Mirror Image

[admiralchiss]

In forty years, Thrawn had kept the galaxy, mainly the Unknown Region, safe from many threats. He did it with his beloved at his side, living a full life with the one he loved, even when Glenn remained young while Thrawn grew older. They both knew there would come a day when they would have to say goodbye forever.

That day came, and Thrawn's last wish was to see Csilla. Many strings were pulled, and the Ascendancy allowed Thrawn his request, as well as agreeing to rescind his exile, seeing as he wasn't going to cause more trouble.

On his deathbed, Thrawn had given Glenn some parting words: "I hope you understand why I never told you this. I had to keep it a secret, to ensure the galaxy's safety. Not even Pellaeon or Parck knew of this. Forty years ago, I placed my genetic material into a cloning cylinder, in the event that I was ever killed. The cylinder was programmed to activate once I was declared dead." He'd reached into his pocket and given Glenn a datacard with directions to where he was keeping the clone. The card also contained the same message Thrawn had given Glenn, in the event that he died before he could tell his mate. "Go there, Glenn. Keep him safe until he is done. Know that you made the galaxy a brighter place for me."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo died the next day. A few loyal Chiss and Empire of the Hand members attended his funeral, where he was put to rest in the Mitth family crypt, alongside his brother. Thrawn had made sure his brother's remains had been found and given a proper resting place.

Meanwhile, on the edge of the Outer Rim, a cloning cylinder activates.

Comments

[reorienting]

As the years passed, Glenn housed a quiet yearning to age with his mate. His Igaes instincts were confused by the rapid progression of age, but soon grew to accept it. At this point, even if he turned him into an Igaes - even if it were possible, now that Glenn himself has been blessed with a vaccine against his own cells, so that he can never infect a living person just by being near them - Thrawn's age is advanced enough that it would not grant him much longer, and further still, it would not grant him a quality of life worth pursuing.

He stayed by his side day and night, barely leaving to care for himself.

Csilla was beautiful. Almost as beautiful as his mate. And so they lingered together there with what time they had.

The night before his mate's passing, he could just-- tell. He could tell that this was the end. But rather than weep, his mate needed Glenn to be whatever he needed.

He'd nodded in understanding immediately to his mate's final words. A secret was best kept to oneself, and he could immediately understand the gravity of this knowledge. He'd gently pocketed the card, and held his mate's hands in his own, peppering soft kisses to his cheeks as he murmured his understanding.

His promise.

"He will be safe with me, my beloved," he'd murmured in Cheunh. Unlike humans and their disadvantage with the language, Glenn had modified his vocal cords just enough to permit the ease of learning long ago, without compromising the original sound of his voice.

He, of course, had attended his mate's funeral, the echo of his cells in his nape providing him with some comfort.

But he didn't know exactly how much time he had before his mate's clone would awaken, and so, following the datacard's information, made haste in his personal vessel after making sure to bring a few changes of clothes for the clone.

The Morpho still flew wonderfully, her body painted iridescent blue.

He'd listened to his mate's message along the way, over and over, unable to cease the flow of tears as they came. It was all the more agonizing knowing that he was alone now. That he was facing the reality of his unusual flow of mortality. And that even with anyone else he found, he would run into this pattern again and again.

When he didn't feel numb over it, the agony of the loss made it difficult to crawl out of bed. He was grateful for the autopilot function, and that he could check his course from bed.

He'd clung to a blanket that smelled like his mate as well, despairing as the scent faded day by day. The only incentive he had to try to keep moving was knowing that his duties as Thrawn's husband were not completed.

Thrawn had someone he wanted Glenn to protect.

And so he would.

He arrived planetside before long, finding the hideaway for the cloning cylinder, and waited. Shoving his emotional state aside for now - though such a thing was now difficult for him to reacquire - he knew he had to be strong.

Whenever this Thrawn awoke, he knew he had to be.

And he had to not slip - there was no telling what memories this Thrawn had. He could not call this man in this cylinder his mate, no matter how much he looked like him, sounded like him, or even chose to keep that name.

His mate had passed with him by his side, kept warm in his embrace 'til the end. There was no circumventing that.

When he wasn't keeping a hawk's eye on things, he was idly tidying up, trying to make this place less dusty for his sensitive nose. And maybe it would be more comfortable to awaken to a place that was clean.

But he never ventured far. Fear of unknown dangers kept him from doing so. Scouting too far out was not an option, so he listened to his surroundings as much as he could. The Force, furthermore, was a welcome asset in this way. Able to hear in a different way, and find connection, however dully, he found, helped to soothe his deepest wound.

[admiralchiss]

The cloning chamber is very well-guarded and designed to be Jedi-proof, with droids specifically designed to combat Force and lightsaber wielders. Thrawn's will on the datacard includes a phrase to deactivate them should Glenn accidentally do so, as well as letting Glenn know that the clone will take years to reach maturity. Thrawn wanted this clone unaltered and without anything to accelerate his aging. The chamber also contains a computer so the clone may catch up on galactic events when he emerges.

The clone initially looks like a mass of cells, before limbs form, as well as hair, eyes and other body parts. Within a year, he actually resembles Thrawn, though he's still too small and not yet ripe. It still takes about five years for the clone to fully gestate, until he resembles how Thrawn looked in his mid-twenties. According to Thrawn's datacard, the clone will age normally once he's finished.

Finally, the cylinder beeps and the figure within slowly awakens. The clone unhooks his breathing mask as the cylinder drains of fluid. The glass opens and the clone takes a shaky step forward, but he's still wobbly, his vision fuzzy, and dripping with cloning fluid. The clone pulls his long, drenched hair out of his face, blinking to try and get his eyes to focus, even as it looks like he's about to topple over.

[reorienting]

Five years isn't long for him. And yet it also takes some time-- he's able to eventually function during his day without breaking down in the middle of it.

And then his thoughts breathe enough to wander. He wonders, idly, about his mother. If she saw something much like this in her prime so long ago.

The creation of life in this way is fascinating to look at.

Before long, he actually starts to speak to the clone, uncertain if he's heard, but it's better than sitting in the silence of deactivated drones and the hum of machinery.

He talks about his day most of the time - things he saw, things he felt.

With his mate, their years spent together did not fully leave Glenn unchanged. His black hair feathered out more, several strands losing pigment and into a stark gray. His face had been graced with faint smile lines along his mouth and eyes.

Perhaps the stress of this new forced isolation bothered him more than he let on-- the gray has spread, though black is still dominant. And a smile hasn't been on his face in years.

And yet-- the moment the machine releases the clone, Glenn's thoughts at that time scatter. It's all he can do to get up at once, though careful not to move too quickly. He offers an arm for support, and a tentacle and his other arm unfurl a towel.

"Good morning," he greets in Cheunh.

It isn't morning, but for this person, it might as well be. It's his first moment awake as far as Glenn knows.

In five years, Glenn had partially modified a small corner of the facility as a living space, mostly paranoid that something bad might happen if he didn't sleep nearby.

"I have a space just over there if you would like a moment to sit down and dry off. Regardless, I will support you; you will not fall."

As much as he sounds casual about it, there's a faint tremor in his hands, and his heartbeat practically vibrates with an emotional charge that he cannot even come close to unwinding to see its individual feelings.

[admiralchiss]

The clone, Thrawn, blinks at the man. His vision is still blurry, but he can tell that he's not a Chiss, because he's not blue. Perhaps Jorj Car'das or his friends passed on Cheunh to others, or Thrawn taught others his native language. "Thank you," He takes the towel and wipes his face off, while allowing himself to lean on the offered arm.

His vision begins to clear, and sure enough, the man's not a Chiss. He doesn't recognize the man before him, because the flash learning software only went up to a few months into Thrawn's campaign against the Republic, before he met Glenn. Thrawn would assume he's human, but humans don't have tendrils.

Spotting the bed, he allows himself to be sat down on once he's dried off.

"Who are you? What year is it?"

[reorienting]

Thankfully, hearing his mate's voice like this is-- different. It sounds different, changed by youth, that it doesn't quite prick at his heart as much as he thought it might. He supports him easily, body inhumanly warm, bare arm covered in countless scars.

"My name is Glenn Sparks. I was told to guard you until you awoke. I have been for the past five years."

It's easier than expected to remind himself that they're clearly meeting for the first time. At least this time, he doesn't have to do it while fully restricted by a flight or vac-suit.

Gently, he goes into explaining the current year, and anything of note that's particularly important, adding, "I also have a datapad that you may keep. It has every bit of information that you may wish to know over the years you have not been awake."

Considering that it was the datapad that he'd let Thrawn keep so long ago -- updated over the years to be current. Getting up, he also presents Thrawn with some clothing, his gaze softening.

"I can barely imagine the shock this must be, so please, take whatever time you need to adjust."

Especially considering that the current date won't line up with this Thrawn and the age he is, mentally and physically.

His tendril withdraws back into his body, and he adjusts some of his hair, black and gray still falling into his face from time to time. Up close, the gray hairs seem much more like flexible pinions than actual hair.

[admiralchiss]

Thrawn almost looks startled to hear what the year is. That's about forty-five years after the campaign against the New Republic. Glenn said he'd been guarding him for about five years, meaning that he would have come here the second Thrawn had passed. Looking over the datapad, he checks the date and it lines up with what Glenn told him. He knows why Thrawn cloned him, but he didn't think it would be so long before he saw use.

So much happened. At least one major war happened, between the Republic and the Far Outsiders. But, according to this, the Republic is safe, as is the Unknown Region and Chiss space. Thrawn came through. It's surreal, because he has all these memories of things Thrawn did, but Thrawn still did so much after setting up his plan to clone himself.

He doesn't yet look over the sections regarding Glenn himself, since he just wants to catch up with galactic events and piece together his template's life. Realizing that he's still nude, he gets up and puts on the clothes.

"Thrawn died of old age, didn't he? He's the one who sent you to me."

[reorienting]

"Yes, and yes. He--" His throat catches, memories rushing to the fore. He stops, takes a breath, and continues on, blinking once to keep tears from building up. "He told me to come here the day before his death. And I made my way here a day after the funeral. I have been here since."

Idly, he rolls a pinion strand of his hair between his fingers, the barbs firm but flexible - a new habit thanks to his own age showing just a little bit. For not the first time, a distracted thought remarking that he probably just has a gene that has him going gray early comes in, and is filtered out.

"It was his final request of me. That he kept this place a secret until then only further convinced me of its importance to him."

Although he finds it a little unique that the first person he speaks of his mate's passing to is Thrawn's clone. For now, he watches this Thrawn's movements carefully, making sure that he's not still wobbly, and more than prepared to reach out and offer support again. But otherwise, he lets him dress himself unassisted.

"But, his wishes are, at this point, only an echo. You are the one living now, and so your wishes matter more."

[admiralchiss]

Thrawn gauges Glenn's reaction, and the hurt on his face. Even if it's a pain that's five years old, it's still fresh in his mind. Thrawn knows that pain, or at least, his template did. The original Thrawn lost friends and family, and the clone has the echos of those memories. They make him feel sad to think about, even if he knows that they didn't happen to him personally.

"He trusted you a great deal, then." Thrawn brings up the files on Glenn. It seems that he's an artist, and he shared his work with the original Thrawn. This he can work with.

"When I woke up, I thought I recognized your voice. I heard it in my dreams."

[reorienting]

"Ah-- that's because I was-- speaking to you." His cheeks burn slightly, but he quickly calms again.

"I wasn't certain if you could hear me, but if you could--" His gaze flicks to his lap, and he chews slightly on his lip as he tries to find the words.

"...Well. I'm glad you could hear me. How we came into the world is-- not entirely dissimilar from each other. I thought about that from time to time. I was born from an artificial womb, held within a chamber not unlike the one you came from, about three hundred and ten years ago. Or so my mother had told me. But many of the records of my birth were burned away. And anything she may have not yet said died with her long ago."

A beat. It feels a little odd to say these things again - but it at least feels more natural for him to say he was "born" rather than "made."

"I met your predecessor forty-five years ago. He taught me many things, including Sy Bisti and Cheunh."

Glenn's expression softens with a faint, fond smile as he recounts those memories in his mind.

"So I thought it would be more comforting to hear a familiar language."

[admiralchiss]

"Yes, I can speak all the languages he could. Your grasp of Cheunh is quite excellent."

Thrawn brings up some pictures of insects that Glenn drew, for that's the earliest stuff in the file his creator made on this man. He's already getting some idea of what Glenn is about, his mind making connections thanks to the artwork.

"I'm afraid that I do not remember most of what you said to me, for dreams are fleeting things when one wakes up. I am glad that you watched over me and made sure I was safe, but I cannot imagine how lonely you must have been if you conversed with someone who could not reply." Surely the fortress above them is still full of life, and being run by members of the Hand, even if Parck is likely dead by now.

"You are quite old indeed. I figured you aged slowly, if you look as you do despite knowing Thrawn for forty years."

[reorienting]

"I... ah."

A little distracted, Glenn watches Thrawn look at his artwork with a sense of slightly painful nostalgia.

No, he reminds himself. this person is not the same as my mate.

This Thrawn doesn't quite smell the same - his scent is slightly overpowered by whatever incubation fluids he was surrounded by. His Igaean instincts aren't quite sure what to make of it. The scent is Thrawn's but it also isn't his mate's.

"I was alone for much longer before meeting your predecessor. From the years of sixty-ish to two-hundred and seventy-something, I was in almost exact solitude until he snatched my ship straight out of space and aboard the Chimaera, minus my brief forays into Igaean territory to learn more about my cellular origins. I cannot say that total silence did anything positive for my mental state, but it was also necessary, in my mind. For most of my life, my cells were-- communicable, like a disease, though prior vaccination has turned that quality inert at last.

"But five years... that isn't very long for me, and considering that it takes me a long time to process-- negative emotions in full. For me, they linger like a persistent illness that needs time and care to be cast aside. This brief solitude allowed me to settle my mind a bit more.

"There were-- brief moments where I did leave here long enough to-- trade for supplies, but... for much of this time, to be honest, I was not in any good state of mind. I tend to-- withdraw, when I am unhappy. Be it for centuries or just five years. It's a poor habit of mine."

Glenn appears somewhat chided as his smile tilts a little towards somber.

"I do believe it has caused me to go gray a little faster than I anticipated, though I was already going gray ten years ago. But as I am the only Igaes-human hybrid that I am aware of, I have no strong frames of reference."

Stiffening up a little, he twists his hair between his fingers again, the faintest hint of a blush crossing his face.

"...Ah, pardon me for blathering on such tangents."

[admiralchiss]

"No apologies required. Never feel ashamed of speaking your mind."

Thrawn does a search for Igaes on the datapad and finds some interesting things, including artwork. He looks at the carvings, finding the lizards interestingly similar to ysalamiri in terms of anatomy. He finds himself glad that Glenn can no longer infect others, because he'd rather not become one of these things.

He looks at more of Glenn's artwork, and his more recent things. He even finds drawings of the man he was cloned from.

"I can see why Thrawn's death has still lingered with you. You and he were close."

[reorienting]

"Yes, we were."

He isn't sure how far to admit it, not wanting to cause any distress.

Glenn hasn't been drawing very much these past five years, scattered pieces here and there, half-finished and uninspired. Some of it is clearly vent art, as if Glenn might impress his pain directly onto the digital or physical canvas in an attempt to work through it. Compared to his usual prior trend of pieces, which had started to add colors, these recent works are heavily monochrome, with rare additions of light.

He decides that Thrawn deserves to hear the full truth, however, and sits up straighter, gaze flicking from his clasped hands to some wayward space between himself and the floor.

"...We were lovers." The admission is soft and hesitant in sound, with a gentle firmness in finality.

"Those are the kinds of feelings I carry for him." Although he's not so certain that Thrawn was aware of the mental toll he was bequeathing to Glenn. Of looking at a person who is Thrawn but not his mate.

"I understand if this makes things... awkward for you, but I implore you to know for truth that I will not insist on "continuing" what I had previously with him. You are a separate person from him, and you are not beholden to me."

[admiralchiss]

Thrawn looks up from his datapad, a note of sadness in his expression. Looking through some of the artwork again, he looks to see if Glenn ever did drawings of the original Thrawn. It seems that he did indeed draw the man, and there is a love there. Love, devotion, and a sense of belonging. Thrawn and he must have meant a lot to one another.

"No, I am not. I'm not the man you fell in love with, and it would be unfair to both of us to pretend otherwise. I know that something about you drew Thrawn to you, just as you were to him, but I do not know what it was. Thrawn's flash learning package was installed before he met you."

Glenn and Thrawn had forty years together. He can't imagine how it must feel to Glenn, seeing a man who is an exact genetic copy of his lover (possibly even husband, judging by some of the works that were done before Thrawn's death).

"I also do not believe Thrawn would have wanted you to simply replace him with me. I believe that I was meant as a fail safe in case he was killed in battle, and perhaps even though he ended up dying of natural causes, he felt that there was still much he could offer the galaxy, for there will always be threats, and thus he chose to create me anyway."

[reorienting]

"I could tell you about how he and I met, if you wish. But, yes. You and he are different people. As such, it is up to you to decide how you want to approach things, once you have enough information that you deem sufficient. If you choose to forge your own path fighting threats, I will support you. Equally, if you choose a different path, I will support you that way as well.

"And should you wish for me to remain, I will protect you just as fiercely as I protected him."

There's no hint of falsehood in Glenn's gaze, his eyes reflecting Thrawn's gaze for a moment, before turning to a certain shade of blue when he slightly averts his eyes.

"But do know that if I think our paths may collide unpleasantly in terms of morality, I will speak up about it without restraint."

He manages a small half-smile.

[admiralchiss]

"I think I would like to hear how you met, yes. I cannot make myself love you or help you try to remake what you had with him, but I am willing to be your friend." Thrawn could be a cold person, but he was still capable of forming close friendships. This too goes for his clone. Thrawn wanted them to be similar enough to carry on his work.

"I may make myself known to the Empire of the Hand, but I do not know if the rest of the galaxy is ready for Thrawn's return."

[reorienting]

Glenn shakes his head.

"I am not asking you to remake what I had before. I think it would be a disservice to the both of us. But friendship? That goes without saying."

Instinct beckons Glenn to reach out and touch, but he stops before he can make even the smallest contact with Thrawn's arm. This man's personal space is bound to be different.

"If you wish to make yourself known to them, let me know when you have chosen to. I will go with you. My ability to shapeshift is a defensive boon, and I am also significantly Force-sensitive."

His gaze brightens in mirth. "I actually learned that from trying, and succeeding, to reverse-engineer a ysalamiri's anti-Force field. Once I modified myself to be able to create such a thing, the rest was... not easy, but smoother."

Honestly, even years later, he's still proud of that accomplishment. No that he's looking for praise. But that he can protect this person, and that Thrawn trusts him to do so, is important.

[admiralchiss]

"Did you now?" Thrawn has memories of those creatures, and wonders if the fortress above is still crawling with them. His template took measures so that this place would be Jedi-proof, but perhaps he allowed things to become more lax in the following decades.

"Force-sensitive, but not a Jedi or Sith, as your words imply. And you have the abilities of the ysalamiri without the need for a nutrient frame. Most impressive."

Thrawn takes a moment to look up some history. It seems that relations between the New Republic and Empire of the Hand have smoothed over, and the Jedi are not his enemies. Luke Skywalker and the Organa-Solos are still alive.

[reorienting]

"Yes, I did. I developed it after having an intensely negative reaction to C'baoth. I was able to perceive his rather chaotic mind and be affected by it."

His fingers fiddle with his hair again.

"The devices I made to duplicate the ysalamiri's field are still being used by the Empire of the Hand and their location above this facility. I have also refined them to a point where they have a longer ability to last, and they can now more easily be carried. They are also used in this room as a precautionary measure. Force-sensitives have yet to be able to penetrate that sort of barrier.

"I did also keep the ysalamiri that I learned that ability from as a companion, may they rest in piece. I had named them Selene, after a moon (which was named after a deity,) in my galaxy of origin. I still have their intact enclosure aboard my ship, the Morpho, though it has been modified to primarily sustain plant life from their planet. In case I feel up to taking another in."

He smiles warmly, if a little wistfully.

"I was also able to reverse-engineer that bubble to manifest a few abilities that both Jedi and Sith are capable of. Albeit milder than any expert of either practice."

[admiralchiss]

"Fascinating," Thrawn didn't think that would be possible, but perhaps something about Glenn's biology allowed him to do so. Thrawn intends to give a more thorough look through the Ignaes information and Glenn's artwork.

"If you ever want another ysalamiri, I'm certain you could obtain one. Thrawn was quite the expert in obtaining them." Knowledge that now belongs to him.

He looks up C'baoth on the datapad, to see what became of the man. It seems he died near the end of Thrawn's New Republic campaign. Thrawn's not too torn up about it, since the memories he has of the man are not very pleasant, and those memories are tinged with Thrawn's loathing of the dark Jedi.

"Strange. I do not like C'baoth and I'm glad that he's dead, yet I never met the man. Those feelings belonged to my template, yet I still feel as if they are mine."

[reorienting]

"I see. In a language in my origin planet, the word "déjà vu" may be an apt descriptor. The feeling of experience despite having not."

He tilts his head a little as he mulls things over.

"I believe my mate's thoughts on the matter were that C'baoth was a necessary risk to cooperate with. But after seeing him use the Force to immobilize the Chimaera's crew, I resolved to see what I could do to counteract his actions. And then I read about the ysalamiri. From there, I worked for several days with little rest until I presented the prototype device to him, and then promptly collapsed from exhaustion."

A small snicker escapes him.

"The look on C'baoth's face when he realized the Force could not be used was very worth the effort. If I am recalling correctly, he was incredibly confused and angry that his threat of intimidation and bloodshed was useless. And I obtained the satisfaction that the crew would remain safe from his power. A feeling I held independently of him. I still had some reservations about him, but I had no issues with the crew. They were more openly welcoming than I could understand of him. I got along very well with Lieutenant Davis. His curiosity about the Morpho was second to none, and I still remember his excitement when I gave him free reign to explore to his heart's content."

Although his gaze is a little distant, his gaze is full of warmth.

"Ah, right. The Thrawn I met so long ago-- he plucked the Morpho right out of space with a tractor beam. I was indignant-- and scared. I was torn between curiosity about him and wanting to find some way to run away. And then, he offered me a deal: help him, and I would not be alone. I would find usefulness there."

He sits up a little straighter, looking briefly towards his feet.

"No one had ever given me that for many, many years. When I was 18, I was going to marry a wonderful woman named Clara Hart. She had been my world. A strong light with the energy of the sun. But after she died, I fell into despair. Despair that only really started to lift until your template found me. Having barely known me, he gave me-- a place to belong.

"And before I even realized it, I had started to develop affection for him. Rukh really noticed it before I did. And I pretended that I didn't. If I let myself develop stronger ties here... what then when they would eventually be ripped away from me?"

Letting out a soft laugh that doesn't really hold any humor, he looks to the Thrawn before him.

"I can say that I'm at least marginally more well-adjusted now than I was then, at least."

[admiralchiss]

Thrawn smiles, wishing he had the memory of C'baoth's reaction. In his flash-learned memories, the man was arrogant and power-hungry, and his predecessor was going to dispose of him anyway, once he was no longer useful. Thrawn wasn't evil, but he was ruthless.

"It sounds as if Thrawn gave you something you truly needed." Thrawn actually feels grateful that his flash-learning stops just before his template met Glenn, because he wouldn't know what to do with memories of love and affection for a man that technically didn't belong to him. Would he love Glenn, or would he push the other man away because he'd know those feelings belonged to his predecessor?

He'd glad that Glenn has at least been understanding and hasn't tried to make a move on his lover's clone.

"I do not know if I will ever be able to feel for you as he did, but looking at you, I know that he gave you a good life at his side."

[reorienting]

Glenn is more than aware of that, too. That if Thrawn's memories started after his predecessor met him, he would have recognized him. It is a blessing that he doesn't. Glenn wouldn't want this newly-awakened life to feel compelled to oblige him.

"That he did. He very, truly did. And in turn, I was more than happy to remain in kind. And I know I would have felt the same even if my feelings were not of the romantic sort." Glenn's smile is still bittersweet, and he rubs a little at his nape. His somewhat-insensitive fingertips greet the old impressions of the bite that rests there.

"I will repeat it as much as you desire: I could not ask you to feel the same way he did, and I will not. All I ask is that, for however long you are comfortable with it, you permit me to be by your side and protect you. And I ask that you inform me should you have any concerns, or wish for me to leave."

A beat, and his lips quirk upward, gaze briefly turning crimson again and gleaming with open excitement, even as the rest of his body language is calm.

"Or if you have any wish to play a round or so of dejarik. I also have a few other tactical games on that datapad. Some from my world of origin, and others from--" Ours?... "this galaxy. Furthermore, these two are sibling models. They can communicate between each other even under mild jamming. They also share files. Some of those sections are locked, but at this point, it's only in case you do not wish to stumble upon them at random, since they are in relation to the life I shared with my mate. The key directory, however, is open for your perusal should you desire to delve further into aspects that you hold curiosity for.

"The one you're holding is the original model. Your predecessor held that one, too. Because I was either constantly in a vac suit or holed up in my ship for his and the crew's protection, it was important to have a venue of communication, especially in the times where leaving my ship was not possible, or I was entirely engrossed with a project. It just felt right to give that model to you." A beat. "Unless you'd rather switch, which is also valid."

[admiralchiss]

"How convenient. No, I will keep this one, since it belonged to him. As for you, I see no reason to tell you to leave. After all, it was Thrawn's final wish that you stay by my side, and you knew him most intimately in those forty years I am missing." The datapad likely contains information on those years too, but no reason he can't get information right from Thrawn's widower too. Glenn isn't making this awkward, so Thrawn doesn't feel awkward about the arrangement.

He takes a look at a few of the games, one of which is a version of dejarik with simplified graphics, along with chess and a few games he's not familiar with. He'll have to ask Glenn about some of these. Curiosity eats at him and he looks up some familiar names. It saddens him to see that Pellaeon and Parck have passed on, though he's glad that the former made Admiral. Thrawn always knew that man had potential. Parck made Admiral too, no doubt thanks to the original Thrawn. What would either man think of Thrawn's clone, he wonders. Jorj Car'das is also listed as having passed away just a few years before the original Thrawn did. Thrawn feels sad for these losses, even if those were his template's relationships, and not his own.

Glenn's friend Lieutenant Davis is still alive well into his sixties, and apparently retired a few years ago. Most of the Chimaera's crew would be about that age by now.

[reorienting]

Glenn nods, and leaves Thrawn to his reading, getting up to stretch and give the other man a little bit of space. Out of habit, he starts to head in the direction of the now-vacated cloning chamber, but then remembers that there's no need to sit at its feet anymore.

His gaze is still drawn to it, though.

Shaking free of wordless thoughts, he meanders about on relatively silent, scarred, bare feet, quietly purr-clicking to himself in an attempt to self-soothe away the small flares of anxiety from the new change.

Despite how softly he makes those noises, the higher frequency is just keen enough to be easily heard. And sooner than later, he sits himself back down on the edge of the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. He starts to twist around one of those feathers again, and then deliberately stops himself, reaching for the other datapad and the stylus he has anchored to it.

He doesn't feel like drawing (ah, his hands are trembling very slightly, anyway,) but he knows if he pulls on those feathers too much, they'll bleed. Again.

He boots up a simple card game to occupy himself, just needing time to calm down and keep his hands off of his hair. The feather that used to be a cluster of strands affected by a cowlick slightly raises up as his mind starts to quiet again.

The quiet moment feels comfortable and familiar. He reminds himself that no matter how this feels, he must not backslide on his promises. Even if it means reminding himself of the truth.

He still remembers when he felt uneasy around his mate. When he felt that he had something to prove and at the same time, wanted no recognition. And yet, craved the attention.

Breathing deeply, Glenn lets his mind slip back into using his stylus to manipulate the cards. The small device is an old thing, its outer coating slightly flaking, and small grooves worn into the body from the few times he gripped it a little too hard.