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This was meant to be a simple job. The briefing certainly had portrayed it as simple: keep an eye on former Grand Admiral Thrawn, mind him, help him adjust to his new role as advisor to the chancellor, and to civilian life under the New Republic. And who better to do that than Darth Vader and Firmus Piett who are already professionally acquainted with him and negotiated his defection from the Imperial Remnants?
Only this has turned out to be anything but simple.
For starters Thrawn now resides in the same complex as Vader and Firmus do, his house facing theirs, separated only by the narrow promenade. He reports to them daily, eats at least two meals with them and lingers. And he's never alone, he's always got one of those ridiculous lizards of his riding on his shoulders. They're called Ysalamiri and they get on Vader's last nerve like anything. The creatures are greedy and adventurous, prone to misbehaving, but more importantly they have this curious resistance to the Force. When they're around Vader can't use telekinesis or look into sentient minds. What's far worse, he cannot feel Firmus; the presence of the Ysalamiri interferes with their Force bond and the loss, no matter how temporary, is unbearable. Frightening even.
However, the absolute worst is Thrawn himself and the way he acts towards Firmus. Vader can understand and appreciate cultural differences but... it's as though Thrawn has no regard whatsoever for the ring on Firmus's finger or for the wedding holos displayed in the living room. He showers Firmus with compliments that are as effusive as they are alarming and he is tactile. Which would have been fine if he were tactile the way Tiaan Jerjerrod is: like an older brother with no concept of personal space, dropping kisses on both cheeks as a greeting, linking elbows during a walk, even sharing sleeping arrangements. Thrawn's attentions, however, from the prolonged goodbye and hello embraces to the hands constantly landing on Firmus's own, on his shoulders, waist, far too close to his hips, are in Vader's mind decidedly not brotherly. And then there's the way Thrawn looks at Firmus, distinctly predatory, hungry, eyes lingering where they shouldn't.
Firmus doesn’t notice any of it, focused as he is on the assignment and on keeping Thrawn content and out of trouble. When he does notice he is quick to brush the attentions off as friendliness, profuse and filtered through a different culture and upbringing, yet friendliness nonetheless.
They're poring over museum guides now, in search of an exhibition to entertain Thrawn with, and Vader can't help but feel side-lined. Abandoned even, despite the fact that he can see Firmus, could easily clear the distance between them and put an arm around him, maybe add a possessive kiss for good measure...
One of the Ysalamiri is lying belly up on the table, hind legs akimbo, tail swinging idly in a vaguely catlike fashion. So utterly off-putting it overrides Vader's desire to insert himself between Thrawn and Firmus.
The chime of the doorbell startles him; had the creature not been present he'd have likely sensed it coming.
"I am so sorry!" Leia pushes the hoverpram with the twins in it over the threshold, narrowly missing Vader on the way. "I got called into an urgent meeting at the Senate, Han's away with Luke, and I don't have a babysitter."
"I will watch the twins for you," Vader pulls the pram closer, so it's resting against his hip. "But please be aware that the grand admiral is here, at least for the time being and my ability to assess risk around him is... limited."
"I wouldn't worry too much about Thrawn. He's apparently really good with kids. Gotta dash now, I'll comm you after my meeting!"
And just like that she's off, faster than the wind, heels clicking on the High Republic style pavement, leaving Vader behind with two babies and mood only marginally improved.
"Firmus Piett, are these your grandchildren?" Thrawn looms over the hoverpram, head cocked to the side, like he's examining some sort of specimen and not a pair of tiny humans.
"Mine and Lord Vader's," Firmus tells him in a tone that's warm but befitting of his given name. Vader permits himself a pleased smirk.
"Forgive my bluntness but you do not look old enough to be a grandfather. May I hold one of the babies?"
Before Vader can object Firmus scoops Jaina out of the pram and hands her over to Thrawn like it's nothing. She gurgles at that and taps a tiny hand on the alien's chest.
"Bwoo!"
"Yes, I'm blue! Well done!" Thrawn crows with delight, now rocking her on his hip, and Vader cringes internally. Jaina's a sweet, good-natured baby but it's also unlike her to be so immediately trusting of a complete stranger. Firmus makes a remark to that effect and Thrawn laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders.
They're always a sight when they go to the park with the twins: Vader by virtue of being almost seven feet tall and Firmus by virtue of being quite the opposite. With Thrawn present there seems to be even more scrutiny, even more staring than usual. It's not just the physique, the sheer size of him, it's the way he moves, the way his voice carries. He's unmissable.
He's got one arm wrapped around Firmus's shoulders again, the other cradling an Ysalamir. They're so far ahead that Vader can't hear what they're talking about. He can't even reach through the Force and eavesdrop. He feels like a third wheel, left behind to accompany the hoverpram, excluded from the conversation.
At the playground things don't get any better. As Vader makes for the swings (it's his job to push the twins, and occasionally other children, in them) Thrawn overtakes him and plants himself between the two vacant seats. "Lord Vader, if you would be so kind as to guard the pram?"
And thus he is banished, sidelined to the benches circling the playground, all of which are, of course, occupied, because why should the Galaxy make anything easy for Darth Vader?!
On the other side of the swingset a woman raises her hand and beckons him over; she's a familiar face, a neighbour, the only one Vader actually speaks to.
"Rhea," he dips his head as he sits beside her.
"Hi," she nods back. Her son, a terrifically blond boy, roughly five years old, jogs up to her for a quick hug, then darts off towards the tallest slide.
"He looks happy, he is a credit to you."
"Why, thank you. Might I interest you in a gummy worm?"
Vader glances down at the proffered bag full of brightly coloured snake-shaped gummies, swiftly picks a red one.
"Why is that blue dipshit hitting on Fir?" Rhea fishes out a yellow worm and bites its head off.
"It's a delicate situation. There are many factors at play."
"I understand that but still... That's your husband he's getting all touchy feely with."
Indeed, in the distance Thrawn has just moved himself, Firmus and the twins into the basket swing and has actually managed to manoeuvre Firmus halfway onto his lap. The sight of them makes Vader's blood boil.
"You need to set some boundaries with him," Rhea continues. "Not with Fir, with the blue guy, and you need to set them... well... firmly, no pun intended. He obviously doesn't give two shits..."
"And Firmus is too polite to rebuke him."
"Then maybe you should do the rebuking."
"Rhea, do not encourage me, please. My desire to cause that man grievous bodily harm grows by the minute."
"You can absolutely kick his teeth in if talking doesn't work. But do try to talk to him first. Gummy worm?"
Vader picks out a blue sweet and bites viciously into its head. At the other side of the playground Thrawn is, much to Firmus's amusement, making a show of pretending that the twins are a set of extremely heavy gym weights.
"Firmus Piett, you have outdone yourself yet again. Every meal I eat with you is better than the last," Thrawn's gushing rings through the apartment with all the subtlety of a foghorn. Jacen and Jaina, both tucked away in their pram for a nap, squirm in unison but thankfully don't awaken. If they did... Vader won't indulge that train of thought. He grits his teeth and slips out of the bedroom. One of the Ysalamiri scuttles past him, well on its way to curl up in the pram and rob the babies of their body heat.
"I think not," Vader swoops down and grabs hold of the creature. Carrying it aloft, at arm's length, he heads for the dining room, ready to hand the accursed lizard back to its owner and–
Thrawn's got Firmus boxed in between the dining room table and the wall, he's got one hand on the man's elbow, he's standing so close that the only thing really separating them is the stack of dirty plates in Firmus's hands.
"I would like to draw you, Firmus Piett," he purrs. "You have the most stunning facial structure I've ever seen. It defies physics and I would love to explore it more–"
He never gets to finish his sentence, Vader's already crossed the room, wrapped his free hand around his neck and slammed him into the table.
"Enough! You will cease this fawning over and flirtation with my husband. You will treat him and address him as a friend or as a professional. If you can't do that I will see to it that you be allocated a new handler. Do I make myself clear?"
Thrawn stares blankly at him for a moment, then his features shift into something that could be described as realisation.
"Forgive me, Lord Vader, my understanding of human relationships is not perfect. I was not aware that your marriage was comparable in significance to what among my people is known as cherasmola. Had I known I would never have dared to interfere."
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's the highest form of commitment between two people in the grand admiral's culture," Firmus interjects, breathless. "An unbreakable, exclusive commitment. Although I may have misunderstood."
"An oversimplified explanation but not inaccurate," Thrawn tries to nod against Vader's hand. "Once again, I apologise for my inappropriate advances. I would appreciate it if you released me now."
Vader relinquishes his grip on Thrawn's neck, swiftly deposits the Ysalamir onto his chest. "Apology accepted, grand admiral. Now kindly take your pet and be gone. We will see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, as usual."
There is something savagely satisfying about the sight of Thrawn slinking off to his own house. But what's even more satisfying than that is the moment the Ysalamir's Force-repelling effect lifts. Instantly Vader's mind is flooded with hot bubbling excitement and lust, all radiating from Firmus.
"Aki?"
"That was... quite a display," his breathing is laboured, his voice none too steady. He catches his bottom lip in his teeth for a second and Vader follows the motion with rising hunger.
"I am known to be territorial."
"Indeed. You should stake your claim, my lord."
"And how do you propose I do that, Admiral?"
Firmus smirks, head tilted to the side, neck already offered up for the taking. "Well, first, you should comm your daughter and ask when she'll be collecting the children..."