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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"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.

"Perhaps some food and water will do me good." He can think of worst first meals than a ration bar and some water. "After that, I wish to see the outside. I want to experience it for myself. Then, I wish to go into the main part of the fortress and let those above know of my existence."

He probably won't reveal himself to the galaxy at large. Hopefully forty years has been long enough for the Republic to no longer fear Thrawn.

Glenn nods. Rather than getting up, though he withdraws his touch, he manifests a tentacle deftly open up the box and withdraws the supplies from within. The end of the tentacle has a hand shape to deftly manipulate the objects, though it's clear that the rest of the tendril does not have a bone structure at all.

He does transfer his grip of them to his actual hands before he hands them off - their seals still in place. He's also gathered a set for himself on his lap. Might as well eat together.

"I can also take a look around later if you would rather something hand-made in the future. Though I don't cook much anymore because my body only processes foods with animal proteins. And these."

He gestures with the ration bar he has.

"I believe there are also a pair of boots here that will fit you."

Just like the clothes, the boots aren't from something his mate had before. So he uses some tentacles and an eye on a tendril to root around for them in another box by the bed, along with some thick socks.

He also retrieves his own footwear using the same limbs. It's easier to walk around barefoot on the tiled floor, and it helps keep his body temperature regulated better, but outside is another matter unless he wants to be in the form of a beast.

In the meantime, he uses his hands to work at the wrapping on the ration bar.

Thrawn should probably find that creepy. Most would probably find the tiny hands on the end of the tentacles creepy. Thrawn has studied enough artwork of species with bizarre anatomy that it doesn't really phase him. Or rather, his predecessor did.

He thanks Glenn for the ration bar and peels off the wrapper. "You need not go out of your way for me. The fortress above has a full kitchen and I imagine we will be served a more traditional meal once we reveal ourselves." He's assuming anyway. Things might have changed in forty-five years.

"...To be perfectly honest, I never really went up there much. I'd feel paranoid that something might happen to you if I left for longer than a moment or two."

Glenn fidgets with part of the wrapper with a frown. Looking down towards he feet, he uses his tentacles to start pulling socks and boots on.

"...I like cooking, though. Providing and defending what matters to me makes me happy. Makes me feel useful. But if others want to cook when we go up there, I'm not one to scrutinize a gift. Much. But not at all if it's from a person I trust."

"I'm certain I would have been fine if you had taken a day off. Thrawn built this room with very good defenses." Even though Glenn made it very clear that he values Thrawn as his own person and not an extension of his late husband, Thrawn can't help but feel that Glenn was just that devoted to carrying out the original's final request to make sure that his clone survived.

"Perhaps they will allow you to cook too." He takes a bite of his ration bar and washes it down with some water. "Did you know that a clone still does not have the same fingerprints as their template? I wonder if my taste buds differ from his too."

Admittedly, yes, it was that devotion to his mate that had him carry it out with such fervor. Those words mattered to him as his final living ties to his husband.

The thread is now at least partially severed. This being's will is his own, and it is up to the both of them, equally, what to do next, in terms of if Glenn stays or not, and if Thrawn wants him here or not.

Since he's made his continued desire to keep Glenn near clear, that is true for the moment, and so it shall be, until such a time, if any, that Thrawn wishes to part ways, or if Glenn finds reasons to no longer follow.

"I know very little about clones, to be honest. So no, I did not know that. But I would not be surprised to see differences. More than just genetics, experiences forge a person. It stands to reason that even taste buds would change."

A beat, and he looks in the direction of where those droids still stand, inactive.

"...Regarding this place's defenses, my abilities are better than that." Though faint, there's a little sense of superiority on the matter. "I know the exact extent to my capabilities. But I do not know a droid's, other than how fragile it is. And while I do trust my mate's judgement, a droid can only do so much, and I know not the extent of their programming and logical skills. I also know my judgement is skewed."

A beat, as he considers his words.

"Regarding my mate and my desire to keep my last words to him, the thought that I might fail felt like a potential betrayal. Especially since I still have his mating mark. All Igaes are fairly possessive creatures - even me. When it comes to our mate, such a person may as well be infinity itself to us. That affection and devotion is all-consuming. Not blinding, but only just barely."

Glenn falls quiet as he takes a long drink of water.

"I had already lost him. And his last words and that promise were all I had left as something... concrete."

His breath shudders slightly, the muscles in his face briefly twitching, and he hardens his expression to keep his emotions wrapped up for now. He'll allow himself to mourn the ending of another stage, of protecting something that needed him to, and then he'll gather himself up and continue moving.

Just like now. From here on out.

"...There is some closure for me in ensuring your safety. But beyond this, it is not up to the words of my mate what is or isn't done, but what the two of us choose to do from moment to moment."

"I shall have to read up some more on the Igaes, and study the art on this datapad. But, it sounds as if what you two had was not something either of you took lightly. He trusted you enough with my life. I know that Thrawn would be grateful to you for making sure I lived."

Even after five years, Thrawn can see that Glenn still has pain within him from losing the man he loved. He wonders if this is what it's like when a long-lived species falls in love someone outside of their own kind.

"Do I confuse your instincts? You were attuned to Thrawn's genetics, after all."

"Hmm... No, my instincts are not terribly confused. A bit more than just genetics are stored with the bite. Things like age, current health, things like that-- those are stored as well. Also, his scent profile and pheromonal levels."

He considers his words, and then continues, regarding him, "You smell different, too. The Thrawn that I lived with had... he smelled a little bit of my art supplies, and distinctly of me. Among other things. You smell like... you, clean clothing, and cloning fluid. And the food you have. You are also younger than when I met my mate."

He clasps his hands on his lap as he thinks.

"Even though he was rendered immune to my cells, the mating bite I gave him has the same properties as if he wasn't - our cells were merged, coexisting in his body without one affecting the other. The vaccine cannot kill my cells, but it renders them unable to change the cells of another. By biting him even once, I had permanently suffused my scent throughout his entire being. I would always be able to tell who he was and how he was feeling even if I was rendered blind and deaf."

Having his body be attended to for the funeral-- he remembers how everything in him screamed how wrong this was. His mate was supposed to live the same lifespan he did. He remembers just barely being able to restrain himself from following him into the burial site.

Blinking sharply, he wipes his face free of those tears that fell while his mind wandered.

"...Sorry. I imagine it will be a long time before the hurt feels less sharp. It is, after all, the other edge of the blade of the all-encompassing happiness I felt while with him. And sorrow has never been something I cope with easily."

"No need to apologize," Thrawn takes another bite of his ration bar. "You were with him for a long time, and you loved one another. Even if I have never personally experienced loss, I have the memories of such emotions, and know that such pain takes time to recover from."

Another sip of water, before he continues. "I am his genetic and mental duplicate, but you truly carry a part of him inside you. So long as you remember him, he'll never truly die."

For all of Thrawn's faults, he understood how to preserve oneself. Not through living forever like Palpatine wanted, but by creating a legacy. Even if that legacy includes a clone of himself.

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