The days following his second therapy session left Kallus feeling unsteady, as if the ground beneath him were shifting with every step. With his diagnoses and his first real outpouring of emotion still fresh in his mind, he found himself wondering what to do next. The need for control hadn't disappeared overnight; he still felt the compulsions to clean, to organize, to avoid the bustling mess hall in favor of ration bars in his bunk. But now, as his fingers itched to realign every crate in the storage bay, he found himself thinking about what Dr. Arden had said about coping mechanisms.
Hera had noticed a subtle shift in him too. He was quieter than usual, more inward-focused, but there was a glimmer of change she hadn't seen before. One evening, as the Ghost crew settled around the common area after a supply run, Hera saw an opportunity to help Kallus ease into his new reality.
"Kallus," she began, keeping her tone casual, "we're planning to help load up some supplies in the next bay after dinner. Care to join us?"
Kallus hesitated, glancing around at the rest of the crew. It had only been a few days since his session with Dr. Arden, and he still felt as if he were under a microscope around the others. But the thought of contributing, of finding a way to be useful, stirred something inside him. And this time, it wasn't for the sake of an Imperial agenda—it was simply to help.
"Of course," he replied, nodding with a small hint of gratitude in his voice.
As they gathered to unload crates of supplies and stack them neatly in the storage bay, Kallus found himself slipping into the familiar rhythm of organization. This time, though, it wasn't driven by compulsion but by purpose. He noticed Zeb watching him with an almost amused expression, as if gauging his precision with a touch of humor.
"You know," Zeb said with a half-smile, "you don't have to get the crates exactly lined up."
Kallus straightened up, realizing he'd been unconsciously measuring each crate's alignment. He met Zeb's eyes, a bit of embarrassment flickering across his face, though he forced himself to chuckle. "Old habits die hard, I suppose."
To his surprise, Zeb clapped him on the shoulder, an unexpectedly friendly gesture. "I get it. Takes a while to break outta the things you're used to. But you're part of this crew now—no need to be perfect."
The words settled on Kallus, bringing an unexpected sense of relief. The urge to control every detail didn't vanish, but hearing Zeb's reassurance made it feel a bit less daunting.
After they finished up, the crew shared a modest meal together, Kallus hesitating before joining them at the table. He still felt out of place, especially with the ration bar in his hand, but Hera nudged a fresh plate of food toward him, offering him a warm smile.
"I think it's about time you try this," she said softly. "We don't serve ration bars at the Ghost table."
Kallus glanced at the plate, a simple but hearty meal. He felt the familiar resistance, a pang of guilt about taking a full meal he hadn't earned, but he caught Hera's encouraging gaze. She wasn't going to let him slip back so easily. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his fork, making himself take a bite.
It was simple, but somehow, it felt like a victory.
***
Over the next few days, Kallus began to settle into a new routine with the Ghost crew. He still made his weekly visits to Dr. Arden, and each time, she offered new techniques to help him manage his compulsions and regulate his eating. She was patient, never rushing him, and for once, Kallus felt that maybe—just maybe—he could learn to trust the process.
One afternoon, after a particularly reflective therapy session, he returned to his quarters feeling drained but somehow lighter. He couldn't deny that the sessions were difficult; each one dredged up memories he would rather leave buried. But each time he allowed himself to face them, he felt the weight lift, bit by bit.
The therapy wasn't only about the past, however. Dr. Arden spent a good deal of time helping him create healthier habits, small victories that Kallus had once dismissed as unimportant. She encouraged him to take breaks, to find a rhythm in his new life that wasn't dictated by Imperial order. And though the changes were small, Kallus noticed the difference.
On his fifth day of being stationed with the crew, Kanan noticed him reading in the quiet of the common area and approached him, his expression as easy-going as ever. "Heard you've been doing some good work with Dr. Arden," Kanan said, giving him a friendly nod.
Kallus looked up, his surprise evident. "It... hasn't been easy," he admitted, feeling an unusual vulnerability in admitting that.
"Yeah, change rarely is," Kanan said, a knowing tone in his voice. "But the important thing is that you're trying, and that takes strength."
Kallus absorbed the words, letting their meaning settle into him. Coming from Kanan—a Jedi, of all people—it held a weight he hadn't anticipated. Kanan's encouragement was a small reminder that his past didn't have to define his future.
For the first time in what felt like years, Kallus allowed himself to feel a cautious hope. He was still finding his footing, still navigating the unfamiliar waters of trust, but with each day that passed, he felt a bit more grounded.
And as he looked around at the crew—Hera's gentle guidance, Zeb's unexpected camaraderie, Kanan's steadfast support, and even Chopper's begrudging acceptance—he realized that maybe, he was finally finding his place.
