A/N: Thanks to everyone that reads, reviews, favorites, and follows this story. You are all awesome. :) This is still part of AgelessGrace66's challenge to write a Thrawn fic based on a lovesong. I took it a step further and based each chapter off of a particlar song that I think expresses this unique situation of love. For this chapter, the song is Bad Girl by Madona. This one was actually chosen for Ella's POV this time.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.
It was with a sense of defeat that Ella allowed Ikzanthar to lead her back to Thrawn's command room. In the hours that she'd roamed the ship, it hadn't jumped from lightspeed once. Not even for a slight course correction. Then again, on the flagship of a Grand Admiral, there wouldn't be an inexperienced navigator at the controls. No novice in training that could blush and stammer out an apology when dropping the huge warship out of hyperspace to correct a teensy error.
Frag all the Imperial procedure ever, she thought bitterly. Of course those standards of operation wouldn't have slipped in the years since the Emperor's death. Everything else could have gone to the pits, but not dear old wonderful Imperial procedure. Not especially when she needed it to.
He was waiting for her when the doors parted, seated at his duplicate command chair from the bridge, a myriad of holographic images dancing above the double display ring. Art of some kind, from a race she had never encountered before. The twisting, twirling lines of it making her slightly nauseous if she stared at it too long. Thrawn, on the other hand, seemed to have no issue with the way the lines folded or met a corners that were unnatural to her eye.
His were narrowed in thought, somehow taking it all in and yet devoting time to each sculpture dancing past his eyes. He was a model of control, she thought begrudgingly. Everything she had always imagined herself to be, had idolized in people like Mara Jade and her Uncle. If he felt any of the pressure of leading an entire Empire, it didn't show in the slightest.
Maybe there was something she could learn from him after all. Imagine if she possessed a fraction of that control, how deals would just fall into her fingers. Literally.
"Things have not changed between us so much that you must linger in the doorway and await my permission to enter."
Her cheeks warmed, and then grew hot when she realized that was exactly what she was doing. Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, as she watched him. No, watched was the wrong word. Analyzed, picked apart and studied, though for what she wasn't entirely certain. Pride pushed her away from the wall, head lifted in spite of the blush on her cheeks. She strode forward with heavy stomps, like Mara did when Talon had given her a particularly disagreeable duty to perform. She'd always argued every duty with Talon, if only to display all side of a situation.
Perhaps that was why she thought about them at all in that moment. Perhaps that was where her 'relationship' with this man was now heading.
And perhaps that was the worst, most treacherous thought that had ever graced her mind.
"Nothing's changed between us," she said, hoping her tone carried a hard edge. Knowing the words were a lie the moment they left her lips.
Everything's changed! She wanted to scream at him. Everything! And it's all your fault. You changed things between us when you told me the truth. When you kissed me. When you put your goddamn colors on my sleeve. You changed everything between us before I was even born. The day you took my mother prisoner all those years ago…
The words were locked behind her lips, and yet echoed in the silence between them. Louder than a scream. Louder than the pain inside her head. He looked up at her then, the lack of expression on his face and the intensity in his eyes let her know he'd heard them anyway. Heard them as if she'd shouted at him, and he was trying to decide whether or not he appreciated the effort.
The blush returned, hot and angry this time and tinted with more than a hint of rage. But her lips would not move to continue her blustering.
I hate you. I hate you so much for what you've done to us all. To the galaxy and to your people and to my mother and my father and me!
An eyebrow lifted. Nothing more for a long moment. "Do you really believe that?"
A split second of hesitation, where she feared that he'd really heard all those thoughts. And then she realized what he was asking, and the last thing she'd spoken aloud. His question still fit both scenarios, and left her raw and bleeding anew inside. Cut up by his words, his glances, and the horrible realities he continued to rain over her. Aware that she'd been bleeding since the night before, and had been too stubborn to admit it.
She wanted to look away. Felt it was somehow the wrong thing to do, and settled with closing her eyes.
"I asked you once before to look at me when I speak to you," he said, voice laced with so much command and disapproval that her eyes snapped open on reflex. "Better. That is the last time I will repeat instructions. You have proven you are intelligent enough to not need that sort of management. Likewise, this is the last time I will repeat a question to you. Do you really believe that?"
The rage returned, chasing away the hesitation. "I'm not your little toy soldier to—"
The doors slid open behind her at his command. "We are done."
Just like that, she was dismissed. Her mouth fell open. She'd disagreed with him and he was throwing her out? What about all those arguments before? What about slamming her hands on the tabletop, nearly upsetting his kriffing soup all over his lovely white dress uniform, and getting right into his face? After all that, this was where he drew the line?
Stars, he wasn't even looking at her anymore!
"No."
One finger twitched on the armrest, pressing a single button. Ikzanthar entered the room, bowing deeply to his bloody kriffing lordship, and walking over to her side. "Lady Farasi," he mewled at her. "It is time to go."
"Like hell it is," she shot back hotly. "I'm not leaving."
"I will remove you by force from my lord's presence if you do not leave willingly."
He could, too, she knew. "Why are you doing this?" She shouted, trying to shrug off the hand that locked around her wrist like steel. "Why did you summon me here if you are going to treat me like this?"
Thrawn looked up again, a simple and dispassionate lift of eyes. "If you wish to be treated as a prisoner, you will be."
"You're treating me like a servant," she snarled. "Like one of your officers to fetch and carry at your whim."
"I treat you no less than your station deserves."
"So you admit it!"
A shrug. "You assign yourself that position, not I."
"Is that your definition of friendship then?"
That did something, brought heat to those coldly distant eyes. So much so that Ikzanthar shifted his grip on her wrist, stepping in front of her with the hand on her wrist held over his shoulder. Facing his lord and placing his body between them rather than attempting to pull her away. Ready to take whatever retribution those eyes offered.
Ready to take her punishment, if one was handed out. That act found another chink in her rage, forcing in a needle-thin blade of fear and hesitation. Which wasn't helped any by the words he spoke.
"No," he said, pressing a button again and all the art vanishing. "I take friendship very seriously, Ella Ferasi. Since you appear to be obsessed with titles and rank, then suffice it to say that friend was the title I assigned you. One you rebuffed with rudeness since entering this room. I have no time for rudeness, nor liars. Good day."
She closed her eyes tightly, scrubbing her free hand over her face in pure frustration. Stars above, why did he always have to be right! Why couldn't he just act like the evil captor he was and let her rail against him like the good little captive? Why did he have to complicate everything?! And why couldn't she hate him? Why couldn't she stare into those eyes and see the monster everyone else did, call him an alien and any other bigoted hateful term that came to her mind?
Why did he always—ALWAYS—flip it around until he was the bloody kriffing victim and she the unreasonable one?
"Why isn't anything simple with you?" she growled between her fingers. "It's always a fight, isn't it? A battle that you have to go all in with or you aren't satisfied. Why can't you do something easy like ask 'hey, friend, how was your day?'"
Both eyebrows lifted that time. "And what would your reaction have been if I began a conversation that way?"
She almost looked away, stopped and met his gaze instead. And felt defeat settle on her shoulders again. If he ever started a conversation that way, she may just scream and run for the nearest airlock, certain that he'd lost his damn mind. And wasn't he once again giving her what she wanted like he'd said he would? She had come into this room looking for a fight. He'd given it to her. Stars, but he had. In his own way. Just like with dinners and the truth she'd thought she'd wanted for so long. He'd given it to her, and given and given and given.
And in the new silence that filled his command room, he was still giving. She doubted anyone in the known galaxy would have been given this much time to answer him.
Stars, I want to hate you. I want to hate you so much that I lie to myself to make me hate you. Because I don't. And I do. And I don't. Because each time you talk to me, you cut me up inside and I bleed. I'm still bleeding.
"I'm sorry," she forced through lips still rigid with anger and grief, the words barely recognizable.
He nodded once, and it took her a minute to realize it wasn't in acknowledgement or acceptance of her apology. Ikzanthar released her wrist, bowed again and left the room. Closing them in together. Her… and the man that was dicing her soul into confetti one tiny square at a time.
"The answer is yes and no," she bit out into the silence. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
His lip twitched slightly. "Yes and no."
Ah, lovely! Another game, was it? Another war of words? "I tried to escape today, you realize," she blurted, slicing through any civility. "And I'll try again and again and again. The moment this ship drops out of hyperspace, I'll find a way to escape."
"I know."
Her turn to lift an eyebrow, to plant her fits on her hips. "You know? Is that why you sent Ikzanthar to shadow me?"
He rose, crossed over to her. "You are watched constantly. But then again, you already knew that."
"Because you don't trust me." She challenged, and took a step backward when he came too close.
There wasn't the sligest hestitation, damn the man. When she retreated a step, he took the ground she gave. The war of words progressing to the physical.
"No, I don't," he replied with her same bluntness. "At least, not with the lives of the men under my command. While you are on this ship, you will have escorts until you prove you do not need them."
She took another step back, lifting a hand. "Stop. And what does that mean? What do you mean 'while I am on your ship'?"
"Why should I stop when you are giving ground?" He asked, stepping forward again, nearly close enough to touch. "And it means exactly what it means, Ella."
"Stop," she hissed, surprised at the sudden quaver in her words. At the way her pulse was starting to race. "Stop."
"No."
And he took that final step forward. Her palm pressed directly on his chest, over his heart. The heat that soared through her this time had nothing to do with anger or embarrassment. Her eyes lowered and there was nothing in the history of the spoken language he could say that would make her lift them again. Not when she wanted to look up the most. Afriad of what she'd do if she did, especially with this man.
Silence filled the command room for what felt like a small eternity. Just her hand on his chest, the rhythmic beating of his heart steady and calm beneath her fingers. At a complete contrast with the rapid-fire of her own, and the heat that went through her. Wasn't it something her father had said to her once? To be careful who one chose to hate, because the same fire that sparked rage could just as easily burn into something else entirely. Passion was passion, no matter which way you cut it.
"I see," was all he said, and she winced at the hint of cool disapproval in his tone. "The error is on my part. I should not have let things progress as they did the night before."
She didn't want to admit how that stung, how it pricked her pride to know her kiss was an 'error.' Even with a man she was trying—and failing—to convince herself that she hated. "If it was such an error, then back away."
"I am not the one touching you."
She blinked, realizing her palm was still pressed over his heart, fingertips resting on the fruit salad of rank clipped there like an ever-present reminder of promises and oaths of duty. Heavy over the heart, as command should be. Her eyes locked onto that rank bar, clinging to it like it was the anchor to her entire existence. Stars, how had he done it again? How, in so few words, did he literally upend her life and every choice she'd made?
"You do trust me," she found herself saying, eyes lifting to his. "No one else would be allowed to touch you."
"Indeed. I see, however, that the trust is not returned."
"No," she swallowed hard, fingers flexing slightly around that rank bar. "And yes. I trust you to do what you feel is right and necessary—to your oaths and those you care about. Even if it's not right for me. That's what you meant, wasn't it? 'While you are on this ship' means that you have plans for me when I'm not here. I was never going to walk away from you, was I?"
She felt his deep breath, the rise and fall of his chest beneath her palm. The rumble of his words when he spoke. "Yes, and no."
A smirk touched her mouth despite the fact the last shreds of her resistance was crumbling. Or perhaps in spite of it. "Is that the theme today, Thrawn? Unintelligible but soul-shattering truths?"
He stepped forward again, his hand rising up to cup her chin. "One day you will stop shattering inside, Ella. That I promise you. Until then, understand that I will not allow you to come to harm—harm from outside sources and harm from yourself."
"The debt? It's been paid. You gave me the answers that mother would have wanted me to have and—"
The pad of his thumb brushed her lips, silencing her. "Your mother would have preferred you to not know that particular truth. She would have wished you to live in a galaxy filled with hope and possibility, where you could find love like she had with your father. Where family did not destroy one another over credits. What you feel now is the furthest thing from what she'd want for you. You tell me, is that the repayment of a debt?"
That cooled some of the roiling heat inside her caused by touching him. "She'd prefer I live a lie?"
"Was your happiness a lie? Was it really?"
Images rose unbidden before her eyes. Aves trying to teach her how to play Sabacc properly, to keep her expression neutral instead of lighting up like a festive cake when a good hand fell her way. Ghent showing her how to slice through any lock with the most basic of tools and not leave a trace that she'd been there. Laughing like a loon when she'd freak out at the loud alarm klaxon that marked that particular failure. Drinking with Torve and grinning through one of his over-exaggerated long-winded stories…
Yes, there was happiness there, as much as a smuggler could come to know while still in the game. But there were nights of laying awake in a cramped bunk on some mission or another, deep in hyperspace where there was nothing to do but stare into one's own thoughts, that she wished for her father's fortune. Wished to be more than a mechanic in her Uncle's organization.
Yearned to be her own woman. With a ship like her father's. And maybe a husband, or at least a boyfriend, that maybe understood her, too.
Like Thrawn did.
He must have seen it coming, felt the change in her posture. Because those eyes narrowed slightly, and whatever advantage he had obtained by this close-up meeting vanished. He was the first to take the step backward, withdrawing his hand and his presence from her. Leaving her palm cold and empty.
"This is not what you want, Ella. I am not what you want."
"You don't know that."
That eyebrow lifted again. "Not five minutes ago you were declaring your intent to escape by any means necessary. Now you have changed your mind so quickly and wish to spend your days in my bed?"
It was a gentle and jarring way to snap her back into reality, if feeling like one had been doused in ice water could be said to be gentle. "I just thought…"
When he stepped over to her again, when his hand cupped her chin, the boiling heat inside her was gone. Replaced anew with the cold bleeding of a soul scoured by too many truths. Odd, that what was once so hot inside could bleed so cold.
"I am not unsympathetic to what you are feeling," he said. "I warned you that the truths you sought would bring you no peace. And as your friend, I will provide whatever comfort I can. As your friend. Your mother would not have found contentment as a mistress hidden in a ship, and I know you well enough to know you'd take to it even less. Let yourself heal inside, and trust me to take care of you while you do. This is the only path that will lead to you what you truly want."
She wanted to blurt out that she wans't a child, that she was a woman that could take care of herself. Yet he was right, as always. She'd behaved like a child, a hurt child demanding and assuming and everything in between. So it was fitting when his hand left her chin, caressed gently around her neck and brought her head to his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her, and her body couldn't resist sinking back into that warmth.
"I want to hate you so much," she whispered into that sea of white.
"I know you do. Just as I know this will not be the last time we have this conversation."
She glanced up at him, letting her own arms wrap around his waist. "You would have done it, taken me to your bed if I pressed."
That rumbling she heard this time was a slight chuckle. "Whatever you may think of me, whatever title of monster or murderer you assign in your thoughts, I am still a man. You are a very lovely woman."
She smirked. "My pride thanks you for that."
"Your pride is my most present vexation."
Unbelievably, that got a laugh. "No truer words have ever been spoken regarding the Karrde family line."
The sound he made was noncommittal, and she closed her eyes. Though those arms tightened around her just a bit more, becoming possessive rather than comforting. And that tiny treacherous part of her thrilled at that, at the knowledge that even though she had not found a lover and partner, she had found a… guardian. A protector whose metaphorical arms were comprised of fleets of warships and a damn near prescient ability to get what he wanted.
Always.
Well… maybe not always. Wasn't she the living proof that some things—some people—were forever outside the reach of even the greatest of military genius?
"Thrawn?"
"Yes, Ella."
"Why did you tell me the truth about my uncle, if not to satisfy the debt? You said that you never give information for free."
"That wasn't quite the wording, but yes, you are essentially correct."
"Then why did you tell me?"
"Would you believe me if I said moments like this?"
Her arms tightened this time, a reward of that rumbling soft chuckle against her cheek. "No, but it's nice to pretend for now."
"Then let us enjoy the now."
"Is that a request to stop talking?"
She felt his cheek rest atop the crown of her head. "You assign yourself that position, not I."
Her turn to laugh softly. "I'll take that as a yes."
