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After Bilbringi, everyone aboard the Chimaera knew you Did Not walk behind Grand Admiral Thrawn’s command chair. Everyone knew one of the deck plates was loose, and would squeak if you walked too close, and everyone knew that it Did Not need to be resolved. Everyone knew about it, except for newly minted Ensign Drake.
“Grand Admiral Thrawn, Sir!” He called out, “Captain Pellaeon!”
Pellaeon started, having not heard the Ensign approach. Odd, considering he should have walked right over the deck behind Thrawn…
“I fixed the loose plate, Sirs!”
Pellaeon looked over at Thrawn. He seemed fine at first glance, staring forward out the viewport with unblinking eyes. But those eyes had a faraway look to them, his posture holding in far more tension than it had been a moment ago, and Pellaeon knew the other man too well to fall for the illusion.
“Um, Sirs?” Drake asked, looking between the two of them. “Is everything all right?”
“You are dismissed, Ensign,” Pellaeon said, a hard edge to his voice. “ Now.”
“Yes, Sir?” he squeaked out, before retreating back the way he came.
Pellaeon could feel the eyes of the rest of the crew on them, watching and waiting to see what would happen.
“As you were,” he called out, holding the gaze of anyone he caught staring. “This ship won’t fly itself.”
Satisfied, he turned back to Thrawn, kneeling on the deck to meet him at eye level. “Thrawn?”
No response. Thrawn continued to stare out the viewport, one hand drifting towards the spot on his chest that Pellaeon knew was a knot of scar tissue beneath his white uniform. Now that he was closer, Pellaeon could see the bead of sweat trickling down his brow and the set of his jaw, and it made his heart hurt.
“Grand Admiral Thrawn, Sir?” He tried one more time, his hand hovering inches above Thrawn’s knee. “Can you hear me?”
The silence dragged on, and when Thrawn’s breathing started to speed up, Pellaeon decided he would risk it. He gently put a hand on Thrawn’s leg.
“It’s all right, Thrawn. You’re all right.”
Thrawn’s fingers twitched, and Pellaeon thought for a moment he was about to get a blue fist to the face. But Thrawn just blinked slowly at him, disoriented. “The Fleet?”
“We’re on a routine patrol, Sir.” Pellaeon said, relaxing slightly. “Green across the board.”
Thrawn narrowed his eyes, still confused. “What…”
“Perhaps we should discuss it in your office?” Pellaeon offered, making pointed looks around the Bridge at the rest of the crew who were making an effort not to look back.
Thrawn shook his head, straightening his posture. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”
“Sir…”
Pellaeon watched him take a deep breath, putting the mask back into place as he turned back to the status boards. “As you were, Captain.”
Pellaeon nodded, pulling out his datapad. Quietly, he logged the order to bring back the squeaky deckplate, before turning back to Thrawn. “Very well, Sir.”