Chapter Text
Thrawn resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was an entirely alien gesture to him, and one that he had not indulged in often before Bridger. He had thought, perhaps naively, that the young Jedi would have stopped pestering him about his Imperial involvement after so long isolated with only each other as company. He was constantly proven wrong, even after seven years.
“What were you fighting for, then, Bridger? What was your noble cause?”
Bridger shrugged.
“‘After the war’. We always talked about ‘after the war’.”
Thrawn raised his brow ridges in silent judgment. Bridger rolled his eyes and huffed.
“It was something Rex mentioned once. His brothers used to talk about what they'd do after the Clone Wars. Ya know, get married, become a farmer, open a bar. That kind of stuff.”
Thrawn knew the Empire lied. He knew from the very beginning. Of course, he did. One such example was the clones. He’d read reports of some clone defections and had been aware of the few who remained loyal reporters and teachers, neglected by the Empire as they were.
Bridger's stories of the Rebellion only served to drive these shortcomings to the forefront of Thrawn’s awareness. That there were clones among the ranks of the Rebellion, that three had even fought in the Siege of Lothal, was not something Thrawn could have anticipated.
It awoke feelings he did not like to consider, pondering the fates of traitors genetically engineered to betray their closest friends, their lovers if the rumors were to be believed, the only people who truly knew them, and then discarded by a thankless government and society.
“I don't know what I thought my ‘after’ would be. I’d probably keep being a Specter. I liked what we were doing before we got involved with the Rebellion.”
The young Jedi hummed.
“You have an ‘after the war’?”
Thrawn tilted his head, playing the question over in his mind.
He wanted to give a measured response, truly he did. There was something so unsettlingly comforting about Bridger that always made Thrawn reveal more than he planned.
“The Lysatrans originated the concept of the housewife. I was rather taken with the idea when I was first exposed to it. The Fleet does not allow for families. It was a fraught fantasy, but I had this… obsession, as it were, with staying home. After the life I had lived, the idea of only cooking, cleaning, and looking after children brought me peace. The idea that I could be standing with bare feet and a heavy stomach in my kitchen, waiting for…”
He trailed off. That was already more than he’d intended to share.
But he’d come this far, and the young man would only pester him farther if he stopped now.
“For My Eli to come home.”
Bridger’s posture tightened and his eyes grew wide. He already knew Thrawn could bear children, a fact he had learned through quite the odd conversation about the hypocrisy of what relationships were and were not accepted in the Empire. So Thrawn did not know why his companion had reacted so strongly.
“Eli?”
Then, it hit him. In seven years together, Thrawn had never mentioned Eli around Bridger. With Hammerly and Faro no longer serving him, he knew no one else who could keep his aide’s memory company. He knew the Vanto family would not.
He had told them of Eli’s ‘disappearance’ personally. Their reaction had been sorely lacking, in Thrawn’s opinion.
He guarded his memories of their time together fiercely. Looking back, he realized he may have been too harsh in that regard. He had not spoken his love’s name aloud in seven years, though he dreamt of his face most nights.
He swallowed roughly.
“My Eli. We were together for almost twelve years. We separated a few years before the Siege. I was an Imperial, and he had given his loyalty to the Fleet.”
He sighed.
“We had not seen each other in person for three years before you attacked. I wonder sometimes if he is still Mine. It is so easy to hide waning affections when the only thing you speak of is military intelligence.”
He’d never shared that with anyone, not even Faro, their only supporter within the Empire. Bridger should be proud of himself.
Bridger opened his mouth, but before the young Jedi could speak, their pod’s comm system flickered to life. Damaged and salvaged as it was, they could not see who had hailed them. Not that Thrawn needed to see. The second their mysterious hailer began speaking he knew.
He heard that voice every day for fifteen years, and still sometimes it stirred in his consciousness at certain reminders. He could no sooner forget that voice than he could forget to breathe.
He could never forget his Own.
“Imperial shuttle Senth-Zero-Four-Esk-One-Five, this is Mid-Admiral Mitth’el’ivant’o of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet. Identify yourself and any passengers.”
Thrawn would never be so dramatic as to claim that any great negative feeling had ever taken his breath away or made his heart stop beating in his chest or fill his veins with ice water. And yet, he had never felt so hollow as he did at that moment, bathed in the light of a broken comm system, awash in the voice of his former lover.
Still, he persisted. Bridger would not know what to say. He would not know the protocols to follow. Eli would not know his voice. Though the human was no longer his Own, they had belonged to each other for far too long to forget the other.
“This is Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo, formerly of the Galactic Empire and the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet, with Lieutenant Commander Ezra Bridger, formerly of the Rebel Alliance. We were attacked by purgil and jettisoned from hyperspace and have been drifting through dead space. We were part of a larger fleet of escape pods but have since been separated. We require aid and rescue.”
The shuttle fell silent for a brief second before a sharp inhale filled the cabin. A sharp inhale of disbelief, of sudden realization, of hearing the voice of someone you thought to be dead, of being reunited with someone who used to belong to you.
“Thrawn?”
Before he could think to respond, before Bridger could butt in, before Eli could question him further, the comm sputtered out and left them in the dark.
“What the hell was that?”
Thrawn did not respond. He could not.
“Ok, so I don't speak Chiss, but it totally sounded like he just said his name might be Eli.”
Thrawn blinked slowly before turning to Bridger.
“Yes.”
Bridger threw his hands up in the air.
“Yes! So why aren’t you more excited? You were just gushing about this guy!”
While he would never describe himself as gushing about anything, Thrawn could admit that he had spoken of Ei with a fondness he had never addressed anything else with. Minutes ago, Thrawn would have given anything to be reunited with Eli. He had. He had given everything just to hear that voice again. The voice that belonged to his Own.
Except Eli was no longer his Own.
His former lover had seemingly done well for himself in their time apart.
Mid-Admiral.
“He is no longer Mine. He has taken the name of another.”
Granted Exception.
“What, he’s married now?”
Married.
“To my brother.”
Bridger blinked, his eyes filling with pity.
“Thrawn…”
The young Jedi trailed off as Thrawn held a hand up.
“Do not, Bridger. We have more pressing issues. I will adapt.”
He always did.