Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had all started about a week ago, or rather, that was when Pellaeon first noticed the stares he received from his fellow officers. It hadn’t been noticeable at first but eventually the raised eyebrows, knowing smirks, and occasional thumbs up became impossible to overlook – yet he didn’t know what he had done to warrant such attention.

His confusion must have been obvious because someone eventually took some pity on him. He received a message from an encrypted address with only one video attachment and a message telling him to watch it. 

So he had downloaded it and hit play, only to have his stomach drop down to his feet. 

The video’s quality left something to be desired, but it was still obvious that it was Thrawn and himself on the screen. They were on an empty balcony – located at some governor’s party that they had been forced to go to about a standard month back. Pellaeon was leaned back against the railing with Thrawn standing in front of him, an arm on each side on him.

Their lips moved but nothing could be heard – Pellaeon didn’t need to hear any of it to remember their back and forth flirtation. His stomach felt as if it were curling in knots as he realized where this was going, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Their lips met on the screen and Pellaeon felt his face turn red in embarrassment. It was bad enough that one person had infringed on what was meant to be a private moment, but his entire crew knowing that he and Thrawn skipped out on social obligations to make out in dark corners? 

That was mortifying. 

His comm beeped right as the video stopped and Pellaeon snatched it up. “Thrawn—”

“I’ve already seen it.” He sounded annoyed even through the comm and Pellaeon winced. 

“I’ve been wondering why I kept getting weird looks,” he sighed, unable to acknowledge the video farther. 

“Just know how lucky you are that you weren’t on the bridge when you saw it because—” There was a pause, and Pellaeon heard the shuffle of fabric before Thrawn’s voice returned with a hissed, “Because I can assure you that if one more person congratulates me I’m airlocking them.” 

Despite himself, Pellaeon chuckled. “I’m sorry.” 

The tired sigh he received in response only made him laugh harder.

“We’ll have to address this. Apparently the video was sent out to the other ships.”

“I’m not that worried about the crews, sir.” The way his stomach still churned said otherwise, but he could put on a brave face for now. “It’s the Moffs I’m more concerned with.”

Thrawn groaned in annoyance. “Please don’t bring them up right now – what?”

A voice could be heard speaking to Thrawn on the other end. Pellaeon strained to hear it but couldn’t make out any of the words until Thrawn swore. “What happened?”

“It’s public now. Billions of views. Congratulations Pellaeon, we’re apparently famous.”

“I suppose everyone had to find out sooner or later.”

“I would have preferred later, Pellaeon.” 

“I know, Thrawn." Pellaeon shrugged and tried to think of something to say to soften this blow. "Try to look on the bright side.” 

“And what would that be?” 

That was a good question. “We can make out like teenagers in public now?” 

Silence met him and Pellaeon was about to apologize when Thrawn hummed. “True," he said, and he sounded much to thoughtful for Pellaeon's liking. "Very true.” 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon had promised himself he wouldn’t do this. It was embarrassing, unbecoming of someone his age, and he would never live it down if Thrawn ever found out.

But it has been an hour since he had retired to bed, and he needs to sleep. One way, or another.

So he swallows his pride and assures himself that Thrawn’s trip off the Chimaera means he won’t be caught (although his absence is what put Pellaeon into this position in the first place), and leaves the bed to walk to Thrawn’s closet.

There is a shirt he knows is in there from earlier today, having been put back after Thrawn only wore it an hour before having to take it off to change. It would be unnecessary to waste cleaning supplies on it, he had decided, and though Pellaeon had rolled his eyes at the time it would serve a purpose now.

After flipping through a few hanging uniforms, he finds it. Generic Imperial gray, short sleeved, and only slightly rumpled. He pulls the shirt from the hanger and holds it up for a moment before pressing its collar against his nose and inhaling.

He can still smell Thrawn on it, and he smiles despite himself.

He tries not to think about what he’s doing as he brings the shirt back to bed with him and snatches up the pillow that’s on Thrawn’s side of the bed. With deft hands he slips the shirt over the pillow like it's a case and lies down on the bed with it.

Still trying to ignore how pitiful he must seem (honestly though, Thrawn was only going to be gone one night, could he really not make it that long), Pellaeon curls up on his side and wraps an arm around the pillow. He presses his face near the shirt’s collar – around where Thrawn’s shoulder should have been if he wasn’t gone – and tries to relax as he breathes in the familiar scent.

It’s not the same, but it must be close enough because he falls asleep within minutes.

The sight is so endearing that when Thrawn comes back early to find Pellaeon still wrapped around a pillow with his shirt on it he simply leaves the room, deciding that he can let the man save a little face in regard to this. 

Chapter Text

It started out as a small note. Just a small piece of flimsi with Thrawn’s neat handwriting across it in dark ink.

You look very nice today.

Why Thrawn could not just tell him that in words Pellaeon did know, especially since they’ve been married for six years now.

He had admit though, there was something nice and novel about receiving a compliment in the written form. It felt more permanent than spoken word; it was certainly longer lasting. That first note had brought a smile to his face that had lasted well into the day.

The morning after that he had made sure to wake up before Thrawn, just so he could leave his own note behind in reply.

If he had known what it would evolve into, Pellaeon might have started the habit himself years ago.

One response became two, then four, then ten. Phrases sometimes lengthened to short paragraphs. Occasionally either he or Thrawn would manage to reach a whole page of compliments or praise or whatever nice thing they felt like saying about the other. A few wound up being somewhat risqué, although Thrawn always ended up making his purposefully ridiculous and those always managed to make Pellaeon laugh even on the bad days.

Over time Pellaeon had collected so many he started keeping them in a box hidden in a drawer. He knew that Thrawn kept his notes in a similar place – although Pellaeon had to wonder if they would eventually start taking their own jokes about starting a scrapbook seriously.

They still spoke of course, but the notes had become something of a ritual. And while one of them would occasionally comment on how ridiculous it might seem if anyone else found out about it, neither one ever attempted to stop.

But it was on Pellaeon’s seventy-ninth birthday that he received what was more of an essay than a note. The message stretched over five pages of flimsi, each filled with the careful penmanship he had come to know more than his own.

The length had made Pellaeon a bit nervous at first, but as he picked up the pages and started to read the fear quickly disappeared.

It was probably the longest thing Thrawn had ever said to him without interruption or pause, and certainly one of the most heartfelt. There were a few times when Pellaeon had to stop reading altogether for a few minutes to keep from crying.

Pellaeon wondered if Thrawn had thought that the barrier of paper between them was necessary for this level of emotion. He probably did, given that even after years of married life he still had some reserves when it came to expressing feelings.

He began to read the final paragraph and had to laugh. “’I apologize if any of this came off as awkward,’” Pellaeon repeated out loud with a shake of his head. “Bless his heart.”

It’s just that I know I love you more than anything, but I didn’t know if you knew that. I needed you to know that – I just didn’t know how to say it. I suppose that I still don’t, seeing as how I had to write it down. I think that you’ll appreciate this regardless of that personal failing on my part. You have always made an effort to accommodate me and my eccentricities, and I hope that you will find yourself able to accept this one like all the others. Despite my doubts I already know you will in my heart, and that amazes me, even after all these years. It amazes me that I’ve found someone who cares about me in the same way that I care about him.

Happy birthday, my dear. I love you.

Pellaeon swore quietly under his breath and smiled as he wiped away some lingering wetness in his eyes. He decided then that if Thrawn had not already planned on starting a scrapbook, well, then he’d just have to start one himself. With these sheets making up the first few pages.

Chapter Text

“Being able to watch the sunset feels strange,” Pellaeon said from where he stood at the hotel’s window. “I’ve lived on a Star Destroyer for so long, I think I’ve become more used to the time of day being decided by a clock.”

Thrawn paused in his unpacking to glance over at Pellaeon before his gaze moved past him to study the glow of the still-bright rays of the setting sun. “Growing up I rarely saw the sun.” 

“Really?” 

"Yes," Thrawn said as he turned back to his open luggage and picked up a shirt. "I was born and raised on an ice planet. Its surface is so cold, my people cannot even go above ground for extended periods of time without special equipment. We lived in underground cities.” 

Pellaeon turned away from the window to look at Thrawn and he blinked, clearly surprised at this sudden forthrightness. 

Thrawn would admit, even he was a little surprised at his own words. This sort of honesty – honesty about his past, his home, himself – felt foreign. 

But not wrong, as it often had in the past with others. It still made him uneasy, as it always did, but he supposed that he did have a certain level of trust in his second in command. 

“There were a few buildings that were so tall that you could see over the planet’s surface from the highest floors. Those rooms were almost unbearably cold, but some of the ice walls were as clear as glass there. The angle was wrong for a sunset, but if I sat the right way I could see it rise." He paused as he noticed his hands had twisted up the shirt he held and he made himself relax his fidgety hands. Pellaeon was worthy of his trust. "It was a very dim star, but when it would rise it would turn the surface into a glittering sea of white and blue. I would sit there for hours just watching it as a boy.” 

“That sounds lovely.” The sound of Pellaeon’s voice pulled him out of his worry, and he turned his head to look at the captain. “I don’t think I ever appreciated natural daylight as a child. It’s an easy thing to take for granted when it's just there all the time and your focus is so easily taken by other things. Now I just wish I could wake up to something other than ship lighting.” 

“It can be easy to overlook the simple pleasures.” 

“That it can,” Pellaeon agreed, but then pursed his lips in thought. “You know, Admiral, I think that’s the most you’ve ever told me about yourself.” 

It was, wasn’t it? Thrawn hummed, and tried to ignore his own nervousness at his next words: “Perhaps it will not be the only thing I share with you about myself.” 

Pellaeon smiled at the thought and Thrawn found himself returning it, just a bit. “I’d like that, sir.” 

Chapter Text

Perhaps it was foolish to think themselves safe. The admiral was always going on about how easy, how dangerous, it was to become lulled into a false sense of security. Yet it had been almost a decade since the Empire finally won the long war against the rebellion. Ten long years of peace and a safe galaxy. 

Pellaeon can do nothing but watch as all that time gets flushed down the drain. As he kneels on the hard floor of the open stage and holds Thrawn as blood from his chest wound soaks his through uniform. He wants to scream and plead at the universe at the same time. He wants to ask why now, when everything had been going so well? 

And a part of him is so disgusted that out of all the possibilities, a public assassination seems the like most obvious thing the shriveled corpse of the New Republic would attempt. How could they have missed it? How could they have made the one mistake needed for this to happen? 

Movement pulls him from his thoughts – Thrawn has lifted a hand up towards Pellaeon and it trembles in the air. Pellaeon grabs it before it can fall back down and he pulls it to his cheek, turns his head so he can press his lips to Thrawn’s palm and mouth Please against his skin as tears roll down his face. 

“It’s yours now.” 

Pellaeon doesn’t want it. The galaxy can burn for all he cares in that moment. 

He wants to tell Thrawn that but can’t get the words past his own constricted throat. A quiet sob comes forth instead and Thrawn makes a wheezing, sympathetic noise in response. 

“You’ll make me proud.” 

It’s sickening – this man is dying and he’s the one trying to offer comfort. Pellaeon makes himself open his eyes and blink away his tears, desperate to clear his vision so he can see the admiral clearly. 

Thrawn is smiling at him. A small, genuine smile – but he cannot keep his head from weakly lolling to the side and his skin is already turning an unhealthy, ashy shade of blue. 

“You’ve always made me proud.” 

He puts such force into his voice that Pellaeon almost tells him to save his energy – but the medics won’t get here in time for it to make a difference. 

The glow of Thrawn's eyes seems to flicker, just for a second, and his head falls back, unable to hold it up any longer. 

Pellaeon lets the hand he is holding drop and rearranges himself as best he can without hurting the admiral further so he can hold his head up – so he can die comfortably. 

Thrawn’s features smooth out gratefully. Pellaeon knows he’s close given how he does not speak. How he struggles to even breathe. How a thin trail of blood drips from the corner of his mouth. 

His eyes are so dim it’s frightening, but Pellaeon does not dare look away, does not so much as blink. 

And he watches as that strange light fades from the admiral’s eyes and his body goes unnaturally slack in Pellaeon’s arms. 

He watches as a man who had won the support and hearts of his people, who had worked tirelessly towards a truly unified galaxy, dies. 

The sound Pellaeon makes is inhuman. 

He sobs openly now, whole body shaking as he slowly, carefully, leans forwards and presses his forehead to Thrawn’s. 

He doesn’t notice the chaos as a trooper finally forces the assassin to the ground and puts a bolt in her head. 

He doesn’t acknowledge the frantic hand of an officer grasping his shoulder as he tries to get Pellaeon to move, to get to safety. 

Pellaeon does not even acknowledge his own anguished screaming as the cold hands of reality pick up his heart and begin ripping it into tiny, inconsolable pieces. 

Chapter Text

“Did you say something?”

Thrawn opened his mouth to repeat himself but found the words were stuck in his throat. Damn it, he had felt so confident before he spoke, and yet when the words left his mouth they were barely louder than a whisper. Though maybe that was for the best since the polite invitation that he spent an hour rehearsing in his head somehow got turned into a hurried “Please go out with me” when he actually spoke.

But now Pellaeon stared back at him with concern and Thrawn realized that he hadn’t answered his question. The silence had stretched well into awkwardness and he had to say something now.

“Yes, I did.”

A long sting of swears unleashed itself in Thrawn’s head as his mouth just stopped there. Pellaeon arched an eyebrow, his concern now tinged with some annoyance.

“Would you like to tell me what it was, sir?”

Why yes, he would love to, if only he could get his jaw to unclench.

“Yes, I just – I asked you if you would like to accompany me somewhere off the ship. For something unrelated to work. Just the two of us.”

Smooth. Pellaeon’s other eyebrow rose to join its twin. Thrawn distantly heard someone screaming, and he realized that it was his own voice in his head. Pellaeon’s lips twitched into a smile and Thrawn couldn’t tell if that was a good or a bad thing, but it made his stomach flip unpleasantly regardless.

“Like on a date?”

Thrawn wanted to die. If some freak accident involving a terminal falling on his head were to occur just then, well that would have been just great. Just say it, Thrawn told himself as he gritted his teeth, it’ll be more embarrassing to stop now.

“Yes, Pellaeon.”

Did his voice shake when he said his name? He swore that if his voice shook he would go and close himself in the nearest airlock right this very moment. Stars he had to be blushing too – his face felt hot and he could only hope that Pellaeon wouldn’t think anything of it if he turned purple. And oh kriff, had it been quiet too long? Should he have not asked? Should he have waited? What if Pellaeon wasn’t interested like Thrawn was and he just made it awkward between them? What if— 

“Sure,” Pellaeon replied as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “I’d love too.” 

Chapter Text

The icy walls of the tunnels almost seemed to glow around Pellaeon as he followed Thrawn through the underbelly of an abandoned rebel base on Hoth. 

What little Thrawn had told him about what they were searching for hadn’t sounded like enough to warrant both of them leaving the Chimaera. At least he had been invited to come along on this time, as opposed to that stint the admiral had pulled with that painting on Tatooine. Pellaeon was still a little miffed about that if he were honest... 

That was beside the point though. The point was that he hated this weather, this place had started to creep him out, and thank the stars Thrawn had finally stepped off into a side room. Hopefully they could find what they had came from and then leave; the sooner he can get into a hot shower the better. 

He held up his lantern as he followed Thrawn into what appeared to be a small crew quarters. There were some cots scattered around the room, a few still had a blanket and pillow on them, and a few dressers. 

The thought of the people who must have lived here (who probably died here) didn’t help calm Pellaeon’s nerves. At least there weren’t any frozen bodies – there had been enough of those in the hangar they entered in. 

He shook his head in an attempt to dislodge those thoughts and kneeled down so he could the lantern on the ground. He dimmed it so it wouldn’t reflect of the walls so brightly, and that had the effect of turning the ice from a blinding white to a softer, pale glow. He could see the individual flakes in the ice as they shimmered, reflecting a thousand specks of blues in the light as the light hit it. It was admittedly gorgeous, although it hardly made up for the chill that bit at Pellaeon's face. 

Thrawn's voice caught his attention and he stood up. "What did you say?" 

“I asked if you can hear that?” 

Pellaeon strained his ears, but heard nothing but the sound of the wind as it moved between the halls. “No.” 

“Exactly.” Hands grabbed Pellaeon’s shoulders and nudged him towards one of the cots. “We’re all alone. No noise, no people.” Thrawn pushed on Pellaeon’s shoulders and he turned to sit on the mattress. He gave the alien a questioning look as Thrawn sat down next to him and started unfastening the front of his coat. “No interruptions.” 

Pellaeon scoffed and smacked at Thrawn’s hands. “You dragged me to a freezing planet just to get me alone with you?” 

“Of course not, Pellaeon. The data chips I told you about are real and we will recover them.” He ran a gloved hand up Pellaeon’s thigh. It could barely be felt through the thick padding of his snowsuit, but the action sent a warm shiver through him regardless. “I just think that we can hit two targets with one blaster shot.” 

“And we couldn’t do this on the ship, where it is warm, for what reason?” 

“Have some imagination, Pellaeon,” Thrawn mumbled as he pulled down Pellaeon’s hood and kissed along his jaw. “The two of us trapped in this freezing cold room. With only each other for company and warmth. Oh, whatever shall we do until help arrives?” 

“That is not good roleplay material.” 

Thrawn pulled away from his skin to glare at him. Pellaeon ignored it as best he could and lamented the sudden loss of warmth. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Pellaeon blushed. “Well, no.”

“Then stop thinking and relax.” Thrawn went back to work on his zipper and pulled it down with a hum. 

The cold immediately began to seep into Pellaeon's skin through the insulated suit he wore beneath the coat, but it was chased away by Thrawn’s unnaturally warm hands as they pressed against his chest. His voice washed over him as he continued to undress him, mouth pressed back against his neck. “We’re alone here, and we can be with each other, for as long and as loudly as we please.” 

Hot fingers finally touched his bare skin and Pellaeon gasped, back arching into Thrawn’s grip. 

“No one will even think to call us for another two hours,” Thrawn said breathily, his eyes glittering as brightly as the walls around them as he stared at Pellaeon. “And I plan on keeping you very warm until that call arrives.” 

Chapter Text

The doctors had warned Thrawn that Captain Pellaeon would be very “out of it” coming out of surgery. Now that Pellaeon had woken up, he felt that the warning may have been an understatement. 

He was currently being studied by the captain with an expression that almost looked like suspicion. Thrawn did not know what the man could have been thinking in his drugged state, so he simply stared back at him until Pellaeon eventually opened his mouth to speak. 

“Who are you?” 

The question came out slurred and Thrawn sighed but offered a small smile regardless. He just hoped that the memory loss was related to the painkillers. “I am Grand Admiral Thrawn, Pellaeon. You’re in the Chimaera’s medbay, post-op.” A look of concern spread over Pellaeon’s features and Thrawn spoke again to offer more context. “Your appendix ruptured and had to be removed. I have been assured that you’ll make a full recovery.” 

That seemed to placate Pellaeon somewhat; he nodded and relaxed back against the cot. His eyes still stayed on Thrawn though, skimming over his seated form before travelling back up to his face. Well, if he wanted to look then he might as well get it out of his system. Thrawn shifted into a more comfortable sitting position and propped an arm up on the back of the chair so he could rest his head in his hand. 

Silence stretched on for a few minutes as Thrawn tried to mentally calculate how much longer Pellaeon would be drugged. The feeling of being watched never went away as he thought, but he did his best to ignore it. 

“So,” he heard Pellaeon mumble and he glanced back over towards him. “You doin’ anything later?” 

Thrawn arched an eyebrow and shrugged. “Only paperwork. Why?” 

“Well,  I was hopin’ that maybe you and I could do somethin’ later.” 

That made Thrawn blink in surprise. He wondered if he should explain that they spent almost every waking moment with each other and even slept in the same bed every night, but decided that there was no point considering the man’s mental state. “Like what?” 

“Well, hopefully somethin’ very unrelated to paperwork. Like get a drink? Or whatever.” 

Just out of surgery and his first thought was about getting drinks? Thrawn turned to level a reproachful look at him, prepared to tell him to stop thinking and just relax, but stopped. Pellaeon had asked him if they could go get drinks. Together. Was Pellaeon… he was flirting with him. Thrawn sighed but couldn’t stop his own huff of laughter as he shook his head. 

“Pellaeon, I’m very flattered but you don’t have to ask. We are married, after all.” 

Pellaeon’s eyes widened to comedic proportions. 

“We’re what?” Pellaeon asked and tried to sit up but only flopped back onto the mattress. “Holy shit,” he mumbled, “I scored.” 

He then raised his hands in an attempt at high fiving himself, but Thrawn grabbed his hands before he could do anything. “I don't know what scoring points has to do with this but will you please just relax.” 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon stood in the doorway of the fresher looking guilty as Thrawn sat in front of the toilet and retched up the contents of his stomach. “I’m sorry.”

The alien gave him a halfhearted wave of his hand as he panted. “It’s not like you knew.”

“I wish I had,” Pellaeon mumbled with a wince as another wave hit Thrawn. Louder, so Thrawn could hear him, he continued: “I didn’t even know that some species could have food aversions.”

Especially to vanilla extract, of all things.

Thrawn leaned back a bit and caught his breath. He didn't bother to wipe his mouth and Pellaeon wondered how much longer this would go on for. “It’s not particularly well known, no.”

That was all he had time to say before he had to turn back to the bowl. Pellaeon tried not to shudder at the sounds of him getting sick, but it was difficult when the noises made his own stomach churn in sympathy.

“I’ll be sure to let everyone who handles the food know so this doesn’t happen again. No more cake you can’t eat allowed. We’ll have to apologize to half the crew for it though.”

Pellaeon felt like Thrawn might have at least chuckled at that, had he not been, well, preoccupied.

Finally he sat back on his heels and made a pained face. “All right,” he said as he pressed his forehead against his hand. “I think I’m done.”

Pellaeon nodded. “I’m going to get you a towel and something to get that taste out of your mouth.”

Thrawn gave him a thumbs up in response. 

Chapter Text

One of the first things he noticed about the other man was his hands. It was hard not to. They were always moving, always working. Yet despite this, they were always neat. Always cared for. He could appreciate that. He only hoped that the effort he put into his appearance was equal to the effort he put into his work.

Naval officers did not frequently practice shooting a blaster. It was not a necessity for them like it was for the ground forces – but the man thought it was important to be equipped to deal with any issue. So they practiced at the range, sometimes alone but sometimes with each other. And he had to admit, the man’s fingers looked nice when they were wrapped around the handle of a weapon.

He gestured more when he was comfortable. Hands waved around in the air as gently as a breeze. Fingers twitched with activity as he spoke, emphasized points of a story. Like a dance, you could not understand the tale that was spun unless you watched. It was mesmerizing.

The man’s fingers are long. He felt like he shouldn’t notice that. He does anyway.

The hands that have captured his attention so thoroughly did not look as nice as they had when they first met. It is nothing too noticeable, but they were drier than usual. It reflected the tiredness in his eyes. He offered him a bottle of lotion and it was accepted. He understands. They are both very tired.

If he had thought that his fingers on the butt of a blaster looked nice, then his fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle was a work of art.

The war effort moved forward, ever forward. They slowly gained ground. His hands started to look better than they had months ago. He was happy for it, happier still, when he came to him to ask where he had gotten that brand. They are still tired, but it was more bearable.

His hands are calloused. A lifetime of hard work is written there, in the seams and rough patches of his skin. It is unsurprising, given what the two of them do for a living. It’s funny though. They didn’t feel so rough when he pressed his lips to them.

One hand pointed out some detail he had overlooked on his datapad while another pressed against his shoulder. He thanked him for his help and blushed when he accepted it but didn't move away. He is comforted by the contact, by his closeness. He hoped that his own presence offered that same thing to the other man. 

His hands are rough, but his touch is soft. They do more than just gesture when he gets comfortable enough.

He intertwined their fingers together. Nervousness made him hold his breath and he knew he shouldn’t be nervous, they had done many things that were far more intimate than holding hands. Yet he was nervous anyway. Fingers squeezed his own in acknowledgement and he released his breath with a smile. 

The war effort moves on. They are almost done and they are no longer tired. While they both had believed in their eventual victory, it hasn't felt truly real until this point. When they can just lie in bed for a few hours, without worries as life moves on beyond the Imperial Palace's windows. A hand seeks out his beneath the blankets, and he offers it without hesitation. The other man brings it to his lips and kisses each his fingers softly, still half asleep despite his movements. The touch alone feels like a victory, although this one is much more personal. 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon has grown used to waking up alone in bed. He understands why it has to be that way. Thrawn works different hours, he is needed on the bridge earlier than himself, it would look odd if they left his room at the same time. The list goes on, and each item on it is reasonable. 

That doesn’t mean he has to like it. The only thing that keeps him from getting out of bed in a miserable mood every morning is knowing that Thrawn hates it as much as he does.

But it's still just so... upsetting when Thrawn always leaves. 

And it is always. No occasional sleeping in for the grand admiral, oh no. No waking up early together so they can just relax in the same bed like any normal couple. The work must come first, they have a duty. Pellaeon hates how correct that all is. Their work must come first, even before their needs as people. 

Which is why when Pellaeon wakes up, long before his alarm but after Thrawn’s shift starts he rolls over expecting cold sheets. Instead he feels a warm body and he’s so startled by that he jolts fully awake. He sits up and stares at the alien who is sleeping peacefully beside him, unaware of that fact that he’s supposed to be elsewhere.

“Thrawn,” he hisses as he shakes the man’s shoulder.

Thrawn is just as startled as he was when he wakes up – he sits up with a gasp, glancing around the room before his eyes settle on Pellaeon. He sags a bit when they make eye contact, although it looks like the gesture is born from tiredness rather than relief.

“What?” he asks groggily, shutting his eyes with a grimace as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Pellaeon scoffs just a bit, baffled by all of this. He’s also just the slightest bit pissed. The one time they wake up together, and he cannot even enjoy it. Because Thrawn has to leave. Again. And again and again. “What do you mean what? You’re supposed to be on the bridge right now. Did you not set your alarm?”

Thrawn stares at him for a long moment before his eyes widen in realization and he falls back onto the mattress with an agonized groan. He swears colorfully as he laments his lost rest and Pellaeon rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, serves you right for staying up late looking at reports.” 

“I was sleeping so well.” His voice is rough with sleep, and Pellaeon wonders what it would sound like to hear him say good morning. He shouldn’t though, because he knows he may never hear that and it isn’t right for him to hold that against either Thrawn or himself. But it still hurts. It always does when your partner leaves.

“Well, there is always tomorrow.” Pellaeon hates the resignation in his voice. 

“Mm-mm. No. Fuck it. Lie back down, go to sleep, and wake me up when your shift rolls around.”

“What – you can’t just skip out on your shift!”

“Like hell I can’t.” Thrawn rolls over to face him and defiantly yanks the blanket up under his chin, eyes glowing hotly in the darkness of the room. “I worked eighteen hours yesterday and you don’t even have to move for another four. No one has commed me and most of them are not children. They can handle a few hours of real work without me.” 

That… was hard to argue with. Especially when Pellaeon realized that they’d both get to wake up together for once. “Fine. But we’re cuddling.”

Thrawn throws an arm up, tenting the blanket between them in invitation and Pellaeon huffs out a half-laugh as he scoots closer. He slips into the space Thrawn makes for him and his arm falls around Pellaeon’s waist, pulling him up against him. Each movement is sudden and harsh, but Pellaeon knows they are the movements of a man desperate for sleep.

He didn’t know Thrawn wasn’t a morning person. One of the small facts he’d been missing out on until now. 

Thrawn kisses the top of his head, wishes him goodnight, and then is… asleep. Out like a light. Damn, Pellaeon might just have to ask him how he does that. He glances over shoulder to make sure his alarm is set (now wouldn’t that be embarrassing?) before allowing himself to relax against the other man and close his eyes.

He can’t stop one last smile as he thinks about them leaving together as sleep draws him in. 

Chapter Text

“I want to thank you again for joining me.” 

“It’s no trouble,” Pellaeon responded as he glanced over his shoulder. Thrawn stood in the small kitchenette area of his quarters and quietly stirred two cups of tea. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

Thrawn dropped the spoon in the sink and picked up a cup in each hand as he turned around. “That too was no trouble.” He smiled a little when he saw Pellaeon watching him and walked over to the couch. He handed Pellaeon a cup and then sat down next to him, crossing his feet at the ankles as he stretched out. “It’s been a while since I’ve been able to find a reasonable excuse to make tea. It’s a process, you know? I suppose I’m using you as a bit of an excuse to do so.” 

“Well, I guess that I don’t mind being the scapegoat just this once,” Pellaeon said with a grin and he raised his cup in a toast before taking a sip. 

The flavor wasn’t like anything Pellaeon had tasted before. It was warm, floral, but with a delicate heat that made the inside of his mouth tingle pleasantly. Pellaeon hummed as he swallowed the liquid. “That’s good. What’s in it?” 

“It’s something of a family recipe.” 

“Ah. Can’t share the secret then, hm?” 

He meant it as a joke, but Thrawn didn’t respond. He glanced over at the alien, intending to ask if he had said something wrong but Thrawn wasn’t even looking at him. 

He stared down at his own mug as he twisted it in his hands. “My brother used to make this for us every evening when we were young adults. We’d sit around the fireplace and talk about our day while drinking it. I haven’t made it since—” He cut himself off as his face darkened. “I haven’t made it in a long time.” 

Pellaeon got the impression that he had just stumbled upon something very personal, and that it would be best to tread very lightly. He took another sip as he thought of what to say, and watched the bits of dried leaves float around the bottom of the cup. 

“I wouldn’t mind coming back if it’s alright with you. If you ever get the urge to have some again.” Thrawn looked over at him and Pellaeon gave him a reassuring smile. “Some things just feel better if they’re shared with someone. Your tea sounds like one of them.” 

Thrawn gave him a small smile in return and nodded. “I think I would like that, Pellaeon.” 

Chapter Text

Thrawn’s mouth was downturned in a harsh frown. Of course, it was rare for the admiral to appear happy (or anything other than neutral or mildly annoyed, if Pellaeon were being honest) but right now he looked like he was only a few muscle movements away from a full on sneer.

That level of outward emotion from Thrawn wasn’t simply rare – it never happened. Whatever he was looking at on his datapad must have been some pretty bad news. Given how annoyed he looked, it was probably due to someone’s incompetence. All could be forgiven right up until someone who should have known better made an ignorant mistake. Or was it an error? Ah, whatever. That didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Thrawn looked – quite frankly – peeved as all hell, and if that attitude left the command chamber then someone was going to pay for it later.

“Sir,” Pellaeon said to grab the man’s attention. When Thrawn glanced away from the pad and toward him, Pellaeon stepped up to his command chair to stand next to him.

He received an arched eyebrow in question but he didn’t bother to try and explain himself. He simply leaned downwards and pressed their lips together. It was quick, chaste, little more than a peck, but it was enough that when Pellaeon pulled back Thrawn stared at him with an expression of bemusement.

“Don’t look so down. Whatever it is, you can fix it.”

Thrawn’s features smoothed out somewhat at that, and the ghost of a smile passed across his lips. Then it was gone, but the frown didn’t replace it and Pellaeon supposed that it would just have to do. At the very least, he had probably just saved some poor ensign’s life with that kiss. You're welcome, stupid ensign. 

Chapter Text

It was a bit of a backwater planet; it was just this side of Wild Space and managed to keep to itself despite how the war seemed to drag everyone into it. There were very few visitors and it had almost no imports to speak of. It had only one export though: flowers. The planet shipped them out by the ton, with ships kept them stored so expertly that they would still be fresh even after weeks of space travel. 

And it was well-known for – among certain circles –its seasonal flower festivals. 

That was the main reason Pellaeon had wanted to come here for years. The man had been patient, more than patient really. With every shore leave that lead to another political meeting instead of an actual break, he would simply nod and say that he understood. 

But Thrawn found it unacceptable. If there was ever an officer that deserved a break, deserved to enjoy himself for a few days without worry, it was his captain. Besides, he had promised Pellaeon years ago that he would get him to one of those festivals even if he had to personally rearrange the Chimaera’s entire schedule around for it. 

It might have taken him some time, but Thrawn was loath to break a promise. 

He had only gotten them a week off the ship just in time for the first festival, but Pellaeon had assured him that it was more than enough. Thrawn disagreed. He would have gotten him a year’s worth of time if he could have. But they were stuck with having to make do with what they had, and Thrawn planned to make the most of it for the other man. 

Thrawn was sure that he had accomplished that goal when they stood in the middle of a massive field of pink and yellow flowers with the soft breeze that blew petals past their faces, and he saw Pellaeon genuinely smile for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon glances up from his boots at the sound of his name to see Thrawn sitting back on the hotel room’s bed, staring upwards with a befuddled expression. He stops trying to pull off his boot and sits up, giving the man his full attention.

“Why is there a mirror on the ceiling over our bed?”

Pellaeon arches his eyebrows in response and looks up to see, lo and behold, a mirror. How did they miss that when they entered? It seems pretty obvious now that they’re both looking at it. “I would think that the answer is fairly obvious.”

He keeps his voice level as he speaks, but he can feel his face turning red despite himself. It gets worse when Thrawn’s confused look turns to him and he thinks that he’s going to have to explain it to him. But the look clears up as it dawns on him and Pellaeon breaths out a sign of relief.

“That seems like a safety hazard.”

“Hotels didn’t have that sort of thing where you’re from I take it?”

Thrawn scoffs as he turns his face back up towards the mirror with a frown. “Absolutely not. What if it falls on you while you’re asleep?”

“It’s bolted to the ceiling, Thrawn. How would it fall?”

“What if it falls while you are not sleeping then? What if the headboard hits the wall a little too hard?”

“That—” Pellaeon sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t think anything someone could do while not sleeping could make a bolted mirror fall down.” He turns back and yanks off his boot but stops before starting on the other. “And that wasn’t meant as a challenge!” 

“I should think not. I for one don’t want a sheet of glass falling on my head.” 

“Oh my stars, Thrawn stop being dramatic.” 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon stood on the balcony overlooking the wooded area that surrounded the hotel, and listened to the sounds of croaking amphibians and watched the fireflies float around lazily. The area was well lit in a beautiful white glow by the planet’s two full moons; their reflections bounced off the waves of a nearby pond, illuminated the lilies and reeds that swayed in a soft breeze. 

It had been a long time since Pellaeon’s nights hadn’t been dictated by the chrono. Too long, he felt. Despite what the Empire seemed to think, he had never believed that people were meant to be locked up in ships and tossed into space away from the sun and moon and nature for such long periods.

It felt good to be on the ground, even of he knew it was temporary. Like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

Hands slipped around his waist and he turned to face Thrawn as he pressed himself up against Pellaeon’s side. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Immensely,” Pellaeon answered as he let himself relax against Thrawn.

He felt more than heard a pleased hum rumble through Thrawn’s chest and he pulled Pellaeon tighter against him. “Good,” he replied as he tucked Pellaeon’s head beneath his chin. “I want you to relax while we’re here.”

“I know.” Pellaeon wrapped both his arms around Thrawn’s waist, slipped a hand up under his loose undershirt until he felt warm skin. “You’ll have to help me though. Rest doesn’t come easy for an old Navy man like myself.”

“A simple task. I am quite adept at making sure you find rest.” A noise that was almost a purr slipped through his lips as Pellaeon slipped his fingertips downwards until they just barely slipped into the waistband of his pants. “We’ll have to start tonight. To make sure we make the most of this vacation.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Pellaeon mumbled with a smile. 

Chapter Text

The sponge makes another pass over Thrawn’s shoulders, dripping warm water down his back. He feels the touch of a hand follow it, Pellaeon’s fingertips stoking over yet another scar. 

The touch is gentle, perhaps even more gentle than the sponge’s, yet it makes Thrawn tense all the same. It is not something he can help; his body’s reaction is pure instinct. Reacting to something touching the reminders to dozens of different injuries. Some that were made in the heat of battle, and others that had been more purposeful, methodical. 

Thrawn knows his whole body looks like a map, littered with a hundred different marks. Thick dark roads and thin pale lanes. Mountain ranges and deep trenches. 

It's an ugly sight to behold. He doesn't know how Pellaeon has managed to keep from flinching at every other mark. 

The sponge slides over his skin again, bringing its soothing heat. Pellaeon’s hand follows it again, his palm caressing over a few of the longer scars that run across his back. They’re thickest near the bottoms of his shoulder blades and Pellaeon’s touch softens impossibly more as his fingers brush over them. Thrawn knows that there are too many of the perfect lines to ever be mistaken for wounds caused by the claws of an animal. He hopes that Pellaeon assumes that’s what they are regardless. 

When the sponge makes its next pass it is lower, down near the bottom of his rib cage. There are more scars there too, but they are mainly caused by blaster shots that didn't miss, by sharp knives that had cut too deep to ever heal cleanly. Those scars are safer, ones that don't make Thrawn want to hold his breath when Pellaeon touches them, though Pellaeon is still gentle when he is investigating them. 

“I would ask about some of these.” Pellaeon brushes his knuckles over a healed gash across his ribs and that alone is enough to make the ghost of that pain flair up in Thrawn's mind unbidden. “But I don’t think I want to know.” 

Thrawn pulls up a knee and rests his folded arms on top of it, bowing until his forehead presses against the warmed skin of his arms. 

He thinks on the cruel things he’s seen, on the harrowing events he has experienced. 

And he sighs, long and hard, trying to expel those memories as easily as he can his own breath. And he tries to focus instead on the man who is sitting behind him in the tub, who has only ever treated him with kindness and respect. 

“No. You would not.” 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon can feel eyes on him. He knows Thrawn has been staring at him from across the bridge for quite a while now, but he’s doing his best to ignore him. He’s still annoyed from this morning and he’s doing his best to subtly let Thrawn know he doesn’t appreciate certain choices he’s made recently. 

Maybe those choices have to do with the fact that when Pellaeon wants to stay in bed late and fool around a little he gets a five-minute speech about duty and timeliness and whatnot, but when Thrawn wants to do that then it’s “for the cause”. 

Call him petty (much like Thrawn had that morning when he left him alone in the bed without so much as a helping hand), but this double standards nonsense is a load of bantha shit. 

And the both of them know that. It’s just that some people think they can pull that kind of a stunt and not get called out on it. 

So he’ll endure Thrawn’s halfhearted glare during their shift with a smile, because he knows that when they talk about this later it’ll be no contest. He’s already won because he's right. 

And he thinks he'll celebrate this victory by staying in bed quite late tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

“Here,” Pellaeon said as he set a bag down onto the table between Thrawn and himself with a solid thunk. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.” 

“I wouldn’t say that anyway.” Thrawn looked up from his datapad and glanced between the bag and Pellaeon. “What is it?” 

The captain only responded with a wave of his hand at the bag. As if to say, “find out for yourself.” 

Thrawn sighed and saved his work before he sat the pad aside and turned in his chair to fully face his subordinate. He pulled the bag to him and peeked inside, shot a final look at Pellaeon before he reached in and pulled out the first item. 

It was a tall jar, clear and filled with a dark substance. He twisted it in his hands until he saw a handwritten label. The writing was a familiar dialect, but it was rather unpopular outside of Wild Space. 

For a second Thrawn thought that Pellaeon had just gifted him some sort of contraband, but reading the label revealed that it was jelly. Supposedly jelly at least, though Thrawn did recognize the ingredients listed on the side. 

He set the jar aside and reached back into the bag, only to pull out a bottle next. This one he recognized immediately as a sauce known for its fiery heat, popular amount Outer Rim planets. 

He sensed that there might be a pattern here and he began to pull out every item of the bag’s contents until they all sat in front of him. 

Each object was some sort of food additive, be it a sauce or a jam or even a powder (that one he had eyed with a particular suspicion; he even opened the container and brushed up enough of the purple dust on a finger to taste— 

And he tasted home. His mouth lit up at the heat of it – Pe’shrii Spice powder. A popular import and cooking ingredient on Csilla, stars, it had been a staple in everything Thrass had cooked. But it was impossible to get outside of the Unknown Regions at worst, and ridiculously expensive at best. How Pellaeon had gotten his hands on it he couldn’t imagine, and hell his mouth was still burning but it was so good, it had been so long since he had tasted it—) 

“You’ve been complaining about how bland the ship’s food is for months.” Thrawn jerked out of his thoughts and looked up at Pellaeon as the captain gave him a small smile. “And I know you have a preference for spicier food. It took me a while to get it all. Had to call in a few favors, but I hope that you like it.” 

“Thank you, Pellaeon, truly. I greatly appreciate this gesture.” 

More so than you can even imagine, he thought as he carefully sealed up the Spice container. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes trying to talk to Admiral Thrawn was like trying to talk to a wall. Not to say that the admiral was not receptive or uncommunicative, he was often just the opposite! It was just that he tended to be rather… closed off. 

Frankly, Pellaeon was pretty sure he had met rocks that had a wider range of visible emotions than Thrawn. 

Hell, Vader had worn a mask and spoke through a voice modulator and even he had expressed a vast array of emotions! 

It was just that the admiral didn’t. Pellaeon always assumed that it was just his personality, or perhaps a trait that came with his species. 

It was still rather nerve-wracking in its own way. At least with Vader you had a fair enough idea of where you stood on his shit list. With Admiral Thrawn he had seen officers not realize they had misstepped until it was made abundantly clear. 

It's the sort of ire that Pellaeon is not used to, but it's certainly one that he wants to avoid. Though perhaps “don’t piss of the grand admiral” shouldn’t have translated to “befriend the man” in his own mind. He’d just have to blame that little detail on his natural sense of curiosity. And on his conviction that yes, the admiral could smile, he was sure he had witnessed such an occurrence once. Maybe. At least he thought he had though it was possible that maybe he’d just mistaken a twitch of his lips for a small smile but that was besides the point! 

The point is that he's committed himself to this half-thought out plan of action and by the Sith he's not going to be intimated. He had survived Vader unscathed, and Thrawn is a much easier man to be around than him. Maybe friendship is too tall of and order, but there's no reason he cannot be on friendly terms with his CO. 

It was easier said than done though. Not that it was an easy thing to say in the first place. 

But he is making progress. Bit by bit, he could see the walls coming down. Tiny, microscopic cracks forming in Thrawn’s smooth emotionless veneer. He is even sure he saw the admiral smile at something he said, and he was positive it wasn't just a twitch. 

Maybe. 

... At least he was pretty sure it wasn't. 

Chapter Text

“You’re sure that you don’t want to wear rings?” 

A look passes over Thrawn’s face, gone as quickly as it had appeared, but not quick enough for Pellaeon to miss it. It was the same look he got whenever he sensed an argument he didn’t want to have was coming. “Pellaeon—” 

“I’m not trying to fight with you. You explained your reasons and I already agreed that it was fine with me.” Pellaeon takes a step closer, trying to put the other man at ease. “I’m genuinely asking you if you are still sure.” 

Thrawn studies him hard, unsure if this was a trap or not. Pellaeon keeps his face neutral and slowly Thrawn relaxes enough to nod. “I am still sure.” 

“Okay,” Pellaeon says with an ease he does not feel and pulls his hand from behind his back, holding out a small box for Thrawn, who stared at it for a moment before taking it. “Open it.” 

Thrawn gives him a look that screams “I know what to do with a box” but he still continues to study its plain surface some more before finally opening it. 

His face goes slack and Pellaeon shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He already knows what is in the box: a set of perfectly rectangular diamonds set in silver. They were each no bigger than his thumbnail, and no thicker than any of the other military pins they owned. Perhaps they were not the most expensive options in the galaxy, but diamonds where something of a tradition. 

"They're pins, one for me and one for you. I figured that they would be innocuous enough for you to be comfortable with wearing them." The first hint of the nervousness Pellaeon was trying to hide slips through on his last few words and he stops talking for a moment to give himself a chance to gather himself. "Do you like them?" 

"Pellaeon I-" Thrawn picks up one of the pins, watching as it glints in the low light of the room. "They're beautiful. Of course I do." 

Pellaeon releases a breath a sigh of relief through his nose and smiles. "Okay, that's - that's great." 

Thrawn looks up at him with an arched brow. "Were you nervous about this?" 

That gets him a scoff in response. "Well, yes. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to return them if you changed your mind or hated them and I - well, obviously I want you to like them." 

He make himself hold eye contact with Thrawn even though every ounce of him just wants to stare at the floor. As if sensing his discomfort Thrawn gives him a smile. "You should know by now that I would have liked it simply because you picked it out." 

"That's kind of you," Pellaeon responds, feeling his face start to heat up. 

"As was this gesture." Thrawn set the pin back into the box before carefully shutting it. "Thank you. You'll have to do me the honor of pinning it on me at the wedding." 

"Of course," Pellaeon answers with a smile. 

Chapter Text

“It’s something the militant members of my species get after completing training. You’re supposed to pick something that you feel represents who you are as an individual. A small piece of rebellion, I suppose, considering we are typically a very group-oriented people.” 

Pellaeon sat behind Thrawn on the bed and studied the art now on display. The tattoo was massive, taking up most of Thrawn’s back from his shoulders to the waistband of his pants. It depicted a fierce looking bird; its wings spread and beak open wide, and its talons extended as if it was about to snatch up its prey. 

It was impressively detailed and colored a beautiful array of greens and purples; Pellaeon could only imagine that it had hurt something awful when he got it. 

“So what’s yours of?” Pellaeon was genuinely curious; it was rare that Thrawn spoke of his past. Thrawn however, only tensed and shifted uncomfortably at the question. “Assuming that I can ask that, of course.” 

“No, it’s – you can ask, Pellaeon.” Despite his assurances Thrawn’s shoulders were still tense. “It’s a depiction of a species of bird that’s indigenous to my home planet. The name translates to Springhawk. They hunt by burying themselves beneath the thin layer of snow on the planet’s surface and when they hear or feel prey approaching—” 

“They spring up and grab it?” 

“Yes.” He could hear some mirth return in Thrawn’s voice and he finally seemed to fully relax. “They are known for their unending patience in what they do, and their perseverance for surviving the harsh surface of their planet.” 

“Hm. I suppose that description does sound familiar.” 

“I should hope so.” Thrawn turned around on the bed so he could look at Pellaeon. “Otherwise I would have wasted a very good artist’s time.” 

Pellaeon hummed and pretended to be deep in thought. “I suppose that would be a travesty.” 

“Of a most impressive caliber. I’m so glad we agree.” 

That got Pellaeon to crack a smile, and Thrawn responded with his own small grin. He had to admit, it was nice to see the admiral relaxed for once in his life. Especially if it meant Thrawn was acting so relaxed around him. The thought made Pellaeon’s face warm slightly and he glanced back down to the tattoo. 

“All right.” Thrawn’s voice pulled him out of his wandering thoughts as the man picked up his undershirt and slipped it back on. “The peep show is over.” 

“What, already?” Pellaeon asked as he leaned back on his hands. “It was just getting interesting.” 

“A shame, I know. Perhaps, if time permits, we could continue this…” Thrawn paused and eyed Pellaeon curiously. “Artistic discussion later.” 

Something about the way Thrawn’s voice curled around that phrase made Pellaeon’s blush deepen. “I think I would enjoy that.” 

Chapter Text

On the same day every standard year Thrawn lit a candle. It was unerring, like clockwork. Each time it was the same tall, white, unscented candle. 

It bordered on ritualistic. He dimmed the lights, lit the candle, and then sat in front of it in contemplative silence. Stared at it, until it burned down into nothing more than a puddle of wax. 

After that he would usually just clean up the mess and go about his evening as if nothing had occurred. Occasionally he sat there long after it had cooled, and just stared off into some unfathomable distance. Once Pellaeon had walked into the room to see him hunched over, his arms propped up on his knees and his face buried in his hands. 

The sight had left him feeling perturbed for days, but he knew better than to say anything to Thrawn. 

Whatever he was doing, it was obviously personal. He knew when to let someone have some peace. 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon woke up on a bed in a sectioned off area of the medbay. He was still groggy from whatever medication was still in his system, but he was not so tired that it stopped his memories. A shudder went through him as he recalled the assassin firing some strange gun at Thrawn, him shoving the grand admiral out of the way as he stepped in front of him, a sharp pain in his arm, and then nothing. 

He sighed and tried not to think about that – but movement caught his eyes and he looked over at Thrawn who sat in a chair next to his bed. 

The man looked miserable. His eyes were ringed with heavy bags and stress was written all over his face, though it did smooth out some when he saw Pellaeon awake. Thrawn moved to stand up from the chair stiffly and he heard his joints pop – Pellaeon winced and wondered how long he had been sitting there. 

Pellaeon smiled as Thrawn sat down on the bed next to him, but he did not return it. “Pellaeon,” he said, his voice rough like he had been crying. “I am so sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for, love,” he replied, his voice rusty with disuse. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but felt weirdly lopsided. He figure that it must have been due to the medication; he stopped moving so he didn't aggravate it further. 

Thrawn winced in sympathy and shifted closer to him. He leaned over Pellaeon and slipped an arm over his waist. It was as close to a hug as they could get while Pellaeon was still wrapped up in a blanket. 

Pellaeon hummed happily at having the man so close, but wanted him closer. He lifted his arms from beneath the blanket to wrap them around Thrawn’s shoulders so he could tug him downwards. Only one came up but Pellaeon was too focused on the comforting warmth of Thrawn’s body as it pressed against his own. 

“It’s all right, Thrawn,” he said as he pressed a kiss against his cheek. “I’m still here. I’m okay.” 

“You’re not okay.” 

“What?” Something in Thrawn’s voice made a pit form in Pellaeon’s stomach. He planted his hand on Thrawn’s chest and pushed gently until he leaned back just far enough for Pellaeon to look him in the eye. 

The alien looked agonized. “The dart the assassin used was filled with some sort liquid that causes the rapid deterioration of flesh. It only hit your arm but it – the medics couldn’t do anything to stop it by the time they arrived.” 

Thrawn wouldn’t look at him as he spoke. The pit grew heavier until it felt like it weighed Pellaeon’s whole stomach down. He turned his head to the left - the same side of his injured arm - and started to shift and pull the sheet covering him down – Thrawn’s hand cupped his face, turned his head away. “Don’t look. Please, just, not yet.” 

Panic twisted Pellaeon’s insides around in knots; what was wrong with him? What was so bad that Thrawn wouldn’t let him see it? “I am doing to have to see it eventually, Thrawn.” 

“No you won't. There’s nothing there to see.” 

That did nothing to help Pellaeon's panic. He felt his eyes get wide as he considered what Thrawn had said and reached up to yank the blanket off of him. This time Thrawn didn’t stop him. 

He almost wished that he had as he stared down at the empty space where his arm should have been. There was nothing but open air and bedspread, and the neatly pinned off sleeve of the gown he wore. 

It took him a few seconds to register what had happened - that his arm was gone. 

He shoved himself away from the empty space - as if he could push himself from the horror of the situation, as if it wasn't going to follow him because that space was now connected to him, replaced what was once there, oh shit he was going to pass out, but maybe when he woke up this would all just be a nightmare - and startled the shit out of himself when he bumped into Thrawn, who slid his arms around Pellaeon. 

He couldn't even push Thrawn off of him in his panic because he only had one damn hand to work with. 

His arm was gone. 

The burst of adrenaline that hit him didn't mix well with the lightheadedness and he felt his stomach roll with nausea. 

"Stop looking at it," Thrawn hissed and pressed a hand against his cheek. He pushed his face until Pellaeon relented and allowed Thrawn to turn his head away from the problem - the lack of a problem now apparently, his mind corrected hysterically - "You'll only make yourself feel worse." 

"I feel pretty kriffing bad!" 

Thrawn tensed against him and pulled Pellaeon so tightly against him it almost hurt. "I know. I know you do and I'm so sorry, but I need you to calm down, Pellaeon. Just - breathe." 

That was a pretty tall kriffing order. But he did his best to comply, although his breaths where more like wet gasps. 

As he slowly calmed down Thrawn loosened his grip on him, but he didn't take his hand from Pellaeon's face. "The doctor said that they could get you a prosthetic, but you'll have to wait until we can get back to Courscant." 

"That's -" That was two weeks away. At least two week away, if they assumed that they would not run into any problems and when had they ever not run into problems? Fourteen days was a long time when it meant he was missing a whole limb. A limb he used every day to do the simplest of tasks. 

But he remembered the look on Thrawn's face, how tired he seemed, and how weirdly apologetic he was for something he didn't even do. And, yes, the assassin had obviously been going for Thrawn but it's not like he asked Pellaeon's dumb ass to get in the way. Thrawn always took it pretty hard when people died due to his orders, his choices - Pellaeon couldn't imagine what he felt right then if he blamed himself for this. He wasn't going to add to that guilt.

"I can make it until then." 

Chapter Text

The notebook had been haphazardly left out on the desk on Pellaeon’s side of their room. It stood out among the stacks of datacards and pads since it was the only thing that was not electronic. It was new and Thrawn assumed that it was something he had been given by the therapist he had started seeing since the incident. 

Which meant that he probably should not read it. 

As his commanding officer, that would violate some privacy regulations and doctor-patient confidentiality. 

As his significant other though, he had started to get worried. They hadn’t talked about what had happened in any meaningful way and while he understood Pellaeon’s desire to keep it all in for the time being, he just wanted to know if he was okay. 

Thrawn considered his options, and then stepped over to the desk and flipped the notebook open with a finger, careful to keep from displacing it. He flipped through the first few pages and skimmed the words as he went. 

It seemed to be a journal cataloging thoughts and emotions, each entry both dated and timestamped. Most of the entries were short and to the point, which did not surprise him all that much. Pellaeon probably found the idea of someone like him keeping a journal laughable. 

Many of the entries where benign – evidently Pellaeon was about as keen on expressing himself on paper as he was on expressing himself verbally. In a few he did complain about how difficult certain tasks were now, and in two entries he almost hinted at some anger he felt at the situation. 

One entry near the end caught Thrawn’s attention though. It was not the most recent one, being dated a few days back, but it was the first one where he talked about the incident directly. And he actually sounded as if he had come to accept what had happened to a certain extent; at least it seemed as if he were willing to embrace the change until a replacement arm could be attached. 

But all of that acceptance stemmed from an assumption he wrote about: that if he hadn’t put himself in danger, then Thrawn would have died. That, if it ever came between himself and Thrawn, he would absolutely put himself in danger. That it was better for him to get hurt than Thrawn. 

It was a commendable trait for an officer – to be willing to die for your commander. 

But to read Pellaeon talk about himself as if he were nothing more than a pawn, some cog in a machine that could just be removed and replaced when it stopped working, as if his presence had no real value beyond what he could do. 

That – that hurt. 

Thrawn understood that the Empire counted on him, but did Pellaeon not realize that Thrawn counted on him too? Did he not realize how much Thrawn cared about him, and how much it would have devastated him if he had died – how much it had devastated him when the doctor told him there was nothing they could do, and then pulled out a saw in a last-ditch effort to stop the rot from spreading? How much the crew would miss him if he were gone? 

He flipped the book closed and felt worse than when he had opened it. They were going to have to talk about this later, whether Pellaeon wanted to or not. 

Chapter Text

Thrawn scrubbed his hands under the warm water and watched with a cold gaze as the liquid turned red. He dragged his nails over the skin hard enough to leave faint purple lines as he scrapped away the dried blood. The pain didn’t make him feel any better. 

So he dug his nails in harder on the next pass. 

A hand pressed against his back and he stiffened in preparation to whirl around, but the hand only slipped around his side and tugged him slightly backwards into a chest. 

Thrawn relaxed into the grip, took some comfort in the warmth of the other man's body through their uniforms, and continued to wash his hands. There was only one person who would ever dare get so close to him. "Good evening." 

He heard Pellaeon hum behind him in response and he felt him lean his head on his shoulder. 

“The officer in charge of interrogations told me what you’ve been doing.” 

Thrawn frowned in annoyance but kept his voice neutral as he spoke. He had known that someone would have told Pellaeon eventually. “The assassin is not dead.” 

Pellaeon remained silent behind him, long enough for the heavy “But he wishes he was” to hang in the air between them. 

The water that flowed down the drain slowly turned from a tinged pink to clear. Thrawn shut it off and started to dry his hands. Pellaeon didn't move from his position; the silence left the alien to wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m worried about you,” Pellaeon said against his back and that cut deeper than anything else he could have said in that moment. Some mild berating Thrawn could handle, he even expected it. But Pellaeon should not have been the person worrying. He should have been focusing on getting better. “I’m worried that you’re angry with yourself about what happened, and that once you realize you are not receiving any closure from taking it out on the man who caused it, you’ll start taking it out on yourself.” 

“You shouldn’t worry about me. I’m—” 

Fine. 

But he wasn’t fine. 

Pellaeon wasn’t right though, he wasn’t angry with himself – he was furious. It was his fault Pellaeon got hurt - if he had paid better attention, been more alert to his surrounding, the all of this could have been avoided. Pellaeon wouldn't have had to protect him. He wouldn't have gotten hurt due to mistakes that were not his. 

"You're not fine, Thrawn." 

He turned around and Pellaeon dropped his arm back down to his side. He hoped that the other man wouldn't be able to see the tension in his face even though he already knew he would. It might have even mirrored the worry written across Pellaeon's own features, which only deepened when Thrawn faced him. 

Unable to hold the eye contact, he glanced away from him only to then focus on the neatly pinned sleeve of Pellaeon's uniform. 

"Pellaeon, we've talked about all of this already." 

"We talked about me, Thrawn. We didn't talk about you which was clearly a mistake." 

Thrawn tried to step around Pellaeon. "There's nothing to talk about-" 

Pellaeon's hand came up and grabbed his arm. He froze at the touch, wanted to pull away and make his escape and lean into Pellaeon's grip in equal measure. 

"You're not fine." 

But he should have been fine. There was no reason for him to be so upset at himself, at the situation, when he wasn't even the one who got hurt. 

Yet he made himself nod in agreement to Pellaeon's words. Just because it shouldn't have been true did not mean that it wasn't. 

Pellaeon relaxed somewhat, and slid his hand down Thrawn's arm until he held his hand. "Come with me back to the room. And damn it, stop coming here and doing this. You're worrying me more than usual and I don't like it." 

That only made Thrawn feel worse; it must have shown on his face because Pellaeon sighed and squeezed his hand. "This isn't the place for this talk, but you stress yourself out too much, you know that right? I'm not angry with you for any of this, I don't blame you." 

Some of his guilt welled up in Thrawn's throat, slipped out from his mouth: "Maybe you should." 

"Maybe I - you're lucky I don't have both my hands because I would use the one not holding yours to smack some sense into you." 

The tiniest of smiles spread over Thrawn's mouth. "Luckily I'm holding the only one then, hm?" 

"Yeah, and lucky that I love you." Pellaeon started to walk away, and pulled Thrawn along behind him. "Now, we're going to have a talk to clear up any misconceptions you have about this situation. And if I ever hear about you coming down here again for this just know that you won't be so lucky to be holding my hand again." 

Chapter Text

The stars outside of the viewport flickered in the distance, bright against the darkness of space despite how far they were. The sight reminded Pellaeon of memories he hadn't thought about in years, of Corellian summers and long nights spent playing in grass yards. 

He got lost in his own thoughts, and it isn't until a quiet voice asked him a question that he's pulled back out. "I'm sorry?" 

"I only mentioned that you seemed deep in thought," Thrawn said as he gave the other a sidelong glance. "Are you well?" 

"Ah - yes, sir. I'm fine, I was just thinking about something." 

Thrawn turned his head to look at Pellaeon. Waited for him to continue, to explain what had captured his attention so thoroughly. 

Pellaeon saw no reason not to. “Back on Corellia we had these insects that would fly around at night and they would blink, like a light.” 

Silence followed his statement and Thrawn's eyebrows twitched slightly to express his confusion. “Blink?” He repeated incredulously. 

“Yes, they had a body part that would light up. On and off, like a blink. The stars reminded me of them, with how they sort of flicker and brighten before fading a bit.” Pellaeon cut himself off, when he started to verge on rambling just a bit. He turned his eyes back to the viewport unable to hold eye contact as he felt his face heat up in a slight embarrassment. "Sorry, sir, that probably came out of nowhere." 

Thrawn eyed him and his reaction, glanced between the captain and the stars outside, and gave him a sympathetic look. “That sounds very peaceful to watch.” 

Pellaeon smiled. “It was. If you could find a field full of them, that was even better.” 

"You will have to show me what they are like someday." 

"I hope to have the chance, sir." 

Chapter Text

The rain can hide a lot. 

When it comes down from the sky in thick sheets it can hide the world around you from view. 

And even when it comes down in a drizzle, it masks the scents and sounds that would otherwise be abundant. 

Even the smallest of rain clouds can blot out the sun, and the largest can block the whole sky. 

Given enough time it can flood areas, hiding the evidence of life beneath its dark depths. 

And the smallest drop can hide possibilities for new life to a dry landscape within itself. 

They can only hope that the cracks of lightning and booms of thunder that come with the rain will cover up their gasps and heated moans as well. 

Chapter Text

Pellaeon tugged at the high color of his dress uniform for the umpteenth time in the past half hour. It really didn’t seem any tighter than his usual uniform’s collar, but it was certainly stiffer and felt like to was slowly strangling him. 

He turned to face Thrawn, who stood next to him in similar dress, with the expression of someone who was being put to death. 

“I hate this.” 

“Hush and let me look at you,” Thrawn said with a smile as he ran his hands down Pellaeon’s arms. “I never get to see you dressed up.” 

“That’s because I look ridiculous in this get up.” 

“Hush.” Pellaeon rolled his eyes and was about to tell Thrawn off, but the hands that grabbed each side of his face and the pair of lips that met his shut him up. “You look handsome and dignified, Pellaeon. There’s nothing ridiculous about how you look.” 

Pellaeon huffed softly and his eyes shifted off to the side. Embarrassed, and slightly pleased despite himself, he found that he was unable to look Thrawn in the eye. Especially when he felt his face slowly heat up in a blush. 

“Three hours, and then we are done for the evening.” He kissed one corner of Pellaeon’s lips. “After that you can wear whatever you want.” Another kiss to the opposite corner. “Or don’t wear whatever you want.” 

He finally pressed their lips back together, a tad bit rougher than the first time. Pellaeon pressed a hand to Thrawn's chest to push him off, and tried to ignore how his face only felt redder. “All right,” Pellaeon replied, but not without a smile. “Let’s get this over with.” 

Chapter Text

They were clearly at a stalemate. Each of them staring at the other, Pellaeon standing with his arms crossed and Thrawn sitting down looking strangely petulant. 

It didn't suit the alien, but Pellaeon was unsurprised that it was the stance he had chosen to take given the nature of their argument. 

The silence stretches on for a minute longer and finally the Admiral sighs, slumping back into his chair. "I'll stop." 

"No," Pellaeon said with a firmness he normally wouldn't dare use towards his CO. "Look me in the eye and promise me." 

Red eyes meet his for only a second. Pellaeon can see his annoyance in them, in the way he clenches his jaw, and his fingers tighten on the armrests, but he quickly looks away. Thrawn shifts around in his chair, looking anywhere and at anything except Pellaeon. 

And he just waits patiently until Thrawn finally settles down with another sigh and looks back up at Pellaeon. "I promise to stop endangering my life unnecessarily for paintings."

"And—" 

"I promise to stop endangering my life for paintings or other works that can be obtained by others." 

Pellaeon stares at him for a second longer, gauging if he's being honest. For all his outward expression, Thrawn mostly just looks annoyed. But it's a trustworthy sort of annoyance, the kind he always shows when he's being made to do something he doesn't like. Pellaeon allows himself to relax in response, and nods. "Thank you." 

Thrawn grumbles something under his breath but Pellaeon says nothing. He's happy to take what he can get, and if Thrawn wants to curse at him under his breath because he wants him to stop trying to get himself killed then Pellaeon can let it slide.