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Chapter Text

General Maximilian Veers did not fear Death.

He had faced it often enough on the battlefield to become used to its omnipresence. Intricate planning, cunning strategy, and gut instinct kept him alive, and he had paid tribute to Death with the souls of countless rebel scum.  

Hoth should not have been different from any other theater of war.

Yet even as he and his men were deployed, Veers had sensed there was something foreboding about the ice planet.

He did not fear Death, but he heard it call to him. A chill that had nothing to do with the unforgiving winter landscape clutched at his bones.

He took comfort in the fact that he and his men were well-trained for combat in any and all terrain. They were as formidable as the mechanical behemoths they drove, and they had been victorious before.

They would be victorious again.

Still…

The rebels were better equipped than he had calculated. The fall of Yavin IV may have reduced their numbers, but it did nothing to diminish their spirit.

When he watched the first AT-AT stumble to the ground, its legs entangled by snowspeeder cables, Veers knew he had erred. He had severely underestimated these remaining few rebels. They were backed into a corner and had grown even more dangerous.

Death, it seemed, was coming for him.

After giving the dashboard of his AT-AT, Blitzkrieg , a reassuring pat, he gripped the handles of the steering column. Two snowspeeders were coming his way, charging him fearlessly. His thumbs rested on the triggers for the chase cannons.

He drew in a breath.

He aimed.

He fired.

Both snowspeeders were annihilated.

But he did not see the third speeder in time.

It burst through the fire and ashes of its fallen comrades with a vengeance.

Taking another steadying breath, Veers aimed, fired...and missed.

He heard the cable hit the side of Blitzkrieg ’s ankle with a dull thunk . He shifted his attention to the cameras on the underside of the AT-AT’s belly, and could only watch helplessly as the speeder made figure-eights around Blitzkrieg ’s spindly legs.

He looked to Colonel Starck’s AT-AT, its beastial head resting almost peacefully in the snow, its legs tied uselessly behind it. He looked to the escape hatch atop the transport’s head, hoping to see his officer escape. The colonel and his crew never had the chance. An X-wing swooped down and blasted the vulnerable neck of the fallen transport. Explosions blossomed in quick succession along the AT-AT’s spine leading towards its power core. Moments later, the rest of the hull was blasted apart. Black smoke filled the air; when it cleared, there was nothing was left of the colonel or his AT-AT.

Veers felt Blitzkrieg’s legs slow. He looked to the scanners hoping he was within range of the rebel base’s main reactor.

Just a few yards shy.

He swore under his breath and looked to the smoldering pile of debris; debris that had once been the only other AT-AT within a dozen kilometers that could have taken the shot.

Blitzkrieg ’s leg joints groaned in protest as the speeder’s cables pulled tighter.

It would not be long before Veers’ transport would fall as well.

But I am so close...Just a few more steps.

Veers strapped himself tighter in the command chair. He pulled the lever beneath the dashboard, channeling all power from the deflector shields into the forward cannons. One blast to the main reactor would be enough.

If I can use Blitz’s momentum to gain me a few more yards, I can light up the whole damn base.

He let out a resigned sigh.

He had stalled Death long enough.

“For the Empire,” he breathed. “For the galaxy.”

Blitzkrieg took a single step forward; the last step the old girl would ever take.

Veers ran his hand over the dashboard. “Good girl,” he cooed.

The AT-AT’s legs screeched against the webbing of cables. The mechanical knees buckled. The harness cut into Veers’ collarbones and chest, and was the only thing keeping him from being hurled through the windshield.

Five yards...four...three...two…

Veers punched the double-triggers of the forward cannons.

The AT-AT’s field of vision was cast down, but the sensors indicated it was a direct hit, as did the tell-tale concussive blast that shook the entire transport and Veers to his very core.

The mission was a success. That was all that mattered.

Now all Veers had left to do was to fall.

He supposed his life should have been flashing before his eyes. Memories seemed to flicker in his head like frantic moths around a dying flame. He pushed everything away.

If these were to be his final moments, there was only one memory he wished to relive. He closed his eyes. The singular vivid memory seemed to stretch on forever and he cherished every second of it.

“I am Thrawn. A pleasure to meet you, colonel.”

The chiss is striking. He is statuesque, a perfectly chiseled stone of blue. His eyes are alluring rubies. His pink lips are soft and glistening. Veers tries not to stare.

“Likewise, vice admiral. I’m Maximilian Veers. Thrawn is it?” Veers’ heart is pounding, but his smile is cordial.  “Surely, that is not your full name, seeing as you are chiss.”

“You know of our naming customs, do you?”

“Only a little,” Veers replies, then he dares to ask, “May I know your full name?”

Thrawn’s pale lips draw back in such a way that it sends heat to the colonel’s ears. “Perhaps one day I shall tell you. We have only just met.”

“I look forward to hearing it.” Veers lets the grin spread across his face.

The smile Thrawn returns as he walks away tells Veers two things: That he needs to be careful with this one, and that the chiss may be worth the risk of knowing better.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo...”

The name slipped from his lips, and snapped Veers back into reality.

The nose of the AT-AT was plummeting. The ground was rushing up to meet him.

If he was going to act, he had to act now.

Veers did not fear Death, but he was not ready to give up on life. Not yet. Not when he had finally found someone worth coming back to.

Unhooking the buckle of his safety harness, Veers’ boots hit the dashboard, landing firmly on either side of the steering column. He planted his feet, gripped the handles and pulled hard .

The column let out an eerie creak, metal grinding against metal.

Either the column is going to break or…

The AT-AT’s nose shot up at the last moment.

Veers saw the sky, then the ruins of the smoking rebel base. The angle would protect Blitz’s neck from an X-wing’s aerial assault, but it would do nothing to soften the AT-AT’s landing.

He closed his eyes.

Those scarlet eyes gazing at him just long enough.

Metal grinding against metal; screeching and groaning and singing as the mechanical beast’s head slammed into the ground.

Those lips smiling just the right way.

For a moment he was weightless, launched into the air.

“I am Thrawn. A pleasure to-”

There was a bright flash of agony…

Then darkness claimed him quickly.

-----

Thrawn’s boots thundered down the hallway towards the Executor’s med bay. At the far end of the hall, Captain Piett emerged from the med bay’s double-doors. When he spotted Thrawn, he hurried to meet him.

“Where is he?” Thrawn demanded, not breaking his stride.

Piett shifted on his heels as Thrawn stormed past, matching the grand admiral's speed without hesitation.

“IC Unit 14A. He just emerged from the bacta tank, but they are keeping him sedated while he heals.”

The medical officers stiffened to attention as Thrawn burst through the double-doors, allowing Piett to guide him through the white labyrinthine hallways to the proper room.

“They said he took the final shot, sir,” Piett said as he gestured for Thrawn to follow him down a narrow hallway. “His AT-AT blasted the main reactor as it fell. They said the shot had a mere thirty-five percent chance of success. He-”

“That will be all, captain,” Thrawn said, more curtly than he intended.

Unfazed, Piett bowed. “Of course, sir.”

Thrawn paused before activating the door panel of ICU 14A. “Captain,” he looked back at Piett. “Thank you for notifying me.”

Piett looked uncomfortable with the gratitude. He swallowed and nodded. “I hope your...I hope the general has a speedy recovery, sir.”

And with that, Piett bowed and left the grand admiral alone.

The severity of the hard lighting and bleached white walls of the med bay did not carry over into the room itself. A gentle lighting borne from a pair of lamps filled the room with a soft glow, softened further by light gray walls and sparse, modest furnishings. A small cabinet and a  modest bed with a bedside table were all that occupied the room. A thick silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the occasional beep from the monitors mounted on the walls.

Taking a deep breath, he walked deeper into the room.

He was not ready to see what lay before him.

The blood drained from his face.

“Max…” he uttered, his heart sinking.

There were so many tubes. They were embedded in Veers’ arms, in his neck, and several more were fed beneath the blanket to his legs. Most of the IV bags supplied a steady stream of bacta solution into Veers’ torso, tending to his internal and more serious injuries. A single green tube connected to the general’s arm, feeding him what Thrawn could only assume was a general anesthetic.

Ignoring the growing lump in his throat, he tucked his hands behind his back and strode to Veers’ bedside. There was a chair beside him, but he did not feel like sitting.

He did not feel like standing either.

Despite being the only one conscious in the room, Thrawn fought to keep his composure. If he was being honest with himself, he truly did not know how else to act in such a situation. This was...a first for him.

Veers was a mountain of a man, with a broad-chested, well-muscled physique that seemed to be meticulously sculpted by a skilled artist rather than toned in some stuffy Imperial gym. Yet for all his brute strength, his true greatness came from his sheer presence of will. Seeing him lying prone on the bed, Thrawn thought he looked small, peaceful, and entirely too vulnerable for the man-of-action he knew him to be.

Thrawn swallowed hard, irritated by the persistent and utterly useless sensation that threatened his tear ducts and sinuses.

Black and blue bruises stained the left side of Veers’ cheek and jaw, but there appeared to be no significant head injuries. Thrawn supposed he had Veers’ ridiculous helmet to thank for that. He made a mental note to stop teasing him about that blasted thing anymore.

Veers’ body was not as lucky as his head. Most of his torso was wrapped in bandages and the flesh that was exposed bore large islands of deep purple bruising over his lightly tanned skin. Thrawn tilted his head curiously at an exposed portion of Veers’ upper chest. Among the bruises and a variety of old scars that came from a hard military life was a very distinctive and very thick scar that appeared to have never been treated with bacta.

The hideous scar was rosy, jagged and it spread from his collarbone across his chest, disappearing beneath the blankets.

It looks as if it was near-fatal. Why was this never treated?

Thrawn reached for the bleached cotton sheets, wondering just how far the scar went.

He lifted the blanket, but then he paused. Thinking better of it, Thrawn pulled the sheet farther over Veers’ chest, hiding the scar entirely.

A low hum sounded from the datapad on Thrawn’s belt. He swiped the glossy black screen, only to find several updates in his inbox - all from Captain Piett. One was a full report of the general’s medical condition, two status reports regarding the remaining rebel forces that had fled Hoth, and a short holovid. Thrawn frowned at the unmarked vid.

He clicked the file and a small projection, no bigger than the palm of his hand, hovered above the datapad.

A flickering blue-tinted image of a single AT-AT appeared onscreen. It moved ahead of its herd across a snowy landscape and blasted all in its path with deadly accuracy. Along its body were dozens of iconic scorch marks, all earned during its long service to the Empire. Each marking had its own harrowing story and its driver had spent many nights regaling the chiss with his tales of adventures.

“Blitzkrieg is the finest woman I will ever know,” Veers had said often. “One day, I will take you out for a ride in her, if you would like.”

Despite knowing that this was footage from a few hours ago and the damage was already done, Thrawn felt helpless watching the near-fatal scene unfold. The snowspeeder was a standard white speeder, though tinted light blue in the holovid feed, and bore a dark racing stripe along its nose. One door panel was mismatched and was darker and less polished than the rest of the speeder. It whipped aggressively around the AT-AT’s ankles, metal cable in tow. As the lasso tightened, the AT-AT slowed to a stop.

Thrawn clenched his jaw.

Veers had an opportunity to escape. There was no harm in calculated retreats.

Yet he did not retreat.

Instead, Blitzkrieg took that one final step.

The AT-AT fell in an agonizingly slow, unstoppable descent. As its nose lunged forward, blaster fire spewed from the forward cannons. The angry red projectiles soared several kilometers across the winter battlefield and began to dip, hitting the base of the Rebel Base’s main reactor. It was nearly a complete miss, but it managed to hit its mark.

Of course, Thrawn thought, letting his swelling pride extinguish his initial anger at the stubborn general. He had to fall. It was the only way to close the gap, to move within range to destroy the main reactor.

A soft groan interrupted Thrawn’s thoughts.

Veers stirred slightly. His light eyebrows furrowed and his eyelids twitched as if a nightmare was taking hold of him. The general parted his lips, murmuring something too low for Thrawn to hear.

Thrawn sank into the chair next to the bed.

“Shh...Max,” he whispered, stroking Veers’ forehead, smoothing back the rogue curls soaked in sweat. “I am here now. You are safe.”

At his touch, Veers’ face melted into serenity, his soft murmurs fading as he surrendered into a peaceful sleep once again.

Thrawn hurriedly wiped away the moisture collecting in his eye, which he attributed to the dry air in the room.

Logic told him Veers was fine. He was alive. He would heal.

Thrawn’s eyes returned to the holovid and watched the last few seconds of the recording. His scarlet eyes narrowed as he watched the snowspeeder fly away unscathed, leaving the AT-AT to its fate. A quiet storm raged within the chiss. With the base gone, the speeder would have nowhere to go. Which meant its pilot was alive and well, and most likely still on Hoth.

That simply will not do.

Thrawn rose from the chair and pressed his lips to Veers’ forehead. His heart ached suddenly as the general muttered something softly, battling another fever dream.

“I will make this right,” Thrawn vowed, taking a handkerchief out from his pocket and wiping away the sweat from Veers’ brow. Returning the handkerchief to his pocket, Thrawn turned and left without looking back.

When Thrawn stepped into the hallway he was met by Captain Piett, who was standing at attention and awaiting the grand admiral’s return.

“Sir, we are ready to set course for the rendezvous in Sector-”

“There will be no rendezvous, Captain. Not yet.”

Piett blinked in surprise. “Sir?”

“Prepare my shuttle,” Thrawn instructed, leading the way out of the med bay. “Send stormtrooper squad Hailstorm Alpha to wait for me.”

“Sir, with all due respect, there is nothing left down there to-”

Thrawn spun around and glowered at the captain. “We are leaving nothing to chance, Captain. No rebels are to be left alive on Hoth, not on my watch. Is that clear?”

Piett nodded urgently. “Y-yes, sir. I will make preparations right away.”

-----

“I am Thrawn. A pleasure to meet you, colonel.”

Thrawn keeps his face passive, but his eyes roam the dashing officer with complete and utter interest. Unlike the other officers at the gala, the colonel does not flinch at the chiss’ appearance. He keeps his eyes steady, unperturbed by Thrawn’s scarlet gaze that unnerved most humans.

“Likewise, vice admiral. I’m Maximilian Veers. Thrawn is it? Surely, that is not your full name, seeing as you are chiss.”

Thrawn tilts his head. “You know of our naming customs, do you?”

“Only a little. May I know your full name?”

The chiss does not bother to hide his amused smile.

Thrawn had only revealed his full name to a handful of others. Each person wore the same befuddled look and none pronounced it correctly. He wonders if the colonel would fare much better.

“Perhaps one day I shall tell you. We have only just met.”

This time Thrawn allows his smile to widen, and observes that the colonel’s ears are turning a curious shade of red. “I look forward to hearing it.”

He also notes the slight rise and fall of the colonel’s adam’s apple, and at first it seems Thrawn had overestimated the man’s iron constitution. The disappointment vanishes when Veers returns the vice admiral’s smile with a grin mixed with dangerous charm and boyish sensibility.

Thrawn realizes he needs to keep a watchful eye on this one.

“Sir, we are here.”

Thrawn shook himself from the memory as the shuttle landed.

The ramp of the Lambda-Class T-4a shuttle opened with a noisy whirr. As it slowly revealed the bone-white desolation of Hoth, it also let in an initial brutal gust of cold air, so chilling that it stole the very breath from the chiss. Thrawn recovered quicker than the stormtroopers, who shivered visibly despite being heavily armored, while Thrawn wore little more than a white overcoat covering his matching tunic and trousers. He could not blame the troopers, for few grew up on a world as merciless as this.

He stepped out of the shuttle, indulging in the familiar crunch of snow beneath his boots. The wind whipped around his face, carrying with it bits of ice that stung his exposed cheeks. He drew in a deep breath, feeling the cold air swell in his chest and purify his lungs.

It almost felt like home on Csilla.

Almost…

He turned to the stormtroopers who exited the shuttle and fanned out in front of him.

“We are not taking prisoners, gentlemen,” Thrawn announced, loading a fresh energy cell into his blaster. “Round up all survivors you find so that we may dispose of them in a single swift and final stroke. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

The troopers saluted and immediately dispersed. While they marched down the corridors that led deeper into the still-smoldering rebel base, Thrawn wandered through the main hangar. The thick stench of smoke, ozone and an unsettling scent of charred meat filled the air. The remains of speeders and X-wings were strewn about the concrete ground, but along one side of the hangar there were still rows of speeders that remained surprisingly untouched.

It was almost comical how easy it was to find the snowspeeder Thrawn was seeking. While other speeders were covered in snow and ash, one particular snowspeeder looked freshly parked, with waves of heat still wafting off the engine.

Thrawn was not surprised to find it also possessed a mismatched gray door.

Soundlessly, Thrawn picked his way through the debris, circling the snowspeeder, and eyeing the shadows that flickered inside. The dark figure froze, then ducked out of sight, as though cowering in the cockpit was going to save them.

Pitiful.

Thrawn holstered his blaster and, not bothering to conceal his approach, marched up to the shattered window of the speeder. He grabbed a fistfull of canvas jumpsuit and yanked hard, pulling out a surprisingly light and gangly rebel through the window. The rebel yelped as he was thrown to the ground, landing hard on his back.

Stringy black hair framed a gaunt, ashen face. His lips were pulled back in a pained snarl as he clutched his shoulder, blood pouring through his fingers.

So he is hurt. Good…

The rebel glared murderously at the grand admiral as he began to scoot backwards along the ground. Thrawn took a step forward and pressed the heel of his boot into the man’s injured shoulder. The rebel cried out in agony.

“Are you the pilot of this snowspeeder?”

The rebel managed a sneer, a look that lost any hope of intimidation as his body trembled.

“I am.”

Thrawn’s jaw tightened. “Then you are, no doubt, the rebel who brought down the AT-AT of an Imperial general. A shame you were too late to save your precious base.”

The pilot chuckled mirthlessly and spat blood on the powdery ground. “At least I’ll die knowing I took one of you Imperial bastards to Hell with me.”

Lip curling in disgust, Thrawn dug his heel harder into the pilot’s shoulder, drawing out another tortured cry. “You will die knowing you almost killed a great Imperial general today,” he corrected, calmly withdrawing his blaster. “You will also die knowing that you failed in your rebellion and succeeded only in incurring the wrath of said general’s partner.”

He aimed the blaster at the man’s head.

“I commend you on a worthy effort,” Thrawn said, coldly, and pulled the trigger.

-----

Thrawn paced the room several times before forcing himself to sit in the chair at Veers’ bedside.

The medics had removed most of the tubes, keeping only a few bacta IV bags connected directly to the general’s damaged legs. The medical staff had assured Thrawn that aside from a mild limp, there would be no permanent damage, but a full recovery would take some time. Thrawn was patient, but after two days of being unable to see Veers, his patience had grown dangerously thin.

Thrawn leaned back in his chair resting a datapad on his lap. He struggled to focus on his work, sending status reports to Grand Moff Tarkin, reading damage reports from Admiral Ozzel and responding to inquiries from Captain Piett on Veers’ condition. When his work was done, he resigned himself to stare at a newly bought ebook, one he thought Veers would enjoy. After several futile attempts to focus on the first sentence, Thrawn exhaled sharply and set the datapad on the side table.

The only other items occupying that table were a generous bottle of whiskey accompanied by a small plush AT-AT. A large note was tied with a red ribbon to the AT-AT’s neck. In big, sloppy lettering the note said: “Nothing can break Iron Max! Get well soon, Boss! - The Herd.”

Thrawn turned the note over to see the scribbled names of dozens of officers from the Thundering Herd.

“Thrawn?” Veers murmured. His voice was weak, barely recognizable.

Thrawn immediately abandoned the card and leaned forward in his chair. “I am here, Max.”

Veers turned his head towards the sound of Thrawn’s voice and slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times before focusing on the chiss.

“Did I miss anything?” he asked, a weary smile spreading across his lips.

Thrawn forced a smirk. “Only the celebration for a victorious end to the war. Word has it that you annihilated the last base of the Rebellion and single-handedly won the day.”

Veers grimaced as he shifted in bed.

"After what they did to Blitzkrieg , those rebel scum deserved a lot worse than what I gave them,” he took a few labored breaths. “I fared better than her it seems. Just a few broken ribs, both of my legs shattered, a few of my organs were-”

“I read the report,” Thrawn interrupted, gently.

Veers managed a pained smile. “I hope you had not planned on us attending a dance class any time soon.”

“If I wanted my feet trampled on by a ground pounder I would have simply asked you to do so directly and save my credits.”

Veers let out a quiet chuckle, which was followed by a series of hoarse coughs. Thrawn took Veers’ hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Max?”

Veers gave Thrawn’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he managed to catch his breath. When he finally calmed, he sank back into the pillow.

“You should rest now,” Thrawn said. “You should not be talking so-”

“I saw you went planetside,” Veers said, taking another deep breath.

Thrawn said nothing and idly stroked Veers’ knuckles with his thumb.

“That was an unnecessary risk,” Veers added.

“No,” Thrawn said, shaking his head. “It was necessary. We were charged with the task of eliminating the Rebellion from this sector and I merely ensured the mission was a complete success.”

“You could have done so from the safety of the Executor, Thrawn,” Veers retorted. “An aerial bombardment is far less trouble than risking yourself in enemy territory.”

Thrawn did not respond, instead continuing to trace small circles on Veers’ hand with his thumb. He was careful to avoid the yellow bruising. “It was no trouble,” he said quietly. “I needed to be sure…for you…”

“I am fine, Mitth'raw'nuruodo.”

Thrawn did not look up, not until he was sure he could do so calmly. When he finally raised his gaze, he was struck by the tenderness that shone in Veers’ eyes. The halo of blue around those dark orbs were more vibrant than he had ever seen them. He felt a confession formulate on his tongue as he looked into those eyes. Something he wanted to say...something he had been pondering for a while. He thought better of it and stayed silent.

Veers raised Thrawn's hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles before settling the chiss’ palm over his heart. Thrawn splayed his hand out across Veers’ broad chest and felt a strong heartbeat. Its steady rhythm was surprisingly reassuring.

“You cannot get rid of me so easily,” Veers said, his eyelids growing heavy. “The next time I do something foolish for the Empire, I expect you to not do the same, especially not for me.” His words began to slur, his voice growing faint. “Someone has to keep a steady head in this relationship,” he said in a dreamy cadence.

Relationship…

Thrawn’s heart thumped hard against his chest and did not quiet for some time, as if fueled by sheer joy laced with a thin coating of fear.

He decided that ponderance of the latter emotion should be saved for another day. For now he slid his chair closer to his partner and watched him sleep.

And Now to Lighten the Mood:

A Bonus Art Piece by FesteringSilence of General Veers in a Tank Top and Dog Tags <3

Chapter Text

“Then get me a kriffing hoverchair !”

Though Veers’ voice was muffled through the medbay’s door, the fury in his words were abundantly clear.

Thrawn frowned, stopping short at the closed door, straining his ear to hear the Chief Medical Officer’s reply.

“It’s not that simple, sir,” he heard Doctor Thanisson say in an increasingly impatient tone. “Your spine was severely damaged and you very nearly lost both of your legs. Until your spinal cord mends itself we cannot move you. You’re lucky you’ll be walking out of this situation at all, general. Please believe me when I say this could have been much, much worse, sir.”

Thrawn sighed, shifted the heavy briefcase he carried to his left hand, and punched the control panel with his right. The door hissed open.

Thrawn almost did not recognize the man sitting up in bed.

Veers’ eyes were brown infernos, narrowed down to fine points, his usual neatly-combed hair was wild and unkempt like a madman, and the usual stoicism in his face was carved with deep lines and twisted in fury.

“Get. Me. A kriffing. Hoverchair,” the general said through clenched teeth. “That is an order. ”

Thanisson stiffened and said nothing.

Veers slammed his fist on the bed, though it only resulted in a gentle thumping sound. “I outrank you dammit,” Veers snarled, then his eyes flicked to Thrawn as if noticing him for the first time. “We both outrank you. Are you denying orders from an Imperial General and the Grand Admiral?”

“Actually, General,” Thrawn said, taking a position beside Doctor Thanisson. “I echo the doctor’s concerns. If he does not believe you should be moved, then here is where you shall stay.”

Veers sputtered, “Thrawn, they are talking about two months of…” he waved his hands at the bed, “...this!”

“Then it is fortunate the Battle of Hoth was a victory, general. This reprieve in the war effort will afford you the recuperation you require.”

Logically, Thrawn knew the murderous look Veers shot him was borne from an excess of pain medications coupled with stimulants for his circulatory system and a severe lack of personal freedom. Even still, that glare was not one Thrawn wished to see again anytime soon.

Veers clenched his jaw and sank back into the bed, shifting his glower to the ceiling. His chest heaved with exertion and barely restrained rage.

“Doctor,” Thrawn said, putting a hand on Thanisson’s shoulder, “would you please give us a moment?”

Thanisson bowed. “Yes, sir. General, if you need anything further, I will be on call.”

Veers said nothing. The officer bowed to both men and exited.

“I cannot stay here, Thrawn,” Veers said, when they were alone. “They could at least transfer me to my own quarters instead of keeping me,” he swallowed visibly, “ trapped here . ”

Thrawn approached Veers’ side, setting the briefcase down on the floor and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. As he sat, the blanket fell farther from Veers’ bare chest. Thrawn’s eyes drifted towards that mysterious long, ragged scar that ran along his collarbone across his chest. Veers quickly grabbed the blanket and pulled it up over the scar. Thrawn pretended not to notice, instead reaching for Veers’ hand and lacing their fingers together. “The very fact that they are not moving you demonstrates just how serious your injuries are. What they did to save your spine is nothing short of a miracle. As far as your legs…” Thrawn hesitated pointedly. “You are lucky you still have them, Max.”

As Thrawn hoped, Veers paled. “Were they truly that bad?”

Thrawn knew Veers feared the possibility of losing his limbs. Even with the prospect of having bionic parts wrapped in very convincing synthetic skin, Veers had always insisted he would rather have no limbs at all than be “part droid”.

Thrawn squeezed Veers’ hand a little harder, pushing away thoughts of watching the surveillance feed helplessly as the doctors tried to put the bloody mess of his general back together again. “I know it is not ideal, but I will be back to visit you whenever I can, as will your doting Thundering Herd. They are anxious to visit you as well.”

A faint twinkle appeared in Veers’ eyes. “I was hoping to see some of my Herd today.”

Thrawn pulled his hand from Veers’ and picked up the case that was still leaning against the bed. “I have them working on a project at the moment. I am sure they will be coming by in a day or two.”

Veers eyed him curiously. “You have my boys working on something?”

Thrawn sniffed and placed the case on his lap. “You will hardly notice their absence because I have here the cure for your current state of ennui. You are a voracious reader such as myself, are you not?”

“I am,” Veers replied, reaching for his datapad. “I have not had the time to find any new books to read, so I welcome anything you wish to transfer-”

“Your datapad will not be necessary,” Thrawn said with a slight, satisfied smile.

Thrawn produced the first hardcover book from the case and watched for Veers’ reaction, a reaction he had been anticipating most of the day.

The general did not disappoint.

Those rich, hazel eyes practically glimmered. “Did you…how...are those hardcover books?”

Thrawn placed the first book in Veers’ eager hands, the chiss’ smile broadening as a boyish wonder washed over the rugged, battle-worn general.

Veers held the book as if the cover was made of blown glass. Carefully he turned it over, running a finger along the spine, testing the weight, bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply, then examining the cover. The cover portrayed the grand moff as a heroic figure: posed facing to the left, his profile accentuating the shape of his regal nose, high forehead, and the shock of grey hair combed back neatly. His head was tilted upwards, looking to the stars. One elbow rested in his hand, the other hand touching his chin lightly as though deep in thought.

In the background was the Death Star strategically placed behind Tarkin’s head like a halo. The star-studded black background faded upwards to gray where a bold, black title was embossed.

He read the title aloud with utter reverence, “ Memoirs of a Moff: The Wilhuff Tarkin Story .”

Veers opened the cover and read the inscription scrawled inside in flowing cursive.

“Maximilian, I do not tolerate laziness from a war hero such as yourself. I expect nothing less than a speedy recovery from you. I hope you find this humble collection of memoirs to your liking. Thank you for your service. Your friend, Wilhuff.”

Veers’ eyes scanned over the message a few times before closing the book and setting it down on his lap.

“How did you get this? His memoirs were not due to come out for another few weeks.”

“Quite easily, actually. I had mentioned to Tarkin I was looking for reading materials for you and he had an advanced copy on hand.”

The deep lines of tension on Veers’ face were beginning to smooth. “Thank you, Thrawn, really...I will write to him as well.”

“You are welcome, but there is more.” Thrawn took the book from Veers and placed it on the side table. He then reached into the briefcase and produced a second book that resembled something akin to a wizard’s tome out of a holodrama. It was leather-bound, with a musty, ancient scent. On the cover was a faded, cartoonish picture of five loth-cats huddled together. Inscribed over the furry troupe was a calligraphic title: Once Upon a Time in a Warren .

Veers arched an eyebrow. “I was never one to peg you for a fairytale enthusiast.”

Thrawn huffed. “Yes, well, the complexities of the chiss mind go far beyond that of historical study or artistic analysis.”

Veers did a poor job of hiding his grin. “But this book is about Loth-cats .”

“Do not be obtuse, general,” Thrawn said, a glimmer in his eye. “Your species’ behavior is difficult to decipher, so it should not be a surprise I resorted to fairytales to crack the human condition. This book,” he tapped the tome with a single blue finger, “is as close to understanding your kind as I may ever come. It is also a very charming story.”

Veers eyed the book skeptically.

“There is also a great warrior in the book, a leader among the loth-cat troupe, that reminds me very much of you.”

Veers arched an eyebrow.

“He is also one of the main characters.”

Veers held out his hand. “Give it here.”

Thrawn smirked at the man’s shameless vanity and presented the text. Veers grabbed the book with one hand and tugged.

The book did not budge.

Veers raised his eyebrows. “You can let go now.”

Thrawn’s fingers gripped the leather binding.

“You...will be careful with this book,” Thrawn said, though it was posed more as a question than a command.

“I promise I will look after it,” Veers assured him, giving the tome a second tug.

Thrawn nodded, but tightened his grip. “It is just that the pages are quite brittle. It is an old book and-”

Veers’ amusement wavered a moment. “Do you not trust me?”

That question seemed to break the tension in Thrawn’s fingers. “Of course I trust you,” he replied and released his hold on the book.

As the general carefully turned the old text over in his hands, Thrawn’s gaze returned to the case where the final book lay.

Thrawn ran his fingertips over the plain, blue cloth binding. Embossed in white lettering were the words Advent of an Empire: A Chiss Perspective.

“In fact,” Thrawn said, in a soft tone, “it is because I trust you that I want to give you this as well.”

Thrawn plucked the book from the case and handed it to Veers without hesitation.

Eyeing the new book skeptically, Veers placed the fairytale on the side table and took the new book. He blinked when he read the title.

“You know I have already read this book, many times,” Veers said. “It is also a mandatory read for all the boys under my command. The Thundering Herd even took to reading it in their spare time .”

Thrawn reached over and opened the book in Veers’ hands. “This is a first edition. In fact, this is the first and only version of this edition.” He pointed to the table of contents.

The general’s eyes scanned the list of chapters, his eyes growing wider the farther down they read. “Thrawn…”

“This is not meant for anyone’s eyes but yours, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Veers said. “Senator to Emperor, A Theory; An Empire without Sith Masters; The Downside to the Dark Side? This is treasonous thinking.”

“And that is why I am giving this to you, Max,” Thrawn’s scarlet eyes locked with those inquisitive hazel orbs, searching for the green flecks within the irises he adored so much. “You and I may have different ways of carrying out the Empire’s will, but I believe if you truly want to know where I stand with our Empire’s ideals and where it should be heading, you will find this book to be very...edifying.”

Veers snapped the book closed as if afraid a viper may launch from its pages. “These ideals are treasonous, Thrawn.”

Thrawn reached for the book. “If you do not feel comfortable having this in your charge then I will take it back with no hard feelings.”

“No.” Veers withdrew as much as he could into the bed and pressed the book close to his chest. “I will guard it with my life, Mitth'raw'nuruodo. Thank you for this.”

Thrawn smiled. “Thank you. I suppose since I am trusting you with evidence that could very well get me executed, I can trust you not to dog-ear any of the pages in my fairytale book?”

“But I may use it as a coaster, correct?”

“That is not funny.”

They exchanged brief smiles before Thrawn’s datapad buzzed to life. He pulled it from the clip on his belt and scrolled through his messages with a frown.

“Are the ships lost at sea without their grand admiral to lead them?”

Thrawn sighed. “They are when Admiral Ozzel is at the helm.”

Veers snorted and tucked Thrawn’s book beneath the others on the side table. “Mark my words, Ozzel will one day cross the wrong man and find himself expelled out an airlock.”

“Or cross the wrong chiss,” Thrawn sniffed. “I should be going.”

Veers settled back into the bed. “So there is no chance you are going to rescue me from this hellhole Thanisson put me in?”

Thrawn tilted his head. “Curious, the last time I came to your aid, you chided me for taking an ‘unnecessary risk’.”

“You embarking on a vengeance mission on some ice planet is unnecessary. You saving me from the clutches of a mad scientist is entirely different.”

“I see. Duly noted for when you are actually captured by a mad scientist.”

Thrawn leaned in and kissed Veers firmly on the mouth. The shock of how long it had been since they had done this sent a particularly strong thrill through his body.

Veers seemed to feel it as well. Their lips parted and their tongues danced briefly together. Veers made a soft sound that only heightened Thrawn’s stirring desire. It took some effort to pull away despite Thrawn wanting to go so much further.

“You know...” Veers flashed a smile. “...some parts of me still work just fine.”

Thrawn studied that grin, amazed at how this rugged general can turn on the boyish charm so easily... too easily.

It was tempting.

“When you are fully healed,” Thrawn promised, leaning in and catching Veers’ bottom lip, grazing it with his teeth. “Be patient and it will be worth your while, general.”

Veers let out a soft moan. “Yes, grand admiral.”

His datapad sprung to life again. “I should see to Captain Piett before he ends up taking matters into his own hands.”

Veers leaned over and picked up the fairytale book first. “Go, then. Rule our galaxy with a cobalt fist, grand admiral.”

“Cobalt,” Thrawn balked. “I fancy myself as cerulean.”

Veers waved a dismissive hand. “Blue is blue.”

Thrawn rankled. “Such a brute. When you are better I am taking you to a museum for reconditioning.”

“I accept,” Veers winked.

Thrawn gave Veers’ a final lingering kiss before leaving the general to his entertaining (and slightly treasonous) reading assignments.

-----

Thrawn returned to his quarters and hailed Captain Piett on his holoprojector. Piett’s image bloomed from the projector’s core, flickering like a blue candle flame for a moment before steadying.

“What is the situation, Captain?”

Piett stiffened to attention. “Sir! It’s Admiral Ozzel…”

Of course it is...

“Yes?”

“He...has changed course, sir.”

Thrawn tilted his head. “Changed course…”

Piett wilted, his uncomfortableness no doubt a combination of having to deliver bad news to a high-ranking officer while betraying the orders of a direct superior officer..

“He does not believe we should be looking for the rebels on Endor. He is heading towards the Hosnian  System.”

Thrawn’s fingers twitched and he made a conscious effort to maintain an even tone for the flustered captain’s sake. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate the information.”

“Shall I redirect the ships, sir?”

“Not yet. I will handle this, personally. Please keep me informed of any other inconsistencies you see with the Admiral.”

Piett saluted Thrawn. “Yes, sir.”

Thrawn disconnected and punched in a new frequency, hailing Admiral Ozzel. It took two attempts before the odious officer finally answered.

Thrawn was not quick to anger but Ozzel’s blatant disregard of Thrawn’s orders was beginning to agitate an already buzzing beehive.

“Yes, sir?” Admiral Ozzel sighed, as if perturbed at the disturbance. He sat in a high-backed chair, his feet propped up on a desk.

“Admiral, please explain why we are headed towards the Hosnian System.”

“Sir, Endor is full of overgrown plush bears hiding in trees. There is no reason why the Rebellion would choose such a dense, forested planet occupied with primitive creatures when they can find and recruit humans in a well-populated planet as the Hosnian Prime. I have it on good authority-”

“Whose good authority?” Thrawn cut in.

Ozzel hesitated. “I...have informants that speak of suspicious rebel activity on Hosnian Prime.”

Thrawn also had heard rumors regarding the Hosnian System. Something was indeed brewing there. However, upon further investigation by his own informants (informants obviously more competent than whatever useless cretin Ozzel used), it was revealed that the activity existed between three warring gangs: The Black Sun, Kanjiklub, and the Hutts of Tattooine. They were meeting on Hosnian Prime to settle disputes over territories that were now free of Rebel occupation since their defeat at Yavin IV.

The rumors regarding Rebel activity stemmed from the Kanjiklub members who had a habit of taking clothes from their enemies and wearing them as a sort of trophy. Two of the representatives at the clandestine meeting were seen donning rebel patches and tattered orange jumpsuits.

Ozzel apparently had not received such intel.

Thrawn drew in a deep breath and weighed his options.

“Well done, Admiral,” Thrawn said, tucking his hands behind his back. “I had not considered the Hosnian System and it appears you have more updated resources than I do apprising you of the situation.”

Ozzel had the audacity to smile smugly. “Yes, well, I make sure to do my homework before jumping to any conclusions, sir.”

“I am sure you do. Admiral, Lord Vader is waiting on my report, but I feel it would be remiss if you did not give him the good news about our...apologies... your promising new lead that you so thoroughly researched.”

Ozzel blinked. “Report to Lord Vader himself? May I, sir?”

Thrawn made a sweeping gesture with his arm as if personally guiding the Admiral through an open door of opportunity. “Please, be my guest. You have earned it.”

“I will have my shuttle ready immediately and head there straight away. Thank you, sir.”

When the conversation was disconnected, Thrawn hailed Captain Piett once again.

The captain answered immediately.

“Sir,” Piett spoke from the bridge in front of his station, a contrast to Ozzel’s lavish setting.

And the Captain has the good sense to stand when speaking to a superior.

“Captain, if you could please notify the Fleet that we will be redirecting our course to the Endor System.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Ah, Captain. Do wait until Ozzel has deployed his shuttle yes? He should be leaving momentarily.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Piett’s face. “Yes, sir.” Then he hesitated. “And thank you, sir,” Piett added quickly before disconnecting.

The captain is sharp, sharper than most Imperial officers, Thrawn mused. That shall not remain unnoticed.

Thrawn settled himself on the edge of his chair, pressing his fingertips together and waited.

He did not need to wait long.

The hail came from Lord Vader’s personal line.

Thrawn rose and took his place in front of the holoprojector. The looming dark figure of the Sith Lord materialized in front of him. Behind him was a familiar mustachioed officer on the ground, hands clutching his throat as he gasped for air.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Vader said in a booming voice. “Admiral Ozzel has just informed me of the initiative he took with our fleet.”

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Thrawn said.

“And I can only assume that you have corrected his overzealousness and redirected our course to Endor?”

“Captain Piett is resetting our course as we speak. He was the officer to notify me of the Admiral’s decision.”

Vader placed his fists on his hips, heightening the dominating presence. “Captain Piett. I see his name surfacing more than I do his superior officer.”
“That is because he does the work of an officer superior to his station,” Thrawn replied.

Vader, though helmeted and inscrutable as always, seemed to be pondering Thrawn’s words. Suddenly the admiral writhing on the floor took a loud, gasping breath. He collapsed on his back, coughing.

“ Captain Ozzel, report to Admiral Piett for further orders. Grand Admiral Thrawn, please inform Piett of his new position and provide him with the appropriate rank cylinders.”

Thrawn smiled. “A wise decision, my lord.”

“Do not flatter me, grand admiral. Unless you are patting yourself on the back as well.”

Thrawn smirked. “A bit of both, sir.”

The communication was disconnected and Thrawn let out a sharp breath.

Thrawn did not usually give credence to concepts such as “optimistic futures,” but it did seem the wheels of fortune were turning in his favor.

The fleet was heading towards what Thrawn estimated to be a final battle with the Rebellion.

He had also removed the insufferable thorn in his side, Kendall Ozzel.

And most importantly, Veers was alive and on the road to recovery.

He hoped the momentum of good fortune would not slow.

They were so close to ultimate victory…

Thrawn picked up his datapad and checked his messages. Two texts scrolled across his screen. The first was from Veers.

[Gen. M Veers]: I am on Chapter Four and just so you know if General Bigwig dies, I am leaving you.

Thrawn smiled and checked the second message from Colonel Felth of the Thundering Herd.

[Col. D Felth]: Parts just came in, sir. She’ll be ready for General Veers in another few weeks.

[Message Sent to Col. D Felth] : Thank you, colonel. Please keep this information to yourself. I want this to be a surprise for the general.

[Message Sent to Gen. M Veers]: On Chapter Four already? I assure you, General Bigwig lives a long and exciting life, just as my general will if I have anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

“This chair is quite the asset,” Thrawn remarked as he guided Veers’ hoverchair through the Chimaera . Exactly where he was being steered to Veers had no idea, as Thrawn had fitted him with a blindfold for the journey. “I now have a way to ensure your punctuality in meetings you ‘forget’ to attend.”

Though Veers could not see Thrawn under the silken black cloth, he turned in the direction of his voice. “I am punctual when the meeting is worth my time. Bureaucratic bickering is not.”

He heard Thrawn scoff, but also detected a smile in the sound.

A loud clang sounded, followed by a deep whirring noise.

Are we in a hangar bay?

There was a slight flutter in Veers’ stomach as the floor beneath them trembled and descended. The screams of TIE Fighters echoed in the distance, the construction equipment whirred close by, and all the familiar ambiance that accompanied a hangar bay soothed Veers’ ears.

When the platform settled, Thrawn stood behind Veers’ hoverchair.

“General,” the grand admiral said, untying the blindfold, “to congratulate you on your stellar victory at the Battle of Hoth, and to celebrate your exemplary recovery thereafter, I give you…”

Veers felt the blindfold slip away.

“...the return of Blitzkrieg.”

Veers’ mouth fell open.

A soft gasp was all he could express.

There she was.

The beautiful death machine of his design.

His AT-AT walker back from the dead.

Veers shoved the hoverchair’s joystick forward, propelling him towards the mechanical beast. His eyes frantically scoured every centimeter of her, examining her scars both old and new.

It was really her…

The souvenirs of previous battles were all accounted for: scorch marks across her body from X-wing attacks, a black gash across her nose from friendly fire of an amatuer TIE fighter, and a variety nicks and dents around her legs and toe flaps from endless treks through jungle terrain.

A new wound was added to her hull: several deep gouges near her neck. A few meters to the left and the laser fire would have hit her drive motor, sparking a chain reaction towards the slug tanks that could have reduced Blitz to little more than metal scraps and ashes.

Veers guided his hoverchair around the massive head. The criss cross of black scars showed how desperate the X-wings were at getting to her most vulnerable spot. The angle of his crash saved her - saved them both.

“Hey, old girl,” he whispered, patting the beast’s gargantuan cheek.

Veers and Blitz had been through Hell together, and honestly neither one of them should have made it out of Hoth.

Seems we both have a few surprises left in us, huh?

Veers heard Thrawn’s slow gait approach from around the walker’s nose. He quickly pulled his hand away from Blitz’s cheek, casually rubbing his eye where a bit of stray moisture had collected.

“Your squad did most of the work,” Thrawn said, appearing from around the corner. “They were adamant on repairing, not replacing the main hull. Her joints needed repair, and they buffered out as much as they could. I offered to work on the electrical components within the cockpit, but they insisted that was something you would prefer to do yourself.”

“You were working on this with my boys while I was in the med bay?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said, simply.

“How?”

“With some patience and a bit of uncertainty. She was...not well, when we recovered her. The X-wings were quite persistent in destroying your AT-AT in particular.”

That did not surprise Veers in the slightest. The rebels knew all too well what Blitzkrieg could do to them. The black scar across her nose and the gashes along her side set her apart from the rest of the Herd, marking her as a terror throughout the Rebellion. Although such a distinction pleased Veers a great deal, it also earned him becoming a larger target on the battlefield.

“When can I take a look at her?” Veers asked, eager to climb into that cockpit once again.

“Now, if you would like.”

“I doubt Doctor Thanisson will approve of me working on anything right now. He barely lets me out of this chair.”

“I have already spoken to Doctor Thanisson. He and I agreed that as long as you have AV-33 with you, you may work on it for as long as you wish, whenever you wish.”

“AV-33?”

“An augmented RA-7 droid Doctor Thanisson approved to assist you.”

“How did the mad scientist agree to that?”

“I proposed that this would be a form of physical therapy for your upper body while you continue your leg therapy with the doctor.”

Veers exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he looked up at his AT-AT, his Blitz, his old girl…

“This is all so…” he swallowed hard. “It is incredible. I cannot believe she is really here. I cannot believe you did this for me.”

Thrawn’s scarlet eyes looked over the AT-AT in contemplation. “She is important to you, so I suppose she is important to me as well.”

Veers let out a deep rumbling sound and rubbed his face roughly with his calloused hands. Emotions were welling in him like a damn flood and it took all he could to keep them contained.

He spent a good part of his recovery in the med bay struggling to push through the grief of losing his AT-AT. Blitzkrieg had been with him for so long, and the idea of going into future battles without her was unthinkable.

So he did not think of it.

He pushed dread and anguish away from his mind and dove into Thrawn’s books, focused on his physiotherapy sessions, and planned to deal with Blitz’s demise later...

With a gruff clearing of his throat, Veers gave Blitz a playful punch on the cheek. His knuckles bounced off easily and it made a low ring across her plating, like a church bell.

“Thank you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I cannot tell you what this means to me…” He struggled to say more, but wasn’t trusting his voice at the moment.

“You do not have to,” Thrawn said, looking pointedly up at the AT-AT as if to give Veers a moment to collect himself. “I look forward to seeing your progress with your…” Thrawn hesitated. “...‘Old Girl’.”

-----

There was something profoundly liberating about getting one’s hands dirty. Fighting stubborn bolts until they relent, reconnecting loose wiring, slotting new data panels with that satisfying click, it all felt familiar and natural and were things Veers desperately missed.

As an army general he had little time to do any hands-on work with Blitzkrieg, and left many of her repairs to the engineers assigned to his Thundering Herd. Being able to get under the dash of his command station and work on her electronics himself was more healing to his body than any physiotherapy torture Doctor Thanisson put him through. And after a month of devoting his time to Blitz, even the “mad scientist” had to admit, his time with her was not ill-spent.

Veers eased himself onto the cushioned platform of the six-wheeled creeper and rolled under the long dash of the walker’s cockpit. He used the metal bars beneath the dash to roll along sideways, looking for one particular panel and...there it was: S-9i.

“Avee, will you hand me the spanner, please?”

He stretched his hand from beneath the dash and heard the metallic tap, tap, tap of

AV-33’s metal feet along the floor.

Veers never truly cared for droids, but his herd had stylized AP-33 aesthetically to make it clear this was his droid. They even went so far as to paint the droid’s paneling his favorite shade of dark green and stamping the silhouette of an AT-AT on its chest.

AV-33 and Veers had a rocky start, but eventually Veers came to know him as Avee, and trusted him to assist with any and all of Blitz’s repairs and, to the general’s occasional chagrin, allowed him to play nursemaid too.

“It has been one-point-three hours since your last break, General,” AV-33 lamented. “Might I suggest you take a moment to breathe?”

“I breathe very well down here, thank you, Avee,” Veers replied, feeling the cold metal of the spanner being pressed into his hand.

“Fair enough,” AV-33 replied and left it at that.

Thrawn and Doctor Thanisson had the decency to set up AV-33 to heed Veers most of the time, but there was a limit; a limit Veers tested very early on in his and AV-33’s working relationship. The last time Veers’ truly pushed AV-33’s patience resulted in AV-33 physically lifting Veers off the ground, being placed in his hoverchair, and kindly insisting that the general not leave until he ate and hydrated properly.

Recalling the less-than-dignified incident made Veers cringe. “And hand me that water, please?”

“An excellent call, general,” Avee replied, sounding honestly pleased. “What would you like to listen to today?”

Veers rolled out and took the canteen from AV-33’s skeletal green hand, and gulped down the cool water. “Access Freja’s playlist,” he said finally.

AV-33 took back the canteen, his silver eyes flickering as he accessed the music database. The typical RA-7 protocol droids did not come standard with musical capabilities; that was a personal gift from his herd. Each of his boys made a playlist of Veers’ favorite bands. Some from his homeworld of Denon, a few folk songs from Tattooine and several Wild Space guilty pleasures that even Veers had a hard time admitting he enjoyed. Colonel Freja Covell’s list was by far his favorite, blending Denonian rock and Nar Shaddaa techno, genres he and the colonel had bonded over as they worked on the first of the Thundering Herd’s AT-AT’s together.

A wavering voice broke the silence in the cockpit: a man lamenting that he had to flee his home to avoid the law, only to be captured soon after.

Veers sang along, an octave lower than the alto singer, but in a decent enough harmony.

“Lawman’s put an end to my runnin’

And I’m so far from my home…”

Veers loosened the screws of the S-9i panel and it came off easily.

“Hangman is coming down from the gallows;

And I don’t have very long…”

Drums, tri-harp, electric bass and a pair of floonorps ambushed the sorrowful singer with a catchy, quick-paced beat.

“The jig is up, the news is out.

They finally found me.

The renegade who had it made,

Retrieved for a bounty.”

Reconnecting the two loose hoses that had flung apart in the crash, Veers replaced the panel and slid the creeper from beneath the dash.

“ Never more to go astray,

This will be the end today,

Of a wanted man…”

“Tell me, General, are you the Renegade or the Lawman in this song?”

Veers raised his head from the creeper and saw Thrawn standing in the center of the cockpit’s entryway. He was attired in his Imperial white uniform, making Veers feel particularly underdressed in his high-neck tank shirt and oil-stained trousers.

“How do you know I am either, grand admiral?” Veers asked, not bothering to hide his smile.

Thrawn walked into the room, as Veers eased himself into a sitting position.
“Because when you sing with a half-smile it usually means you identify personally with the song in some way. You do this when singing to The Wanderer and Midnight Rider. ”

Veers thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Maybe I am a dash of both.” He winked and shifted himself to the edge of the creeper, moving his stiff legs slowly, mentally preparing himself to stand up.

AV-33 moved to assist Veers, but Thrawn held up a hand to the droid. “Thank you, Avee, but I shall assist the general from here.”

“Of course, sir,” AV-33 chirped. “I leave him in your capable hands.”

Veers thought he detected a slight tinge of jealousy from the very helpful droid. He watched Avee go with a fond smile.

“You did well choosing Avee to assist me,” Veers admitted.

“Well, I hope to live up to his standards today.” Thrawn extended his hand to the general.

The general’s first instinct was to refuse Thrawn’s help, but Veers had learned to swallow his pride after months of working with Doctor Thanisson to walk again. He supposed AV-33 had a hand in his lessons of humility as well.

Veers took Thrawn’s hands and allowed himself to be pulled up. A series of pinching aches traveled through his back and thighs as he moved, but it was great deal less painful these days.

He let Thrawn cup his hips, steadying his balance as they stood close together.

They stood together for a long moment, Thrawn’s thumbs gently rubbing the general’s sides as Veers slipped his own hands around Thrawn’s waist. It had been too long since Veers was held like this.

“When did you get back?” Veers asked finally. His hands began to roam, sliding underneath the gleaming white tunic.

“A few hours ago,” Thrawn replied, his own fingertips running along Veers’ spine, sending pleasurable tingles through the general’s body.  “I would have come sooner, but Tarkin wished for a debriefing regarding the initiative on Eriadu.” Thrawn’s tone was dulcet; even words like “debriefing” seemed sensual on his tongue.

“And the situation is…?” Veers lips were so close to Thrawn’s pale mouth, which was glistening with the faint gloss of pink lipstick.

“That there is no longer a situation, of course,” Thrawn expressed the smallest of satisfied smiles.

“Congratulations, grand admiral.”

“It was a simple matter really. I…” Thrawn’s words faded as Veers silenced him with a soft kiss.

With a low, hungry sound, Veers caught Thrawn’s lower lip and bit it softly before pulling away. “Did you wear that for me?” he asked, licking his lips as he gazed at those pale pink lips.

Thrawn exhaled heavily. “A small touch-up...I have not seen you in weeks, after all.”

Veers looked over the red liner accents around Thrawn’s eyes. The taste of lipstick still on his tongue, his loins stirred, his need growing.

“Welcome back, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn tightened his embrace, touching his forehead against Veers’ and pressing their bodies together.  

“I...missed you, Max,” Thrawn confessed in a whisper.

Never in Veers’ life did he imagine being with someone who could make his own brawny, tall stature feel like a perfect fit with someone else. He always felt like the looming brute around others, but Thrawn’s broad chest, his narrow hips, his muscular physique paired with him in the best of ways.

Stars…I missed him, too.

“I think you should sit down, general,” Thrawn said, in a deep, husky tone.

Veers bristled slightly. “My legs are well enough that I can stand for long periods of time. I hardly need Avee to-...oh…”

Thrawn sank to his knees.

And Veers melted into the command chair.

"I would rather we err on the side of caution." Thrawn slid his hands along Veers thighs towards the stirring hardness growing in Veers’ pants. "Would you not agree?"

Veers bit his lip as Thrawn kissed the front of his pants. He murmured an agreeable sound, but could do little else as he watched Thrawn unfasten his trousers.

It had been so long. The doctor had given him the green light to engage in gentle intimate activities with his partner two weeks ago, only to find that Tarkin had sent Thrawn away to settle a dispute on Eriadu for him.

Blitzkrieg’s repairs had kept him busy enough, but in the evenings Veers missed Thrawn’s clandestine visits to his quarters and vice versa. His longing for the chiss and his refusal to touch himself was shown in his engorged cock that Thrawn barely had to do much to coax out of his trousers.

Thrawn’s scarlet eyes glittered as they met Veers’ hazel orbs and in holding that gaze, he glided his impossibly smooth cheek along Veers’ shaft.
“Mitth'raw'nuruodo,” Veers sighed contentedly.

Thrawn hummed and kissed the tip of Veers’ reddened cockhead. “I have missed my name on your lips.”

“Trust me, I am eager to say it many times more. I have waited an eternity." He let out a soft sigh. "I envy your ability to satisfy your needs in my absence. I could only fantasize about you, and do nothing more to indulge my own urges."

Thrawn arched a blue-black eyebrow. "I have not touched myself."

Veers blinked. "Not at all?"

"I...admit I thought of you often, but no. I wished to wait for your full recovery."

Veers started to sit up. "Then come here."

“For your full recovery,” Thrawn insisted, easing Veers back into the chair. “This is for you. All I desire is to hear those moans I have missed pulling from you."

"I do not think you will need to do much to- ah... ahhh !"

Thrawn’s tongue dragged hard along the underside of Veers’ cock. The sudden hot, wet pressure along his shaft ignited Veers’ body in a way he had not experienced in far too long.

Thrawn’s tongue drew near the precum surfacing on Veers’ tip.

"W-wait!"

Stars, how he did not want to wait. He had waited so long already.

“We do not know how you will react. My own reaction to your come was...unexpected.”

Thrawn’s lips brushed over Veers’ frenulum, giving it light kisses while he spoke. "I had your release analyzed after our first encounter."

Veers blinked...then sighed. "Of course you did."

"You are free of disease, by the way."

"Of course I am,” Veers snorted. “I do not need…”

Veers’ words failed him as the tip of Thrawn’s red tongue slowly lapped up the bit of precum, coming away with a pearly string as he pulled back. His scarlet eyes never left Veers as he came in again, this time dragging the flat of his tongue hard against the underside of Veers’ cock for a second time.

Each long, drawn out lick was different than the next. Some a light grazing, others more firm and deliberate, and Veers realized that Thrawn was gauging just how the general reacted to each kind of contact.

A student in all forms of art, Veers mused before his thoughts were consumed with Thrawn wrapping his lips around Veers’ cockhead, his fingers sliding around him, mid-shaft. A long, low moan escaped Veers’ lips as Thrawn’s mouth and hand worked in concert, sliding down and up together.

Veers took care not to buck his hips too hard, letting Thrawn take the lead, trusting the chiss’ sensitive, studious touch which shifted and changed to meet Veers’ needs before he could voice them.

Veers’ fingers pressed into the leather armrests, resisting the urge to push his hips up to explore Thrawn’s throat further, letting the chiss’ fingers compensate for the lack of depth.

For a brief moment he wondered if perhaps this was a new experience for the chiss, not just with Veers’, but with anyone. The thought of being Thrawn’s first conjured a warmth in Veers’ chest. He let out a soft sigh and ran an affectionate hand over the thickness of Thrawn’s blue-black hair.

The moment Veers’ fingers touched Thrawn’s hair, the chiss’ back arched. He let out a velvety moan, muffled by Veers’ cock. Encouraged by Thrawn’s reaction, Veers let his fingers delve into the chiss’ thick locks and found the harder he massaged, the louder Thrawn’s moans became, his movements growing more and more urgent.

Suddenly, heat rushed to collect at Veers thighs, his loins, and he reflexively gripped Thrawn’s hair tighter than he meant to. It conjured a loud keen from the chiss, the sound sending vibrations coursing through the general’s shaft.

“Thrawn,” Veers gasped, arching his back as those moans rocketed him to his climax. “I am so close.”

At the warning, Thrawn drew himself up taller, angling to increase his speed, his breathing heavy, his fingers working smoothly with his lips. It was a beautiful sight, sensual, graceful.

So close...so…

Veers spied at the very edge of Thrawn’s fingers and along the redness of his saliva-slick cock was a smudge of that pink lipstick Thrawn only wore for him.

That glittering hue was his undoing.

Veers came with a soft cry, moaning Thrawn’s name over and over as he released into Thrawn’s awaiting mouth.
Thrawn hesitated for only a moment, uttering a soft grunt as Veers came. The general braced himself for the chiss to recoil, knowing human come did not have the seductively sweet taste of a chiss’.

Instead, Thrawn slowed his movements, consuming all that Veers gave him until the general’s shaft began to soften. He pulled away just before the general could grow oversensitive and sat back on his heels.

Veers and Thrawn gazed at each other for several moments, the cockpit silent save for their heavy pants.

Thrawn’s chest heaved beneath his uniform. His eyes practically glowed lustily at Veers. His hair, which was always so perfectly coiffed was now slightly disheveled, a few strands falling over his forehead. And best of all, there existed the slightest smudging of pink along his pale lips accompanied by the glisten of saliva and come.

“You are beautiful,” Veers breathed.

Thrawn tilted his head. “It pleased you?”

Veers’ arched a sluggish eyebrow. “Very much so, was it not obvious?”

“It was,” Thrawn conceded, smoothing out his hair with a slightly trembling palm. “I...apologize for failing to take you in further. My reflexes prove difficult to overcome.”

Veers let out a breathless laugh. “It was perfect. You are perfect. I lo-.”

Veers caught himself.

Three words nearly tumbled from his lips in an effortless waterfall of unrestrained emotion. Three words that should not have been uttered under euphoric circumstances in the cockpit of an Imperial walker, Blitzkrieg or no.

Later...when the time is right...

“I loved this,” Veers’ said finally. “It truly was wonderful.”

Thrawn knelt up as Veers leaned down and they exchanged a delicate kiss. Veers could taste the sweetness of the gloss, the saltiness of his come in a perfect mixture that made his cock twitch despite its exhausted state.

He scooted to the edge of the chair and gathered Thrawn into his arms, burying his face into his neck. He breathed in deep, losing himself in that soft skin, the sweetly-scented musk, the gentle kiss of lilac.

Mitth’raw’nuruodo truly was perfect, in every sense of the word.

“Are you unwell?”

Veers did not realize he was trembling until Thrawn spoke. He quickly pulled away, and felt a rawness at the chiss’ sudden absence.

“Yes, I am just a bit exhausted.” Veers cleared his throat. “I admit I am still not in my peak condition.”

“Of course,” Thrawn said, but Veers knew the chiss was studying every millimeter of his micro expressions, trying to root out what the general was thinking.

“I have something to show you,” Veers said, forcing his voice to resume its normal, stoic tone. “If you would be so kind…”

Thrawn looked at Veers for half a moment longer, before he resigned to stand up, helping Veers to his feet.

Veers guided the chiss over to the half-moon command station made up of a series of buttons, levers, and gauges, surrounding a main periscope currently tucked within a metallic nest just above Veers’ head. “Pull that green lever, if you please.”

With a bit of effort, Thrawn pulled down the stiff lever.

The entire cockpit gently vibrated. A deep whirr reverberated off the walls, buttons glowed, gauges sprung to life with trembling needles.

And the world outside the viewport began to move.

For a fraction of a second, Thrawn’s eyes widened with surprise before resuming a passive expression. Veers slid a hand under Thrawn’s, and the chiss gripped it tightly as Blitzkrieg’s head began to raise. Outside, Veers’ knew the mechanical limbs were untucking themselves from beneath the bulky hull, as she stood up for the first time since the Battle of Hoth.

With a loud screech of metal against metal, followed by a low whine of the electromagnetic systems as Blitzkrieg’s neck stretched and shifted into position. The electrical displays around the cockpit blinked and flickering like festival lights before finally calming down, filling the cockpit with a warm yellow glow. As the walker rose to her full height, Veers looked out of the viewport. The hangar was massive, and truly a glorious representation of the Empire’s might where AT-ATs and TIE fighters alike lined the walls for as far as the eye could see.

“She appears to be fully operational,” Thrawn said finally, gazing out the viewport as well.

“Almost. A few more tweaks to the forward cannons, grease those noisy legs of hers and then she will be good as new.”

Thrawn hummed in approval and squeezed Veers’ hand again. “Impressive work, general.”

Veers smiled and closed his eyes, listening to the low musical groan of the AT-AT as its body shifted and settled. “I have missed the sound of the old girl. Thank you for bringing her back to me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn released Veers’ hand and slipped his arm around the general’s waist.

“I did little more than retrieve her. You and your Thundering Herd did this.”

Veers smirked at Thrawn’s stubborn resistance to accepting thanks.

“Just say ‘You are welcome’,” Veers said, melting against Thrawn as they looked out the viewport together.

“You are...most welcome.” Then Thrawn added, “Thank you for coming back to me.”

Veers smiled. “I will. Always.”

Chapter Text

Thrawn stopped short of the double-doors leading into the cantina, eyeing them warily. He could hear the soft hum of conversation inside, the clink of glasses, and the occasional guffaw from patrons.

Veers squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. “You will be fine. I promise.”

“Indeed,” Thrawn murmured, looking over the cantina itself.

The Sarlaac’s Beak was a cantina nestled in one of the more obscurely known alleyways within the village. What little sunlight that snuck past the tall, blocky buildings lining the alley was filtered through layers upon layers of colorful awnings, casting a dismal rainbow over the cantina. It was, Thrawn supposed, intended to give the district a sense of whimsy, but it was far from a hospitable environment.

Neither Imperials nor Rebels were necessarily welcome in this part of the planet, Rattatak, and this town was particularly hostile towards both factions.

It was, however, one of the few places the Empire had available for their brief shore leave. Thrawn’s wariness, however, was not borne of concern for their safety. Both he and Veers could handle themselves well enough. What concerned him lurked on the other side of the twin cantina doors.

“I will be intruding on this ritual with your men.”

“You most certainly will not. And stop calling it a ritual, you make us sound like kriffing acolytes. It is a,” Veers pondered a moment, “pre-battle tradition for the Thundering Herd. You have every right to be here as I do.”

“I am Imperial Navy-”

“And you are going to war as well, are you not? Tomorrow we embark on, stars willing, a final battle with the Rebellion. We deserve a night of revelry on the eve of battle like the warriors of old. Besides,” Veers opened up one of the doors, “you are my partner and they want to spend time with you.”

Thrawn did not move. “We have not made our partnership known in the Empire.”

Veers shrugged. “A minor technicality. Our relationship is not a conflict of interest and it is not something we are obligated to announce. Besides, I believe you spending an undisclosed amount of credits to resurrect my beloved Blitzkrieg was a decent indication to the Herd that you and I are,” he grinned, “close.”

“Max…”

Veers extended his arm towards Thrawn. “You will have a good time. I promise.”

Thrawn straightened the nonexistent wrinkles on his white turtleneck and gray trousers, suddenly feeling very overdressed next to Veers who wore a form-fitting olive shirt, khaki pants and black leather bomber jacket with white collar trim. The ensemble made the general look like a smuggler; certainly a far cry from an Imperial general. As Veers threw a reassuring wink Thrawn’s way, the chiss knew if he had decided to pursue a life of smuggling, he would have been a fairly persuasive one.

With a sigh, Thrawn took Veers’ arm and was led inside.

The scent of raw wood, burning spice and an underlying “clean” stench of bleach filled Thrawn’s nostrils. The atmosphere was relaxed: the lights dimmed just enough to ease ones vision without having to strain, the music from the jukebox was quiet and jaunty, and the air was cool if not slightly fogged from the occasional pipe and hookah.

It was not a seedy bar by any means. There were several human couples occupying smaller tables and a few clusters of younger adults of different species with a smattering of Rattataki spread throughout the bar. The mixture of races put Thrawn at ease, yet he still kept his eyes lowered, knowing he would pass off easier as a Pantoran if no one noticed his scarlet eyes.

The Thundering Herd had taken over a hollowed-out alcove in the back of the cantina. Like their general, they all wore bomber jackets, but donned more humble varieties of browns and tans, as if leaving their leader with the honor of donning the classic black leather, white-trim collar style.

Several chairs and tables had been shoved together to accommodate everyone, but they still all seemed to be clustered together like a pile of merry lothcats, clinking drinks, hugging and shoving each other, cursing and laughing together.

“Oi! Max!” Covell called, waving them over.

“Ready?” Veers asked, reaching over to pat Thrawn’s hand, which, he realized, was squeezing Veers’ arm tighter than he intended.

“Yes,” Thrawn responded, easing his grip.

Thrawn knew his apprehension did not stem from a need to be “liked” by Veers’ men, but rather from Veers’ reaction when Thrawn was inevitably met with a “cold shoulder” from the Herd.

Since coming into the Empire’s fold, Thrawn had quickly grown accustomed to the humans’ instinctive paranoia against races they knew little about. Verbal and physical altercations were unfortunate and unavoidable, and even as grand admiral, he had faced more intricate forms of psychological and emotional warfare from fellow officers. It was of little consequence, and something Thrawn had grown accustomed to expect.

Though Thrawn was familiar with most of the Thundering Herd through their combined efforts in restoring Veers’ beloved Imperial walker, he was not so foolish as to expect the same camaraderie tonight.

The simple fact was he was a chiss, an outsider, and this was a tight band of humans who had fought and bled and defended the Empire together.

He hoped Veers would not judge his men too harshly. It seemed to be in their nature...

Like a receding tide, the Herd backed away, allowing Veers and Thrawn to take their seats in the center of the group.

Corvell was quick with the drinks for the two of them. A scotch, neat, for Veers and surprisingly a glass of port for Thrawn.

“It said ‘dessert’ on the bottle,” Corvell explained. “But Max said ya like sweet drinks so…this alright?”

Thrawn took the drink and immediately a decadent bouquet of raspberries, caramel and chocolate enticed Thrawn’s senses. “It is perfect, thank you, Corvell.”

To Thrawn’s surprise, Corvell breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

The first hour that Thrawn spent with the Thundering Herd was enlightening to say the least. And the chiss soon realized it was he who had doled out a harsher judgment than necessary.

His inclusion in the group’s conversations did not feel forced, nor mocking. In fact, Thrawn was called upon several times to settle “arguments” between squad members. He addressed anything from tactical maneuvers, chiss biology (“Careful with those kind of questions,” Veers warned playfully, though the questions pertained to metabolism and skin tone), to a few heated arguments on “who would win in a brawl”.

“Henson would defeat Kopers in hand-to-hand, but would lose if it was taken to the ground. Grang would be able to take down Hopper if he was properly prepared, but would be unable to recover quickly if Hopper caught him off-guard.”

“What about you and Veers?” Henson said, as he punched the smug-faced Kopers in the arm.

“What about us?” Veers asked, taking a generous gulp of scotch.

“He wonders which of the two of us is the better fighter,” Thrawn clarified.

The whole table leaned in.

Veers scoffed. “You have no faith in your fearless leader?”

The younger crewmen stumbled over themselves expressing the innocence of their question. The veterans, however, shrugged.

“I wouldn’t want to brag, but...” He took another swig of his freshly refilled scotch.

“In bo staves, I am superior,” Thrawn said, after a moment of serious contemplation. “I am also more proficient in batons, ground grappling, and some forms of hand-to-hand combat.”

“Oi,” Veers said, his Denonian accent slipping out for a moment as he shamelessly flexed a marble-sculpted arm. “I would wipe the floor with you in arm wrestling though.”

Thrawn smiled slightly. “Indeed you would. And you are the better marksman.”

“Kriffin’ right,” Veers grinned and pecked Thrawn on the cheek.

Thrawn blinked. He glanced around at the Herd who seemed unfazed by the sudden public display of affection.

“Alright, come on, Max,” said Kopers, wobbling a bit on his stool. “You’re three drinks deep. Time to tell us the story of that chest scar.”

The rest of the herd quieted down in anticipation while Veers took a casual sip from his glass. “It is a boring story,” he said into the glass.

“So then bore us,” Covell pressed.

Veers looked around the room as all eyes focused on him. His gaze settled on Thrawn sitting beside him. That easy, confident smile never wavered, but it did not reach the general’s eyes. Beyond the glassiness of inebriation there lurked a shadow of pain in those hazel orbs. In a flash, the darkness vanished and Veers slammed his glass on the table.

“Frankly, boys, I am hurt you do not want to hear how I got these beauties.” He swung his leg up and landed his boot hard on the table. Pulling up his pant leg, Veers revealed several long, deep scars that traveled up his calf like branches of a barren tree.

Several of the younger Herd members gasped. The veterans let out long, low whistles.

“Are those from Hoth?” Felth asked.

“They are,” Veers said, with a proud smile.

“What happened?” Henson breathed.

“There I was sitting in the cockpit of ol’ Blitz with a dozen X-wings swarming around me...” Veers left his leg on the table like a display piece as he spoke, his hands gesticulating dramatically as he told the gruesome tale.

“All I could do was wait for Blitz to fall…”

Thrawn rose from his seat quietly, but Veers immediately paused the story and clasped his hand.

“Where you off to?” he asked with an affectionate tug.

Veers’ eyebrows twitch upward. He is concerned I am upset that he is telling this particular story. I did, after all, almost lose him that day. He is not wrong...

“Please continue. If all would permit me, I would like to buy the table…” Thrawn hoped his wording was correct. “‘A round.’”

It seemed to be the correct term for the entire Herd cheered in his direction.

“Want help getting everyone’s orders?” Hopper offered.

“No need,” Thrawn replied. “I can remember what everyone had.”

Veers turned Thrawn’s hand over in his. “I will drink whatever you are having,” Veers murmured and planted a gentle kiss on the grand admiral’s wrist.

The chiss held his breath, suppressing a pleasurable sigh at the unexpected attention on one of his erogenous zones. Perhaps Thrawn should choose a slightly less intoxicating beverage for them both.

“Awwwww, ya guys are adorable,” said Corvell with a hiccup, earning a cuff on the head from his general.

Everyone lifted their glasses to Thrawn as he walked away.

The single bartender was preoccupied with an intimate talk with a doe-eyed togruta girl on the other side of the oval bar in the center of the cantina. Thrawn leaned against the bar and raised his hand, but before he could call to the bartender an unpleasantly familiar voice growled behind him.

“You…”

Thrawn calmly turned around to face the newly demoted captain, Kendall Ozzel.

Ozzel wore a worn tan shirt, dark pants and a heavy belt lined with pouches, making him look more like a bounty hunter, or rather a man who had stolen a bounty hunter’s outfit to claim as his own. That was certainly not far from the truth.

“Kendall,” Thrawn greeted, mindful not to use ranks in such a public setting.

“I got some things to say to you.”

Thrawn arched an eyebrow. “Regarding?”

“Don’t play coy, chiss.” Ozzel hissed, whiskey heavy on his breath. “You...you set me up.”

Thrawn glanced around the bar to ensure no one could overhear them before he spoke. “You took it upon yourself to change our course against my direct orders. It seemed only fair you deliver the news of your executive decision to Lord Vader as he was the one who supported my trek to Endor in the first place.”

“Yeah, well your plan didn’t work. I survived my encounter with Vader.”

“I had no plans other than ensuring it was you who delivered the news to Lord Vader. I have no intention to kill you,” Thrawn said. “Now if you will excuse me.”

Ozzel tenses, Thrawn noted. When I turn my back he will either grab my arm or my shoulder and force me to turn and face him. If he grabs my arm I will apply Leverage Maneuver Five to his wrist, and shift into a Csillian arm lock if necessary. If he grabs my shoulder I will apply light pressure to pinky, turn thirty five degrees clockwise until he submits.

Slowly Thrawn turned, waiting for Ozzel to make his move.

As predicted Ozzel snarled. “Don’t you turn your back on m-”

Thrawn felt a mere grazing of fingertips along the fabric of his sweater just above the shoulder...then nothing.

“That is quite enough.”

Thrawn turned to see Veers seize Ozzel’s hand and shove it away before placing himself between the chiss and the demoted captain.

“Is there a problem here?” Veers challenged, his shoulders squaring against Ozzel who took on a similar stance. Though both postured aggressively towards each other, there was a mild sway to their movements.

Ozzel did not seem bothered that Veers towered over him by several centimeters. “Stay out of this, Veers,” Ozzel spat. “He and I have unfinished business.”

Veers stepped forward, crowding Ozzel, staring down his nose at him. “Your business is with me now.”

Ozzel sneered. “Is the blue-skinned ghoul unable to defend himself? His little anooba has to come to his rescue?”

Thrawn had been called many things by men far more dangerous than Captain Ozzel. This slur was nothing new to him. It had not occurred to him, however, that Veers had never been present when these slurs were slung his way.

He was reminded of this when he watched Veers’ clenched fists twitch.

When Veers spoke, his tone possessed a fragile layer of calmness barely containing the storm that lay beneath. “Apologize. Now. ”

Ozzel remained unmoved, his eyes growing dilated. He licked his lips as if contemplating his next move.

The air around them stilled. Every patron, Imperial and civilian alike had their eyes on the two men.

“Max…” Thrawn said, glancing around.

The Thundering Herd sat, quite literally, on the edges of their seats, while Ozzel’s personal crew from the Executor, those still loyal to him, leaned forward as if ready to charge.

“Max, let it go,” Thrawn ordered. “There is no need for trouble here.”

“Yes, Max ,” Ozzel snickered. “Listen to your ghou-”

Crack!

Veers’ fist slammed into Ozzel’s jaw, sending him spinning.

The captain crashed to the ground.

Veers rubbed his knuckles and looked back at the chiss with a boyish grin of which the chiss did not return.

Instead, Thrawn was about to expel a slew of reasons why Veers should not be smiling, when Ozzel let out a gurgled growl. The general turned back in time to see Ozzel stumble to his feet and charge toward Veers, catching the general in the sternum with his shoulder.  Veers slammed hard into the thick ledge of the bar with a loud grunt.

Shoving Ozzel off, Veers staggered forward, throwing a sloppy roundhouse punch that glanced off Ozzel’s head.

The captain fell hard, but not before grabbing Veers’ shirt and dragging him down with him.

As the two men fell it was as if a dam broke in the room.

The Thundering Herd and Ozzel’s loyal men charged forth like two waves crashing in a testosterone-fueled collision.

Chairs flew across the room, tables flipped over, bottles shattered over heads, men rolled and flailed and swung wildly at each other in a drunken flurry.

Veers grabbed Ozzel in a headlock, only to be shoved away and tackled by the captain. As they scrapped on the ground, Veers occasionally glanced over at Thrawn to see if he was still watching.

And of course Thrawn was...between heavy sighs and brief pinches of the bridge of his nose.

This is not how the evening was supposed to go.

With every passing moment, the situation continued to spiral more and more out of control. Thrawn eyed the other patrons who watched in fearful awe of the fight.

With a single command, Thrawn could cease the fighting immediately. Yet, with that single command, he would also be giving away his and everyone else’s identities.

If word got out that a red-eyed, blue-skinned alien was seen leading a group of humans out of a local bar after an epic bar fight, it could inadvertently tip off the Rebellion of their location in the galaxy.

Thrawn could not risk it, and so he did the only thing he could do:

“Barkeep,” Thrawn called, holding up a finger. “Your finest port, if you please.”

No sooner did the wide-eyed bartender hand him the glass did the cantina doors swing open and two familiar faces in unfamiliar civilian garb walked in.

The first officer Thrawn recognized as the newly-appointed Admiral, and Ozzel’s replacement, Firmus Piett. The other man, his arm slung around the admiral’s waist, was another recently promoted officer, Moff Tiaan Jerjerrod.

They took no more than a step into the bar before a beer bottle soared through the air, crashing just above the pair of officers. Jerjerrod grabbed Piett and pulled him close, shielding him from the glass that rained over them. After a moment, Piett pulled away, looking up at the moff who plucked a few broken pieces from the man’s hair.

Concerned words were shared quickly between them before Piett noticed Thrawn watching them both. The moff followed the admiral’s gaze and Thrawn raised a glass of port to the two of them before nodding to Veers and Ozzel who were now sluggishly exchanging drunken punches at each other on the ground.

Jerjerrod frowned and turned to the crowd, putting a finger and thumb in his mouth and letting loose an ear-piercing whistle.

All parties froze.

Punches paused, kicks faltered, grips loosened.

Quietly, Jerjerrod and Piett walked through the crowd, forcing men to their feet or pulling them apart, each one being issued quiet reprimands as they passed. One-by-one, the Herd and Naval officers filed out of the cantina, righting tables and chairs as they went.

Thrawn glanced around the bar to the other patrons.

It was reasonable that they had figured out this was not a brawl between smugglers and bounty hunters, but the grand admiral hoped the onlookers would assume they were all uncivilized rebels.

They are certainly acting like rebel scum, Thrawn thought with a resigned sigh, setting his port down to tend to Veers.

The general and captain were both slumped on the ground, panting heavily and unable to throw anything harder than a hateful glare at each other. As Thrawn helped Veers to his feet, one of Ozzel’s men pulled up the captain.

“This isn’t over,” Ozzel hissed through bloodied teeth. One eye was already swelling shut and a deep, purple bruise lined his jaw where Veers’ had initially punched.

Veers charged forward with a tired snarl, but Thrawn put a firm hand on his chest. “Max, let it go.”

This time Veers listened, though he still pressed hard against Thrawn’s hand. The chiss could feel the man’s heart pounding in his chest. His fiery eyes followed Ozzel until the captain finally limped out of the cantina.

Thrawn slid a hand onto Veers’ shoulder, rubbing it tenderly. “Max…?”

Veers responded to the touch. The muscles in his back and arms melted slightly and Thrawn took the opportunity to guide him to a barstool.

Veers gingerly tongued the cut on his lip and grimaced. His eyes met Thrawn’s and he gave a half-sheepish smile. “I promised you would be fine, did I not?”

Thrawn smirked. “Indeed. Go back to the shuttle, I will make things right with the manager here. Hopefully, Imperial credits are good in this part of the galaxy.”

Veers looked around the cantina and let out a sharp chuff. “I apologize, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“There is no need. You defended my honor. Unnecessarily, but it was appreciated nonetheless.”

The boyish twinkle returned to Veers’ eyes. “And I impressed you?”

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed. “If I admit such a thing it will only encourage you to act out like this again.”

Veers winced. “To be honest, this is sometimes part of the ‘tradition’. We are, after all, heading to war tomorrow. The boys get riled up... I get riled up. I am sorry you were put in the middle of it.”

Thrawn leaned in and kissed Veers on the cheek untouched by the blossoming bruises on his rugged face. “No apology necessary. It was an impressive display. Even in your inebriated state you fought quite skillfully.”

It was as if Thrawn had personally applied bacta to Veers’ wounded pride, as the light fully returned to his abashed eyes.

“See to your men, Max.”

“I will see you on the Chimaera,” Veers replied, kissing Thrawn on the lips.

The scent of blood and scotch touched Thrawn’s lips so suddenly that part of him wanted to recoil from it.

...and yet Thrawn found himself leaning into it. As did Veers. A quiet utterance left Veers mouth as Thrawn briefly glided his tongue along those lips, exploring the taste of violence on Veers’ mouth.

Veers pulled away, letting out a soft pant. “I should go…”

Thrawn only nodded as Veers turned to follow his men out of the cantina.

“What. Happened?” Jerjerrod asked, pulling Thrawn out of his temporary daze. A daze he would need to examine later...there was work to be done.

“I believe this is the quintessential example of a human ‘bar fight’,” Thrawn replied.

Jerjerrod sighed. “Who started it?”

“It was Ozzel, was it not,” Piett interjected.

Thrawn eyed Piett curiously. Piett’s tired eyes glistened slightly with fear, but there was an emphasis to his words, as if attempting to cover for Veers in case it was Thrawn’s partner who started the fight.

“It truly was Ozzel,” Thrawn said, addressing Piett directly. “It was not entirely unexpected, though the situation did unravel quicker than anticipated.”

“Unravel,” Jerjerrod balked. “Yes, yes it most certainly did.”

“What in kriffin’ nine hells?!” exclaimed a voice from the back of the bar. The three officers turned to see a thick-limbed rattataki in an oil-stained apron walk across the bar, feet crunching over broken glass. “What happened to my cantina?”

“I will see to the manager,” Piett said quickly and headed towards the furious rattataki.

Moff Jerjerrod sighed and took a seat next to Thrawn, leaning heavily on the bar.

“I apologize for the inconvenience. It could not have been helped, I am afraid.”

“It absolutely could have been helped, Thrawn,” Jerjerrod said.

“Why did you not let Ozzel go after he disobeyed you?”

Thrawn frowned. “He was an exceptional captain before his promotion to Admiral and it would be a waste to not utilize his talent for command. It was unwise of Tarkin to promote him in the first place.”

“Thrawn,” Jerjerrod’s tone was that of gentle patience. “That is sound logic and I am sure in chiss society one could get away with such a demotion without repercussions. You, however, are in the Empire now. Men like Ozzel are dangerous. If they disobey, they are let go, they are not to be kept.”

“I had hoped in sending him to Lord Vader-”

“-would be an adequate enough warning? Yes, again, I see your logic, but we are not dealing with logical men here. Ozzel may be a fine officer, but he is an illogical, spiteful, arrogant cretin no matter what rank he holds. His resentment towards you will come out sideways, it will fester and grow and one day he will stab you in the back.”

“I will be cautious,” Thrawn reassured.

“Not good enough. Get rid of him, grand admiral.”

Thrawn narrowed his eyes, but nodded. “I will do what needs to be done.”

Jerjerrod caught the nuance in Thrawn’s words and sighed. “I am sure you will…”

-----

This was it.

The final battle.

The hangar bay was a flurry of activity: pilots rushing to their fighters, engineers scrambling to prepare speeders and chicken walkers, officers barking orders, troopers lining up in their respective squads.

Though all were prepared for war, none were so prepared as General Maximilian Veers and his Thundering Herd.

They marched into the hangar in formation, their boots hitting the floor in unison like the rhythmic beat of war drums. Cuirasses were freshly shined, AT-AT helmets tucked beneath their arms, their heads held high and proud.

Thrawn glanced around the hangar and found everyone had paused to watch Veers and his men approach their walkers.  

A proud smile tugged at Thrawn’s lips.

Thrawn waited for Veers at the base of Blitzkrieg’s enormous head, the Imperial walker crouched and waiting for Veers and his assigned troopers to board.

The general who approached Thrawn now was a return to the man he had only known from field reports, from whispered rumors, from growing legends.

Gone was the easy smile, the mischievous glimmer in his eyes, the relaxed gait in his step. Veers’ face was stone; lips a thin, austere line, those sharp, hazel eyes focused inward as if working through an endless collections of puzzles that only he could solve.

Maximilian Veers was prepared for war.

And Thrawn found himself falling further for the man with every step.

“General,” Thrawn greeted, formally.

“Grand Admiral,” Veers returned, giving a short bow.

“On your command, we will execute the Xizor’s Smile maneuver. Death from Above Squadron is ready, I trust?”

“They are. Will Cerulean Storm Squadron accompany us for a vanguard approach?”

“They will.”

Veers nodded. “I will be on frequency 3.552.122.”

“I will be waiting for your hail.”

They stood there for a moment.

The world around them buzzed with commotion, the very air electric with the anticipation of this long-sought battle. Yet, despite the organized chaos surrounding them, there existed a stillness between Maximilian Veers and Mitth’raw’nuruodo.

It was a calm moment meant only for the two of them.

“I have something for you,” Thrawn said, finally, sliding a hand into his trouser pocket and producing a small box.

“Is this really a good time to exchange jewelry? Must I stop by a gift shop on my way back to the fleet?” Veers asked with an impish smirk.

“Open it, please,” Thrawn asked quietly.

Veers took the small blue box and flicked it open with his thumb.

A small glass tube lay on a bed of silk. A sheath of shiny yellow-scaled hide was wrapped around the base of the tube. Floating within the vial of pink liquid was a small organ, perfectly preserved.

“What is this?”

“Promise me you will wear this in battle today. It will protect you from the Force.”

Veers arched an eyebrow. “I did not figure you one for giving into superstition.”

“It is not superstition, it is science,” Thrawn said, plucking the vial out of the box by the long yellow-hide cord. “The ysalamir is a creature capable of projecting a ten-meter bubble around itself, warding away the very existence of the Force. Their power originates from their pituitary gland. ISB has informed us that Jedi exist within the rebellion. If that is true then this ‘talisman’ will help protect you from their powers.”

Veers bowed his head and allowed Thrawn to slip the necklace over him.

“Incredible,” Veers remarked, examining the vial closely. “Thank you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he said, tucking the vial under his cuirass out of sight.

An announcement blared through the speakers. The fleet would be making the jump to hyperspace soon, bound for Endor.

“I should go prepare Blitz.”

“Of course,” Thrawn said, feeling a tightness in his chest. “I will not keep you.”

They stood for a few moments longer, their eyes holding each other’s, a silent understanding between them.

This would be their first major battle as a team.

This would be their first time apart since Hoth.

There were worries and hesitations on both sides, but there existed something far greater: a shared fire between them. With Veers’ strength on the ground and Thrawn’s intellect in the sky, they would be a formidable team; a team guaranteed to earn a final victory for the Empire against the Rebellion that plagued the galaxy for far too long.

Thrawn extended a hand. “Take care of yourself, Max.”

Veers slid his hand into Thrawn’s, his rough fingers caressing Thrawn’s smooth skin. “I will see you soon,” he replied, giving his partner a quick wink.

Thrawn watched Veers board the walker.

Victory will be ours, Thrawn thought, as the AT-AT rose to its full height. And, stars willing, we will both see the end of this war, together.

Thrawn sympathized with the Rebellion.

Their side had lost before the battle even began.

Chapter Text

Countless future generations of Imperial Officers would grow up hearing the amazing tales of the great Battle of Yavin IV and the brutal siege on Hoth. But it was the Battle of Endor that would be held in the highest regard, spoken of in reverence, and meticulously recorded in history books throughout the galaxy. Cadets at Imperial Academies would study, analyze, and dissect every move that Grand Admiral Thrawn and General Veers made throughout that battle. The tactics executed that day had set the bar for a new kind of military stratagem; a kind that forged a tighter bond between the Imperial Navy and the Army Corp.

The Battle of Endor was known forever as a flawless victory.

Thrawn often corrected scholars and military analysts alike, insisting the events that day were hardly flawless. Veers often corrected Thrawn insisting that day was absolutely perfect.

“Tighten formation, Thundering Herd,” Veers ordered. “Grand admiral, status on the Cerulean Storm Squadron?”

Thrawn sat in the command chair on the bridge of the Chimaera, maps, scanners and statistical readouts surrounding him. The two smaller rebel bases were easily overrun and the remaining rebel stragglers were being picked off by AT-STs. The main base was now the current focus. They had time to prepare for the Empire’s next attack.

“Cerulean Storm will be covering your walkers...now.”

And on cue, twelve red triangles appeared on the screen signifying the TIE Fighter squadron’s arrival. They swarmed around the Thundering Herd’s location, a half dozen diamonds moving steadily towards the main rebel base. The TIEs formed a perfect circle around the walkers, covering them on all sides.

The scream of fighters came through as static in Thrawn’s earpiece.

“Excellent,” Veers remarked, his tone calm and even. “Death From Above, your position?”

“Comin’ in from the South now, General,” said the squadron leader.

“Troopers,” Veers called out, “be prepared to disembark in three, two…”

A cluster of white dots flooded the space surrounding each AT-AT marker on Thrawn’s screen. They moved at a steady pace, muffled sounds of blaster fire echoing in Thrawn’s ears.

“Cerulean Storm Squadron, prepare for Xizor’s Smile,” Thrawn ordered.

“Death from Above, prepare for the Xizor’s Smile,” Veers echoed.

On a separate channel, one only accessible between the general and grand admiral, Veers’ voice came through, the grin apparent in his tone. “Are you ready, Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”

“Always, Max,” Thrawn replied with a slight, private smile.

Thrawn and Veers had spent weeks preparing for this moment. The long nights of research, heated debates, and rigorous planning and rehearsals were about to be tested.

On the main channel they addressed their squadrons. “Three...two...one…”

When the plan was executed, Thrawn and Veers’ war machines engaged in a fluid dance, their steps shifting and adjusting accordingly to the enemy’s movements.

Thrawn guided his TIE squadron through a swift tango with X-wing fighters, while Veers and his Herd swept the Rebels into a deadly waltz on the ground.

They worked gracefully together, neither stepping on the other’s toes.

And then the dance was reaching its end.

The remaining rebel performers were tapdancing their last within the fortress.

Veers switched to the private channel and addressed Thrawn directly. “It is a shame Captain Ozzel was not present to bask in this glory.”

“Yes, I can hear the regret in your tone,” Thrawn said, mildly, watching the flood of white dots infiltrate the base. The blue squares within the fortress blinked out one by one as the Rebel threat was dealt with.

Veers scoffed. “I still think you should have expelled that ponce out of the airlock when you had the chance.”

Thrawn rolled his scarlet eyes.

“I can practically hear your eyes rolling, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“Keep your mind on your work, General, the battle is not over y-”

A lightsaber’s blade hissed in Thrawn’s earpiece.

Ice clutched the grand admiral’s heart.

“ Pfassk,” he heard Veers swear, then the channel went silent.

Thrawn enlarged the map display, zooming in on the diamond marker representing Blitzkrieg’s position. Two life forms were read in the Imperial walker cockpit when there should have only been one.

For several long moments, Thrawn watched the green star and blue square silently, waiting for the blue square to disappear.

It had to disappear. Losing the green star on that map was not an option.

“Sir,” Admiral Piett chirped. “Ground troops are ready to ascend to the second level of the compound. General Veers has yet to issue the command.”

Thrawn wrenched his eyes away from the screen and punched the frequency accessing the awaiting troopers.

“Proceed, troopers. Death from Above return to base. Colonel Covell, bring your walker towards General Veers’ position and be ready. We may have a Jedi to deal with. If we lose the general, be prepared to destroy that walker with the Jedi still inside.”

The words poured from Thrawn with cold calculation despite his heart feeling like a raw nerve, seared open by that unforgettable sound of the devilish light blade.

“Oi! Belay that order!” Veers snapped into the comm. “No one is firing at my girl.”

Thrawn shot forward in his chair. “Are you alright, general?”

“Faring better than my surprise visitor, thanks to your little lucky charm.”

“The ysalamir pendant seems to have served you well.”

“Like fighting a toothless anooba. Thank you for that.”

Thrawn flicked on the private comm. “Will you be joining us soon?”

He could hear the smile in Veers’ tone. “Soon. When the last of the Rebellion is accounted for.”

“Be safe, Max.”

“I will see you soon.”

While the rest of the crew gathered in the main conference room, Thrawn stood to the side pouring through his datapad. Casualties were the lowest the Empire had seen since the war with the Rebels started. And it was confirmed the last of the Force-users had been eradicated thanks to General Veers’ heroic efforts.

It was cause to celebrate.

But first, Thrawn needed to submit his reports to High Command.

“Go meet him,” Piett whispered, standing beside Thrawn as the officers began to bring out expensive bottles of spirits.

“I need to inform Governor Tarkin-”

“I have taken the liberty, sir,” Piett said, gently taking Thrawn’s datapad away. “Go to him. We are extracting the Herd as we speak.”

Thrawn put a hand on Piett’s shoulder as he walked past him. “Thank you, Firmus.”

“Of course, and congratulations, sir. This one will be for the history books.”

“Indeed.”

-----

Though Thrawn maintained his composure in the hangar bay as Blitzkrieg’s ramp was lowered, there was little the chiss could do to cease the pounding in his heart.

Injured troopers were guided out of the main hold first, followed by the tech officers and mechanics.

When the last man had left, boots thundered down the ramp in a slow march.

Thrawn held his breath.

The left wing of General Veers’ helmet had been sliced away, leaving a jagged edge of melted plastoid. There was a spatter of blood on his breastplate and a few more dents and nicks that had not been there before. The bruises on his cheeks from the previous night’s bar fight were a little darker, a little deeper purple, but no new wounds existed.

Veers was safe and he had come home.

“Grand admiral,” Veers nodded formally, a twinkle in his eyes.

“General,” Thrawn greeted. “May I ask whose blood is that?”

Veers looked down at his cuirass. “It is his, not mine.”

“I see.” Thrawn did not trust himself to say anything more.

Thrawn’s scarlet eyes scanned over Veers’ helmet, noting a subtle red streak along Veers’ cheek. The tip of the light blade was so close, milimeters away.

And the blood…

There were traces on the edge of his helmet as well. A headbutt then?

His focus shifted to the dents on the general’s breastplate. He was either flung backwards, kicked or shoved, Thrawn was not sure. The impact would have been hard enough to knock him to the ground. 

And there seemed to be scuffings on his gloves where-

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo?”

Thrawn blinked. “Yes?”

“Stop,” Veers said, gently.
Thrawn’s eyes drifted to the breastplate again, noticing a small scorch mark along his side. If it had gone any farther it would have punctured his liver.

“Thrawn, stop…” Veers stepped forward and touched Thrawn’s fist. The chiss had not realized he was clenching it so tightly. Immediately his fingers relaxed and he let the general take his hand. “We have debriefings and the celebration in a few hours. I think it’s best I change. It looks like Ozzel came back for a second beating.” He ventured a smile.

Thrawn did not return it. “I will leave you to it then.”

Veers did not release his hand. “Will you accompany me?”

Thrawn tilted his head. There was something strange in the way Veers looked at him. This was not his usual, coy debonair charm. His hazel eyes were serious, and his smile flickered with a nervous twitch.

“As you wish.”

They did not talk on the way back to Veers’ quarters.

Fellow officers and squadrons of stormtroopers bowed and saluted as Thrawn and Veers passed. Thrawn gave quick salutes, but Veers did not seem to notice them. A curiosity as Veers was the sort to acknowledge every Imperial that crossed his path with a salute or a clap on the shoulder.

Thrawn looked for those lines of worry, the ones that would deepen on Veers’ cheeks and forehead when the general was distressed.

Yet Veers’ face was smooth, calm.

His focus was just...elsewhere.

Unlike Thrawn’s quarters which was lavished with rich oak furniture and crimson tapestries, Veers’ dwelling was something akin to a jungle bungalow.

The living area smelled of cedar and the subtle fragrance of exotic flowers. The furniture was hand-carved, skillfully crafted by Veers himself.

The decor consisted of luscious plants and colorful tropical flowers, and there was a single trophy case framed between two stout palms, which Thrawn recognized as achievements from Veers’ academy days, and various sharpshooting trophies, many earned outside the Empire’s competitions.

Veers guided Thrawn through the soothing living area into the bedroom which was a simple, utilitarian room.

A simple four-poster bed sat in the center of the room. The standard grey sheets were marked with a white Imperial symbol on the duvet. Thrawn walked past the bed towards a wicker chair in the corner, while Veers hung his helmet and cuirass on an iron display rack.

Pulling out his datapad, Thrawn settled in and tried not to overthink exactly why he was invited here. Though he and Veers had several intimate occasions together that took place in each other’s quarters, neither of them had spent any time together in a domestic capacity. Even when they dined together it was always treated as an event in itself.

Thrawn dared not call attention to the invitation to be here while Veers walked into the refresher. If Veers wished company nearby while he cleaned up, the chiss was more than happy to oblige.

Making an effort to keep his eyes focused on the datapad, he could not ignore that in his peripheral vision Veers had turned on the shower, yet had not closed the door.

Thrawn scrolled mindlessly through a report, struggling to keep himself occupied.

He could hear the shuffling of clothes.

He could feels Veers looking at him.

Thrawn swallowed, hard.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo…”

Slowly, Thrawn looked up.

His breath hitched.

Veers stood in the doorway, light shining behind him, casting a faint silhouette over his broad form. He was still dressed, but some of the hooks on his uniform were undone, hanging open and showing part of his chest; just enough to make Thrawn’s cheeks warm.

“Will you help me?” Veers said, his fingers toying with the fifth hook.

There was no playfulness in his words. His eyes shone in the dim light, there was a hopefulness there, a vulnerability Thrawn did not recognize at first.

As if not wanting to break the spell, Thrawn kept his movements slow, setting the datapad down and rising from the chair, his scarlet eyes fixated on the general.

Veers walked backwards into the bathroom as Thrawn approached, stopping just short of the shower and letting Thrawn step in close to him.

“You want me to help you?” Thrawn asked, finally.

Veers licked his lips. “My uniform.”

Thrawn’s fingers delicately pulled at the hooks, revealing a thin green tank shirt beneath, cut high to hide most of his chest. The uniform dropped to the floor in a heap.

Thrawn tugged at the soft material near Veers’ ribs.

“Shall I?”

Veers chewed his lip a moment...then raised his arms loosely over his head.

Thrawn pulled on the cotton cloth, revealing an abdomen he had only seen hints of during their intimate times together. Each abdominal muscle was an island in itself. Deep clefts surrounded each one, showcasing the sheer power of his core. They tensed as he peeled the tank shirt away.

In fact, all of Veers’ body tensed. He stood rigid, arms up as if frozen there. Eyes closed…

Thrawn waited for him to tell him to stop, that he had changed his mind…

...that he was not ready to show Thrawn the scar he seemed so ashamed of.

Yet no resistance came, and Thrawn pulled off Veers’ shirt entirely, letting it drift to the floor, joining the tunic.

Thrawn glanced at the scar, jarred by just how violently it streaked Veers’ chest.

His heart lurched and his eyes snapped to Veers’ hazel gaze, which had a peculiar calm to them.

Veers’ smile was reassuring.

Veers’ smile was grounding.

Thrawn smiled back, though it did nothing to ease him.

Steam billowed out from the shower, fogging the mirrors, heating Thrawn’s already warm skin.

Veers reached up and tugged at Thrawn’s uniform. “Will you join me?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said. “Is that what you wish?”

Veers tilted his head, his lips drawing close to Thrawn’s. “More than anything in the galaxy I need you with me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn pressed forward, his lips locking desperately with Veers’ as he yanked at the hooks of his tunic. Veers fumbled with the grand admiral’s belt, tossing it to the floor before yanking the tunic hard off Thrawn’s shoulders just as he freed himself from the last hook.

They licked and nipped at each other hungrily as their fingers deftly undid each other’s pants, and together they slid them down, coming back up together, bare for both to see.

Naked for the first time together.

It should have been nothing new to Veers, he had practically seen everything Thrawn had to offer. Yet the general took a step back, a soft smile on his face as his eyes roamed every centimeter of the chiss’ form. Thrawn smirked and stood tall, tucking his hands behind his back, broadening his shoulders, squaring his hips. He was careful to keep his gaze on Veers’ face, away from the scarred chest.

Thrawn’s organ hung heavily against his thigh, twitching as Veers’ eyes drank it in for a long moment before continuing to scour the rest of him.

“Any complaints, general?”

The tension in Veers’ face lessened, and a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. “None except you have not entered the shower yet.”

Thrawn snorted. “I am not the one who needs to bathe.”

Veers grinned and grabbed Thrawn’s bare hips, pulling him close. Despite the grimy post-battle condition of Veers’ skin, Thrawn found himself wrapping Veers up in a tight embrace. He buried his face in the curve of Veers’ thick, muscled neck, breathing in deep. Sweat and natural musk, mixed with the faintest hint of coconut, filled Thrawn’s nose. It was intoxicating, pulling a subtle purr from the chiss. Veers shivered, his hips rolling forward, and his member pressing against Thrawn’s for a moment as he whispered, “Now will you join me, admiral?”

Thrawn pulled away with a scoff as he realized just how grimy his own skin felt against the battleworn general. “I suppose I have no choice.”

“That is the spirit,” Veers grinned, opening the glass door to the shower.

Heat billowed out in thick clouds as Thrawn stepped in. Water fell from a wide rectangular panel above him, coming down like warm rainfall. As Veers joined him, a tight, almost timid smile lingered on his face.

Even now, Thrawn dared not look below Veers’ neckline and Veers had noticed.

“Not going to look at the rest of me then?” Veers said, with a forced chuckle.

Thrawn’s eyes surrendered to the weight of curiosity, drawn again to the scar Veers had held secret for so long.

It started at his collarbone, a gash made from a wide knife, sharp and serrated judging from the uneven jaggedness. It travelled across Veers’ left pectoral, a deep crevice over the solid plain of muscle. As if the earth itself had cracked from a devastating earthquake, so was the skin separated, the scar deep and jagged.

He stopped himself before his fingers touched the tortured, scarred skin. He started to pull back, but Veers caught Thrawn’s hand. “It is alright,” he said, bringing the chiss’ cerulean fingers to his lips. “You can touch it.”

Veers kissed Thrawn’s fingertips softly before guiding them to the edge of the scar, dragging them along the length of it. The skin was uneven, but surprisingly smooth. It dipped shallowly in some areas and were raised in others.

Veers was not just slashed, he was carved into, though tissue and muscle. Thrawn was certain bone would have been visible.   

“Who did this?” Thrawn asked, unable to bite the question back any longer.

Veers held Thrawn’s palm to his lips and kissed it softly before placing the chiss’ hand over his heart, and the bulk of the scar itself. “It does not matter now. They are dead.”

Pain etched those brown orbs flecked with green and Thrawn did not press the matter further.

Thrawn looked down at the pitiful cluster of bottles on a small corner shelf.

“What is it?”

“I am going to smell like you,” Thrawn said with a teasing disdain as he pressed the pump, squirting bodywash into his hands. The scent of a tropical forest, rich mahogany scent hinted with coconut filled his nostrils.

Veers rolled his eyes and pumped out some body wash as well.

“I am sure you shall survive. Next time I will keep some lilac soap in here.”

“I have not cleaned you yet, perhaps I am terrible at this and will not be invited back.”

Veers eyed him curiously. “You have never showered with a lover before?”

Thrawn faltered a moment.

Veers noticed and moved on. “Practice makes perfect, I say.”

Grateful for the change of subject, Thrawn slid his hands along Veers’ chest. His long fingers glided over the hardened muscles of his pectorals, spreading lather over every groove and crevice.

Soap slid down Veers’ torso, rolling over his abdomen that flexed and relaxed as Thrawn scrubbed dutifully.

With a slight hesitation, Thrawn briefly spread the soap over the scar. Though his curiosity wanted to explore the ghastly skin further, the chiss shifted his attention to a more...pleasant area of the general’s body.

Thrawn grinned and slid his soapy thumbs over Veers’ nipples.

The general pushed into Thrawn’s hands as the chiss massaged the soap against his sensitive nubs.

“I believe...those are clean,” Veers gasped.

“Are they?” Thrawn asked, coyly, giving them a small tweak. “I just want to be sure.”

Veers let out a soft moan, a half-smile spreading on his face. “Do you not want me clean before dirtying me up again?”

“Brute,” Thrawn smirked. “But you are correct. Turn around, general,” Thrawn ordered.

Veers’ confident face fell a little. He exhaled sharply. “Alright. I will. Just...when I do, understand that I am fine.”

Thrawn frowned. “Meaning?”

“My...they...It just looks worse than...” Veers paused and dropped his eyes.

The air between them fell quiet save for the patter of water against their skin and on the tile floor.

Slowly, Veers turned around.

And Thrawn clenched his fists.

Thrawn’s mind was catapulted to a scene he did not want to envision:

Veers hangs suspended, wrists bound, a whip coming down against his bare flesh over and over. He screams. Thick scars like those are not made in silence. The scars are uneven. Some lacerations healed and were reopened and crossed with larger wounds from broader whips. This happens over days.

It kept happening.

No one came for him.

No one.

“Mitth’raw’nuruodo, stop deducing…” Veers said, turning his head slightly.

“Max...who-”

“I am fine now. I am here. I am safe. I am with you.”

“I should be reassuring you of this, not the other way around.”

Veers chuckled. “Well, I know where I am. You need to come back to me.”

Thrawn conceded, forcing himself to relax. Shakily, he lathered up his hands and ran his fingers over Veers’ back. The foam collected and haloed each scar, wanting to draw Thrawn into their story, whispering of the horrors Veers had faced.

Thrawn shrugged off the temptation and looked up, realizing that the muscles he had been rubbing were taut. The skin twitched and flinched at every touch.

Thrawn frowned...then immediately let out an exaggerated sigh.

“How is it you wear a uniform and a cuirass and still manage to get this filthy, general?”

He watched the tension immediately melt away from those tense muscles and Veers hid his exhale of relief with an irritated huff. “Well not all of us are built without sweat glands.”

“I sweat,” Thrawn retorted. “Just not... everywhere like you . ”

Veers turned back. His boyish smile was easy and natural. “You like how I sweat.”

Thrawn snorted. “Do I?”

“You do. You enjoy me being a dirty….” Max turned fully, stepping close “...filthy…” He wrapped his arms around Thrawn “...brute.”

Thrawn's breath caught as Veers pressed his hips forward. His length was half-hard and it brushed against Thrawn's loins, coaxing a twitch from his soft member.

“Finish washing, brute ,” Thrawn ordered, gently. “It is getting a bit warm for my tastes here.”

Veers grinned. “Yes, sir.” He grabbed more bodywash and stepped out of the rainfall, turning to wash himself.

“Max?”

Veers looked back at him. Water clung to the tips of his long eyelashes, darkening them, highlighting the flecks of green within his rich brown irises. Water slid down those rugged cheeks, off a strong chin. It dripped from the warrior’s nose which had been broken and set more than once.

And in that moment Thrawn realized this was a face he never wanted to cease looking upon.

He wanted to watch that face age, and he wanted to age with it.

Something swelled within him, like an agonizing ache he would gladly suffer the rest of his days.

Thrawn planted a small kiss on the general’s wet cheek. “Do make haste.”

“Do I have something to look forward to after this if I do?”

Thrawn smirked. “Perhaps. Depending how long you make me wait.”

Thrawn rinsed off the rest of his soap and slipped out of the shower while Veers slapped bodywash and shampoo on himself in a cleaning frenzy.

By the time Veers stepped out of the shower, Thrawn had already dried off and was waiting with a fresh towel in his hands.

He could feel Veers’ eyes on him as he patted the fluffy towel over the general’s glistening skin. He took his time, gliding the terry cloth over every groove, every muscle, along each scar. He could feel Veers’ anxiety leave his posture when Thrawn moved lower, unfazed by drying the scars on Veers’ body.

Thrawn turned the general towards him once again and sank to his knees. He smiled inwardly as Veers uttered a soft gasp as the chiss gave his loins special attention: slow, gentle pats, soft caresses, wiping away all the moisture from the general’s organ which was already beginning to harden.

With his menial task complete, Thrawn tossed the towel aside, but remained on his knees, gazing up silently at Veers. The general ran a hand through Thrawn’s damp hair, drawing him in closer. Thrawn smiled and let his breath grow heavy against Veers’ hardening length.

“Thrawn…” Veers sighed as the chiss’ lips hovered over the general’s cockhead.

The lingering mahogany scent of soap was intoxicating and Thrawn resisted the urge to gather the general’s cock into his mouth right then.

He felt a gentle pressure on his head as Veers urged him closer to his hardness. Thrawn merely looked up and smiled.

“Not yet,” he purred, but allowed his lips to graze the tip of Veers’ head, letting the dewy precum coat his lips. He made sure the general was watching as he drew back, the pearly line of essence glistening on his lips before he licked it away.

Veers bit his lip, eyes shining down at Thrawn hungrily, but resisting the urge to plead.

Thrawn considered Veers for a long moment.

The longer he gazed at him, the tighter the feeling in his chest became.

Perhaps it is time... he thought.

There was a flutter of excitement in that thought…

But there was something else there too...a peculiar feeling.

An absurd feeling.

Yet, the prospect of giving this to Maximilian Veers felt right.

Chapter Text

Thrawn rose to his feet and took Veers’ hand. “Come with me?” he asked, almost shyly, his eyes unable to meet Veers’ gaze entirely.

Veers cocked his head curiously, but said nothing as Thrawn led him out of the refresher into the bedroom.

Surrendering himself to gravity, Veers fell onto the bed backwards, bouncing on the firm mattress a few times before settling in. With a satisfied groan he spread his legs and arms out with a luxurious stretch.

Thrawn did not join him right away, watching the general writhe indulgently on the bed with an ache creeping into his chest.

He should not have been nervous.

He had read extensively on the subject.

He was prepared.

Yet, his heart hammered in his chest as he looked over the general lying before him, hard and ready for his partner.

“Are you joining me?” Veers teased, one arm tucked under his head, while he ran his fingers around the base of his hardened organ.

“Of course,” Thrawn replied, ignoring his pounding heart.

The black duvet was cool beneath his warm skin and it made a soft whistle as he slid along the silken fabric, kneeling beside where Veers was sprawled.

Veers reached over to Thrawn, ready to gather him into his arms.

“Stay,” Thrawn ordered, gently easing Veers onto his back once again.

Veers lay down with a slight whimper and allowed Thrawn to slide atop of him. Planting his knees on either side of Veers’ hips, Thrawn let his length lay against Veers’ shaft.

Thrawn uttered a soft gasp as he slowly moved back and forth, letting the undersides of their cocks caress each other. Veers’ length thickened and twitch beneath him.

“Stars, Thrawn,” Veers moaned, his abdomen flexing in time with Thrawn’s movements. “I could spend the rest of the night just doing this.”

“And miss out on what I would like to give you?” Thrawn teased, warding away the flutter of nervousness in his stomach.

Veers’ eyes flashed with interest. “And what will you be giving me?”

The chiss said nothing, instead taking Veers’ hands and guiding them to his narrow hips, letting out an eager pant as he repositioned himself over Veers’ cock.

His heart thundered in his chest as he felt the head of Veers’ cock brush against his entrance.

“Thrawn, wait,” Veers said, suddenly.

Thrawn froze, panic flickering within him. “Am I doing something incorrect?”

“Well, no, but...should we not use lubricant?”

“As I understand, chiss do not need it,” Thrawn replied.

Veers arched an eyebrow. “As you understand?”

Thrawn remained silent, watching realization wash over Veers’ face.

“Is this your first time?”

“I assure you that I have read extensively on the matter and…”

“Thrawn, no, I...just...wait a moment.” Veers gently sat up, easing Thrawn back to sit on the general’s thighs. “I was not asking for reassurance of your skills. I do not care about that. I just care about…” he rubbed his neck as he tried to formulate the words. “I want to know if this is what you want. If you want me to be...your first.”

“Yes,” Thrawn replied, simply.

The answer did not seem to satisfy Veers. “If this is about what you saw today...If you are doing this because of what happened with the Jedi...or seeing my scars...”

Thrawn furrowed his brow. “My decision was not borne from pity or a feeling of mortality, Maximilian. I do this because...”

The words suddenly caught in his throat.

Why was this so hard to convey?

Why was it that now, of all times, his eloquence of speech failed him?

The words he wished to say - words he needed to say - were so utterly devoid of logic and caged within a profound emotion that he had experienced before.

But for Maximilian Veers, he was willing to take the risk, and deal with any possible consequences his words might bring.

“I do this because I am in love with you, Max.”

The words hung in the air a moment.

Thrawn hoped for reciprocation.

But he braced for rejection.

Veers merely looked at him, but a small smile began to grow on his lips, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

Thrawn felt his face warm up as well as he continued. “I started falling for you the moment we met, Max. I did not understand my feelings at the time, and I know our first encounter may have been a bit...one-sided. What I do know is that my love for you has only grown since our first encounter and I knew then that one day I would share myself with you.” Thrawn hesitated, feeling more exposed now than merely sitting naked on the general’s lap. “That is, if you will have me...”

Thrawn’s words faded away as Veers cupped the chiss’ cheeks in his hands, crushing his soft lips against Thrawn’s mouth.

Thrawn flung his arms around Veers as the general kissed him deeply. Their tongues explored each others’ mouths, dancing together, chasing away the doubt and apprehension from Thrawn’s nerves.  

Veers pulled away, his rough thumbs caressing Thrawn’s smooth face.

Unblinking, unflinchingly, Veers said, “I love you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn felt the world go still as he gazed into Veers shining hazel eyes.

“You are...inspiring, Thrawn,” Veers breathed. “You are the other part of me I did not know I was missing. However long you have had feelings for me, know that mine have been growing for you every day. If you want to give this part of yourself to me, I gladly accept.”

Thrawn gently pressed his forehead against Veers’.

For a long moment, nothing existed between them except the soft sounds of their breathing, the warmth of their skin touching, two brilliant minds at rest, letting the world go quiet around them.

Thrawn placed his hand on Veers’ chest and coaxed the general to lie back once again.

“You are certain you do not need lubrication?”

Thrawn nodded. “I am.”

Veers relaxed and his head sank into the pillow, his hands running along Thrawn’s thighs as the chiss repositioned himself.

The moment Veers’ dewy cockhead kissed the tight ring of muscles of Thrawn’s entrance, he let out a soft gasp. He tightened up, looking to Veers in rising alarm.

“Slowly,” Veers encouraged, his hands stroking Thrawn’s chest as he spoke. “Just relax.” One hand dropped to Thrawn’s hardened length and gave it a few gentle strokes.

Thrawn moaned softly, easing down a little more, feeling the pressure of Veers’ cockhead once again.

“That’s it,” Veers soothed, slowing his strokes down. “I love you so much…”

And with those words Thrawn felt himself grounded, assured. He let out a slow exhale and sank down onto Veers’ cock.

It was as if the whole galaxy was unfurling like a budding flower.

The silky, smooth skin of Veers’ cockhead opened him up easily, and once it entered him, Thrawn sheathed the rest of his length as if it was made to exist within the chiss.

Veers struggled to keep his eyes on Thrawn while his brow knitted, mouth hanging slightly open. His hands trembled on Thrawn's hips.

“Thrawn,” he moaned. “You feel… ahh... ” Veers gasped as Thrawn began to move up and down on his length, taking him in even deeper.

Veers bucked his hips up in response. The chiss arched his back and cried out, a shockwave of pleasure shot through him.

“Did I hurt you,” Veers panted, his eyes growing wide.

Thrawn felt his scarlet eyes blaze, his body trembling as his walls clenched tightly around Veers’ cock.

“N-no, keep going,” Thrawn managed to say, working to find a steady rhythm as Veers started to thrust into him again.

His walls were growing slicker with the constant stimulation of his sensitive walls. The wetter he was, the quicker his movements became.

There existed within him a peculiar sensation, like an itch he could not quite scratch. And the more he moved the more that sensual itch increased.

Thrawn’s words came out in a deep, shaky slur. “Max...harder...”

And yet Veers kept his movements slow, his grip loose on Thrawn’s hips.

Thrawn clapped his hands over Veers’ and squeezed. “Please...Max…”

Veers let out a breathless laugh. “If I do I fear I will not last... ahh ”

Thrawn arched his back, tightening his walls around Veers as another rolling shockwave of pleasure hit him.

He felt himself quiver around Veers’ shaft. His body thrumming with need, craving more, needing more.

“I can help you last longer,” Thrawn panted.

Veers’ eyes fell immediately to Thrawn’s cockhead where small beads of precum leaked from the tip.

“Are you certain? Last time…”

“This small amount will not have the same effect,” Thrawn replied, his fingers roaming around the base of his cock resisting the urge to touch it, despite his skin burning, aching to be caressed.

“Then yes, please…” Veers sighed.

The moment Thrawn touched his frenulum to gather up the budding precum, he let out a soft gasp, hips rocking involuntarily. Veers hissed, biting his lip hard and gripping Thrawn’s hips harder as if concentrating not to let himself come.

“I do not want to hurt you,” Veers panted though he was already sitting up, being lured by the glistening essence on Thrawn’s fingers. “If I go too hard...”

“Max... Ch'eo vur ,” Thrawn breathed, his fingers lingering over Veers’ lips. “I have saved myself for this moment. I have saved myself for you. Now that you are inside me...” he raised up slowly, “...my body has been shaped to be yours.” He eased down again drawing out a long moan from the general. “You cannot hurt me…”

As he sheathed Veers’ cock again and again, his walls continued to mold around the general’s member, memorizing his shape, bonding to him, deepening and widening and contracting.

It felt comforting knowing that he was now made only for Veers.

It felt right.

Long ago he had given up the concept of “saving himself” for anyone. There was no one in the galaxy whom he felt was worth the alteration of his body’s morphology.

Yet when it came to Maximilian Veers it was never a question of if he was the one to bond with.

It was only a question of when their bond would occur.

Veers snaked his arms around Thrawn's waist, catching the chiss’ fingers in his mouth and suckling obscenely at them.

Even with the small sample of the chiss’ precum, Veers’ eyes dilated for a moment.

Thrawn stiffened as he felt Veers cock pulsate within him, shifting and thickening as the chiss’ essence acted as a mild aphrodisiac.

Veers grinned wolfishly.

“So that is where the brute has been hiding,” Thrawn teased, nipping at Veers bottom lip.

With a playful growl, Veers grabbed Thrawn’s hips and flipped the grand admiral over onto his back.

Thrawn landed with a soft oof , and before he could get his bearings, Veers had already hooked his thick, sinewy arms under Thrawn’s legs, lifting him up.

Veers sheathed himself on the first thrust.

Thrawn felt the world grow still.

All that existed was the current of pleasure coursing through his body.

Veers was a perfect fit already, but at the new angle his cockhead found the small cluster of nerves Thrawn had only read about in medical texts.

By the second thrust, Thrawn was seeing stars.

His tight walls pulsating as Veers’ cockhead hit the small gland over and over again.

Pleasure sang within him. The music almost too loud, consuming his senses.

He tried desperately to ground himself, to find his focus, to not lose himself too much in the…

...in the...

“Thrawn…?”

“Love?…hey...”

“Hey...it is alright....”

Thrawn felt Veers’ movements slow. He did not realize how tightly his eyes were screwed shut until he opened them again, blinking at Veers who looked down at him with a tender smile.

He also did not realize just how hard he had been biting his fist. Gently Veers pulled Thrawn’s fist away from his lips. Thrawn could see the skin was darker where his teeth had bruised the skin.

“Relax...Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Veers whispered, kissing Thrawn’s neck, guiding the chiss’ hands over his head to cling to the bars of the headboard. “Let go…”

Veers began to push into Thrawn again.

Thrawn squirmed and writhed, his first instinct to steady himself, unwilling to truly lose control.

Veers’ words continued to soothe him.

“Let go, love…” Veers panted as he picked up speed.

Thrawn tightened his grip on the headboard, resisting the urge to cover his mouth again.

He surrendered to long, drawn out groans, deep and heavy.

“Surrender to it…” Veers coaxed and snapped his hips hard into Thrawn.

Thrawn cried out.

A short, loud cry, an octave higher than his baritone voice, a sound he did not recognize and felt so good to finally unleash.

With every thrust, Thrawn let the sounds flee from his lips.

“Max...harder...please... Ch'eo vur . Give me more…”

Veers obliged with every request, his powerful arms freeing Thrawn’s legs to sink his fists into the pillow. Thrawn moaned louder as Veers hips snapped forward, pecs bouncing, biceps quivering, body shaking as each thrust found Thrawn’s secret spot.

Thrawn could not have kept quiet if he tried.

Veers joined in the chorus, his movements growing more urgent, his eyes widening.

“Touch yourself,” Veers panted.

“If I do, I will not last,” Thrawn warned, though he hand was already sliding towards his engorged member.

Veers grinned. “Trust me, love, I will not be far behind you.”

Thrawn wrapped his legs around Veers’ hips and drew him in deep, holding him in place. His back arched as he took himself in his hand and began to pump his silky cock in a long, slow rhythm.

His other arm snaked around Veers neck, pulling him in close. His powerful thighs squeezed and flexed, controlling Veers’ hips, allowing the general to pump into him in the same deliberate slow movements.

His skin was a delicious fever of need, his cock sending fireworks of pleasure throughout him. His walls clenched and pulsated around Veers drawing out feral noises.

Like a rising tide, Thrawn felt the orgasm fill him, a slow roll gaining momentum. He dug his heels into Veers, tightening his hold around his own cock, his other arm holding Veers tightly.

“ Ch’eo vur,” Thrawn moaned. “ Ch’ah am cseo k’ascah. Vacosethan tur ch’ah. Vacosetah en’casn’ah.”

The climax came to him like a thunderclap.

And Thrawn sank his teeth into Veers’ neck.

Veers cried out and grabbed Thrawn’s neck, keeping him in place, encouraging the savage hold to tighten as Thrawn came hard.

Veers let out a wolfish growl as he thrusted a final time, warmth filling Thrawn as his partner released inside him.

As the fog began to rise from Thrawn’s senses, his scarlet eyes widened, realizing what he had done. He pulled his lips away, looking at the half-moon teeth marks imprinted on Veers’ pale skin.

Veers let out a huff that could have been a laugh. “How did I taste, love?”

“Are you alright?”

“More than alright,” Veers assured him, slowly easing out of the chiss.

Thrawn whimpered softly at being so empty, but the feeling subsided as Veers sank next to him, drawing him into strong embrace. Thrawn’s back pressed flush against the general’s heaving chest.

“You are incredible, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Veers sighed in his ear, peppering his neck with small kisses.

Thrawn melted against him, his eyes growing heavy. Every part of him felt relaxed, as if Veers had untied every knot from his muscles, laying him out in neat little ribbons.

Then his eyes snapped open.

“Max?”

“Hmm…?”

“I will return shortly.”

Veers chuckled. “Feeling a bit sticky?”

“Quite…” Thrawn scoffed, sliding himself off the bed, careful not to get any fluids on the nice duvet cover.

Veers laughed stretching out again on the mattress. “I will be waiting.”

When Thrawn returned from the refresher he found Veers sprawled out, arms over his head, eyes closed and a content smile on his lips.

Thrawn tossed a small moist towel onto Veers stomach. With an irritated grunt, the general cleaned himself up before casting the towel aside.

“So?” Veers asked, sliding up on the bed and extending his arms towards Thrawn. “How do you feel, grand admiral?”

Thrawn considered the question as he returned to bed. He had not really considered how he was feeling, just that he was feeling...something.

It was a good sort of something, but not emotions that warranted being quantified.

He rested his head against Veers shoulder, feeling the security of Veers’ thick arm wrapping around him, and a strong hand caressing his shoulder.

He drew in deep breaths, reveling in the scent of coconuts, sweat and sex on his partner. He could feel his body sink into Veers, draping an arm across Veers, rubbing his neck, his shoulder, his chest.

“I feel...empty…” Thrawn frowned. “No...not empty...”

“Like every worry and care has been drained from you?” Veers offered.

Thrawn squeezed Veers gently. “That is an adequate description. I am...content. I perhaps should have led with that.”

Veers kissed his forehead. “It felt good to say it to you, you know.”

“Have you been wanting to declare your love for long?” Thrawn asked, eyes flicking up to see the peaceful smile on Veers’ face.

Veers shrugged. “It had been on my mind since Hoth. Tumbling to your death does tend to put things in perspective.”

Thrawn thought for a moment. “It was not the right time,” he decided. “This was better. This felt right.”

“And to think, all it took was an invitation to bathe with me to get you to say it,” Veers teased.

“You are lucky I said it at all. I still smell like coconuts.”

“You love the way I smell.”

“I also love the way you look in uniform, it does not mean I wish to wear it.”

“Green does look terrible on you,” Veers agreed, earning himself a gentle nip from Thrawn on his jaw.

They lay quietly for a moment. Thrawn studied Veers’ face while he gazed up at the ceiling, unfocused, the slight smile permanently etched on his face. The first time Thrawn saw General Veers it was from afar. He remembered an austere presence, a rock-solid severity. That was a man who did not relent to soft smiles.

“Do you know the first time I had heard your name was during your dealings with Thyne on Corellia?”

Veers turned his attention to Thrawn, arching an eyebrow. “Was it?”

Thrawn did not bother suppressing his smile. “We had not met, but I observed you from a remote location, how you coordinated a perfect attack on the fortress; an attack which resulted in zero casualties and was as successful of an invasion as any I could have planned myself.”

“You were on Corellia at that time? I am sure I would have recalled a dashing blue-skinned Imperial roaming the streets of the capital.”

“I was...undercover.”

“Ah,” Veers grinned. “So you were the bounty hunter, Jodo Kast then.”

Thrawn propped himself up on his elbow, squinting at the cheeky smile on Veers’ face. “I was undercover ,” he insisted.

“Right, yes,” Veers nodded. “What I meant to say was: ‘Undercover? How mysterious. A couple of CorSec officers merely said they were helped by the notorious Jodo Kast. Jodo Kast who had a penchant for art and was surprisingly well-spoken for being a mere bounty hunter. I wonder who you were.’”

Thrawn huffed, laying his head back down. “I believe I played the part quite well. No one suspected me.”

“Of course,” Veers gave Thrawn a squeeze on the shoulder. “That business with Thyne did earn me a promotion. Did you have anything to do with that, then?”

“I spoke with Lord Vader, yes. You were a colonel stuck in a dead-end station. Your talents were being wasted so I merely helped you along.”

“Huh…” Veers shifted. “It was you who recommended me then.”

“It was.”

Veers smirked. “Who knew I had friends in such high places. And I did not have to charm you first.”

“I do not give in to things like ‘charm’.” Thrawn said, tightly.

A mischievous smile crept along Veers’ lips.

“I do not,” Thrawn pressed.

Veers touched Thrawn’s chin, tilting his head up to kiss him softly. “You do find me charming though.”

Thrawn returned the kiss. “On occasion.”

“You know, that incident launched so much more than my career,” Veers said, tucking his other arm under his head. Thrawn eyed the way his bicep swelled and rounded as Veers shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Did it?” Thrawn asked, returning his focus to Veers’ words.

“It allowed me to begin my work on the new Imperial walker models with the full support of the Empire. I was able to build Blitzkrieg and the Herd because of that promotion.”

“On Zaloriis, correct?”

Veers went quiet for a moment longer than Thrawn had expected.

“On Zaloriis, yes.”

Thrawn could sense tension rise in the air.

Veers’ fingers which had been idly stroking Thrawn’s side slowed to a stop. With a slight tilt of the head, Thrawn could see lines deepen along Veers’ brow.

“Max?” Thrawn slid his hand down Veers’ chest, positioning himself to sit up. Veers caught Thrawn’s hand as it moved over his scar. He held it there for a moment, his hazel eyes locking with Thrawn’s gaze.

Tentatively, Thrawn moved his fingers along that scar, feeling the deep grooves and raised skin, the tortured flesh that carried a story just behind Veers’ lips.

A story connected with Zaloriis, perhaps...

“It is funny,” Veers said, with a glassy-eyed smile. “When I saw your reaction to my scar, I felt as if you already knew the story. Your eyes saw far more than just deformed skin and torn muscle.”

Veers let go of Thrawn’s hand, but the chiss did not stop running his fingertips along the scar’s length.

“I know it was made from a single serrated blade,” Thrawn said, simply. “I know that it was not done as a means of torture unlike the lashings on your back.”

He heard the hesitation in Veers’ voice. “And...how do you know they both were made during the same incident?”

“It was a theory,” Thrawn admitted. “Though, your reaction now tells me my theory is correct. There are other places your assailant could have cut to do far more damage than your chest. There was no reason to do a single slice along your chest as a change in torture technique, especially if the lashings did nothing. The fact is, they wanted to keep you alive and awake for something. Bait perhaps...”

Thrawn pursed his lips, realizing he said too much. Veers studied him silently. His easy smile was gone, replaced by a quiet stoicism.

Still, Veers reached up to brush back Thrawn’s blue-back hair, his fingers caressing his smooth cheeks.

“I will tell you, if you wish to know.”

Thrawn leaned into his touch, kissing the general’s palm as it drew closer to his lips. “There is no need. My love for you does not oblige you to reveal your secrets to me. I understand there are some things one prefers to keep hidden.”

Veers smirked. “To be quite honest, if I were to tell anyone in my life, if I were to believe anyone would understand what I have gone through, it would be you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“I have never been tortured,” Thrawn clarified.

“No, but you know what it is to lose many under your watch.”

Batonn came rushing into Thrawn’s memory. The self-contained blaze that wiped out an entire city before his very eyes. A city he swore would face no casualties if he could help it.

A city he failed.

Veers kissed Thrawn’s forehead and leaned his head back to gaze up at the ceiling.

“The population on Zaloriis was so small that none of us thought much about it when we placed our Imperial walker project on their planet. Our security was not terribly strong, because we underestimated just how unwelcome our presence truly was there.

“They struck us at night. A guerilla attack on a bunch of lackadaisical stormtroopers looking out for engineers and mechanics who had never been in the field, and...me...who was supposed to be in charge of them all.”

Veers swallowed hard.

“They killed everyone, but ten of us that first day. They kept my fellow officers, lead engineers, and prototype drivers alive. I was kept separate from everyone, chained up in a small hut.

“Each day they came in. They would ask me where I kept the plans to the walker prototypes, what the passcode was to unlock the other weapons projects in our database. Each day I told them I did not know the codes. Each day I received lashings. They would end every day with a final chance to tell them what they needed to know. When I refused, they executed another one of my men in front of me.”

Thrawn dared only to take shallow breaths, lying perfectly still as he listened.

“I knew the codes. I could have given them everything. I chose to stay quiet and I watched my men die in front of me. Men who knew I could save them with a simple series of numbers. Men who looked at me like I was the one pulling the trigger each time. Like I was betraying them. Perhaps I did.” Veers swallowed hard, blinking away the glassy sheen in his eyes.

“The last man to fall was a young engineer I had brought on at the last minute before leaving for Zaloriis. This project would have paved his way to a promising career…” Veers drew in an unsteady breath. “When...when he was gone, they had no other way to break me. I barely registered the pain of being whipped anymore. I was weak and numb and had nothing to offer. On that last day they unchained me, brought me out on the edge of the jungle preserve outside the facility. They forced me to my knees, chained me to a tree. They actually congratulated me on my constitution, but to be honest I was so out of my mind I could not remember the codes anymore.

“I do not remember the pain when they carved into my chest. I just remember how much it hurt to scream. I had not had water for days. My throat was shredded. I just wanted them to stop so I could rest. When they did leave, the nexu pack came soon after.”

Veers’ eyes traveled across the ceiling as if he could remember every position of the nexu that stalked him, lured in by his bloody wound.

“I remember wanting to close my eyes, but I could not look away from those four-eyed beasts. I needed to watch. I did not look away because my men did not look away. Each one looked at me when they died. I wanted to shut my eyes, but I did not deserve it.

“I watched the first nexu leap...and then freeze in mid-air. It was so close I could feel the heat of its rotten breath. I thought perhaps I had already died, that perhaps life was slowing down in those final moments. But then the nexu went flying backwards. As did the rest of them, hurled back by some unseen force. The Force.”

“Vader,” Thrawn breathed.

Veers blinked and looked down at Thrawn almost as if surprised he was there. He nodded. “Vader saved my life that day, a life I did not believe I deserved to keep.”

“Do you still believe that?”

Veers said nothing, looking away from Thrawn. “I believe my men deserved better than what they received. I believe they deserved a better commander than the arrogant colonel they had.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Veers gave a non-committal shrug. “It does not matter. I am alive and they are gone. I refused to let them dunk me in a bacta tank. I had the medical droids clean my wounds, and staple me up. Those scars are ones that should not be buried under pale blemishes, to be forgotten and swept beneath the rug like mine and Vader’s reports.

“I keep these scars as a reminder of who I was. I use it as a reminder to never let my guard down, to never let my men down, to make sure I never have another one of my charges stare at me in terror ever again.”

Thrawn rose from Veers’ side and slid over his partner, pressing his bare flesh against him. “Allow me to share in that promise, Maximilian Veers.” Thrawn leaned down and kissed the deepest part of the scar. “That I will do all that I can to help protect you and your men; that together we will always stand vigilant. Zaloriis will never happen again; not on your watch; not on mine.”

Veers quickly blinked away the moisture forming in his eyes, but that stoic smile faltered just enough to make Thrawn’s heart ache.

“I love you, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

“ Ch’eo vur …my heart...” Thrawn said, pressing his forehead against his partner’s. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

“I do not see why I need to attend this dinner,” Thrawn said, leaning towards the vanity mirror to apply a thin layer of scarlet eyeliner. “You and Tarkin are perfectly capable of dining together alone.”

“Normally, I would agree,” Veers replied. Steam billowed out of the refresher as he opened the door. He emerged in beltless pants, which hung loosely over his hips and a towel slung over his shoulders. “It was Wilhuff’s idea to turn this into a double date. Considering he is not the sort to initiate social engagements, I believe we should take him up on the offer.”

Thrawn truly was listening to Veers, but his eyes could not help wander. Since their first coital union a few weeks ago, Veers was more open to being shirtless around Thrawn, as if finally free of the burden of wanting to hide the web of scars on his back, and the deep scar on his chest.

It was nice to see his lover finally becoming comfortable in his own skin.

The final wall of reservation between them had finally dissolved.

Thrawn was also able to experience a degree of domestic comfort as well. The current peace in the galaxy allowed the Executor and the Seventh Fleet to be within the same sector of space over Coruscant for the next few months.

This also meant Veers had… “moved in” with Thrawn on the Chimaera for the time being.

Occupying the same space felt natural to Thrawn, as if Veers had always lived with him.

It was...nice.

Thrawn placed the eyeliner back in the small black chest with a golden latch and smoothed out his black sweater vest that was fitted over a crisp white dress shirt.

“You look perfect, love.” Veers kissed Thrawn on the cheek while reaching past him to grab his mahogany and coconut aftershave.

“Thank you, ch’eo vur ,” Thrawn replied, eyeing Veers’ ensemble. He was dressed in a deep green buttoned-up shirt that was just tight enough across his broad chest to accentuate his muscular form. His belt had a glittering gold buckle with a subtly carved Imperial symbol on it. He rolled up the sleeves halfway up his forearms, further accentuating the sinewy muscles beneath.

Veers caught Thrawn staring and grinned. “And how do I look?”

“I believe you already know the answer to that question,” Thrawn said, not taking the bait.

Veers squirted a bit of the lotion onto his hands and rubbed his smooth cheeks and neck. A woodsy, tropical smell filled Thrawn’s nostrils and he drew in a deep breath.

Thrawn’s scarlet eyes watched closely at the way those strong hands glided along that chiseled jawline and long neck.

“True, but I rather enjoy hearing you say it.”

“You look adequate,” Thrawn underplayed.

“Adequate,” Veers balked. “And to think I undid a third button just for you.”

Thrawn snorted, but his eyes drifted again towards Veers’ chest, where three buttons were freed. The shirt opened up in a narrow V-shape where Thrawn spied just enough of the general’s pectoral to leave him wanting more.

“More than adequate,” he relented, mildly.

Veers gave Thrawn a charming wink.

“Thank you for attending this peculiar invitation.” Veers held out a hand to Thrawn who was still sitting at the vanity.

Thrawn’s long fingers slid along the general’s rough palm. “If nothing else it will be an interesting experience.”

“Well, Krennic will be there,” Veers sighed. “He is, if nothing else, ‘interesting’.”

-----

It seemed that the crimson and gold tapestries, black wood flooring, and crystalline chandeliers at the Chateau du Tagge Restorante held Director Orson Krennic's attention far more than the grand admiral sitting across from him at the table.

Not that this came as any surprise to Thrawn.

The last time they had spoken, Thrawn politely declined an offer to engage in an illicit affair with Krennic after the man was convinced Tarkin and Veers were involved in their own romantic entanglement.  

Thrawn had assured Krennic that the increased time the two men had spent together was a result of a growing friendship built upon a sturdy student and mentor foundation.

The entire exchange between Thrawn and Krennic had been an awkward one and now they were across from each other at an elegant restaurant on Coruscant where it was obvious neither one of them wanted to be there.

At the very least, Thrawn was thankful he had opted not to wear the white turtleneck he had eyed in the closet earlier that day as Krennic seemed to own the exact same one. The director’s black slacks covered his long, thin legs and a hint of gold and black houndstooth socks appeared beneath a pair of heeled ankle boots; one, of which, Thrawn had noted was tapping nervously.

Despite that subtle tic, Krennic appeared deceptively relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair while the other stretched across the table fidgeting with the stem of his wine glass, swirling it to produce a small whirlpool of red liquid.

Meanwhile, Tarkin and Veers were engrossed in an animated conversation about a new style of verpine rifle Veers had considered developing. Tarkin, ever the blaster rifle enthusiast, was in turn sharing holoimage after holoimage of verpines he had owned in his life, reminding Thrawn of a grandfather lovingly sharing images of his grandchildren.

Thrawn shifted his gaze from Tarkin back to Krennic, who he spied had been studying the chiss while he was observing Tarkin and Veers. Krennic’s eyes dropped to his glass and he took a hasty sip of wine, setting it back down with a soft exhale.

It was times like this that Thrawn missed Eli Vanto the most.

Eli was skilled at the art of small talk and although Thrawn had picked up many of his former aide’s traits to help him ease his interactions with humans, “small talk” had been one of his least favorite forms of communication.

Still, he had to make an attempt or else spend the rest of the evening watching Krennic poke at the escargot appetizers that the waiter had just set down.
Picking a topic was tricky.

Thrawn was most curious about the engineering that went into the Death Star’s development, but seeing as Tarkin had recently taken over the whole project, it may be a sore subject for the director.

Another fascinating tidbit was his time as the Weapons Research Director, but then the Emperor had cut funding to the Department and now Krennic was a director in title only. Again, another uncomfortable subject.

The third and only other fact Thrawn truly knew about Krennic was the rumors that had spread wildly throughout the Empire regarding Krennic’s torrid affair with the Imperial science officer and notorious traitor, Galen Erso.

If Thrawn was going to break the ice with Krennic he needed a different approach.

I just need to find a topic that panders to Krennic’s ego rather than his less-than-stellar history.

Thrawn eyed the diamond-encrusted platinum ring on Krennic’s finger. He glanced to Tarkin to see a plain gold band around his.

“A question for you, Director,” Thrawn began.

Krennic’s cold eyes rose from his wine glass to Thrawn. “A question for me? Is this an attempt to break the ice with me by appealing to my ego rather than my scandalous history?”

Thrawn’s eyebrow twitched. “Yes,” he said honestly. “I know that you and I have very little common ground and this is the only question I can come up with that we may actually find mutually interesting. If you would indulge me.”

Krennic tilted his head, clearly taken aback by the chiss’ blatant words. His crystal blue eyes pierced Thrawn’s own scarlet gaze and for the first time in a long while, Thrawn found someone who did not shrink beneath his own appraising look.

“Very well,” Krennic said, finally. “What was your question?”

“When exactly did you and Wilhuff get married?”

Krennic hummed as if evaluating the worthiness of the inquiry. “A fair question. It was not long after he tried to kill me on Scarif.”

Tarkin snapped his head towards his husband. “Orson, really. I will never hear the end of that, will I?”

Thrawn smirked. “Does he spread this exaggeration often?”

Krennic snorted. “There’s no exaggeration. Wilhuff really did try to kill me.”

Thrawn looked at Tarkin expecting further protest, but instead the moff said, “Yes, and I have apologized for it numerous times since then.”

Krennic’s smug smile did not waver, clearly amused by Thrawn’s confusion. “In any case, not long after Scarif he and I came to the conclusion that all of our visceral battles only illustrated we were better suited as lovers than enemies.”

“That and finally being rid of one very particular thorn in both our paws,” Tarkin murmured.

Thorn in their paws? Thrawn wondered. He caught the briefest hint of a flinch from Krennic, but pretended not to notice. “And where was the grand event?”

“Nothing grand,” Krennic sniffed. “We snuck off to Eriadu and had a small ceremony there.”

Thrawn nodded. “I see. It all makes sense.”

Krennic tilted his head. “Does it now?”

“Yes,” Thrawn said, simply.

When it was clear he was not going to clarify Krennic leaned forward. “Curious. Most people would find my marriage to the man who tried to murder me reckless and irresponsible.”

“I know I certainly do,” quipped Tarkin.

Thrawn shook his head. “No, not for you two, in any case. You together form a Chimaera.”

Krennic squinted. “Explain.”

“Chimaera come in a variety of forms throughout the galaxy, but the one that comes to mind is that of a lion accompanied by a goat’s head and a serpent-headed tail. Tarkin, is the lion, the one all eyes look upon, the iconic vision of the Empire. You, however, are the serpent tail.”

“The ass end,” Max snorted.

Thrawn ignored him. “The point is, when a warrior is focusing his attention on the majesty of the Chimaera’s lion head, they fail to notice the deadliest of the three heads - the serpent-headed tail. They do not know death comes at them from the side. You secretly built a devastating super weapon while he shaped the very Empire at its birth. Separately you two are deadly forces to be reckoned with, but together, you both are a single unstoppable force.”

Krennic was silent for a moment, then leaned back in his chair. “And who exactly is the goat head?”

“I do believe that is a shared trait between the two of you.” Thrawn took a sip of wine, hiding his smile in the wine glass.

Krennic laughed. “That was very well done,” he praised and raised a hand to the waiter. “Another bottle of...whatever this is,” Krennic ordered.

“We have not finished this one,” Thrawn said, glancing at the half-full wine bottle.

“No, but we will. And until your flattering description of me as a deadly serpent-headed tail, I was planning on leaving the moment that bottle is empty. Now, I believe this evening can finally begin.”

Thrawn did not know exactly what that entailed, but raised a glass anyway, which Krennic filled generously.

Veers and Tarkin dove back into their datapads, now slinging holos of schematics and concept designs back and forth in a heated volley.

“Now that the ice is broken, I have a question for you.” The grin on Krennic’s face was impish, but then again he did not seem to ever have a smile that was free from some sort of mischief.

“You may ask,” Thrawn said, mindful of not saying he would answer.

“Ah, I may ask, but you may not answer,” Krennic noted. “That’s fair. I just want to know what is Chimaera Red? ”

The words slapped Thrawn in the face.

Beneath the table, Thrawn’s hand shook, but he was careful to not let the defensive anger spread to his face.

Where did he hear of that name? he wondered. Asking him would only prove he has me on the defensive.

“A Chiss color of liner for the eyes.”

Krennic nodded. “Have you been successful in finding it here?”

Thrawn tried to fight off the memories, but they came to him regardless of his wish.

Thrawn watches Thrass apply his violet eyeliner, a graceful hand gliding along his eyelid like an artist caressing a canvas. Thrawn does not wish to be the sort of beauty Thrass achieves so effortlessly, but he does want to stand out like him. “If I ever paint my eyes, it will be to intimin…imita…it will be to scare my enemies.”

Thrass does not tease Thrawn’s vocabulary, which is frustratingly limited at three years old. Instead the older sibling sets down his pencil and considers Thrawn for a moment. “In that case,” Thrass rummages through his small makeup chest adorned with a golden latch. “You will want this.” He hands a long, thin pencil of black wood to Thrawn.

Thrawn reaches up and snatches the pencil.  “What is it?” he asks, carefully turning it over in his small hands.

“Chimaera Red, a color fit for a warrior.”

“No,” Thrawn said, finally. “No, I have not.” His answer was quieter than he would have liked.

Krennic hummed thoughtfully, then sniffed. “I hope you don’t mind my asking. I took it upon myself to pull up all Imperial officers’ search histories regarding cosmetics to get an idea of what our Empire wants once my new line hits.”

“Your new line?” Thrawn asked, not understanding the expression.

“A makeup line,” Krennic clarified. “A spin-off of the Uncle Krennic brand. The working name is Uncle Krennic’s Kosmetics, but I am sure I can come up with something more clever later.”

“I was not aware you had family.”

Krennic blinked. “Pardon?”

“You are an uncle?” Thrawn asked.

Krennic blinked several more times and Thrawn wondered if that was another nervous tic or if Krennic had something stuck in his eye. “You...have not heard of the Uncle Krennic Newsletter?”

“I have not”

“Uncle Krennic’s Kocktalk Blog?”

“No.”

“The Uncle Krennic Adult Toy Emporium? ”

“Adult toys,” Thrawn pondered. “Like challenging puzzles?”

Krennic glared at Veers who was not paying attention to either Thrawn or his conversation. It almost seemed as if he was shooting him an accusatory look, though what he could be accusing Veers of, Thrawn was not sure.

“Oh...darling…” Krennic sighed, looking at Thrawn as if he were a lost cause. “I have so much to show you it seems.”

Krennic scooted his chair around the table so that he was seated right beside Thrawn. He left his plate of half-eaten escargot and took only his glass of wine with him.

Flicking on his datapad and shutting off the holofeature, Krennic began to scroll through a dizzying amount of pictures on the flat screen, most of which Thrawn could not decipher save for a rainbow of human skin tones and body parts.

“Ah, here we are.” Krennic pulled up his logo: a cartoonish image of Krennic smiling and holding a martini with a thick, pink stirrer.

“That is a peculiar stirrer,” Thrawn remarked.

“It’s a vibrator.”

“I see...and this vibrator shakes the liquid rather than stirs it?”

Krennic laughed, but not unkindly. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Thrawn looked up at Krennic and frowned.

Krennic drew in a deep breath. “We have a lot of ground to cover.”

The next hour Thrawn learned two very important facts about Krennic.

One, he was excellent at dispensing information in a clear and concise manner.

Two, Krennic was evidently the foremost expert on Humanoid Sexuality.

Krennic did not move back to his place when the main entree was presented, roasted grebnar bedded in a long bean and blueroot medley. Instead he merely reached over to his plate occasionally to pop the diamond-shaped bits of meat into his mouth with one hand while the other flipped through his catalog.

“I do not understand what those barbs are for,” Thrawn said, taking a bite of the succulent meat and eyeing a rather intimidating-looking phallic device.

“I have a version that comes without them,” Krennic said, “but these are designed specifically for weequay biology. I am trying to expand my market to non-humans, though it is a bit difficult to do. The...Hutts,” Krennic grumbled, “have a monopoly on the non-human adult toy industry and I may have gotten into a little bit of trouble homing in on their territory last time I attempted non-human merchandising. However, the chiss adult toys appear to be an untapped resource.”

Thrawn nodded. “If you have any biological questions about my species, I would be happy to answer them.”

Krennic’s eyes practically glittered. “You are a rare gem, darling,” he said.

“Thank you, director. Though I do believe your chiss market will continue to be small until the Empire and Chiss Ascendancy reach some sort of accord.”

“I am not worried. The market will come to me when the time is right. I am a patient man. Here,” Krennic grabbed a long bean and scooted closer to Thrawn, “you were confused about the vibrators earlier. Let me show you what we have and what they do.”

Krennic pulled up a page with a half-dozen different colored bulbs. While Krennic explained in detail what these small contraptions did for the human body, Thrawn took the time to observe the man himself.
One of Krennic’s arms was draped casually on the back of Thrawn’s chair while the other held the long bean in an almost sensual way, resting it against his pouting lips and taking small nibbles of it.

It would be easy to misunderstand Krennic’s actions for flirtation, but Thrawn realized that the director was, in fact, merely showing his true colors. Krennic, scrolling through his company’s catalog while nipping playfully at a long bean was quintessentially Krennic in his element.

“This is all very impressive, director,” Thrawn said, honestly.

Krennic paused and looked at Thrawn for a long moment, as if unsure whether Thrawn was being genuine or not. “Thank you, and please, call me Orson. So, do any of these tickle your fancy? I can give you one on the house since you are a new customer.”

Thrawn looked down at the catalog again and swiped through a few pages idly.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Ah, that would be the CL-IT, a stimulator for female humans or males with a cleffti commonly found on species in the Kashyyyk and Lasan systems.”

“It looks like an Imperial Walker,” Thrawn remarked.

“Are you two looking at walkers?”

Thrawn and Krennic both looked up to see Veers, who had paused a work-in-progress video of a stormtrooper firing a modified E-11 blaster to join in the potential conversation.

Though Krennic maintained an easy smile, Thrawn noted the worry knitting his brow. “Not as such,” he said casually.

Max frowned. “Then what are you looking at over there?”

Krennic dragged the long bean across his lip playfully and let it rest there. “Oh, just some of my wares.”

Veers’ eyes narrowed. “Your Uncle Krennic merchandise?”

“Have you seen them?” Thrawn asked. “I had not heard of his product line until now.”

Veers shifted uncomfortably. “Firmus has mentioned the newsletter a few times, but no I have never had a need for it.”

“General Veers,” Krennic chided. “My products are not merely just needs but wants as well! Though with that attitude, it is very apparent why your chiss lover is so woefully ignorant of one of the more enjoyable aspects of human culture.”

Veers’ nostrils flared and it looked as if he was going to say...something until he realized Thrawn was looking at him. His cheeks turned the color of the beet sorbet which was just set on the table.

He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, forcing a pleasant, if not tight, smile. “Be careful with that long bean,” Veers said, finally. “We wouldn't want you to choke on it.”

Krennic gave him a sideways grin. “Not to worry. I have choked on a lot larger and lived,” he teased and took a swift bite of the bean.

Thrawn was not entirely sure why that comment flustered his partner so much, and why it earned an eye roll from Tarkin, but he assumed it was another human innuendo that went over his head.

“Wilhuff,” Krennic said, tossing the long bean onto his half-empty plate. “I believe I'm convinced. Go ahead and ask them.”

Tarkin nodded and took a sip of his wine before speaking. “As the Empire is experiencing a time of peace, Orson and I have decided to take a standard week’s holiday to my estate on Eriadu. As such, we would like to invite you and Thrawn to join us. I know you are dying to test the mettle of your modified kraytkiller and I have a few prototypes that I would like to utilize as well. A few days on safari would be a perfect opportunity for us to show off our new weaponry with worthy foes.”

Veers’ eyes shone the moment Tarkin had said ‘safari’.

“I believe our schedules allow it,” Thrawn said when Veers turned his dazzling gaze to him. “I can have Pellaeon mind the Chimaera …”

“...and Covell is running walker drills with the new recruits for the next month on Jakku. I believe we will be fine.”

“Excellent!” Krennic said, patting Thrawn on the back. “We will be having a lovely time, darling. Eriadu has a spa that is simply to die for.”

Veers tilted his head. “You are not going on safari as well?”

Krennic laughed. “Shooting dumb animals is a brute’s sport. I find it tedious and boring. Thrawn and I shall be living the high life while you boys are away rolling around in the dirt. Pardon my assumption, but our grand admiral here does not seem to be the type to pound the ground like a common grunt.”

“You are correct,” Thrawn said, giving Veers a reassuring nod. “You will have fun.”

“And we shall have fun with our spa days.” Krennic wrapped an arm around Thrawn’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Maximilian, I will take very good care of him.”

Veers put on a tight smile.

“And I will return your partner back to you looking clean and new like a freshly picked blueberry.”

Veers put on an even tighter smile.

Thrawn found his lover’s hand underneath the table and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

-----

“They are not hors d'oeuvres, darling, they go on your eyes,” Krennic reminded Thrawn gently before turning to the beautician. “Can we get more cucumber slices please? Tuak thre ekr cucumber yu elek? ”

Krennic had set the two of them up in a private room with a pair of handsome, muscular twi’lek males, neither of whom spoke Basic. Krennic had volunteered to translate, but judging from the twi’leks’ repressed smiles, Thrawn was sure the director was not as good at Ryl as he thought.

Thrawn crunched down on the cucumber slice as he lay back on the leather table. “Are they not healthier in our body than being used outside it?”

Krennic plucked the second cucumber from Thrawn’s hand and replaced it with a frozen scarlet drink adorned with an umbrella and a pineapple wedge. “Healthier yes, but we are not here for our health. Now drink up.”

Thrawn sipped the drink, bursts of coconut, pineapple and meiloorun dancing over his tongue. The syrupy sweetness mixed with alcohol warmed his body and he let out a long sigh as he settled back on the table.

“That’s it,” Krennic grinned, easing onto his own table. “All I want to hear this weekend are luxurious sighs like that and juicy gossip. This is how we relax.”

“Sighs I can provide, but I have little use for gossip,” Thrawn said, letting the twi’lek masseurs lay the cool cucumber slices over his eyes.

“Boring,” Krennic lilted.

The masseurs took their time running their hands along Thrawn’s body, working the stiff muscles in his arms, kneading roughly at his chest, and stroking his scalp firmly. The whole experience was like nothing he had ever experienced. Veers on occasion would give him massages, but they almost always lead to something more intimate. His calloused hands were gentle and searching. The masseurs however, though searching, were certainly not gentle.

There was no pain, just...pressure. Intense pressure that resulted in Thrawn feeling as if his limbs were made of gelatin.

He was just about to drift away entirely when Krennic suddenly said, “Fine, no gossip, but you have to entertain me somehow.”

“Do I? I was not aware Tarkin required me to entertain you, only to keep an eye on you.”

Krennic chuckled. “Saw through his little ruse did you?”

“He could have easily just taken Max with him on safari without including you.”

“True, but he does not necessarily trust me when I am alone and bored,” Krennic concluded. “Honestly, I do not blame him. I do tend to seek out trouble when I run out of productive things to do.”

“Such as running into trouble with a Hutt cartel?”

“Yes, unfortunately. At least they let me keep my slave outfit.”

Thrawn plucked a cucumber slice from his eye to study Krennic’s face. The lack of mirth on those pouty lips told Thrawn he was not joking, but it seemed like a story for another time.

“Well, here we are, you the babysitter, and I the fussy prince,” Krennic said. “Why not ask me another question that appeals to my ego. You are good at that.”

Thrawn flinched and pulled the cucumbers from his eyes as the masseurs started to move towards his feet. “Is that necessary? My feet are fine.”

The masseur frowned at Thrawn. “ Jab kul thrak? ”

Krennic popped the cucumbers from his eyes and looked up. “ Thrak chuchurr.” Krennic said to the twi’lek, but with his usual Lexrul accent.

The twi’lek hesitated as if trying to decipher Krennic’s terrible pronunciation, then nodded and moved up towards Thrawn’s scalp once again. “Thank you, Orson.”

“It’s no trouble. I tell them to leave my ears and neck alone. They are my most erogenous zones and I’d rather not give these handsome men a free show without Tarkin’s permission.”

Again, Thrawn looked for the joke, but deduced Krennic was again, completely serious.

“I do have one question for you, Orson, if you do not mind my asking.”

“Anything, darling.”

“At dinner in Coruscant, Wilhuff had mentioned a thorn?”

“A what?”

“When I had asked about your relationship with Wilhuff, he mentioned you two had a ‘thorn in both your paws’.”

“Ah,” Krennic replied softly. “That would be Galen.”

The twi'lek removed the cucumber slices and urged Krennic and Thrawn to turn over onto their stomachs to allow the masseurs to work the kinks out of their back muscles. It also gave Thrawn the chance to watch a wistful sorrow spread across Krennic’s face.

“Galen and I were lovers for a brief time during college. I however was too interested in fraternizing with half my fraternity to realize that I actually loved Galen. By the time I figured out my emotions, Galen had already fallen head over heels for Lyra. Instead of moving on with my life, I continued to pine for him, and hate the new family he was building before my very eyes.”

“I found one excuse after another to keep him around, ensnaring him in a budding Empire and manipulating him to work on my Death Star under the guise of some new Energy Project for the galaxy. I lied to him, manipulated him, tried to separate him from his family. And of course he ran away from me. Galen was a thorn in my paw, but it was a self-inflicted one.”

Krennic reached towards his festive drink, tossed the umbrella aside and took a hearty gulp. “Wilhuff and I met when I was still yearning for Galen, so it’s safe to say he was a thorn for Wil from the start. As a result, Wil and I fought...constantly. We schemed and double-crossed and lied to each other’s faces, and all the while, when neither of us were paying attention, our attraction to each other began to grow. Still, Galen was always going to be the thing that kept us apart and over the decades we went from being bitter rivals in a love-hate relationship to outright mortal enemies. It wasn’t until Galen died that I realized the difference in feelings I had for Galen and Wilhuff.”

“Wil and I got into a fight before I left Scarif. I pulled a kriffing blaster on him for taking the Death Star from me. Neither one of us were in any position to think clearly during that time. It’s funny, he and I had tried to murder each other for decades and the first time one of us actually came close was on Scarif. It scared both of us.”

“I'm...glad it happened. It made us both realize what we meant to each other. I will always love Galen, but I’m in love with Wilhuff. Wil challenges me, he keeps up with me, but most importantly he has never tried to change me.”

Krennic stiffened as if just realizing he had revealed far more than he had intended. He let out a long drawn-out groan of contentment as the twi'lek massaged his lower back. “Besides, it's fun being married to the most powerful Imperial officer in the galaxy. I get to enjoy free spa days like this and he kickstarted my Uncle Krennic business which now flourishes swimmingly on its own. Plus, he's dynamite in bed.”

“Dynamite?” Thrawn asked.

Krennic chuckled. “Now that we are friends, darling, you are going to learn a great many innuendos and terms you would never hear from your beloved Maximilian. But enough about me, tit for tat. I answered your question and now you answer mine.”

“It is only fair,” Thrawn replied. “I am an open book.”

“Are you?” Krennic arched an eyebrow. “I would take care who you tell that to. There are those in the galaxy who like to tear out pages from open books. Anyway, my question to you is: Why did you react so strongly when I asked about Chimaera Red ?”

Thrawn felt his open-book policy begin to close ever so briefly. He was used to explaining the circumstances of his exile, as well as cultural questions about his people. Over the years they were painful subjects he had grown callous to answering.

To Krennic’s credit, he had no idea he was breaching the one subject that would always be a raw nerve for Thrawn.

“I have been having difficulty finding it anywhere in the galaxy and I fear it is only sold within the Chiss Ascendancy, where I no longer have access. The current pencil I have now is little more than a nub.”

“You seemed quite upset over a simple eyeliner pencil.”

“The pencil belonged to my brother.”

Krennic brightened. “You have a brother?”

“I did.”

“What happened to him?” Krennic asked. Somehow the question did not feel intrusive, but one of genuine curiosity and concern.

“It is a long story, but suffice to say his death saved a great many people. I did not know he was gone until many years later. I had already been exiled by that time.”

“I see…” Krennic seemed to be chewing over the information. “He died a hero then?”

“The Ascendancy did not see it that way.”

Krennic seemed pensive for a moment. “The color does look dashing on you, darling,” Krennic said finally.

“Thank you, Orson.” Then after a moment he added. “Thrass...my brother...he taught me how to apply the liner. He taught me a great many things, in fact. Most of his lessons stuck with me in some regard, even when I was rebelling against them.”

“He sounded like a good man.”

“That he was.”

The massage ended and Krennic and Thrawn gathered up their things, tucked towels around themselves and headed towards the changing area.

As they changed into their loose-fitting pants and airy silken tunics (complimentary of the spa), Krennic scrolled through his datapad.

“Good news, it seems our boys are coming home tonight with their big game. We will be having quite the feast tonight.”

“Excellent.” Thrawn smiled at his own datapad where a holopic of Veers, covered in dirt with a smear of blood on his cheek, was winking at the camera next to a dead tuskhog twice his size.

Krennic peered over his shoulder. “It’s a good thing we had our massages today,” Krennic said, patting Thrawn on the shoulder. “Because that boy is going to give you a workout tonight, giving you a look like that.”

“Is he?” Thrawn pondered. Veers did have that wolfish look in his eye.

“Be sure to drink plenty of water before tonight.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Thrawn…”

The tone in Krennic’s voice made Thrawn pause a moment before slipping into his own shoes. “Yes?”

“Does Maximilian know?”

Thrawn frowned. “About?”

“About…” Krennic arched an eyebrow. “What I... proposed to you.”

“No. He does not.”

Krennic blinked. “You didn't tell him?”

“There was no reason to. The matter was handled between us.”

“Well,” Krennic smirked. “That does explain why I didn’t receive a punch to the nose at dinner the other night.”

Thrawn tied the silken belt around his waist, mimicking Krennic as he tied his own. “You were acting out of jealousy and inebriation. Telling Max would have been nothing more than gossip.”

“And you are not one to gossip?”

“It has never interest me.”

Krennic tilted his head. “Yet you read up on intergalactic folktales and legends. Aren’t they nothing more than glorified rumors?”

Thrawn smirked “Are you implying that you propositioning me was worthy of legend?”

“Darling, everything I do is worthy of legend,” Krennic sighs. “Unfortunately, the galaxy has not yet appreciate it.”

Thrawn tucked the datapad in his pants pocket and held the door open for Krennic. “There are some of us that appreciate it, Orson.”

“Really?” Krennic’s surprised tone was quickly masked by a confident snort. “Well, of course you do. I am very impressive.”

-----

Thrawn returned to the Chimaera feeling more refreshed than he had in years. Veers also felt similarly rejuvenated and it was not a moment too soon as Covell had requested his presence on Jakku the moment they returned to the Seventh Fleet.

When Thrawn returned to his quarters aboard the Chimaera he found a small box at his door. It was wrapped in silver and black paper with the Imperial logo stamped in the center of a blue bow.

Wondering how Veers managed to drop off a gift before he left, Thrawn picked up the package and went inside. When he plucked the card tucked under the bow it all became clear.

“From Orson” was scrawled in sweeping cursive lettering across the envelope.

Inside was a crisp white card with gold-letters that read:

This Serpent Tail can do more than just strike when no one is looking.

If you ever need anything from me, I am at your disposal, darling.

Please accept this token as proof that a friendship with me is a profitable one.

Your Rit'aseet ch'eckevii,

Orson.

Thrawn blinked at the words “ Rit'aseet ch'eckevii” .

Was he attempting to speak Cheunh? Did he mean “Rt'aseit ch'acevi”. Best friend?

He tucked the card under the package and opened the box.

Nestled in the center of a small red pillow was a long blackwood pencil.

The world went quiet for a moment.

And all Thrawn could do was stare.

Thrass’ eyes are highlighted with thick violet lines that resemble the brushstrokes of a practiced artist. He smiles warmly down at Thrawn. “Would you like to try it on?”

Thrawn nods emphatically, still holding the liner pencil marked Chimaera Red. He lifts his chubby arms, allowing Thrass to lift him and place him on the countertop.

“Now look up and to the left,” Thrass instructs as Thrawn hands him the pencil. “…no your other left…there we go. Alright, hold still, this will tickle a little.”

Thrawn picked up the liner pencil.

It was the exact same brand, the same color, the same scarlet brilliance.

Thrawn pulled out his datapad and typed out a message to Krennic.

[Thrawn]: How did you come by this?

Krennic responded right away.

[O.A. Krennic]: I have two contacts in Wild Space, and one happens to trade with the Ascendancy from time to time. It is all very hush-hush. Don’t worry, I will not try to make a profit off your nostalgic memories. This “underground eyeliner trade” will be exclusively for you.

Thrawn stared hard at the datapad, trying to come up with an adequate expression to sort out the feelings churning within him.

[Thrawn]: Thank you, Orson.

Then after a moment he added.

[Thrawn]: It is pronounced Rt'aseit ch'acevi.

[O.A. Krennic]: Is it? Excellent. I shall remember that.

Thrawn turned the liner over in his hands, feeling like a child again.

“Show me your most fearsome expression.”

Thrawn does his best to look fierce, but he has to bite the inside of his cheek because the awesome sight of his newly painted eyes makes him want to smile.

“Hmm… Yes, yes that is excellent,” Thrass nods. “Your enemies will remember that look, little brother.”

Thrawn lifts his chin proudly. “Every enemy I defeat will remember this face before they die.”

“Surrender would be better,” Thrass suggests. “A true warrior accepts surrender whenever he can, only a butcher kills the helpless.”

Thrawn nods. “Mercy as a weapon is better than a blaster as a tool.”

Thrass has said those words many times before, but as Thrawn recites them aloud he realizes they were beginning to make more sense.

“You remembered!” Thrass’ smile is honest and bright. “You will be a great and noble warrior one day, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. I am already proud of you.”

Thrawn found himself typing into the datapad.

[Thrawn]: Would you care to have dinner with me tonight?

Again, Krennic replied immediately.

[O.A. Krennic]: Only if I get to see that dashing scarlet liner on you! I am dying to see how a fresh pencil looks!

[Thrawn]: I only wear it on special occasions.

[O.A. Krennic]: Darling, there is no greater special occasion than having dinner with me. I have the juiciest gossip to share with you about one Imperial officer and a certain Hutt that even you won’t resist.

Thrawn actually smirked at this.

[Thrawn]:  Very well.

[O.A. Krennic]: See you soon, Rt'aseit ch'acevi.

Thrawn looked down at Orson’s card once again.

Please accept this token as proof that a friendship with me is a profitable one.

Thrawn noted the phrasing.

Profitable .

Thrawn wondered why Krennic was marketing himself so strongly. Then again, he could not recall a time when Krennic was seen with anyone besides Tarkin or his Deathtrooper guards. Perhaps he was having as much difficulty finding friends as Thrawn.

Thrawn’s friendships always seemed to be borne from some form of coercion, however unintentional.

His first human friend, Jorj Car'das, was a smuggler he had held captive for a time to help him put an end to an imposing threat looming over his people. And his second, and only other friend, was Eli Vanto, who Thrawn had whisked away from a sure path as a Supply Officer to be his translator when he joined the Empire. It was years before Thrawn could truly and confidently call them friends.

Most humans found Thrawn unnerving. It was more than just his intense red eyes and alien cerulean skin, people had remarked he had an analytical gaze, piercing and dissecting.

He had seen such a gaze in Orson Krennic.

And Krennic had yet to shy away from Thrawn. In fact, Krennic seemed to stare right back with his own shrewd observations.

Rt'aseit ch'acevi with Orson Krennic.

Stranger alliances had been made.

Like an Imperial officer and a space slug? Thrawn pondered.

For the first time in his life, Thrawn found himself looking forward to indulging in a bit of gossip.

Chapter Text

General Veers missed the snow.

Here on Wobani, Blitzkrieg traversed the muddy terrain well enough, but there was something satisfying about the crunch of snow beneath a five-hundred-ton Imperial walker.
The rain poured down all around them. Lightning streaked across greenish-brown clouds thick with pollutants. The sickening splorch of thick mud underfoot made Veers long for the wintery landscape of Hoth even more.

Still, his radar scanned true, his path was clear enough, and if nothing else, there was a pair of scarlet eyes in the sky watching his every move.

“You should be within firing range of the seized Imperial base soon, General,” Thrawn said, over the commlink.

Veers was tempted to say something heroic like “I will crush them” or “There will be nothing left of them” in a cheap attempt to impress his partner. Their communication channel, however, was open to both his Thundering Herd and Thrawn’s TIE fighters, so he opted to keep his response professional.

“Roger that,” he replied. “Commencing attack position: Xizor’s Smile. Are you ready, Grand Admiral?”

“Cerulean Storm in position, General.”

Veers looked down at his monitor. The red blips of two dozen TIE fighters made a curved formation above the walkers. The walkers slowly shifted into a similar position.

Veers’ walker was, as always, at the head of his Herd. “Walkers in position. Awaiting your command.”

The comm within his helmet clicked as the channel was switched to the personal line. “Good luck, ch’eo vur. ”

Veers grinned broadly. “No luck necessary, love. None shall survive.”

A soft snort came through the comm before the channel was reopened to both squadrons.

“Proceed,” directed the grand admiral.

If Veers was being honest with himself, this mission was beneath the expertise of both his and Grand Admiral Thrawn’s. Any one of a hundred Imperial commanders could have handled a recapture of a small Imperial base like Janus Station on Wobani. This band of infiltrators, however, held a particular interest to Veers.

General Veers had been chasing the Black Sun for most of his military career. Although, he had earned many medals and honorable recognitions for stamping out nests of the resilient Spice cartel, the Black Sun had always managed to resurface somewhere else.

These infiltrators were not just any Black Sun sect - they were the infamous Gray Eclipse.

Known for their human-centric ideals and xenophobic extremism, the Gray Eclipse had recently been disowned by the Black Sun after attempting unsuccessfully to overthrow their Falleen leadership. The Empire never gave them much thought as the clan made the most noise outside of Imperial territories.

All of that changed recently, when the newly seceded cartel began to protest Grand Admiral Thrawn’s position in the Empire.

It began with slanderous propaganda. Holovids broadcasted across the holonet, naming Thrawn as the “Red-Eyed Devil of the Galaxy” and “The Blue Stain of the Empire.”

The Empire did not pay much heed.

Like an angry swarm of gnats against an indifferent reek, the Gray Eclipse hurled insults publicly at Thrawn, accusing him of being a rebel spy one moment, then a bloodthirsty tyrant the next.

And still the Empire continued to ignore them.

But when the Gray Eclipse managed to seize an Imperial base, and call for the execution of Grand Admiral Thrawn, it was something the Empire could no longer ignore.

General Veers assured General Tagge and Grand Moff Tarkin that his desire to lead the attack on Wobani was not for personal reasons.

“Really?” Tarkin had asked. “This has nothing to do with the fact that they publicly threatened the life of Grand Admiral Thrawn?”

Veers had kept his head cool and his tone even. “None whatsoever.”

Of course Tagge believed him. Veers was the chief officer’s golden child. “If we can afford the best, then we should deploy the best,” Tagge had explained to Tarkin. “This is a time of peace, and vermin like this must be exterminated as swiftly as possible.”

“Agreed,” Tarkin had relented with a skeptical sigh.

Veers had lied, of course.

Valiance and chivalry were deeply ingrained in Veers, and the Gray Eclipse had insulted the chiss he loved. The insult was not going to go unpunished.

“Sir, they are arming the turbolaser turrets,” announced Covell, bringing Veers out of his thoughts.

“Excellent, Colonel. Henson and Kopers, target the turrets.”

Regardless of his personal vendetta, Veers truly was the man for this job. These Gray Eclipse scoundrels still thought like Black Sun scum, and unloading the heaviest weaponry first was a classic maneuver for the cartel.

TIE Fighters screamed overhead. Lightning crackled all around them, casting haunting shadows against the putrid green sky. The base’s turrets spun desperately, trying to shoot these angels of death down, only to be left exposed to the approaching walkers.

Veers fully expected that by the time Blitzkrieg was at the base’s doorstep, the battle would be over, with no casualties to speak of.

“Sir, we have a problem,” Covell reported.

“What is it, colonel?”

“It’s the mud, sir. It’s slowing our advance.”

Veers frowned. “Keep your formation and focus on sections five and seven. I will be advancing momentarily to disable their generators.”

Veers gunned Blitz’s propulsion units, feeding small bits of energy to the newly installed jets near her ankles, burning away the excess mud that threatened to sink her with every step.

Veers did a double-take at his radar. He hadn’t noticed just how far he had advanced compared to the other walkers in such a short amount of time.

It should not have mattered. The main turrets were disabled. The remaining cannons were firing frantically at the TIE Fighters, oblivious to Blitzkrieg’s approach.

This whole arrangement was perfect for a maneuver like Xizor’s Smile.

Veers paused.

It was perfect…

He looked down at his radar again.

Too perfect…

“ Kriff… ” he swore under his breath. “Thundering Herd, pull back,” Veers barked into the comm. “Commence a Sidewinder Shift.”

“Sir?” Covell asked.

Veers studied the cannons on the base’s roof. They were not firing as desperately as he had initially thought. In fact, the cannons seemed to be engaged in a half-hearted assault.

A distraction...

“Move, now. ”

“Cerulean Storm,” Thrawn’s voice crackled through Veers’ helmet, “pull back immediately. Regroup with the Thundering Herd and provide cover for their new formation.”

“What do you see?” Thrawn asked through their private channel.

“Why this base?” Veers asked. “Why a base on Wobani of all places? And why would they go through the trouble of repositioning the cannons and turbolasers in such a distinct fashion? The Black Sun aren’t tactical geniuses. They seize a place, they attack without an interest in defensive measures. This base has been fortified, and not just that; it has been fortified specifically for a Xizor’s Smile.”

“A tactic not known to any outside of the Empire,” Thrawn concluded, coming to the same realization as Veers. After a moment Thrawn added, “It is him , then...”

Veers detected the pain just beneath his partner’s calm timbre.

“Yes,” was all Veers said.

Insubordination, assaulting a high-ranking officer, and a flurry of other dishonorable actions should have led Captain Kendall Ozzel to a slow Force choke from Darth Vader himself. Instead, Thrawn had opted to spare him and dishonorably discharge him, quietly.

Apparently, Ozzel did not appreciate Thrawn’s mercy.

“Get out of there, Max.”

Veers was already throwing Blitzkrieg’s power into full reverse. “I will be there soon, lo-”

Streaks of blue lightning came at Blitzkrieg from all sides, and azure threads of electricity came into the cockpit, sizzling the controls. Smoke and fire burst from several panels. Veers jumped out of the command chair and grabbed the extinguisher, quickly spraying the dash.

When the gray mist cleared, all the lights were dead and an eerie silence took over the cockpit.

“Come on, ol’ girl...” Veers flipped the breakers, rapidly. He pulled the emergency power lever. Nothing happened.

“General Veers, we have lost all readings at your location. Report.”

Veers plucked his commlink off the floor and looked out the viewport. Four Imperial tanks rolled towards him, cannons all trained on his walker. The Imperial emblem had been scratched out and a black sun with a gray center was sprayed on the hulls.

If the Gray Eclipse wanted to take down Blitzkrieg, they would have done so by now. Which meant only one thing...

Veers let out a slow exhale. He clicked over to the personal channel.

“I will not be making the rendezvous, love,” he said, as gently as he could.

“Max, tell me what has happened.”

Dozens of humans poured out of the tanks and one-by-one disappeared beneath Veers’ vision. The dull thud of several tow cables vibrated beneath his feet, followed by a high-pitched hum as the Gray Eclipse members ascended towards his cockpit.

He didn’t have much time.

“Thrawn, listen to me,” Veers gripped the commlink tightly. “Do not negotiate with them. Give them nothing.”

“We are coming to retrieve you, general. Report your situation.”

It was tempting, but he was not about to risk more lives just for an extraction. This snare had been set for him and he would gladly accept capture without further harm to the Empire.

“I am sorry, Thrawn. I love you.”

Veers let the commlink fall from his fingers.

“General Veers,” Thrawn barked, “report your position!”

He pulled out his blaster.

“Max!”

Forgive me…

With one shot, the commlink was blasted away, leaving nothing behind but a black smudge on the floor. Veers then raised his blaster steadily to the cockpit door. The commotion of what sounded like dozens of shoddily-armored gangsters came from the other side. After a few moments, Veers could make out the sound of several objects being bolted to the metal frame.

Clank...clank...clank...clank…

Veers narrowed his eyes and listened intently.

Beep...beep…beep...

The sound was unmistakable.

“ Pfassk …”

Veers dove beneath the control dash. The explosion was small, but deafening in the cockpit. Shards of molten metal and globs of melted plastoid showered him, searing his exposed neck and sizzling against his armor.

He didn’t allow for the smoke to clear as he fired blindly through the open doorway.

Smoke stung his eyes and burned his lungs, but he kept low and continued his barrage of blaster fire until the haze finally began to clear.

No one had fired back. The hallway was empty.

Veers stood up and frowned. “You know,” he called out, “I would feel far more heroic if you actually participated in this firefight. I am beginning to look foolish.”

He could hear shifting outside and knew the Eclipse members were most likely pressed along the walls of the hallway.

The cowards…

“Drop your weapon and kneel, General,” said a deep, booming voice.

Veers tightened his grip on his blaster. “That is not an option.”

“Drop your weapon and kneel, and we will allow your walkers to continue their evacuation.”

Veers said nothing.

“We have set charges along your Xizor’s Smile route. Their slow retreat still puts them within our range. One click of a button and we will render them and the incoming drop ships useless.”

A sick knot tightened in Veers’ gut. His blaster wavered.

“We require an answer, General.”

With a frustrated snarl, Veers tossed the blaster into the hallway. No sooner did it clatter to the floor did a dozen armed henchmen pour into the cockpit. They were all clad in random bits of armor, some from stormtroopers, others from rebels, all sprayed with the Gray Eclipse emblem.

Before he could drop to his knees, two men grabbed Veers and threw him to the ground. He fell hard, pain shooting through his legs that still felt the shadows of agony from the Battle of Hoth. Hands ripped off his helmet, pulled away his breastplate, then they tore away his tunic and boots.

“No other weapons, boss,” a particularly handsy blond henchman reported.

“Boss” strode in fearlessly, though his bravery was diminished by the fact that Veers was disarmed, kneeling and currently having his wrists cuffed behind him.

The man’s bulky, angular torso and thick legs reminded Veers of a gonk droid and he most likely possessed as much cleverness. In a fair fight, Veers would have been able to take the man down easily, but the Gray Eclipse was never one to play fair.

Veers gazed up at Boss’ looming form mildly, then looked past him down the hall.

“And where is your brilliant tactician?” Veers asked. “The funny man with the awful mustache.”

“You’ll see him soon enough,” Boss sneered. “For now you get me, the man who took down the mighty General Veers of the Empire.”

“Impressive to be sure,” Veers sniffed. “And to think, all it took was a disgraced officer’s stolen intel and a cowardly threat against the retreating enemy to capture me. You are truly a master of your craft.”

Rough knuckles crashed into Veers’ lip. His head rocked back, neck creaking painfully.

“Tough words from a man on his knees,” Boss growled.

Veers licked his split lip and grinned. “You are right. Because if I was not on my knees, you would be on yours, begging for your miserable, worthless life.”

One hooked punch later and Veers’ mouth was filling with blood. He spat it out on Boss’ boots and broadened his bloody smile. “You may rough me up all you like, but go easy on the ol’ girl, eh, son?” He nodded to the cockpit. “I just had her repai-”

The butt of a rifle slammed against his temple.

The world went white.

Then faded into starry nothingness.

-----

“General Veers, report your position!” Thrawn demanded.

The clatter of Veers’ commlink falling to the ground echoed through his earpiece.

Thrawn shot out of his command chair, ignoring the startled looks from his officers. “Max!”

Blaster fire rang out. Then all went quiet.

Thrawn stared at the readouts and the empty space where Veers’ walker had been. His thoughts tumbled through dozens of battle tactics to find the correct one for a successful extraction.

A Nautolan Dive...no, too close.

A Viridian Angle...unable to assemble swiftly.

“Sir?”

A Faded Scourge...not enough TIE pilots.

“ Sir? ”

There had to be a way…

“Grand Admiral?”

Thrawn blinked, realizing Commander Faro was standing in front of him. He looked around the bridge. All eyes were cast his way. Only the soft beeps and hums of the bridge’s controls filled the silence. Faro took a cautious step forward, hand extended, as if approaching a wild beast. “Are you alright, sir?”

They are unnerved by my outburst, Thrawn realized. And rightly so. I had lost control for a moment. They are unaccustomed to seeing me in such a state.

And truth be told, Thrawn had no recollection of ever being in such a state like this. So completely and utterly helpless.

Not since Max’s injury at the Battle of Hoth...

“Yes, commander,” Thrawn replied, his tone even again.

“Sir, shall we bring the Cerulean Storm around for another pass to aid the general?”

The word “yes” clung to Thrawn’s tongue.

“Yes, I want you to redeploy the Cerulean Storm. Yes, I want you to ready the Chimaera’s cannons and threaten to blow away the base if they did not surrender the general. Yes, to any action that will return Max home safely.”

He swallowed back the word.

“No, we do not have any clear data on the situation there and we will not risk triggering more of their traps. Continue to assist the Thundering Herd in extraction.”

“Grand Admiral!” Covell boomed over the comm. “We can give it another shot. At least send one of my boys on recon.”

“Request denied, colonel,” Thrawn replied. “General Veers ordered the retreat and we will follow his command.”

“There has to be something we can do, Grand Admiral!” Covell pressed.

Thrawn felt the heat rise in his chest, a volcanic eruption that had no place to go. Emotion was beginning to sway over logic in a dangerous fashion. He needed to remain calm. There were troops to evacuate.

“Your orders are to stand down and continue with the evacuation. While your general is...” Incapacitated? Captured? Dead? “absent, I will be assuming command of this mission and that is a direct order, colonel.”

Covell did not respond right away, most likely considering the consequences of a mutiny to save his general. Thrawn wished he could express to the colonel that the same turmoil roiled within him as well.

“Understood, sir,” Covell murmured.

“Thank you, Colonel.” The channel shut off before he could finish.

The heavy mood of the bridge lingered like a fog, and Thrawn had no words of encouragement for them. All felt the loss of General Veers and they needed their grand admiral in working order.

Max was always better at rousing his troops’ spirits. And right now I am...compromised…

Compromised.

Never in his life had that word been identified with Mitth’raw’nuruodo. He was a warrior. He was not infallible, but whatever mistakes he had made in his life, they were ones that did not take into account unforeseen variables. He was not a machine. He felt the losses of those under his command. He felt the casualties that came with every decision he did or did not make.

But to be compromised, to stand on his own bridge in front of his loyal crew and feel the immoveable walls of stoicism begin to crumble...

“I am sorry, Thrawn. I love you.”

“Commander Faro, you have the bridge.”

“Yes, Grand Admiral,” Faro replied.

Thrawn walked down the few steps from his command chair and towards the door, conscious of his pacing and keeping his hands at rest behind his back, refusing to give into the tremors that threatened his nerves.

“Grand Admiral?” Faro called.

Thrawn paused in the doorway. He did not turn around.

“Is it really Ozzel, sir? Did he really betray us?”

Thrawn closed his eyes. Jerjerrod’s warning of Ozzel swarmed within in his head.

“Men like Ozzel are dangerous. His resentment towards you will come out sideways. It will fester and grow and one day he will stab you in the back.”

Thrawn should have seen this coming.

“I am afraid it is, commander.” He left without another word.

-----

It had stopped raining. At some point, Veers’ wrists had been cuffed in front of him and thick arms dragged him through the mud into a humid facility that reeked of rust and mildew.

Veers’ eyelids weighed a metric ton, and his head felt twice that. His tongue was thick and he swallowed shallowly, tasting metal. The men made him kneel down on a slab of concrete.

Concrete...captured...alone ...

Veers’ heart slammed against his chest. This was all too familiar.

When he opened his eyes, he found he was no longer on Wobani.

Veers is thrown into the shed on Zaloriis, landing painfully on his side atop a concrete slab...Several long chains hang down from the ceiling while others are rooted in the platform itself.

Sounds of chains and a mechanical whirr sounded overhead.

He can hear the heavy chains being pulled down from the ceiling and dragged along the concrete.

“No…” The word came out in an unintelligible groan and it was ignored. A chain looped around his cuffs and Veers felt his arms being raised.

He hears the squeal of a crank being turned. He is being lifted. The chains pull tighter, his arms being stretched far above him. He smells oiled leather and faint vanilla…

Vanilla and leather...the ghost of the scent consumed Veers’ senses despite his mind screaming that it was just a memory. Exhaustion and pain was drowning out logic.

He was on Zaloriis. The man approaching him now was the ghost of his nightmares: The man with an angel’s face and a demon’s eyes. The man who once broke Maximilian Veers.

“Colonel…” Kloven grins. “I am afraid it is time to begin.”

With a defiant roar, Veers lunged at the ghost. Finally, he could exact revenge on the man who took so much from him. Finally, he could kill the man already long dead by Vader’s hand.

Finally…

He slammed his metal cuffs against the man’s face again and again.

Finally...Finally…Finally…

Though his vision was still blurred, the sound of breaking bone was unmistakable.

The whirr of a blaster being charged broke Veers from his bloodthirst.

He looked up.

He blinked.

He looked down at the groaning Eclipse henchman beneath him. Not much was recognizable.

Veers shot to his feet, stumbling away from the groaning man. The jungles of Zaloriis dissolved around him, replaced by the gray walls of the Wobani stronghold. “Wh-where…”

A sphere of blue energy slammed into his chest like a wrecking ball. He stumbled back. Before he could lunge forward again, hands grabbed him from behind wrestling back to his knees.

Veers snarled viciously, swinging his cuffed hands at his captors, knocking away man after man who came near him. He tried to rise again, but two more men pinned his legs with their boots, leaning their weight on his shoulders.

“Someone grab his chain!” one man barked.

“No way, I’m not facing him,” said another.

Veers sneered. “Yes, by all means, give it a try.”

Heavy boots thundered to Veers’ side. He turned to see Boss approaching, a peculiar-looking gun in his hand. The barrel was trained on Veers, and the captured general stared back unflinchingly.

“Oh, please,” Veers snorted, “if you were going to kill me you would have-”

Boss lowered the gun and fired. A long metal bolt buried itself into the floor through Veers’ chain. Veers yanked hard at the metal links, pulling back with all his weight. It didn’t budge.

“Get the collar,” Boss grunted and circled around Veers.

Veers’ heart lurched as he heard movement behind him. He thrashed violently, muscles straining as he pulled against the taut chain and tried to throw off the two men holding his shoulders and legs. Something cold locked around his neck. Chains jingled musically behind him until it was cut off by the ping of the bolt gun.

Everyone backed away and Veers lunged after them...only to find himself locked in position.

The chain to his collar held only enough slack to allow him to breathe, but little else. The chain on his wrists kept him from standing, his arms taut in front of him.

“That’s better,” Boss snickered. “We could have done this the easy way, general. But if you’re going to act like an animal, we will chain you like one. It’s that simple.”

Veers let out a defiant growl, shooting a murderous glare at Boss as the man towered over him.

“Hard to believe someone so ‘sophisticated’ as the Red-Eyed Devil is so sweet on you.”

“I am going to kill you,” Veers promised.

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

Veers leaned forward as much as the collar would allow. “Slowly.”

Boss knelt down, his face close to Veers. “You’re lucky we need you alive, otherwise I’d flay you myself.”

Veers smirked. “I was flayed once before. It is nothing new to me.”

Confusion flickered on Boss’ face, but he said nothing.

A metal tray was slammed down on a crate beside Veers. A variety of blades and tools rattled menacingly. Veers did not blink.

Boss withdrew a long, serrated blade from the tray and patted the flat blade of it against Veers’ cheek. Anger gnarled within Veers as he realized Boss was searching for some sign of fear. It was almost laughable.

Fear had long since left Veers when it came to situations like this.

I suppose I do have Zaloriis to thank for that, too.

“I hate to disappoint you, son,” Veers said, “but this is not my first experience of torture. Forgive me if I am not impressed by your,” Veers arched an eyebrow at the tray, “ horrifying collection. I do not intend to talk so you may as well kill me now. Death by torture is tedious.”

“These are not intended for you to talk, general,” said a familiar voice behind Veers. “I have informed the Gray Eclipse of everything they need to know.”

Boss stiffened and rose to his feet, backing away as the other man approached. Veers’ nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling as fury swelled within him.

“Ozzel,” Veers snarled darkly.

“Ah, there’s that temper again,” Ozzel sneered, kneeling down in front of the general. “I always knew you were too hot-headed for the Empire.”

“Only in the presence of traitorous scum like yourself,” Veers spat. “If you are not planning to torture me, why am I here? Why did you target me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Maximilian, you are no prize for us. You are merely bait. Our real target, my real target, is the blue-skinned ghoul you keep as a lover.”

With a feral growl, Veers yanked against the chains, biceps screaming in pain as he pulled with all his strength. The restraints didn’t budge, but he yanked hard anyway. “You better kriffing hope these chains can hold me, Kendall, because when I am free I am going to rip your guts out through your mouth if you so much as lay a finger on him.”

Ozzel flinched, but a satisfied smile spread across his freckled, mustachioed face. “Now, now, there’s no need for that talk. In fact, if you behave during our little show, I will remove the collar and make you stay more comfortable. If you don’t-”

Veers lunged forward, ignoring the metal digging into his throat as he sank his teeth into Ozzel’s cheek. With a pained yelp, Ozzel fell back, clutching his cheek. Veers spat blood on the ground in disgust, coughing and gasping, but his challenging hazel gaze never left the despicable traitor.

Still keeping a hand on his bleeding cheek, Ozzel came forward and struck Veers’ already bruised jaw. The general didn't flinch, his head hardly moving at all.

“Now, now,” Veers taunted. “You were never well-suited for physical combat, Ozzel, but please, if you would like a fight, I will give you a proper one once I am free.”

Ozzel’s face twisted into an ugly scowl. He stood up, stormed away. “Prepare him for the transmission. Let us hook the larger fish.”

-----

“Sir?”

The three-dimensional map of Wobani flickered across Thrawn’s desk as the image of Commander Faro surfaced. “you have an incoming transmission.”

“I am not to be disturbed, commander,” Thrawn replied coolly, and moved to swipe away the transmission.

“Sir, it’s Ozzel.”

Ice formed in Thrawn’s veins. He swiped away the holographic map. “Proceed, commander.”

The image of Faro shrank and in its place a blue screen appeared. The red outline marked it as a one-way transmission. The screen hissed with static, wavering several times, then slowly the image came into focus.

Thrawn’s eyes widened.

He shot out of his chair, blood boiling, fists balled, eyes glowing with infernal fury as the image cleared.

The one-sided transmission did not allow the Gray Eclipse to see Thrawn…

Thrawn, however, could see everything .

Veers was kneeling on the ground, stripped to nothing but his trousers and a tank shirt stained with mud, sweat and streaks of blood. Around his neck was a thick metal collar leashed behind him so tightly he was forced into a straight posture. In front of him, his wrists were cuffed and bolted to the ground. Thrawn’s stomach churned at seeing the bruises haloing Veers’ wrists and neck.

Veers’ hair was slick with sweat. Blood stained one of his temples. Between his bloody and bruised lips was a gag made of a thick strip of cloth, his teeth clenched around it in a grimace.

Veers’ eyes looked away from the camera, as if refusing to participate in this display. His body heaved with exhaustion, but he never stopped struggling against his bindings.

Standing beside Veers was Ozzel, a smug look on his porcine face and a serrated knife in his hand. Thrawn peered closer and noticed faint bloody teeth marks on Ozzel’s cheek.

Veers was never one to shy away from fighting dirty when need be.

Ozzel will receive far worse when I am through with him, Thrawn thought, viciously.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn,” Ozzel addressed the recorder. “I believe we have something of yours.” The flat of the knife slapped against Veers’ cheek and the general flinched away, giving the chain another hard yank. “You know, I should be grateful that you spared my life when it came the time for me to leave the Empire. I’m sure your Sith friend would have loved nothing more than to crush my windpipe with his ‘magic powers’.”

“Still,” Ozzel continued, pacing behind Veers as he spoke, gesticulating with the knife in his hand. “I cannot help, but wonder if perhaps it was you who put me in such a position in the first place. I mean, you always keep your plans so close to the chest. Never once tilting your hand to allow your fellow officers to know your ‘clever strategies’.”

“So many secrets…” Ozzel continued. “You treat us all like pawns in your master plan...is there any wonder some of us try to take matters into our own hands? Is there any wonder that your secretiveness ends in disaster? Atollon and Konstantine, Batonn and Pryce...” He broke into a crooked smile. “...Rumor even has it that poor General Veers was a pawn of yours as well. How else would a washed-up officer on Corellia end up being promoted to a high-tech weapons project on Zaloriis without a little help?”

Veers’ eyes shot to the camera, his eyebrows knitting.

The world shifted around Thrawn. His stomach turned.

“I wonder what happened there. The records were all closed, of course, but seeing Maximilian like this,” the tip of the knife slipped beneath Veers’ tank shirt. “I am pretty sure I can take a wild guess.”

Veers stiffened, struggling to pull away, but the blade cut through the fabric easily. The shirt fell to reveal the long scar Veers had struggled so desperately to keep hidden.

Ozzel feigned surprise. “So many scars,” he mused looking at Veers’ now-exposed back. “I am sure you have seen them. Has he confided in you where they came from? Ah, well, in any case, this large one seem like a good dotted line to follow.”

Ozzel grabbed Veer’s hair and pulled his head back. The chain linked to Veers’ wrists went taut and his breath quickened as he realized what was about to happen.

Thrawn clenched his fists. “No!” His voice remained unheard.

“Our negotiation is simple, Thrawn: A life for a life. If you come to us, unarmed and alone, we will release your Maximilian and take you as a replacement. We expect you to arrive at our destination in four hours. Any longer and I can’t guarantee the general will be in one piece by the time you arrive. And just to prove we are serious...”

Veers’ screams were muffled behind the gag as the knife sliced along his jagged scar.

“Max!” Thrawn shouted, lunging towards the screen as Ozzel took his time reopening the wound that haunted Veers for so long.

Hot, furious tears streamed down Thrawn’s cheeks as pained tears slid down Veers’ face.

“I would hurry if I were you,” Ozzel sniffed, wiping the blade absently on his trousers as Veers went limp against his bindings, groaning softly. “That does seem like a lot of blood…”

Before the holovid disconnected, for a split moment, Veers looked into the camera…

...and directly at Thrawn.

Through tears of agony, through sweat pouring from his face, through sheer hopelessness...Max gave Thrawn a final, boyish wink.

Then the holovid cut away to a blue screen once again.

“No!” Thrawn cried at the blue screen. “Max!”

But Max was gone. Bleeding out in the middle of Wobani while Thrawn was stuck on the Chimaera with no plan, a list of demands, and a partner who told him specifically not to come for him.

“ Ktah! ” Thrawn ripped the temple guard mask off its pedestal and threw it across the room. The mask hit against the wall and fell in a less-than-satisfying clatter. The pedestal teetered for a moment before rolling off the desk, landing with a dull thud.

Useless... Thrawn closed his eyes, drawing in a steady breath. Hurling artifacts will not save Max any quicker. And I will be saving him.

Calmly, Thrawn pulled out his datapad.

“Lieutenant, prepare a shuttle for me in Bay Five and provide clearance codes for the Executrix.”

The eager voice of Lieutenant Lyste responded. “Right away, sir. Shall I notify the governor of your arrival?”

“Yes, and tell him I bring news of Wobani’s progress and a plan on how to proceed.”

“Understood, sir. I will notify you when the shuttle is ready!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Thrawn tucked the datapad away and numbly approached the helmet. He plucked it from the ground, rubbed away the faint scuff on its otherwise pristine surface and returned to his desk.

Echoes of Veers’ muffled screams still plagued his mind as he picked the pedestal off the ground. Veers’ eyes, wide with agony, haunted him as he set the pedestal on the desk.

As Thrawn placed the mask on the pedestal, however, Veers’ reassuring wink, that final boyish act in the face of death, sent a tremor through Thrawn’s hands.

Max believes I will not come for him. He wished for me to remember him as he once was, and not a man crying out in agony, but the man I fell in love with. My Max.  

It took Thrawn three tries to correct the temple guard mask’s position before it finally behaved on the pedestal.

Grand Admiral Thrawn’s world zeroed back into focus. He eased back into his chair, set the recording of Wobani’s transmission on mute and steepled his fingers together in concentration.

During the first replay he memorized every object within the room.

On the second replay, he studied the shadows of men seen and unseen.

By the third replay, he had marked all exits, entrances, and ventilation units.

The fourth time, however, Thrawn found himself unmuting the transmission. His ears focused on Veers’ breathing, the clink of his chains, the intensity of his screams.

He played it a fifth time...a sixth time...a seventh...

Throughout his life, Thrawn had carefully woven temperance and stoicism into the fabric of his being.

With each repeat of the message he felt that fabric unravelling further.

“Grand admiral?” Lieutenant Lyste voice came through the commlink. “The shuttle is here.”

Thrawn did not recognize his own voice as the words dripped like venom from his lips.

“I am ready.”

He was ready.

Ozzel would not be.

Chapter Text

“As far as the Emperor is concerned, Wobani is an acceptable loss.”

The other officers sitting at the conference table shifted uncomfortably, but did not protest Tarkin’s words.

General Tagge, Admiral Motti and Colonel Yularen had already voiced their objections to withdrawing from Wobani and were shut down. Director Krennic, meanwhile, stayed peculiarly silent. That left a final retort from Thrawn.

All eyes turned to the grand admiral who stood at one end of the long table opposite of the grand moff.

Despite the devastating blow of Tarkin’s declaration, Thrawn merely tucked his hands behind his back, squaring his shoulders.

“With all due respect, governor, the loss of a Major General to a Black Sun separatist group is not the sort of message we wish to send the galaxy. I propose-”

“This is not up for discussion, Grand Admiral,” Tarkin interrupted. “The mines of Wobani have been dry since the Battle of Yavin, and discussions on closing the base entirely was already on the table. The planet is useless and the Gray Eclipse has roused enough attention that the Emperor wishes to make an example of them.”

“You cannot unleash the Death Star on Wobani,” Thrawn said, flatly.

Tarkin’s eyes narrowed. “Leave us,” he said to the rest of the room. His icy gaze never left Thrawn.

Tagge, Motti and Yularen left quietly, but Krennic did not move.

“You too, Director.”

“If you are going to deploy my weapon, governor, then I believe I have a right to stay.”

Tarkin turned to Krennic, his jaw visibly clenched. “You are here as a formality.”

“Then allow me to formally voice my objections to the overkill of one useless muddy world. If we could hear what Thrawn is planning…”

“Leave. Us.”

Krennic waited a full second before finally rising from his chair. He patted Thrawn on the shoulder, giving him a grim, tight-lipped smile as he left.

The moment the door hissed shut, some of the tension in Tarkin’s body relaxed and his tone softened. “My hands are tied, Thrawn.”

“Wilhuff, we cannot leave him there to die,” Thrawn said, his voice on the edge of breaking. “I can bring him home.”

Tarkin dropped his eyes to the three dimensional map of Wobani hovering over the table. “Even if that were the case, the Emperor is not interested in spending resources on a rescue; not when he can remind the galaxy the Death Star still exists.” He let out a tired sigh. Tarkin looked more haggard than usual, as if he had aged a lifetime since the beginning of the meeting. “I have known Maximilian since the beginning of his career. Scrappy and angry and ready to fight anyone who spoke ill of this beloved Empire. I would love nothing more than to storm Wobani myself, hunting rifle in hand, but the Emperor will not condone this and I must follow his orders.”

“I understand, governor,” Thrawn said. With a short bow, he turned to leave.

“Thrawn…”

Thrawn paused.

“The Chimaera is owned by the Empire,” Tarkin reminded him. “Breaking up the Seventh Fleet against the Emperor’s orders will be considered an act of treason.”

“Of course,” Thrawn nodded politely and left before Tarkin could say more.

Once outside the conference room, Thrawn rid himself of his temperance like a snake shedding its skin. A fierce determination set in, quickening his pace, igniting a fire in his core, as he made his way down the narrow side hall towards the Executor’s hangar bay.

Politics…

Eli had always warned Thrawn that politics were often devoid of reason. Politics muddied the clear waters of the Empire’s true goals as a superpower. Egocentric serpents lurked beneath its surface, dragging common sense into its murky depths.

Thrawn should have known better. He should have concocted a backup plan that did not include the full force of the Seventh Fleet. Now, there was no time for a new plan, not with only two and a half hours left.

Plan or no plan, I am coming for you, Max.

Thrawn was a half-dozen yards from the hangar bays side entrance when Director Krennic emerged from a small corridor, blocking his way. “Thrawn.”

Thrawn did not break his stride. “Do not stand in my way, Orson,” he snarled.

Krennic held up his black-gloved hands as Thrawn approached. “Thrawn, you’re not-”

With a venomous hiss, Thrawn grabbed Krennic’s tunic and slammed him hard against the wall. “I am leaving. If I must throw my rank and reputation away, then so be it. I am going to Wobani, I am going to save Max, and nothing will sway me from this.”

Krennic’s face never changed from its mild expression. “Of course you are,” he soothed. “You’re not - and please let me finish my sentence this time - going alone .” A self-satisfied smile spread across Krennic’s pale lips. “You will be taking my personal guard with you.”

As if on cue, seven death troopers, clad in black armor and narrow helmets, marched into view.

Thrawn could not help but appreciate the well-timed theatrics of these troopers. They must have been standing out of sight waiting to be announced, even as Thrawn had Krennic pinned against the wall.

Thrawn released Krennic immediately and the director nonchalantly straightened his tunic.

The death troopers stood in two rows of three, with Commander Flyntt in front, a green border on her right pauldron marking her as their leader.

“I do not want you involved,” Thrawn said, despite his mind formulating a better plan than walking into a fully armed base alone with a single blaster.

“I am already involved, darling,” Krennic replied.

“Who do you think delayed the Death Star’s hyperjump to Wobani by a full rotation? It could have been here within the hour had I not ordered a full recalibration of the laser cannon.”

“Orson...” Thrawn breathed. He did not trust his compromised state to say more than that, but Krennic’s smile told him it was enough.

“Just don’t forget to tell that general of yours that I helped you. He now owes me one photoshoot for my new line of men’s cologne.”

Thrawn smirked in spite of himself, but before he could make the promise on Veers’ behalf the sound of heavy footfalls thudded towards them down another side corridor.

“Did you send for more death troopers, Orson?” Thrawn inquired, his hand hovering over his blaster, set to stun.

“I did not,” Orson replied, drawing his own blaster.

The man that skidded into view nearly dropped the AT-AT helmet that was tucked under his arm. Perspiration trickled down his deeply creased face and even his usually groomed mustache and goatee appeared unkempt.

Thrawn lowered Krennic’s blaster. “Colonel Covell…” he greeted.

“G-grand Admiral,” Covell saluted.

“Do you understand that returning to Wobani against the orders of the Emperor may be considered an act of treason?”

At this, Covell puffed out his armored chest. “Yes, sir.”

“And you still wish to return to Wobani?”

“I do, sir.” Then after a moment, Covell added. “General Veers would not have left us behind, sir.”

“Indeed, he would not have.” Thrawn tilted his head. “Very well. You will be joining us.”

“Us, sir?” Covell balked, eyeing the death troopers. Breaking into a broad smile he saluted a second time. “Yes, sir!”
Krennic folded his arms. “My, my, Veers has quite the fan club here. I do hope if I am ever kidnapped, I will have an equally impressive rescue party.”

“We will rescue you, sir,” Flyntt offered.

Krennic waved his hand. “I pay you to say such things.”

Flyntt shrugged, and did not argue.

-----

It had stopped raining.

Through the half-opened gate of the imperial base, Veers could see the brown clouds had thinned to reveal a starry night sky. The waning moon cast dim shadows along the hardened earth and a cold breeze brought with it an odor of sour soil.

Veers fought hard to keep his eyes open, to stay alert, though all he truly wanted to do was sleep.

He had lost far too much blood to risk that.

Ten minutes... he promised himself. Ten more minutes and then you can rest. Ten more minutes and you will know that Thrawn is safe.

He drew in deep breaths, thankful to be free of the gag. He had faked suffocation by way of a coughing fit. They had pulled the cloth away to give him water and he nearly took off the fingers of any guard who tried to silence him again. After a few attempts, the henchmen decided to leave him alone. It was a minor victory, one Veers gladly accepted.

Besides, now he was able to grin darkly at Ozzel each time the traitor looked his way. At the very least, he took comfort knowing Ozzel still feared him, even while chained and half-conscious.

…Must stay awake...

With so little time left all he wanted to lose himself among the slivers of memories floating around his hazy mind.

Thrawn rests the edge of his finger against his chin in thought. He shifts his attention to Veers, away from the holoprojections. “Your proposal is impressive, General.”

“Are you jealous, Grand Admiral?” Veers teases, his shoulder playfully bumps the immovable chiss.

Thrawn smirks. “Careful, General, I may just tell Tarkin I came up with this myself.”

“Somehow the ‘Thrawn Formation’ does not have the same ring to it as the ‘Veers Formation’.”

Thrawn laughs, actually laughs. An honest, deep and musical sound. It is the first time Veers has heard him laugh like this. It is intoxicating. He plans to make a habit of causing such sounds.

“So it does, General. Perhaps I am a bit envious.”

Veers spied the chronometer on Boss’ wrist as he paced in front of Veers, an ugly smirk across his porcine face.

Seven minutes left.

There was a blaster rifle in Boss’ hands, fully charged and ready for Veers’ execution. It was a bit overkill for Veers’ tastes, but at least it would be a quick death.

The minutes ticked by slowly...And still no sign of Thrawn.

Veers knew the Emperor would not condone a second attack on a backwater planet like Wobani. The planet had been stripped of its ore and its location was far from strategic in relation to the surrounding systems. He was surprised the Emperor had not summoned the Death Star to obliterate the planet and make an example of the Gray Eclipse.

If Thrawn could not rally the fleet behind him, it would mean he was coming to the base alone.

And that was suicide.

Veers had spent the last few hours studying the base to pass the time. Though the chains linked to his collar and wrist binders forced him to remain on his knees, Veers had a decent view of the whole base, which was little more than a repurposed warehouse.

He examined the walkways above him leading to heavy cannons on the second floor and anti-aircraft cannons on the third. He had counted twenty-two henchmen, noted the shoddy integrity of the base’s columns and the concrete floor beneath him had seen better days.

Thrawn would need a bare minimum of seven people to pull off any proper strategic assault. And even then it would be a near impossible task.

Please, Thrawn... Veers closed his eyes, swaying a little as he did so. Let me go. Live a long life. Be safe for me.

“Sir?!” One of the henchmen said, pulling Veers away from his thoughts.

Ozzel approached the command station which was little more than two archaic display screens. “Has our guest arrived?”

“No, sir. Something’s coming towards us. A...uh…” the henchman pressed a few buttons hesitantly...then smacked the side of the panel. “The radar’s gone fuzzy.”

Ozzel stormed towards the main entrance. Veers leaned forward as far as he could, the iron collar digging into his bruised neck as he looked through the half-opened gate. What little light the moon provided was now obscured by thick clouds, and the rocky hills blocked the horizon. Still, Veers could make out something approaching in the distance. A hulking apparition accompanied by a deep rumbling in the earth. Whatever it was, it was massive.

No. ..Veers corrected with a tired smile. She is massive.

“What is that?” Ozzel hissed, looking at the screen. “There is nothing out there except… kriff . Prepare the cannons! Get some gunners in our remaining turrets. All hands!”

The flurry of activity around Veers was nothing but white noise and a blur of movement. Loss of blood and duress clouded Veers’ vision, but he fought to stay conscious. If it truly was Thrawn, he needed to be there for him. If they were to die together, he wanted to at least look at those scarlet eyes one last time.

“AT-AT!” Ozzel shouted.

A thunderous explosion outside shook the foundation of the base, making Veers’ teeth rattle. Blitzkrieg sings to me , Veers thought dreamily.

“Where are my cannons?” Ozzel shrieked in the distance.

“Gunners!” Someone else shouted. “Report! Where are they?!”

Veers heard them stomp along the metal walkways leading to the cannons. “Where the kriff are the gun-?”

A muffled zap of a blaster silenced the man’s question.

Snipers? Veers wondered. Another wave of dizziness came over him. Stay awake. Stay awake. It’s almost over either way...

A shadow stood over Veers. Even before he lifted his drooping eyes, he knew it was Boss. Amidst the chaos and destruction outside and the frantic scrambling within, Boss remained focused on his one task: executing General Veers.

Though he couldn’t see Boss’ face, Veers knew the thug was smiling a wide, broken-tooth smile. “What was that you promised me?” Boss asked. “ You were going to kill me , right? Was that it?”

He laughed and the cold blaster muzzle pressed against Veers’ forehead.

When Veers closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to that day in the war room, a smile on his lover’s pink lips, a sparkle in his ruby eyes.

“Careful, General...”

A quartet of his AT-AT’s blaster cannons bleated outside.

In an instant the main gate was blown away, bringing down part of the ceiling with it. The impact triggered an earthquake through the rest of the base, splitting the concrete ground where Veers knelt.

Veers did not realize he was free until Boss tripped over the very chains that were supposed to keep him restrained. Summoning strength fueled by sheer adrenaline and the slim chance of seeing his Thrawn again, Veers shot to his feet. His knees screamed in pain, his wounded chest burned brightly, but Veers’ focused solely on the promise he made Boss.

He crashed onto the stunned thug, straddling that barrel chest, and raising his bound wrists high in the air.

“You were half right,” Veers hissed, bringing his binders down on Boss’ neck. “I did say I was going to kill you…” He rose his arms again. “But I planned to do it slowly…” When he slammed the bonds against Boss’ neck a second time, he heard a sickening crack.

Boss’ eyes bulged. His breath came out in a noisey, ragged wheeze.

“I keep…” Veers swayed wearily, marveling at how much of his own blood painted his chest. “...my promises…”

The world rushed up to meet him.

-----

Surgical precision.

Those were the words that came to mind as Thrawn watched Covell use Blitzkrieg to bring down the main gate without disturbing the interior. Thrawn waited for the debris to settle at a safe distance, then pulled out his blaster and began his assault.

Already Flyntt and her troopers had taken out the Gray Eclipse members on the second and third floors. Covell had disposed of the anti-aircraft guns and withstood the fire from the heavy cannons piloted by inexperienced gunners. As predicted, most of the blasts missed the Imperial walker by a large margin.

Through dust and ash, Thrawn walked into the base with fearless intent.

Each henchman that rose to face him, fell a moment later. Every blaster bolt met its mark, and every body brought him one step closer to his love, his heart, to ch’eo vur .

“Max!” Thrawn called out, taking out another two henchman without breaking his stride. The lights flickered and sparked, a few small fires erupted around the electrical equipment. Bodies were strewn across the floor, more being sent from above as the death troopers lived up to their name.

“Max,” Thrawn called out again. Shoving aside his panic, he turned and surveyed the room.

There used to be two staircases there, Thrawn noted where twisted metal remained. Four walkways above. Max was chained beneath the third walkway…there!

A pool of blood existed where Veers once knelt, and from it, a red streak lead to where he was sprawled, lying over the body of a large man.

“No…”

The world hushed around him. The firefight muted. The panicked screams and blaster fire dulled. The shower of electrical sparks overhead meant nothing.

Thrawn holstered his gun and rushed to his lover’s side.

Veers was deathly pale, his chest a macabre painting of crimson and scarlet streaks of both dried and fresh blood. Sweat matted his sandy hair, his parted lips were cut and haloed with a round bruise, and more bruising mottled his bare chest.

“ Ch’eo vur ,” Thrawn fell to his knees, gathering Veers’ limp form in his arms. “My heart…Please...come back to me.”

Shakily, Thrawn pressed two fingers hard against Veers’ throat, digging deep to find any pulse at all.

Before he could find a heartbeat, Veers jolted awake, slinging a Denonian curse Thrawn didn't understand.

“Max,” Thrawn cried, stroking Max’s wet hair away from his slick forehead. “Max, you’re alive…”

Veers’ hazel eyes fluttered a moment, dazed and unfocused, before he passed out again.

“Flyntt!” Thrawn shouted, but the Commander was already approaching with a hover gurney. “Get him back to the shuttle,” Thrawn ordered, helping Flyntt ease the unconscious general onto the gurney.

“Right away, sir. Troopers, report.”

An organized report came from the other six troopers through Thrawn’s earpiece. Twenty-four non-Imperial life forms were reported in the base before the assault. Now only one remained.

As Flyntt took Veers away, another death trooper approached dragging with him a limping, bloody-lipped Ozzel. The trooper threw him at Thrawn’s feet, then held a blaster rifle to the back of traitor’s head.

“Sir, we found him hiding within the mess hall.”

Thrawn tilted his head. “You left your men to die for you?”

Ozzel belted out a strained laugh. “They are not my men. They were tools to get to you.”

“You have lost,” Thrawn said, drawing his blaster. “Whatever quarter I gave you in the past no longer exists, Kendall Ozzel. Consider this your formal execution.”

Ozzel maintained his bloody sneer as he rose to his knees. “And you are my executioner? Just another notch in your belt, I suppose. Another medal covered in blood.”

Thrawn gripped the blaster tightly. “I do not do this lightly. Nor are my medals stained in such a way.”

“No?” Ozzel nodded to Thrawn’s uniform. “You didn’t step over a mound of bodies to earn that rank plaque, then? Did you truly earn your place in the Empire without crushing career after career? Batonn may have seemed like the greatest example of your bloody path to glory, but let’s not pretend it was the first time you destroyed lives to get ahead.”

An icy chill washed over Thrawn.

“Cause and effect, Thrawn,” Ozzel shrugged. “Konstantine, Pryce, Cheno, Lyste, even your precious Eli Vanto wherever he is now. Every move you made had a dire effect on them and their lives. As long as Veers is in your life, he will suffer. To be honest, it’s a better punishment than anything I could devise. Perhaps you should have let me kill him. It would have been a mercy-”

Thrawn pulled the trigger.

Ozzel fell.

In an instant, it was all over.

Thrawn stood for a long moment, the blaster still extended in his hand.

A cascade of images rolled through his head. Captain Virgillio and Commander Cheno both had their careers suddenly cut short because of Thrawn. Thrawn…who always spoke out beyond his rank, to “fix” all that he believed was broken on missions. Despite his success, his insubordinance cost both captains their careers.

Lyste, who sat in a prison cell for months waiting for an execution that never came, while Thrawn rooted out the true traitor of the Empire. The young bright-eyed lieutenant was never the same after his release.

Meanwhile, Admiral Konstantine, as stubborn as he was, should not have died at Atollon. Eli had explained to Thrawn time and again that he needed to include other high-ranking officers in his plans.

“If nothing else, it’ll help them trust you until they get to know ya better,” Eli always said with limitless patience.

Eli…

Eli, who was publicly humiliated for years as a lowly ensign standing in the shadow of Thrawn, the Empire’s rising star. And then when Eli was finally promoted, Thrawn had sent him away. Of course it was to protect him, and to provide aid to Thrawn’s people, but there was always that nagging feeling, that wonder if he truly did what was right for Eli.

And then there was Batonn…

The blackest mark of his career, and his crowning achievement. If only he had paid closer attention to Pryce...to her motives...what was at stake for her and her family…

He knew Ozzel would say anything to dig a last desperate knife into Thrawn’s ego before his death. Ozzel was nothing if not petty.

Yet his words hold truth, do they not? Thrawn mused. And that is why those words are so hard to let go.

“Is the General safe?”

Thrawn turned to find Covell rushing towards him.

“We shall see,” Thrawn said, evenly. “Excellent work, Colonel.”

“So I’m not facing a reprimand and dishonorable discharge, sir?”

“Not if I have anything to say of it.”

“Did you truly earn your place in the Empire without crushing career after career?”

Thrawn shrugged away Ozzel’s words.

“Stay with Blitzkrieg,” he ordered. “I will send a dropship once I have returned to the Chimaera. ”

Covell saluted and hurried back to Blitzkrieg, leaving Thrawn alone once more.

By the time Thrawn had reached the shuttle, Flyntt had Veers strapped into the med bay’s single bed with an emergency IV, and the bacta tank was already being prepared.

Thrawn sat beside Veers’ bed and took his limp and bloody hand in his.

Twice now Thrawn had been at Veers’ side, watching his lover crawl back from the brink of death.

Twice now Thrawn had lamented being unable to protect his Max when he needed it most.

Only this time, a new realization plagued Thrawn’s thoughts.

“As long as Veers is in your life, he will suffer.”

When the last of the death troopers boarded, the shuttle made the swift trek back to the Chimaera.

All the while Thrawn agonized over what he planned to say to General Veers to prevent the future Ozzel predicted.

-----

Veers awoke in a soft bed feeling suspiciously refreshed. It was a synthetic alertness, the sort he experienced after the Battle of Hoth when dosed with pain suppressors. Every breath he took was deep and rich, his mind was clear and empty, and his skin was blissfully warm.

When his eyes adjusted to the stark brightness of the med bay, he realized he was not actually on the Executor. For one thing, the artwork in this room was far classier.

On the Chimaera then , Veers concluded, with a swell of excitement and relief.  He tried to sit up, but found that despite his alert mind, his body was heavy and weak.

“Thrawn?” he called out to the room.

“I am here.” Thrawn’s face came into view, leaning over him like a cerulean angel, though Veers wondered if that was the medication talking.

There was something different about this angel, however. His scarlet eyes were untouched by liner and surrounded by dark bags. His narrow cheeks were drawn and pale. He looked as if he had not slept in ages.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours,” Thrawn said.

Veers gingerly touched his neck, wincing despite the dulled pain. His wrists were black and blue, and the cut on his lip tasted of acrid bacta. He did his best not to lick it away. There was a bandage over his chest...but he did not want to think of it now.

“What did I miss?” Veers asked, managing only to lift his fingers towards Thrawn.

Curiously, Thrawn did not take his hand right away. After a moment’s hesitation, he finally slid his warm palm beneath Veers’ hand and held it.

“The Gray Eclipse has been dealt with. The official story is that you escaped on your own and sent a distress call. We retrieved you and Blitzkrieg and-”

“Blitz is alright?” Veers cut in, unable to restrain his panic.

“Yes.”

Veers let out relieved sigh. “And Ozzel?”

“Dealt with.”

“Dead, I hope.”

“Very.” The word came out as a sinister purr.

“Shame, it would have been nice to kill him myself. Will there be an investigation? I do not wish the fury of the Emperor on you.”

“The Emperor is not interested in an investigation. The Death Star is obliterating Wobani as we speak and your heroic escape is being awarded I believe.”

Veers snorted. “That does sound like the Emperor. Destroy everything and reward unjustly. It is all about appearances, no?” He gave Thrawn’s hand a playful, if not weak, squeeze. “Still, I am a newly decorated hero of the Empire. Does that mean you shall reward me as well?”

Veers expected Thrawn to give him that coy, sideways smile he loved so much. Or at least a good-humored roll of his eyes.

What he did not expect was Thrawn withdrawing his hand, leaving Veers’ fingers cold and alone.

“Love?”

“General...we must end this.”

Veers blinked. “What? What are you talking about?”

Thrawn lowered his eyes and said nothing. They sat there listening to the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor. Veers was too stunned to speak and Thrawn was apparently composing his thoughts, chewing on the edge of his paintless, pale lips.

“I have submitted a request for reassignment to patrol the edges of Wild Space.”

Veers burst into a nervous laugh. It was all he could do. The notion was too absurd. “Surely my rescue was not so exciting that you must now traverse the most boring part of the galaxy for rest and relaxation.”

“I am not joking, General.”

Again, he used Veers’ title. The word slammed against his heart like a hammer. “What are you saying?”

“My presence in the Empire has been one of turbulence from the start. Even from your remote station on Corellia, you no doubt heard rumors of the chiss officer who wreaked political havoc in the Empire.”

“We called you a pantoran but-”

Thrawn threw him a harsh look and Veers pursed his lips. No room for quips, no subtle gestures of affection, Veers’ mind desperately struggled to understand what was happening. Because where he thought this conversation was going was too dreadful to comprehend.

“After my rescue from exile by your Empire, my intent was only to observe and gather information that would help aid my people. I never intended on being an officer, nor did I ever intend on...on destroying as many lives as I have in its service. I have been arrogant. I believed that my tactical experience was one that could improve the Empire’s structure. I believed that as much as I needed them, they needed me,” Thrawn took in a deep breath. “It was I who recommended you for the promotion that pulled you away from Corellia. If I had not, you would never have ended up on Zaloriis.”

“Don’t…” Veers snapped, suddenly aware of the burning gash across his bandaged chest. “You cannot put the responsibility of what happened to me on your shoulders. I am the only one to blame for what happened there. Zaloriis could have been prevented in any number of ways, most of all appeasing the natives rather than taking their land and stirring them into a rebellion. I was cocky and brash, and the fault of Zaloriis rests solely upon me.”

“All the more reason why I am to blame,” Thrawn replied, his calmness unnerving. “You say you were cocky and brash. You were not ready for such a command and I guided Vader’s hand to promote you. If I had let fate take its course…”

“Then I would never have been free of that hellhole station, Thrawn.” Veers shot back. “Do you think you are the only one to have angered the Empire politically? Why do you think I was on Corellia in the first place? My obsession with the Black Sun led me to stepping on the wrong toes. I would still be there had you not intervened. I will always be grateful for that.”

It was as if the words were mere ocean waves splashing against solid rock. Thrawn’s face remained unchanged, and he continued as if Veers had not spoken at all.

“I am also the catalyst that led to your capture on Wobani. If I had listened to Jerjerrod, if I had heeded his warning, Ozzel would have been executed and none of this would have happened.”

“We all underestimated Ozzel, Thrawn. If anyone had truly suspected he would go to such lengths to betray us, Tarkin would have ordered the execution himself. We all let him be dishonorably discharged and we all moved on.”

Veers reached for Thrawn’s hand again. Thrawn did not take it.

“When I attempt to do what is right I lose those I care about,” Thrawn said, quietly. “I believed a preemptive strike against the Vhaagari was best for my people, and lost my brother because of it. I believed keeping Eli Vanto from his true destiny was best for him, and I pushed him away to the Ascendancy where I will never see him again. I believed…” Thrawn swallowed. “...falling in love with you would not have any impact on our careers. In fact, it only put you in danger. What Ozzel did was not an act of war. It was personal. He used you to get to me… and it worked. Ozzel was right, as long as you are in your life, you will suffer. That is why this must end.” Thrawn stood up. “I hope in time you will understand.”

Before Thrawn could leave, Veers grabbed his wrist. Although his grip was accursedly weak, Thrawn acted as if it were made of iron. He looked at Veers with an almost struck expression. "Do you love me?"

“General…” Thrawn dropped his gaze, but Veers shook his wrist sharply.

"Look at me, dammit. Look me in the eyes and tell me you do not love me. If you can do that, we will end this, but if not then please don't leave. Don't let him win."

Gently, very gently, Thrawn took Veers’ hand and freed his wrist. He gave the hand a soft kiss, a single tear streaking down his face. “Forgive me, general. There is no other way.”

And with that, Thrawn was gone.

-----

Thrawn could not breathe.

He had shed his tunic, torn away his undershirt and lay prone on his bed. One hand rested over his chest, the other covering his wet eyes.

This was for the best. He had to believe that. Without Thrawn, the Empire would be its perfect machine again. No one to question its advancements, no one to “improve” their stratagems.

And Max would be safe. I am doing this for Max.

The bedroom still smelled of him, the scent of woodsy cologne with a hint of coconut. A collection of dumbbells were still wedged in the corner where Veers had left them, and beside them a workout towel. Thrawn could not bring himself to wrinkle his nose at the used towel on his nice armchair.

Instead, he rolled over, resting a hand on Veers’ pillow, looking at the modest closet across the room. There was an extra uniform of deepest green hanging among his white tunics like a lonely pine in a snowy landscape.

He would need to mail the uniform to the Executor . In fact, there were many things he would need to send back.

His heart sank.

The ingredients for the Luen’thraw Thrawn had planned to make them for some silly Denonian holiday would need to be discarded.

Thrawn drew up his legs, breathing shallowly, tears streaming down his face as he stared at the lone green uniform.

He stayed in bed the rest of the day.

For the remainder of the week, however, he barely entered his quarters at all. His visits were quick, brief showers and changing his clothes. The remainder of his time was spent in his office. Sleep came in brief episodes in his armchair, food was nibbled on and then discarded.

There was much preparation to be done before leaving on his new assignment to Wild Space. There was always unrest on the edge of the galaxy, and he planned to spend the rest of his career snuffing it out.

A week went by…And Thrawn avoided the persistent transmissions from Krennic.

Two weeks went by…And the lonely pine in a snowy closet remained untouched.

Three weeks went by...And the Luen’thraw ingredients slowly shriveled and dried out.

By the end of the third week, Thrawn had yet to hear back regarding his reassignment.

By the fourth week, he finally received his reply, and it came in the form of Grand Moff Tarkin sitting in his living quarters.

Tarkin was lounging comfortably, one boot resting on his knee, an elbow on the armchair and a long, bony finger pressed against his temple.

“You can hide from Orson, you can avoid Maximilian, but I am a bit harder to escape from, Thrawn.”

Thrawn stood motionless in the doorway, heart pounding. “Governor, unless you are here to talk about my transfer-”

“It is denied,” Tarkin responded lightly with a wave of his hand. He nodded to the chair beside him. “Please,” he offered, as if this were his own quarters.

Thrawn clenched his fist for a moment before forcing himself to relax. This was not a direct order, but the austere eyebrow raised in his direction told Thrawn it was wise to follow Tarkin’s direction anyway.

“May I ask why?” Thrawn asked.

“You know very well why,” Tarkin sniffed. “Shall I ask you the obvious question? Or would you care to explain yourself?”

“I did what I had to,” Thrawn said, evenly. “Leaving General Veers was best for both of us.”

“Is that truly what you think? Do you really believe that either of you are better off without each other?"
Krennic often complained about the hypnotically piercing gaze Tarkin would cast when displeased. He often described it as possessing the power to stop a stampeding reek. Today was the first day Thrawn felt the full weight of that glare. Those blue-gray eyes seized Thrawn like a tractor beam and doubt began to creep into Thrawn’s conscious mind. “I...am protecting him."
"You are abandoning him,” Tarkin retorted. “If you do not love him then so be it. Leave him, and let it be done. But if you love him, if you wish to be with him, then fix this. Life is too short, and it is silly wasting time with all this frivolous drama caused by a traitorous dog like Ozzel. You are smarter than this."

Thrawn bristled. “This is coming from a man who nearly murdered his own husband.”

“Yes,” Tarkin replied, easily. “and you would too if you were in love with a man like my Orson. Luckily for you, you are not. You're in love with Maximilian Veers. A good man. An honest man. A man who does not deserve this."

Thrawn’s mind reeled. He sank back into the plush leather chair struggling with what to do next. For Thrawn, strong feelings were always overcome by stronger logic, yet when it came to Max...

“Do you love him?”

Thrawn looked up at Tarkin. The words poured from him before he could consider them. “More than I thought possible.” The crushing feeling of suffocation returned. He put a hand to his chest. “More than I can stand.”

“We make our own fate, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” Tarkin said, and Thrawn marveled at how flawlessly he spoke his full name. “You see much, and in some ways too much. You see every string that controls the movements of the players, but you forget that sometimes people pull on their own strings. Konstantine at Atollon, Ozzel with the Gray Eclipse…” Tarkin paused, considering Thrawn for a moment before adding, “Veers on Zaloriis. You cannot account for the human will. It is our unpredictability that makes us most human, after all. You were never to blame and anyone with half a brain in their head would agree.”

The image of Veers’ look of utter devastation surfaced in Thrawn’s mind. His hazel eyes glassy with emotion, his jaw tightly set. Thrawn had hurt the only man he had ever loved.

Stars…What have I done?

“I do not know how to fix this, Wilhuff.”

Tarkin tilted his head from side to side. “For one, you can come back with me to the Executor. ”

“What if he does not wish to see me?”

“Then, my boy, you will have experienced love and loss. It is the way of things.” Tarkin stood up and adjusted his tunic. “Now, are you coming or aren’t you?”
Thrawn did not make his decision right away, knowing whatever decision he would make would rest on his shoulders for the rest of his life.

-----

Veers was a very busy man.

Numerous repairs were needed after Blitzkrieg’s encounter with the EMP on Wobani. Upgrades were a must to account for environmental traps like quicksand and mud. And then the maintenance...he could not trust his beloved walker’s maintenance to just any mechanic.

He worked long shifts, and falling asleep in his command chair for a few hours at a time was becoming commonplace. There was no reason to return to his quarters, anyway, except for a brisk shower and a shave.

Today was no different. Veers was waiting for the new scanner software to be uploaded onto Blitz’s hard drive, sitting in his command chair and nodding off to sleep when someone entered his cockpit.

“Here again, I see.”

Veers lurched awake and spun around.

Tarkin stood there, hands tucked behind his back, his thin lips stretched in a disapproving straight line.

“I was working on installing the-”

“Go to your quarters, General,” Tarkin interrupted.

Veers frowned. “I am not through with-”

“You have been working yourself to death for weeks now on something you can have any number of interns do for you. You are exhausted and you need rest. Go. Home. Take the next few days off. Collect yourself properly.”

“With all due respect, Wilhuff-”

“That is an order, general.”

And there it was. Five words Veers was bound by duty to follow. For the first time in decades of knowing each other, Tarkin had pulled rank on Veers.

“Yes, sir ,” Veers said, through gritted teeth.

Dread sank like a rock in his gut as Veers returned to his quarters. This time there would be no downcast vision heading to the refresher. He would need to face the facts he had been ignoring for nearly a month now: Thrawn was never coming back.

Even if his quarters told a different story.

The armoire’s spare drawer would still be full of his clothes. The toiletries and small makeup bag would still be in the refresher waiting to be used. The fine scarlet slippers Veers had bought him for Vaylenteens Day, adorned in blue wrapping paper and a black bow, would still be hidden beneath Veers’ bed.

Despite all this evidence, nothing had changed. Thrawn had made up his mind. He was leaving and there was nothing Veers could do about it.

At the very least he needed to return the grand admiral’s belongings before he left for Wild Space.

Veers grabbed an Army-issued duffel bag and tossed it on the bed.  He started with the easiest items first. The toiletries and makeup bag were carefully placed into the smaller compartments. He next went to Thrawn’s designated drawer, grabbing cotton and silk garments alike by the fistfulls and shoving them into the main section of the duffel. He cleared away some books and a few trinkets that they had collected together. If Thrawn wanted to discard them it was up to him.

With each trinket, each book, each article of clothing gone, it sank deeper into Veers’ pained heart that it was truly over for them.

The bag was nearly full to the brim when Veers turned to face the final item, the item he dreaded saying goodbye to the most. With a ragged breath, Veers turned to the closet where a collection of uniforms hung on a steel bar.

A white rabbit, Veers mused, touching the white uniform.

A white rabbit in a field of green, that was what Thrawn’s single tunic looked like among Veers’ uniforms.

With a shaking hand, Veers pulled the tunic from its hanger. He did not turn to the bed...not yet. Instead, he ran his fingers over the peculiar material that sang against his skin.

Hailing from an icy planet, Thrawn had requested his grand admiral uniforms be custom-made thinner than standard regulations. Veers had never felt a uniform like this, smooth, cool, and comforting, nor would he ever feel one like this again once it was gone.

A sudden weariness washed over Veers. He took a few steps backwards, feeling as if the lightweight tunic weighed a kiloton. His legs bumped into the black, wooden footboard of his bed. He sank to the ground, the tunic pressed close to his chest.

For four weeks, Veers had managed to keep the grand admiral away from his thoughts. It was as manageable as keeping the weight of the ocean at bay behind thin, cracked glass.

Sitting there on the floor of his bedroom, the uniform in his hands, Veers could not stop the glass from shattering if he tried. He pressed his face against the tunic, and let the tears come.

For the first time in four weeks, he allowed the tide to sweep him away, drowning him in broken memories.

Veers teaches Thrawn how to drive an Imperial Walker. The wide-eyed chiss nearly blasts away the small drop ship that had brought them. It takes gentle caresses and soothing words for Veers to loosen Thrawn’s iron grip on the controls.

Thrawn takes Veers to a Coruscanti museum and kisses him in front of the War for Naught, depicting a war lead by Veers’ grandfather on Denon. Veers swears he is not crying even as Thrawn kisses away the tears.

Their first night together on the Chimaera is slow and sensual. Veers delays Thrawn’s release over and over again. The chiss begs to come in Cheunh , yet asks for more when Veers begins to oblige. Veers has never seen anything to beautiful as this whimpering, cerulean lover beneath him.

Veers experiences his first night terror in front of Thrawn. Without questions, without prying, Thrawn draws him into his arms and sings a soft, baritone lullaby in his native language, soothing Veers to sleep.

“Max?”

Veers’ heart lurched as he looked up.

Thrawn stood frozen in the doorway.

Horror electrified Veers’ nerves. What a pitiful sight he must seem, sitting there on the ground hugging the one uniform Thrawn most likely came to retrieve. He looked down at the material, soaked with his tears. He tried to smooth out the tunic, but it was already severely wrinkled.

He tried to think of something clever to say, something to ease the humiliation, the awkwardness, and the agony at seeing Thrawn again.

No words came, and he kept his eyes lowered.

“Max…”

Veers’ name on Thrawn’s lips made everything worse. It was infuriating, it was beautiful, but also it was beginning to give him false hope…

“Your things are on the bed,” Veers said, finally. “I shall have the tunic pressed. I apologize for its condition.” The apology felt and sounded ridiculous, as if it was some sort of accident that he was sobbing into his ex-lover’s clothes.

Thrawn did not move. Nor did he reply. He just...stood there.

Veers, in spite of his misery, arched an eyebrow.

Is he going to speak? Is he just going to stand there and marvel at my misery?

“I am unsure how to proceed,” Thrawn said, quietly.

Veers felt his hackles raise. “Simple,” he spat, staring hard at the tunic. “You take your things. You leave. You board the Chimaera and enjoy a life of touring around Lysatra, breaking up local land disputes and fighting trade corruption.”

“My reassignment was denied.”

Instinct let Veers’ heart skip at the news, before logic reminded him nothing had changed. Was it better that he was staying? That, while the Seventh Fleet and the Death Squadron were in the same sector, they would continue to see each other at meetings and events? Would Veers ever truly heal seeing Thrawn so often just beyond arm’s reach?

“I see.”

Thrawn took a step forward and Veers focused on the damp, white tunic. The sooner Thrawn gathered his bag and left, the better it would be. At the very least Veers could sort through his emotions on how to cope with Thrawn staying in the Seventh Fleet.

Thrawn stopped a few feet short from where Veers sat. He pulled up his trousers and sank to his knees on the plush nerf skin rug. As if performing a ritualistic pose, Thrawn bowed his head low, his legs pressed together and his hands resting palms-down on his thighs.

The posture seemed...submissive…apologetic? Veers felt the tears dry on his cheeks and he looked in wonder at the humbled chiss before him.

“I have made an egregious error.” Thrawn said, his eyes downcast. “I allowed my fears and Ozzel’s words to dictate my actions. I allowed self-flagellation and guilt come between us. I did not see…I did not…” Thrawn hesitated. “I...I am unsure how to undo all that I have done. This, all of this, is new to me. Every step I have taken with you guides me deeper into unfamiliar terrain. There is no cultural pattern, no artistic clues, no history for which to decipher what will happen next between us. I am wholly unprepared and I fear that my actions have irreparably damaged the future I want with y-”

Veers nearly tackled Thrawn into a hug. A startled grunt escaped Thrawn’s lips before he wrapped his arms tightly around Veers’ waist.

“Max…” he murmured as he buried his face in Veers’ neck. “Please forgive me.”

Fresh tears streamed down Veers’ face as he cupped Thrawn’s head, peppering his forehead with kisses and reveling in the soft scent of lilacs he desperately missed.

“There’s nothing to forgive, love. I understand what you were trying to accomplish.” He pulled away just enough to cup Thrawn’s face in his hands. There were tears making their way down those smooth, cerulean cheeks and Veers wiped them away with his thumbs. He had never seen the chiss shake like this, as vulnerable as this.

He would do everything in his power to ensure it would never happened again.

“We are both new to this, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” he said, softly. “I have loved before, yes, but after losing my wife, I did not believe I would love anyone again. And I most certainly was not expecting to find the one I could call my soulmate.”

“Soulmate,” Thrawn repeated, confused.

“Someone you believe you are meant to be with,” Veers clarified. “The other part of your soul.”

Thrawn’s eyes glowed with understanding. “ Vur von'ot. Heartmate.”

“You save me from myself, Thrawn. You make the nightmares go away. You give me a tangible reason to keep going, to keep fighting. You challenge me, you keep up with me, you are my equal in all things. I love you and I always will. No amount of pain or distance was ever going to change that.”

Thrawn bowed his head and Veers added more kisses to his forehead slightly creased with worry. “Words cannot express how deeply sorry I am for my behavior, Max. I left you at a critical and vulnerable time. I left because I believed the words of a traitor. You never deserved that. Please…Forgive me.”

Veers opened his mouth to protest Thrawn’s apology, but he could see the desperation in the chiss’ eyes. Forgiveness, he realized, would ease his conscience.

“I forgive you. Of course, I forgive you. You and I have gone through enough pain and tribulations both apart and together to reach this point. If you love me as madly as I love you, then let us treat this as any other obstacle, one we can overcome and learn from.”

“I do love you, Max.”

The next words that passed through Veers’ lips came to him effortlessly, without hesitation.

“Then marry me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

He knelt back and took Thrawn’s hand in his, holding Thrawn’s left ring-finger as per Denonian tradition. “I want to be with you forever, to be family for you, to protect and be protected by you. We have lost too much throughout our lives, love. It is time we both did something that is just for us…if you will have me.”

Thrawn tilted his head and that slight, wonderfully coy smile spread across his lips. “If I marry you, will you promise me never to engage in a bar fight for my honor again?”

Veers flashed Thrawn a winning grin. “I cannot promise such a thing. Your dashing visage compromises my judgement, but I suppose you can fight your own battles, so long as I can show chivalry to you in other ways.” He gave Thrawn wink.

Thrawn tutted teasingly and leaned forward, drawing Veers into a long, slow kiss. The whimper that came from Veers’ throat was one borne of gratefulness, desperation and need. With relief, he heard Thrawn utter similar sounds of his own.

It was Thrawn who explored Veers’ mouth first, pressing his chest hard against him, gripping Veers’ uniform so tightly, the general wondered if it would tear. Veers returned the kiss with equal hunger, suckling and teething at Thrawn’s lips sweetened by pink gloss. His arms wound around the chiss’ body and they clung to each other in a quiet vow never to allow the galaxy to tear them apart again.

When Thrawn finally pulled away, he said, in a breathless voice, through the widest smile Veers had ever seen: “In that case, Maximilian Veers, yes, I will marry you.”