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Seeing him like that– Senior Captain Thrawn, the untouchable man of myth, shaking where he laid on a bloodstained bedspread– well. The ice-grip that squeezed itself around his chest could have rivaled the mountains of Csilla.
Samakro never should have let them go alone.
“Captain, I’m taking you to medical-”
“You will do no such thing,” Thrawn croaked, weakly waving Samakro away. “I’m fine. Admiral Ar’alani is merely–”
“You are not fine!” Samakro shouted, the interruption shocking the room into silence. He could hear the rush of his heartbeat in his ears, the pulsing thrum in his chest– he’d never raised his voice like that at Thrawn. He’d argued and snapped- grumbled, on many occasions- but never shouted. “An explosion on deck, shrapnel in your side and you slap a bacta patch on it, blood all over your covers– Che’ri being forced to ask Thalias if you were alive–” he continued, and his throat scraped as he choked, cutting off his sentence.
Belatedly, Samakro realized his hands were shaking. Thrawn was motionless on the bed, hand still clutched over the dark shadow of a bloodstain on his side, his eyes wide and unnervingly honest as he stared back.
“You could- you could have died, Thrawn,” he snapped, a horrible ache settling in his stomach. “You just as easily could have been sucked out of the ship; that piece of permasteel could have pierced your heart— don’t tell me that you’re fine,” he said, biting out every word. He felt like a man possessed; there was an overwhelming tide of emotions flowing up through him, clawing at his insides until he took a step forward towards the bed, then another, then-
then he was kneeling next to the bed, eyes traveling over all of Thrawn’s edges and how heartbreakingly vulnerable he looked, curled in on himself in the wrinkled wreath of standard-issue sheets. He leaned over the edge of the mattress, one shaking hand reaching out until it could cover Thrawn’s where it clutched over his side.
He stayed still for a moment, breathing in time with every pulse of Thrawn’s heartbeat under the tender skin of his wrist. “Tell me that you’ll listen to the people who love you. Who just want you to be safe,” he whispered, fixing his gaze to meet Thrawn’s. “Tell me that you’ll let me take care of you, just this once, because I- I can’t-“
“I’ll go,” Thrawn murmured, only two words but so earnest in their finality. He held Samakro’s gaze without hesitation, unwaveringly calm. “I’ll go, Samakro. I’m… sorry. I didn’t realize you-” he started, clearing his throat with a wet click before continuing. “I do not wish to cause anyone to worry. It’s not necessary.”
“Necessity isn’t what this is for,” Samakro growled back, pulling Thrawn to his feet with the gentlest of urges. There wasn’t any heat to his words— he couldn’t muster any. He helped Thrawn into a pair of training shoes, unwilling to peel the soiled uniform off for fear of hurting Thrawn any further.
This is part of loving someone, he thought.