boxofmisfits | Mirror Image

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Mirror Image

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.

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"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

"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."

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."

"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.

"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."

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.

"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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

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."

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."

Edited 2020-10-26 10:11 (UTC)

"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.

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.

Even as Thrawn reads, he keeps glancing at Glenn. That man had watched over him since he was just an embryo in the cloning cylinder. Even with the slowed aging and five years being different to someone like Glenn, not many would be willing to put five years of their life aside to ensure that nothing happened to a clone. Thrawn wonders if anti-clone prejudice is still as bad as it was in the original Thrawn's day.

He puts down the datapad and watches Glenn, "What game is that?"

Glenn's attention drifts, lulled by the soft tapping of his stylus and the hum of machinery. He hardly breaks a flow, the card game so worn into his mind and muscle memory that there's no need to hesitate to think.

When he's addressed, the more prominent pinion on his head tilts upward slightly. He turns his head a little to see him, stylus pressing against his palm.

"It's an old game called Klondike. In descending order and alternating color, you remove cards from the deck and the table and rearrange them on from highest denomination to lowest. Only a stack starting with a king can move to an empty table space. The object of the game is to place the cards of the same suit, from ace to king, in the discard pile, one designated for each suit. All without backing yourself into a corner. You can pull the cards from the deck three at a time. Some games have an arrangement that make them impossible to win due to the order of cards given."

A beat, and he offers his datapad over. The game is about halfway through, but he doesn't mind.

"It's only for a single player, but you can play if you want."

"Thank you," The rules seem simple enough. Thrawn plays out the rest of the round, and finds that the game is harder than it seems thanks to being largely based on luck of the draw. He starts a new game and manages to play things carefully, and ends up winning.

"How amusing," He hands the datapad back to Glenn. "It seems that luck is just as much of a factor in that game as skill." In that way, it's not so different from real life tactics and battles. Battles that he never took part in, even if he has the memories of them.

"It is an odd feeling. Having over sixty years worth of memories, yet being well aware that I am only five years old, if one counts my time in the cloning cylinder." Not to mention the fact that physically, he has the body of a man in his twenties.

Glenn nods in answer, uncertain what words to offer, but listening. He pays the datapad no mind as he listens, only setting it aside as he gives Thrawn his full attention.

He definitely looks different. Not just his youth, but in the length of his hair. He suppresses the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through it, even as he wonders just how much of it he can feel if he were to do so. His mind's eye envisions the strands as shorter, laced with gray. The memory of touch is vivid enough, and it satisfies him well enough, even bittersweet as it is.

"You will have a normal lifespan from here on out. To make of it as you will." His gaze softens.

While he's pretty sure his mate would have been in pain to see the rut that Thrawn's loss left him in, there isn't much Glenn can do about that now except take whatever forward steps he can now.

"I apologize if having so many memories at odds with your age is uncomfortable. So if there is anything I can do, please tell me."

"It is not discomfort. It is more the dissonance that comes with knowing that I am a clone." Many of the people his predecessor cloned for the Katana Fleet likely knew that they were clones. He wonders if they felt the same way.

"There is also an... insecurity. Even if there is no current threat to the galaxy, the day may come when my genius is needed, and everyone will be looking to me to live up to Grand Admiral Thrawn. I must admit, I am unsure if I am up to the task." He has Thrawn's genius and memories, and when he calls upon the memory of a battle he feels as if he was right there. Yet he feels that even that doesn't negate the fact that he has no real experience.

"Should that time come, and you wish to answer that call, I will still be here. The moment I boarded the Chimaera, barring any extenuating circumstances, I never missed at least watching a battle from the view of the bridge. And I still remember each and every one of them. I know many of Grand Admiral Thrawn's tactics first-hand, and yet, there was never a time I stopped feeling surprised.

"I even participated before long. I am more than capable of offering you guidance, should you desire it."

Thinking a moment, he offers his hand, palm up. If Thrawn takes his hand, he'll gently hold onto it, and give it a reassuring squeeze with both of his own. Regardless, his gaze is earnest, emotion coming forth in his next breath, even as his voice is calm.

"You need not be the Grand Admiral, nor live up to his name. You are Mitth'raw'nurodo in your own right, and how you live up to that is by itself a unique measurement of accomplishment.

"And so long as I am here, I will offer you everything I have."

Thrawn glances at the offered hand, before he lays his own blue one within it, allowing Glenn to squeeze it. It actually feels reassuring.

Everything about Glenn's face and body language rings true with his words. Glenn doesn't just see him as his dead husband given new life, and isn't agreeing to stay just so he can have Thrawn back. Glenn truly sees the clone as his own being.

"I know you will. The original Thrawn knew when to keep others close and confide in them, and so do I."

Thrawn's hand in his own doesn't feel familiar in the way his Igaes instincts hope, but touching him this way was not for his own sake, but for the fledgling life before him.

His own gaze relaxes a little, and he gives his hand one more squeeze before softening his hold enough for the other man to pull away whenever he wishes to. But he's more than willing to stay just like this until then, should he want the touch to linger.

"That you do."

Contemplating those words for a moment, he relaxes.

"Do you require anything? I have food supplies in the small trunk there as well as water," he says, gesturing to a small box not far from the end of the bed. "I know you received nutrients in the chamber, but should you desire it, my supplies are also yours to partake. I know ration bars aren't much in terms of flavor, however."

A bit of shyness flickers across his face, but the smile that accompanies it is genuine.

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