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Gilad Pellaeon sat in front of the holoprojector in Thrawn’s office, casting a furtive glance at the closed door. The Grand Admiral was on the bridge and not expected back for hours, but he still somehow felt like a child sneaking behind their parent’s back to access information they were not meant to know. The signal was taking long enough to connect that he had nearly convinced himself to close it down and forget everything when blue light emerged from the projector.
Too late now.
The distance the signal had to travel left the image of the figure on the other end staticky and glitching, but his voice came through clearly enough, albeit on a noticeable delay.
“Captain Pellaeon. Is Thrawn alright?”
“He’s fine, Vanto. This is a.. personal matter.”
Eli nodded, understanding; it was far from the first time Pellaeon had come to him looking for clarification about something Thrawn had said or done over the course of their relationship, but it was the first time since Eli had left for the Ascendency.
“Right. What’s going on?”
Pellaeon sat back in the chair, uncomfortable. He trusted Eli; the man had kept his and Thrawn’s secret for years. Still, this was..
“I need two translations, Vanto. I’m going to send the phonetic..”
“Yeah, sure, that’s fine.” They both knew that asking Pellaeon to attempt to speak Chenuh would be less than helpful. As he slowly keyed in the words, Vanto leaned back from the projector, talking softly to someone offscreen. A ping brought his attention back a moment later. “Okay, got the first. I’ll work on this, you send me the second.”
Pellaeon grunted an affirmative and set to work on the second phrase while Vanto puzzled over the first, mumbling to himself in an effort to make the approximation of Cheunh sounds make sense. Pellaeon had finished the second transfer before Vanto spoke up with the first.
“Alright.. I think that this first one is.. 'ch'ah baper ch'at tsucavt neo g'ezi narci' ?”
The memory came with the sound of the words - it had been said at the end of a long day, a long battle won with next to no casualties on their part, thanks to the seamless teamwork of everyone on the ship. Thrawn had been very pleased, and when they had finally climbed into bed he had looked down and smiled that enigmatic smile of his, and spoken the words before laying down and closing his eyes.
“Yes, that sounds correct.”
“It roughly translates to ‘You make me broody’.”
Scoffing, Pellaeon sat back in the chair. “The hell I do. That man broods at the drop of a credit, and you know that.”
“Not broody as in brooding in his chair, more like.. protecting a nest.”
“Ah.” Pellaeon considered that. “Yes, that could be. I assume it’s a good thing?”
“Oh yeah, the Chiss equivalent of being happy to share a home with someone. I’ll start this other one now, give me a minute..”
Much like before, Eli mumbled to himself as he worked through the phonetic phrase; unlike before, he seemed to be somewhat uncomfortable by the time he was halfway through it. Pellaeon couldn’t see any blush in the blue light, but Vanto was certainly acting like it was there - shifting in his seat, clearing his throat, even stammering a bit. His image enlarged as he came close to the projector, his voice dropping to a little above a whisper.
“Okay, uh.. This.. um.. 'rah ch'ah tuzir Ch'ah csarcican't ttan'ehah vah bah g'ezi her vah tuzir nah tun'ho can'tuhn vuckust’?”
Another memory - Thrawn deep inside him, hand in his hair wrenching back his head, the words growled in his ear. Pellaeon cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, glancing at the closed door again.
“I think.. Can you repeat that?”
Vanto looked like he would rather do anything but. A little louder and more clearly, he repeated himself: “‘Rah ch'ah tuzir Ch'ah csarcican't ttan'ehah vah bah g'ezi her vah tuzir nah tun'ho can'tuhn vuckust.’ “ He quickly looked offscreen, voice rising in volume and an expression of panic on his face. “Nah, nah vah, Ch'ah cart nah tisut ch'at vah!” Eli buried his face in his hands. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. What is my life?”
Pellaeon suppressed a smile, Eli’s discomfort making his own lesson considerably.
“That sounds accurate. What does it mean?”
“Short version, he wishes he could get you stuffed so full of eggs that you’re bedbound.”
That made Pellaeon pause. “Eggs?”
“Yeah, Chiss are egg layers - one partner lays and the other takes care of the clutch and.. Look, it’s complicated.” An expression of horror passed over Vanto’s face. ”Oh no. I have to go, Captain. Give Thrawn my regards. Csei cart nah ei Ch'ah cart tat! ”
Vanto’s image faded as the connection was cut, leaving Pellaeon to mull over the conversation in sudden darkness.
------
A few weeks later, Pellaeon found himself planetside overseeing a personnel transfer. He wasn’t needed for anything aside from signing forms to confirm the delivery of the scientists and their equipment to the research station - the Empire did love paperwork - so after ensuring everything was moving according to schedule, he decided to explore a little.
The station was located in a small city with a large open air market, so it was only natural that he ended up there. Stall after stall of handmade goods, junkpiles, jewelry, and more foodstuffs than he would have expected, both raw ingredients and meals being actively prepared on site. He considered sampling some of the latter, but he no longer possessed a young man’s stomach, and concluded that any temporary enjoyment he got out of eating the strange meal would not be worth the inevitable discomfort later.
After wandering a bit, he checked his chrono; it was time to head back to the station. With a final sad look at the frying meats, Pellaeon turned and headed back towards the building looming in the distance. He was nearly at the end of the section of the market when a booth, or more accurately, the contents within, caught his eye. His mustache twitched as the memory of his conversation with Vanto came to the front of his mind.
Fifteen minutes later, Gilad Pellaeon was on his way back to the Chimaera, a container held carefully in his hands.
------
“Enter.”
Pellaeon stepped into Thrawn’s office, giving him a sharp nod of greeting and setting a datapad down on his desk.
“The transfer was successfully completed, Grand Admiral. As expected, there were no complications and we are free to depart at any time.”
“Excellent. Continue on to our next destination at your discretion.” Thrawn’s gaze shifted from Pellaeon to the container he carried, expression unchanging but a distinct light of curiosity in those glowing eyes. Pellaeon glanced down as well, suddenly filled with doubt; what had seemed like a cute - perhaps even almost sweet - idea at the time was now distinctly less so. What if Thrawn was offended? Insulted?
Oh well. Too late to back out now.
“Ah. This is for you, Sir.” He set the container down on the desk then stepped back. Slender hands opened the lid to reveal the contents - sixteen or so eggs, four groups of four packed carefully together. Thrawn eyed the eggs then looked up at Pellaeon, one brow raising.
“I can’t..” Pellaeon exhaled. What had he been thinking? “I can’t carry eggs, but I.. This..”
Thrawn was silent, his expression unchanging.
“I mean to say that if things were different, I would want to have a family too. With you. Sir.”
The silence was unbearable. Pellaeon was about to apologize when Thrawn finally spoke.
“You consulted with Vanto, I presume?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I see. Dismissed, Captain. Please inform me when we are back on our assigned route.”
“Yes, Sir.” Pellaeon turned and left the room as quickly as was polite, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Whatever he had been expecting Thrawn’s reaction would be, it wasn’t that. He decided it would be best for him to simply forget the whole thing and never bring it up again.
In his haste to leave, he didn’t notice Thrawn’s glance return to the container of eggs, nor did he notice the small smile curving his lips as he looked them over.
------
A few days passed before Pellaeon noticed the changes.
Thrawn had never been overly affectionate by human standards, but he had started greeting Pellaeon in the mornings with a forehead press and a purr, something previously only done while they floated in the afterglow of orgasm. His behavior never changed in public, but in private he sat closer, set aside his work earlier, went to bed at the same time. He didn’t always sleep, but he was present more often when Pellaeon retired for the night.
And then there was the basket.
It wasn’t overly large, but it was big enough to be noticeable. There didn’t seem to be anything in it aside from a small cloth blanket of some sort, though Pellaeon did catch Thrawn rearranging the contents every so often. He was curious, of course, but said nothing. Thrawn would share, or he would not; it was hardly the first time the Chiss had engaged in strange behaviors, and it wouldn’t be the last. The basket would move around Thrawn’s quarters - on a shelf in his office, on top of his nightstand, on the caf table in his sitting area. Pellaeon noted its presence, but gave it no further thought.
Until he woke one night to find Thrawn laying in bed, curled around the basket, speaking to it softly in Cheunh. Pellaeon had been too groggy to catch what Thrawn was saying, nor to care why he was doing so, and fell back asleep. He thought that the event had been a dream until he arrived on the bridge the next morning and saw Thrawn sitting in his command chair, the basket in his lap. No one said anything, as they too were accustomed to the Grand Admiral’s occasionally eccentric behavior. The day carried on as normal, as did the days after that - or so it seemed. Pellaeon wondered if anyone but him caught the minute changes in Thrawn’s behavior as time went on. To the casual viewer nothing would be different, but he noticed the way Thrawn’s fingers tightened, the way his eyes would flash, the way he would curl slightly as if to protect the basket from whomever approached him. He seldom walked the bridge anymore, choosing instead to remain in his chair, basket in his lap, with one hand resting over it protectively more and more often as time went on. The behavior was slight and harmless at first, so there was no reason to say anything. Until the end of the third month.
------
Pellaeon sighed, trying and failing to relax into the comfort of Thrawn’s bed. Something had to be done about the obsession with the basket. An ensign had come up behind Thrawn on the bridge earlier; he hadn’t been the only one to notice how the Grand Admiral had tensed into a combat stance, a near-snarl on his face when the woman's presence surprised him. They had the next two rotations off, which gave him two rotations to figure out how to address the problem. He had considered just taking the basket, but Thrawn brought it with him everywhere - even now, it was in the refresher with him while he showered, and Pellaeon wasn't sure that even he could touch it without triggering Thrawn's odd behavior. There was nothing to be done tonight, Pellaeon reasoned; tomorrow he would sit Thrawn down and have a talk with him, and hopefully he could reason Thrawn into stopping whatever this was. Having a plan in place, however rough, was reassuring. Before he knew it, Pellaeon was asleep.
------
“Gilead.”
Pellaeon stirred slightly at the sound of his name, but not enough to fully wake.
“Gilead.”
Thrawn’s voice, his name said at the same soft volume but with more intensity. Blearily, he opened his eyes. “Huh? What? Thrawn?”
Thrawn was laying in bed, curled on his side, the light from his eyes focused on something Pellaeon couldn’t see. “Awaken, Gilead. Your son is about to emerge.”
It took a moment for Thrawn’s words to work their way through Pellaeon’s brain, but once they did, he was awake and sitting up immediately. “Excuse me? My son?”
“Shh,” Thrawn indicated he lower his voice, then beckoned him closer, all without looking back. “Perhaps a daughter. Regardless. It is time.”
Pellaeon scooted forward and peered over Thrawn’s shoulder, somewhat concerned at what he might find. Whatever possibilities were running through his mind, the obvious was not one of them, and so he was considerably surprised to see three fist-sized eggs resting on the blanket. He recognized the mottled green/brown of the shells - part of the group he had purchased and given to Thrawn months back. Suddenly, everything made sense.
“I didn’t realize they were.. fertilized.”
“Nor did I at first, until I saw the warmth of life within.” Thrawn lowered his head to the blanket and made a sort of clicking sound in his throat. “The hatching process has begun. It will not be long now.”
The hatching process, as it turned out, took nearly an hour. Pellaeon was considering laying back down when the first of the shells finally cracked and a tiny muzzle poked out. The other two eggs were not far behind. Once the initial breaks were made, Thrawn delicately assisted in removing bits of clinging shell until all three hatchlings were free.
They were, as best as Pellaeon could tell, some type of lizard; brown-orange in color, covered with stripes and bunches of wet brown-colored fur from the back of their heads to the base of their tails and along their front legs. They had long claws on their toes and narrow snouts, small, protruding ears, and two sets of beady black eyes on either side of their head. They smelled atrocious; Pellaeon hoped that was simply the residue from the inside of the egg, and not something innate to the creatures themselves.
“Ch'ah ritot vah, ch'eo en'kin,” Thrawn murmured. The three creatures turned their heads in his direction at the sound of his voice. One opened its mouth and made a tiny, high-pitched squeak; one attempted to crawl forward and somehow got tangled in its own limbs, ending up on its back with its tiny legs wiggling in the air; one awkwardly made its way closer to Thrawn’s face and promptly bit down on the tip of his nose, earning a disgusted wince from Pellaeon and a soft laugh from Thrawn himself. He reached a hand back toward Pellaeon, the other hand carefully removing the biter from his nose, righting the overturned lizard and gently stroking the pebbly skin of its snout, and rubbing under the chin of the squeaker.
“Our children, Gilead. Are they not beautiful?”
Pellaeon was thankful that the majority of Thrawn’s attention was on the lizards and not on him; it was easier to hide his expression of resignation at the sound of wonder in Thrawn's voice as he cooed over the ugly beasts. If having the little lizards made the Chiss happy, well, who was he to shatter the illusion? He laced his fingers with Thrawn’s and squeezed his hand gently.
“That they are, Thrawn. That they are.”