Pellaeon woke up on a bed in a sectioned off area of the medbay. He was still groggy from whatever medication was still in his system, but he was not so tired that it stopped his memories. A shudder went through him as he recalled the assassin firing some strange gun at Thrawn, him shoving the grand admiral out of the way as he stepped in front of him, a sharp pain in his arm, and then nothing.

He sighed and tried not to think about that – but movement caught his eyes and he looked over at Thrawn who sat in a chair next to his bed.

The man looked miserable. His eyes were ringed with heavy bags and stress was written all over his face, though it did smooth out some when he saw Pellaeon awake. Thrawn moved to stand up from the chair stiffly and he heard his joints pop – Pellaeon winced and wondered how long he had been sitting there.

Pellaeon smiled as Thrawn sat down on the bed next to him, but he did not return it. "Pellaeon," he said, his voice rough like he had been crying. "I am so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, love," he replied, his voice rusty with disuse. He tried to push himself up into a sitting position, but felt weirdly lopsided. He figure that it must have been due to the medication; he stopped moving so he didn't aggravate it further.

Thrawn winced in sympathy and shifted closer to him. He leaned over Pellaeon and slipped an arm over his waist. It was as close to a hug as they could get while Pellaeon was still wrapped up in a blanket.

Pellaeon hummed happily at having the man so close, but wanted him closer. He lifted his arms from beneath the blanket to wrap them around Thrawn's shoulders so he could tug him downwards. Only one came up but Pellaeon was too focused on the comforting warmth of Thrawn's body as it pressed against his own.

"It's all right, Thrawn," he said as he pressed a kiss against his cheek. "I'm still here. I'm okay."

"You're not okay."

"What?" Something in Thrawn's voice made a pit form in Pellaeon's stomach. He planted his hand on Thrawn's chest and pushed gently until he leaned back just far enough for Pellaeon to look him in the eye.

The alien looked agonized. "The dart the assassin used was filled with some sort liquid that causes the rapid deterioration of flesh. It only hit your arm but it – the medics couldn't do anything to stop it by the time they arrived."

Thrawn wouldn't look at him as he spoke. The pit grew heavier until it felt like it weighed Pellaeon's whole stomach down. He turned his head to the left - the same side of his injured arm - and started to shift and pull the sheet covering him down – Thrawn's hand cupped his face, turned his head away. "Don't look. Please, just, not yet."

Panic twisted Pellaeon's insides around in knots; what was wrong with him? What was so bad that Thrawn wouldn't let him see it? "I am doing to have to see it eventually, Thrawn."

"No you won't. There's nothing there to see."

That did nothing to help Pellaeon's panic. He felt his eyes get wide as he considered what Thrawn had said and reached up to yank the blanket off of him. This time Thrawn didn't stop him.

He almost wished that he had as he stared down at the empty space where his arm should have been. There was nothing but open air and bedspread, and the neatly pinned off sleeve of the gown he wore.

It took him a few seconds to register what had happened - that his arm was gone.

He shoved himself away from the empty space - as if he could push himself from the horror of the situation, as if it wasn't going to follow him because that space was now connected to him, replaced what was once there, oh shit he was going to pass out, but maybe when he woke up this would all just be a nightmare - and startled the shit out of himself when he bumped into Thrawn, who slid his arms around Pellaeon.

He couldn't even push Thrawn off of him in his panic because he only had one damn hand to work with.

His arm was gone.

The burst of adrenaline that hit him didn't mix well with the lightheadedness and he felt his stomach roll with nausea.

"Stop looking at it," Thrawn hissed and pressed a hand against his cheek. He pushed his face until Pellaeon relented and allowed Thrawn to turn his head away from the problem - the lack of a problem now apparently, his mind corrected hysterically - "You'll only make yourself feel worse."

"I feel pretty kriffing bad!"

Thrawn tensed against him and pulled Pellaeon so tightly against him it almost hurt. "I know. I know you do and I'm so sorry, but I need you to calm down, Pellaeon. Just - breathe."

That was a pretty tall kriffing order. But he did his best to comply, although his breaths where more like wet gasps.

As he slowly calmed down Thrawn loosened his grip on him, but he didn't take his hand from Pellaeon's face. "The doctor said that they could get you a prosthetic, but you'll have to wait until we can get back to Courscant."

"That's -" That was two weeks away. At least two week away, if they assumed that they would not run into any problems and when had they ever not run into problems? Fourteen days was a long time when it meant he was missing a whole limb. A limb he used every day to do the simplest of tasks.

But he remembered the look on Thrawn's face, how tired he seemed, and how weirdly apologetic he was for something he didn't even do. And, yes, the assassin had obviously been going for Thrawn but it's not like he asked Pellaeon's dumb ass to get in the way. Thrawn always took it pretty hard when people died due to his orders, his choices - Pellaeon couldn't imagine what he felt right then if he blamed himself for this. He wasn't going to add to that guilt.

"I can make it until then."