#daylus

Dayja let out a little sigh, gave a matching little shrug. “Bit of a stupid name, really,” he said in his characteristically bored drawl. “I mean, the first Fulcrum agent was a Jedi, right? Then we had Mr. ISB-killed-my-mommy-so-now-I-shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later, and now we have…” he trailed off, his eyes returning to rest on Kallus’s bruised and bloodied face and flickering with the recognition of a job well done. “You. Well,” he added, his eyes cool once more. “I have you. Question is, what to do with you.”

Kallus tried to focus on keeping his breaths deep, slow, and steady—but the shock-collar wouldn’t let him do that. It wouldn’t even let him talk. He expected it wouldn’t let him scream, either. That was an oddly comforting thought.

At any rate, this could go on for a while. Dayja was always hard to shut up once he picked up steam. Still, Kallus learned many years ago that where Dayja Collerand was concerned, everything was a game and the safest route was always just to play along.

That, or play dead, but he wasn’t sure how he could work that at the moment.

“See,” Dayja continued, one hand on his hip and knife dangling carelessly in the other. “Thing is, Yularen’s always rather liked you. Problem is”—he pointed the knife at Kallus like a teacher pointing a stylus at just where Kallus had fucked up his grammar—“Tarkin is pissed. Like, I know the Emperor—” He paused to place an ironic hand on his heart and murmured “Long may he reign,” before continuing, “is big on his whole”—a casual wave of the knife—“secret people away in the night so nobody knows what’s happening and everybody’s too scared to say anything but Tarkin”—the knife was back on Kallus—“favors demonstrations.” Dayja said this last word with a little back-and-forth wiggle of the knife that was a morbid approximation of air-quotations.

Impressive, really.

But then he always was good with a knife.

“So, Tarkin tells me to find you, catch you, and make an example of you,” Dayja continued. “And I’m thinking, for whom? You know?” Kallus felt compelled to nod along as Dayja said, “I mean, you can’t make an example in a vacuum, there needs to be an audience! Only, ‘Be discreet,’ he tells me.” Dayja turned to him and said with a little conspiratorial eye-roll, “Because rebels,” in the same tone someone might say ‘Primedays, am I right?’

“Which, fair,” Dayja conceded with a tilt of his head, tapping the knife thoughtfully on his own chin. “But that makes me wonder… if ISB are the only ones who know about this… who can the example be for if not ISB?” He placed a hand to his own heart and said, “You can imagine my chagrin, Alexsandr.”

Kallus gave him a sympathetic nod and winced at the slight shock the motion gave him.

“I mean, ISB is the watchdog. And if the watchdog isn’t there watching, well… who knows what the Navy and the Moffs will get up to? You agree, right?”

Kallus really did agree, so he nodded through the shock. Of course, he thought the ISB could probably do with a bit of oversight as well, but that was an interrogation for another time.

Dayja let out a dramatic groan and slid his knife back into its wrist sheath before unholstering his blaster. “Knives are more elegant, but you know: white uniform,” Dayja said with an apologetic scrunch of his nose. “You understand.” He clicked his tongue and placed the nozzle against Kallus’s temple, blowing out a breath as he considered. “Such a waste. You really do look good beat up, you know that?”

Kallus mouthed, Thanks.

Dayja plopped himself on Kallus’s lap like he was about to start telling him what he wanted for Life Day. “Thing is?” He lowered his voice. “The frustrating fracking thing is?” He lowered his voice even more and Kallus found himself leaning closer to listen.

Well, trying to.

“If the ISB is keeping the Navy in line, but Grand Moff Cheekbones decides he doesn’t need the ISB anymore, I’m guessing he’s got”—Dayja pointed his blaster skyward and Kallus found his eyes following its trajectory to the dripping ceiling before returning to Dayja’s face—“his cue from somebody higher. Which means His High Cloakiness doesn’t think he needs ISB anymore. Which means he thinks he can keep the Navy in line himself. And thinking about what Sheev’s got that could keep the Navy in line from here to Wild Space”—he gave Kallus’s cheek a tap with his blaster to punctuate each word and finished—“makes—me—nervous.” He tilted his head and asked. “Thoughts?”

Kallus cocked a pointed eyebrow and Dayja gave him a startled, “Oh, I am so sorry, Former-agent Kallus, I totally forgot.” He snorted a laugh and said, “And here I was thinking you were just a good listener.”

Once the collar was loosened a few notches, Kallus swallowed, working his jaw before croaking out, “Sounds to me like the only thing keeping anything in line is the Rebellion.”

Dayja sagged his shoulders against Kallus’s chest. “One of us had to say it, I guess.” He sighed and began running a finger absently along the barrel of his blaster, his mouth twisted in a pensive frown. “Don’t suppose you know what it is? Tarkin’s shiny new watchdog?”

“You’re really put out, aren’t you?” Kallus observed.

Dayja threw up his hands. “I am! I put a lot of years into this agency, and my retirement plan is all tied up in—” Dayja cut himself off with an agitated wave of the blaster and said, “Not the most important point right now, but yeah!” He turned to face Kallus. “Do rebels have dental?”

“Considering you lot keep kidnapping all the scientists and doctors and we keep rescuing them, I’d say yes.”

“I expect I can do more good from here,” Dayja said, plucking at his white uniform. “Unlike you, I’m actually a decent shake and undercover so…” he trailed off with a shrug

“Perhaps.” Kallus licked his lips and said, “In which case, I suppose we’ll need to make this look convincing.”

“Your getting away, you mean?” Dayja confirmed, and Kallus hummed a confirmation.

As Dayja nodded absently, Kallus said, “You know… I expect you’d look good beat up, too.”

Dayja gave him a pleased little smile. “I bet I do.” He sighed and tapped his chin with the nozzle of his blaster. “How long’s it been? Since sparring practice?”

“Final year at Royal Imperial, so—” Kallus cocked his head back and forth as he considered. “Fifteen years?”

“What, really?” Dayja asked. “I thought we fucked during ISB training.”

“No,” Kallus said mildly. “I went off-world fairly early on to train on an ISD.”

Dayja blinked. “Then who was I fucking?”

“I have no idea, Dayj,” Kallus said. Under his breath, he added, “But from what I hear, most everybody.”

Dayja gave him a reprimanding slap on his thigh with the blaster. “Oh, stop.” He let out a grating sigh and said, “You know, this would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if you’d just waited a few more months before growing some principles.”

“Sorry,” Kallus said, biting back a smirk. “I thought you liked it hard.”

Dayja gave a small snort. “Yeah, yeah… me throwing my career away is all one big dick joke to you, huh.”

“It was big, you’ll recall,” Kallus said with a groan as Dayja shifted on the chair to straddle Kallus’s thighs. “But then, it doesn’t exactly sound like you’ve managed to keep your dicks straight.” He winced as the collar tightened one more notch—loose enough that he could still speak, but tight enough that it was a struggle.

It made him wonder if Dayja hadn't noticed that he'd slipped the knot on his left wrist.

Dayja shook his head and said in a long-suffering tone, “You are so lucky you’re pretty, you know that?”

“So,” Kallus began with a hopeful tone as Dayja trailed the blaster down the line of his chest. “Are you going to be taking this shock-collar off now?”

“Absolutely not. And if you can’t even get out of a few simple shyrack’s head knots, you’re not exactly going to be worth my time-and-risk investment, are you? So…” Dayja trailed off with a sympathetic click of his tongue, brushing sweat-soaked blonde hair from Kallus’s eyes to rest behind his ear. “This is quite the bind you’ve got yourself in, Fulcrum. How ever will you get yourself out?”

Kallus smirked.

Dayja had long-since decided what he was going to do.

“I want you to suck my cock,” Kallus whispered, to fuck-all of a response.

Nope, Kallus decided. Dayja was not pretending.

He gave Dayja a sharp kick beneath the table, earning him a confused, “Huh? What?” followed by an indignant glare. “The fuck, Al.”

“You were asleep.”

“Yeah,” Dayja said tightly. “And thrilled to be so.” He winced and tongued the cut on his lip.

“You’ll just make it worse.”

Dayja let out a grating sigh but relented with a mouthed, “You’re not my real dad.” He blew out a bored breath and began tapping his fingers on the metal table. “Think that’s a two-way mirror?” he asked, jerking his head at the mirrored wall beside them.

“I expect so,” Kallus said.

Dayja groaned loudly and flung his head back like a child on the cusp of a tantrum. “I’m hungry.”

There was a crackling from overhead followed by a flat voice saying, “You probably should have considered that before betraying your ISB family, Major. But don’t worry—Colonel Gideon will be here to take care of you both soon enough.”

Dayja didn't miss a beat before retorting, “Get me a decent sandwich and a warm pair of socks and I swear on Palpatine’s shriveled archaeological treasure of a ballsack I will reconsider my life choices.”

Kallus arched an expectant eyebrow at the two-way mirror, but there was no answer.

Which was a bad call on their part, as he expected Dayja was only half-kidding about the sandwich.

Dayja sighed disconsolately and turned his attention back to Kallus. “You know why they call them Eyes, don’t you?” he asked, his eyes now dancing with the mischief that his boredom always inevitably evolved into.

Kallus shrugged absently as he picked at the dried blood on his arm. “Because acronym?”

“Maybe,” Dayja said leadingly. “But I think it’s because they like to watch.”

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