Work Text:
Good Day, Lieutenant Vanto.
Eli hears the words as they are spoken but can’t quite believe that what he is hearing is what is being said.
He didn't expect to be greeted with a heartfelt I love you, nor even a fond I have missed you so very much; they are in mixed company, and to say such things here would be inappropriate. But there is something about the phrase Good Day - something within it that is said, or more accurately, unsaid, that strikes a chord of uneasiness in his heart. Thrawn looks at him, politely, then turns away.
------
Eli is a stranger now, a ghost, an imposter wearing the skin of the dead.
This ship that was his home is no longer something comforting and familiar. The temperature is too warm, the lighting too bright; the smells in the air and the sound of the engines and door chimes and footsteps echoing in the corridors are strange to him now. The din of voices speaking in Basic when he enters the Officer’s mess are jarring to his ear, but at least they too fall momentarily silent when he steps through the door; a single commonality between his old home and his new one, a constant reminder that regardless of where he goes he does not fit in. In his heart, he belongs to neither; he belongs only to the man in Grand Admiral white. His approval is all Eli needs; his companionship is all that Eli wants.
As time passes into ship's night he sits and waits for Thrawn to contact him, to invite him to his quarters so they can catch up, so they can share a drink or share a kiss or share a bed. So they can pick up where they left off, when they were two halves of a whole, neither complete without the other.
Eli sits, and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
------
The realization comes slowly as the days pass, but it does eventually come.
Eli and Thrawn do speak, but it is only for the purposes of passing on information and mission briefings.
They do not speak of the years that they spent side by side. Of the intimacy, the closeness that developed between them: of the first, tentative touches, of the shared passions and murmured words of endearment, of the time spent in each other's arms, when they were content simply because they were together. When he looks at Thrawn now, he only sees the same mask that everyone else sees looking back at him.
The thought occurs that maybe the other Thrawn Eli knew, the one that claimed to love him, was still just another mask. Perhaps he had never seen the real Thrawn at all.
Because Eli knows that Thrawn is only as knowable to others as he allows himself to be. And despite the words Eli was sent away with, the fact remains that he was sent away.
He wonders who, if anyone, has taken his place. He knows now that it is not his place any more.
The final debrief before the battle comes to a close. He looks at Thrawn, and Thrawn looks back at him. Both wait for the other to be the one to say goodbye, both knowing it will be for the last time. Neither one wishes to be the one responsible to finally swing the knife that will sever the connection between them.
The silence is heavy, and the longer it lingers the worse it becomes.
And yet, still neither speak.