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Eli looks at the gameboard, can feel his eyebrows drawing together. Statistically speaking, there is no way he could ever beat Thrawn. The man is a machine—he is always six steps ahead and Eli, even after ten years of playing this stupid game, Eli hasn’t won once.
That probably makes him a masochist.
He looks up at Thrawn, who is watching him, chin resting neatly atop his steepled fingers. “There’s no way I can win, is there?”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn answers. “Perhaps not.”
Eli groans. “You’re absolutely no fun, I hope you know that.”
“Is there another game you would prefer?”
“No,” Eli grouses because when he had introduced Thrawn to his favorite game, he had wiped the floor with Eli then, too.
There is only so much his pride can take.
He moves a game piece and Thrawn tuts, moving one of his own.
“And that is victory.”
“I’m never playing this stupid game with you ever again,” Eli declares with finality and folds his arms over his chest.
“We will see,” Thrawn taunts and Eli rolls his eyes.
~
It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw Thrawn. And in a way, it has. Eli had just turned thirty when he left the Empire, was thirty-one when he saw Thrawn for the last time. He had thought he had known everything then, maybe not about military tactics, but life? He was pretty certain he had it all figured it out.
He did not.
Now he is old enough to have a daughter and a ship of his own and be scared of neither of these things. He doesn’t know everything, but he knows a hell of a lot. He isn’t afraid to ask for help and he’s never been afraid to help a friend.
Even if that friend hasn’t exactly made the best decisions as of late.
The medbay is empty save for them. Thrawn is resting in the gurney, having just woken up from another procedure to try and put him back together again. His young companion, Ezra Bridger, has run off, probably to cause a mess but that mess is not Eli’s problem.
At least not today.
Today, his problem is trying, after all these years, to finally beat Thrawn at his own game.
“I heard that if you’re feeling up to it, they’re going to try and reinstate you as a Senior Captain. That’d be nice,” Eli offers as a bit of conversation as he moves his piece forward.
Most days, they just spend their time in silence. Eli doesn’t mind, he imagines that after everything Thrawn has been through—being marooned on a planet with a chatty eighteen-year old—the comfortable silence is welcomed.
“I heard a similar rumor from Ar’alani.”
Eli hums and watches Thrawn’s eyes dance across the board. To Eli, it looks like it might actually be a close time.
That probably means he is losing.
“If you did,” he says, “then we’d hold the same rank. That’d be a first.”
Thrawn hums and moves his piece.
Just as Eli had been expecting him to. He hardly has to think, he already has a plan in motion and moves his own figurine.
A smirk dances on Thrawn’s lips and he moves another piece in just as little time.
So, he’s really fucked.
“Have you enjoyed your time commanding the Springhawk?” Thrawn asks.
Eli hardly hears the question, he is too busy examining the board. Really, it looks like there should only be one move left before they are left in a stalemate, but he knows Thrawn always has a trick up his sleeve—some way to escape the inescapable. “Yeah, she’s a good ship and my crew is the best of the best.”
He makes what he only knows to be his final move and Thrawn hums.
“We have reached a stalemate, it seems.”
Eli looks up at him. “Wait, really?”
Thrawn nods.
“So you didn’t beat me?”
Thrawn’s lips turn up in a sad excuse for a smile. “No, I did not. But neither did you beat me.”
“I never expected to.”
This earns him a small laugh, followed by a wince. “Much has changed.”
Eli looks at him, really looks. He sees the stress he carries displayed in lines carved on his otherwise smooth features. He sees the gray at his temples, the slight fading of his usually vibrant cerulean.
He catches Thrawn’s similarly appreciative gaze.
Slowly, tentatively, Eli lays his fingers overtop of Thrawn’s. “There’s nothing wrong with a little change.”
Thrawn turns his hand over, interlacing the tips of their fingers. “Indeed, there is not.”