Archive of Our Own

I. Eli

The last thing Eli remembered was pain.

Pain which he still felt, actually. With a groan, he hoisted himself off the ground, where he’d been lying supine, his limbs a tangle, into a sitting position. Stars, his head was killing him. His entire body was killing him—it felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a Lasat and had barely lived to tell the tale. And where was he, anyway? He felt dirt beneath his hands and smelled pollen and growing things. Sunlight beat down on him; he was hot and sticky with sweat. One thing was for sure: he wasn't on the Steadfast anymore.

He pressed his palms to his closed eyes to block out the light, which was giving him a pounding headache, and tried to remember what had happened before the pain.

Bits and pieces, only. Swirls of blue and violet light ringing a dense darkness in the air, like a black hole with a colorful accretion disk. Vah’nya crouched by it, her red eyes wide and scared.

"Don’t come any closer, Eli," she had said in a voice scraped tight with fear. "I don’t know what will happen if you do."

Yes, Eli was remembering now. He and Vah'nya had been studying an ancient Jedi holocron, one that Thrawn had sent them—not that Eli was much use with it, beyond moral support. Still, it had been fascinating. The navigators could have powers far beyond the Second and Third Sights, powers that came straight out of Chiss folklore and legends: telekinesis, mind control, and, so the holocron said, something even more mythical.

The power to walk between worlds.

Eli and Vah'nya had discussed that at length. The holocron was close-mouthed on what exactly it meant. Eli had suggested that Vah'nya could survive in the vacuum of space—"Between worlds, Vah'nya," he had said, "maybe it's literal"—but Vah'nya had slowly shook her head, eyes distant.

"It's more than that, Eli," she said softly. "Stranger than that."

"Well," Eli said in a practical tone, "Let's give it a try."

And once they did, she had told him to stay away. But she had looked so scared, and she was his friend; how could he do anything but go to her?

He'd been an idiot, messing with things he didn't understand.

Eli groaned again and lowered his hands. Blinking through the pain of his throbbing head, he looked around at his surroundings.

He'd been right; he was on a planet, in a forest comprised mostly of tall, thick-trunked trees, stretching dozens of meters above him to the sky. Their canopies formed dappled shadows on the ground, which was scattered with metallic leaves and other vegetation. An arachnid crawled slowly over the ground a meter or so from him, unconcerned by his presence. No people; nothing but the sound of forest animals.

But, Eli noticed as he took in the forest, there were people, or had been recently; he'd landed right on what was clearly a trail carved into the thick forest. And it was fresh; nothing had grown to cover the packed dirt.

Thoughts were percolating slowly through his head. Eli thought he might have a concussion. But he was very aware of three things: one, Vah'nya hadn't been joking when she said this would be strange. (And where was Vah'nya? Was she okay? Had she come with him? Eli didn't know.) Two, whatever world he'd landed on, there were other people here.

Three: he didn't have his blaster.

Oh, and four: there was a large canid with glowing eyes, leathery skin, and a long whip of a tail in the woods, barely ten meters away, staring at him with a distinctly predatory look.

Eli stared back, frozen. He'd become quite adept at dealing with sapient threats, but it had been years since his last wilderness survival class, and he wasn't sure if he was supposed to shout at the thing to make it run away, or stay very still and hope it wasn't interested in him.

He opted for the latter, and after a minute or so, the canid huffed and laid down, putting its head on its paws and watching him. Eli watched it back. After another few minutes, he dared to move, carefully climbing to his feet. His stomach lurched as he did, helpfully reminding him about his probable concussion.

The canid just looked at him languidly. Maybe it was nocturnal, or just didn't find him easy prey. Whatever the reason, Eli was glad it hadn't pounced. He wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight in this state.

Wavering on his feet, Eli considered his options. He could stay in the forest and recuperate from his injuries, and probably be eaten come nightfall, by that canid or by something else. Or he could either go…he squinted at the sun…east, he thought, following the trail one direction, or the opposite, northwest. It was a risk. He might run across unfriendly sapients.

But then again, he might not.

Eli chose the path of optimism and decided it would be best to forge ahead. Northwest seemed like a great option, walking with the sun to his back so he wasn't blinded by its rays when he scanned the horizon for dangers. After all, he couldn't tell which direction led deeper into the forest.

Whoever had forged the trail hadn't been considerate enough to cut through logs or move rocks out of the way, and Eli, foggy-headed, had to concentrate on the simple act of walking. One foot after the other, over that obstacle, don't trip on that stump , eyes flicking to the woods to be sure he was alone, ears open for the telltale sound of animals in the brush. He panted for air; this planet's atmosphere wasn't quite the chemical mix he was accustomed to.

He was focused on breathing in a steady rhythm and propelling his body forward when he heard the rustling. Something in the woods. Eli whipped around—

"Stand down!"

The voice was unmistakably a stormtrooper's tinny transmission, and the blaster pointed at him was definitely Imperial issue. Eli, knowing how trigger-happy stormtroopers could be, very slowly went to his knees and put his hands behind his head.

"I'm unarmed," he called out. Would giving his old Imperial service code be better or worse in this situation? He thought worse. After all, they thought he was a deserter. He was a deserter, technically.

"I can see that," the stormtrooper said acidly, and gestured curtly. Two other troopers melted out of the woods, blasters pointed at Eli. One of them holstered their weapon and took him by the arm, yanking him to his feet unceremoniously.

"Take him to the Grand Admiral," the first stormtrooper said, and Eli's heart stopped.

The Grand Admiral, the trooper said. But which one?

Eli had his guess, and he hoped he was right. Because if he wasn't, he was a dead man walking.

The stormtroopers were none too gentle with Eli as they dragged him, stumbling with exhaustion, into an Imperial shuttle. Eli glanced around once they were inside, noting the worn syntheplast seats, the antiquated design—this was a salvage shuttle, about ten years old. Why?

A thought struck Eli, one he would have dismissed as totally irrational if he hadn't experienced all sorts of weirdness in the past day: had he been flung back in time?

But if so, why was the shuttle so run-down?

The pilot guided them into the hangar bay competently enough; Eli was only slightly jostled. The first stormtrooper, the one who had initially leveled the blaster at him, came out of the pilot's cabin, where he had been speaking to someone in a voice too low for Eli to make out, and grabbed Eli by the arm.

"The Grand Admiral wants to see you," he said. "Now."

"Oh, good," Eli said with false brightness, and although he couldn't see the stormtrooper's face, he had a feeling there was a glare behind that expressionless helmet.

Still, he couldn't show fear. He had to stay cool and collected, no matter which Grand Admiral he was about to face.

They marched him through the hangar bay and further, winding through the corridors of the Star Destroyer. Eli kept his eyes straight ahead, but checked out the crew with his peripheral vision, trying to find a familiar face. No one he knew. But one thing was odd—they were all so young . Most of them couldn't have been past twenty. Some of them were still ill at ease in their uniforms; most of them were giving him hostile looks.

Well, he couldn't blame them for that. He was a human in a non-Imperial uniform; what were they supposed to do, trust him?

They took him not to the bridge, as he expected, but to a room on the sixtieth level of the ship. The stormtroopers' attitudes changed once they reached their destination, and when the lead trooper stated, "TK-0091 here with the prisoner," he sounded almost deferential.

Prisoner. Eli didn't like that one bit.

The door slid open, and Eli was pushed forward into the dark entry room.

"This way," a voice growled, and Eli jumped as an unknown alien melted out of the darkness. Shorter than Eli, but wiry and strong, with needle-like teeth and grey skin, it had a blaster strapped to its hip and a staff slung over its back.

"Fine," Eli said, eyeing it nervously. "Wherever you want."

The alien escorted him into the Grand Admiral's presence.

It was Thrawn. Thrawn, seated on a commander's chair in the middle of the room, holographic artwork floating around him and a cool expression on his face.

"Admiral!" Eli exclaimed, stepping forward. Thank the stars it was him! Eli could explain everything, and then—

Thrawn held up a hand, and the alien slithered between them with its hand on its blaster. Eli halted in his tracks, staring at them both uncertainly.

"You're not Thrawn," he said slowly.

"I am," said the Chiss calmly, in Basic. "You appear to know me, but I don't know you."

His eyes flicked up and down Eli's body, and his face hardened. "Explain your uniform, and how you came to be on this planet."

"I—" Eli glanced down at his clothes, the solid black of the Chiss Defense Fleet, with their distinctive seven-pointed star on his rank patch. He looked back up at Thrawn, who was watching him with cold eyes.

He looked...older. Chiss didn't show signs of age quite like humans, but there were lines around his eyes that hadn't been there when Eli had seen him just weeks ago, and if Eli squinted, he could make out threads of grey in Thrawn's hair in the dim light. Eli's mind whirred. Thrown into the future, maybe...but Thrawn didn't recognize him, and frankly, Eli didn't see much of the Thrawn he knew in this version, either.

The truth was slowly dawning on him.

"Unless," Thrawn added, his voice silky, "you would prefer to speak to Imperial interrogators?"

Eli bit back a gasp of both fear and anger—Imperial interrogations were famous for both their efficiency and their brutality—then cleared his throat and straightened his spine. He wished his head wasn't throbbing. He wished his heart didn't feel like it was going to explode out of his chest, looking at this imposter version of the man he knew and respected.

"Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo," he said formally in Cheunh, and Thrawn's glowing eyes widened briefly before he schooled his expression. "I can explain."

Thrawn raised an eyebrow and remained silent. The alien kept its hand on its blaster. Eli swallowed.

"Have you heard of the multiverse theory?" he asked, and Thrawn's eyes narrowed.

"I have," he said coolly. "Continue."

So Eli did—he explained about Vah'nya and the Jedi holocron, about how he'd stupidly walked right into her Force wormhole when he'd rushed to her side, and, briefly, about how he had gotten to the Ascendancy in the first place.

He explained about the other Thrawn, his Thrawn, and this Thrawn's face grew very still.

Then Thrawn started asking questions.

"What is your role in the Defense Fleet and on which ship are you stationed?"

"Why did you desert the Imperial Navy?"

"How well did your Thrawn know you?"

He skipped from topic to topic, Eli unable to follow the thread that connected them. But mostly, Thrawn asked about Eli.

Eli probably should have lied, or at least omitted some details, but he had spent years trusting Thrawn, and he had to hope that this version was at least close to as honorable as the man he knew.

By the time Thrawn was done, Eli was wavering on his feet and his throat was hoarse. Thrawn steepled his fingers and examined him for a long moment.

"Take him to the infirmary, Rukh," he said, and Eli recognized the tone in his voice: thoughtful and distant, his teeth already sunk into the problem at hand. "Lieutenant Commander Vanto."

There was a trace of irony in his voice as he pronounced Eli's rank.

"You will rest," Thrawn ordered. "You will heal. And when you are rested, we will have a discussion about this story of yours, and what to do with you."

The ominous emphasis on discussion made Eli shiver a bit, but honestly, he was too tired to care much.

"Thank you, sir," he said with a salute, and let the alien—Rukh—guide him out.

II. Thrawn

Eli Vanto had not been lying.

However fantastical his story was, Thrawn was certain of one thing: he believed it wholeheartedly. Thrawn was familiar with the telltales of a skilled liar: the prolonged eye contact, the inflexibility of the story, the scarcely-covered desperation. Vanto had shown none of these. Though his story did stretch belief—there were no Chiss with Force abilities, for one—intuition told Thrawn it rang true.

The only other possible explanation was that Jorj Car'das or Maris Ferasi had passed on their knowledge of Cheunh to other humans, but even then, Vanto's accent was slight enough and his knowledge of the Defense Fleet doctrine deep enough to render that unbelievable. And it did not explain the uniform, which was authentic Defense Fleet-issue; the rank patch was woven with thread in colors humans couldn't perceive and would not have known to include.

Vanto, or a version of him, existed in the Navy database: a supply officer killed in action some years before the Battle of Endor. Skilled, by all accounts, if unambitious. Thrawn had run his genetic information against a swab from the inside of this Vanto's cheek. A perfect match. He had claimed to have been on the supply track before his career had been derailed by—Thrawn, apparently.

He considered that for a moment. Clearly there were more branches creating differences between their two realities than one meeting between two beings, but it was the most personal, and Thrawn couldn't help dwelling on it. The relationship Vanto had sketched had been one of long acquaintance, even friendship—perhaps more, to judge by the glow on Vanto's face when he spoke about his version of Thrawn—and unflinching loyalty.

Thrawn had had loyal subordinantes before. He had them now.

He had never truly had a friend before. Certainly not since Thrass—

Ancient history.

Thrawn keyed the word Lysatra into his console and pulled up information on Vanto's home planet, items of cultural and artistic significance. Ghostly in the dim light, they floated around him in a half-circle. Sculpts and flats, scarecrows and carvings, the text of folk tales: data to be absorbed and interpreted in the context of Vanto's sudden appearance and story.

Vanto, according to the data he already had, was skilled with numbers, and not art. Thrawn could see how that, in addition to the right personality, would complement Thrawn's own methods of analysis.

There was, Thrawn observed as he examined the holos, a streak of romanticism in Lysatran art, an inclination to valorize nobility and loyalty, to make commonplace affection and emotion. A strong appreciation of stability, a fear of the unknown. It would have been a difficult transition, coming from a culture such as that to the Imperial Navy. Thrawn could imagine it: a young Vanto, uncertain of his place amid these new cultural norms, perhaps without a tight rein on that temper of his. Easy to like nonetheless. Easy to manipulate. Useful.

Thrawn never set aside useful tools, especially ones that walked right into his web.

He only needed to confirm one thing.

Thrawn pressed a button on the arm of his chair and a channel opened up to the bridge.

"Captain Pellaeon," he said. "I have a message to transmit to Jomark. Tell C'baoth I need him here as soon as possible. And that this is not a request."

Vanto was back on his feet quickly enough, youth being on his side—though contrasted with the rest of the Chimaera's crew, Vanto seemed mature indeed. He would have been thirty-eight, Thrawn remembered from the database record, if he had survived this long in Thrawn's universe. As it was, he estimated Vanto's age at about thirty. Young enough to have missed the spectacular destruction of the Executor and the collapse of Palpatine's Empire; from his story, he had left his universe earlier than that. Although Vanto, thousands of light-years away in the Ascendancy, would likely have not known of the disaster until much later.

A human commander in the Defense Fleet. Thrawn pictured the Ar'alani he knew, and couldn't imagine her agreeing to such a thing. But she had.

Thrawn eyed the man, who was standing by his side in the hangar bay, still and watchful. He nearly had the composure of a Chiss warrior, now that he was healed from his concussion, but Thrawn still saw flashes of emotion in his eyes that no Chiss would ever show. Humans. So careless with their emotions; so casual with their expressions.

Thrawn wondered how Vanto would feel if he knew he might die today.

His life hung on this encounter with C'baoth, their mad Jedi master, and whether or not he declared Vanto to be duplicitous. Thrawn could think of several ways this could go: C'baoth could pronounce Vanto a perfect liar, perhaps one who had falsified his death to cover his desertion from the Navy, in which case he would be executed on the spot. C'baoth could declare him honest, and Thrawn would find a use to which to put him.

Or C'baoth could tell Thrawn what he halfway suspected already: that Vanto was only partly a liar, and had made the story up to cover up the truth. He was the Jedi, come from a parallel universe for reasons unknown, an invader.

It seemed more likely than the Chiss harboring a contingent of Force users, at any rate.

Vanto shifted on his feet, leaning closer to Thrawn. Rukh, at Thrawn's other hand, went tense. Thrawn raised a hand microscopically to order him to stand down.

"Sir," Vanto said in a low voice, "who are we waiting for?"

Thrawn hadn't told Vanto a single thing about this meeting, counting on his lack of preparation to make it easier for C'baoth to read him, and also to test his patience. Vanto had proved very patient indeed, but not so much as to go into a situation blind. Thrawn approved of this.

"We await a Jedi Master," Thrawn told him, and watched Vanto's face tighten, his eyes narrowing, tension in his shoulders.

"I thought the Jedi were dead," he said.

"Not all," Thrawn said, thinking not only of C'baoth, who as a clone may not strictly count, but of Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa Solo, infuriatingly avoiding his Noghri commandos time and time again. "Indeed, some still live."

"And they're working for the Empire? Like the Inquisitors?"

Thrawn was unaware of any group called the Inquisitors within the past century.

"Perhaps," he said. "You'll have to tell me more about your Inquisitors at a later date."

"Well, they're not my Inquisitors," Vanto said, flushing. Thrawn watched the heat rise in his cheeks. "I don't know much about them, really. Only—"

There was a series of clangs as a shuttle made its way into the hangar bay, and both Thrawn and Vanto jerked their attention away from the conversation.

"Later," Vanto muttered, and Thrawn inclined his head in acknowledgement.

C'baoth burst from the shuttle in a fury, scanning the bay for Thrawn and stalking towards him and Vanto. Thrawn had elected not to use the ysalamiri for this encounter, deeming it a worthwhile risk to get information from Vanto, but he had stormtroopers with ysalamiri nutrient frames on them meters away, just a few steps from enclosing them within their protective Force-repelling bubble.

They weren't necessary; C'baoth was not furious, after all, but delighted.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn!" he said in his raspy voice. "You have found me a Jedi after all."

So Thrawn had been right. A pity, to sell Vanto to C'baoth in exchange for the mad Jedi's compliance, but sacrifices had to be made.

Thrawn ignored the odd feeling this gave him, and watched their encounter in silence.

C'baoth whirled to Vanto, whose mouth had opened in an O of surprise.

"You," C'baoth said, "you will be the first. The first, but not the last. Soon they will flock to me, and they will know power—"

He stopped talking. Vanto said, "I'm not a Jedi."

"You're not a Jedi," C'baoth repeated. Thrawn's eyebrows rose. "Then...how?"

"How what, Master C'baoth?" Thrawn interjected, and the man spun to face him.

"What have you brought me?" he hissed. "Is it a trick?"

"What do you sense?" Thrawn asked. Vanto looked like he'd been slapped with a colo claw.

"He—" C'baoth jabbed a finger at Vanto. "He is not one of us."

"In what sense?" Thrawn inquired calmly. When C'baoth was in this mood, it was best to keep one's temper in check and not sink to his level.

"Yeah," Vanto said, "in what sense?"

In his voice was a challenge, one that C'baoth would not hesitate to rise to. Clearly, Vanto objected to his demeanor for whatever reason. C’baoth did have that effect. Thrawn closed his eyes briefly in resignation.

"Imposter!" C'baoth hissed. "I can feel you in the Force. You cannot fool a Jedi Master. You are not of this universe!"

"Well, you're not wrong there!" Vanto retorted. His flush had risen again; Thrawn could see the heat patterns down his neck, hiding under the collar of his tunic.

As so often happened with C'baoth, Thrawn had the sense that things were getting out of hand. He regretted having this confrontation in the hangar bay, with so many listening ears.

"Master C'baoth," Thrawn said smoothly, gesturing to the stormtroopers with the nutrient frames. They stepped forward obediently. He added a trace of warning to his voice. "Lieutenant Commander Vanto."

Vanto snapped to attention; C'baoth turned an irate stare on the stormtroopers, then on Thrawn.

"Do not summon me again, Grand Admiral Thrawn," he said imperiously, "unless you have Jedi for me."

"It is noted, Master C'baoth," Thrawn said. C'baoth sneered at him and turned away.

"And you," he said to Vanto. "Stay out of my sight."

"Won't be a problem," Vanto muttered under his breath as C'baoth stalked away.

They watched him go for a moment.

"Well," Thrawn said eventually. "That was informative."

"Want to tell me what the point of that was, Admiral?" Vanto asked, considerably more acerbically than he should have spoken to a commanding officer.

"No," Thrawn said. "Think on it, and tell me your reasoning later."

Vanto stared at him for a long few seconds, struggling to subdue his anger with his Chiss-trained composure.

"Fine, sir," he said with a grimace, clearly shoving the emotion away. He exhaled harshly, then straightened and looked Thrawn in the eye. "Orders, sir?"

"I've given you quarters on deck Isk," Thrawn told him. "You will eat in the mess hall unless I tell you otherwise. Await orders to report." He favored Vanto with a thin smile. "Until then, your time is your own."

He turned his back on Vanto, clasping his hands behind his back, and summoned Rukh with a jerk of his head.

The confrontation had gone better than he had expected. Vanto was telling the truth, and could therefore to an extent be trusted; C'baoth had not killed anyone; and while rumor no doubt was already spreading as to what the Jedi Master had meant by not of this universe , perhaps Thrawn could put the air of mystery surrounding Vanto to good use.

Yes, he could work with this.

III. Eli

Eli had expected to be bored. He'd expected to have his access to the computer system locked down, to go nowhere without an accompanying security guard, to generally be treated with suspicion, much like how it had been aboard the Steadfast before Ar'alani had started to trust him.

Instead, he was allowed to wander anywhere he wanted, except the bridge and weapons clusters. He could look up anything, and in fact spent hours poring through the details of what had happened in the past nine years—nothing good, in Eli's opinion; the New Republic seemed like a mess.

It was incredibly impressive, what Thrawn had done, gathering the scraps of the Imperial Navy and forming it into a fighting force to be reckoned with. In short, it was exactly what Eli expected of him.

The crew was distrustful. Half of them seemed to think he had the Karatos plague and treated him as such; the rest regarded him with wary skepticism. Who knew what the rumors were about him, after that Jedi's proclamation? Eli ate his meals alone.

It had been days since he'd spoken to Thrawn. That bothered him.

Eli laid on his bunk, fingers interlaced, trying to meditate in the Chiss fashion and failing miserably. He was thinking about Vah'nya, wondering what had happened to her, if she was all right. It preyed on him, thinking of her guilt and her fear, and how he had caused both. He was thinking about ways to get home, going over each idea with a fine-toothed comb and tossing each one out with increasing despair. And he was thinking about Thrawn—both of them. Did he miss Eli? What game was the other one playing? Eli had to admit that the Chiss was rarely far from his mind, but it was annoying to be fixated on two of them.

"This is absurd," he announced to the empty room. "A completely ridiculous situation all around."

"Indeed?"

Eli started and sat up in surprise. He hadn't even heard the door swish open. So much for all his training.

Thrawn stood in the doorway, the faintest of smiles on his face; someone who didn't know him as well as Eli did probably wouldn't even notice it.

"Yeah," Eli said belatedly. "You have to admit it's weird."

"It is." Thrawn tilted his head to the side, studying him. Eli felt pinned by that glowing red gaze, like a target stuck with a dagger. "But I have found a use for you nonetheless."

"Happy to help," Eli said, deadpan.

Thrawn arched an eyebrow that clearly said he'd heard the sarcasm, but didn't say anything except, "Walk with me."

He hovered in the doorway patiently while Eli put on his boots.

"What use have you found for me?" Eli asked as he did so.

"Have you decided why I arranged for your encounter with C'baoth?" Thrawn asked in return. Eli frowned at him.

"Of course," he said. "You wanted him to use his Jedi mind-reading skills to see if I was telling the truth or not. Hope you were happy with the answer."

"I was," Thrawn said evenly. There was another layer to his reply, besides what he said, but Eli couldn't quite catch it. He waited for Eli to join him before he set off through the corridors.

He said nothing as they walked, leaving Eli the opportunity to sneak glances at him. His face was still sterner than the Thrawn Eli knew, and his accent was almost imperceptibly different; comparing the two men's voices, Eli thought his Thrawn's accent had traces of Eli's own Wild Space drawl in it.

Well, not his Thrawn. Eli's face warmed. The Thrawn from his universe.

He glanced at the man by his side and caught him looking back. Thrawn raised an eyebrow as if in question.

"So," Eli blurted out, "what am I going to be doing here again?"

"In a moment," Thrawn said, in that frustratingly tranquil voice of his. So that transcended time and space. Good to know.

It was eerie, how there were flashes he recognized in this Thrawn, and then glimpses of a man Eli didn't know at all, someone with sharper edges and flintier eyes. Someone more dangerous to know—and that was saying something, because Thrawn was already plenty dangerous to his enemies.

It was a little appealing, if Eli was being honest with himself. Very appealing.

They entered Thrawn's command room, which was empty—not even Rukh was in there. The door swished shut behind them and locked with a click.

Thrawn turned to Eli and said, "What I am about to show you is highly classified. No one else aboard this ship, or indeed in the Empire, will have full access to this information."

Unspoken: the threat of what would happen if he spilled the information to anyone. Eli swallowed.

"Yes, sir,"  he said, and Thrawn inclined his head.

"I'm glad you understand," he said, and from a console on the wall, summoned holograms.

These holos weren't art, like Eli had seen before, but the minutiae of wartime: battle readouts, supply listings, blueprints of alien ships, endlessly scrolling data Eli couldn't interpret out of context.

"Forty years," Thrawn murmured from behind him as Eli went closer to investigate. "Forty years of data, gathered from the Chiss, from the Vagaari, from species all across the Unknown Regions. Some of it I collected myself."

"What is it?" Eli asked, flicking through some data that seemed to be a comparison of one of the alien ship's composition to Rugosa coral. "A threat, I'm guessing."

"Indeed," Thrawn said. "There are threats to the galaxy unknown to most. Some are known, in their entirety, only to me." He gestured at the holos. "I call them the Far Outsiders."

This was ringing a bell, but…

"It doesn't look like Grysk design," Eli said out loud. "Maybe a client species? Or..."

"Who are the Grysk?" Thrawn interjected into Eli's thoughts.

"Invaders from the Unknown Regions," Eli said absently, sorting through some of the data. "They enslave entire species."

"The Far Outsiders are not from the Unknown Regions."

Eli frowned.

"Where are they from, then?" he asked. "I don't know about here, but the galaxy is pretty well-mapped where I'm from."

"Why, they are not from here at all," Thrawn said mildly. "Far from it. They come from outside the galaxy."

"Outside…" Eli trailed off, staring at Thrawn. "Do you not have the hyperspace disturbance here?"

That would be incredible, if so. For millennia, civilizations had tried to travel through the hyperspace disturbance surrounding the edge of the galaxy that made it impossible for conventional hyperdrives to navigate—even the Chiss navigators couldn't figure it out. No one had ever succeeded.

"We do," Thrawn assured him. He was watching Eli intently, gauging his reaction. Eli felt himself flush under the weight of his stare. "However, it is my belief that the Far Outsiders do not use hyperdrives for FTL travel, and can therefore penetrate the disturbance."

"You think they have technology that no one in the past thirty million years has managed to make?"

Thrawn's eyes narrowed at the skepticism in Eli's voice.

"If you look at the data we've collected from their ships," he said, reaching over Eli's shoulder, his arm brushing against Eli, and flicking through the holos, "we have never found a trace of hyperdrive emissions from any vessel."

"Doesn't it make more sense to think they're shuttles without hyperdrives, then?" Eli asked, then checked himself. "But on the edge of the Crispin system...I'd be surprised if there were any unknown civilizations way out there."

"Exactly," Thrawn said. "Yet you still doubt."

"You have to admit it sounds extraordinary," Eli said, a little defensively.

"Then you will just have to trust me," Thrawn said evenly.

"I don't even know you," Eli shot back, but his hair was prickling on the back of his neck. Because he did know Thrawn, in a way, and if the Thrawn Eli knew had presented him with this information…

Eli may try to poke holes in the story, but he would end up believing it. After all, it was Thrawn.

"Ah, but you do," Thrawn said, eerily echoing his thoughts. "Unless you have less trust in this other Thrawn than you imply, why would you doubt me?"

"You're not the same person," Eli said heatedly, "and I don't appreciate you trying to get a rise out of me like that."

Thrawn looked taken aback, which was a rare enough expression that Eli savored it.

"I see," he said slowly. Eli could feel his mind ticking away, hopefully cataloguing Eli as not so easily manipulated. "Tell me, Lieutenant Commander, do you always raise your voice so to commanding officers?"

There was a trace of amusement in his voice now.

"I'm not your subordinate," Eli pointed out. "I'm not in the Imperial Navy, and you're not in the CDF."

"That's true," Thrawn agreed. His gaze was speculative. "You are an independent agent."

"Maybe I should charge you for consulting," Eli said thoughtfully. Thrawn arched an eyebrow, a slight smile on his lips.

"The pleasure of my company isn't enough?"

Eli went very red. Thrawn's gaze lingered on his face, and Eli remembered that he could see in infrared; dim lighting wasn't going to save him.

"Your company is fine," Eli said in a strangled voice.

"Fine," Thrawn repeated, amused. "Very complimentary, Lieutenant Commander Vanto. I thank you."

"Anyway!" Eli said. "The data."

"Yes," Thrawn said, dropping the topic of how Eli felt about him. Thankfully, since Eli was very thrown off balance. Thrawn hadn’t teased him like that before. "The data don't lie, Lieutenant Commander. I could use a man of your skill to ferret out its secrets."

Eli swallowed. This, at least, was solid ground.

"Yeah," he said. "I can do that."

At least until he found a way to get back home.

Eli was grateful to have something to do with his time—something that didn't involve thinking about Thrawn—but as the days dragged on and the data, which was sparse, became a blur, he found it harder and harder to keep the man out of his mind.

Every day, Thrawn requested a verbal report from him on the subject of the Far Outsiders data analysis. So every day, Eli went to his command room, stood with military posture, and recited all he had discovered to Thrawn, who watched him from over steepled fingers with a piercing gaze, all business. But his eyes always lingered on Eli, flickering from his face to his body, and Eli wondered—

"Focus," he mumbled to himself, and tried to concentrate. But there was nothing new here to be discovered; Eli needed more data.

He was not looking forward to telling that to Thrawn, who seemed to have pinned his hopes on Eli.

Abruptly, he was tired of looking at these streams of information. If Thrawn kept to the pattern he had the past week, he would summon Eli soon anyway. Eli might as well get a head start.

Thrawn was usually on the bridge or in his command room. Eli had never seen him in the mess hall or gym, or any of the other common areas. That was something that set the two Thrawns apart; the one Eli knew made a point of mingling with the crew to the extent appropriate, which was part of the reason why he commanded so much loyalty. This Thrawn...Eli had heard rumors from those among the crew who had unbent enough to talk to him that he'd killed a man for not owning up to a mistake.

But his crew was fanatically loyal anyway. Thrawn just seemed to attract that type, and whether that was due to competence or charisma or both, Eli didn’t know.

He wended his way through the corridors, looking very out of place in his much-washed Defense Fleet uniform among the sea of olive green, until he came to Thrawn's command room. It was locked.

"Eli Vanto to see Grand Admiral Thrawn," he said, touching the embedded comlink on the wall.

A pause, long enough to make Eli wonder if he'd misjudged the time after all, and then the door swished open.

Rukh was in the entry room, but made no gesture to stop or speak to Eli, only watching him with intent. Eli met his gaze and nodded before walking into the command room.

Where he froze, because Thrawn was shirtless.

He was covered in a sheen of sweat, his body muscled and lean; he had a scar on his side, a laser burn, white against his cobalt skin. His hair was slightly mussed, a few grey-tinged locks coming free of its impeccable gel. They curled against his damp temples. For some reason, Eli focused on this, a sign that Thrawn was not necessarily as cool and collected as he seemed; he was capable of being ruffled.

He realized, suddenly, that he very badly wanted to sink his hands in Thrawn's hair, lick the sweat off his chest, and heat flooded his face.

"Lieutenant Commander Vanto," Thrawn said politely, and Eli realized he was staring.

"Sir," Eli stammered, "yes, I've come to deliver my report."

"Oh?" Thrawn looked curious, leaning against the command chair. "Have you discovered something?"

"The opposite, I'm afraid."

Eli explained the problem, and Thrawn's face grew still.

"I see," he said when Eli was finished. "That is unfortunate indeed."

"Yeah," Eli agreed. "Do you still have contacts in the Ascendancy who can get you more information?"

"I have contacts," Thrawn said absently. "Not in the Ascendancy."

"Not even Ar'alani or Thrass?"

Thrawn went rigid and his eyes flashed as he looked at Eli, and Eli bit his lip.

"No," Thrawn said after a moment. "Not even them."

After a moment, Eli offered, "Sorry."

He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for, but for a few seconds before Thrawn had composed his face again, he'd looked like he'd been knifed. Was it Ar'alani or Thrass who he had lost?

Thrass, Eli thought, his brother, who was maybe the one person in the galaxy Eli was sure Thrawn loved. Apparently even this version of him.

"No need to apologize," Thrawn said, voice cool again, and changed the subject. "I will do what I can to get you your data, Commander. In the meantime, would you care to spar?"

Belatedly, Eli noticed the exercise mats in the room. That explained why Thrawn was shirtless.

"Oh," Eli said. His pulse kicked up a notch. "Sure."

He undid the clingzip that held his tunic together and stripped down to his undershirt, then bent over to take off his boots, mimicking Thrawn, all the while aware of Thrawn's eyes on him. There was an undercurrent of tension in the room—remnants of Eli name-dropping Thrass, maybe. Maybe something else.

"Are you ready?"

Eli moved to an exercise mat and nodded, executing a swift bow, the traditional beginning to any Chiss ch'etecici'ahn ch'ast match. He caught a faint smile on Thrawn's face as he did the same.

Then Thrawn lunged at him.

He didn't seem interested in drawing blood, but he definitely wasn't holding back, either. Still, Eli had sparred with Thrawn countless times before, and he saw that this one had the same habits—most noticeably, he favored his left side, the side with the burn scar. He was very good at hiding it, but it was there.

Eli waited until there was a gap in his defense, then went for it, tackling Thrawn onto the mat. Thrawn was taller and stronger than Eli, but he couldn't wrestle for krayt spit. Eli usually won once it got to this point.

But usually, he wasn't hyper-aware of Thrawn's skin sliding over his, or the way his muscles strained and released as he fought to get free of Eli's grip. He wasn't thinking about the way their legs were entwined, or the odd, alien scent of him, only noticeable when his face was pressed against Thrawn's shoulder. He wasn't focused on Thrawn's face and the light purple flush suffusing his skin. But he was this time, and he was thinking about all these things in an entirely different context when Thrawn flipped him over and took control.

They scrabbled at each other on the floor, Eli resorting to dirty tricks, yanking on Thrawn's hair—which earned him a weirdly reptilian hiss and narrowed eyes—and trying, unsuccessfully, to knee him in the crotch. He'd never managed that before, had no idea if it would even affect Thrawn the way it did humans. It was worth a shot.

But it was useless; slowly, inexorably, the tide turned against Eli, and then suddenly he was on his stomach, muscles burning as he strained against Thrawn's durasteel grip, and Thrawn laid his forearm across Eli's neck, pressing him into the mat. His weight pinned Eli down as he straddled Eli's hips; his skin was cool to the touch. Eli was helplessly, hopelessly hard.

"Do you yield?" Thrawn asked softly, his lips brushing Eli's ear, and Eli's hips jerked involuntarily.

"Yes," he said, and his voice came out hoarse. "Fine, I yield."

Thrawn took a deep breath, then swung off Eli's body, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor. Eli laid facedown for a moment, willing his erection to go down.

"You fought well," Thrawn said. He sounded satisfied.

"Thanks," Eli said into the floor. "You too."

"Are you well, Lieutenant Commander?"

Eli closed his eyes and cursed Thrawn mentally, then rolled over, hoping he'd deflated enough that it wouldn't show.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. Was the gleam of satisfaction in Thrawn's eyes purely from winning the match, or did he have ulterior motives?

Eli knew which option he wanted. And the fact that it was a terrible idea didn't make him want it any less.

IV. Thrawn

Thrawn had overstepped with the flirtatious remark. He understood that. Vanto was much more skittish than he had originally thought, perhaps afraid of his own burgeoning feelings for Thrawn—and whether those feelings were for himself or for the other version, Thrawn didn't know. It didn't matter. Vanto's attraction did, for it was a useful tool, and his infatuation with Thrawn would make him pliable. Hence the match; hence grappling on the floor for dominance, skin against skin, Vanto's body taut and ready under his.

The thought lingered in his mind, long after he had showered off the sweat of the match and dressed in a clean uniform. He sat in his quarters, a datapad in his hand, and concentrated on extrapolating possible poor outcomes for the Katana operation and their countermeasures.

It was difficult. Too difficult.

Unusual, for him to be this compelled by animal lust. In his rasher youth, when he had first come to the Empire, he had taken human lovers, but the years had worn him down; he did not much enjoy being a fetish, and that was usually the motivation of humans who sought out an alien partner. Others wouldn't risk it, with the Empire's attitude toward interspecies relationships. Thus, the majority of the past two decades he had spent alone, and his own desires had dwindled until they were little more than occasional urges to be fulfilled in minutes and then forgotten.

Eli Vanto, he thought, would not treat him like a fetish.

Thrawn closed his eyes briefly, the datapad forgotten. Vanto— Eli , he thought, his mouth shaping the name, the word perversely intimate—had struggled underneath him today, fighting with all his strength to win their match, unsuccessfully. His body had arched and twisted under Thrawn's, his skin hot even through fabric. Thrawn had pinned his wrists and leaned his forearm on Eli's neck—he had left bruises, he was sure, shadows under Eli's skin. Thrawn's marks. And Eli had reacted; Thrawn was familiar enough with human sexual arousal to mark it, the way Eli had shivered under Thrawn's weight, the jerk of his hips against the ground, seeking sensation.

If Thrawn had been a more impulsive man, he would have pressed the issue; would have licked along the shell of his ear, hiked up his undershirt to press a hand to his warm skin. Human skin was softer than a Chiss', more fragile, more pleasant to stroke. Thrawn would have caressed him until Eli was gasping. Where was he most sensitive? Along the ribs, where many humans were ticklish? The curve of his spine where it met his skull? If Thrawn nipped him on the neck, would he squeak?

Thrawn wanted to experiment with him, wanted to play Eli like a veu'tuni and see what kind of songs he could make him sing. Eli would have to beg for release before Thrawn gave it, he thought, and he could imagine Eli's mouth shaping the words, his voice tinged with desperation.

Thrawn had to get out of his uniform before he soiled it with arousal. He could feel his lzatah swelling inside him, preparing to evert and bring his secretions with it. Setting the datapad down, he stood and stripped with the efficiency of long habit, and made his way to his bunk. Lying back, he spread his legs and cupped his lzatah , letting it slide out of him with a gush of fluid. Thrawn shivered with pleasure as it slid between his fingers, free of his body, the spongy tissue swelling larger.

Eli was not a patient man, but he would be, Thrawn suspected, if ordered to be so. He might talk back when he deemed it appropriate, but he liked to please. Thrawn closed his eyes again and imagined Eli's naked body, fit and lithe. Brown skin, such a fascinating contrast to Thrawn's blue. His nipples would be several shades darker, and—though Thrawn had no data to support this—he imagined they would be very sensitive. Eli would twitch when Thrawn put his mouth to them; he'd whimper when Thrawn attached the clamps, souveniers of his past excursions, now put to good use on a being Thrawn wanted very, very badly.

He bit back a groan as he slid his hand down his shaft, thumb sliding over the ridges and skating over the sensitive membrane on the underside of each. At the base of the shaft, he slipped the tip of a finger into the eversion pocket, a powerful sensation that made him grit his teeth; it was halfway between pleasure and pain, and Thrawn loved it. His hips twitched and he gasped, palming himself and tightening his grip.

Eli would be very tight when penetrated. Though again he lacked the data, Thrawn liked to imagine he was inexperienced, at least with that sort of exploration. He wanted the satisfaction of showing that unique pleasure to Eli—or, if he were being more honest with himself, of taking him for the first time. Virginity was not a social construct among the Chiss, but he had been in the Empire too long to not have some of its fixations leak over into his mind, he supposed.

And the thought of Eli, gasping in never-before-experienced pleasure, impaled on his lzatah , made his hand convulse around his shaft, and Thrawn broke, fluid gushing over his fingers, hips arching, teeth embedded in his lower lip to keep anything more than a hiss from escaping. Old habit, again; he had never liked being expressive with his sexual partners, or even alone.

Orgasm, he thought when he had finished, would be much more satisfying if he could come on Eli's face.

He laid there for a moment, staring at the blank ceiling. Playing on Eli's feelings had seemed a much better idea before he indulged in this fantasy. He was, he was forced to admit, tired of being alone.

But he was in control of his emotions. It would be a risk, but not a great one.

Thrawn exhaled, and sat up, his come sticky on his stomach. To the refresher, then, and back to the Katana fleet. He had work to do.

V. Eli

Still banned from the bridge—which irked him in the extreme—Eli only found out the results of the battle when Kdeylin, a weapons officer and one of the few on this Chimaera Eli had managed to befriend, told him.

"One-hundred eighty ships!" she said exultantly, "and the Rebel fleet ran away! It's been a good day, Vanto."

"Sounds like it," he said with a grin, her enthusiasm infectious. "Where did you even get them?"

"The Grand Admiral has his sources," she said with a shrug. "But rumor has it—" Her voice dropped low. "—that it's the Katana fleet."

"The Katana fleet?" Eli repeated. "The missing slave-rigged ships?"

If that was true, it meant that Thrawn had just come into possession of one hundred and eighty Star Destroyers. Eli swallowed. That was an incredible amount of firepower, and in Thrawn's hands…

Eli didn't think much of the Rebellion's chances.

"Yeah," Kdeylin confirmed. "Can you believe it?"

"It's almost unbelievable," Eli admitted. "But I can see Admiral Thrawn pulling it off."

"Yeah." Her face clouded. "Did you hear about the Jedi?"

C'baoth. His chest contracted. "No, what about him?"

"Apparently he showed up on the Chimaera and spoke to the Grand Admiral for a while, and now he's in control of that secret project on that one planet. I heard it from Delli and he said—"

Gossip was the lifeblood of a ship across universes, Eli thought wryly, before his mind caught up to what Kdeylin was saying.

"Wait," he cut her off. "C'baoth's here?"

"Yeah," she said. "Why?"

But Eli had already started backing away.

"I'll be right back," he said, and turned around and set off for the hangar bay at a brisk jog.

C'baoth was boarding his shuttle when Eli whipped around the corner, nearly at a run now, and made it into the hangar bay.

"Master C'baoth!" he called out, and hoped that this impulsive decision didn't mess things up too badly.

The Jedi Master stopped and turned around, fixing Eli with a regal stare.

"Imposter," he said coldly. "What do you want?"

"I have a question for you," Eli said. He was extremely aware of the crewmembers in the hangar bay staring at him, and—he winced—of Thrawn, who had been speaking with the hangar master and was now watching him intently. "Can we talk inside?"

C'baoth stared at him, then turned around and stalked into the shuttle. Eli, figuring that was a yes, followed.

"Speak," C'baoth said in a commanding voice, but Eli didn't flinch. Better to just go through with it, he thought, and gritted his teeth.

"I was wondering," Eli said, "if before you left, you could try to send me back to my universe."

C'baoth just looked at him.

"Then I wouldn't be an imposter here anymore," Eli pointed out. There was disgust written across C'baoth's face; not a good sign. "And I'm sure a Jedi Master of your power can do it easily."

"Do you think I am so susceptible to flattery than you can sway me?" C'baoth demanded.

The answer was yes. Eli didn't say it, but C'baoth saw it in his face—or in his mind. Eli shuddered at the thought.

C'baoth drew himself up.

"When I have my Jedi and they are properly trained to obey me," he said, "I will consider your request." Something hissed in his hands. Eli glanced down and saw dark lightning in his palms, and he broke out in a cold sweat. "Until then, get out."

Eli got out with alacrity.

Once safely away from the shuttle, he took several deep breaths, trying to cool his racing heart, raking his hand through his hair.

He should've known better than to speak to C'baoth, who was deeply unstable and unbelievably arrogant to boot. But hells, he was tired of being stuck here. He missed his old life. He missed Vah'nya.

He missed Thrawn.

And that, stupidly, felt like a betrayal of the Thrawn from this universe. Eli ducked into an unused supply alcove and leaned against the wall, rubbing his hand over his face.

He was, he had to admit, at a point where he didn't even know how he felt about Thrawn—either of them. Sometimes, the differences were stark, and Eli knew that he owed his loyalty to the Thrawn from his universe, and not this cruel-edged version; and then there were other times when this Thrawn, with a gesture or a tone of voice, was so much like the Thrawn he knew Eli ached for it.

This Thrawn was more expressive with his emotions, quicker to show anger and quicker to discipline his subordinates, and slower with smiles. But when he did smile at Eli, they cut deep. Eli felt pride when he earned a smile from Thrawn, usually. Not only that, with this alternate version, who quickened his breath and made him think—

That was something else altogether, a dark knot inside him he couldn't untangle. When he fantasized—and he did, couldn't help it, not since their sparring session—he thought about this Thrawn, and the way he'd pinned Eli down, the smugness in his voice when he told Eli to yield. It made Eli's pulse race and he wanted—he wasn't even sure. He wanted to fight Thrawn again. He wanted teeth and violence and maybe even blood; he wanted to be held down and to struggle, knowing he couldn't win. He wanted Thrawn panting in his ear and telling him to beg for it.

But when his heart ached, it wasn't due to thoughts of that Thrawn.

Stars, this was hard.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and allowed himself to think it.

What if I can't go back?

He pondered that for a long moment. He'd been avoiding the thought all this time, clinging to a desperate hope that C'baoth could help. Stupid of him. But what were his alternatives? He didn't have a shred of Jedi power. Was he supposed to defect to the Rebellion and try to get Luke Skywalker to help him?

He couldn't do that. Not to Thrawn, even this one.

"Lieutenant Commander Vanto?"

An ensign, who from her unhappy face had drawn the short straw to come talk to him. Eli dropped his hand to his side and straightened.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn wants you in his command room," she said. "Immediately."

"I'll go," Eli said, and she nodded shortly and turned on her heel, leaving him alone in the alcove.

He went.

There was one holo lit up in the command room, a moving sculp of a flower continuously blooming, then folding in on itself. Thrawn stood before it, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't move when Eli entered the room and Rukh shut the door behind him.

"Sir," Eli said, saluting.

Thrawn said nothing for a long moment. Eli waited, growing tenser as the seconds passed. Then, "Is it so objectionable here, Vanto?"

"Sir?" Eli asked, thrown by both the question and the lack of a rank. Thrawn glanced at him, his red eyes barely outshone by the holo.

"Is it so objectionable?" Thrawn repeated. "I have given you room and board, tasks to occupy your mind. I saved your life when you would have died. And yet, you go to C'baoth, who could have killed you easily in a fit of pique, because you are desperate to go home. Why?"

Eli stared at him.

"Because it's my home," he said slowly. "It's where all my friends and family are. It's where I have a place."

"I'm giving you a place," Thrawn said. "You are useful here, Vanto, more so than you would be in your home universe." Eli flinched. Thrawn continued remorselessly. "Here, you have power Ar'alani and the Defense Fleet will never give you. Here, you can make an impact on a galactic scale. You could be the difference between winning and losing the war with the Far Outsiders."

His eyes glittered. "Why does that not satisfy you?"

There was an undercurrent to his voice, quite unlike his usual cool, questioning tone. Eli couldn't place it. But whatever it was made his voice come out gentler than he'd expected it to.

"I don't know," he said. "It just doesn't. Would you leave this universe for mine if you had a choice?"

"I would go wherever I would be more useful."

And he meant it, Eli realized with a shock. Whatever ties he had here—or had once had—they weren't enough to override his sense of duty and ambition.

"But," Thrawn added, eyes narrowing, "I cannot think of a universe in which I would be of more use than this one."

"That's probably true," Eli conceded, and sighed, running a hand through his hair again. "I don't know what to tell you, Admiral. If I get a chance to go home, I'll take it. I'm just being honest."

Thrawn had turned fully toward him. His posture was stiff, his lips pressed together; his burning eyes made Eli shiver.

"You won't have that chance," he said flatly. "There are no living Jedi powerful enough to send you back. So." He tilted his head thoughtfully. "What will it take to make living in this universe palatable for you?"

"Why do you care?" Eli countered before he could think twice. "I thought I was useful. Is that not good enough?"

Thrawn winced.

It was barely noticeable. Just a slight narrowing of the eyes and thinning of the lips, really. But still: Eli had cracked Thrawn's icy composure.

Eli thought about Thrawn, asking if his company was pleasurable. About Thrawn straddling him on the exercise mat. About Thrawn just now, with that infinitesimal flicker of a hurt expression crossing his face.

Thrawn could very easily be manipulating him. The one from Eli's universe wouldn't stoop to this level—probably—but this Thrawn would have no problem with it.

But if he wasn't…

Eli took a step forward. Thrawn's eyes flickered.

"I'm lonely," Eli said steadily. "I had friends, you know, real friends. People need companionship. Even Chiss. I had Vah'nya, and Ronan, and before that, Faro, and—well— you ."

He shrugged. "I don't have any of that now."

"I can't make friends for you," Thrawn said.

"No," Eli said. "You can't."

He left that hanging in the air between them. Thrawn was looking closely at him, examining him like he was only now really seeing Eli , and not just a useful tool.

Thrawn said his name in a low voice, and Eli stepped forward, grabbed Thrawn's uniform tunic in his hands, and yanked him close.

Thrawn kissed him first, his hand closing like a vise around Eli's jaw, steadying him. He kissed with intent, deeply, his tongue parting Eli's lips smoothly. His other hand came around to the back of Eli's neck, gripping him by the nape possessively; caught like a planet orbiting a star, Eli couldn't have pulled away if he'd tried.

He didn't try.

Instead, he kissed back, his heart racing, fisting his hand in Thrawn's tunic, pressing himself flush against his body. Teeth and tongue and Thrawn's hard grip on his neck: this wasn't going to be gentle. He slipped one hand up Thrawn's chest to sink his fingers in Thrawn's hair, ruining the smooth gel, and, going off instinct, pulled hard.

Thrawn hissed and did the same thing to Eli, except he bit Eli's lower lip at the same time, hard enough to draw blood, and Eli let out an embarrassing sound, half-gasp of shock, half-moan of pleasure.

"Ah," Thrawn said, pulling away slightly. His eyes glimmered. Even in the dim light, Eli could see the hectic flush that had risen on his cool skin. "I see."

He yanked Eli's hair again, this time laying a hand on top of his skull too and pushing him down to his knees. Eli went, a terrible pleasure jolting through him when his knees hit the floor in front of Thrawn.

"What are you doing?" he hissed.

"Whatever I want," Thrawn said silkily, and Eli's cock twitched.

"You think so?" he said, a little belligerently.

Thrawn twisted his hair until he gasped again, then abruptly pushed him backwards. Eli caught himself on his hands before he sprawled, and glared up at Thrawn.

"Yes," Thrawn said musingly. "I do think so, actually," and planted his boot on Eli's chest and pushed him flat.

Humiliation flashed through Eli, followed quickly by an incoherent thought that mostly consisted of more .

Thrawn stepped over Eli and dropped to his knees, straddling his hips in an odd mimicry of their sparring session. And maybe this wasn't so different, Eli thought, as he bucked his hips and twisted, Thrawn catching him by the wrists and pinning them to the floor, his fingers digging in deep enough to hurt.

"Eli," he said again, caressing the syllables, and leaned down and licked a stripe up Eli's neck.

Eli made an incoherent noise, his back arching, and demanded, "Do that again."

Thrawn huffed against his shoulder, face buried in his neck, and it took Eli a second to realize it was a laugh.

"So demanding," Thrawn purred. "I didn't expect that."

"You don't know me very well," Eli threw back.

With an almost insulting lack of effort, Thrawn switched to just one hand pinning down Eli's wrists, his grip still hard enough to bruise, and he caressed Eli's face, sketching the shape of his jaw, brushing over his lower lip, puffy from Thrawn's bite.

"That's true," he said softly. "For now."

Then he sat back and ground his hips against Eli's aching cock.

"Fuck," Eli burst out through gritted teeth.

"Tell me what you want," Thrawn said, infuriatingly calm, though his breathing was a little harsh.

"Stars, I—" Eli wriggled underneath him and Thrawn hissed between his teeth; Eli craned his head to see a noticeable bulge in his Navy-issue trousers. "I want us to take our clothes off, that's what I want."

"We can do that."

With one hand, Thrawn deftly undid the clingzip of Eli's tunic and tossed it open, then grabbed his undershirt and tore it down the middle. Which was absolutely, profoundly erotic.

"You're strong," Eli said stupidly. He was grinning, also stupidly, but stars, this was thrilling .

Thrawn was sharp and dangerous hovering over him, his hand now on Eli's throat.

"You like it," Thrawn pronounced, not a question at all. Eli strained his arms against his grip and Thrawn arched an eyebrow, leaning forward to put more of his weight on Eli's wrists.

This had the side effect of increasing the pressure on Eli's throat, too, which was definitely not safe, but he didn't give a damn when it made his stomach flutter and his cock twitch like that.

"Yeah," Eli gasped, "I like it. Will you—"

"What, Eli?" Thrawn's face was close enough to kiss him again, but he didn't, just whispered the words into Eli's mouth. "What do you want?"

"Squeeze," Eli said. "Choke me."

Thrawn's expression changed, going from almost malicious amusement to an intent stare.

"Choke you?" he asked. Eli winced.

"Too far?" he asked back, and Thrawn shook his head.

"I doubt you are capable of going too far for me," Thrawn said, and squeezed. He leaned down, nipped at Eli's ear as Eli gasped for air. "But I am honored by your trust."

It wasn't about trust, which was dangerous, and Eli knew it. It was about the risk, the thrill of danger, Thrawn's silky words and what that promised, about the pressure at his throat and his growing lightheadedness—

Thrawn let go of both his throat and his wrists and slapped him hard. Eli's head jerked to the side and he inhaled sharply, flooding his lungs with air. He grabbed at Thrawn's thighs as he took in huge breaths, running his hands up their muscled length.

"A moment," Thrawn said, and swung off Eli's hips, fingers working at the collar of his tunic. He stripped both it and his undershirt off while Eli stared, then slid Eli a sidelong glance.

"Undress," he commanded, and Eli was quick to obey.

When Eli was shirtless and working on his boots, Thrawn knelt behind him, gripping his biceps firmly.

"You keep yourself fit," he said approvingly.

"I am part of the CDF, you know," Eli pointed out, but his sass was ruined by his breathy voice as Thrawn pressed his bare chest against Eli's back and slid his hards around to Eli's front, finding his nipples and squeezing lightly. Eli jumped.

"Sensitive," Thrawn murmured against his neck. "I had hoped so."

Which implied he'd been thinking about this—

"You can be rougher," Eli whispered, arching his back into Thrawn's caress, his boots forgotten.

"I know," Thrawn said with amusement. "Quite the masochistic streak, Eli."

Eli flushed deeply. He wouldn't have said, before this, that he was masochistic; maybe a little submissive, but he'd never been like this before. That was all Thrawn's fault.

But he lost track of that trace of embarrassment when Thrawn slid a hand down his torso and palmed his cock, still trapped inside his trousers.

Eli moaned aloud and turned his face into Thrawn's neck as Thrawn's deft fingers opened his trousers and finally, finally touched him skin-to-skin.

It was electrifying, Thrawn's hand on his cock, and Eli was panting as Thrawn stroked him up and down, up and down, his hand just loose enough to keep Eli from coming.

"You—" Eli stuttered as Thrawn squeezed firmly. "You—will you—"

"Yes?"

"You know what I want," Eli whined in frustration, rolling his hips.

"Be polite about it, and perhaps you'll receive it."

Eli kept his mouth stubbornly closed, and felt Thrawn shrug slightly before he gripped Eli tightly and began to stroke in a fast, steady rhythm.

"Ah, fuck," Eli said, his voice higher pitched than normal. "Ah—"

"Say my name," Thrawn whispered into his ear.

"Thrawn, please —"

He felt Thrawn's breath hitch, and then sensation overtook him. Not the smooth waves of his usual orgasm, but something more like the surf striking hard against rock—it almost hurt to come this hard.

When he was done, he was limp in Thrawn's arms, and Thrawn was gently mouthing at his neck, his teeth dragging lightly across the skin.

"You—" Eli said hoarsely, and had to clear his throat. He was very glad these cabins were soundproofed. "What about you?"

"Hmm." Thrawn ran a finger up Eli's ribs, and Eli shivered. "Do you think you're up for it?"

"Yeah," Eli said, and then, because he wanted to see Thrawn's reaction, "I want to suck your cock."

Thrawn shuddered. Eli turned in his arms to face him, put his hands on his shoulders, and pushed him to the ground. To his surprise, Thrawn went, though he propped himself up on his elbows and watched Eli instead of lying flat. His expression was more open than Eli had ever seen it, want clear in every line of his face.

"I am not human," he warned Eli, glancing down at his cock— his lzatah , although Eli had never been able to pronounce that.

"I know," Eli said. "I lived in the Ascendancy for years. I've read a biology text before."

"Of course," Thrawn said, and then his head fell back as Eli took him in hand.

The overall layout of a Chiss cock when aroused was pretty similar to a human's: it grew erect, it was human-sized, and vaguely cylindrical. But unlike humans, Thrawn's cock was lined in a series of ridges, sort of the shape and texture of the head of his cock, but with a delicate membrane beneath each ridge that oozed liquid. There was the pocket, too, from which his cock slid out when he was aroused; otherwise, it stayed tucked away. That had been an interesting section of the biology text. Eli may have read it more than once, thinking about—

Well, this. Although he hadn't let himself acknowledge it at the time.

"Eli," Thrawn said, and buried his hand in Eli's hair.

"Give me a minute," Eli said. "I've never done this before."

He glanced up in time to see Thrawn's eyes widen, then focused his attention back on Thrawn's cock.

Might as well work from the top down, he decided, and took the head of Thrawn's cock in his mouth.

Thrawn inhaled sharply as Eli sucked on it, his tongue swirling. It was an interesting taste, less bitter than a human's fluids but not exactly sweet, either. His hand tightened in Eli's hair as Eli took more of him in his mouth and down his throat—Thrawn, thankfully, wasn't huge, just big enough to Eli to take him all with a bit of perseverance.

He swore quietly and steadily in Cheunh as he bottomed out in Eli's throat and Eli's mouth finally wrapped around the very base of his cock. Eli would never have imagined him to be so vocal, but he liked it. He liked it a lot. He swallowed, letting his throat muscles constrict around Thrawn, and Thrawn hissed and thrust up into Eli's mouth.

Eli choked and kept going.

Thrawn's breathing was going ragged, his voice stuttering between curses as Eli moved his head up and down, working him with all he had. Eli couldn't say he was especially experienced with any one person, but he'd had a lot of practice with a lot of people. He was pretty good at this.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if Thrawn had ever noticed him going home with other men, and if he'd cared at all.

This Thrawn would. Eli thought he would get jealous pretty easily, if Eli wanted to provoke him.

The thought was appealing: Thrawn taking Eli hard in a fit of jealousy, leaving marks on him—Eli's mind leaped and skittered and he thought about a collar around his neck, like he was a pet, Thrawn's pet—

He lifted his head and told Thrawn what he was thinking, and Thrawn's eyes flared before he growled and shoved Eli's head back down on his cock.

This time, Thrawn took over, setting the rhythm with his hand and fucking Eli's face. Eli took it and took it, artlessly sucking and letting himself be fucked, until, with a gush of liquid that filled Eli's mouth, Thrawn's hips stuttered and he came.

"Swallow it," he hissed, twisting Eli's hair hard. "Swallow it, Eli—"

Eli swallowed.

When he was done, Thrawn let go of his hair and stood, magnificently naked, and walked to the holo of the flower, still blooming in the corner. Eli lolled on the floor and watched him thoughtfully.

"So?" Eli asked after a couple minutes had passed, and the floor was growing uncomfortable. "What now?"

Thrawn glanced at him. He hadn't quite gotten his expression under control, and there was something there, a melancholy, that made Eli want to go to him.

But before he did just that, Thrawn said, "I have acquired new data on the Far Outsiders. Now you will analyze it."

He skimmed Eli over with a quick look, and the corner of his lips turned up, that melancholy look gone. "Perhaps after a trip to the refresher."

"Sure," Eli said. "I can do that."

Thrawn had a full 'fresher with a shower attached to his command room, which made Eli wonder what kind of guests he, or the commander before him, had been entertaining in this room. Somehow, Eli thought that Thrawn didn't exactly fuck many people through the floor and then tell them to take a shower. He had a hard time thinking of Thrawn unbending enough to let anyone see him that vulnerable—except, apparently, for Eli.

That made Eli feel very odd. Could Thrawn be—

Eli banished the thought and paid attention to washing the come off his chest instead. He couldn't risk worrying about Thrawn's feelings, existent or otherwise. He couldn't get emotionally involved.

But, as he was beginning to realize with a sense of dread, he was emotionally involved.

Well, damn.

VI. Thrawn

"C'baoth is becoming a problem," Thrawn said to Eli over the dejarik board in his quarters. He steepled his fingers and eyed the board thoughtfully. Eli was a very good player, his eye for patterns and mathematics serving him well as he analyzed Thrawn's strategy. He had come very close to beating Thrawn more than once, and he might yet win this game.

"Yeah, I've noticed," Eli said dryly as Thrawn coaxed his holomonster, a Houjix, to his intended square. "I heard he screwed up the Filve mission chasing after some whim."

"Leia Organa Solo." Thrawn felt his mouth twist as he said the name. "He claims to have sensed her through the Force."

"It's probably true," Eli said with a shrug. "All the navigators can sense each other like that. Un'hee used to try to sneak up on Vah'nya, to startle her, but she never was able to."

A trace of wistfulness in his tone. Lonely, he had called himself, and though Thrawn thought he had addressed that satisfactorily, Eli still longed for home.

"True or not," Thrawn said, "his instability is nearly unmanageable. Ever since he mentioned this nonsense of ruling the Empire…" Thrawn shook his head. "The power I have given him has gone to his head."

"Sounds like he needs to be taken down a peg," Eli commented, nudging a Grimtaash to another square. Thrawn frowned down at the board; Eli had caught him in a fork, unable to make a move without sacrificing a piece.

Eli continued, a little tentatively, "I've heard gossip among the crew about that. C'baoth ruling the Empire. Some people are starting to buy into it."

Thrawn's eyes flickered up to him. Jaw tense, eyes fixed on the dejarik board, he would be reluctant to name names; there would be consequences for those found fomenting mutiny, and Eli was more squeamish than suited him, although perhaps he would have called it honorable instead. Still, Thrawn could easily guess. Lieutenant Kdeylin would be a person of interest to speak to regarding this rumor, and who the traitors might be.

"How many?" Thrawn asked, watching Eli's face for the telltales of a lie.

"Not many," Eli said, his face open and truthful. "Just a lot of talk. People are afraid of him. With good reason."

"Indeed." Tension in his voice: Eli was afraid of C'baoth too. Thrawn watched as Eli put his piece into play.

C'baoth played a crucial role in Thrawn's plans; indeed, Thrawn's victory over the Rebellion hinged on the mad Jedi Master's abilities. Though they had Skywalker, he both lacked the power and would have too many moral qualms to manipulate minds like C'baoth did. He was Thrawn's biggest advantage, and Thrawn intended to use him.

Although perhaps with the Katana fleet in his hands…

"Thrawn," Eli said. He was looking at Thrawn with curiosity. "Your turn."

Thrawn sacrificed his pawn, as Eli had forced him to do, and they played in silence for a few minutes, Eli slowly but surely eliminating Thrawn's defenses. He was playing very badly, he knew, but his mind was focused on the problem of C'baoth.

"About C'baoth," Eli said suddenly, cutting into Thrawn's thoughts. He glanced up and met Eli's concerned dark eyes. So strange, human eyes, how they glistened rather than glowed, as if constantly on the verge of tears. He had thought twenty years in the Empire would have inured him to their strangeness, but it seemed not.

"Yes?" Thrawn prompted when Eli hesitated.

"You can win this war without him," Eli said finally. "Don't let your pride get in the way of seeing that."

"I do not let my pride interfere in my command decisions," Thrawn said flatly.

"You do, though," Eli said. "It's just that usually it works out in your favor, so you never notice."

Thrawn frowned at him, and Eli directed his holomonster to the final square, eliminating Thrawn's final piece.

"And that's dejarik," he said, tapping the board, and the holomonsters flickered out of sight.

"Congratulations," Thrawn said. Eli was right, inconveniently enough; when examining his past actions, Thrawn could see how he had allowed C'baoth to goad him, pricking his ego with each insult to Thrawn's authority. It was not a pleasant realization to have."You may claim your forfeit."

A Chiss practice, in which the winner of a game of strategy or chance claimed a prize from the loser—usually monetary, but not always. Eli drummed his fingers on the board, thinking.

"I think," Eli said slowly, "I'm going to claim a few minutes of your time."

Thrawn arched an eyebrow at him. "You always may have that, Eli."

Eli flushed, heat spreading from under his collar and filling his cheeks. He blushed at the slightest thing, out of embarrassment or anger, arousal or excitement. It was fascinating.

"Well," Eli said, the blush still staining his cheeks, "maybe more than a few minutes, then."

It was obvious where he was going with this. Thrawn should not let himself be so distracted.

But he had factored in an hour of playing time into his schedule, and thanks to Eli's decisive victory, they had spent less than half that on dejarik.

Thrawn loosened his collar.

Eli grinned at him.

"Yeah," he said. "You've got the idea."

"You're growing predictable," Thrawn told him. "The human libido must be all-consuming. Take off your clothes."

Eli snorted and muttered something about Chiss who thought they were better than everyone else, but he was shrugging out of his uniform even as he spoke. Thrawn sat back and watched as strips of Eli's skin revealed themselves: first his muscular arms as he took off the tunic, the undershirt baring the straight line of his clavicle as well; then his chest, which still had bruises from Thrawn's teeth. Thrawn stirred at the memory of Eli writhing underneath him, but stilled himself.

Eli took his trousers off and folded them neatly, setting them on the chair he had just vacated, and stood before Thrawn's gaze.

"On your knees," Thrawn said.

Eli dropped to his knees obediently, but did not break eye contact, lifting his chin a little. Pride, he had mentioned; Eli Vanto knew a lot about pride, Thrawn thought. And yet here he was, on his knees for Thrawn anyway.

Thrawn took a sip from his glass of Roonadanian wine, and set it down gently, listening to it chime as it made contact with the metal table. Then he stood, and walked over to Eli, stopping just in front of him. Eli put his hands on his thighs, curved them around to cup Thrawn's buttocks, and pressed his mouth to the front of Thrawn's trousers. Thrawn's lzatah twitched inside him, and he felt a familiar pressure as it began to swell.

He knotted his hand in Eli's hair, thick and soft, and tugged Eli's questing mouth away.

"I think not," Thrawn said. "I have other plans for you tonight."

"Oh?" Eli breathed, his eyes already glazed. "Like what?"

"Go to the closet and bring the item in the black box to the bedroom," Thrawn ordered, and released Eli's hair. "I'll meet you there."

In the bedroom, Thrawn stripped and, out of long habit, folded his clothes crisply, though they were to be washed anyway. He had, as of late, kept his quarters slightly warmer than he preferred it, suitable for the comfort of an unclothed human, and it was pleasant to be out of the confines of his uniform. He stood naked at the foot of the bed for a moment, trailing his fingertips down his ribs, enjoying the sensation of the air recirculator's breeze on his skin, prickling the hairs on his arms.

A movement behind him, Eli's distinctive step. He turned.

"I see you found it," he said, nodding to the length of black rope in Eli's hands. He studied Eli's face, flushed and bright-eyed with interest. "Come here."

Eli obeyed, stepping close to Thrawn, so close their breath mingled.

"Set the rope down."

Eli did. He took Thrawn's face in his hands and drew him down to kiss him. Not the usual cutting kiss they shared, aggressive verging on violent, but slow, sweet. Thrawn's heart gave a slow thud.

Then Eli bit his lower lip, which was a return to form, and Thrawn snatched his wrists in one fluid motion and shoved him backwards onto the bed. He pinned Eli down with his wrists clutched at his chest, Thrawn half-straddling him with one knee between his thighs. Eli's breathing was rough, those expressive eyes dark with desire. He bore a grin on his face, almost manic.

"Put your elbows together," Thrawn said, and then, warningly, "Don't try to fight it."

"You like it when I fight back," Eli pointed out.

"Yes," Thrawn conceded, reaching for the rope. "But not right now."

Eli didn't struggle as Thrawn looped the rope around his wrists. Two lengths of doubled rope, then a sturdy knot that wouldn't tighten painfully when Eli did start to move and writhe. It had a very aesthetically appealing look, Thrawn thought with pleasure as he wove the trailing ends through the slats on the bed frame, giving Eli enough slack to flip over, if necessary.

It would be necessary, if this evening went according to plan.

Thrawn sat back and looked at the view. Eli was already tugging a little against the rope, testing the strength of his knot. It held, of course. His eyes were on Thrawn, his teeth embedded in his lower lip; he was nervous, but still interested. His cock was already hard and hot, arching toward his stomach. Thrawn wanted to run his tongue up his shaft.

Later.

"Now," Thrawn said, "I am going to teach you a little about patience."

He swung a leg over Eli's hips and straddled him, his lzatah emerging from his body with a slick sound, dripping fluids on Eli's stomach. Thrawn took both Eli's cock and his lzatah in his hand and squeezed, catching his breath as he did, marveling at the sensation of Eli's hot flesh against his. Eli arched his hips with a gasp and their organs slid together wetly—humans did not create their own lubricant, which was inconvenient, but Thrawn produced enough for them both.

He let go of Eli but kept grinding his hips against his cock, eyes slipping half-closed as jolts of pleasure ran through him each time his cock brushed against his eversion pocket. Eli, for his part, was watching Thrawn with round eyes, his pupils blown dark and huge, doing an admirable job of not moaning despite the way he twitched.

Thrawn couldn't have that.

Placing one hand on Eli's stomach and the other on the bed, to steady him, Thrawn leaned over and took one of Eli's nipples in his mouth. He had already established their sensitivity; now he toyed with them, lapping and sucking and occasionally grazing them with his teeth. Now Eli was gasping and moaning, his hips rising and falling as he thrust against Thrawn, seeking stimulation.

When his nipples were hard and swollen, even more sensitive than usual, Thrawn took Eli's jaw in his hand and forced him to look him in the eye.

"Now," Thrawn said, "without looking, tell me what is on the bedside table."

Eli's eyes flickered to the side and Thrawn slapped him, diverting his focus. Eli's cock jumped, trapped between their bodies.

"Look at me," Thrawn ordered. Eli swallowed and nodded, his gaze locked onto Thrawn's. "I am testing your powers of observation. Now tell me."

Eli took in a shuddering breath, exhaled.

"A glass of water," he said. "A datapad. A lamp. A…chain? I didn't see exactly what it was. A necklace, maybe. And a knife."

"So close," Thrawn said in the low purr Eli liked so much. He let go of Eli's jaw and reached for the chain. "So very close, Eli."

He dangled the nipple clamps in front of Eli's eyes. "Have you used these before?"

Eli shook his head slowly.

"I think I get the idea, though," he said hoarsely.

"Let's see if your guess is correct."

Thrawn pinched one of Eli's taut nipples and coaxed it to a peak, making Eli wriggle under him, and clipped the first clamp to it.

Thrawn had worn them himself, out of curiosity; the clamp was padded and smooth, but the pain still bit deep. Eli yelped and arched his back, his eyes going wide with shock.

"Do you like it?" Thrawn asked.

"I—yeah," Eli whispered. "I think. Do the other one."

Thrawn bit back a smirk and did as requested. This time, Eli let out a low groan when the clamp snapped together, and when Thrawn tugged lightly on the connected chain, Eli threw back his head and whimpered.

"That's good," he said, still in a whisper. "That's so good."

"I thought it would be," Thrawn said, aware he was smug, and not particularly caring. He moved to slide off Eli's hips, his mouth watering at the thought of taking his cock into his throat.

"Wait—" Eli said, and Thrawn paused. "The knife?"

A trace of fear in his voice, mingled with arousal. Thrawn raised an eyebrow. He had wondered if Eli would think of it.

"Only if you wish, Eli," he said.

"You'd—you'd like that," Eli said. Not a question. "You want to cut me."

Thrawn pictured the blood welling from a neat, shallow slice in Eli's chest, the perfect trust Eli would have to give him, to use a knife while Eli was bound and helpless. The sounds of pain and pleasure Eli would make if he ground against Eli's cock as he made the cut.

"Yes," Thrawn said. "I would."

Eli thought about it. Thrawn waited. Then he gave a short, hoarse laugh.

"You said I couldn't go too far for you," he said. "Guess you weren't joking."

"Not about this, no," Thrawn agreed. He ran a finger down the center of Eli's chest. "Do you want it?"

Eli shook his head.

"Not this time," he said, and Thrawn's lips curled into a smile at the implication as he dismounted Eli's hips.

"I see the thought interests you, though," he said, gesturing to Eli's cock, which was fully engorged with blood. And very sensitive; he traced a line down the underside and Eli tossed his head back and whined. "Yes, it interests you very much indeed."

"I just want you to touch me," Eli said, his last word fading into a moan as Thrawn leaned down and put his mouth to the tip of Eli's cock.

Just the very tip, lapping and sucking at it like he had Eli's nipples, his tongue occasionally sliding down as far as the frenulum. Eli hissed through his teeth and thrust up, but Thrawn simply laid his forearm across Eli's thighs and held him down. Eli could not break his grip.

Deeper, now, the way humans liked it. The way Eli in particular liked it, as Thrawn had discovered. Chiss did not have a gag reflex like humans did—theirs was consciously controlled—so Thrawn did not have to struggle to take him fully into his throat, like Eli struggled with his lzatah .

"Oh, fuck," Eli said, stunned as if they hadn't done this on multiple occasions already. It was as if he was constantly experiencing these sensations for the first time, which Thrawn found immensely attractive. He could feel Eli's muscles flexing against the rope, wanting to grab Thrawn by the hair. This was the reason Thrawn had used the rope in the first place. "I—don't just sit there, move!"

Thrawn sat back up. Eli stared at him with wide and reproachful eyes, then let his head fall back against the pillow.

"Patience," he muttered.

"Yes," Thrawn said smugly. "Patience."

He repeated the exercise with minor deviations, occasionally sucking harder, occasionally grazing Eli's cock with his teeth, which made Eli gasp and thrust up for more. Wrapping the chain of the nipple clamps in his fingers while he had Eli deep in his throat, he tugged, sucked, and swallowed at the same time, and Eli cried out. His entire body was straining with the desire to move; Thrawn could sense the muscles in his arms trembling.

"Fuck!" he spat. "If you keep doing that, I'm gonna—"

"I know," Thrawn cut him off, sitting up and wiping his mouth. No gag reflex, but his salivary glands still went into high production mode when presented with an obstruction in his throat. "Turn over."

Eli stared at him a moment, looking betrayed. It was sweet. Then he shuddered all over and obeyed, wriggling until he was on his side, the slack of the rope twisting as he finally went on his stomach. He let out a little gasp and flinched as his tormented nipples pressed against the bed.

"Perfect," Thrawn said in a low voice, and knelt between Eli's legs. He took Eli's hips in his hand and raised them until Eli was on his knees, his head and upper chest still flat against the bed. He kissed Eli's thighs, lapped at his testicles, which were on display at this angle, then sank his teeth into the firm flesh of Eli's buttocks, earning a yelp of surprise and pain. Then he spread them and ran his thumb gently, ever so gently, across Eli's entrance.

"Oh stars," Eli mumbled into the pillow, and shivered.

"Have you ever done this before?" Thrawn inquired, wishing deeply he would say—

"No," Eli said, stuttering a little on the word, and it was Thrawn's turn to shiver as his lzatah pulsed. "Not with someone else."

"But alone," Thrawn said. "You've practiced."

"Yes," Eli whispered into the pillow.

"Who were you thinking about?"

"Ah!" Eli's hips jerked back as Thrawn reached around and took hold of his cock. "You. I was thinking about—"

"Me," Thrawn purred, and reached between his legs, slicking his fingers with his fluids. "Yes. Very good."

He knew, of course, that Eli could just as easily mean his other self; most likely did mean him, if only due to longer acquaintance. The thought made him melancholy. But ultimately, it didn't matter, for they were identical in appearance, and that was the part Eli would focus on.

Carefully, he pressed his wet finger against Eli's entrance.

"Breathe," he instructed, and Eli whimpered but obeyed, inhaling deeply, exhaling loudly. "Relax."

The first knuckle of his finger slipped inside, and Eli immediately tensed. So very, very tight; Thrawn would enjoy this.

"Like this?" he asked, and Eli nodded fervently, craning his head to look back at Thrawn.

"Like that," he said. "Please don't stop."

Thrawn's breath hitched at that single word, please , and he carefully pressed his finger further inside Eli.

Eli had developed a breathing pattern that relaxed his body, his arms folded on the bed and his forehead pressed against them. Gathering more fluid from his lzatah , Thrawn this time inserted two fingers and Eli moaned full-throated and leaned back against Thrawn's hand, forcing his fingers deeper.

"Ah," Thrawn said, surprised, and Eli said, "I'm ready."

"I can see that," Thrawn said, and removed his fingers, taking his lzatah in hand. He pressed the blunt head to Eli's entrance, fluid pulsing from the membranes and slicking his path. He paused, and emphasized, "I am your first, Eli."

Eli laughed into the pillow.

"Yeah," he said. "You like that, don't you?"

"Yes," Thrawn hissed, and pushed his lzatah inside.

Eli's body welcomed him in as he rocked back against Thrawn, moaning; he was so very vocal. Thrawn's fingers seized around his hips as he thrust in fully; so tight, so hot, Eli wriggling as Thrawn impaled him slowly.

" En'kar ," Thrawn said with feeling, a Cheunh curse without translation, the only word appropriate for this situation, and began to thrust in earnest.

Eli was making beautiful sounds, muffled by the pillow; Thrawn grabbed his hair and yanked it back viciously, so that his moans filled the room, interspersed with words of encouragement. Yes, Thrawn, oh fuck, please more—

Thrawn's perception narrowed to this: Eli Vanto, underneath him, around him, with him, writhing in pleasure, and he was all Thrawn's, only his—no one else had seen him like this, no one else had felt the glory of being buried inside him, Thrawn would never let him go, not after this, not ever—

He was telling Eli all this, he realized with a very faint hint of mortification, which he would no doubt feel in force when they were done. He was hissing out these words in Cheunh, manipulating the grammar to indicate possession of Eli in every aspect, and he was pushing Eli flat against the bed and pounding into him mercilessly, Eli grabbing at his hands and biting at the pillow in passion—

Orgasm with Eli felt like soaring, like the tension of a cloudhawk on the current right before it dove for prey: in a word, exhilarating . Thrawn shuddered through it and collapsed on top of Eli, his breath unsteady and ragged.

"Eli," he rasped, and dragged Eli's head to the side and bit his neck hard. He wanted to keep going, although he was, as a rule, only good for one orgasm at a time. He wanted to devour Eli.

Eli squirmed under him and managed to roll over. He had orgasmed too, his come sticky where their bodies pressed together.

"Thrawn," Eli said, and lifted his head and kissed him deeply. Thrawn nearly fumbled as he untied the knot—nearly—and Eli wrapped his arms around Thrawn’s neck. 

They laid entwined like that for a long while, mapping out each other's bodies slowly and gently with hands and tongues. Thrawn felt instinctive possessiveness and tenderness warring with his higher faculties, and thought distinctly, I have made a mistake .

He couldn't bring himself to care.

Eventually, Eli tugged himself out of Thrawn's grasp and said, "I need to go clean up."

"Of course," Thrawn said agreeably—in the aftermath of orgasm he would agree to anything Eli said—and rolled off him.

He stripped the bed while Eli showered, putting the sheets down the laundry chute along with his uniform, epaulettes and rank plaque removed.

Eli was in the shower for a long time. Long enough for Thrawn to have finished making the bed and read a quarter of a report on the datapad before Eli emerged, followed by steam.

"All yours," Eli said. He looked tired and satisfied. "Where did my clothes go?"

"You can stay, if you wish," Thrawn said.

"All night?" Eli said, startled.

"All night," Thrawn confirmed.

"Oh." Eli considered that. A flicker of something—an indecipherable pensiveness—moved across his face. "Okay."

"You needn't."

"I want to," Eli said with some force, and plopped himself down in the bed. "Go shower."

Thrawn went and showered.

Eli was half asleep when he finished and came to bed, clean and dry. He climbed in beside Eli but did not lay down, instead leaning his head against the wall and folding his hands meditatively.

"Are you plotting?" Eli asked sleepily, nuzzling into Thrawn's shoulder. Thrawn shifted and tugged him close so he laid nestled in the crook of Thrawn's arm. "You look like you're plotting."

"I am," Thrawn assured him, his thumb stroking Eli's skin. So strange, and yet so pleasant, to have a lover lay in his arms, perfectly trusting. Thrawn had never had that before.

"Great," Eli muttered. "Let me know when you're done."

"Go to sleep," Thrawn murmured, and kissed him on the top of his head. Eli stiffened as if in surprise before relaxing, fairly melting into Thrawn's embrace. He mumbled some affirmative, and silence fell. Slowly, Eli's breathing grew even as he slid into slumber, still ensconced in Thrawn's arms.

Eli had been more right than he knew, when he accused Thrawn of plotting.

For Thrawn had decided to kill Joruus C'baoth.

VII. Eli

Pellaeon did not like Thrawn's plan.

To be fair, Eli didn't like it much either, depending as it did upon the power of ysalamiri and C'baoth's arrogance. Still, he was surprised by Pellaeon's vehemence, and even more surprised that Thrawn tolerated it.

He got the impression that Thrawn liked the man.

"Fine," Pellaeon spat, after a barely civilized conversation where he had slapped the table and Thrawn had spoken in the coldest, deadliest voice Eli had ever heard him use. "We'll do it."

"Thank you, Captain," Thrawn said, his voice laced with sarcasm. Pellaeon did not quite roll his eyes—he was too good of an officer for that—but he radiated annoyance just by standing there.

The fact that Thrawn put up with that said a lot about Pellaeon’s competence as a captain.

Eli, for his part, had spent the conversation in silence, knowing that this was a battle of wills he couldn't interfere with if he didn't want to earn Pellaeon's enmity. Which he emphatically did not, since once this plan was put in motion—

Well, C'baoth would be dead, and with him, Eli's last chance of getting out of this universe. He'd be aboard this Chimaera for as long as Thrawn was. It made him feel hollow inside.

He slid a glance at Thrawn, who was in his command chair with a ysalamir draped over his lap, petting it absentmindedly as he gazed into the distance, and bit back a smile. His feelings for Thrawn weren't enough to fill up that hollow spot, but they were getting there. Things could be worse.

The minutes dragged into an hour, and still C'baoth didn't show up. Pellaeon was getting a little fidgety, sighing occasionally, shifting from foot to foot. Eli sympathized. Thrawn could really use some more chairs in his command room.

"A problem, Captain?" Thrawn inquired.

"No problem, sir," Pellaeon said, going stiff.

"Good." Thrawn glanced at Eli. "Lieutenant Commander?"

"Are we sure he's coming, sir?" Eli asked, a little dubiously. Pellaeon gave him a look that clearly said, don't question your commanding officers . Eli ignored it. "His shuttle was due hours ago."

"He'll come," Thrawn said grimly. "I promised him Jedi—Leia Organa Solo and her twins. He'll come."

Eli swallowed and touched the blaster on his hip, looking at the ysalamiri scattering the room. Seemed like an awfully small amount of creatures to push back the Force power of a Jedi Master, clone-crazy or not. He met Pellaeon's eyes; the man was clearly thinking the same thing. Eli shrugged at him and his shoulders fell a bit in resignation.

Eli had trusted Thrawn this far. He might as well extend that trust a little more.

The comlink embedded in the chair flared to life with a squeal.

"Admiral!" came Hangar Master Tehin's strained voice. "C'baoth is here—he's headed directly to your command room. We couldn't stop him—"

"That's fine, Lieutenant," Thrawn said calmly. "Can you gauge his mood?"

"He seemed…" She trailed off. "He seemed like he always does, sir. Crazy."

Eli coughed to cover a laugh. Thrawn gave him a warning glance.

"Very good," he said to Tehin. "We are ready for him."

"Over and out," she said, and the comlink crackled and cut off.

Eli shifted from foot to foot, the familiar tense excitement of battle flooding into him. He touched his blaster one more time, then took his hand away from it. Better to not give C'baoth any ideas.

The door to the entry room slid open, and C'baoth bellowed, "Grand Admiral Thrawn!"

He burst into the room. As always, he seemed slightly smaller around the ysalamiri than he did when he had the power of the Force with him, more decrepit and much older. But he still had the force of his personality, which was, Eli had to admit, incredibly strong. His gaze skated around the room and fixed on Thrawn.

"Where are my Jedi?" he asked insistently.

"Now," Thrawn said with glacial calmness, and both Eli and Pellaeon drew their blasters and fired.

C'baoth had no way to defend himself without the Force, and his arrogance kept him from carrying a blaster to fight back. Eli and Pellaeon's lasers arced through the air and struck him from two directions, lifting him off his feet. He crumpled and lay still.

It was Eli's first time cutting a man down in cold blood. He’d killed before, but only in the heat of battle.

Thrawn rose from his chair and walked over to C’baoth, nudging him with a foot. When he didn't move, Thrawn knelt to take his pulse.

"Congratulations Captain, Lieutenant Commander," he said to Pellaeon and Eli, his voice tight with approval. "He is dead."

Eli blinked at the body on the floor, then looked at the ysalamiri. A shiver ran up his spine. To be able to mow down the most powerful living Jedi in the galaxy, just like that…

"Rather anticlimactic," Thrawn commented, standing up. "Captain, get a cleaning crew in here. Lieutenant Commander…"

His voice trailed off as his brow creased in a frown, looking over Eli's shoulder. Pellaeon was staring there, too. Eli turned around slowly.

There, hovering before him, was a swirl of blue and purple light, like a small galaxy forming in the middle of the command room. Eli's mouth dropped open.

At the core of the galaxy, a darkness was blooming. As it spread, the reality of the command room seemed to peel away—that was the best word for it, Eli thought distantly, as though a great hand had torn a piece of flimsi out of the center of the universe. And through the peeled part, Eli could see two people, a woman and a girl, blue-skinned, kneeling across from each other with hands clenched tight. Beside them was Ar'alani, staring at the opening portal with wide, shocked red eyes.

Beside her was Thrawn.

An indrawn breath behind him: Thrawn—the other Thrawn. Eli whirled around to face him. His face was drawn, his expression tight and wary.

"What," Pellaeon said slowly, "is happening."

Everyone ignored him.

"Eli," Vah'nya called to him. "Step through! We've come for you."

"Thrawn," Eli whispered to the one in the command room, who was staring at him with wide eyes. Eli felt pain, physical pain, at the expression on his face; he wrapped his arms around himself and thought, I don't want this. I don't want to make this choice.

But he already had.

"You don't need to go," Thrawn said flatly. He gazed over Eli's shoulder at the people in the portal and his eyes narrowed. "They don't need you."

"And you do?" Eli asked.

Thrawn's gaze darted back to Eli, stricken.

"How could you ask that?" he asked, and for the first time Eli could remember, there was a trace of real hurt in his voice. "Eli—"

"Eli," Vah'nya called from over his shoulder. Eli couldn't bring himself to turn around yet. "Hurry! We can't hold the portal for long."

"Please hurry," Un'hee added, her voice strained. "It hurts."

"Just a minute," Eli called back. "Please, just one more minute."

He met Thrawn's gaze, and saw Thrawn read the decision in them. His shoulders sank briefly and he closed his eyes.

"I told you," Eli said desperately. There were tears in his eyes—tears , this was absurd. "I told you, the first chance I get—"

"I remember," Thrawn said, and exhaled. His posture stiffened; he opened his eyes and looked at Eli, his expression weary. "You did tell me. I shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm sorry," Eli whispered.

Thrawn took one step, two steps, then was standing right in front of Eli. He slipped two fingers under Eli's chin and tilted it up, forcing Eli to meet his gaze.

"Please," he said. "Stay."

And he kissed Eli, gently at first, deepening the kiss when Eli didn't pull away. He kissed Eli, and Eli wanted to drown in him, wanted to forget everything else—Eli wanted him, so badly—

He thought of Vah'nya and Un'hee, crouched behind him. He could hear Un'hee crying from the strain of it. He thought of Ar'alani, and how he had sworn loyalty to the Defense Fleet; he thought of Thrawn, standing at Ar'alani's side and watching him steadily—

Oh, that hurt, that hurt so much—

But this wasn't his universe, and he couldn't make it his. Even with Thrawn at his side.

Eli broke the kiss and stepped back.

"Sorry," he said helplessly, "I'm sorry."

Thrawn's hand was still out, as if beseeching Eli; he dropped it to his side. His face shuttered.

"Go, then," he said, and Eli knew that even if he changed his mind right then, nothing would ever be the same between them.

He stepped backward again, then turned his back on Thrawn—stars, he was being ripped in two; he was crying; he loathed himself for this—and flung himself through the portal.

Disorientation. Memory loss. Weakness. This was all very familiar.

"People without the Sight aren't supposed to go through the portals," Vah'nya explained to him. She was perched on a chair by his bedside, her feet drawn up onto it so her chin was resting on her knees. "According to Master Djore—" who was the Jedi who built the holocron, Eli had gathered, "—they get lost in the space between worlds unless they have an anchor by which to fix their path. It's a miracle you survived."

An anchor. Eli closed his eyes for a moment and let his head thud back against the pillow.

When he opened his eyes, Vah'nya had her fingers pressed to her mouth. She was clearly itching to ask the question, which she had put off for days now.

"You can ask," Eli said wearily. Vah'nya cast her eyes down.

"I don't want to hurt you, Eli."

"You won't." Not any more than I'm hurting already, Eli added in his head.

Vah'nya hesitated, then said, "Was that…was that Thrawn, there in the other world?"

"Yes," Eli said. To his embarrassment, tears were prickling at his eyes again. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd cried before this. "It was."

Vah'nya nodded as if confirming it.

"You must have become very close," she said. Eli laughed; it came out raspy, and Vah'nya's eyes widened. She grabbed his bottle of water off the physician's tray and handed it to him.

After he'd drank, Eli told her, "That was very diplomatically phrased."

Her eyes crinkled. "I know. Do you miss him?"

Eli considered that for a moment. He was pretty sure this bone-deep ache qualified as missing him.

"Yeah, I do," he said. "A lot."

To his surprise, Vah'nya reached over and touched his shoulder lightly. Chiss weren't casual about physical contact, Eli knew.

"I'm glad you chose us," she said. "I'm glad you came back. We all are."

"It was close," Eli admitted, and looked away from her sympathetic face. He didn't mean to say the next part out loud, but it spilled from his lips anyway: "Probably not as close as he deserved, though."

"Oh." Her voice was soft.

"Yeah." Eli stared down at his hands.

The worst part, he thought, was the guilt. He could get over the loss, the heartbreak; that he could handle, since he did it to himself. But he kept remembering the look on Thrawn's face, that blank look of pain when he realized what Eli's decision would be, and then the way his face had closed, cutting Eli off from his emotions.

Eli had a feeling he would never let anyone see them again.

"Do you want me to go?" Vah'nya asked, sensitive to his mood, as always.

"If you don't mind." Eli's voice was rough. "I'd like to be alone."

She nodded and brushed her fingers across his arm again, before rising from her chair and leaving the infirmary room.

Eli curled up on his side and put his face in his hands, trying to breathe steadily, trying to relax his tense body. But it didn't help; he thought about Thrawn with a hand on his back, his lips against his spine, saying Relax, Eli , with what Eli now realized was clear and pure affection, and he broke.

At least Chiss gave crying people a wide berth, especially crying humans. No one was going to come and interrupt him here.

He cried until he gave himself hiccups, which made him angry enough that he pounded the bed once with his fist before he stopped, feeling like an idiot. Taking his anger out on inanimate objects wasn't going to fix anything.

It did make him feel a little better, though.

So did the crying.

When the tears eased, Eli stayed curled up into a ball, staring at nothing, thinking about nothing. Then a throat cleared behind him.

Eli's reflexes were slowed and he was tangled in blankets, so he didn't roll over in the quickest or most dignified manner. It didn't matter. He already knew who was behind him, because there was only one person who could sneak into the room without Eli noticing, especially in this state.

Thrawn, in the black uniform of a CDF officer, sat in Vah'nya's chair, watching him steadily.

"What," Eli said, his mouth going dry. "How…"

It hurt a lot more than Eli had thought, to see him. He was younger, without the grey in his hair, with an utterly neutral expression Eli had never seen on his Thrawn—fuck. Not his Thrawn. The other Thrawn. The Thrawn he would never see again.

"Lieutenant Commander Vanto," he greeted Eli, inclining his head. "I'm pleased to see you're healing."

"Thank you, sir," Eli managed through the lump in his throat. He didn't know what to say from there. How did you get here? Nice to see you? Glad you're not dead? Sorry about kissing your alternate self in front of you? This moment felt inexplicably surreal, which it shouldn't have. This was his universe, right?

Thrawn steepled his fingers, saying nothing. Hesitating, Eli thought, and he realized Thrawn felt exactly as uncomfortable as Eli did.

"Admiral Ar'alani will be expecting a full briefing as soon as possible," he said finally, breaking the silence with words Eli really didn't want to hear. "Commander Sarae from CI will be your point of contact."

"Is that what's going to happen to the navigators?" Eli asked, forcing himself not to look at Thrawn's hands or mouth. Wrong person. He looked just like him, but it wasn't him. Eli had to remember that. "They're going to become part of Chiss Intelligence?"

"Unlikely," Thrawn said consideringly. He tilted his head thoughtfully, his eyes resting on Eli's. The gaze brought him back to the Navy, discussing ways to hunt down Nightswan, and the familiarity of it tore at him. "The Defense Fleet will not let them go so easily. But their abilities would be most useful for intelligence operatives. Perhaps they will give those with the Sight a choice of which branch they would prefer."

"You do like useful things," Eli muttered, then bit his lip. Thrawn was silent for a long moment, then folded his hands together.

"I do not know what my other self did to you," he said, and Eli winced. "Whatever it was, I apologize. However, that does not mean—"

"Wait," Eli interrupted. "Do you think he—what? Hurt me?"

Thrawn tilted his head, studying Eli closely.

"No, but I would not be surprised if he had manipulated you into it. I had assumed," he said, and stopped. Then, in Basic, "Your relationship with him was intimate. I had assumed you would not go into that consenting."

"Well, you're wrong," Eli said. This was ruder than he had been to Thrawn—this Thrawn—in a long time, since they were at the Academy together, although pretty par for the course when it came to speaking with the other one. "You have no idea, do you?"

"No," Thrawn said. He had gone pale; Eli didn't even know that Chiss could do that. "I do not."

Eli shook his head. He looked at his hands, bunched in the sheets, instead of at Thrawn's face.

"It's a mess," he said. "A big fucking mess. I don't even know which one of you I care about more."

A pause. Then Thrawn said, very quietly, "I am sorry, Eli."

At the sound of his name in that voice, Eli drew in a sharp breath. He was not going to cry again.

Thrawn stood, the chair scraping back. He said, "For what it is worth, he was very lucky to have had you, if only for a short time."

Eli's head snapped up to stare at him.

Thrawn held his gaze for a long moment, then inclined his head.

"Goodbye, Eli," he said. "I wish you a swift recovery."

He turned on his heel, posture military-straight, and Eli said, "Wait."

Thrawn stopped.

"You—what do you mean by that?" Eli asked. The world was tilting; he'd learned to read the subtle layers of Thrawn's words long ago, and now had experience seeing him bare his emotions—as much as Thrawn could, at least—and what he had just said…

Thrawn half-turned to look at Eli over his shoulder. His expression was one of carefully-studied neutrality again.

"I overstepped," he said after a moment. "It was inappropriate. My apologies once more."

"No," Eli said. "No, that's not good enough."

Thrawn was fully facing Eli now, and Eli could see those incredibly subtle lines of tension in his face, the faintest tightening of his lips, the stiffness of his spine.

"What do you wish of me?" he asked.

"For you to explain what you just said," Eli snapped. His heart was pounding painfully in his chest.

"You wish me to be blunt."

"Yeah," Eli said. "I do."

Thrawn gazed at him for a long minute, then nodded minutely.

"Very well," he said, and seated himself in the chair once more. "I will be."

He crossed his legs and interlaced his fingers, clearly choosing exactly where to start. Bluntness, Eli knew, did not come easily to Thrawn.

"I returned to the Ascendancy," he said, "by dint of Ezra Bridger."

Eli blinked.

"The rebel, Ezra Bridger?" he asked carefully. "The Jedi? "

"Yes," Thrawn said. His lips pursed; Eli figured he wasn't too happy about that part. "Suffice it to say that he removed the Chimaera , and me with it, from the playing field. I knew that an error so great on my part would result in death if I returned to the Empire, so I made my way back to the Ascendancy instead.

“It took me many months." Eli had been gone for a year, according to Vah'nya, although it hadn't been that long for him. "And during that time, I had the opportunity to consider the past. To consider actions I had taken, and...emotions I'd had, and ways to properly confront them."

"You have feelings for me," Eli said through dry lips. Thrawn looked at him gravely.

"So it seems," he said. "I had not allowed myself to recognize it before. Our ranks made it inappropriate, and then you were in the Ascendancy and I was not. It was better to dismiss those feelings than acknowledge them."

He paused while Eli processed this. Thrawn had had feelings for him since they were in the Navy together. Thrawn had—all this time, he'd cared for Eli, and he'd been in denial.

Much like Eli had been.

"However," Thrawn said, more softly now, looking into the distance, "when I returned to the Ascendancy and learned of your disappearance, I had to confront the... depth of emotion I felt for you." His lips tightened a little again. "It was not easy."

"I bet not," Eli said quietly. "Thrawn—"

So easy to slip and call him by his core name. Thrawn's eyes snapped to him.

 "Your interactions with my alternate self," Thrawn said. "They pleased you?"

Eli swallowed and said, "Yes."

Thrawn nodded to himself and steepled his fingers, pressing them against his lips.

"As I said, he was lucky," Thrawn murmured.

Eli kicked off the blankets, untangling them from his hospital gown, and swung his legs off the bed. He was on strict orders not to walk yet, but he had hauled himself kilometers through a forest right after his last journey through the portal; what was standing compared to that?

He wobbled and Thrawn came out of his chair to steady him. His cool touch on Eli's bare arm made Eli shiver.

"You should lie back down," Thrawn said, trying to urge Eli backwards. Eli planted his feet and stood in his way.

"You know why I came back?" he asked, and Thrawn shook his head slowly.

"I assumed you wished to return home," he said, and Eli laughed, not very happily.

"Yeah," he said. "You're part of that home, you know? And I wanted—" Eli exhaled harshly, and spoke the truth. "It's unfair to him , but I wanted you more."

A complete silence for a long moment.

Then Thrawn took Eli's chin in his hand and tilted it up and kissed him.

It was both like and unlike kissing the other Thrawn. This kiss was delicate, almost chaste, but Eli could feel the hard grip lurking beneath Thrawn's gentle clasp of his chin. Eli shuddered, craving that, and tried to deepen the kiss. Thrawn leaned away.

"Is this how he kissed you?" he asked, and to anyone else— anyone —it would have sounded like a polite inquiry.

Not to Eli.

"Not really," he said honestly. There was a lightness inside of him, something that made him tremble, something that felt like flowers blooming in his chest. It outweighed the guilt, which he then felt even more guilty about. "Let's do that again."

They did. And then they kissed again, and again, Thrawn's hand sliding around to cup his neck, his other arm going around Eli's waist to steady him. Eli could feel the bite beneath the kiss, but Thrawn was capable of being so much gentler than the other one had ever been.

It felt like a betrayal.

It felt wonderful.

Finally, Thrawn pulled away, and his eyes were glowing even in the light of the infirmary as he said, "I should let you rest."

He was right; Eli was exhausted, even if his body was humming with Thrawn's touch and his mind was burning with more questions.

"We're going to have another conversation about this," he told Thrawn. "Or maybe a dozen."

"Yes." Thrawn inclined his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "But not now."

He guided Eli back to the bed.

"Rest, now," he said. "We will talk later."

When he was gone, Eli put his head in his hands again and thought, over and over, Things will be all right.

He thought he was starting to believe it.

VIII. Thrawn

Thrawn sat on the bridge in his command chair, fingers steepled, and gazed around at the bustle of his crew. Helm was entering the last of the coordinates into his console; the crew at the weapons stations were murmuring to each other, trading comments and joking to ease the tension of the upcoming battle. A different Imperial commander would have disciplined them for that, but Thrawn understood that concentration in battle sometimes required some levity before it. It was not intuitive to him, but Eli had explained it to him, and the technique seemed to work.

Eli. Thrawn's mind wavered. He closed his eyes briefly and sought control.

Eli had been a mistake, and Thrawn could no longer afford to make mistakes.

Forcing his mind back to the battle, he touched the comlink on his chair, and said, "Hangar Master Tehin, is everything ready?"

"Yes, sir," she said in return, her voice crackling. He had to replace the speaker on this chair; he suspected C'baoth's use of Force energy on the bridge had damaged it. Convenient that he was no longer a problem. "Cloaking shields are primed and asteroids are in position. The operation is a go."

"Very good," he said, and to Pellaeon, "Captain, is my flagship ready?"

"The Chimaera is fully at your command, sir," Pellaeon said, with only a fraction of hesitation. He had been wary of Thrawn in the weeks since C'baoth's death, and the incident directly following it—distrustful, Thrawn suspected, having seen his commanding officer show so much emotion. He might now perceive Thrawn as weak. It was not a mistake Thrawn would make again.

However, consistency and victory could change any man's mind, and Pellaeon was warming up to him again. This operation, Thrawn was sure, would shore up the man's loyalty to him.

It went off smoothly: twenty-two cloaked asteroids ejected into orbit around Coruscant, and two hundred-sixty five dry firings to confuse and distress the Rebellion commanders. No ships would be  arriving to or departing from Coruscant for a long time. The center of Rebellion leadership was effectively out of the war.

Nonetheless, Thrawn did not feel especially pleased by this. He didn't feel much of anything at all.

He complimented his crew, handed over control of the bridge to Pellaeon, and departed for his command room, his hands clasped behind his back and his posture straight.

Eli Vanto's ghostly presence was everywhere on this ship: in the corridors, through which he and Thrawn had strode so often, in the mess hall where he would eat with Lieutenant Kdeylin, in the hangar bay, where he had chased down C'baoth. In Thrawn's quarters. Most of all, in the command room. The only place without memories was the bridge, and that was why he had spent so much of his time there instead of in the dimly-lit room with his art, as he had done before Eli's arrival.

Vanto's arrival. It was better to distance himself. In a way, he was a traitor; he had left Thrawn.

He had left.

Thrawn ached.

The ache intensified as he walked into the command room, dismissing Rukh with a flick of his hand. There was, he mused, a perverse sense of masochism in returning here, in leaving the room unchanged. He would sit in the dark and think about anything but Eli— Vanto , in an effort to recover the room for his own and rid it of Vanto's influence.

It was proving remarkably ineffective.

Thrawn stopped in the middle of the room. The portal, he recalled, had been there , Pellaeon there , and Vanto here, standing before him, strange shadows flitting across his face in the blue-violet glow. Pain on his face, and sorrow; but he had already made his decision before Thrawn had even spoken. Before Thrawn had kissed him.

Thrawn pressed his fingers to his lips and stood silent in the dark, empty room. He closed his eyes.

Someday, this too would be nothing more to him than a footnote in the essay of his life; ancient history, as he liked to say about the things that pained him. But not today.

Thrawn had taken a decisive action against the Rebellion today, an action that may very well win this war. It was glorious. He should not wallow in unhappiness.

But Eli should have been there with him.

Thrawn covered his face with his hands for a long moment.

Then he turned and sat in the command chair, holos flickering to life one by one around him like stars, alone.