss, to forget everything that’s going on around them and just feel; eventually, though, they break apart and just stare at each other, amazed beyond belief at what just happened.

“Whoever named you was right,” murmurs Sasha. She strokes gently down the side of Zeb’s face. “You are beautiful.”

Zeb stutters around a few sentences, ears fluttering bashfully, and at last manages: “Yer not too bad yerself.”

Sasha opens her mouth and is about to say something, but the building shudders beneath them, and suddenly Zeb remembers where they are.

She looks towards the door, and then back at Sasha. “We should get goin’,” she says. “Sure, I could die happy after a kiss like that, but maybe not right now, yeah?”

“Maybe not right now,” Sasha agrees.

XIII. Lira San

Later, much later, once the war is over, Zeb takes Sasha to Lira San. Home. At least, she hopes so. The two of them have been talking about finding a place to settle down for a few years now, and Zeb has always had Lira San on her mind. They take Sasha’s ship, the Glimmer of Hope; Zeb guides it through the imploded star cluster alone, wishing that Kanan and Ezra were here to smooth things over with the Force as they were last time.

But even without them, there it is: her planet. The planet where all Lasats originally came from. Zeb gets up and finds Sasha waiting with barely concealed curiosity in the galley – Zeb hasn’t told her where they’re going. She’s still not sure how Sasha will react.

“Close yer eyes,” she says, and at Sasha’s look of confusion: “I told ya, it’s a surprise.”

Sasha stands, eyes closed. “Are… are you going to guide me?”

“Course I will,” smiles Zeb, and puts one arm around her waist and the other hand over her eyes, so she has no chance to peek. She takes her through to the cockpit, to where Lira San awaits in all its beautiful glory, and then takes her hand away. “Ya can look.”

Sasha opens her eyes. She still looks a little confused, unsure; she scans the golden clouds of the star cluster, the planet and its sun below them, and then turns to Zeb.

“Where…? This place seems familiar…”

“Lira San,” explains Zeb. “This is where we – Lasats – come from. See that planet? There’s millions of us there, still alive an’ thrivin’.” She beams. “Told ya I weren’t the last a my kind.”

Sasha puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh…”

“I’m still the prettiest, though.”

“I’m not arguing with that.” Sasha clasps Zeb’s hands. “This is wonderful, Zeb. It – thank you for bringing me here.”

“No,” replies Zeb, “thank you. Yer the one that helped us find it inna first place. Well, technically we were runnin’ away from ya, but still. It helped.”

She can almost see the cogs whirring in Sasha’s brain. “Hold on – that’s why it’s familiar! That star cluster! This is that place? How did you get through? My ship was nearly destroyed in there!”

Zeb shrugs. “Long story.” Then, at the sound of a ship docking with the Glimmer: “Hey, here’s our welcome party. Wanna meet ‘em?”

Sasha looks a little pale. “Do they… know?”

“About Lasan? Yeah.” Zeb puts a hand around her shoulders. “It’s okay. Promise they don’t hate ya. They get it. Yer safe here.”

“Well, yes, Lasan, but -”

Before she can finish, the cockpit door opens. There is Chava again, and Gron, with a much tidier and prettier beard, and a few others that Zeb doesn’t know.

“Hey, Chava,” grins Zeb. She waves with her free hand. “Nice ta see ya again.”

“Garazeb, my dear!” Chava bustles in and looks over Zeb with a grandmotherly eye. “You look better and better every time I see you. Oh, and this is Sasha! Tsk, Garazeb, you never told us she was -” Chava pauses, waiting while Sasha squirms – “so beautiful!”

“Oh,” whispers Sasha, blushing. Her eyes are suspiciously watery around the edges.

“Listen, Sasha,” Chava adds, laying a hand on her shoulder. “We know who you were and what you did. But we also know who you are and what you are doing right now. You are welcome in this place, my daughter.”

“Th-thank you…”

“Come, now, let’s go!” instructs Chava: obediently, Gron takes the controls and brings them down towards the planet below. As the Glimmer swoops gently towards Lira San, Chava looks up at Zeb knowingly and switches to Lasat. “You fur has grown thick, Child. And your scent…You haven’t told her?”

“One surprise at a time,” replies Zeb firmly.

Chava just beams at her. “Well, that’s wonderful news. I’ll get you some nice blankets and things so you can start nesting.”

“Chava.” Zeb rolls her eyes. “I’m not that far along.”

“What are you two talking about?” asks Sasha, who only knows a few words of Lasat.

“Tell ya later,” Zeb smiles. Conveniently, the Glimmer has landed; she puts her hand on Sasha’s back and nudges her towards the exit. “Come on, you wanna look around?”

Sasha follows her lead, looking dazed; when the ramp opens on gentle sunlight, rolling hills, and tall trees, she gasps aloud.

“It’s… it’s beautiful…”

“Welcome home, Sasha,” murmurs Zeb. “This is where we belong.”