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The thought is entirely inappropriate, but privately, Eli has been referring to the Chimaera as theirs. The ship is under Thrawn’s command—and it belongs to the navy, of course—but since the day they first came aboard, the crew has been generally respectful if a touch wary of its new commodore and his aide. As far as working conditions go, it’s downright pleasant. It’s the closest thing to home he’s known in all of his adult life so far.
To date, his service has been mostly uncomfortable situations and an enormous amount of Core World Prejudice paired with second hand xenophobia. In the halls of this ship, the whispers dwindle quickly as the number of casualties and accidents decrease. The remaining naysayers are quickly silenced by their peers or request transfers that Eli approves through according to the algorithm he and Thrawn put together.
When he spends time away from the ship, he finds himself missing it. He looks forward to most of his brief planetside stints—save for those that are exceedingly political and-slash-or those that take place on Coruscant—but there is something soothing about long stints in deep space and the goings on of the massive community that is an Imperial Star Destroyer.
“I cannot send you to Lysatra, Eli,” comes the quiet voice to his right.
Eli blinks his eyes open. The reality of his current situation comes crashing in as his eyes close again rapidly and re-open to slits in the face of the medical center’s brilliant white lights. It takes a second, but the lighting becomes tolerable enough. Surprisingly, he manages to catch the subtle flicker of fond amusement in Thrawn’s gaze as he watches Eli come awake for real.
Shaking his head and instantly regretting it, Eli says, “I know for a fact I did not ask to go back to Lysatra, sir.”
“On the contrary,” Thrawn’s voice is still soft. Eli watches him rise from the extremely small and uncomfortable plastoid chair in the corner and stride regally to the side of Eli’s bed, looking down at him. He looks as unruffled as he always does, even with a healing wound near his temple that’s been stitched and pasted over with bacta. “I asked if there was anything you required and you requested to go home.”
“Have you considered,” Eli begins, looking up into those glowing eyes and changing tracks at the last second, afraid of revealing too much, “That I am most definitely on a very potent series of pain relievers?”
“I have,” he returns. “You do not appear to be in any pain and I know for a fact that you have several fractures in your left arm and leg.”
“Great,” he says, dryly. He shifts and feels an echo of what should be pain. “Well, I don’t want to go back to Lysatra.”
Thrawn doesn’t frown. Frowning is typically reserved for disappointment or as a precursor to anger. His lips quirk slightly, just a slight twitch that only someone who has known him for as long and in as close proximity as Eli has would recognize. “Then why would you say you wish to go home?”
Eli looks up at the ceiling and sighs. It’s hardly looking away, what with Thrawn all but looming over him. There’s no way Thrawn can’t see his face redden, but that’s something they both have to live with. Thrawn notices many things about many people with a clinical sort of detachment that Eli isn’t sure he envies. “I meant that I wanted to go back to the Chimaera,” he mumbles. “That’s what I’d been thinking about. I didn’t even know you were here or asking the question.”
“I have been with you since they completed your treatment,” Thrawn tells him. His eyes have brightened in the last few seconds, and the left corner of his mouth has risen slightly higher than the right. “You view the Chimaera as your home?”
Letting his eyes close, he shifts further down in the bed. Thrawn smooths the blankets over his lower half with a large hand on his uninjured leg’s knee that slides down toward his foot and back up, resting on his thigh like a brand. Damn Thrawn, Eli thinks, hating that the man has no idea what he does to Eli with his complete lack of awareness of personal space.
“What if we agree that I’m higher than a Hutt on spice and then we never speak on it again?”
“If that is what you wish,” Thrawn supposes. “But I do not blame you for the sentiment. I am quite partial to the Chimaera as well.”
“You think of the ship as home, too?”
Eli’s eyes open to find Thrawn looking down into his face. His eyes glitter in that quiet way they do when it’s just the two of them and Thrawn is feeling particularly pensive. “I find it is easier to attach a sense of home to people,” he murmurs softly, “Rather than places.”