Work Text:
Dear Thrawn,
Why did the fish blush?
.
.
.
Because it saw the ocean’s bottom.
Please tell me you at least smiled. Bonus points if you tell Da. Coming from you, he will absolutely lose his mind. Report back to me with your findings.
I’ve been mulling over the paintings you told me to look at and here are my conclusions:
The roiling ocean creates feelings of loss and despair. From that, I think the painter lost her husband. What do you think? I’m not staying at the Mitth Estate anymore so I can’t really go back and look at it.
Miss you,
Thunhe
Thrawn can feel his lips twisting up into a smile. It has been two years since he moved into the Vanto residence and in that time, he has come to adore Eli’s daughter. She is witty and quick to righteous anger, just like her father when he was younger, and she is so smart. She possesses the same ability as her father to read a room with uncanny accuracy and she treats everyone she meets with kindness until further deductions have been made.
And after everything, all the wrongs he has done and people he has hurt, she has extended that kindness to him. She stayed by his bedside for most of his recovery while she worked on school projects and spoke whatever came to her mind to him. He enjoyed discussing matters of art or war with her and she enjoyed explaining politics and school girl drama to him. And truthfully, he enjoyed listening—and, if he has to agree Ziapni is totally a bitch.
But right before they left for this deployment, she hugged Eli and then turned and embraced him, giving him strict instructions to keep her Da safe. It had made him feel a part of their family, as if he had any right to actually be there. He doesn’t. He is Eli’s partner, yes, but that does not make him Thunhe’s father. She already has one, another one of lesser quality would simply be superfluous.
“Oh, something’s got you all bright-eyed. Did your message from Thunhe come in?”
“Perhaps,” Thrawn says, though he feels himself adjusting his grip on his questis as if its contents are precious and invaluable. He keeps every message from Thunhe, every little attachment and memo. He has a folder dedicated just to archiving their correspondence.
Eli smiles. “She told me she is going to stay with a Mitth cousin for a while. I think she is getting bored of politics.”
“It has been nearly six months,” Thrawn says.
Eli’s smile warps into a frown. “I feel bad that we’re missing her last year of secondary school.”
Thrawn nods, he feels the same way. This particular deployment has been scheduled for nine months to a year. The hunt for the syndicate in the outer regions may last longer, but after twelve months they have been ordered to return for restock and refuel only to be sent out once more.
“I have analyzed some of the art associated with the known species of the syndicate leader.”
“And?” Eli asks.
“They prefer subtlety. They do not use overstated styles or colors, and often use principles that draw the eye away from the main focal point of the piece.”
Eli nods. “So you think they’ll use a decoy?”
“Perhaps, or an ambush.”
He scratches his jaw. He didn’t shave last night and it is apparent today. “I was looking at the data of their recent attacks last night. We know that they are attempting to build up their force based off of the previously targeted transports—arms, medical supplies, et cetera. And we know that Iokath is about to ship out one of their harvests.”
“It would be a reasonable deduction that they plan to attack one or multiple of the shipments in order to feed their growing numbers.”
“Exactly,” Eli adds. “But on which side of the planet. They ship out from 32 different ports; any of them could be targets.”
Thrawn pulls up a star map so they can look at the possible paths. “Do you have data on their escape trajectories?”
“I do,” he says and overlays the line chart over the star map.
“It appears they do not have use of a navigator,” Thrawn says. “They make use of common tracks whenever possible.”
“So the only track would lead to the northeastern quadrant of the planet. Easy in, easy out.”
“Precisely,” Thrawn says.
“I’ll inform the bridge and have Caretaker Azrafi bring Ra’lem up when she is ready.”
“I will inform the weapons station to have the crippler nets ready when we reach our destination.”
“Good call, thank you.”
~
They exit hyperspace, the stars flares returning to glints in the distance, and they are met with a stand off between three pirate ships and two civilian frigates.
“Get me a line to the civilian frigate,” Eli says from his command chair.
“You’re on, sir.”
Eli begins in Sy Bisti, “Civilian frigate, this is Commodore Eli of the Chiss Expansionary Defense Fleet Warship Protector . What is your status?”
“Commodore,” they respond in the same language, “these pirates have threatened to wipe us from the face of the Chaos if we do not surrender our crops. Please. Help us.”
“You’re being hailed, sir,” says his comms officer, Savarith.
“Put them on,” Eli says.
“So the Chiss have finally decided to mingle in the affairs of others. How do you choose to die?”
“That is a bold question for someone facing a Chiss warship,” Eli says calmly. In front of him, he sees the bridge stir with bloodlust.
“Alas, you are outnumbered.”
“If you consider three ships to our one as being outnumbered then you truly underestimate our strength.”
“Perhaps not,” three more ships jump into the battlefield, though they linger behind the first line. “But surely three more ships will be your reckoning.”
“If you want to wager with your life, be my guest.”
“Prepare to die, Chiss.”
The comm goes silent and the front three ships move into attack formation.
“I want a crippler net ready to fire and ion cannons ready on my mark,” Eli says and stands from his command chair. “Ra’lem I need you to perform a micro jump in between the two lines.”
“Anywhere, sir?”
“Anywhere you can get us safely, I’ll make it work.”
“Yes, sir!”
Thrawn watches him command the bridge in awe. He has seen Eli take charge many times and every time he is wonderstruck by it all. Unlike himself, Eli has a way of saying orders like he’s shouting, though he is calm—his vowels become clipped, his sentences concise. He is trying to keep his words ahead of his thoughts, though Thrawn can tell he is already calculating their odds.
“We are ready for this and we will make them regret challenging the Ascendancy,” Eli says. “We wait until they fire.”
Sure enough, laser fire releases from the point ship.
“Damor, give us a running start.”
His pilot pushes the ship forward, engaging forward thrust. They take three rounds of laser fire and Eli barks, “Deploy the net. Damor give us lift.”
The net is deployed and the ship arcs up.
“Ra’lem,” he orders, but the ship is already jumping. They arrive between the two lines. “Open fire,” Eli says. “Damor, bring us around, I don’t want our flank exposed.”
“Yes, sir!” she shouts and types furiously on her control panel.
The second line, suspecting that they would not have to engage until much later, is unprepared for the attack and subsequently eviscerated.
The ship rocks violently beneath them.
“What the hell was that?” Eli barks.
“Sir,” Laknym says, “It seems that bogey one has powered up an energy weapon.”
Thrawn looks at Eli and he casts a troubled glance in his direction. They know the damage an energy cannon can do. When Thrawn brought his research to the Stybla, the UAG began experimenting with such equipment.
“Divert all excess power to portside shields. Laknym, let it rain ion charges. We do not let them out of range.”
“Yes, sir!”
The battle is harrowing and they take more damage than he knows Eli would have liked. While he was managing the skirmish, Thrawn was relaying damage and adjusting shields as needed. One by one the enemy bogies fell, but only after they left them with a contained breach.
“Is anyone injured?” Eli asks. The ship had rocked violently a few times, but everyone confirms that they are unharmed.
“Sound off.”
“Shields are functioning at 42 percent, sir.”
“Portside weapons are functioning at 78 percent sir. Starboard’s are fully functional.”
“Outbound comms are down.”
Eli bites the inside of his cheek. “Excellent work everyone. Damor, route us for Station 88. Ra’lem, when you’re ready and able, get us going.”
Within fifteen minutes, they are back in hyperspace. Eli falls into his command chair and reads the relays of other sections of the Protector . Thrawn takes his place by his side dutifully. “You have my apologies, sir.”
Eli looks up at him. “What? What for?”
“I had not deduced that they would be armed with such technology.”
“Well I hadn’t either and I had all the data from their previous attacks. Don’t tear yourself up, we still won.”
Yes, but at what cost?
Thrawn keeps himself silent and tries not to worry about his partner’s career or how the Admiralty will react to him sustaining such damage. He has walked on thin ice for so long in his own career that it is hard to believe that anyone would simply accept how this mission was won.
“I can hear you worrying,” Eli says as he reads another report that has popped up. He tears his eyes away from the screen, “Relax. Everything is okay.”
“Yes, sir,” Thrawn mutters.
Eli’s confident smile falters only a little and he winks as if to say he’s got this and there is nothing to be concerned about. Thrawn takes a deep breath. He has always trusted Eli, this instance should be no different.
~
The next day they are once again on the bridge. Eli sits in his command chair, perfecting his after action report and Thrawn reviews other missives on his questis.
The ship lurches underfoot. This is common when traveling by navigator. They are constantly catching glimpses of the ever changing future and course-correcting.
The young girl screams and clutches her eyes.
The ship falls out of hyperspace and careens into an asteroid field.
Eli shoots up out of the chair. “Forward shields! Damor, get us out of here!”
“Trying, sir!” she shouts, typing away.
Thrawn sprints down to the navigator’s station and kneels before her. Caretaker Azrafi is already by her side. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Ra’lem, what’s wrong?”
“My head!” she howls.
“Senior Captain, I don’t know what’s come over her,” Azrafi says. “She’s been navigating for thirteen years and this has never happened to her.”
Thrawn picks her up easily. “We are going to the medbay,” he says and carries her swiftly from the chaos of the bridge.
The ship rocks violently one way or another and at one point he slides across the floor and into the wall. The girl, though she had not hit anything in his lack of balance, wails.
Thrawn hushes her quietly, his mind unwillingly drawn to Thunhe.
Since living with them, there have been times where she has woken up screaming and every time Eli has rushed across the hall to tend to her. Thrawn always lingers in the periphery afraid to be too close. But nights when she wakes silently and sits in the kitchen staring at the chilling unit, he joins her. He is not her father, cannot offer her the same comfort as a hug and promise it will get better, but he can sit with her and tell her she is not alone.
“What’s going on?” the medic asks as he arrives.
Thrawn answers truthfully, “I do not know.”
The medic gently pulls away her hands and reveals blood dripping steadily from the corners of her eyes. “My head!” she howls.
Thrawn stumbles back and stays out from under foot.
~
“How is Ra’lem?” Eli asks when Thrawn returns to their shared quarters. He looks as exhausted as Thrawn feels. He stayed with the young girl until she fell asleep, but now it is well past three in the morning and he is rapidly approaching a full cycle of being awake.
“Stable,” Thrawn says.
“What the hell happened?”
“The medic’s only theory currently is that she suffered some sort of aneurysm. He does not know what caused it.”
Eli covers his mouth like he might puke. “I don’t think I’ll forgive myself if it were an overload spell.”
“She had only been at the helm for an hour, Eli, and she is seventeen. She knows her own limitations and would have told you as such.”
Eli nods.
“How is the ship?”
“In one word? Fucked. We may as well be a slice of Syca cheese we have so many holes in our belly.”
“I see,” Thrawn says. “How close are we to station 88?”
“Well, about that.”
Thrawn shifts forward. “What is it?”
“Naporar is technically closer and we are leaking fuel.”
“But if we do not go to station 88 we would be in violation of our orders.”
“Yes, but we are technically not at war so…” he trails off. “I wouldn’t be executed at least.”
Thrawn runs his hands through his hair. Not executed, the bar in which their decisions are set at. “I do not agree with this decision to travel on such a technicality.”
“There’s no way that station 88 can support the repairs we need,” Eli argues gently. “They’ll take one look at us and send us straight to Naporar. I’m just cutting out the middleman.”
Thrawn sighs. “Very well.”
“I love it when you agree with me.”
~
Dear Thrawn,
Why did the crab never share?
.
.
.
Because he was shellfish.
Okay, that one was bad, but I hope it made you laugh. Today Thanida and I made crab cakes, so it felt applicable. I studied the recipe, so I’m hoping we can make it when you get back. Make sure Da gets some sleep, we both know how he gets.
Can’t wait to see you,
Thunhe
Thrawn reads her letter and saves it to the folder. Before, they were too far away from a triad to send return messages, now they are broken and unable to correspond with anyone at all. They are still nearly a month away from Naporar. With any luck, they will make it before they run out of fuel.
~
Dear Thrawn,
Thalias told me that the Protector has lost contact. The only subsequent conclusion that can be drawn is that you guys are similarly lost. I can’t believe it though. You were dragged throughout the Chaos by purrgill, there is no way that you are just… dead. Besides, you made a promise to me. You promised you’d bring Da back and you never break a promise.
I’ll see you soon,
Thunhe
~
“She thinks we’re dead,” Eli says and paces their office. “She thinks we’re dead.”
Thrawn can only nod. He had received the letter this morning as well. He had read it twice before the meaning of each word sank in. There were times, in his most of his youth and almost his entire service to the Empire, where he would wade into battle fearless of his own death. Part of him thought he was invincible, and another part assumed no one would care if he died. But he has looked death in the eyes and chosen to stay because somewhere, across the Chaos, is a daughter he wishes were his and the thought of leaving her is unbearable. He made a promise to keep Eli safe and he will do so, even if part of him selfishly wishes she wanted him alive as well.
Eli falls into his seat. “What are we supposed to do?”
For once, Thrawn cannot see a feasible solution. They are two and a half weeks away from Naporar with no ability to send messages. They are running low on fuel and operating on bare necessities to mitigate any excess burn. They have no navigator so are instead traveling jump by jump.
“We can only wait,” Thrawn says.
“And hope that my fuel calculations are right,” Eli mutters.
“Indeed.”
~
Dear Thrawn,
I’ve decided to apply for Taharim. Don’t tell Da. He has always been very adamant that I shouldn’t join the military like you both did. But I want to protect people. How could I not?
I don’t have any jokes, the thought of you actually being dead has weighed too heavily upon my heart.
Please be alive,
Thunhe
~
Dear Thrawn,
It has been a week and a half since you went missing. There has been no communication so I can only assume that the news is right. You are dead and I am alone. I’ve been alone before, but I hardly remember it. I met Eli when I was five and he stayed with me through everything, even when I was insufferable, even when I was ungrateful and snotty and a terrible daughter.
I wish I could tell you both what you mean to me. Instead I will hold the words in my heart and know that I will one day meet you in the light of our ancestors.
Thunhe
~
“I don’t give a damn!” Eli barks at the ship depot worker who is citing some sort of regulation about giving them a shuttle. “If you can’t do your job, find someone else who can!”
The worker sputters and scurries off.
Eli huffs and folds his arms over his chest.
“Have you reached Thalias?” Thrawn prompts.
“No. It keeps going to voicemail,” Eli says, venom openly dripping from each sharp syllable. “I can’t believe she told Thunhe we died . She’s married to a fucking Admiral, she should know better.”
At this, Thrawn agrees. “Perhaps there is something we are missing.”
“Yeah a Chaos-damned shuttle. I’m a second away from stealing one.”
Thrawn looks at the shuttle and back at Eli.
Eli seems to catch his contemplation. “You think you can hotwire it?”
“Shall we cut out another middle man?”
Eli grins, sharp and feral. “I love you.”
They slip behind the counter and up into the shuttle. They are in real space before they receive a comm from the depot demanding them to turn around. Eli cuts the line.
“Our estimated time of arrival is two hours,” Thrawn states. Beside him, Eli is gradually growing warmer in the infrared.
“She thinks we’re dead,” he mutters.
“But we are not.”
“It’s not that… It’s…” he sighs. “She’s always been afraid of being abandoned or replaced. And then… we’re both just…” he runs his hand through his hair again.
“If I recall correctly,” Thrawn begins, “there are next of kin automated messages that would give more detailed reports and a contact at the EDF.”
“Yes, but she would need a family member in the EDF and I can’t not as a human or as a commodore.”
“I could,” Thrawn offers without looking at Eli.
Eli turns to face him. “Don’t feel pressured to do that because I can’t.”
“I do not feel pressured,” he says calmly though his heart is racing. “It is a solution, one that may set her at ease.”
“Perhaps,” Eli says, “but you should be the one to ask her.”
Thrawn’s gaze shoots to Eli. “Why?”
“Because she’ll be more inclined to agree if it comes from you. If I ask she’ll think I’m putting you up to it. Trust me. It’s for the best.”
~
Thrawn docks on the family landing pad and they race down the gangplank and to the front door of the Mitth estate. Eli pushes open the grand door and is met by an armed guard.
“Sir, you cannot be in here—”
“Like hell I can’t,” Eli growls and pushes past him.
“Sir, you are not Mitth. We cannot—”
“I am,” Thrawn answers, stepping between them in an effort to diffuse the situation. Eli’s hands are balled into fists and he knows that at any moment he may start throwing punches.
“Da!”
Thrawn and Eli both look up at the top of the staircase. Thunhe races down the winding steps and Eli charges at her with the same speed. They meet in a clash of bodies.
“They-said-you-died,” she cries through gasping breaths.
“I know,” he murmurs and sways them back and forth. “I know. It’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
At the sound of his wet voice, she pulls away. “You’re crying.”
“I’m so sorry, Bun’hee.” He pulls her back to his chest. “I am so, so sorry.”
She squeezes him tighter. “I’m okay. Better now.”
Thrawn’s chest aches. He wants nothing more than to belong, but he will always be here, on the fringes of their relationship. A leach upon a host.
Eli lets out a pained sigh and slowly releases her. She doesn’t stray far, and instead turns to face Thrawn.
He gives her a slight smile. “I received all your letters—”
The rest of his sentence is cut off with an expulsion of air as Thunhe also collides with him. “I’m so glad you’re alive,” she mumbles into his chest.
“It is good to be home,” he says and brings his arms up hesitantly around her. This isn’t his, it will never be his.
She perks up and pulls away. “Let’s go home for real. I’m tired of this place—afraid I might break something or breathe the wrong way.”
That earns a huff of amusement from Thrawn and a wet smile from her dad. “Go get your things. I need to talk to Thalias.”
~
It is impossibly early in the morning when Thrawn hears the rustle of socked feet shuffling down the hall and the zipper of a duffle. Concerned, he rises and makes his way into the living room.
Her eyes snap up to find him waiting in the entryway between the hall and the living space.
“You are up early,” he says by way of greeting and her gaze softens.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Tea?” he asks and moves into the kitchen. This is their routine. When she wakes from nightmares he is there with solitude and tea.
“Please.” She stands from the couch and perches on the breakfast bar stool that she favors. “This is for you.” She sets a cup on the counter when the teapot is placed on the stove.
He picks up the burgundy mug and turns it over in his hand. “This is handmade,” he states, appraising the lines of the fired clay.
“Can you tell me about the artist?” she prompts, chin in hand, elbow on counter.
He hums and considers how the cup is lopsided, but otherwise well constructed. The clay is of high quality and the glaze is perfect. “The artist is not an expert in this medium, but is knowledgeable or perhaps had access to a mentor with great knowledge.”
Thunhe nods.
The bottom of the cup is wider than the top—a common quality among mugs, but this one is designed to be cradled or held more traditionally. “The design accommodates for the user to hold the cup against their palm.”
“Like you do.”
The handle, while a secondary choice of handling, is set away from the mug, likely for someone with larger hands. He explains this to her as well.
She nods in agreement.
“The artist is likely a woman who made this for a man—perhaps a man of great importance given the care and talent to smooth the edges and…” he trails off, his eyes floating up to her. She has just come from a pottery class with a Mitth cousin, who is an expert in the field, and she herself values her father. “You made this.”
“I did.”
He blinks, uncertain why she would give him this when it is clearly meant for someone who means very much to her. “Why?”
“Well, I thought it was poor form for only one of my dads to have a designated morning mug.”
He can feel his eyes widen in shock and his lungs seize up. Him? A father? He looks at her, her messy hair, her pink pajamas, her soft smile and knows that he would die for her with no hesitation. But, unlike his past, he would live for her. He hesitates before waging war and joins them at family dinner even when he feels like laying in bed to cope with the pain. He enjoys taking her places he usually wouldn’t seek out, just to see the way her face lights up. He adores this little girl, his daughter.
The kettle behind him chimes and he is brought back to the kitchen presently. “The tea is done,” he proclaims and turns his back to her.
Eventually he works up the courage to ask her permission to adopt her and when he asks, he is met with an overwhelmingly positive reaction.
And he knows, without any shadow of a doubt, that this is what family feels like.