Work Text:
It was a rare thing when the Grand Admiral, famous for hardly ever resting, decided to retire early. And yet, anyone who cared to keep track would notice that it happened like clockwork: once a month, as close to the exact middle of the month as he could get, Thrawn would leave Faro completely in charge of the bridge. He would refuse all calls for anything less than High Command for the remainder of the night; he would leave his work, something he normally tended to late into the night, completely untouched. Even Eli was banished from the suite.
He looked forward to these nights, though there was no spring in his step as he stalked down the corridors towards his quarters. He needed this, ached for it, and while it was becoming all too clear that waiting a month in between sessions was too long, he dared not alter the ritual. In the Empire, timing was critical; appearances doubly so. Sequestering himself away for a night once a month could be easily blamed on some cultural or biological need, and no one in the Empire cared enough to question it further. More than that, and someone might notice; might start to question.
He leaned back against the door as the lock clicked into place and let out a long, slow sigh before turning the lights down, darkening the room nearly to the point that the human eye would not be able to see. That brought its own welcome relief; humans needed their environment so bright that Thrawn often found himself with a headache at the end of shift thanks to the strain on his own eyes. Stepping away from the door, he unclasped then shrugged out of his tunic, hanging it neatly on the hook near the door.
Moving to his quarter’s environmental controls, he lowered the temperature significantly; with no line of human Imperials parading in and out of his office, there was no need to keep his quarters tolerable for human comfort. The compressors kicked in, adding a soothing layer of white noise to his environment as a bracing chill set in.
Tonight, however, was not merely about his creature comforts; tonight was about release. The physical discomforts of his day to day existence took a toll on him, but so too did the weight of the many psychological difficulties he experienced. He was ever alone, set apart from the rest of those around him due to both his rank and sheer Otherness, and there was not a day that went by that something didn’t remind him of that. Sometimes it was direct; a pointed comment from a Moff regarding his alienness, or a sneer from another officer that felt the fact he outranked them was a personal insult. Other times it was more subtle, coming from within rather than without. It was not lost on him that there were elements of human societies that he simply could not grasp. For all the intricacies of life in the Ascendancy, there was a rhythm to socializing, structured rules of behavior that one could memorize to survive. In the Empire the steps were different, the rules chaotic and unspoken, and despite his pattern-seeking and powers of observation he simply could not work out all of them. That’s why he needed nights like tonight. Tonight, he could control the pain he was constantly subjected to; he could feel something that he chose to inflict on himself, instead of what was inflicted upon him. The ritual, the pain, was the only thing allowed him to face the Empire’s dance, day after day.
He sat down in his chair and reached for the locked drawer that held the tools he needed. A quick pass over the keypad, and the drawer popped open, revealing a small box that he’d picked up on shore leave. The pattern on the lid had appealed to him; orderly knots and twining lines engraved into the polished surface. He placed the box on the desk, and opened it, revealing its contents.
The rope was the perfect texture for what he needed. Its fibers were rougher than the synthetic ropes generally available in the Empire, but not so rough that it would leave large lacerations on his skin. He needed pain, not scars; scars attracted attention and invited questions. He’d made that mistake once before; there was still a band of thin scars ringing his left bicep, the pale stripes noticeable enough against his natural coloration that Eli had remarked upon them one night as they lay in bed together, his fingers tracing along each narrow line. Thrawn had given him a vague answer, and while it was clear that Eli was not satisfied by that, he hadn’t pressed the issue further. That was why he liked Eli: he was not just intelligent, but wise as well. It was a combination that was difficult to find, especially in one so young.
Thrawn couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he’d figured out that pain was what he needed, but he knew the exact moment when he realized that rope provided the necessary sting. During a training exercise at the Royal Imperial Academy his partner had released his grasp on the rope they had been using too soon, sending the length searing through Thrawn’s palms. The pain was intense in the moment but he’d felt a sense of deep peace in its aftermath - to the point that the admonishment from the instructor didn’t seem to matter. Nothing had. He had been chasing that perfect peace ever since, and while the ritual helped, he had never quite managed to reach it again.
He picked up the rope and coiled it, running his fingers over the plies in a moment of silent thanks for what it would provide. Finally, he wrapped it around his forearm, the location carefully chosen tonight for its sensitivity. He took a firm hold of the end, the anticipation itself enough to make his hairs stand on end and heartbeat quicken. When he couldn’t wait any longer, Thrawn jerked the rope hard in a circular motion, the weave leaving fire against his skin where it caught and pulled. The lingering, aching heat from the burn made Thrawn grit his teeth, a low hiss slipping out his lips. When the rope pulled free, he slowly, methodically wrapped it around his arm once more, the skin already darkening. Another pass, and another, and another, until his arm was raw and pulsing, the pain fierce enough that his vision danced with tears. He groaned and released his grip on the rope, letting it hang slack over his forearm, as he slumped back against the chair. A profound calm settled over him, quieting his mind. He would sleep soundly now. He would be able to focus on his work, undistracted. He would be unbothered by the barbs flung his way from his so-called peers, and would endure the nonsensical rules and regulations he was subjected to. The Empire would ever try to see him fall, but he was now immune to its machinations.
For a little while, at least.