Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Good luck.”

It’s the last thing he hears from Commander Faro’s voice in his ear before she goes temporarily dark, and he really wishes it hadn’t been. She’d been going for reassuring, Eli knows. But right now, he feels the exact opposite of reassured.

Then again, that might have less to do with Faro and more to do with the palatial estate that currently looms in front of him and far, far overhead.

Eli has seen whole towns that are smaller than the property he’s just stepped foot on. And even though he’d known exactly what they were getting into – he practically has the floor plans memorized – seeing it in person is still another experience entirely.

Behind him, the engine of the luxury landspeeder that he’d just stepped out of whirs as it starts back up. He resists the urge to turn and run after it as it zips away, leaving an uncomfortably open space at his back that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

And then there’s a warm presence at his right side and an arm looping through his own, and slowly the itching feeling creeping up the back of his spine starts to dissipate. He glances over at where Thrawn has settled in comfortably at his side with all of his usual easy confidence. Even though they’ve only been here for all of the last minute, his appearance is already drawing looks from those who have, like themselves, yet to make their way off the front lawn and inside the building.

Despite the extra attention – which Thrawn has certainly also noticed, even if he’s given no outward indication as to such – Eli can already feel his initial anxieties leaving him. Something that’s far from an unusual occurrence in Thrawn’s presence.

As if sensing his thoughts, Thrawn leans closer, murmuring low enough that only he can hear; “Ready?”

Eli nods silently. Rolling his shoulders back, he remembers who he’s supposed to be and plasters on a crooked smirk. Confidence . That’s the key here, as it is with any good con. He makes a flippant gesture of greeting at a woman in a floor-length mauve gown whose eye he happens to catch as they approach the building, adding in a coy wink when she attempts to hide a smile behind her hand.

There’s security at the door, although of course they'd anticipated that. Two people guard the way in, one on either side. The person to the left holds a blaster rifle propped against their shoulder. It’s the kind of weapon that would be inconvenient at best in close-range combat, but Eli suspects that’s not the point. It’s a visual reminder that tonight’s guests are being watched over. Or, more likely, that they’re being watched.

The man to the right, however, takes a more active role in his position. Each person that approaches – some on their own, others in pairs or triplets – is forced to stop while he runs their identification cards with the help of a pristine black and white astromech. Eli watches the process, all the while trying to look as bored with his observation as possible. The cards travel from their owners to the guard, who feeds them to his droid. He then glances over his datapad before returning them and letting the guests through.

It takes Eli until halfway through the third person he watches presenting their card to realize that the datapad must hold the event’s guest list. The extra layer of security means their hosts, then, must be expecting party crashers. Or at the very least, they have some cause for taking added precautions.

Unfortunately for them, they’ll never see Eli and Thrawn coming. Or so he hopes.

Their turn to approach the house comes and Thrawn nudges Eli forward first with the barest movement of his arm where it’s still connected to Eli’s. They stop before the door where all the other guests have stopped. The guard taking identification cards looks up from his datapad – and freezes.

To his credit, he’s quick to recover, but even as his briefly surprised expression subsides, he doesn’t take his eyes off of Thrawn. Until Eli clears his throat.

“May I present Baron Mithwin Shao of the Pantoran Assembly,” he says, leaning just a bit more heavily into his natural Lysatran accent than he normally would in Imperial company.

He looks up towards Thrawn, whose face is marked with gold paint. Two rounded diamonds fill the space beneath his eyes, underlined by thick pointed slashes that nearly trace his cheekbones, while a third smaller diamond sits in the center of his forehead. Even from this close, the faux Pantoran “tattoos” appear perfectly symmetrical. Eli has to admit, Faro did a great job.

He’d been the last one to agree to that part of the plan.

“What about the eyes? ” he’d asked sourly when Faro had first presented the idea. She hadn’t needed to ask him what he’d meant. The crimson of Thrawn’s eyes, nearly glowing now in the evening darkness, are a dead giveaway of his Chiss identity.

“He has a condition,” Faro had deadpanned.

As much as Eli had wanted to argue – surely they should put at least a little more work into this cover story? – he’d quickly conceded. Part of him knows she’d been right. Regrettably, most humans would never know the difference.

After a long minute, the guard diverts his attention from Thrawn to instead raise an unimpressed eyebrow in Eli’s direction. “And you are?”

“Escorting a very important guest who doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” Eli says, allowing a note of exasperation to color his voice as he holds out two identification cards in his free hand. “I’m his translator, Madras. Friends call me Pes.”

“Translator?” The guard repeats, sounding doubtful as he takes the cards, feeding one – a pause – and then the other into the slot on the front of the astromech.

The cards that – if Thrawn’s contact has done their part – should corroborate both of Eli’s claims about who they’re meant to be.

Eli half shrugs, one corner of his mouth twitching towards a smirk. “And security, I suppose.”

“Of course.” The guard scoffs. He nods subtly as his droid, which beeps quietly, its lights flashing to life as his attention returns to the datapad in his hands.

Thrawn had voiced a suspicion that their hosts would have some way to discreetly scan for weapons. As usual, it looks like he’d been right. And when said scan completely bypasses the modified holdout blaster hidden in his tall boot, it’ll only make it that much easier for them to stay under security’s radar. Eli had almost refused when Thrawn had slipped him the blaster before they’d left the Chimaera , quietly promising that it would be completely invisible to most conventional weapon detectors. This is a covert infiltration mission, after all, and those don’t tend to include armed combat – at least as long as things go to plan. Now, however, he’s grateful for the insurance, even if he still hopes not to have cause to use it.

After a long moment, the astromech trills a note. The guard raises his head, giving Eli one final scrutinizing look. Then he retrieves their identification cards and hands them back before motioning towards the door.

“Enjoy the party.”

“About time,” Eli huffs under his breath, masking his relief with irritation. He gently nudges Thrawn, who inclines his head in gratitude before letting himself be led through the doors.

Before they’re fully free of the guards’ earshot, Eli speaks again, making sure he’s just loud enough to be heard. It’s a simple final detail to reinforce his cover as a translator when he says, this time in Sy Bisti, “That went well. Learn anything?”

He hadn’t missed the way that Thrawn had been studying the guards and, to a lesser extent, the outside of the mansion, while their attention had been focused on Eli.

“A few of my assumptions were confirmed, but nothing entirely new,” answers Thrawn in the same language. “However I suspect we will have a chance to learn more very shortly.”

As they pass through the grand entryway into an even grander ballroom, Eli sucks in a silent breath.

“Right,” he says, trying to keep his face neutral as his eyes flit across the elaborately carved columns and towards the ceiling. It runs so high that he would have to crane his neck as far back as it would go in order to get a proper look at the painting covering its surface, and even then he’s not sure he could see it all at once.

This is far from the first formal event he’s attended as Thrawn’s translator. Playing that role is just about where the similarities end, however. Those have been Imperial events, almost all of them staged on Coruscant. Sure the hosts change – sometimes it’s a senator or diplomat, sometimes a military shindig – but after the first couple, the patterns became predictable, almost boring even. Thrawn is either paraded about the room or left mostly to hover and observe, depending on the type of event and the scale of his most recent military success. And as much as Eli hates the way Thrawn is treated as some kind of trophy – and his own helplessness in those scenarios – he’s learned how to get through it.

But this is something else entirely.

For one, no one here knows who Thrawn is, for better or worse. At the moment, he’s not an Admiral of the Imperial navy. He’s not even Chiss. As Eli had introduced him at the door, he’s currently playing the part of a Pantoran Baron by the name of Mithwin Shao. An entirely fictional creation who is nonetheless allegedly the head of a rather successful mining operation based out of the Bysis system. And while Eli’s actual role hasn’t much changed – Pes Madras, the wild space gun for hire who happens to be able to bridge the linguistic gap between Shao and the rest of the party is just as much of a nobody as Eli Vanto – their current setting is so far out of his depth he might as well be making first contact with an as of yet undiscovered species.

As ridiculous as he still feels in his almost entirely black, high-collared ensemble, complete with a cape, of all things, even a cursory glance around the room reveals that any concerns he might have had about being overdressed were entirely unfounded.

There is a telltale crackle in his ear, followed by the return of Faro’s voice.

“My scanners indicate you’ve entered the mansion,” she says. “Security must not have given you too much trouble, then?”

Eli deliberately turns his head towards the nearest wall as Thrawn takes the lead. He’s unlinked their arms, switching to just his hand wrapped around Eli’s elbow, and must already have some destination in mind.

“We’re in,” Eli confirms quietly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand to further hide the movement of his mouth. “How long until the hosts make their entrance?”

“Just under an hour on my watch. I’m still trying to narrow down the private channel for their security. I’ll let you know when I have it. Until then, I’m sure you’ll be busy interrogating the guests.” Eli can hear the smirk in her voice when she adds, “And don’t get caught.”

“Yeah,” Eli huffs, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

He’s going to have to figure out a better way to communicate with her without looking like he’s talking to himself. For now, however, he returns his attention to Thrawn.

“We have about an hour,” he says, continuing to speak in Sy Bisti as long as they’re alone.

Thrawn isn’t wearing an earpiece of his own. Between his short-cropped hair and the fact that his presence alone is already drawing unwanted attention, they’d come to the agreement that it would be far more difficult to hide one on him. The only thing that had provided Eli with some small amount of reassurance was the fact that he would remain at Thrawn’s side at all times. Plus, the trackers hidden in their fancy clothes are transmitting their whereabouts to the shuttle where Faro is hidden in the jagged hills nearby. If anything were to happen, they still have ways to find him. Theoretically.

It’s just the three of them planetside for this mission. Sure the Chimaera is somewhere in high orbit, but it’s too far out to offer backup. Not that it would be able to if they needed it. No one else even knows where they are. After all, the success of their mission hinges on the Empire not being involved at all. The owners of the estate they are currently infiltrating, the Duchess and Duke Alessia, are close allies to the Empire with numerous political ties on Coruscant.

They are also most certainly heavily involved with the smuggling ring that the crew of the Chimaera has been trying to sniff out for months.

After a lot of circling and several close encounters with low-ranking members of the operation, none of whom had known more than they needed to do their job and get out — a level of foresight that had made it abundantly clear they weren’t dealing with amateurs — they’d finally gotten their breakthrough. All it had taken was a captured ship, a handful of unwiped cargo manifests, and a few late nights — mostly on Eli’s part, but Thrawn had been right there with him. They’d been able to track all of it right back here, to this planet, and to the Duchess Alessia.

Despite Thrawn’s conviction that she’s involved — Eli knows he suspects her of being in charge of the whole operation, even if he hadn’t shared that part in his last conversation with Tarkin — her political ties have made her nigh untouchable. The Empire refuses to make a move against her without more concrete proof of her crimes. Which they can’t get without making a move.

That’s the other reason it’s vital no one else knows where they are right now. They hadn’t exactly gotten approval for this mission.

“We should make the most of our time.”

“Sure,” Eli says. “Lead the way.”

Thrawn takes them to nearly the corner of the room. It’s a nice place to observe from, Eli will give him that.

“I would first like a chance to get a feel for this event and its guests,” he says, leaning slightly into the pillar that he’s stopped next to.

Eli nods absently. He’d noticed a bar set up on their way in, tucked up against the wall that had been to the right as they’d entered, closer to the front than the back. It would have been hard to miss, given the congregation of bodies around it.

“While you do that, I’m going to grab a drink.” Belatedly, he realizes how that sounds, and he hurries to explain. “It’ll help our cover. Most guests are holding a glass; it looks more natural than standing around empty-handed.”

“And you can better communicate with Commander Faro under the guise of imbibing.” Thrawn hums in understanding.

A wave of relief washes over Eli even as he feels a flush beginning to spread high on his cheeks. He nods.

“Yeah. You know I won’t actually be ‘imbibing’, as you put it,” he says. “Right?”

The corner of Thrawn’s mouth twitches up and there’s a faint rumble from his chest that Eli has long since identified as the sound of subdued laughter.

“Of course,” he says, raising one eyebrow. He makes a smooth gesture toward the bar against the wall almost at the opposite side of the room. “While you’re there, see if you can learn more about our hosts, or any other important guests that may be worth speaking with.”

“On it.” Eli starts towards the bar. He makes it two steps before spinning back around on his heel. “Don’t go far, yeah? Even though Faro has the tracker, remember neither of us can get in contact with you.”

“I will endeavor to remain close,” Thrawn agrees, voice solemn.

Eli doesn’t know that he entirely believes it, but he can only take Thrawn at his word. So he nods once, sharply, before setting a brisk pace towards his destination. The sooner he gets there, the sooner he can return. It isn’t though Thrawn isn’t capable of taking care of himself; the truth is quite the opposite, in fact. In combat.

Which this is not.

While he’s not entirely socially inept, as so many find it easy to convince themselves, there’s a reason Eli’s here in the first place. Given the delicate nature of the circumstances, his role as a translator isn’t merely to add credence to a cover story. Whatever questions Thrawn might find he needs answered from the other guests — or The Duchess and Duke themselves, when that time comes — will filter through Eli first. It’s an extra layer of protection against Thrawn potentially doing what he often tends to in situations such as this and stumbling into a social or political faux pas that he’d previously been unaware of.

The bar is busy, which is unsurprising given the volume of people present in the room. Eli takes his place behind the people who are currently being served, waiting with barely concealed impatience. At least the wait gives him the opportunity to try and get a read on some of the other partygoers. He doesn’t hear much that might be interesting. It’s mostly mundane gossip, hints of niche family dramas, or on the other end of the spectrum, unfeeling pleasantries. There’s one discussion about transporting goods that Eli is just starting to think he might need to keep close to — which is of course when the conversation he’s listening in on shifts and he realizes it’s just one businessperson subtly bragging to another.

He does however catch sight of a handful of Miralans weaving throughout the room. There are a couple other non-humans, although they are laughably outnumbered. Still, it’s just one more indicator that this isn’t an Imperial event.

Eli’s turn comes up, and he orders the first thing he finds with a name he even vaguely recognizes. Briefly, he considers asking for a second one, but Thrawn hadn’t requested anything for himself and, frankly, Eli doesn’t know enough about Chiss anatomy or the available selection of top shelf liquors to be able to avoid any ingredients that might not sit well with his commanding officer. Accidentally poisoning Thrawn is absolutely the last thing he needs to do, now or at any other time.

It takes less time for his drink to be made than it had for him to order it, and he quickly finds himself with a glass in hand. It has a tall, delicate stem and an equally tall, rounded bowl that curves elegantly. The bubbling liquid inside is pink-purple and decorated with a speared chunk of what Eli thinks might be jogan fruit on a long wooden stick topped with a diamond-shaped charm on a short chain that Eli suspects is probably an actual diamond.

It looks far more enticing than he’d expected, and if he weren’t in the middle of a very important mission, he’s fairly certain it would be gone before he could even make it back to Thrawn.

Thrawn. Who, Eli realizes as he gets closer to the corner of the room where he’d left his Admiral, appears to no longer be in the immediate vicinity.

So much for staying close.

He stops close to the wall, out of the way of foot traffic, trying to ignore the quickening of his heartbeat as his mind goes immediately to the worst case scenarios. Thrawn being dragged off, or more likely escorted away with a blaster at his back, ending up somewhere in the maze of this house where Eli will never be able to find him, restrained and outnumbered—

He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. No; if Thrawn had left the main ballroom, Faro would have said something. Eli tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, where he activates the hidden switch for his commlink.

“Faro here.” The response comes immediately, and Eli is suddenly grateful it’s her Thrawn had chosen to back them up. When this is over, he’s going to have to remember to buy her a drink.

“Do you still have a location on the Admiral?” Eli asks into the rim of his glass, tipping it up without ever letting its contents touch his lips.

“Of course; he’s about twenty meters south of you, still in the ballroom on my maps.” Quickly she adds, “Why? What happened?”

It takes him only a moment to collect his bearings, and then Eli’s moving before she finishes speaking. He forces himself to keep a steady pace as he walks, the trod of his tall boots heavy against the hard floor.

“I just stepped away for a minute,” Eli huffs. He hopes if anyone sees him or hears him, they’ll just assume he’s grumbling to himself. “He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere. I—”

Eli steps around the other side of one of the room’s grand columns and freezes.

Thrawn is still in the ballroom, right where Faro had said he was supposed to be. His blue skin and the white and lavender of his formal robe are unmistakable, even at a distance. And he’s not alone.

There’s a woman, older than Eli for sure, who has him practically pinned between the wall and a currently empty, roped-off stage. She’s wearing a long, sparkling red dress with a slit in the side that reaches to her thigh and Eli recognizes the look in her eye immediately. His fingers tighten against the glass in his hand.

“Commander Vanto, do you read me? What’s going on?” Faro’s voice in his ear holds a note of tension. Eli had almost forgotten, for a moment, that she was there.

“Nothing,” he answers, well aware he sounds snappish and probably not at all convincing. “I found the Admiral. I’ve gotta go.”

Fortunately, Faro takes the hint and doesn’t try to say anything else. Not that it would have been able to distract him from his current goal if she had. He’s already marching forward, weaving through the throngs of people with an ease born of time spent aboard the crowded decks of numerous starships.

From this angle, the woman’s back is to Eli, meaning Thrawn sees him first. As he closes in, the tension in Thrawn’s shoulders only becomes more and more apparent. Their eyes meet just for a moment before Thrawn’s attention turns towards the hand the woman has just set on his arm, but that’s all it takes for Eli to catch the barest flicker of relief in his expression.

He slows down just a few feet from where they are, unlocking his jaw and schooling the annoyance out of his expression so he can make what appears to be a casual approach.

“Ah, there you are,” he calls, putting on a smile that he doesn’t fully feel. Completely ignoring the woman, Eli sidles up next to Thrawn, placing a casual hand against the small of his back with a highly visible gesture. “I have your drink.”

He holds out the glass and Thrawn takes it without hesitation, just as though he’d been expecting it, nodding silently.

The bit of extra height granted by the thick soles of his boots means that Eli doesn’t have to stretch much at all to speak close to Thrawn’s ear. Still, he leans in closer than is strictly necessary, only stopping when his chin is nearly resting atop Thrawn’s shoulder to murmur in Sy Bisti, “Don’t actually drink that. I don’t know what’s in it.”

“Understood,” Thrawn replies. If he was planning to say more, he doesn’t get the chance. The woman who’d been speaking at him takes a step forward, clearing her throat with a quiet rasp, wagging the fingers that are wrapped around a glass of her own.

“Hi,” she says, voice dripping with a sticky kind of sweetness that makes Eli’s stomach turn.

He turns his head, blinking up at her like he’s just now noticed she’s there at all. “Oh. Good evening,” he says, polite but detached. Uninterested. It’s one of the quickest ways he’s found to get under the skin of people just like her. People who are used to the galaxy orbiting around them, and quickly find themselves out of their depth when other people don’t pretend the same. Sure enough, her expression takes on a noticeable tension.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” she says with an overt cheerfulness that is clearly compensating for something. Eli is only half paying attention as she gives her name — Shanis or Sherin or something. He’s distracted — in part by the definitely not natural way her eyelashes flutter rapidly, but mostly his attention is on Thrawn. It’s subtle enough that he’s fairly certain anyone who’s spent less than years with him would miss it entirely, but to Eli’s eyes, the discomfort in Thrawn’s body language is obvious.

“Pes Madras,” he provides his cover name easily, ignoring the hand the obnoxious woman stretches towards him. “I’m—”

“He is my…” Thrawn interrupts, and then pauses in a familiar way, frowning in concentration as his eyes traverse Eli’s face searchingly. “Partner.”

Eli is suddenly very glad he handed his drink over to Thrawn. He’s not quite quick enough to entirely hide his snort of surprise behind his hand, but he does manage to school his expression into amusement instead of outright shock.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin that is entirely genuine. “In a sense.”

The woman stands up straighter, lips pulling into a tight, thin line. For a moment, Eli thinks that’s going to be the end of it, but of course he’s never been that lucky.

“Well, the Baron and I were just having a lovely conversation,” she says. “I’m sure for the moment—”

“Sorry, but he’s actually not much for casual conversation.” Eli cuts her off, pinning her with a glare. He loops his hand around Thrawn’s arm, tugging him closer and away from her. To Thrawn, in Sy Bisti, he says, “I hope you’ve figured out where we’re going next.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn hums. “There is a place across the room that I thought might offer a decent vantage point for something of interest.”

“Excuse us,” Eli says to the woman — actually, he thinks her name might have been Samorrah — in a tone that holds a clear note of finality. He barely sees her blatantly offended expression, turning away before the garish color of her dress can makes his eyes bleed. And then, before he can really think about the words, he hears himself saying, “Lead the way, darlin’.”

Almost immediately, he feels heat rise to his cheeks, but whatever embarrassment he has over accidentally letting the endearment slip is overpowered by his sense of triumph. Good riddance.

It’s only after Thrawn has come to a stop that Eli realizes he still has a hold on his commanding officer’s arm and lets go.

“Sorry, sir,” he says, although he’s well aware he doesn’t sound it. Thrawn is still holding his bubbly pink drink, and before Eli can think better of it, he plucks the glass out of his hand, downing half of it in one go. Maybe he hadn’t been planning on drinking tonight, but…

Thrawn raises an eyebrow in his direction, but wisely makes no comment.

Instead, he breathes out in a quiet huff and says, “It is I who should offer an apology. It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable; I merely concluded that being intentionally vague when offering a definition of our relationship would perhaps be more effective in delivering the message that our current company was unwanted.”

“It’s fine; no apology needed,” Eli assures. He’d been caught off-guard, sure, but he’d understood Thrawn’s motivation right away. Hell, the strategy might’ve even worked on most people.

“You are upset.”

It’s presented as an observation, but Eli has known Thrawn long enough to be able to hear the question behind it. He forces himself to relax his jaw before it locks up on him; he hadn’t even realized he’d still been clenching his teeth.

“I didn’t like the way she looked at you,” Eli snaps. He quickly closes his mouth, lips pursed tight. He hadn’t meant to bring it up at all, and he certainly hadn’t meant to lose his temper like that. He can feel Thrawn’s eyes boring into him, but he refuses to turn his head, instead burying his face in his glass under the guise of sipping at his drink.

“Explain,” Thrawn says slowly.

Eli still doesn’t look at him, but he does lower his drink. His nose scrunches up as he tries to think about the best way to explain. When that fails, he sighs and just starts talking instead.

“Like you were some kind of shiny trinket.” There’s a growl beneath the words. “Or a trophy. Somethin’ to collect and discard, and not—” He cuts himself off with a huff.

An incredible tactician and leader. Someone who’s strong, and intelligent, and surprisingly considerate. The most brilliant man I’ve ever met.

“A sentient being?” Thrawn finishes with a solemn hum.

“Yeah.” Eli nods, absently stirring the spear in his drink along with its chunk of jogan fruit and watching the charm that hangs from the end of it sway with the motion. “Sorry. I try not to let it get to me, but sometimes…”

“This has happened before?”

There’s a slight hesitation to Thrawn’s voice, so subtle Eli isn’t sure anyone else would have caught it. Finally, for maybe the first time since picking up this particular thread of conversation, he looks up to meet Thrawn’s eyes. Despite himself, he feels his own expression softening with amusement. Of course Thrawn wouldn’t have picked up on the lecherous intent of some of his more distant… admirers. He’s not blind, but things like that still tend to go over his head. Usually because he’s too focused on his own thoughts and machinations to pay them any mind.

“Fairly often, yeah,” Eli snorts. “Look, it’s not a big deal. You wanted to come over here for a reason, right?”

“Yes,” Thrawn says after a moment. His eyes never leave Eli. “I was hoping to get a better look at the mural on the ceiling. I had thought this part of the room might grant a better angle from which to do so.”

“But?”

Thrawn shakes his head.

Eli tilts his head back, trying to get a look at the artwork that he’d noticed before. He hadn’t gotten that good of a look the first time, and he’s certainly not the master of art that Thrawn is, but he doesn’t really recognize what he’s seeing. The mural really must be big enough, then, to elude easy study from any one point in the room. Except for maybe—

He glances towards the center of the room.

He doesn’t know whether it’s the alcohol in his system — although he hadn’t thought his drink was that strong — or the setting, or the fact that not five minutes ago he called his superior officer darlin’ and got nothing so much as a sideways glance in return, but he turns back to Thrawn and takes a deep breath.

“Dance with me.”

It is a rare thing to catch Thrawn off-guard. Eli can’t lie, he takes no small amount of satisfaction in the flicker of surprise he catches across his face before Thrawn schools his expression once again.

“You need a better look at the ceiling, right?” Eli presses on before he can lose his nerve. He sets his glass, still half-full, down atop a nearby reclamator and holds his hand out towards Thrawn, palm up. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

Eli starts to hold his breath, but he doesn’t even get through the inhale before he finds himself blinking down at the hand that has settled atop his own, blue skin a stark contrast against the black of his gloves.

“Yes.”

A surge of fondness creeps unbidden through his chest and Eli finds himself smiling as he looks back up to meet Thrawn’s gaze. Of course he wouldn’t let Eli get away with surprising him without returning the favor. There’s a challenge in his eyes, but his lips curve upward and there’s a crinkle next to his eye that always appears when he’s trying not to grin.

“Good.”

Eli turns, tugging Thrawn along with him toward the middle of the ballroom. There have been people dancing since they first arrived, although they remain among the minority even as pairs continuously shuffle in and out every time the band shifts from one song to another. Up until now, Eli hasn’t paid the dancers much mind, and it seems as though neither has anyone else. Still, there is a clear space carved out for that exact activity, and no one gives them a second glance when he pulls Thrawn through the crowd to stop just inside it.

He turns around just to find Thrawn’s hand in his own already readjusting its grip and his other raising to rest atop Eli’s shoulder. Eli meets him halfway, winding his arm around Thrawn’s back to press his palm against the space just beneath his shoulderblades.

He doesn’t bother to hide his surprise as he blinks up, meeting red eyes. Experimentally, he takes the first step forward, and sure enough Thrawn responds immediately, following his lead with a liquid smooth motion.

“You know how to dance,” Eli muses.

“Formal dances on my home planet follow similar patterns to many of those favored by humans. Like most children of prominent families, I learned the basics of the exercise at a young age. It was a fairly simple matter to study your dances and make the necessary adjustments,” Thrawn explains, answering the unvoiced question. His mouth pulls down into a frown. “Although I will warn you, it’s an activity I have never excelled at.”

“Me neither.” Eli chuckles. He grins up at Thrawn and pulls him ever so slightly closer in an move that feels uncharacteristically bold. Uncharacteristic for him, anyway. For his cover, on the other hand… Straightening his back, he winks. “Just follow my lead.”

And Thrawn does.

Guiding him in careful circles around the dance floor, Eli can’t possibly imagine what an excellent dancer is meant to look like if Thrawn claims not to be one. Maybe the Chiss are actually a race that boast the galaxy’s most skillful dancers, because the way he moves looks effortless, all of him flowing like a wave as he matches every step Eli takes. It’s such a stark contrast to the way he usually marches across the bridge, stiff-backed and without a single speck of dust out of place. But there’s still a familiarity to it. There’s an echo of the way he spars in his poise and grace. The power in his movement.

They’ve just begun and yet Eli already knows — he could watch Thrawn dance like this for hours.

They make almost a full turn around the middle of the floor without Eli stepping on anyone’s toes before Thrawn breaks the silence.

“And how did you learn to dance?” he asks. “I have my doubts that such a skill was covered during your time at Myomar.”

Eli barks a laugh. He can just picture a bunch of rowdy Imperial cadets stuffed into the rec center trying to ballroom dance. Besides that, it’s been so long since he even thought about his academy days. He’d nearly forgotten all about spending any time whatsoever at Myomar. He certainly hadn’t expected Thrawn to remember.

“No, but I’d pay to see that.” Eli answers with a chuckle. “Actually when I was growing up, I was big into ice skating. Not exactly the same thing, but dance lessons were part of the curriculum for more advanced students.”

It’s a bit embarrassing to admit to — even back then, it wasn’t the kind of extracurricular activity that added to his popularity, not that he had any to begin with. But of course Thrawn just nods with interest that might feel patronizing if Eli didn’t know it was a hundred percent genuine. He can practically see Thrawn compartmentalizing the information, no doubt already planning on asking Eli loads of questions later on, after he’s had time to do more research of his own.

“Interesting,” he hums.

“Yeah, well. I’m just glad I haven’t tripped you yet,” Eli says. “I’m not exactly working off recent memory, here.”

A crease forms in the center of Thrawn’s brow. For a moment Eli thinks he’s going to be chided, but Thrawn only shakes his head subtly.

“That may be, but it would be difficult to tell from observation alone,” he says. “You are performing exceptionally well.”

“Thanks,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say.

They make another loop around the floor in silence, which is once again interrupted by Thrawn.

“While this exercise has certainly been enjoyable, I believed you had mentioned a way to look at the mural?”

“We’ll get there. Promise,” Eli says. “Actually, now’s probably a good time to start making our way to the middle. We’re only getting one shot at this, so we should make sure you have the best view possible.”

As much as Eli wants to try twirling Thrawn under his arm, he can only imagine that going poorly for a number of reasons, their height difference being only one of them. So he instead corrects their trajectory with the same simple steps they’ve been following since the start.

Thrawn waits until after they’ve closed in on the middle of the room — they know they’ve made it by the elaborate, six-pointed design in the tile under their feet that spirals outwards, reaching curling vines out towards the walls — to ask, “Is there something we’re waiting for?”

“The end of the song,” Eli answers with a tsk.

He focuses on the sound of the band, no doubt amplified in some way as to be able to reach his ears easily even from half a gigantic room away. In the back of his mind, he’s been tracking the time since it had started, right before they took to the dance floor. And based on a quick estimate and the way the melody is currently reaching a crescendo—

“Which should be any second now.” His eyes find Thrawn’s and he can’t stop himself from grinning. “Hold on.”

“To?” Thrawn asks, eyes narrowing slightly in apprehension.

Eli doesn’t answer. As the music resolves into its final chords, he lowers the hand that has remained mostly in the center of Thrawn’s back to wrap around his waist instead. A split second look of realization crosses Thrawn’s face, but he doesn’t have time to voice any protests before Eli shifts his weight to his left leg and lunges into it. Thrawn stiffens but lets himself be dipped. He’s already tilting his head back towards the ceiling, and for a moment Eli, heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and adrenaline, thinks he’s actually going to pull this off without a hitch.

And then, with Thrawn nearly parallel to the ground, just at the point where his descent should stop, Eli feels himself still tilting. In a panicked blur, he instinctually releases his hold on Thrawn’s hand and lunges forward, his other arm joining the first around Thrawn’s waist. At the same time, he feels a warm hand looping around the back of his neck.

It does the trick. With only a small stumble, they keep their balance.

Except for the fact that Eli is fully embracing his normally so stoic commanding officer in the middle of a room full of people, their faces mere inches away. Thrawn is no longer looking at the mural. He’s blinking up at Eli instead, and while he doesn’t look mad, he doesn’t look much of anything else either.

Eli has never so desperately wished that he could read Thrawn’s face.

The sound of clapping reaches his ears and he starts. It takes an astounding amount of effort to right himself again slowly instead of jerking back all at once, but he does it. As soon as they’re both upright, he takes to adjusting his cape, half because it’s actually out of place, half to keep his hands from twitching. He can feel a multitude of eyes on him as he starts to press through the crowd, set on leaving the dance floor, but the only ones that really matter are Thrawn’s.

The crowd surrounding the center of the room isn’t really thicker than it is anywhere else, but Eli still feels like he can breathe easier once they’re back to standing safely near the walls.

Thrawn is still watching him. Eli can feel it without even having to look up. He does anyway, because even if Thrawn can see the heat in his face, he’s at least going to pretend like he’s still a professional. Because that’s all their relationship is. It’s strictly professional, no matter how much Eli wants — feeling it sometimes like an ache deep in his bones — for it to be more. No matter how many times he catches Thrawn’s eye in unguarded moments and feels a flicker of hope, for the briefest moment, that maybe—

He stops his train of thought right there.

“Well,” he says a bit too loudly, filling the silence before Thrawn can beat him to it, “I’m sure you would rather have had a chance to study it for real, but that was the best I could think of given the circumstances. Did you learn anything?”

“Yes. I found the exercise quite…” Thrawn hums, mostly to himself. His eyes trail meaningfully over Eli and a chill passes down his spine even as the heat in his cheeks starts to seep into the back of his neck. “Enlightening.”

He meets Eli’s gaze head-on with an unexpected intensity that has him standing up straighter. And, oh that’s interesting. Eli resists the urge to hunch his shoulders, catching himself before he can cross his arms in front of his chest.

“Is that so?” he asks slowly, cocking an eyebrow. “Glad it wasn’t a complete wash, then.”

“Certainly not,” Thrawn says, unrelenting in the way he studies Eli. “In fact, I believe I have gained a not insignificant information to support a working theory.”

It’s nearly the same as when he’s waiting for the answer to a puzzle or a question. Except he hasn’t asked anything. Has he?

Eli searches his face for any sign as to what he might be missing — because clearly he is missing something. He has a growing sense that whatever Thrawn is thinking about isn’t entirely related to the mission at hand, but even careful observation yields no clues. He switches tactics.

“What kind of theory?” he asks. The question earns him the first hint of a smile.

“It is one that I have been entertaining for—”

Whatever Thrawn had been about to say — or perhaps reveal — Eli doesn’t get a chance to hear it. The subtle crackle of his earpiece is the only warning he gets before Faro’s voice cuts into the middle of the conversation.

“Vanto, do you read me?”

Eli visibly grimaces. With a gesture towards his ear, he ducks his head, reluctantly breaking eye contact. He switches back to Basic to answer, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Good. I’m into the Alessias’ security comm channel, finally,” Faro continues. “The Duchess is on the move. They’ll be escorting her and her husband to the ballroom any minute now. You should probably get in place if you aren’t already.”

“Got it,” Eli says. And then, just in case she noticed the edge to his voice, he adds, “Thanks for the heads up.” He just hopes she knows he means it.

When he looks up, he finds that Thrawn’s expression has gone passive. He’s waiting for Eli to speak — still expectant, but not in the same way he had been. Now, there’s no underlying excitement to it. Just a strange neutrality. A distance, both physical and emotional, that leaves Eli feeling colder, somehow, than he had before.

“The Duchess is about to make her appearance,” he reports, passing along Faro’s warning. “We should be close by when she does.”

“Understood,” Thrawn says, turning towards the back corner of the room and redirecting his attention to the stage that they’d been standing near earlier.

For the first time since they stepped out of the rented speeder that brought them here, he doesn’t reach for Eli’s arm before he starts to walk, and Eli makes no attempt to offer it.

People are already beginning to congregate in the space around the stage, a loose audience that had apparently been paying closer attention to the time than Eli had. They’re just reaching the outskirts of the crowd, Eli shadowing Thrawn to take advantage of the path his superior height and demeanor help clear ahead of them, when the lights flicker. He glances up towards the ceiling just as they do it a second time.

And then darkness.

He sucks in a breath as a murmur of startled voices cascades around the large room. He doesn’t get a chance to even think about reaching for his boot and the blaster hidden within before his wrist is caught in an iron grip. It’s tight enough to edge into painful and he hisses under his breath. Before he can yank against the hold, however, he at least has enough sense to try and get a look at his assailant. It’s not too dark for him to be able to trace the outline of an arm, and he follows it quickly back to—

There’s a flicker of light. Not from overhead, this time, but from somewhere in front of them. It’s a bright strobing flash of color that strobes for a moment against the crowd in front of them before steadying. The room around them remains dark, but there’s a green glow illuminating Thrawn’s face, and any doubts Eli might have still been left with disappear as quickly as the instrumental hum of a low, deep melody begins to surround them.

It’s definitely Thrawn’s hand around his wrist. He’d been a few steps ahead when the lights had first gone off, but he must have lunged backwards to grab at Eli before he’d lost visibility entirely. His grip eases now, just slightly, as the music — from invisible speakers in the walls this time, not the band behind them — grows gradually louder with the appearance of a pair of silhouetted figures standing high atop a raised platform on the stage.

With a fanfare of music and applause, the stage erupts into bright lights, revealing the Duchess, wearing an angular, floor-length gown that glitters under the spotlight. The Duke stands just behind her, overshadowed by both her position and her appearance. Her dress sports blocks of red and white color splashed with gold while he is dressed in a darker and far more modest grey-blue suit.

The Duchess waves as she begins to descend a staircase that fills out under her step by step as she walks. As soon as she reaches the bottom she calls in a voice amplified through the same speakers as the music, “Good evening! Thank you all so much for being here; I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Eli doesn’t really listen to the rest of her speech. Thrawn is still holding his left hand captive — Eli would try to free himself, but Thrawn’s grasp is tight enough that he doesn’t have much wiggle room, and anyway he doesn’t really want to distract him while he’s focused so intently on the stage. But fortunately that means his right hand is still free to activate the hidden comm in his ear on the same side.

“She’s here,” he says without preamble, not bothering this time to try and hide the fact he’s talking to someone who isn’t present. The majority of the room has their attention elsewhere and besides, he can’t even hear his own voice over the speakers.

“What is that noise?” Faro says. The only reason Eli catches the incredulous question at all is because it’s asked directly into his ear.

“She’s making a speech. I think.” Eli scrunches up his nose. “Anyway, keep an eye on the security comm chatter. Hopefully the next time you hear from me will be after we have what we came for.”

“I’ll keep you posted. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Eli says. The ‘We’re going to need it,’ is implied.

Applause starts up in a wave around him and he re-focuses his attention on the stage in front of him. As the lights begin to go up once more, he is finally able to reclaim his hand from Thrawn, who looks back over his shoulder as he does, glancing down at his own empty hand with a frown before meeting Eli’s gaze.

Eli pauses, mentally weighing his options before deciding screw it, it would be harder to pretend that Thrawn hadn’t just been practically holding his hand.

“You alright?” he asks.

“I am. And you?” Thrawn gives him a once-over even as he says it. “While discovery of our deception seemed highly improbable, I couldn’t be certain.”

Eli bites back a smile, a surge of warmth flowing through him.

“Were you worried about me, sir?”

Thrawn’s expression turns impassive, which is more than enough of an answer in and of itself. He opens his mouth — no doubt to protest, although it will surely be phrased as a wholly factual rebuttal — but it isn’t his voice that breaks into the midst of the conversation.

“Good evening.”

The Duchess is standing just behind Thrawn. Eli hadn’t even seen her approaching. Thrawn turns to meet her, and Eli automatically gravitates closer, taking his place at his side.

“Baron Mithwin, I presume?”

“I am.” Thrawn nods, inclines his head. “I greet you.” The words rumble deep in his chest, spoken with an accent similar to the one he still had when he was just beginning to pick up Basic shortly after Eli first met him.

The Duchess is wearing a wide smile, but there is a cold kind of calculation in her gaze when her eyes flicker over to Eli.

“I don’t believe we’ve been acquainted,” she says, smile unwavering as she studies him like a strange and unexpected new breed of animal. Eli smiles back.

“Pes Madras; I’m the Baron’s translator.” He glances over at Thrawn. And then, making a split second decision, he reaches out, trailing his fingers down Thrawn’s arm until he can wrap them loosely around his wrist in a mirror of the way Thrawn had latched onto him in the minutes prior. “And his partner.”

He searches Thrawn’s face for any reaction. His expression doesn’t change, but Eli does feel a tug at his hand, and for a moment he thinks he’s taken this thing too far. Thrawn may have made the first implication, but that had been under wholly different circumstances, and they certainly hadn’t discussed adding this kind of layer to their cover story. But Thrawn only pulls back far enough to slip his hand into Eli’s instead. And then, to Eli’s surprise, he raises their joined hands, lowering his head to drop a kiss atop Eli’s gloved knuckles.

It’s barely a brush of lips and he practically can’t feel it at all with the thick black fabric separating them, but it still doesn’t fail to send heat flooding to his cheeks. Still, he’s grateful that Thrawn was willing to play along, and without hesitation. When he forces himself to look away from their connected hands and back to the Duchess, he can see that some of the ice has already melted from her expression.

“I see,” she says. “Of course we’re more than happy to have you both. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you two meet?”

“Not at all. The translator gig came first,” Eli answers, because the best lies are based in truth. He swallows, glancing sideways at Thrawn. The words aren’t planned, but they come just as easily as if they were. “Then I got to know him, and I really couldn’t help myself.”

“Ah, yes, I know the feeling well. My relationship with Elliam began in much the same way.” She chuckles, and Eli’s gaze falls to where she twists the ring on her left hand between two fingers. Compared to the rest of her outfit and the statement she’d made with her grand entrance, the gold band with its single multi-colored gem is understated. Practically humble. “Anyway, neither of you came all this way just to chat about love. Shall we get to business?”

“Well?” Eli asks in Sy Bisti, turning back to Thrawn.

“Yes, let’s,” he agrees. “The sooner, the better.”

“I believe we’re ready if you are, my lady,” Eli reports back in Basic, gesturing for the Duchess to lead the way.

She takes one more look between them as Thrawn finally drops Eli’s hand and nods.

“Very well,” she says.

Eli doesn’t know when or even how she summoned the Duke — or the two guards that stand a respectful but still ready distance away to either side of him. However she did it, the three of them appear just the same way she had, melting out of the crowd seemingly from nowhere. Eli suspects they were never far at all to begin with.

“My husband will escort you to a place where you can make yourselves comfortable while you wait,” the Duchess says. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you for a little while yet. I should make at least one round of the room; I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course,” Eli says with a nod. “You’re the host, after all. It wouldn’t do for you to disappear so soon.”

The Duchess smiles, dipping her head. She has barely turned around when the Duke takes her place. Straight-backed with his hands folded behind his back, he looks almost more like a member of the house staff than one of its heads.

“This way please, sirs,” he says. He doesn’t wait for an answer before turning around. They follow after him, as do the guards that he’d brought with. Eli can practically feel their eyes on him as they trail behind the group.

Eli tries to pay attention to the twists and turns that carry them deeper into the mansion, but he quickly begins to lose track. Even having studied the floorplans himself before they’d left, he has no idea where in the building they are.

They stop at a door that is just as nondescript as every other one in the hall. The Duke waves a keycard against the sensor beside the door and it opens with a whoosh. He gestures to Eli and Thrawn, and they step inside first.

“We are both very pleased that you accepted the invitation to meet with us,” the Duke says. The door closes behind him and the guards silently move to fill the space on either side of it. “I hope that we’ll be able to come to an arrangement.”

“As do I,” Thrawn says in his accented Basic. To Eli, he says, “Ask about the Duchess.”

“Do you think your wife will be joining us soon?” Eli asks, taking a look around the room. It’s plenty spacious, with comfortable-looking seating. But there’s no ignoring the fact that there are no windows and only one door in and out. An extra measure of security against anyone else dropping in on their meeting, or a way to keep them contained?

“She is a very impressive figure around here — and popular. It may be some time before she is ready to return,” the Duke says, raising his chin even higher, if possible. It’s easy for him to look down on Eli, less so for Thrawn, although he seems to be making a valiant effort. “I will be joining her as well, for a time. But please, make yourselves comfortable here.”

“We will, thank you.”

No sooner has Eli said it than a faint crackle comes through his earpiece. “I know you can’t talk now, but you’re being monitored,” Faro says in a low voice. “I think I can black them out from here, but probably not for long. You’ll have to give me a signal.”

As soon as the door closes once again, the Duke disappearing behind it, Eli puts a hand on Thrawn’s arm and turns him away from the door and the guards that still stand near it. The room isn’t all that wide, but he still puts as much distance between them as possible while still making their movement seem natural.

“We must find a way to leave this room,” Thrawn says quietly, beating him to the punch. “We won’t find the answers we seek here.”

“Yeah, and even more than that, we’re being monitored.” Absently, Eli reaches out and begins to fiddle with the collar of Thrawn’s tunic under the guise of readjusting it.

Thrawn just watches for a moment as Eli brushes both hands across his shoulders. There is a bit of a different quality to his voice that Eli can’t quite identify when he says, “Then they will be running a translation program as well. While it will not understand this language, they undoubtedly know by now we are not speaking Pantoran.”

This close, Eli is able to get a very good look at the gold paint that still lines Thrawn’s face. Although it wouldn’t take this close of a distance to see the way the line that traces his left cheekbone smudges at the end closest to the center of his face. Eli curses under his breath.

“I think they might already know,” he says. Thrawn stands admirably still as Eli swipes a thumb slowly over the trailing paint that shimmers lightly down to the corner of his mouth. It’s only his other hand, still on Thrawn’s shoulder, that clues him in to the way his commander tenses under the touch. Quickly, Eli turns his thumb around so his now gold-streaked skin is visible in a silent explanation for the action.

“I see,” Thrawn says stiffly. “In that case, I suggest we depart before they return.”

“Agreed. You have a plan?”

“I do. We will first need to incapacitate the guards. I assume Commander Faro still has access to the maps of the estate?”

“As far as I know.” Eli nods. “She also thinks she can buy us a few minutes without security.”

Thrawn nods. “Do it.”

Eli puts his hand to his ear to activate the commlink, entirely bypassing any attempt at subtlety in favor of speed.

“Faro? Now would be good.”

He doesn’t even get to the end of the sentence before Thrawn is marching past him, straight towards the door and its guards.

“Understood. You’re dark.”

No sooner does Faro say it than the crack of something hard against the wall comes from behind Eli. He spins on his heel, dropping to one knee as he does and grabbing the modified holdout blaster from his boot. It only takes him a second to see that Thrawn has already taken one guard to the ground while the other has a blaster pointed at his back. Eli aims a shot into the wall right in front of the guard that’s still standing, and they jump back. They don’t even get a chance to raise their blaster in his direction instead before Thrawn swipes their legs out from under them, disarming them in one swift movement. He knocks them out with their own blaster, and then it’s over just as quickly as it had begun.

“Well done,” Thrawn says with a sideways glance in Eli’s direction as he kneels to pat down the first guard’s pockets. He pulls out a security keycard first try. Eli’s sure he had somehow already determined which guard would be in possession of it, but he doesn’t bother to explain and Eli doesn’t take the time to ask.

“Thanks,” Eli breathes, stepping over the fallen guards’ legs to meet Thrawn where he presents the keycard to the sensor beside the door. As it whooshes open, he says to Faro, “And thank you.”

“Don’t get too excited, sir.” Faro tsks and Eli can practically see her expression of concentration. “They’ve already figured out exactly where the disturbance came from.  Security is on the way to your location now and I don’t think I can keep their visuals out for much longer without risking compromising my own location.”

“Give us one minute and then free them up, Commander,” Eli says. She has no obligation to do as he says, considering he has no real authority to be giving her orders. But she trusts his judgement just as much as he trusts hers, and he expects her to follow through regardless. “What’s our quickest route to the Duchess’s office?”

“Turbolift’s locked out, but there are stairs. Take one right and then another; there’ll be a door at the end of the hall.”

Eli jerks his head in the right direction and Thrawn follows immediately after as he sets off at a hurried pace.

“And just so you know,” Faro continues, “I may know where the offices are, but I haven’t been able to determine which, if any, belong to the Alessias.”

“Just get us there; we can figure the rest out,” Eli assures her.

“You’re the boss.”

Faro’s instructions are clear cut and precise. The trackers she has on them both mean that he doesn’t have to ask for next steps or clarification. She only has them turn around once, when the comm chatter she picks up indicates a not insignificant amount of security guards heading in their direction. It’s only when she redirects them through a large pair of double doors and into a dimly lit room that Eli thinks she’s made a mistake. Or maybe not a mistake, but at least a major miscalculation.

Eli turns around from blasting the security panel beside the doors — it won’t stop them, by any means, but he hopes it will at least buy them a few seconds — to find Thrawn standing perfectly still just a couple meters ahead. His back is turned, and Eli can’t see his face, but for a moment anxiety spikes through his chest as he tries to figure out why, exactly, Thrawn has stopped.

Then Eli looks past him, into the room beyond. And he understands in an instant.

“Sir, we shouldn’t linger,” he says, knowing Thrawn won’t miss the urgency in his voice.

Not that he expects it to change anything. Not when they’ve stumbled into the Alessias’ private gallery.

“Admiral?” Eli prompts. When still no response is forthcoming, he marches forward, placing himself in front of Thrawn where he can’t so easily be ignored. “Thrawn.”

Red eyes, glowing faintly with the lights off, find his own.

“Five minutes,” Thrawn says. “Not a second more.”

Eli opens his mouth, an instinctive response already on the tip of his tongue, but something stops him and he closes his mouth again. It takes him a moment of studying Thrawn’s face to realize what exactly gave him pause. Then it clicks.

Thrawn wasn’t issuing a command. He was asking. More specifically, he was asking permission. From Eli. And something in Thrawn’s demeanor — his body language, or his expression, or maybe something entirely different — tells Eli that no matter the answer, he’ll accept it without complaint.

It’s a strange feeling to know that, even if only temporarily and in regards to this singular thing, Eli has even perceived authority over the most brilliant mind in the Imperial navy. But even more important than that is the knowledge that Thrawn trusts him to make that kind of decision, for both of them.

Eli takes a deep breath. “Five minutes.”

“Thank you.” Thrawn nods, posture relaxing as a look of determination flashes across his face.

“I’ll keep watch.”

Eli continues across the wide open floors in the direction they had originally been traveling, navigating the maze of columns and unattached walls all hung with paintings and tapestries and carvings. He may not understand art the same way that Thrawn does, but it’s an impressive collection still. If the situation weren’t what it is, he would have liked nothing more than for Thrawn to take the time to walk him through it all. Eli doesn’t think he could ever tire of watching him in his element like that.

He stops near the opposite door, where he notices a power box on the nearby wall. It isn’t locked, and he flips the switch labeled for the lights, blinking into the sudden brightness that floods the room. That should help, at least.

“Commander Vanto? You and the Admiral seem to have stopped moving. What happened?”

Faro. Right. Eli goes to answer but pauses when he realizes that he doesn’t actually know if Faro’s directions to the gallery were an oversight or not. For all he knows, she could have brought them here intentionally. She understands just as well as Eli does the tactical advantages that Thrawn is capable of reading out of colors and lines. And while Eli knows he’s earned her respect, her loyalties are first and foremost to Thrawn. And if she’d thought he would benefit from this brief sidetrack, it’s not Eli’s place to question her.

“Everything’s fine. The Admiral wanted to take a look around here,” he says, being intentionally vague about their current location. “He said it won’t take long.”

“Well they’re still trying to find you without disrupting the party downstairs. That should buy you some time, but I still wouldn’t linger.”

Eli’s lip twitches up at her choice of words. “We’ll be in and out.”

Just over four minutes, by Eli’s count, after he’d left Thrawn across the room, his commanding officer rounds the corner of one of the wall displays and stops in front of him.

“You figured something out,” Eli says, pushing away from where he’d been leaning against the wall next to the doors.

Thrawn blinks at him. “I believe so. Is Commander Faro able to locate the library?”

Eli doesn’t bother questioning his reasoning. He’s long since learned that it’s far quicker and far easier to follow along for Thrawn’s ride. Eyes never leaving Thrawn’s, he asks into his commlink, “Is there a library of some kind here?”

There is a moment of silence on the other end — hesitation, Eli is sure, at the suddenness and oddity of the request — but like him, Faro doesn’t voice any questions. Just hums, “Hold on, let me find out… Yeah, it’s on the same floor as you on the other side of the building. Go out the door you’re near now and turn left. You’ll need to hurry if you want to beat the guards.”

“She’s got it,” Eli tells Thrawn, not waiting for a response before he turns to open the door beside him. “This way.”

It’s almost a straight shot from the gallery to the library. They make one more right turn and it becomes immediately obvious where their destination lies. The wall at the end of the hallway is made entirely of transparisteel and beyond it lies another large, mostly unlit room — this one full to the brim with bookshelves.

Thrawn holds the stolen security card up to the sensor, and like all the other doors before it, it beeps in the affirmative, letting him pull it open and gesture Eli through first.

“Ok, we’re here,” Eli says, still holding his blaster ready as he makes an initial visual assessment of the room around them. It might look empty at first glance, but he’s not taking any chances. “Now what?”

“There will be a datapad here somewhere. It’s unlikely to be locked away, but may be in a desk or shelved alongside the books. It should hold all the information we need.”

Eli raises an eyebrow at him, unmoving for a long moment. And then he shakes his head. “The art?”

“Showed that the Alessia lineage puts a great deal of value on knowledge, a theory that is only supported by the size of this room in comparison to the gallery and the vast collection contained within it. I imagine some of these volumes were printed a thousand years ago.” Thrawn walks farther into the room, brushing just the tips of his fingers along the edge of a display case hosting three actual printed books of equal size, all with similar designs on the covers. “The Duchess holds the same affinity for knowledge as her predecessors. A library is the culmination of knowledge — therefore it would be considered sacred in the eyes of the Alessias. A sanctuary, if you will.”

“And a perfect place to hide the exact thing that she wouldn’t want anyone else to find.”

“Precisely,” Thrawn says, offering him a smile. “I will begin at the other side of the room; you remain here.”

“Yes, sir,” Eli agrees.

It takes even less time than Thrawn had spent in the gallery before an echoey call of, “Commander Vanto,” comes from somewhere near the back of the room. Thankfully, Eli is able to follow it back to its source quickly. Thrawn is standing in front of a desk, face illuminated by the glow of the datapad in his hands. He’s tapping at the screen, eyes flickering across it as he takes in whatever he’s seeing there. As Eli gets closer, he can see the device Thrawn used to slice into it still plugged into one side.

“Is that it?” Eli asks.

Wordlessly, Thrawn hands the datapad over. Eli knows what he’s looking at as soon as he takes it. After all, he’s already spent hours studying this very same shipping manifest, and others like it. Most of which he is able to find almost instantly when he takes a look at some of the other files on the device.

“What is your conclusion, Commander?”

“These are definitely some of the same shipments we tracked here in the first place,” Eli says. “As long this really does belong to the Duchess, and we can find some more concrete proof that she was the one who hired the ships — receipts or correspondence with their captains—”

“There are files deeper in the device’s memory that will require more decryption than is available to us remotely,” Thrawn says. “However, I believe once we are able to access them, they will provide the exact kind of information you are speaking of.”

“Let’s hope so,” Eli says. He tucks the datapad under one arm and fumbles for the device in an inner pocket of his tunic — he has to undo a couple of its topmost buttons to even be able to reach it — that will take a copy of all the files stored on the device and send a second copy to Faro’s shuttle. Just in case.

As soon as he plugs it in, he hands the datapad back to Thrawn and flips on his commlink.

“We have what we came for. It should be on its way to you now,” he says, stopping before can speak the highly conditional hopefully out loud. Even if this turns out to be another dead end, there are only three of them and a lot more than that on the Alessias’ side. And he and Thrawn are quickly running out of places to hide. He’s fairly certain they couldn’t make another sweep of the mansion even if they wanted to.

“Good, because security is on its way to you,” Faro says with a note of urgency in her voice that does not reassure Eli at all.

“I think we’re going to need that evac,” he says

That was meant to be the backup plan. Provided their meeting with the Duchess and Duke had gone more according to plan and they’d been able to walk away with the evidence they needed without ever blowing their cover. An Initial plan that had gone so far south Eli can no longer see what direction it was meant to be facing in the first place.

Thrawn offers no protest.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Faro promises, “but the courtyard where I’d planned to land is compromised. It’ll take me a bit to find space.”

“Keep me updated.”

Eli turns back to find Thrawn holding the datacard with the copied information out to him.

“It’s done,” Thrawn says as he takes it. Just the tips of their fingers brush as it transfers between them.

“Good.” Eli ducks his head as he reaches into the inside of his tunic in order to return the device to where it had been hidden before, and where it will be secure as they attempt to transport it back to the Chimaera. “Commander Faro is on her way, but she won’t be able to meet us where we’d originally planned.”

Thrawn sets the datapad back down on the desk and brushes past Eli, heading back the way they’d come, towards the doors.

“Inform Commander Faro that her shuttle should have plenty of clearance to get close to the roof,” he says. “We will find our own way up; she only needs meet us once we have.”

Eli doesn’t get a chance to relay the message. He gets a single step back out into the hallway when Faro speaks first.

“Security headed your way. Maybe half a dozen; hard to tell,” she says into his ear. “Watch out for—”

A blaster fires from the other end of the hallway and Eli hisses at the sudden flash of heat and pain that sears through his arm. He dives to one side as quickly as he can, lunging towards the cover of the nearest wall as a second and third guard, at least, emerge from around the same corner as the first.

After a moment, the blaster fire slows, although it doesn’t completely stop, and Eli leans around the corner, raising his own blaster to return fire. One well-aimed shot to the leg sends one of them tumbling, and he ducks back again, turning to Thrawn.

“Roof,” he breathes. “Now.”

Thrawn tears his eyes away from where they’d been lingering on Eli’s arm and meets his gaze, nodding once.

“This way.”

To Eli’s relief, he turns around, following the hallway that takes them away from the guards. Eli runs behind him, wincing when he raises his hand to his ear and his blaster wound stings with the movement.

“Faro, we’re on our way to the roof,” he says. “The Admiral thinks you should have enough clearance to meet us there.”

“Fine, but I won’t be able to land.”

Eli glances to Thrawn. He hadn’t actually said anything about landing. “Don’t need you to. Just get close enough.”

Faro doesn’t answer right away, and for a moment, he thinks she’s going to argue — the word reckless comes to mind. But all she says is, “Three minutes. Don’t get shot.”

Too late for that, Eli thinks with a wry smile. Out loud, he relays Faro’s ETA to Thrawn, who says, “That will be sufficient.”

The stairwell up to the roof is being guarded, but that was to be expected. Eli throws open the door, stepping through blaster-first, and reels back again immediately when a shot burns into the durasteel wall where his head had been the second before. The guard who had fired it is down a moment later, and Thrawn scoops up the abandoned weapon for himself as they sprint up the stairs.

Faro is right on time. Eli can see the shuttle that had brought them planetside from the Chimaera hovering just beyond the estate’s property line and quickly getting closer. But so are the guards that had been following behind them. Eli can hear the thunderous drum of multiple footsteps on the stairs even as he backs away, keeping his own blaster trained on the door they’d come through, silently urging Faro to hurry.

The first guard doesn’t make it past the doorway before a single shot from over Eli’s shoulder knocks him down. They don’t get much reprieve. Another wave of guards spills out to take his place, laying down a volley of cover fire as they advance. There aren’t many places to take cover atop the roof, but Eli manages to duck behind a buttress pillar, firing blindly back.

Thrawn joins him a moment later, their shoulders pressed together as they both squeeze into the narrow space behind the pillar.

“Get ready to run,” Thrawn says. “I will follow right behind you.”

“Thirty seconds, Vanto,” Faro reports in his ear. “Make it quick. There are a lot of blasters down there and we can’t afford to take that kind of fire.”

It might be the longest thirty seconds of Eli’s life. But Faro’s prediction had been spot on. Right as his mental countdown reaches zero, the shuttle stops thirty meters in front of them, hovering alarmingly close to the edge of the roof, and the ramp begins to lower.

“She’s here,” Eli calls over the cacophony of blaster fire and the hum of the shuttle.

Thrawn glances over his shoulder to meet Eli’s gaze, expression serious. “Go.”

Eli turns back to the shuttle. And stops when he sees a guard leveling a blaster rifle directly at Thrawn’s back.

He doesn’t know if they managed to sneak around, or if they entered the roof through a different door than the one they had used— and at the moment he doesn’t really care. There’s only one panic-fueled thought running through his head, and that’s Thrawn is about to be shot.

He moves before he’s really aware he’s doing it, and he doesn’t know which of them is more surprised when he throws himself bodily against Thrawn, slamming him back against the duracrete pillar. Wide, lightly glowing red eyes find his own, and for a split second Eli has the satisfaction of being on the receiving end of Thrawn’s genuine, open expression of surprise.

And then pain blossoms through his shoulder and he jerks forward, half-falling against Thrawn’s chest with a shout.

He feels more than sees the way Thrawn lifts his commandeered blaster under Eli’s arm and fires a single shot before tossing it to one side. A steadying hand comes up around Eli’s waist. When he catches his breath enough to tip his head back, Thrawn’s expression has gone cold and deadly.

“We need to go,” Eli says, pushing away from the wall, and from Thrawn. He doesn’t get very far thanks to the hand that refuses to leave his waist. Neither of them moves. A blaster shot whizzes into the pillar next to them, sending a shower of debris into the air. “Thrawn.”

“Eli,” Thrawn murmurs, the sharp edges of his expression softening immediately when his eyes flicker across Eli’s face. “Can you run?”

“Yes,” Eli answers immediately.

“Come on!” Faro’s voice comes not through his ear this time, but distantly from behind them.

Thrawn looks up and then finally, slowly releases him. With a last silent exchange, Thrawn nods. And then they run, the Alessias’ guards still firing after them.

Thrawn makes it up the ramp in a single leap, pulling himself up and disappearing deeper into the shuttle. Faro is standing near the end, and as Eli jumps, grabbing hold of the edge of the platform, she reaches out a hand. For a brief, exhilarating moment, his legs dangle over nothing. And then he grabs her forearm and she pulls him up and over. As soon as he has rolled back onto solid ground, the ramp gives a jerk and starts to raise. The shuttle follows suit shortly after, accelerating forward before the ramp has even fully closed. Eli leans against the wall, watching the rapidly disappearing view of the Duchess’s mansion — and her guards — getting farther and farther away.

“Thanks,” he pants, letting his head fall back so he can look up at Faro, who’s still standing above him. She offers him a tight smile in return.

“Yeah, no problem.”

As they start to shift out of the atmosphere, his eyes fall closed and he lets out a breathless chuckle. Fuck getting her a drink. He’s going to buy out the whole damn bar.

Eli hasn’t seen Thrawn all day.

By the time he’d been released from medical last night with a couple of new bacta patches stuck to his skin, he’d been far too exhausted to follow his first instinct to seek out his commanding officer. Despite the fact that he’d planned to do so anyway, he’d passed out almost as soon as he’d entered his side of their adjoining rooms.

And then this morning, he’d reported to the bridge bright and early only to have Faro inform him, while pinning him with a frighteningly knowing look, that Thrawn would not be joining them. He’d apparently taken to reviewing the evidence they’d collected from Duchess Alessia’s datapad and had requested not to be disturbed.

His absence has been both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, Eli is well aware that any requests Thrawn makes not to be disturbed don’t apply to him. That understanding has existed between them for years now, and every crew they’ve served with has quickly learned of it as well. But at the same time, Eli can’t deny there’s a sense of relief in having an excuse not to see him. It isn’t that he’s avoiding Thrawn. It’s just…

The events of the previous night have been playing through his head on a loop, almost to an annoying degree. Every time he closes his eyes, a different scene plays in front of them, and they all look and feel so much different in the light of day.

Wrapped up in the glitz and glamor of the festivities, wearing too-fancy clothes and a name that wasn’t his own, both of them different forms of armor, it had been so easy to act the way he had. He’d asked Thrawn to dance with him, for kriff’s sake. The mere thought of doing so now makes heat flood beneath his skin, accented with a good dose of shame.

He doesn’t know what it means that Thrawn said yes. He’s been trying not to think too much about that.

Not that he’s going to be able to avoid thinking about it for much longer. The second his shift had ended, he’d begun the trek to Thrawn’s room. Which is exactly where he stands now, just outside the door, trying to stop his hand from shaking as it hovers over the keypad.

He takes a deep breath and hits the buzzer before he can change his mind. He doesn’t expect the door to open from Thrawn’s end, and he doesn’t wait for it to. Instead, he punches in his personal code and watches as the light turns green.

“It’s me, sir,” he announces as he steps through the door, lifting his chin so that he's looking at a spot on the wall just past Thrawn’s head instead of directly at him.

“Commander Vanto,” Thrawn greets, immediately setting down what he’d been working on. He studies Eli intently as he stands, unmoving, just inside the closing door. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, thank you.” It’s mostly the truth. He’s tired as hell and his mind has been running a lightyear a minute all day. As far as taking a blaster bolt to the back, though, he's a bit sore, but could have come out the other side of this mission in much worse shape than that.

“That is good to hear,” Thrawn hums. “I’m glad you’ve come to me. I had hoped to discuss the particulars of yesterday’s mission with you.”

“Before you continue, sir,” Eli interrupts quickly, shoulders going stiff, “that’s exactly why I’m here. I need to apologize. My behavior yesterday was…” he huffs, grimacing. “Completely unprofessional. At the worst, it was entirely inappropriate. We may have been acting undercover, but that’s no excuse.”

Thrawn chuckles quietly and Eli’s eyes at last find his face, attempting to scan his expression even as his stomach churns with anxiety.

“Sir?”

Thrawn shakes his head, staring off somewhere in the middle distance just over Eli’s shoulder. “I had been planning on saying something similar to you,” he hums. The admission takes Eli off guard and he freezes as Thrawn’s gaze refocuses on him with a new intensity. “I need you to confirm a theory for me, Eli.”

Despite the seeming non-sequitur, the use of his first name has Eli jolting to attention. He feels an acute sense of deja vu as he remembers another moment last night when Thrawn had done the same thing. Just after Eli had pinned him against a wall, while Thrawn’s hand had still been around his waist. The feeling only intensifies when he finds himself asking, once again, “What kind of theory?”

Thrawn smiles, and something he doesn’t want to put a name to flutters in Eli’s chest.

“One that I first thought was merely a culmination of wishful thinking.” Slowly, eyes never leaving Eli’s, Thrawn pushes his chair back and stands. “It was only last night that I found myself faced with sufficient evidence to support it. But now I am far more confident in my conclusion that you have romantic intentions toward me.”

Eli stops breathing.

Thrawn holds up a hand, stopping him from interrupting again. “I must confess, when I first attempted to pass you off as my romantic partner, escaping unwanted attention was not my only goal. While I certainly had not planned to end up in that situation, it did present me with a unique opportunity to try and ascertain whether or not you might be… amenable to such a relationship.”

Eli forces his gaping mouth closed, brow furrowing. Thrawn is being one hundred percent serious. He stands with his hands folded behind his back, unmoving, and to anyone else he might look like his usual stoic self. But Eli knows better. There’s a restless kind of energy coming off of him in waves.

Eli takes a step closer.

“Technically,” he says carefully, “you presented Pes Madras as Baron Mithwin’s romantic partner.”

Thrawn’s expression turns to stone. “I see,” he says, voice and face carefully blank. “Then I apologize for—”

“But,” Eli persists, loud enough to make himself heard over whatever Thrawn had been about to say. Another step. “If you’re talking about us now — about Eli and Thrawn?”

“I am,” Thrawn says quickly.

Eli licks his lips, swallowing against the pounding of his heart that only seems to grow louder in his ears when he catches Thrawn’s eyes following the movement of his tongue. Wishful thinking, he’d said.

“You’re right,” Eli says with a shrug that’s at least just a little bit helpless. “I would be amenable to that. In fact, I might go as far as to say I want it.”

Thrawn smiles, small and sincere and, if Eli didn’t know better, he might also call it shy. “That is very good to hear.”

Eli’s laugh punches out of his chest, bright and just a bit too loud. He can’t be bothered to care.

“Oh, would you just come here?” he says with an exasperation that they both know is more fondness than true annoyance. Thrawn moves at the same time he does, and they meet in the middle, much like they had when they’d taken the floor to dance. Thrawn’s hands come up to encircle Eli’s waist, and Eli laces his fingers together behind Thrawn’s neck.

As much as he may have acted like it, Eli hadn’t been lying earlier. When it comes to Thrawn, he really can’t seem to help himself. Which is why he makes the first move, dragging Thrawn down closer and raising himself up onto his toes as he presses closer, closing the distance between them. The kiss is nothing like Eli had imagined, and yet it’s so much more. Because it’s real. Thrawn’s lips are soft against his own and he presses back against Eli with a gentle insistence that makes his heart burst with affection.

Eli smiles into the kiss, running his fingers through Thrawn’s hair as he pulls away.

“You know, darlin’,” he says, the corners of his mouth inching up into a smirk. “I know a few more dance moves. I could show you, if you’re interested.”

“I think I would like that very much,” Thrawn hums. He moves both hands to Eli’s back and then, without any further warning, dips him the same way Eli had done him the day before. Except this time, when they come face to face, Thrawn leans in the rest of the way to kiss him again.