Archive of Our Own ^beta

Thunhe lost her Sight two years ago—but she did not lose her intuition. Eli Vanto is a good man and an even better father—meaning he makes her clean her own messes. After her separation from the EDF, she had found solace in her clutter—Eli Vanto does not find such similar comfort. When he returns for shore leave, he will frown at her nest of displaced items and she will obey his wordless request to clean. He only tidies her messes when he is stressed and that is her first clue. 

“Is everything okay?” she asks as he takes her bowl from the low table and moves into the kitchen. She wasn’t finished with her morning oats, but she doesn’t say as much. 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he returns, artfully not answering her question—her second indicator that something is amiss. She and her dad are honest about everything. Well, almost everything. She knows he plays his cards close to his chest, but she also knows the difference between scheming and stressing.   

“You’re cleaning,” she states. 

He washes the bowl and places it on the drying rack—another puzzle piece to this mystery. They have a dishsonic, washing by hand is just another way to keep his body in motion. “Someone has to. Chaos knows you won’t.” 

She scowls at him. “If I leave my coursework on the counter where I can see it, then I don’t have to worry about where I put it.” 

“Does that also apply to every hair pin you own?” 

Diversion. “Yes, in fact, it does.” 

He nods, clearly disbelieving. 

“You never answered my question. Is everything okay?” 

Once upon a time ago, her father displayed his emotions clearly on his face. He still does, in a way, one just has to know when and where to look. Like right now, the playful smirk slides from his lips and his face takes on an unimpressed and stony line. He looks down at the sink. 

He is hiding something. “You’re going to miss your train,” he says. 

She casts a cursory glance at the chrono on her questis—he’s right, of course. She knows that if she kept grilling him, he’d break, but she also doesn’t want to be late for school. She stands from their plush, brown sofa and grabs her backpack. “Want to go to the noodle place for dinner?” 

He looks up from the sudsy dish water and gives her a warm smile. “If you’re buying, sure.” 

~

In the end, Thunhe doesn’t have to interrogate her dad to figure out what is eating at him. It’s the talk of the school, for multiple reasons. She isn’t unused to her dad being the subject of the rumor mill—she is well-acquainted with the conversations that turn to whispers and prolonged glances when she enters a room—but she can’t even defend him this time.

He broke the rules. 

And he broke the rules to save the Ascendancy’s most disgraced individual—Mitth'raw'nuruodo. She has heard tales of him from her dad, Ar’alani, Thalias, Sacher, and even Ma’kro when he chooses to be amicable for a change. She knows Thrawn is probably a good man, but she has only met him once, and she also knows how he treats individuals—like they are pieces in a game to be played. She knows he sent her dad here and he never bothered to thank him—not that anyone ever does thank Senior Captain Ivant for the countless hours he sacrifices for the Greater Good, but that is beside the point. 

She doesn’t press her dad about it when she comes home. She doesn’t ask him why he is home. When he had arrived late the night prior, she had simply thought it was shore leave. It is not uncommon for ships to dock late at night and crewmembers to arrive even later, especially when that crewmember is her father who is a first-in, last-out kind of leader. 

She doesn’t say anything at all, using every ounce of her infamous Chiss patience to wait for him to speak first. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now,” he says when the waitress leaves with their food order. He rests his hands on top of the table, palms down. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t see what there is to talk about,” she says. “You’ve been court martialed for breaking the rules. What else is new?” 

He huffs a humorless laugh. “In my defense, there were pirates and they did fire first.” 

“Provoking someone to shoot at you doesn’t count as self-defense, Da.” 

He smirks and sobers as he idly stirs the straw in his water glass. “I took an oath to protect our borders. To me, that means anyone who happens to stumble into our space.” 

“Including a war lord?” 

His gaze snaps up to hers, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“I’m not a child anymore. I read the news today and they included articles from Lesser Space. I know the atrocities he committed. He is not a good man.” 

He strokes his chin. “Good and evil are subjective terms. A freedom fighter to one group is a terrorist to another. Sometimes a good decision is just a lesser evil. There is no such thing as inherently ‘good’ or ‘evil’.” 

“Krayt spit,” she snaps. 

“Language,” he chides. 

She looks away, at the partition to her right separating their booth from the one on the other side, and chews her bottom lip. “You’re putting your entire life on the line for a man hardly worth the effort.” 

“Maybe it’s worth it to me,” he says, soft and thoughtful. 

“Why?” 

“Because he is my friend.” 

She can’t argue with him; he has made bolder decisions for less. She will never forget the day he carried a side arm to protect her—a lowly Human among a bridge full of Chiss warriors—just because she had asked. 

Her father is a good man and while there is no bridge on which to carry a sidearm, she will stand by his side, ready to defend him from those unworthy of his dedication. 

~

Her dad receives only a slap on the wrist for his actions—a week without pay—and the return of Mitth’raw’nuruodo is heralded by the EDF. He is put on trial, but it matters little, the Mitth family, now under the guidance of Mitth’ali’astov, throws their weight around and he is released without so much as a well-deserved stint in the brig. He is instead ordered to see specialists for his condition and to eat proper meals—both of which her dad has been tasked with overseeing. 

It makes Thunhe sick. They act as if his time is free, as if he isn’t working on countless projects, or being pulled in a hundred different directions because no one can see patterns like he can. 

She folds her arms over her chest and arches an eyebrow at her father as he explains the plan. Thrawn is to stay in their ‘guest bedroom’. That space is and has always been her dad’s office and it is just the first of many things she knows he is willing to sacrifice. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Da says, setting down his questis that has information regarding Thrawn’s recovery plan. 

“I’m not giving you a look.” 

“Krayt spit.” 

She glares at him. “ Language .” 

He smirks and walks around the kitchen island to her. “Un’hee, Bo-bun’hee, Fee, Fi, Fo, Fun’hee.” 

She snorts and looks away from him again. He always used to do this when she pouted as a child, and it never failed to make her laugh. But she doesn’t want to laugh right now. She wants to be angry because her dad gives so much of himself every day to the Ascendancy and now he’s being expected to surrender his home , too. Their home. It isn’t fair. 

“I know you’re upset,” he murmurs, bumping his shoulder against hers. “But it’s only for a few months.” 

“I know,” she picks at her cuticles. He catches her hands in his own, warmer ones and prevents the nervous tic. 

“Let’s try it out. If it’s too hard on you, I’ll contact the Mitth and work something out. Okay?” 

She considers it for a moment. She could say no—to protect him—and he would do exactly as he said he would. He would contact the Mitth and they would never have to adjust their lives around someone who will undoubtedly be ungrateful. But then she looks at him, really looks. He’s worried, stressed. He’s been put in a difficult position and she knows that in any situation, he would choose her safety, but she also can’t bear to be the source of his stress. “No,” she says, straightening. “I’ll be okay. I promise. This is what needs to be done, so we will do it.” 

He smiles. “That’s my girl.” 

As the Basic saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. 

~

Thrawn is not nearly as intimidating as she remembers him being. In her memories, he towers over her and Da. He commands the presence of the room and his aura is dark and swirling behind him. 

Her ability to see auras has faded, but if she could still see them she thinks Thrawn’s aura would be gray now. He walks slowly, slightly hunched over, and has a rattle when he breathes—like he had a perforated lung that healed improperly. She knows from the Lesser Space articles that Thrawn probably did have a perforated lung, along with several other bruised or ruptured organs, thanks to the tentacled beasts.  

“Thrawn,” Da says, his voice warm and soft like always. “This is Thunhe. Thunhe, this is Thrawn.” 

She forces herself to give their house guest a cordial smile. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he says with a cordial nod. 

“We’ve already met,” she states and receives a warning glance from Da for her tone. 

Thrawn’s eyebrows arch slightly. “My mistake.” 

Da clears his throat. “Thunhe was recently adopted by the Mitth, before she was Un’hee.” 

Thrawn nods his understanding. “Congratulations on your adoption.” 

“Thank you,” she says, trying, and failing, to not be so icy. 

Da gives her an exasperated look before saying, “This is the day room and over there is the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever. Your room is this way.” 

Thunhe watches them go. Da leads the way and Thrawn trails behind him. 

~

When she wakes in the morning for school, Da is still asleep, but that isn’t unusual. He much prefers to stay up late working, oftentimes going to bed as the sun is rising. She knows only because she once pulled an all nighter studying and he went to bed at 0400 only to rise at 0800. It is no wonder he has a dependency on caf. 

She dashes through the shower, applies a touch of makeup and pins her hair up in the way she likes before exiting the bathroom. The air is warm with the scent of tea and she looks forward to seeing her dad, sitting in his recliner with his questis, squinting because ‘the fonts are just getting smaller’, and drinking a cup. Most mornings he goes straight for the caf, but maybe—

Her excitement sours immediately at the sight of Thrawn sitting at her spot at the breakfast bar. 

“That’s Eli’s mug,” she states, glaring at the chipped mug in his hand. She made it for Da in art class almost four years ago. It was perfect, but when fired in the kiln, it suffered a superficial crack. Da had loved it, saying that it gave the mug personality. 

“My apologies,” Thrawn says, voice cracking slightly from disuse. “I was not aware there were designated cups.” 

She saunters up to the counter. “Yes, I’m sure there is a lot that you are ‘unaware’ of. Next time ask before you go taking things that don’t belong to you.” She glares at him and he looks away. 

“You are unhappy that I am here.” 

“Is it so obvious?” 

“There is more tea in the kettle if you care for a cup,” he says and meets her eyes for the first time since she entered the kitchen. 

“Listen here.” She presses her palms onto the counter and leans forward, trying to make her slender form more intimidating. She knows how effective this can be; she has seen Da do as such once or twice when someone has really poked the nightdragon. Usually, when he does it, people listen. “I know how you treat people, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, like they are nothing more than markings on a strategy map. Eli is a good man and I swear if you ever do anything to hurt him, I will make your life so miserable you will wish that the Je’di killed you when he had the chance. You may be a Mitth, but you are not my family. Do you understand me?” 

He bows beneath her fiery gaze. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She snatches a fruit out of the basket and sits on the couch. When Da emerges from his bedroom, hair a little unkempt like always, he gives her a kiss on the top of the head and slips by Thrawn with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Thrawn does not take another sip of tea. 

~

Thrawn comes out of his room when Da announces dinner. Thunhe helps him set the table and takes her rightful place at her dad’s left side. He eats with his right hand as he is often operating his questis with his left; she has never minded that he works during family dinner. Really, there is only so much that happens in a day and she enjoys their shared silences. She remembers his aura being golden and warm and even now, she can feel his presence soothing her soul. 

Thrawn carefully lowers himself to the chair across from her and eyes the spread. Da is an amazing cook and tonight happens to be her favorite—spicy bean soup. There is a specific Basic word for it, but she can never remember it. Along with the soup is a golden yellow sweet bread. Her mouth stings with saliva just looking at it. 

“Dig in,” he says. 

Thunhe grabs a square of sweet bread and dunks it in her soup. It crumbles once wet, but that is her favorite part. Across from her, Thrawn watches and does the same. 

“How is it?” Da asks. 

“Delicious,” she answers around a mouthful of soggy bread. 

Thrawn coughs slightly at the first bite. “Spicy,” he answers and reaches for a glass of water. 

Thunhe rolls her eyes. 

“Oh, shit,” Da curses in Basic. “I’m so sorry. I can make you something else.” 

Thrawn shakes his head. “No, this will be fine.” 

“It’s no trouble, really. It’s probably for the best with your stomach if I make something else.” 

At that argument, Thrawn concedes. Da makes him a nut butter sandwich and cuts the crusts off out of habit. 

“Sorry,” he says as he sits the sandwich down. “Thunhe doesn’t eat the crusts.” 

“This is fine,” Thrawn says and takes a bite. His eyes flutter shut, as if eating a delicacy, and he finishes his sandwich in silence. 

In fact, dinner passes without much conversation at all. Thunhe is unwilling to offer any details about herself with Thrawn sitting right there and he seems unwilling to hold a conversation in general. 

When everyone is finished, Da rises to clean the kitchen and Thrawn stands. “Allow me,” he says. 

Da pauses, empty bowl in hand and asks, “You sure? I don’t want you to overdo it.” 

Thrawn gives him a sort of look that resembles something like exasperation. “I have lived in the wilderness for the past seven years. Dishes are hardly strenuous.” 

Da nods and she can tell by the look on his face that she is going to hate the next words that come out of his mouth. “Why don’t you help him, Thunhe?”

“I can’t. I have homework,” she lies. 

“You can do the dishes first,” he says and the sharpness of his eyes does not allow for argument. 

With a heavy sigh, she brushes past Thrawn to stand in front of the dishsonic. “I’ll load, if you rinse,” she states. 

Thrawn says nothing and takes his post in front of the sink. They work in charged silence. Da sits at the counter, reading through something on his questis and the sink provides the soundtrack for their evening. 

As she places the last dish in the sonic, Thrawn wipes down the counters and turns off the water.  

Da looks up from his questis. “Look at that. The kitchen has never been cleaner.” 

She rolls her eyes. “I’m going to finish my homework now.” 

His smirk falters ever so slightly and he nods. “Okay.”

~

The days pass with Thrawn saying little and occupying her space even less. Every time she enters a room, he finds an excuse to leave and that fills her with an odd combination of satisfaction and guilt. He is their guest, she should honor him or at least be amicable, but she can’t make herself do it. She can hardly bring herself to bid him a good morning when she inevitably finds him drinking tea as she packs her bag for school. But with each passing day, they seem to figure out some sort of routine. He doesn’t initiate conversation and she does her best not to glare daggers at him at every opportunity. 

Though she still bristles at their shared chore of dishes. At least tonight there aren’t many. Dinner was a simple affair resulting in only a pan, cutting board, dishes, and cutlery. Despite the small number, it seems Thrawn is bound and determined to take just as long as if there were an entire solstice meal worth of dishes to be washed. He rinses slowly, his arms moving at an infuriatingly languid pace. 

He goes to hand her a plate and she moves to snatch it when it slips from his fingers and to the floor, shattering on impact. Thrawn gasps and clutches the lip of the sink. Da is by his side in a second. 

“Cramp?” he asks. 

Thrawn only manages to nod. 

Da spurs into motion. “Thunhe, don’t move. I’ll be back in a moment to clean up the glass.” 

“I can—” Thrawn wheezes. 

“You will not.” 

Thunhe straightens out of reflex. An entire childhood spent in military service has taught her to come to attention at the tone of a command, and that is Da’s Senior Captain voice. Thrawn would do best not to argue. 

He folds around Da’s shoulder and Da brings an arm up behind his back, supporting his full weight. They shuffle away and it is then that she realizes how ill their house guest truly is. He is hardly the man from her memories. 

He is broken and he is sick. 

Thunhe finishes loading the sonic, careful to keep her socked feet planted. When Da returns, she can tell he is keeping his concern locked away. He lifts her up onto the counter and disappears momentarily before returning with the dustpan and broom. 

She watches him work. “Is he okay?” 

Da sweeps a few more times while he contemplates his answer. “The cramp will ease here soon, but in the grand scheme of things, no. He is not okay.” 

She kicks her feet, letting the cabinet handle lightly impact her calf. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

He glances up at her; she hates how he always looks tired. His eyes are naturally dull, but that is just a Human quality. The true signs of his exhaustion are the dark shadows under his eyes and the way his posture slumps when no one is looking. “What you’re doing is enough. I don’t want your daily life to be affected by this. You’ve already given enough.” 

She wants to tell him that he has, too. That if he keeps giving one day there will be nothing left of him, but she doesn’t. 

She devises a plan, instead. 

~

Da is stressed because the Ascendancy expects too much of him, they want him to identify every Sky-walker before their Sight manifests, they want him to cripple every smuggling ring in the Chaos, they want him to devise new battle strategies against the Grysks, and now they want him to heal Thrawn through regular meals and home health care. Thunhe is only one person, one person without the skill of data analytics or the rank of Senior Officer. On that list of burdens weighing down her father, she sees only one that she can truly resolve. 

So, when she comes home from class and finds Thrawn reading on the couch, a hot compress resting on his abdomen, she sets her plan in motion. He stands to surrender the day room to her and she initiates the first step of her plan. 

“Would you like some tea?” she asks. 

He stops, clearly hesitating, his eyes cast downward. 

“I could use a cup,” she offers, unsure of what she will do if he declines. 

He nods and sits in the high top chair next to hers at the breakfast bar. He doesn’t bother speaking, which is unsurprising to say the least. For the past week she has been defensive and downright rude, she doesn’t expect him to start the conversation. 

“Where is Eli?” she asks as she fetches the kettle. 

“He left to get groceries.” 

She tuts. “I told him I could do that after school.” 

“He should be home soon.” 

She doesn’t know how to interpret that. Either he is informing her that she couldn’t pick up groceries during the desired timeframe because of class, or he is letting her know that her time of playing nice will be short-lived. 

She takes a breath and sets about making tea. When the kettle chimes, she reaches for a cup and hesitates over Eli’s mug. She picks the one next to it. 

“How are you feeling today?” she asks as she sets the steaming mug in front of him. 

“Better,” he answers and she can tell that it is the truth. Despite his many flaws, she doesn't think him to be a liar.

“Good.” 

Silence settles over them once more. She chews the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t want to talk to him. His presence is less obtrusive now than it was a week ago, but she still doesn’t like it. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself. The sooner she can help Thrawn heal, the sooner he can move out and the less stressed her father will be.

“I heard you’re good at art stuff.” 

Thrawn looks up from the mug. “Perhaps.” 

“I’m taking an art history course this semester and could use your help.” 

He arches an eyebrow, but she can see his eyes flicker with something like excitement. “What is the assignment?” 

“A wonderful question,” she opens her backpack and pulls out her questis, “I’ll show you.” 

~

When Da comes home, she and Thrawn are crowded around her questis as he explains to her the history of this ancient society based on a few lines painted on a cave wall. 

“But my teacher says that multiple heads just signifies the existence of mythical creatures in folklore,” she argues. 

Thrawn sighs. “Your teacher is either blind, a fool, or both. Look at the lighting on the painting.” 

She looks. The painting doesn’t seem to have a distinct light source; everything is either solidly shaded in or just line art. She says as much. 

Thrawn nods. “Very good, but look at the light source of the researcher.” 

She does. “It’s just a flat spotlight. Probably a camera flash.” 

“Precisely.” 

She glares at him. Whatever dots he has connected, she has not. “And?” she prompts. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

“Everything,” he answers and reaches for his tea. “Would this society have access to such technology?” 

She shakes her head. “No. They’d likely be using fire.” 

“Perhaps. And?” 

She chews her cheek and the puzzle finally clicks together. “The image would move in the fire light. This—this is the first example of animation! Of storytelling through painting!”

He nods. “So it would seem.” 

Da quietly puts away the groceries and Thunhe rushes over to help. “I can do that,” she says. 

“Are you done with your homework?” 

“Yeah, Thrawn was helping me interpret some cave paintings.” 

“I heard. Sounds like you’re off to a great start.” 

She opens a grocery sack and gasps. “Yapels. You do love me.” 

He smirks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, those are for me.” 

She rolls her eyes and tears open the bag, neglecting the final few bags of groceries as she shoves a handful of yapels in her mouth. “What do you want for dinner?” she asks as she chews. 

Da gives her a disapproving look. 

“What?” She swallows. “I finished my homework, and I thought I could treat you to dinner.” 

“If my cooking is that bad, you can just tell me, you know.” 

She rolls her eyes. Her dad is a surprisingly very good cook. He doesn’t have a wide variety of dishes in his repertoire, but the ones he does know are amazing. “Please,” she scoffs. “I’m trying to be nice. How about toasted cheese sandwiches, hm?” It’s the only thing she really knows how to make, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

He glances at Thrawn, who shrugs slightly at him. “The kitchen is yours,” Da announces. 

~

While she cooks, Thrawn returns to his room. Da sets up in his chair, squinting at the questis screen as he reads. She could dig at him, again, for his deteriorating eyesight, but she already knows his response. The exchange is old hat, but somehow comforting. It is odd, after having such a structured life for so long, how she finds comfort in the most mundane occurrences.  

Instead, she turns on the radio and chops up some vegetables for the soup she wants to go with the sandwiches. After a while a faint snore lumbers through the air and she looks into the living room. Da has fallen asleep, questis forgotten on his lap. 

Turning the radio down just a few clicks, she lets him rest. 

~

Dinner goes surprisingly well. Unlike her father, a chef she is not. So, she is pleased when her father remarks on the quality of the sandwich and Thrawn hums with delight at the first bite of soup. The quiet that stretches between the three of them is neither heavy nor awkward, either. It is simply filled with spoons clinging against bowls and the quiet symphony of contented sighs. 

When her bowl is wiped clean and her pants feel entirely too tight, she goes to clean the kitchen. Da stops her. “You cooked, we’ll clean.” 

Honestly, how could she argue with that? 

She flops onto her high top chair, questis in hand, and scrolls through the news headlines. The two men work in silence, and that draws her attention upward. When she works with Thrawn, she can’t help a few exasperated sighs, but these two move around each other like they can read the other’s mind. 

Thrawn still rinses and Da takes her position loading the sonic, but he slips effortlessly around Thrawn. Thrawn, in turn, adjusts, making room for him before he’s there. 

They continue like that, filling spaces the other has emptied and existing effortlessly around one another, until the dishes are finished. Neither of them comments on it and when they part for the evening, Thunhe is left wondering what they were like when they were younger. 

~

Da’s weeklong suspension, while caused by troublesome means, was a welcomed reprieve that eventually comes to an end. Thunhe practically mourns his return to work. 

“Hey,” he says as he pours himself a thermos of caf. His hair is still damp from his shower and he has yet to fasten the collar of his uniform. “At least we’re shoreside right now. That means I’ll be home for dinner.” 

She huffs and puts her chin in her hand. “I hate that they hate you, but can’t live without you.” 

He hisses when he spills a bit of caf on his finger. He sticks it in his mouth and wipes up the counter. “It’s called job security,” he says. “Besides, it's not like I've ever been anyone's favorite person.” 

“You’re my favorite person.” She beams. 

He only smirks in response and her stomach drops. Before, when they were both a decade younger, he had the most joyous laugh. Now, everytime he gives her that playful smirk, she can only think of the chuckle that used to exist in its stead. 

“I have to go.” He leans forward and kisses the top of her head. “Good luck on your math test.” 

“Give ‘em hell,” she tells him as he walks to the door. 

He casts a devilish grin over his shoulder and says, “Always do.” 

~

Thunhe is only a little surprised to see Thrawn making tea when she comes home from school. He is usually up before she is, but she hadn’t seen him this morning, and she had expected him to remain asleep for the majority of the day. “Good to see you up,” she says briskly as she tosses her backpack on the floor underneath her high top chair. “Eli had to go into work.” 

Thrawn nods and clears his throat slightly. “How did your art project go?” 

“Oh, uh, I don’t know. It’s a semester-long project. We have to use one of our units to discuss how that art period has impacted modern culture. I’ve decided to write about how early art animation has influenced storytelling and therefore written language.”

“A fascinating subject.” 

She shrugs. “I’m not sure how well my teacher will like it; he only likes hearing his own opinions echoed back to him, but I’m excited for the work.” She accepts the proffered cup of tea. “Thank you.” 

He nods again. 

She never knows what to talk about with Thrawn and the silence that frequently falls over them makes her want to crawl out of her skin. “Eli said he’d be home for dinner. I don’t know if that means an early or late dinner, but…” she trails off. She doesn’t like holding one-sided conversations. 

“You call him Eli. Why?” 

She recoils. “Because that’s his name.” 

“I had assumed that, as your guardian, he would have earned the appropriate… title.” He settles on the last word as if he had to give it a great deal of thought. 

She glares at him and barely keeps her venomous retort under lock and key. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “Eli’s position is precarious enough as it is. For all the work he does, he should be a flag officer, but he isn’t. The Ascendancy is changing, sure, but they still are so averse to what is different that they choose to punish people for being what they are instead of what they are expected to be. Eli has never tried to conform to their standards and it’s a good thing he hasn’t because he’s making a difference.” She pauses, letting him absorb her words—letting him know what he is also jeopardizing, should he make the wrong move. “When I lost my Sight, I wanted to join Eli’s family and couldn’t because to the Ascendancy, he is no one. He is a meaningless number on a spreadsheet. I only have the privilege of staying with him because of Thalias. Referring to him by anything other than his name or rank in the wrong company could have dire consequences.” 

Thrawn seems genuinely concerned when he asks, “How so?” 

She folds her arms over her chest. “Well, they almost exiled him when I chose his family over any of the ruling ones. I was the best, most prized navigator in the entire fleet, and I picked a Human over my kin. If I weren’t such a trophy, I’m sure I would have been ostracized as much as him.” 

Thrawn’s eyebrows furrow. 

“So, now, I’m a Mitth. Thalias adopted me and granted contingent guardianship to Eli—meaning most of the time I stay with her, but I can stay with him when he’s here.” 

Thrawn runs his fingers over the flower border painted on the rim of his mug. “Vanto is a good man,” he says. It makes her pause. He says his name like her Da does, soft and almost a purr of consonants. 

“He is,” she agrees. “He deserves more than he’s given.” 

Thrawn hums in grave agreement. 

~

A few nights later, a soft knock resounds on her door before opening. She twists around in her desk chair to see her dad enter. The collar of his uniform tunic is undone and he looks dead on his feet. “Hey, Bun’hee,” he says softly. 

“You have to go,” she says because she knows her dad as well as she knows all the star charts of the Chaos. 

He sits on her bed and scrubs his face. “I tried to tell them that I couldn’t, not right now, but the Grysks are pushing our outer front. I’ve been analyzing battle strategies the past couple days…” 

“But they need you,” she finishes for him, trying not to let her disappointment color her tone. 

He nods. “I called Thalias. She said she’ll have your room ready in a few hours if you want to go there. She also suggested that she could take Thrawn if you want to have the apartment to yourself. The choice is yours.” 

Thunhe loves staying with Thalias, but she has her own mission to consider. “We can’t both stay here?” 

“You can,” he says hesitantly. 

She prepares to make her case. “He’s already established here,” she begins. “He’s sick and it would be harder to move him back and forth when he can just stay here. As for myself, the train ride to school is shorter from here.” 

“By ten minutes.” 

“That’s ten more minutes of beauty sleep, thank you.” 

He shakes his head. “At any point, you can change your mind. Thalias is just a call away. Okay?” 

“Da, we’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Would you like a list by statistical probability or alphabetically?” 

~

The first night that her dad is gone, she wakes up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath. 

She forces herself to take a deep breath. Instead of the pungent odor of a Grysk prison cell, she smells the faint scent of laundry detergent. 

Instead of a cell floor beneath her, she feels the plush give of her mattress, the soft fabric of her sheets. 

The quiet hum of the heater is not the same as a ship idling in space. 

Slumping forward, she lets out a heavy exhale. There will be no returning to sleep now. She slips from bed and shuffles into the hall. Typically, she finds Da still working in his office when she wakes from a nightmare. This time, she finds Thrawn at the breakfast bar, cup of tea in hand. 

“Couldn’t sleep, either?” she asks. 

He shakes his head. He moves to slip off the barstool. “I can—” 

“No,” she grunts and rubs sleep from her eyes. “Stay. I don’t think either of us want to be alone right now.” 

He says nothing and that is enough proof on its own. “Nightmare?” she asks. 

He nods and takes a drag of his tea. 

“Same,” she murmurs. 

“What do you dream about?” he rasps. 

She shrugs. “This time? Of being imprisoned. I don’t really remember much, but it comes to me in flashes. Sometimes I dream of failing as a navigator, even though I’m not one anymore. What about you?” 

“Failure,” he murmurs. “Suffocation.” She can see in the way that he is gripping his mug that he is still prying off the claws of his nightmare. 

She reaches out and puts a gentle hand on his shoulder—like what Da does for her. It helps ground her in the present. “Sometimes it helps me to count all the things around me in the present.”

“I see.” 

She arches an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn’t. “Count three things you can see right now.” 

He licks his lips. “The chilling unit, your coursework, and the dish drying rack.” 

 “Okay, now two things you can feel.” 

This one takes him longer. “My clothes, your hand on my shoulder.” 

“And something you can hear?” 

“Your voice.” 

“Good. Then just keep counting until you’re here and not there.” 

“Are your dreams worse when he is gone?” Thrawn asks, sounding younger and smaller than someone of his age and size has any right to sound. 

“Yes,” she answers simply. 

He nods and takes a drink of his tea. 

She wonders if his dreams worsen with her father's absence as well. 

~

Thunhe is elbow deep in her coursework when she smells smoke and subsequently hears the fire alarm go off. She leaps from her desk chair and charges into the kitchen. Thrawn has lifted a plate to the smoke detector and is fanning it vigorously. 

“What in the Chaos are you doing?” she bawks, waving the smoke from her face. 

“Right now, I am endeavoring to silence this smoke detector. But the actions leading up to this were that of… dinner acquisition.” 

She looks at the pan of charred… something. “Did you forget about it?” she asks incredulously. 

He doesn’t answer her. Typical. 

She marches up to him. “Give me that plate before you hurt yourself,” she demands, using her best Senior Captain Ivant voice. 

To her surprise, he listens. 

“Get to work scrubbing that pan before it fossilizes,” she continues as she stomps over to the day room windows and throws them open. Naporar isn’t terribly chilly, but she welcomes the crisp clean air. She turns on her heel—a perfect military about-face, if she may say so—and pulls up a chair under the smoke detector. She continues Thrawn’s efforts to silent the wailing alarm. 

It is only when the apartment falls back into its usual state of strained tranquility that she speaks. “ Why were you trying to cook?” 

He looks a little bashful as he finishes rinsing the pan. “You were studying.” 

“And you couldn’t wait for me to be done to eat?” 

He sighs and sets the pan in the drying rack. “You did not eat when you came from school.” 

“And?” She puts her hands on her hips. If he doesn’t just come out and explain his logic, she’s going to go to jail for murdering someone for almost burning down their apartment. 

“I thought you might have been hungry and were simply too busy to eat… Vanto shares a similar habit.” 

“Oh.” She regards the situation with new light. Her dad does have a terrible habit of not taking care of himself when he is on the cusp of a breakthrough. The fact that Thrawn also noticed this lessens her guard, just a little. “Well, I certainly hope you never cooked for him.” 

Thrawn snorts and it can almost be characterized as a laugh by his solemn standard of existence. “No. My entire life has been spent in the military; I would retrieve rations from the mess hall and make him take a break.” 

“So, you don’t know how to cook?” 

“In theory, it should be a rather learnable skill.” 

She rolls her eyes. The man is incapable of giving a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer. “Okay, well how about this. We’ll learn to cook together. In exchange, you tell me stories about Eli from when he was younger.” 

Thrawn ponders it for a moment. “Why do you want to know stories about him? Surely, he has told you all of the important details of his life.” 

“Maybe, but stories say a lot about what people choose to remember.” 

He is quiet for a long stretch. “Who told you that?” 

“Eli.” 

Thrawn nods. “Tonight, we will order something of your choosing for dinner and in exchange for your help.” He motions around the kitchen. “I will tell you one story, though you have my apologies. Vanto’s ability to tell stories highly surpasses my own.” 

“No one can top an Eli Vanto story.” 

He hums in agreement. 

~

That night, Thunhe sits cross-legged on the couch, peering over her takeout container of noodles and willing Thrawn to begin his tale. 

“Has Eli told you about the time he jumped into a fight to save me?” 

“Which one? I’ve heard there were several fights and shootouts.” 

The edge of Thrawn’s lips curl up in a smile. “The one from our time in the Academy.” 

She shakes her head. “No. He hasn’t.” 

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “He was younger then. Perhaps nineteen or twenty and his distaste for me was… not unknown. I displaced him from his position as a supply officer to serve as my translator. At the time, I had made the decision because I thought he was a spy, but I do not regret it in hindsight.

“After putting him in the first of many precarious situations, I told myself that I would protect him if anything were to happen. I remembered being as young and hopeful as he, and he did not need to be another victim of my actions. 

“We were walking back to our dormitory and I knew we were being followed. When our assailants had finally reached us, I shoved him over a hedge. I didn’t think he would intervene. I thought he hated me. But he did and for that I am grateful.” 

She leans back. “That’s it?” 

He arches an eyebrow. 

She groans. “That sounds like an after action report, how did you feel? What did he say?” 

Thrawn takes a bite of his noodles to mull over. “I felt… safe. To have one ally in a room full of enemies is to have a weapon unknown to others.” 

“You seriously didn’t think he’d help? Eli helps everyone .” 

Thrawn stirs his dinner and whispers, “I ruined his life.” 

“You should ask him sometime, but I think he’s pretty happy.” 

“Perhaps,” Thrawn says. 

They do not speak for the rest of dinner. Thunhe watches Thrawn, how he hunches over his food, how his eyes are flatter, how his mouth is drawn in a hard line. She tries to imagine him as he was when she was a child—younger, but not young, and confident—and what his friendship would have looked like with Da. 

Her opinion of Thrawn had always been that he had used her father as a piece in his little game of deception, but she wonders if Thrawn truly needed him. The next thought after is if her Da ever needed Thrawn. 

She can’t imagine it. 

~

Days pass in familiar monotony. Thunhe shows Thrawn how to make toasted cheese sandwiches and they have variations of that and soup for a few days. He catches on quickly, remarking how cooking on a stove top is different to an open flame, but the concept is fairly the same. 

If her homework is finished, she treats him to a strategy game. She and Da play it on occasion, but he always lets her win. Thrawn is not as merciful. 

Thunhe slouches back in her chair, waiting for him to make a move. “Come on, just kill me, I know you can.” 

He shakes his head. “Surrender is not an admirable form of defeat.” 

She huffs and leans forward. “Yeah, but drawing out my suffering has to violate some wartime convention somewhere.” 

Thrawn rattles off the name of the convention under his breath and moves a tile forward. 

He doesn’t end her suffering. 

She’s about to swear—which would no doubt earn her an admonishment from her dad—when the lock of the door clicks. They both look up from the board. The door whirls open, revealing one Senior Captain Ivant, duffle slung over his shoulder. 

Thunhe gasps and flies out of her chair. Her dad catches her easily, dropping his duffle to better hold her in one, fluid motion. “You’re back,” she whimpers into his shoulder. 

He squeezes her tighter and she breathes in his familiar scent—EDF standard soap and something she just knows as safety. “Have you been managing okay?” he asks as he loosens his hold. 

“Yeah, Thrawn was just torturing me with a game of War.” 

“ You asked me to play,” Thrawn states dryly from behind them. She steps aside to glare at him and stops in her tracks. Thrawn’s flat, dull eyes are glistening and his lips are twisted ever so slightly upward. She looks to her dad, he is almost grinning, his eyes equally as bright. 

“Let’s see how bad the damage is,” Da says and moves towards the board. He tuts. “He’s got you in dire straits, but you can still win.” 

“Wait, really?” She jumps towards the board, examining the black and white tiles. 

“May I?” Da asks, motioning to her board. 

She nods and watches as he places a black square on the board. 

Thrawn leans forward. “An interesting move.” He considers the board for a few moments and then looks up. “I trust the campaign was a success?” 

Da nods. “Wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t. You going to make a move or try and distract me with small talk?” 

Thrawn smirks. “I doubt you could be so easily diverted.” 

Thunhe’s gaze bounces between the two of them—how their eyes are locked on one another’s and how they both look hungry for victory. 

“You could start the game over,” Thunhe suggests. 

“This is part of the challenge,” Da says, slipping into the spot she had occupied and undoing his collar. “Besides, everyone loves an underdog.” 

Thunhe wishes she could say watching them play was interesting, but it isn’t. They’re slow to make their moves and eventually she tires of not following their logic. When she leaves, she thinks she sees their feet brush under the table. 

~

It is nice to see her dad away from his questis. In the days since his return home, he has been more focused on them and their nightly activities. She hates to think that it is probably because his deployment was a closer call than he is letting on. Even so, she is bound and determined to let him relax for his stay, no matter how long it is, which is how she manages to cook dinner again. 

Though she tries a new recipe, her meal is a success. It is a simple meat sauce poured over noodles, but everyone is content. When everyone’s plates are empty and their bellies full, Thrawn and Da set up to do the dishes. Thunhe moves over to the couch and scrolls through her questis, reading the celebrity headlines. She can’t quite make out what they're saying, if they're even speaking Cheunh, but all of the sudden Da laughs. 

Deep and joyous with a small hiccup as he gasps for breath, he laughs. Thunhe sits up and looks at him. “What’s so funny?” she asks. 

Da waves his hand, trying to catch his breath and Thrawn looks—

If she didn’t know any better, she would say that Thrawn looks happy. 

~

Thunhe cherishes the arrival of the weekend. Though she does not have to go to class, Da has to run to the ship depot to go over repairs and discuss the EDF’s next action. So, bright and early, he leaves and sometime later, Thunhe shuffles into the day room. 

Thrawn is resting on the couch with a heat pad over his stomach. 

“You good?” she asks. 

He nods. “I have taken the appropriate pain medication and am waiting for the cramp to release.” 

She nods and grabs a bag of cereal from the kitchen before curling up in her dad’s chair. She reaches into the bag and shoves a handful in her mouth which earns a disgusted look from Thrawn. “What?” she shoots at him. 

“The proper way to eat that is with a spoon and milk.” 

“Just because it’s proper, doesn’t mean it’s right .” 

He arches an eyebrow at her. 

“Milk washes away all the sugar crystals. It’s so much better to eat it like this.” 

Thrawn grunts. “I will take your word for it.” 

“You’re just bitter because you didn’t think of it yourself.” 

He says nothing. 

She takes a few more bites, making sure to chew as loud as possible just to irritate him and says, “You know, if you’re feeling up to it today, we should do something nice for Eli.” 

He says nothing to that either—he must be in a fair amount of pain, normally when she mentions her dad he has some form of comment. 

“He doesn’t get a lot of home cooked meals and I found a spiced cake recipe from Lesser Space. We should try it.” 

“I know the cake you are talking about,” he says. 

He offers nothing else and she sighs, throwing another handful of cereal in her mouth. “So will you help?” 

“If you chew with your mouth shut, I will do whatever you need.” 

She scoffs. “If you wanted to be alone, you should have gone to your room.” 

He sighs. “Your company is not bothersome, the sound of your mastication is .” 

She laughs. “You’re a real peach when you’re in pain. I hope you know that.” 

“It has been brought to my attention before, yes.” 

“Wait, has Eli been the one to tell you to stop whining before? You owe me a story for the last cooking lesson.” 

“It was…” he grimaces, “hardly a lesson.” 

She waves a hand dismissively. “Tell me, what happened?” 

He lays there for a moment, with his eyes closed, and she is about to accuse him avoiding the question when he finally speaks, “I contracted a flu once in my time with the Empire. Luckily, Eli was still my aide. He took care of me and informed me that… I make for a difficult patient.” 

She laughs. “What did he say?” 

“His exact words escape me.” 

“They do not.” 

He is silent. “He referred to me as a ‘big, blue, pain in his ass’.” 

She guffaws. “I’m gonna put that on a shirt for you.” 

“I would never wear it.” 

“Because you are absolutely no fun.” 

“As you similarly stated by calling me a… ‘peach’.” 

She laughs again and stands. “I’m going to shower and let you rest, come get me when you’re ready to bake.” 

~ 

Four hours later, Thrawn softly knocks on her door and informs her that if she is still willing to bake, he is still willing to help. She gathers all of their ingredients and lays them out on the counter. 

“You are missing nutmeg ,” Thrawn states, consulting the questis. The recipe she found is in Basic and with Thrawn’s help, they were able to translate the ones she didn’t know… which was most of them. Her knowledge of Basic is pretty robust, considering who her father is, but knowing conversational Basic and being able to read a recipe are two completely different things. 

“I don’t know what that is.” 

“A common spice in Lesser Space,” he says. 

“Do you think we’ll be okay without it?” 

He shrugs. “The measurement is small. Perhaps if we use more of the others its absence will be less noticeable.” 

“I like the way you think.” 

Mixing together the batter is easy enough. They follow the instructions, converting the measurements as they go, until they get to the part with the chopped nuts. 

Thrawn reads the Basic aloud—she catches most of it—and reads it again, emphasizing one of the words. 

“What?” she asks. 

“The instructions say to fold .” 

“And?” she asks. 

“A semi-liquid cannot perform such an action.”

“Sweet Chaos, just give me the spoon.” She snatches the spoon from his grip. 

Behind them, she hears a snort and they whip around to see Da leaning against the doorway to the kitchen. “What are y’all making?” 

“It’s a surprise,” Thunhe blurts before Thrawn can reveal their secret. 

He arches an eyebrow. “Okay. I’m gonna run through the shower. Don’t burn the apartment down.” 

Thunhe grins. “No promises.” 

~

They both stand at the counter, waiting with bated breath. Da sits at not-her-spot at the breakfast bar, plate held in one hand, fork held in the other. “Stop staring,” he says, though she can tell he is fighting back a smile. “It’s making me nervous.” 

“If you’d hurry up and take a bite, we’d quit staring.” 

Rolling his eyes, he takes a bite and she swears that both she and Thrawn hold their breath. Da moans. “This is so good.” 

“Really?” 

He nods. “My mom used to make something like this.” 

Thunhe leans closer. “Tell me about her?” 

He shrugs. “There isn’t much to tell, really. She loved to sew and bake. She was a good mom, she just didn’t agree with my choices.” 

Beside her, Thrawn curls in on himself. 

“Why not?” she asks. 

Da’s gaze flickers to Thrawn and he answers, “I decided a humble life in supply wasn’t for me. They disagreed.” 

“What?” she teases. “Do you like the infamy of command?” 

He smirks. “Something like that.” 

“Excuse me,” Thrawn says quietly and goes to his room. 

Da watches him go and takes another bite of the cake. 

“What’s wrong with him?” 

Da hums as he chews. “Have you tried the cake? It’s really good.” 

She accepts that for what it is. He knows what’s bothering Thrawn and after a few moments of her own pondering over cake, she remembers what he once said over dinner. He blames himself for ruining Da’s life. Da clearly doesn’t feel the same way, or if he does he isn’t going to comment upon it. But if she had to bet, she’d say that he doesn’t. 

~

“I’ll stay here with him,” Thunhe says in response to her dad telling her he has to leave for Csilla tonight. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. 

She nods. “Yeah. I mean, we survived just fine when you were gone last time.” She shrugs, not knowing what else to say. 

He gives her a weak smile. “I’m sorry.” 

She puffs up, giving him a look of confidence, or what she hopes looks like confidence. “I have everything under control, don’t worry.” 

He reaches over and messes her hair. “I have absolutely no doubt of that.” 

“Can I ask you something before you go, though?” 

He nods. “Anything.” 

“Can I have a hug?” 

His gaze softens and he pulls her closer. “You never have to ask for that,” he murmurs to the crown of her head. “I’m so proud of you, you know that?” 

She nods, the coarse fabric of his uniform comforting in its own way. “I know.” She lets him hold her for a few more seconds before she pulls away. “What does Thrawn like to do? I feel like I’m always irritating him.” 

“If you were irritating him, he’d just ignore you.” He rubs his hands up and down her shoulders and arms. “He said he really likes cooking with you, so maybe keep doing that?” 

“You do know that the payment for that is he has to tell me a story about you right?” 

Da guffaws. “I’m sure he’s told some winners.” 

“He told me about the time you guys ran from a wild viper and you suggest you jump in a river even though you’re not a great swimmer.” 

Da blushes a little and puts his hand on the back of his neck. “It was a good idea at the time. Hindsight is always better and all that.” 

“Don’t worry about us, Da. I’ll keep him in line.” 

He smirks. “I’ll always worry about you, Bun’hee.”

~

Da has been gone for three days and she wishes she didn’t notice his absence, but she does. Thrawn looks dimmer, paler, with him gone and she feels just as lackluster. Setting the table for two feels awkward, so they don’t after the first night. The second night they are both far too tired to cook after having been up the night prior with nightmares and order take out. 

Tonight, she decides to cook. “So what story are you going to tell me tonight?” she asks as she pulls out all the ingredients. 

Thrawn rises slowly from the couch and shuffles into the kitchen. “What kind of story would you like to hear?” 

“One where Eli was awesome.” 

“Then let me tell you of the time he went undercover as a pirate, Horatio Figg.” By now, she is somewhat familiar with the term Nightswan, but hearing this tale just reaffirms that her dad is possibly the coolest person in all of the Chaos. 

When he finishes, he leans heavily against the counter. She hasn’t missed that he hasn’t bothered to help with anything. “Thunhe, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m not feeling well tonight.” 

“That’s okay,” she reassures, worry tightening her gut. “I can bring you dinner in bed.” 

He shakes his head. “I will be awake again in a few hours; I will eat then. Thank you.” 

She nods and watches him as he goes, a little more hunched than normal. 

~

Thrawn peers at Thunhe’s questis. The end of the semester is rapidly approaching and it is finally time to turn in her term paper for her art history class. She genuinely enjoyed working on it and can’t wait to see Thrawn’s reaction. 

He hands her back the device. “Very well done. I see no flaw in any of your arguments and your paper structure is strong and convincing.” 

“Yeah?” she prompts, taking the questis and scrolling through a few pages just to relish in the uniform font and perfectly spaced paragraphs. 

“Indeed,” he says, but the word comes out like he has been punched. 

“Hey, are you alright?” 

His face is pinched in pain and his mouth is flattened into a thin, hard line. 

“I can call the doctor—” 

“It is just a cramp,” he grits out. 

“I’ll get you a heat pad.” She jumps off the couch and into the bathroom where they keep the med kit. She grabs the heating pad and gives it a few hard shakes to start the chemical reaction that warms it. “Lay down,” she says softly and the fact that he listens means he is in more pain than he is letting on. 

“I’m fine,” he says around short, measured breaths. “Do not burden yourself—”

“Stop that talk right now,” she orders and his jaw clenches shut. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t. Eli trusted your care with me so shut up and listen. I’m going to fetch some pain tabs and you’re going to take them. Copy?” 

He nods.

She dashes away again and, upon her return, hands him the pain tabs and a glass of water. He accepts gratefully. She hovers nearby, debating whether or not she should call the doctor anyway. 

“You sound like him,” Thrawn mumbles after a second. 

“What?” 

“Like Eli, you sound like him. When he gets angry, his accent…” he trails off with a wince. 

“It thickens like smog in the shipyard on deployment day.” 

He nods. 

“For the record, there is nothing wrong with either of our accents,” she says, a little defensive. 

He shakes his head. “No. There isn’t.” 

~

Thunhe comes home from school and finds Thrawn sprawled across the couch with a heat pad on his abdomen. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

He nods. 

“Do you need more pain tabs?” 

He shakes his head. 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go to my room and work so I can use my extra screens. Holler if you need anything.” 

He nods and she turns and leaves. 

Her final exams are rapidly approaching and she feels woefully unprepared. Last year when Da had been injured, he was home for almost the whole semester. It is because of his guidance that she was placed in a higher math class and every day she regrets the extra hours spent working with him on equations. 

She can’t do this on her own. 

The final for her math class is a several-paged document with countless problems. It is open book, but even with her notes, she has no hope of completing this many problems in the allotted amount of time. She finishes the first problem, then the second, and her brain is already starting to hurt—

A crash from the day room pulls her from her thoughts. 

She pushes out of her chair and rushes out into the living room. Thrawn is sprawled out on his back on the floor. Her heart races and she feels a familiar song of adrenaline singing through her veins. She slides in beside him on her knees. “Thrawn! Are you alright?” 

His breathing is shallow and his eyes are dull and glazed. Ever so slightly, he shakes his head. 

She scrambles for her comm and calls the emergency line. She speaks tersely with the operator—her voice surprisingly steady—and squeezes Thrawn’s shoulder. “Stay with me,” she pleads. “Just hang on. Everything will be alright."

~

Thunhe hates medbays. It reminds her too much of all the terrible times in her life. When she was rescued from the Grysks, and each time after that her dad was injured in the line of duty. There is nothing worse than sitting aside and being told to wait while someone’s life hangs in the balance. 

She bounces her leg and tries to focus on her questis screen. She called and left a message with Thalias’ secretary—apparently the woman herself was also on Csilla, listening to Da’s presentation on Sky-walker data. So she called and left a message on Da’s line and then called and spoke to his first officer. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to do that, but Lakoih said he’d carry the message as soon as he saw the captain. 

If he saw the captain. 

She looks up from the numbers and tries to blink back the tears. It’s been hours since they took Thrawn back. No one will tell her anything and with all of her guardians off world—

“Thunhe.” 

Her gaze snaps to the doorway of the waiting room, to her Da, dressed in white and his eyes wide with concern. 

Tears well up and spill over as she stands. “Daddy,” she hiccups. 

In an instant, she is smashed against his chest, his strong arms enveloping her. “Are you okay? I came as soon as I could.” 

She nods. “I’m okay. The doctors said something about ruptured organs, but no one will—will say anything else.”

He holds her tighter. “I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.” 

She pulls back. “He was in so much pain. I—I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“You did the right thing,” he says, using his Senior Captain—

“You’re wearing white,” she mutters, looking at his uniform. 

He smiles. “I guess one good thing came out of being called to Csilla. I was going to call.” 

“You’ve been promoted?” 

He nods. “Commodore.” 

She throws her arms around him again. “Congratulations!” 

He catches with her ease. “From what it sounds, he’s going to be in surgery for a while. How about we go hunt down some food and caf and then I’ll find a doctor to speak to.” 

She nods. “Can you help me with my math final?” 

“We can do that too.” He holds out his hand and she gladly intertwines her small blue fingers with his larger, brown ones. “Let’s go.” 

~

When a commodore speaks, people listen—even if that commodore is an Alien, Thunhe and her dad learn. Clad in white and on a warpath, Da demanded answers and everyone had been more than willing to answer or find them. 

Which is how they find out the prognosis is not good. They’re working to replace all of the ruptured organs with prostheses, but it will take time and the recovery will be hard. Da demands to know why prostheses weren’t considered in the first place, and the answer is simple, but not good enough. 

Internal prostheses are only used as a last resort. 

Now Thrawn is practically septic, fighting for his life and being pieced back together. Even the distraction of her math final had not eased the tension in her dad's shoulders. They sit in the waiting room, her curled up at her father’s side and him leaning forward, watching the news scroll by on a wall-mounted screen. 

“I can take you home,” he says when her eyes start to droop. 

“No. I’m staying here with you.” 

He sighs. “I’m so sorry, Thunhe. I never should have agreed to take him in.” 

“Why did you?” 

She feels him take another deep breath more than she hears him. “I don’t know.” 

She sits up to look at him. “Yes, you do. You just don’t want to tell me.” 

He shakes his head. “I was just being selfish, that’s all.” 

“How were you being selfish by helping a friend?” she asks him. 

He doesn’t answer her, not because he doesn’t have one, but because he doesn’t want her to know what it is and that is the biggest clue.

“You love him,” she all but gasps. 

He straightens and looks at her. “Of course I do, he was my closest friend for ten years.” 

“No. You love him, love him.” 

His eyes sadden and he looks down at his clasped hands when he says, “Yes.” 

It all makes sense. The casual touches, the laughing, the way Thrawn seems to glow when he’s around. 

They aren’t just friends. 

They are in love with each other. 

Butterflies swoop in her stomach. It’s like one of those dramatic love films, where the two lovers are bound by duty and honor and face countless obstacles only to come together in the end. 

“But it doesn’t matter,” he says, drawing her from her thoughts.

“Why not?” 

“He doesn’t feel the same way.” 

She stares at him, mouth agape. “He doesn’t—Da, have you ever bothered to ask?” She manages to say instead of asking him if he is any variation of blind, stupid, or otherwise oblivious . 

“No.” 

“Then you don’t know how he feels, but I will tell you something. He practically glows every time he sees you or hears anything about you. Someone who feels nothing for the other wouldn’t react like that.” 

He says nothing, but she is used to this now. Thrawn frequently has no response to her, either. 

“Da, you’re the bravest man I know. Telling him will only take a fraction of courage you display on the bridge.” 

“I’ve lost him twice now,” he says after a moment. “I don’t think I can do it again.” 

“Who says you’ll lose?” she whispers. 

“I’m not willing to take the risk,” he says with finality. “Not with odds against me.” 

She can’t think of a single thing that is against him, but she can sense he is done discussing the topic. 

~

Thrawn gets out of surgery at a time of day where it is wholly unacceptable to be awake. Thunhe is dead on her feet and her dad isn’t looking much better when they shuffle from the surgery ward to the recovery ward waiting room. At least the recovery ward has long bench seats for her to sprawl across. She falls asleep with her head pillowed on her dad’s lap and wakes sometime later to the low rumble of his voice. 

“Thank you,” he says. “We’ll find our way there.” 

Thunhe forces herself to sit up and wipes the drool from the side of her face. Neither of them comment on the wet spot she left behind on her dad’s pants. “What’s going on?” 

“Thrawn’s been moved to his own room. The most dangerous part is over.” He sighs a breath of relief and slumps forward, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“Have you slept at all?” she asks him. 

“I think I dozed off for a few.” He stands and offers his hand. “Let’s go find his room and then I can take you home.” 

She shakes her head. “No. I’m staying with you.” She stands. “Don’t offer again, the answer will still be ‘no’.” 

He smirks and she can see the small flicker of pride dance in his umber eyes. 

~

The nurses in the recovery ward are too kind, Thunhe decides. When she and her dad arrived at o’dark thirty, they had given them blankets out of the warmer and practically tucked them in. One even gave Thunhe her personal questis charger when she had overheard Thunhe make a comment about hers being dead. 

When they wake, Thrawn is still asleep and Da decides to go hunt down some breakfast and caf for them. She knows the caf is mostly for himself—she’d hate to see what would happen if he had to actually go a day without any.

While she waits, Thunhe submits her math exam and explains to her teacher she will be unable to make it to class due to a family emergency. Normally, she would feel bad for writing such an email, but this time it’s the truth. 

Thrawn is a Mitth and so is she. 

She sends the message and from beside her she hears a slight groan. She sits up and puts her questis to the side. “Hey, are you okay? Do I need to call the nurse?” 

Thrawn blinks once and then twice, his gaze falling to focus on her. “I am alright,” he rasps. 

“Good, that’s good.” She takes up his hand, careful not to bother the IV taped to the back of his hand. “Da went to get caf and food. He should be back in a minute.” 

“I thought he was on Csilla,” he croaks. 

“He came back when I called. Zivahn finished his presentation for him.” 

“He did not have to do that.” 

She rolls his eyes. “Da would do anything for you, you know that.” 

He blinks. No, she realizes, he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that Da loves him, doesn’t know Da feels the same way. 

“I am sorry my presence has been so burdensome,” he says. “I will endeavor to heal as fast as possible.” 

She shakes her head. “You can’t make your body recover from surgery faster. Just take your time.” 

Thrawn’s gaze snaps to the door and she turns to look as well. Da is standing in the entryway, holding two cups of caf. Thunhe glances back at Thrawn and the air is nearly kicked out of her lungs. How can her dad not see it? Right there, in the soft glittering of his eyes, she can see how much he loves him. 

Da steps further into the room and Thrawn tracks his movements like he is scared to take his eyes from him. “You have been promoted,” Thrawn says when Da hands her the cup of caf. 

He nods. “They promoted me on Csilla for all the work I’ve done with the Navigators. How are you feeling?” 

Thrawn swallows. “Fine.” 

“I’ll go tell the nurses he’s awake,” Thunhe offers. 

Da nods, but he doesn’t pull his eyes from Thrawn, either. He sits by Thrawn’s bed as Thunhe takes her leave. When she glances over her shoulder, Da has rested his hand on Thrawn’s bed and Thrawn has rested his long fingers over top. 

Thunhe takes her time getting to the nurse’s station. 

~

When Thrawn is discharged from the medbay, he is still largely bedridden. Thunhe sits with him for most of the day as Da irons out his request for leave. He had submitted it the day Thrawn went in for emergency surgery, but the admiralty has been slow to grant it. Da has gone to central command to let them know that his request is a courtesy, not actually a request. 

“You have completed your semester, correct?” Thrawn asks on his second day at home as Thunhe sets a water pitcher on the bedside table. 

“Yeah,” she says and sits in the chair she has pulled beside the double-wide bed. Thrawn lays in the middle and their game of War rests on the side. 

“How did you do on your art project?” 

She chews her lip. “I passed.” 

Thrawn hears the words unsaid. “With what mark?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“With what mark?” he repeats with a little more force. 

She sighs. “A sixty out of one hundred.” 

Thrawn clenches his jaw. “There was nothing wrong with your argument. Your essay was flawless.” 

She shrugs. “He docked me points because he wanted me to focus on the picture itself and how the animals painted carried stories, not how the way the art was done contributed to modern day communication. It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like people who don’t agree with him and he’s an Irizi. I was never going to pass unless I vomited his lecture back to him with citations to boost his ego.” 

“That teacher should be removed and your grade should be restored to the mark you deserve.” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

He glowers. “I will speak to Thalias.” 

“Thrawn, it’s really not a big deal. I passed the class and next year is my final year of secondary school. I could really care less. Just… focus on feeling better.” 

He sighs, though not as deeply as usual due to the incision running from his collarbone to his hip bone, and looks at the board. He moves a tile and says, “Your move.” 

~

Thrawn heals quickly and with his timely recovery comes his reinstatement into the EDF. He still holds the rank of Senior Captain and she stands proudly in the crowd as her Da pins the rank to his collar. The ceremony is brief, but grand. A public apology is issued and Thrawn is once again given command of a ship. 

Then comes the reception. 

Da works the crowd like he usually does, but Thunhe lingers in the periphery. Large gatherings still set her on edge and without her Sight it just makes her more nervous. Thrawn sidles up to her after hour number two of Da effortlessly mingling and her wishing she was old enough to partake in the bar. 

“Well, Senior Captain, looks like everyone is happy to have you back,” she says to him and takes a drink of her punch. Her shoes are pinching her toes and she tries to ignore it. 

“So it would seem.” 

“Are you not excited?” she asks. 

He hums noncommittally. “I will do as the Ascendancy asks of me.” She doesn’t miss how he watches Da float through the crowd. 

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks. 

He arches an eyebrow. 

“When was the last time you did something you wanted?” 

He opens his mouth to answer and shuts it. He turns to look back at the crowd. 

“You know, it’s not so bad to be selfish every once in a while.” 

“I believe our conversation has shifted from the command of my ship,” he says carefully. 

“Has it?” 

He turns and looks at her. “If you have something you would like to say, please do so.” 

She returns his hard glare. “I’m tired of watching you dance around my da. Either cook or get out of the kitchen.” 

He scoffs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You love him.” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“You might be surprised about what he says if you tell him.” 

“You’ll have to excuse me,” he says rather abruptly and stalks off. 

Da catches his movement and looks to her. 

She shrugs. If they want to make it work, they’ll figure it out. They’re supposed to be the smartest men in the Ascendancy and it’s high time they start acting like it. 

~

Wearing his EDF uniform, Thrawn packs up his meager belongings and Thunhe glares at him as he does. Originally, when he had first moved in, she had sworn she would do anything to get him to leave. 

Now, she would do anything to get him to stay. 

“What are you doing?” she asks. 

“Packing,” he answers. 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but why?” 

“Because my time here has come to an end.” 

“Are you going to your ship?” 

“No. I am to review my assigned quarters on base.” 

“Why would you want to live on base? The barracks don’t even have kitchens.” 

He is silent for a long stretch. “It is for the best.” 

She groans and stomps to her dad’s room. She barges in without knocking. “Thrawn is packing,” she states. 

He doesn’t look up from his questis screen. “I know.” 

“ Why is he packing?” 

“It’s what he wants.” 

“Did you even try asking him to stay?” 

He looks up at her. “Why would I?’ 

“Because you love him?” she nearly shouts. “Because this is his home, too?!” 

Da opens his mouth. “I thought you wanted him to go.” 

“I wanted you to be happy!” she cries. “I thought you were overworked and I thought if the sooner he got better, the sooner he could leave and the sooner you would have less things to worry about. I never—” Emotion constricts her throat. “Fix this,” she pleads. 

“This is what he wants, Thune. I—” he looks away. “I’m sorry.” 

Like hell it is. She marches back to Thrawn’s room. 

“Stay,” she orders him. 

He looks up from his bag. 

“Stay,” she repeats. “Stay because this is your home, because you’re my family. Stay because Da loves you but he won’t say anything.” 

“What did you say?” he asks. 

“That this is your home.” 

“After that.” 

“Da loves you. I love you. Stay. Please.” 

He abandons his bag and, brushing past her, goes into the day room. Da is charging out of his bedroom as well and they meet in the middle. 

“Your daughter has offered for me to extend my stay,” Thrawn states. “Is this something you also desire?”

“Yes,” Da croaks. 

Thrawn steps closer and Da falls into his orbit. “I also wish to stay.” 

“Good,” Da breathes. 

And then Thrawn is holding Da’s face in his hands and he is kissing him and Da is kissing him back. 

On reflex, Thunhe makes a gagging sound. 

They both stop to look at her. 

“What? As the daughter, I feel it is my responsibility to be disgusted by your public displays of affection.” 

Da laughs and rests his forehead against Thrawn’s chest. Reflexively, Thrawn cradles his head and says, “This is a result of your own actions.” 

“Perhaps,” she says. “So, what’re we doing for dinner?”