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Eli clears his throat and Thunhe and Thrawn share a look.
Their deployment wasn't terribly long this time, only a few months, but being aboard a ship and then suddenly exposed to all sorts of new bacteria always does a number on the immune system—to Eli’s immune system in particular.
He doesn’t like to acknowledge it, but being Human on planets that are the complete opposite of his homeworld’s environment does affect him. On Csilla, he nearly freezes to death every time he steps outside, his jaw goes rigid and he keeps his fingers in his pockets at all costs. On Naporar, where they are currently, the cold humidity settles in his lungs, clogs his sinuses, and in general, makes him feel like Death.
But, of course, he will never say this.
Instead, he will sit in his recliner with his questis in hand and work until his body decides to take a break for him.
He clears his throat again, and Thrawn looks helplessly at Thunhe. Thrawn has offered to take a nap with him twice now—something he never does—only to be brushed aside for whatever project currently has his attention. Her father's determination may be an unstoppable force, but Thrawn's desire to care for his loved ones is clearly an immovable object.
“Da,” she says. “Maybe you should do something about that?”
He swallows, clearly weighing his decision to speak and says, “About what?” The words are carefully pronounced, but anyone with ears could notice how his voice is deeper and more gravely.
She would compare him to Ma’kro, but that would only earn her a glare, as if that wouldn’t further the likeness.
“You’re sick,” Thunhe states plainly.
“I’m fine,” he says, because he always says that.
“I agree with Thunhe, perhaps a cough lozenge would be of benefit,” Thrawn says.
Thunhe bites her tongue, the bare minimum is a cough lozenge. He needs at least eight hours of sleep, a home cooked meal, and the entire Ascendancy to leave him alone for two Chaos-damned seconds.
Eli looks up over the questis at the two of them, where they sit side-by-side on the couch. Thunhe arches a challenging brow at him. She doesn’t break her stare down to glance at Thrawn, but she has a feeling he is similarly willing him to take a nap.
“Fine.” Eli sets his questis down; his eyes are ringed in shadows of exhaustion and his normally tan face is pale with sickness. “You know what will make me feel better?”
They both lean forward.
He counts his list off on his fingers. “First, I would like some soup, but not any soup. I want chicken noodle soup. My mother used to make it for me and it cures any illness. Second,” he touches his right index finger to his left middle finger, “cough lozenges would help, but I want the mint flavored ones, not the fruit ones. Third, I want you both to quit staring at me, I’m trying to work.”
Thunhe scoffs. “Maybe I’d quit staring if you’d quit breaking my concentration by hacking up snot.”
Eli gives her a deadpan look.
To her right, Thrawn looks down at his knees. She doesn’t miss the way his lips quirk upward, and by Eli’s souring expression, he didn’t miss it, either.
“If you decide to go to the store so that I can have some peace , feel free to take the speeder,” Eli stands and wobbles. Thrawn shoots off the couch and steadies him. “I’m fine,” he says, though he is slow to remove himself from Thrawn’s embrace.
Thunhe rolls her eyes and examines her cuticles.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Eli says.
“The steam should help break up the congestion,” Thrawn says.
“I’m not sick,” Eli grouses, but he continues his way to the bathroom, regardless.
~
Thrawn goes to exit their apartment and Thunhe grabs the keys to Da’s speeder from the hook by the door. He eyes her, a questioning eyebrow arched in her direction.
“Do you really want to carry all our groceries on and off the train?” she asks.
“It has never been a problem before.”
“Maybe for you, but look at these arms.” She waves her pathetic excuse for functioning limbs at him. “Do these arms look like they can carry groceries?”
“I will carry them,” he says and reaches for the door once more.
She huffs and puts her hands on her hips.
He turns to face her fully, the true reasoning behind her protest finally clicking into place for him. “You want to drive your father’s speeder.”
“I’ve had my learners permit for months now. At this rate, I’ll never get my license.”
“There are ample public transport options available.”
Rolling her eyes, she heaves a heavy sigh. “If you don’t trust me, just say so.”
He shifts his weight and she can tell he’s weighing his options. “Will Eli be upset if you drive?”
She suppresses the urge to groan. Of course his only true confliction is whether or not her father will be upset with him for allowing her to drive; as if her da hadn’t bought the beat up speeder in the subterranean parking garage just for her. “No,” she says simply.
He arches an eyebrow again.
“ Technically only your legal guardian is supposed to take you out practicing. But my legal guardian is the Mitth Patriarch. Eli technically has wardship, but he isn’t any less busy than Thalias.” She shrugs. “But you’re old enough to be at least my dad, it’s fine.”
His arched eyebrow slips into an unimpressed look. “You are doing an excellent job of making your case.”
“Come on,” she pleads. “Where is your sense of adventure?”
“It was left behind on the planet on which I was marooned.”
Now it is her turn to give him an unimpressed look. “It’ll be fine. Please?” She fixes him with her best pout and he grimaces.
With an exasperated sigh of his own, he opens the door and motions for her to lead the way. She does, with a little swagger in her step and twirling the keys around her finger.
~
The speeder truly is an eye sore. It’s dull, orange paint is flaking off in several places, not that it matters, the rust that has infected the paintless areas is nearly the same color as the areas that still retain their pigment. She had tried to convince Eli to get her the roofless model, but he had given her a deadpan look and said that if he were going to be the one teaching her to drive they were definitely getting the roofed version lest he freeze to death.
Thrawn circles her baby—she watched their neighbor’s cat for a week so that she could save up enough money to get a new radio for it; she even installed it herself after watching a few vids—and assesses every small detail.
Thunhe groans. “Come on. It’s fine, I promise.”
Thrawn shakes his head, crouching to appraise one of the tail lights. “Safety is of the utmost importance.”
“Sure, but have you forgotten that Da is upstairs dying of the flu? We don’t have all day.”
Thrawn straightens to his full height. “He is hardly dying, but I agree. Time is of the essence. Perhaps I should drive, instead.”
Thunhe is already opening the driver’s door and climbing in. “Nice try, but no. You’ve already agreed to this.”
“Have I?” he asks, climbing into the passenger’s seat. His knees hit the dash and he reaches between his legs to slide the seat back. The clips are broken, she knows this, and she watches with great pleasure as he goes sliding back at light speed. With as much dignity as he can muster, he moves the seat forward one more position so that he isn’t quite sitting in the back seat and runs his hands through his now disheveled hair.
Trying to swallow her giggle, she shoves the key into the starter. “More or less. You’re here, aren’t you?”
Not waiting for his response, she cranks the engine. It rumbles to life and Thunhe casts a smile in Thrawn’s direction.
His jaw is tight with concern, but he does not voice any qualms. She looks back at her console and takes a deep breath. The transmission is a manual—another thing Eli had insisted on—so driving isn’t really that hard, rather timing when to use the clutch.
Very carefully, she backs it out of their assigned parking space. When she puts it in drive and tries to pull away, the engine stalls and dies. Silence falls heavy in the cabin of her speeder and Thunhe can feel her cheeks warming.
Thrawn slowly rotates to face her. “You said you know how to drive.”
“I never said that ,” she says, trying to ignore the heat of embarrassment washing over her.
“Turn off the engine,” Thrawn says and her heart sinks. “When you restart it, listen to the tone of the engine. Slowly press the gas while releasing the clutch. When the tone raises in pitch, press the clutch and shift to second gear.”
She blinks owlishly at him. “You know how to drive a manual?”
“Yes.”
“Is there anything you don’t know?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps.”
She rolls her eyes, though there is no heat behind it. With a steadying breath, she does as he instructed and is pleased when they pull out of the underground parking garage and into the light of day.
~
“Yes, now upshift,” Thrawn instructs, his voice glacially calm.
Her heart is racing and her ears are burning. She had been doing so well. The supermarket is only one train exit away, but by speeder it is six intersections. This is the sixth and final intersection, but it is also the busiest. A row of speeders have gathered behind her and the speeder directly behind her is rather upset that they’ve had to sit through the light twice now because she can’t quit stalling.
She flinches when said irate individual lays on their horn.
“Pay them no mind,” Thrawn says coolly.
“I’m being an inconvenience,” she says. Tears burn her eyes and she blinks them back.
“And they are being impatient. Now, focus. Listen to the engine.”
Taking a deep breath, she tunes out the world and focuses on her speeder. She feels the yoke vibrate in her hands, the purr of the engine beneath her feet. Releasing the clutch, she presses the gas and shifts gears. They clear the intersection and she pulls into the grocery store’s parking lot.
“I did it!” she whoops.
“Very good,” Thrawn says with a nod. “Finish parking and then you may continue to celebrate.”
“Right,” she says, and pulls into a parking spot, trying to ignore the way her face is heating again.
~
“Okay,” Thunhe says as she grabs a cart from the corral. Thrawn drifts beside her, pulling up their list on his questis. “What do we need first?”
“Chicken stock seems to be the most vital ingredient. Perhaps we should begin with that.”
“Yeah, but we’re in the produce section.” Thunhe motions in front of her, where neat baskets of fruits and vegetables are arranged in rows. “What produce do we need?”
“That was not your original question.”
“Well, it’s my question now.” Grocery shopping, Eli has taught her, requires a strategy. He always starts with produce because that is what is at the front of the store. From there, it depends on what the mission dictates. Their mission requires precision and speed, so they will be shopping in order of the store's setup.
He sighs. “Carrots, onions, garlic, and celery.”
“Perfect.” Thunhe navigates them around the baskets and selects the vegetables she thinks are best. Quiet instrumental music plays over the speakers and she thinks of the first time Eli came here. His Cheunh wasn’t as perfect as it is now and she had helped him with labels he couldn’t read. When they got to the counter, he handed her his cash and she paid, acting as if Eli was just some alien along for the ride. She shakes her head; now, everyone loves seeing Eli. She won’t be surprised if the cashier asks about him when they are finished shopping.
“Okay, now what?” She casts a glance over her shoulder, where she expects Thrawn to be, and her heart plummets to her stomach. He isn’t here. There is a special kind of fear that comes with losing the supervising adult in a grocery store and she has to firmly remind herself that she is a mid-ager and that she can definitely navigate the store without Thrawn. She casts a haphazard glance around the produce section before moving over towards the bakery.
“Thrawn?” she asks, eyes scanning the mostly empty store. Her heart rate only continues to rise until she rounds the corner and finds him among the baked goods. She loves to come here with Eli and get fresh baked bread—he even shared his soft, yellow bread recipe with the baker and occasionally she’ll make a loaf just for them.
So, while she wishes she could say she is surprised to see Thrawn analyzing the cakes, she knows for a fact that they’re delicious. Several different tartes and cakes are wrapped neatly in boxes with plasticine windows and even she can’t help the way her gaze drifts towards one particularly vibrant creation. “You scared me,” she chastises, putting a hand on her hip.
“You were still in my line of sight,” he states, eyeing one that is mostly chocolate.
She glares at him, but he doesn’t seem to be paying attention. “Come on, what’s next on our list?”
He picks up the boxed cake and puts it in the cart while pulling up the list on his questis.
“Hey, no. What’s this?” She points to the cake.
“Dessert.”
“No, we’re here just for soup and medicine.”
He doesn’t even bother giving her an indignant look. “Noodles or chicken stock. I thought the noodles would be here.”
She sighs. “No, there is a section just for pasta. Come on.”
The rest of their grocery trip passes in a similar fashion, with Thunhe actually shopping and Thrawn getting distracted and adding more stuff to the cart. In the end, they purchase everything Eli needs, along with cake, cheese, milk for his tea, another blend of tea—as if the several boxes they have at home aren’t enough—crackers, cookies, and yapels—though she may have contributed to that last purchase.
At the checkout counter, Thunhe grouses. “Now I know why Da leaves you at home when he goes grocery shopping. We were going out for the essentials .”
“Tea and desserts are essential.”
She doesn’t even try to argue with him as she pushes the cart out into the parking lot.
~
When they get to the speeder, Thunhe has to kick the rear bumper for the trunk lid to ascend. It has always been sticky, but of course it has to act up in front of Thrawn, who is already concerned about her vehicle’s safety ratings. He watches, unimpressed, as she flops her entire body weight upon the lid to ensure it latches shut.
"You can drive, if you want," she says and holds the keys out to him.
He is already turning and walking back to the passenger's side. "The best way to learn is to practice. The best way to practice is repetition." He opens the door and slides in.
She should have known better. With a huff, she climbs into the driver's seat. "You know, we'd probably get home faster if you drove."
"Are we in a rush?" he asks as he sits in the passenger seat.
She shrugs. "Da would probably appreciate our timeliness."
"I see," he says. He doesn’t make eye contact—just like her da when he is hiding something.
She stares at him. "You want me to drive."
"You need to learn—"
"You don’t have your license do you?" she gasps, finally putting the pieces together. He wasn’t just concerned about Eli catching them, he was worried about Eli catching them because he doesn’t have a license and neither of them are road-legal.
He straightens his posture and indignantly says, "I last drove on an Ascendancy-ruled planet over twenty years ago. My license expired about seventeen years ago."
She hums and cranks over the engine. "Wow, you're really dating yourself. I bet we could sell your expired license to a museum."
She glances over at him and finds her giving him a deadpan look.
"What? I wasn't even alive twenty years ago."
"That is because you are only seventeen."
"I know, just as old as your expired license."
She smiles as she presses down on the gas. The speeder lurches forward and she slams on the breaks.
Feeling her ears heat in embarrassment, she turns to look at Thrawn.
His face is completely neutral. "Perhaps it is just old my old age, but I believe the vehicle needs to be in reverse."
"You don't say?" She growls and puts the speeder in reverse.
~
The apartment is silent when they return, which can only mean one thing—Da has finally succumbed to his sickness and gone to bed. Thrawn and Thunhe quietly unload their groceries, setting the medley of vegetables in a basket for rinsing and the cans upon the counter. Thrawn props his questis up against a canister of flour and they both study the recipe, double checking their spread.
“It looks like we have everything,” Thunhe says.
“Indeed. Would you like to chop the vegetables?”
She nods—that is simply Thrawn-speak for ‘I know you hate cleaning the poultry’. He doesn’t talk much about his past, but she has seen him clean a fish in a blink of an eye; preparing a chicken breast is nothing compared to that.
“Very well,” he says and sets about fetching her a cutting board and knife. She lets him. She may have been the one to show him where everything is at, but there is something about watching him move around a kitchen. Maybe it is because while working, he is completely stoic and in control, but in the kitchen he is just her dad.
She freezes and looks at Thrawn as he bends at the waist to retrieve one of their cutting boards. He is wearing dark pants and a dark gray sweater, he left his shoes by the door—as is proper—and is wearing matching dark gray socks. Like this, he looks soft and she thinks of the times she has found him on the couch with Da, or the warm expression he gets when he hands her tea.
He sets the cutting board on the counter. “Is everything alright?”
She blinks and looks up at him. His brows are drawn together, concerned, always concerned. This man is one giant worry wart—a term she learned from her Da—she doesn't think he is capable of not worrying about something he cares for. Suddenly, she is overwhelmed to know she falls into that category.
“Yeah,” she says. “Lost in thought.”
He hums, but doesn’t ask her—he never does. Instead he says, “I know we are both learning right now,” he gestures to the questis still propped up to display the recipe, “but would you still like to hear a story about your father?”
She grins. “Of course. And, as you said, since we’re both learning, maybe I can tell you one about him as well?”
A smile dances at the edges of his lips. “I would like that.”
“Good,” she says and takes up one of the vegetables. “You go first.”
“Very well,” he says and washes his hands in the sink. “What kind of story would you like to hear?”
She hums. “Maybe one where Da made you mad.”
He is quiet for a long stretch as he finishes washing his hands and reaches for the chicken next. “Once, while working for the Empire, we were selected to handle a diplomatic mission.”
“You? A diplomatic mission?”
“Yes.”
She stares at him, but his expression remains unchanged as he cleans the chicken. Thunhe’s stomach rolls, watching him. “Okay, sorry to interrupt. You and Da went on a diplomatic mission.”
He hums in the affirmative and sets one chicken breast aside. “Negotiations were going well, and we met with their highest leader. We were seated in a room with a round table, Eli and I sat across from one another, and the leader sat between us. The leader then poured two drinks, one for each of us, and said that one was poison.”
Thunhe gasps. She already knows where this story is going.
“The solution was clear. By combining both cups, we would have known exactly where the poison was and I would drink it. There was very little statistical possibility that this poison would affect a Chiss. However, Eli ran the numbers faster. He combined the cups and drank them before I could.”
The kitchen falls eerily silent. “What happened next?”
“Eli fainted—the poison was merely a sleeping drug and we won the contract to move Imperial forces onto the planet without a war.”
She blinks. Of course Thrawn isn't going to give her the juicy details. “Yeah, but how did you feel ?”
He is silent as he thinks. “There are few things I would never wish upon my enemy,” he says slowly. “Watching someone you care for die because of a situation in which you placed them, is one of those things.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“When did you know you loved him? Da?”
The silence is longer this time. “He has always been my friend,” Thrawn says carefully. “Perhaps somewhere in our time spent together those feelings transformed into something else.”
She nods, recognizing that is probably the most detailed answer she is going to get from him. “Okay, so what kind of story do you want to hear from me?”
“Your favorite.”
She blows out a breath. “My favorite Eli Vanto story? That’s a hard one.”
Thrawn only hums and steps away from the sink. Thunhe takes his place and begins rinsing the vegetables. She has so many favorites—the first time she came to Eli in the middle of the night and he didn’t turn her away. He instead held her in his arms and paced his quarters while humming under his breath in Basic. The one time they made milkshakes and their antique blender blew up, covering them head-to-toe in chocolate. Or maybe the time they went to the solstice festival and he carried her around on his shoulders.
“I think my favorite is when Zivahn took us sledding. I think I was…” she counts back on her fingers. “Nine? We were all still with the EDF and we got shore leave during the winter months. We didn’t have the apartment yet, and so we had to stay on base. Da was working, like always. He was just a Junior Commander at the time and Zivahn was my caretaker. We got dressed in our snow-clothes and marched over to Eli’s quarters. He protested, saying his body wasn’t built for snow, but I gave him a good pout and he agreed to come along.
“Thrawn, it was so much fun. Zivahn would push me down the hill on my sled and Eli would wait at the bottom to catch me if something went wrong. And then we built a snowman and then the snowman building turned into snowball throwing and of course Zivahn and I had to team up against Eli.”
“How did you fare?” Thrawn asks and she can see a smile blooming on his lips.
“We won, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I mean, Eli may be a tactical genius, but Zivahn and I were sky-walkers. It’s hard to surprise us.”
Thrawn nods. “That it is.”
~
Thunhe removes the lid from the pot and gasps. Thrawn steps up behind her in an instant. “What is wrong?” he asks.
“It’s green ,” she says, panic rising in her throat.
Thrawn peers over her shoulder into the bubbling disaster they have made. “It appears that way, yes.”
“The picture isn’t green,” she says, putting the lid back on the pot and turning to face him.
Thrawn takes up his questis and studies it. “Yes, but perhaps it is because this recipe comes from Lesser Space. Their eyes perceive colors differently than ours.”
She blinks. She didn’t know that; in fact, she’s fairly certain Thrawn is blowing smoke up her proverbial skirt right now. She puts her hands on her hips. “It’s a picture. We’re not looking at something through their eyes. Last time I checked, we all saw pictures the same.”
“Perhaps.”
She groans just as Da emerges from the hall. He looks awful. His skin is pale and clammy, but his cheeks are aglow in the infrared. His hair is askew and he has forgone his usual casual clothes for his favorite plaid pajamas, a heavily distressed shirt, and an oversized cardigan.
She peers at the sweater—it is one of Thrawn’s. Of course it is, in all things Thrawn, her Da is horribly predictable.
“Da,” Thunhe says, trying to be chipper. “It’s good to see you up.”
He grunts and falls into one of the kitchen chairs. “Back was starting to hurt from laying down too much.” His voice is raspy and nasally with mucus.
“We made soup,” she says. “The kind your mom used to make. Would you like some?”
He nods, not bothering to look up from where he has his forehead cradled in his palms.
Thunhe elbows Thrawn and he jolts, moving to grab one of the bowls from the top shelf. Despite the fact that she and her da have lived here for years, they are wholly dependent upon their step stool. With Thrawn around, one quick elbow or well-timed pout has him retrieving things from up high. It’s nice having their own, personal, item-retriever. She hasn’t used the step stool in months.
He hands her the bowl and she ladles a helping of broth and noodles into it. Grabbing a spoon on her way to the table, she sets them both on the placemat in front of him. “Would you like some tea?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “If I drink any more tea, I’m going to start sprouting tea leaves.”
She snorts. “You’ll have to let me know how we did on the soup.”
He picks his head up from his hands and looks at the bowl set before him. His eyebrows arch upward comically and he turns his gaze to both of them. “Did you use a recipe for this?” he asks, before turning and coughing into his elbow.
“Yeah,” she says. “Does it look okay?”
He hums in the affirmative and Thrawn looks at her, smug and victorious.
Cautiously, Da picks up his spoon and stirs it around. He puts a well proportioned bite on the spoon and blows on it. “I really don’t like how you’re watching me. Should I be concerned?”
“No,” Thrawn and Thunhe answer at the same time.
Da looks up at both of them, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Well, it won’t be the first time I was almost poisoned.” And he shovels the soup in his mouth.
They hold their breath.
Da’s eyes go wide and he sputters.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
He nods, almost wincing as he chews twice and swallows. “Yeah. Throat hurts,” he lies.
“Is it that bad?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “It’s perfect,” he says. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever had green chicken and noodles before.”
Thunhe slowly turns to Thrawn. She arches an eyebrow at him and he shrinks slightly. “You do not have to eat it, if it is not well,” Thrawn tells him.
“What? No. I'm not one to go wastin’ food,” he says and takes another bite. After he swallows, he adds, “Besides, I can’t taste most of it, but the texture is perfect. The vegetables and noodles are soft, but not mushy. You guys did a great job.”
Feeling the warm glow of her da’s praise wash over her, Thunhe grabs a bowl and helps herself to some of the soup as well. She blows on her spoonful for just a moment before taking a bite and promptly spitting it back out. “Oh sweet Chaos, that is awful !” She fumbles for a glass of water, desperate to rid her palate of the flavor.
Da only hums and keeps eating.
Thrawn strides over to her, examining the contents of her bowl. “What is wrong with it?”
“It tastes like a salt stick. It’s so bad . Da, how are you eating this?”
He shrugs, not willing to speak aloud anymore today.
“It cannot be that bad,” Thrawn says. Thunhe hands him her bowl and he takes a bite as well. She watches as his eyes widen and he looks down at the soup as if it has accosted him. He chews a few times and swallows.
“Well?” she asks.
“Eli, please let us make you something else.”
He shakes his head. “It’s just fine.”
“You have clearly lost your sense of taste,” Thrawn says and puts his bowl of soup down.
“I’m ordering take-out,” Thunhe says, reaching for her questis. “Do you want anything?” she asks Thrawn.
“Noodles, please,” he says.
Eli tuts. “We have an entire pot of soup with noodles on the stove.”
“If you like it so much, you can eat it. I’d rather starve to death," Thunhe huffs.
Eli rolls his eyes, pulls his sweater more tightly around him, and keeps eating.
After she places her order, the steady clink of her da’s spoon slows and she glances over to find him falling asleep in his kitchen chair. His head jerkily bobs forward and back, and as hilarious as it would be to watch him pass out in his dinner, she decides intervention is necessary. She catches Thrawn’s eye and nods towards her da.
Thrawn returns the gesture and moves over to him. He places a gentle hand on his shoulder and murmurs, “Eli, it is time for bed.”
His head rolls back from where it had been hanging forward and he groans. “I’m fine.”
“You are sick, but you will be fine if you sleep. Come now.” He straightens to his full height and extends his hand.
With a sigh, Eli pushes himself from his chair and Thrawn steadies him.
Thunhe watches them go down the hall together and her soul feels settled. She can survive just fine while they are deployed, but this—all of them together in the apartment—is what settles her soul. Her da is so much more relaxed when he is home, and Thrawn actually smiles when they are all together.
Listening to their soft conversation in the room over—Da is currently bargaining for a cuddle session in exchange for staying asleep longer than four hours; Thrawn is valiantly 'losing' his case against physical proximity—Thunhe stands and flops onto the couch.
And sneezes.
She groans and falls onto her back. Maybe their return isn’t all that great after all.