Co-authored with ImperialGirl.
Thrawn normally did not expect visitors in his apartment in the officer's quarters on Coruscant, certainly not when he was out. Nor for that person to leave, not a message on the door pad's comm, but a scrap of flimsy, folded and tucked as tightly into the door crack as it could be.
He looked up and down the corridor, but it was, to all appearances as empty as it had been when he'd gone down to the recreational deck at his usual pre-dawn time. He could exercise more or less alone then, as few naval officers who achieved any meaningful rank did more than the minimum. Observing those who did was also valuable information. None had preceded him to the lifts, and none that he had seen that day lived on the same level.
Yet the flimsy was there, tucked against his door, and despite the sense of being observed the corridor appeared to be empty.
It was possibly a trap. The flimsy could be dusted with something dangerous. Or it could be more insults – xenophobic slurs or crude cartoons. He'd received enough such insults in a variety of formats it was practically a subset of his art collection. The sensible thing to do was call the security droids to scan the note and review any recordings.
Thrawn rarely did the sensible thing.
Carefully, he crouched down and used a fingernail to ease the scrap out. No heat, no feeling of being attached to anything, and he did not see or smell any telltale powders on it. If anything, it felt oddly familiar, not the right weight or quality to have been produced on Imperial Center. It felt like the fine-grained parchment used for only the most important or formal communications or strictly for artistic purposes on . . . Csilla.
Even without unfolding it, he knew this piece of fabric had come from Csilla. In spite of himself, he felt his pulse quicken. There were very few reasons for anyone from home to send him a message. How they'd managed it was a mystery of its own.
Carefully, he unfolded the soft fabric and the mystery took a sharp banking turn into the impossible. It was not a message but a brush painting, a graceful rendering of a two-headed, spine-tailed beast. It was the chimaera, painted in the same coiling pose as the version from Chiss stories, the one more fanciful sorts like poets and artists claimed to see as a constellation.
Poets, artists, noble-born romantics . . .
He closed his eyes.
They had been twined in each other's arms, her fingers tracing a pattern across the bare skin of his chest, as he studied the starscape artificially projected above the garden to mimic the night sky anyone who braved the surface cold would see. He'd been pontificating on the subject of star patterns and legends, including the chimaera.
'Every race we have encountered has a story, however ancient, of creatures made up of disparate parts. Monsters, for the most part. The blending of two worlds creating a demonic representation of fear of the other. Of mixing with the stranger. A creature that belongs in neither world.'
'Most races, including ours, have no imagination,' she'd sighed.
'For all they're feared, they're powerful,' he'd continued, thought it was not easy to concentrate with her pressed so close to any onlooker the heat of their bodies would have blended to one indistinguishable warmth. 'They captivate by their otherness.'
He'd gone on, he recalled, at further length, until he'd realized she'd slipped into a doze on his shoulder and he'd changed his focus to waking her by the most unconventional means. But not long after, she had painted an attempt at a chimaera, and had continued until the beast from her brush matched the one in his imagination.
The one staring up at him from the sheet in his hands.
Thrawn jerked upright, turning to stare down the hall even as a shadow moved out of the corner, a tall figure shrouded in a rough cloak like so many travelers in the mid levels of the Imperial capital, but even before she raised a gloved hand, before he heard the voice whisper, "Mitth'raw'nuruodo," he knew.
It was impossible, insanity, but she was here and he could see the red glow of her eyes, the long braid of cobalt hair with tendrils slipping loose even as he seized her by the arms and pulled her to him.
[Lisetha,] he breathed, and she collapsed against him, shaking.
[Thrawn,] and his core name was half a sob. [I thought I'd never find you.]
Any moment one of the other doors could open, some bleary-eyed commander heading off to duty or the lifts would deposit some senior lieutenant only now staggering in from the underlevel dens of iniquity. To be seen with a female was problematic enough. To be seen with one of his own species would raise every unwanted question he had so far avoided. And of course, Thrawn had questions of his own.
[Quickly, inside.]
When the door slid shut and locked, he grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look up.
[Lisetha–Lisetha, what are you doing here? How did you find me? How did you even try? Why?]
[Why?] It came out as half a laugh, shaky and unsteady.
[I had to find you. I couldn't stand it any longer. Family was tired of my refusing to even consider a new contract, no one in the Defense Fleet learned a thing from what you did, nothing changed.]
All the high-family trappings were gone. Her clothes were plain, dark, unremarkable, though she had to same something of value secreted somewhere, unless of course it had cost her everything she had to get from Wild Space to the very heart of the Empire.
[If I stayed I'd only have ended up one of them, burying my head in the snow until I froze that way. Alone I could never sway the Council. And . . .] She caught her breath, the shaking slowed. [I couldn't imagine . . . I mean to say . . .]
She took a deep breath.
[Father could force me to break the contract. He could not force me to take back my heart. I decided I would rather die searching for you than die slowly by pieces.]
Some part of him wanted to chastise her for a display of sentiment worthy of the most horrifying cautionary tale for children about defiance of Family and Tradition. Some part of him wanted to take a co-leading role in that story and never let her out of his sight again. But the questions were still demanding answers.
[How? There was no public record of where I was taken. And from there . . .]
How much did she know about the truth of his exile?
[I was Father's aide. I might not have been permitted to hear the deliberations, but he should have known he couldn't encrypt his records enough to keep me out.] Even exhausted, leaning on his shoulder, the smile she managed was more than a trace smug.
[And the only lead there were the references to the human empire. I could find fleet records, see where they tracked those ships near the world you'd been sent. When I was sure you'd been picked up, I went into Wild Space, looking for traces. Finding slicers and pirates who kept abreast of Imperial activity was not so hard, while I had money, and among humans and these other Core aliens, you stand out. It took so long, but once I was here, finding you was a matter of seeking out art dealers and antiquarians who'd remember dealing with you. I even had to trade some of my own pieces–here I gather Chiss work is so exotic it's practically legend! But it didn't matter, because I found you. And then at the very last I almost ran away. I thought, what if he hates us all? What if he doesn't want me here? So I left the sketch, and I watched, and you came . . .]
Irrational in the extreme, a foolish waste for her. Lisetha . . . Aristocra Reli'set'harana, first-daughter of the Second Ruling Family, heir presumptive to her father's position as the Second Councilor, had done something unimaginable.
Unforgivable.
Her father was not a cruel man, or even an entirely conventionally-minded one, but she had in effect exiled herself and even he couldn't have overlooked that. She would be branded a maverick, a near-traitor, unforgivably defiant and disruptive. How much the worse would it be if he sent her back? She'd be fortunate if her family quietly supported her as a nameless artist.
But how could he possibly let her stay? He was a Vice Admiral now, and the higher he rose, the more enemies he made, many with dangerous tendencies and deadly reach. She would be nothing but a target, alone and friendless and utterly vulnerable to anyone who wished to destroy him. Even enforced ostracization on Csilla had to be better for her. Even if he had to take her as far as Wild Space himself.
She was still trembling, pressed tight against him, and knowing it would only make matters more difficult, he tightened his arms and reveled in the familiar way her body molded to his. He had to convince her to go home.
He would never ask her to wait. He would never demand such loyalty at such an unfathomable price. It had been harder than he'd expected, knowing he'd lose her, but in the long nights on his faux prison world, he'd convinced himself she would accept the loss and move on.
[I would never have asked you to do this,] he murmured.
Lisetha pressed her hand over his heart and looked up, steadying herself until he saw more than a bit of that confident noblewoman he remembered. [I am with you,] she said simply. [And that is worth everything.]
Thrawn tried to think, and for once in his life failed.
She made a soft sound like a choked sob, and then he was kissing her, and she responded with more desperation than he could have believed possible. The way her skin flushed with heat, the pounding of her heart, the scent of her hair, even the taste of her skin . . . it was all as he remembered and it was home.
Half a galaxy away, and he was home.
He didn't remember their undressing, but they must have. He never recalled how they managed to pass from the sitting room into the bedroom without stumbling over something, but they did. He did have a very clear thought as they sank down on his bunk (and some distracted part of his mind filed away that Imperial-issue sheets and blankets were far too coarse for a Chiss noblewoman, though for now they would have to do), just before he lost himself completely.
[Mine,] he whispered fiercely, and she gasped what might have been assent. [All mine.]
Captain Parck walked up the stairs in a brisk stride and rang the door chime of Senior Captain Thrawn's apartment in the Officer's District on Coruscant to congratulate him on his promotion to the rank of Vice Admiral.
From time to time Parck visited his apartment when they were both stationed at the Imperial Center between their long term deep space assignments captaining different ships. Just like his old quarters aboard the Strikefast, Thrawn's apartment has been very spartan, and the only possessions the alien ever seemed to acquire consisted of the works of art neatly placed in order, some of them on displays, some of them stuffed away in clearly labeled boxes.
Parck has never inquired about the sum Thrawn spent on his extensive collection but he had been his superior officer once so he could make an educated guess based on how many credits he had authorized to Thrawn's account and how many shipments had arrived in those days to know the alien must have been broke or nearly so between pay dates.
He snickered; there was no doubt Thrawn spent his promotion bonus on an ancient sculpture which he would be polishing, or a broken piece of technology he would be repairing, or a rare painting he would be staring at right now. It wasn't like he ever did anything else when he returned to Coruscant between deployments. And knowing Thrawn, he would be desperately looking for a victim foolish enough to ask about the newest addition to his collection.
Parck frowned and rang the chime one more time; technically this would be the first time he had ever decided to drop by completely unannounced. Perhaps the Chiss was not at home? Visiting a museum? Shopping for antiques?
Well, he would give it one more try and drop by later, the next time definitely announcing himself first.
When Parck discovered it would be both of them receiving a promotion, him becoming a Senior Captain, Thrawn becoming a Vice Admiral, and they would be serving on the same ship, only with the command roles reversed, one could hardly blame him for getting excited to see a familiar face. It would be also the last time they would talk to each other as two officers of a similar standing. Not as equals, for they had never been truly equal. Even when Thrawn had been a mere lieutenant he had been the one running his ship in everything but name.
Thrawn had been the type of a subordinate the every ranking officer hated: better and smarter than the commander himself.
Others would have thrown his carcass out the airlock. Parck had come to accept how lucky he was.
He rang the chime for the third time and when nothing happened, he shrugged, and about to go on his way when the door opened to reveal the Chiss, looking somewhat disheveled and dressed not in his usual fleet uniform but black clothing of an unfamiliar cut with burgundy embroidery on the arms. He was also barefoot.
Was it possible Thrawn had spent several days non-stop cataloging his art collection or repairing whatever piece of technology he had bought? Had he become so engrossed that he forgot to sleep and passed out from exhaustion? It was four o'clock in the afternoon. The Chiss has always seemed to appear awake and immaculate on duty, no matter when he was summoned from his quarters, as if he never got tired, as if he never slept. Nonsense, of course, all living beings in the universe needed resting period, it just seemed the Chiss needed much less than an ordinary human and Parck had never before caught him in the midst of one.
"I am sorry, sir. Perhaps I came over at a bad time?" Parck apologized, noting Thrawn's unusual appearance was even more disheveled than he'd first thought. This never happened before. Could the Chiss have fallen ill?
"Captain Parck," Thrawn nodded in greeting, giving him a long, pondering glance as if he couldn't decide whether to invite him inside or send him away. They were two Captains of a similar standing at the moment, and they would be working together in a direct chain of command in the immediate future. Sending Parck away would not be the best way to re-start their working relationship.
"Please, come in, Captain Parck," the Chiss said finally and motioned him to come inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He lead him through the small hallway to the main room which looked pretty much as Parck remembered it, a giant storage room of works of art with a table and a pair of chairs the only concession to the living occupant. The art lived here, not Thrawn. The man only came over to check up on the main tenant from time to time.
"I cannot help wondering how you spent your promotion bonus," Parck said lightly, looking at the exhibits, wondering which one of them was the newest addition to his collection. There were quite a few pieces he hasn't seen before, and there was no way Thrawn would ever spend his bonus on anything other than art.
"As of yet I haven't had the chance to visit the antique dealers in the lower levels, or browse the Holonet auction catalogs, Captain. I have been rather busy."
"I understand," Parck cleared his throat. "Congratulation on your promotion to the Vice Admiral, by the way." Parck gave the newest member of the Admiralty his best textbook salute.
"At ease, Captain," Thrawn returned his salute with all formalities, "and congratulation on your promotion as well."
[If I may say so, sir, it will be a pleasure to work with you again,] Parck said in Cheunh, hoping his pronunciation didn't make him sound like a Wookiee after a long time of not using it.
Apparently, it did, the Chiss stiffened and his face hardened almost imperceptibly, a clear indication that something had been amiss. His Cheunh skills must have gotten much worse than he had feared.
[This human can speak our language?] an unknown, feminine voice from behind Parck replied in the same language.
Parck jerked in surprise, turning at the unknown voice, which almost gave him a heart attack. His military training kicked in, identifying her as a possible threat –
Only to be locked in a durasteel grip from Thrawn, who must have guessed his intentions.
[Calm down, Captain, she means you no harm,] Thrawn said in Cheunh, releasing him immediately once Parck came back to his senses. Damn, the Chiss was strong. There would definitely be a bruise forming later.
[Lisetha, please, never sneak up on a human in a uniform. Captain, please forgive her, it appears that curiosity got better of her.]
Parck was too busy staring to take offense.
She was, he supposed, strikingly pretty by human standards, her hair fell in a cobalt tangle down her back, a few wild strands falling into her face to shadow the glowing red eyes. She was as disheveled as Thrawn, and Parck realized she was wrapped in standard Navy-issue robe that was clearly too large for her. Thrawn's, obviously. She'd knotted the sash tightly, but was still holding the collar closed with what he assumed was a display of modesty.
[I am sorry,] she said, looking uncertainly from Parck to Thrawn and back again. [Only I have not found many beings who speak Cheunh. Sy Bisti, Minnisiat, but not Cheunh.]
When Thrawn flatly told him that as a human he would never be able to speak Cheunh properly, Parck took it as a personal offense and commanded his then-subordinate to teach him his mother tongue, determined to prove him wrong. As with everything else, the Chiss was right, there were certain sounds that the human vocal cords would never be able to reproduce. But with enough practice Parck taught himself how to make the intonation more pronounced, resulting in strangely accented, somewhat unnatural but passable pronunciation. Once he had passed that stage, even the grammatical hell of High Cheunh became a piece of cake in comparison.
[Captain Parck has been a most eager student.]
Thrawn did not look at him. He was watching his guest, his face as unreadable as it always appeared, but he seemed strangely tense.
[Captain, may I present Aristocra Reli'set'harana of the Second Ruling Family. Lisetha, allow me to introduce Captain Voss Parck of the Imperial Navy. Captain Parck found me on the world where I was exiled and brought me to the Empire.]
She gave a tiny smile Parck knew was fairly demonstrative for the Chiss. [A pleasure to meet you, Captain Voss Parck.]
She was still hovering uncertainly at the door, and Thrawn made a tiny gesture. She hesitated, but then crossed to stand beside Thrawn, who gave a reassuring nod.
A cousin? No, the names are too dissimilar. Another exile? She must be. How did she find him? He must be letting her stay here. Perhaps she lost everything. Only one set of clothes, that must be why the robe.
Parck shook himself. [It is an honor, Aristocra Reli'set'harana,] and he mentally congratulated himself on not mangling the name too badly. [I am pleased to meet a friend of Vice Admiral Mitth'raw'nuruodo.]
He saw the brief look that passed between them. Friend? That was the right word, wasn't it?
"Do you speak Basic, my lady?"
The glowing red eyes lowered briefly. "Little," she said, and her accent was much like Thrawn's had been when he'd first spoken to Parck on the Strikefast.
"Not well. Cheunh . . . more easy?" She glanced at Thrawn.
"Easier," Thrawn corrected, not unkindly. Not unkindly at all. "It will come quickly."
[I hope so, nar'ech'yon.]
Parck didn't know the word. [I am sorry,] he said, choosing the word he was fairly sure meant the matter was his failing, not Thrawn's. [I do not understand that word. The prefix sounds like half, but . . .]
Thrawn stiffened. [It is difficult to translate. It has it roots in the archaic word for heart. The modern meaning is . . .] He grimaced, an expression Parck had only seen when Thrawn was trying to avoid admitting something, usually a lack of knowledge he felt was a personal failing.
"I do not know the Basic word. The literal translation of the old form would be I think heart's-half? But the modern word is more . . . legal. Contractual promised? Sworn? In Minnisiat, wahtebise is similar."
It could mean kinship. It could be a very evolved word for some sort of legal partnership.
Parck looked down, both to hide color he could feel tinging his face and to avoid looking Thrawn in the eyes. As he did, though, he noticed that while the Chiss might never do something so blatant as hold hands, Thrawn and Reli'set'harana were standing so her right hand just slightly brushed the back of his left, their fingers barely twined. It was a very absent-minded gesture, the sort that happened between those who were close. Familiar. Intimate.
"I think the word you mean might be fiancé(e)." Parck supplied. "If you mean-you were-are-promised to each other in marriage."
Thrawn nodded. "That is close, at least." He switched back. [When I was arrested, Lisetha's father, the Second Councilor, formally terminated our contract. I do not blame him; it removed any potential dishonor by association and meant she was free to contract a more valuable match.]
[I wouldn't. I couldn't.] Even if he hadn't understood the words, Parck would have understood her tone. [I won't give you up now, either, so don't come up with any ridiculously-logical and flawlessly reasonable plan to send me away.]
Parck cleared his throat, feeling embarrassed at being included in a conversation that would be considered deeply intimate even by human standards. He had been taught only the language itself, not cultural or societal norms, but based on the grammatical clauses necessary whenever anything of personal nature ever needed to be addressed, he had surmised that they would have never been having this sort of conversation in front of an another, Chiss or non-Chiss, had they been given a choice.
[Chiss contracts], Parck used the same word the two of them had done, though to him it seemed strange, unnatural, nothing like an equivalent to the word 'marriage' in Basic, more like a 'union' or an 'alliance,' [are not entered upon feeling mutual affection for each other?]
[There are several kinds of marriage contract for the Chiss,] Thrawn explained. [They determine how long the marriage will last, how many children they are obliged to produce, and to which House and which Family, if any, the children will belong, as well as conditions for possible termination of the contract. When the contract is signed, the marriage begins.]
Parck visibly winced. He'd suspected it might have been something like an arranged marriage but to hear it confirmed made him feel an immense sorrow for the couple. They had been so lucky to end up in such a match, and at the same time so unlucky to have the match terminated by Thrawn's exile.
He also knew that by introducing Reli'set'harana to him, by letting him privy to the details of such deeply intimate conversation, Thrawn had openly admitted to a weakness that could have been used against him as a leverage or a blackmail. This was exactly the kind of weakness that the COMPNOR was so desperate trying to find on Thrawn.
Not long after Thrawn rose up to the rank of a Captain, Parck had received a surprise visitor on his way back from an establishment he had frequented, a pair of COMPNOR agents who have been interested in what kind of subordinate the alien was, what kind of hobbies the alien had, and if there was anything that could have been possibly used against him.
Parck had done the only sensible thing: he accepted their invitation for a drink and told them how annoying a subordinate Thrawn had been, how he had run the ship in everything but name, and how obsessed with art the alien had been, the only thing that could have been possibly used against him.
If there was anything that the COMPNOR excelled at, it was blackmail and a preternatural ability to pick up on an outright lie, so he ended up balancing on a rope over a cliff, telling them them the facts without revealing the truth.
And Parck was so successful it almost scared him; he managed to make himself look like an example of someone who bet his career on a cunning alien the Emperor might found amusing and lost the bet. The promotion he had hoped for never came and he had to put up with the cocky alien on his own ship. He also managed to look resigned enough to his fate that the only thing mattered to him was keeping his own position, refusing an offer to bring the alien down to his knees for the fear of retaliation by the Emperor himself.
The mention of the Emperor did the trick. They had already known that it was him who presented Thrawn to the Emperor, he had only confirmed it for them and convinced them he considered it a mistake. They let him off the hook and never bothered him again.
And then Parck did the only other sensible thing: he informed Captain Thrawn. That was how he had ended up in Thrawn's apartment for the first time, and told him word by word what exactly he had told them, leaving out only the details as where they had found him.
He had no idea if the Chiss would understand, but apparently he did. He patiently listened to the whole story and nodded, saying "You made a correct decision, Captain" and proceeded to show him his personal collection of art, the pieces he kept for his own benefit, not the tools he used to get into the mind of his enemies. He even recommended that if Parck ever received visitors from COMPNOR again, he would do well to tell them what art styles Thrawn found to his liking, boring them to death with an extensive list, suggesting what sort of pieces Thrawn could be possibly interested in buying.
"The key to success is always staying one step ahead of one's enemy," Thrawn had said that day.
Today, Thrawn had trusted him with an enormous secret, and there was no chance Parck would have ever used it against him. He would take it to his grave. And there was only one sensible solution to this situation.
[She cannot stay here,] Parck said finally, taking a deep breath, [It's too dangerous. You have too many enemies, sir, and the higher you rise in rank, the greater danger there will be.]
Thrawn froze, his expression as unreadable as he had ever seen, and from the frown of the female Chiss, it must have been difficult to interpret it even for her.
[What do you suggest, Captain?] Thrawn said in a deceptively mild tone. Reli'set'harana had gone very still.
[You have to take her aboard,] Parck explained. [No one else can know about her. I will help you with that.]
[I hate to reducing her to a mere . . . kept woman.] Thrawn was clearly gritting his teeth. [It is beneath her dignity as a Chiss noble.]
[Let me be the judge of that,] Reli'set'harana shot back, her eyes glittering. [My place is wherever you require me. I don't care about titles and I don't care about danger. You put yourself in danger all the time.]
It was heartwarming, in a way, how she clearly wasn't the least bit intimidated even by Thrawn. And it was heartwarming, and more than a bit painful, how Thrawn was looking at her with the sort of single-minded devotion Parck had only ever seen him give to art before.
Thrawn had the look of someone who had known all along this was the only possible solution to the problem but did not like the notion at all. It took the most unlikely ally to finally accept the fact that there was nothing else that could be done. The Chiss nodded in resignation.
[Then that is what we will do,] Thrawn said.
Reli'set'harana smiled, and for a moment she grasped Thrawn's hand tightly.
[I will arrange things,] Parck offered. [Let me know what you'll need to alter in the admiral's quarters, and I can adjust the crew schedules. We can manage this, Vice Admiral.]
"I think the ranks are not necessary, Voss Parck," Thrawn switched the languages, addressing him by his full name. It might have sounded strange in Basic but among the Chiss it was the proper way to address each other.
"I am rarely at loss for words, however I truly cannot find the proper expression of gratitude. Neither in Basic nor in Cheunh. Especially in Cheunh. You also have my deepest respect considering the conflict of interest on your part."
"I have no idea what you mean," Parck blinked, the sudden turn taking him completely by surprise.
The Chiss stared at him for a moment, unblinking, the look in his eyes getting more and more cautious with each second.
"You know very well what I am talking about, Voss Parck," the Chiss hinted.
"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Mitth'raw'nuruodo," Parck repeated, this time much more strongly, for his own benefit rather than for the Chiss.
It couldn't be.
He had been so careful.
"Your secret is safe with me, Voss Parck."
For the first time in his life, the deep red gaze was starting to make him feel uncomfortable.
"I have always known. And I admire you for being so professional about it. It is a very rare trait among humans."
"Y-You've known?" Parck stuttered, feeling a sudden tightness in his chest. "All this time you've known?"
"I came to the realization you hold a certain kind of affection towards me after I realized that you are attracted to male gender exclusively. It took me a rather long time to figure it out, but in my defense I had very little experience in reading humans then and my knowledge of human behavior and customs was rather limited."
It was as if the Chiss took out his heart from his chest and started examining it, studying it from various angles and directions, completely oblivious to the fact it was still beating. Had it been anyone else he might have found it funny that it appeared to be a species trait, for the female Chiss was observing him as well.
"In fact, it still remains very much limited as the only human interaction I have had the chance to observe is working relationships between military officers." Thrawn continued his in-depth study.
No wonder Cheunh was such a complex language, with so many rules and clauses that made him consider smashing a datapad against the wall at least hundred times. It must have made sense to the Chiss; they were trying to approach things rationally, and when it came to things like emotions and feelings, they had no problem acknowledging they couldn't be approached in such manner.
Unfortunately, humans did not possess such sense of self-reflection.
And Parck was a mere human.
"Can I borrow your sidearm and shoot myself in the head rather than to die from embarrassment?" Parck blurted out. He had never felt so awkward in his life.
"Why would you do such a thing?" The Chiss jerked in surprise; he appeared to be completely at loss. "I meant no offense."
[Thrawn, what are you saying to him?] The female Chiss frowned, her face clouding in confusion. [The distribution of his body heat changed completely, for a moment he almost went into shock...]
"The what?" Surely he must have misheard. "Why is she staring at me like that? What is she saying? My Cheunh has gotten a little rusty, I think something got lost in the translation."
[Lisetha, please, can you go and make us a cup of chai?] Thrawn did not take his eyes off him, still staring at him intently, [This is a matter of personal nature that needs to be addressed in private.]
She looked from Thrawn to Parck, but nodded, and vanished into the kitchenette.
"No, you understood correctly. The distribution of your body heat undergone an abrupt change when you realized I knew… Voss Parck, are you all right?"
"No."
Coming from an ice world, it made sense their senses would be honed to such a refined level. In the past it had to mean a difference between the life and freezing to death.
"I am definitely not all right. You mean to tell me that no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I kept my distance, it was my body that gave it all away? That you've been reading me like an open book?"
"You cannot blame yourself for the fact that Chiss sensory perception is different from a human's. I have observed this kind of behavior in humans as well as in other species. And other kinds of behavior, too, which they never wanted me to know."
He certainly never intended for anyone in the Imperial Navy, especially Thrawn, to know.
That was the real reason why he had to thread around COMPNOR so carefully. Had they realized Thrawn was more to him than the annoying alien he had to put up with given his inclinations, they would have used it to bring both of them down.
There were two ways to destroy a person: Kill him, or ruin his reputation.
"Never mind." Parck forced himself to calm down. "Since you've known all this time I guess you don't mind me being your direct subordinate from now on?"
"Of course not. Only I am not certain I can give you what you want from me," the Chiss wavered, the expression on the blue face showing uncharacteristic hesitation.
What he wanted from Thrawn was completely different from the attraction or the affection he felt for the man; it ran much deeper. And it took all his strength to say it aloud.
"I want to serve a leader I can believe in, a leader worthy of my trust and loyalty," Parck swallowed hard, feeling an immense weight taken off his shoulders. "I want to serve the Empire worthy of its name…"
What was he about to say next was technically a treason of the highest order, but then it was Parck who presented Thrawn as a 'gift' to the Emperor, he had seen Thrawn stand up to Palpatine, talk to him like a leader to an another leader, not like a mere servant to his master.
"I will never forget the venomous gleam in those yellow eyes, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. It's a nightmare that will haunt me for the rest of my life."
The knowledge came with a price.
The expression on the blue face darkened. "You do realize I might require of you to become an extension of myself without revealing my plans to you, Voss Parck. I might require of you to sacrifice your entire career, your entire life for my own goals, what ever they might be, however noble or selfish they might be."
"I do," Parck confessed. This was what he wanted to be, this was what he truly desired, giving himself up completely to the one worthy of such devotion. What did that say of him? What did that say of Thrawn he had accepted him?
"And you ask of nothing in return?"
"No."
"Hmmm…" Thrawn mused aloud, giving him a long, contemplative look, evaluating him, looking at him with what Parck now realized were very different eyes.
"You have the heart of a Chiss warrior, Voss Parck," Thrawn said finally, and he could hear the sincere humility in Thrawn's voice.
"Very well. If you are willing to become the first of the first of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's Household Phalanx, then I am willing to become your Syndic."
[It will be my honor to serve you, Syndic Mitth'raw'nuruodo,] Parck said in High Cheunh, and he meant every word.
THE END
Author's Note:
Yes, in the Freak Fleet verse, Parck is gay. It doesn't make him any less of a man in my eyes, and I am not devolving the fic into a weird het/slash love triangle. What Parck feels for Thrawn is a mixture of deep affection, friendship, and loyalty. To him, Thrawn is the master he wants to serve, the one he believes to be worthy of his trust and loyalty, being gay has little to with it. Parck is a BAMF, and the gay streak only adds to his BAMFness. Deal with it :-P