Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Thrawn stared upwards at the swinging vent cover.

“You may have saved your city, Jedi,” he’d said, as the blue lights of hyperspace overtook them, “but you are my prisoner now.”

The boy had looked at him.

And looked up.

And then looked back at Thrawn.

And smirked.

“Gotta catch me first,” he’d said, and with an astonishing leap, he had jumped into the air, caught the vent cover, yanked it open, and scrambled inside.

Thrawn sighed and looked to the stormtrooper captain.

“Organize a search. I want him found within the hour.”

“Day 1 aboard the Chimaera.”

“This is kind of fun, actually. Everyone’s running around like headless Loth-chickens trying to find me. Good luck, bucketheads. There’s miles of ventilation system in here.”

“Hmm. I wonder if I can map it all out.”

“It has been three days,” Thrawn growled. “How have you not found him yet?”

“He’s very fast, sir,” the officer stammered. “I have everyone I can spare looking for him. Once we finish the repairs, I can dedicate more troopers to finding him—”

“I expect him to be found before repairs are finished, Lieutenant.”

“Day 19 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Even more people have been looking for me since they finished repairs a week ago. I’ve figured out what Thrawn’s favorite food is, and today I stole all of it from the mess hall.”

“I don’t really like Alderaanian cod, but the look on his face is gonna be worth it.”

“In other news, I’ve mapped out the first mile of ventilation shafts.”

They had been floating in barren space for over a month, with no sign of Bridger. Thrawn decided it was time to prioritize other things. The Jedi would show his hand eventually. 

He called a meeting of his officers in the main conference room to discuss their next move.

There were whoopee cushions on all the chairs.

Thrawn re-prioritized finding Bridger.

“Day 53 aboard the Chimaera.”

“I’ve found one of the main ventilation hubs. It’s really roomy. I think this is gonna be home base for now. Just needs some dusting, y’know, fix it up a bit. Interior decoration, that’s a must. Too bad Sabine’s not here, she could add some color.”

“…”

“…”

“Oh, I just got a great idea.”

Thrawn stared in open astonishment.

“Trooper!” he called. “Has anyone come into this room?”

“No, sir!”

“Has anyone gone out of this room?”

“No, sir!”

“Then tell me, trooper.” Thrawn pointed furiously to the empty space in his art room. “Where is Wren’s wall mural?!”

“Day 58 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Heck of a job to get it in here, but Sabine’s painting really gives this place a homey touch.”

“Karabast, I miss her.” 

“I miss everyone.” 

“This sucks.” 

“I hate it here.”

[sixteen minutes of sobbing]

“I’m better now. I’m totally fine.”

“Okay, that’s a lie. I’m not fine. But you know what they say: ‘Don’t be depresso, drink some espresso’. Time to steal Thrawn’s personal caf machine!”

“Any updates on Bridger?” Thrawn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The Commander cleared his throat. “Well, sir, we have some evidence that he’s been on the third level.”

“Oh?”

He took out a holo and displayed it to Thrawn. Across the wall, in bright orange paint, was written:

EZRA BRIDGER WAS HERE

“Increase patrols on every level but that one,” Thrawn directed. “It’s a misdirection.”

“Day 97 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Life on the third level is great. Love it here. Almost no stormtroopers anywhere. Kinda boring.”

“I gotta figure out some new pranks.”

“And I gotta shave, ‘cause I’m really not pulling off the beard yet. It’s embarrassing, honestly. If Sabine saw me like this she’d never let me forget it.”

“I do like my hair a little longer, though. Maybe I should try to go for a Kanan-ish ponytail.”

“…”

“Ireallymisshimtoo—”

[eleven minutes of sobbing]

Thrawn smiled quietly to himself. They had found a civilized planet, where they could buy supplies, which Thrawn made a widely known fact. Hopefully, Bridger would emerge from the vents to make an escape attempt, and they could capture him then.

They spent three days at that planet.

He didn’t show himself even once.

“Day 165 aboard the Chimaera.”

“I considered escaping, but decided to stay. It’ll be easier for Sabine to find me if I’m on a giant ship with a wanted war criminal, than if I’m off on my own.”

“But things really are getting slow here.”

“I’m gonna map out more of the vents.”

“It’s been quiet,” Thrawn said. “Too quiet. Stay on high alert. Bridger is planning something.”

“Day 201 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Nice white uniforms you got there, Thrawn… sure would be a shame if someone put pink dye in your washing machine.”

“What are you looking at, officer?” Thrawn demanded.

Officer Pike coughed into her hand and spoke in a slightly squeaky voice. “Nothing, sir. Just—appreciating your—ah—fashion—choices.”

An obnoxiously pleasant voice spoke from the vent right above them, and Thrawn nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Yeah, Thrawn, that’s a great color on you!”

Thrawn sent a message for a squad of troopers to come immediately, but by the time they arrived, Bridger was long gone, leaving behind nothing but distant echoes of laughter.

“Day 245 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Finished mapping out all the vents. Home Base is coming along nicely. I found some Life Day string lights and hung them up for a festive atmosphere.”

“Force, I’ve been eavesdropping on Thrawn too much. I just said ‘festive atmosphere’ like it was normal.”

“Y’know, I’ve never spent much time around—er, above—the stormtroopers. I’m gonna go listen to them, maybe that’ll help.”

Thrawn stopped in the hallway, listening to the conversation between two stormtroopers around the corner. He’d caught the word Jedi, and wanted to hear what this was about.

“I heard Thrawn had him executed, and his Force-spirit is haunting us.”

“You’re nuts. He escaped and he’s living in the ceiling.”

“Seriously? You think a kid could live up there for two-thirds of a year and never be found? He’s a ghost, I’m telling you.”

“Well, I heard that he’s some kind of mystic creature. Y’know, not dead and not alive, just kinda… there.”

“Oh. Huh. I kinda buy that.”

“Yeah, the Jedi have a lot of freaky powers, don’t they?”

“Day 258 about the Chimaera.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“I’m gonna become a fake ghost.”

“I… I miss the Ghost.”

“Crap.”

[nine minutes of sobbing]

“Y’know, if I’m gonna start haunting this place, I gotta get a suitable wardrobe.”

“And there’s Thrawn Speak again. Pff. ‘Suitable wardrobe’. I need a costume.”

Thrawn read and re-read the report.

Troopers reported laughter coming from within the walls. Objects went missing and then reappeared. Something flickered in the edges of the security cameras, now and then.

“It’s Bridger,” he spat, throwing it down and glaring at the officer who brought it to him. “He’s playing mind games. The first stormtrooper to see him is to stun on sight.”

The officer hesitated. “Sir… the troops are getting pretty anxious about this. They think it’s a ghost.”

“Well, inform them that it’s not. He can’t keep this ruse up forever.”

“Day 712 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Happy two-year anniversary to the Purrgilling! Haven’t updated my log in a while—I’ve been busy. Good news! I am now officially the Phantom of the Chimaera. The stormtroopers tell ghost stories about me. I am a legend.”

“I’m kind of running out of tricks, though. It’s getting stale.”

“I need to think of something new. I don’t quite want to reveal myself fully yet, my Ghost Outfit isn’t ready. What do I wanna do… hmmm… Oh! I got it! I’m gonna learn to play the organ! Organs are creepy and great for ghosts.”

“Wait. I don’t have an organ.”

“…”

“I’m gonna build an organ!”

“What kind of supplies have been stolen?” Thrawn sighed, too exhausted to be angry at this point.

“Mostly just odds and ends. There’s no pattern.”

“I want a full list of everything taken,” Thrawn replied. “There has to be a pattern.”

“Day 744 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Building an organ is really hard.”

“Watching Thrawn pull his hair out for a month trying to figure out what I’m doing is kinda hilarious, though.”

“Thought you could predict my every move? Think again, sucker.”

Thrawn had not slept in five days.

There had been a horrible ruckus coming through the vents. The problem was, it echoed so much that nobody could pinpoint where it came from. It sounded like Bridger was teaching himself to play a pipe organ, and he wasn’t very good at it.

What in the galaxy could he be doing?!

“Day 763 aboard the Chimaera.”

“I’m teaching myself to play my pipe organ.”

“I’m not very good at it.”

Thrawn looked back over the list of stolen supplies, dreadful reality crashing over him.

For some unknown, godforsaken reason, Ezra Bridger had built a pipe organ in the ventilation system.

Thrawn ground his teeth.

This will not continue.

He would find Bridger and end this.

“Day 801 aboard the Chimaera.”

“I’m getting really good at playing the organ. I’ve even started to compose my own music.”

“This is fun.”

This is a nightmare.

Bridger had been playing spooky organ music starting at the beginning of the night cycle and continuing until the morning. He’d also started making slightly more blatant appearances, a few stormtroopers even saying they saw him creeping through the halls.

Thrawn rued the day he ever brought the Jedi aboard.

“Day 850 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Being a ghost is great.”

“I wonder if it would be morally wrong to use a mind trick to start some creepy rumors about myself.”

It was the middle of the night when a voice woke Thrawn.

“Psst. Psssssst. Hey. Thrawn.”

Thrawn sat up suddenly, looking around, then realizing the voice came from above.

“Bridger,” he snarled. “You—”

“Before you start monologuing at me, I have a quick question. Can I write you an ominous villain theme song? I’ve been feeling inspired.”

“What?” Thrawn sputtered.

“I’ll just take that to mean yes,” Bridger said gleefully, and then there was a slight clattering as he climbed off through the vents.

“Day 879 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Thrawn’s Theme is coming along well, unlike my beard, which is still not working for me. My ponytail looks great, though. Full disclosure, I’ve been practicing my smolder face, and I think it’s pretty hot, which is another thing Sabine would make fun of me for. At least, until I used the smolder face on her. Actually, who am I kidding, she’s totally immune to my charms. She’d just laugh at me even more. Note to self, never show Sabine the smolder face.”

“Oh, wait a second. She can't kill me for being stupid if she's laughing too hard. Note to self, use the smolder face as soon as Sabine finds me.”

“If Sabine ever does find me…”

[thirty-one minutes of sobbing]

“Where was I?”

“Oh, right. Thrawn’s Theme. It’s going well! But it could really use some ominous vocals.”

“Hmmm. I wonder if I could do those…”

The organ was bad enough.

Now Bridger was singing.

And not just that. Nooooo, nonono. Not only was he playing organ music, and singing, he was also keeping up with the pranks full-time. Thrawn couldn’t imagine where he was getting all the paint to do it, but more and more stormtroopers had been showing up in colorful armor, courtesy of the Jedi’s midnight arts and crafts projects. Also, there had been plenty of mishaps with the food in the mess hall, and Thrawn didn’t have a single white uniform anymore.

All in all… Thrawn was… shall we say… at the end of his rope.

If they didn’t find Bridger within the next few months, Thrawn didn’t know what he would do. Probably something violent and Un-Thrawn-Like.

He really wanted his caf machine back, too.

This had to end soon.

“Day 1,460 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Either I’m descending into madness, or I’m having the time of my life. I’m not sure there’s a difference at this point.”

“It’s been four years to the day. Achievements so far: haunt the ship, be a general nuisance, build an organ, teach myself to play the organ, compose music for the organ, grow a ponytail, and learn to sing opera.”

“That last one was pretty unexpected, to be honest. But I was watching a movie with some off-duty stormtroopers—from the vents, y‘know, they didn’t know I was there—and there was this guy who lived in an opera house and he had an organ, like me. And he also had a lot of Issues, but—BUT! My point is, he sang opera. And, I was already working on the ominous vocals for Thrawn’s Theme. So I was like, hey, I should try to learn to sing opera! It totally fits the vibes of my Phantom. Except instead of being a creepy stalkerish mask guy who lives in the basement, I’m gonna be the chaos gremlin Jedi guy who lives in the ceiling.”

“That was a year ago. I spent a lot of time writing my songs, and then practicing in a soundproofed room, so that I knew I sounded good when my New and Improved Phantom made an appearance. I’m about to debut today. I think Thrawn is having another meeting. That should be a good time.”

“TLDR: I sing opera now, and I am going to cause problems.”

Thrawn had thought Bridger had given up. He hadn’t heard a sound from him for months. He almost wondered if the Jedi was no longer alive, and dreaded the idea of needing to organize a search for a dead body in the ventilation system.

And then, in the middle of one of the neverending meetings to discuss and argue and try to figure out what they were going to do, came the singing.

Not just the cheesy ominous vocals either.

This.

Was.

OPERA.

Dear gods. Thrawn hated his life.

“Day 1,617 aboard the Chimaera.”

“Months really fly by now. Even writing operas is getting monotonous.”

“To give myself a challenge, I’ve decided to write one in a language I kinda vaguely know.”

“I’m calling it the Mandopera.”

Bridger was now hollering tragic love ballads in badly-accented, ungrammatical Mando’a.

For the first time in several decades, Thrawn started to cry.

“I’ve come to get Ezra, and I'm not leaving without him.”

Thrawn sighed loudly, and massaged his temples.

“Wren, if you can find him, you can keep him.”

Chapter Text

“If I can find him?” Sabine demanded. “What does that mean?!”

“For the last five years,” said Thrawn, his presence ringing with exhaustion, “he has been hiding inside the ventilation system and turning my life into a living nightmare. Please, get him out of here.”

“Ezra has been living in the vents?” Ahsoka repeated, stepping closer and reaching out with her senses to try to get a read on him. “This whole time?” She looked at Sabine. “He must be miserable.”

“I beg to differ,” disagreed Thrawn. “That hellion has been having the time of his life.”

“Day 1 of looking for Ezra in the vents.”

“It’s not as cramped up here as I thought it would be. Some of the big junctions have enough room to stand.”

“I found one of them that I think he sleeps in, sometimes. There’s a hammock and some appropriately orange-colored clutter. I’m marking this spot down as a place to re-check in case he comes back.”

“I think I’ll stay here overnight and continue the search tomorrow.”

“It shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”

“And when I do…”

“He is so dead.”

“So,” Ahsoka said, sipping her tea. “I’m going to arrest you, you know.”

Thrawn finished pouring himself his own cup and sat down at the table, almost pleasantly. ”If it means being rid of Bridger, I can accept it.”

“You’re not putting up much of a fight,” she said, suspicious.

There was nothing remotely deceitful in his presence as he replied, “Psychological warfare will do that to you. I just want to be left alone.”

“Day 2 of looking for Ezra in the vents.”

“No sign of Ezra yet. I found some more junk, but it’s all kind of dusty. I don’t think he’s been on this level in a while.”

“Good morning, Lady Tano,” Thrawn said, not turning around as Ahsoka entered the bridge of the ship. “I trust your quarters were comfortable?”

“They were fine.” Ahsoka crossed her arms. “You’re still being unsettlingly polite about this.”

“I respect a worthy enemy.”

“Has Sabine found him yet?”

Thrawn finally looked back over his shoulder at her. “Lady Tano, I would not have given you permanent accommodations here if I thought it would take her any less than a week to find him.” He turned back around, staring out at the stars. “You may as well settle in. This will be a long wait.”

“Day 3 of looking for Ezra in the vents.”

“I just found a crate of about 300 whoopee cushions.”

“I’m starting to get an idea of what Ezra has been doing all this time.”

Ahsoka moved her piece on the dejarik board and smiled. “Your move.”

This was the seventeenth game she had played against Thrawn. So far, she’d won five. It was an exciting challenge, but it could only keep her occupied for so long.

She sighed. Three days, and no Ezra yet. Maybe it would take Sabine a long time to find him.

No.

No, Ahsoka had faith in Sabine’s ability.

Thrawn took his turn, and she re-directed her attention to the dejarik board.

“Day 4 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“Karabast, what IS that sound?”

“That would be Bridger’s pipe organ,” Thrawn sighed.

Ahsoka’s brow furrowed. “Pipe organ?”

He gave her a weary look. “Pipe organ,” he confirmed.

“Day 5 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“Whatever that noise was, I know it was Ezra. And it came from above. I’ve moved up a level to continue the search. This one looks definitely lived in. He’s here, I know it.”

A clatter woke Ahsoka in the middle of the night. She sat up, looking around, and saw a pair of brilliant blue eyes staring at her, upside down, peering out of a ceiling vent.

“Ahsoka?”

She smiled. “Hello, Ezra.”

“What are you doing here?! Are you okay?” He lowered his voice. “You’re not captured, are you?”

“Force, no. I’m a guest.”

He looked confused. “A guest?”

“A guest. Apparently, Thrawn is so desperate to get rid of you that he’s giving me first-class accommodations while Sabine looks for you.”

“Sabine’s HERE?!” He looked giddy, and appeared to almost fall headfirst out of the vent. Then, his grin vanished. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad is she?” 

Ahsoka pondered that. “Thirty-seven?”

His face lost its color as he paled in totally-justified fear, and muttered to himself. “Oof, I don’t think I can smolder-face my way outta this one.”

“I’m sorry, you don’t think you can what?” Ahsoka asked, suppressing an amused smile.

He laughed nervously, ignoring her question. “Y’know, I think I’m just gonna stay up here for a little while.”

Ezra disappeared, and Ahsoka shrugged, not feeling the need to mention that Sabine was in the vents with him.

“Day 6 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“I’m getting close, really close. I know it. He’s around here somewh—ohmygods, EZRA!”

[distantly]
“Sabine! Sabine, hey, hi—um—long time no see—”

“EZRA, I AM GONNA KILL YOU—”

[sounds of someone rapidly fleeing through the vents]

“I believe she found him,” Thrawn announced, as a loud sound traveled quickly overhead—something kind of like someone getting chased through a ventilation duct while the person chasing them yelled curses.

Ahsoka smirked. “Oh, she found him. The question is, can she catch him?”

“Day 7 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“He got away. He got away.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have flipped out. Force, I spent so long waiting to see him again and then I just—chase him off! I knew Hera was right when she said I needed to work on my self-destructive and counterintuitive tendencies.”

“EZRA, IF YOU’RE LISTENING, I’M SORRY I THREATENED TO KILL YOU! IF YOU COME BACK, I PROMISE I’LL ONLY BEAT YOU UP A LITTLE!”

[pause]

“ALSO, DO YOU TAKE CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM? BECAUSE I HAVE A FEW THOUGHTS ABOUT THE BEARD!”

[another pause]

“IT LOOKS BAD!”

“Well, it’s been over a week,” Ahsoka said. “I wonder how long it’ll take.”

“Lady Tano,” Thrawn replied, “I had to live with that boy in my ceiling for half a decade. Do be patient.”

“Day 8 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“What the heck. What the heck what the heck what the heck.”

“There is a pipe organ up here.”

“There is sheet music for the pipe organ up here.”

“THERE IS GOOD SHEET MUSIC FOR THE PIPE ORGAN UP HERE.”

“Why didn’t Ezra ever tell me he was musical? I feel like I missed a significant portion of his character! This upsets me!”

Ahsoka sighed, puffing out her cheeks. She hadn’t heard a sound from up there in a long time.

It would definitely take a while.

Thrawn was still unnervingly polite.

“Day 9 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“I’m just going to camp out in his music room. He’ll come back eventually. I’m passing the time by looking through his music, and—”

“…these are operas. He’s been writing operas.”

[paper rustling]

“This one is depressing. Like, really— really— I’m not tearing up, you’re tearing up. Shut up. Whatever. Moving on. This one is… this is in Mando’a. He’s writing operas in Mando’a, I didn’t even know he spoke Mando’a!”

[pause, more paper rustling]

“Well, he doesn’t speak it very well. The grammar is terrible.”

[significantly longer pause]

“It’s kinda pretty, though. Like, in a gushy, sappy way. It would be good, if the grammar wasn’t so bad.”

[third pause]

“Okay, where’s a pen, this is gonna drive me crazy—”

The vent in Ahsoka’s ceiling opened again, and Ezra leaned out. 

“Hello, Ezra. No beard now?”

“Yeah. Apparently, it’s still not working for me. By the way. Sabine found my music room. And—” He held up a few pages of paper, revealing sheet music written over in red pen, and a large ‘D+’ on the first page. “She graded my Mandoperas!”

“Day 10 of looking for Ezra in the ventilation system.”

“You snuck through once, but you’re not getting past me again, Bridger.”

Ahsoka and Thrawn froze at the same moment, and both looked up.

That same crashing noise from a week or so before was coming closer and closer overhead, passing over them, and then—

With a yelp, Ezra fell right through the ceiling vent, then rolled out of the way as Sabine hurled herself out after him. Then he, jumped at the wall, using it like a springboard to reach back up and catch the inside edge of the vent.

He’d only just started to pull himself up when Sabine scrambled to her feet and grabbed him around the middle.

“OH, NO, YOU DON’T!”

Ahsoka watched, amused, as Sabine lifted her feet off the floor to try and pull him down from the ventilation shaft with her full weight. Ahsoka was impressed that he managed to hold on. But then, Sabine pulled out her Secret Weapon, and viciously tickled his sides until he shrieked and let go.

Ezra landed on his stomach on the floor with a wheeze. To ensure there would be no further escape, Sabine promptly sat on him.

“Owwww,” he complained sullenly. “Get ooooff.”

Sabine scowled. “No.”

There was a moment of quiet, and then Ezra sighed and turned his head so he could look over his shoulder at her.

“On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you right now?”

“Nineteen.”

He looked away, pondering. “Nineteen,” he mumbled. “Yeah… worth a shot.”

Oh, boy. Ahsoka wished she had some pop-kernels to munch on for this.

Ezra cleared his throat. Then, looking back up at Sabine, and propping himself up a little on one arm, leaning the back of his head in his hand, he made the most ridiculous expression Ahsoka had ever seen.

Sabine stared at him.

“What are you doing with your face?” she asked, flatly.

“It’s called, the ~smolder~.”

She didn’t even twitch, and Ezra huffed.

“You’re supposed to be laughing right now.”

No change in Sabine’s expression.

“That—that’s the whole point of the smolder. I smolder, you laugh 'cause I look dumb, I don't get attacked, Ahsoka takes us both away from here, we all live happily ever after adventuring through the far reaches of space—”

“Let’s get one thing straight, Bridger,” she said, leaning forward, pressing him harder against the durasteel floor as she hissed loudly in his ear: “You are never. Ever. Adventuring through the far reaches of space again. Are we clear?”

He looked up at her and frowned.

“But, what if you came with me?”

She stared at him.

“What would we even do?”

“There’s plenty of Empire remnants left out here. We could go haunt their ships,” Ezra offered. “I mean… we are the Spectres, after all…”

Sabine watched him for a long time.

And then, to Ahsoka’s surprise, she smiled.

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“Day 1 of haunting the Shadow Council!”

“It was really hard to get aboard this ship without anyone noticing, but it’s gonna be even better this way, since nobody knows we’re here. It’s gonna let us do a bigger, spookier buildup.”

“I’m setting up Home Base in the biggest ventilation hub right now. I think Sabine is off painting a threatening message on the mirror of the General’s bathroom in fake blood. Or real blood. I don’t know and I’m not going to ask.”

“Building an organ should be easier the second time around. Before we came aboard, we tried a few singing things out, and Sabine can do this horrible, ghastly screech that is definitely going to be useful. She can’t sing opera yet, but I think she has potential. I’m writing a duet just in case.”

“Well, until next time…”

“Ezra, out.”