#but my ship deserves more content on ao3 where they aren't a side couple

[littleladymab]

Mab mab mab mab mAB i see "request a ship" and i IMMEDIATELY THINK thalias and samakro sooooooooo thalias and samakro with number 4 (forehead kisses) mayhaps? 👀

OH NO DID I USE THIS AN EXCUSE TO WRITE A PLANNED EXTENSION OF THE LAST THALAKRO I WROTE FOR YOU SIMPLY BECAUSE I ALREADY INTENDED FOR THERE TO BE A FOREHEAD KISS IN THAT?

maybe.

is that cheating?

probably.

The plan is to eventually clean up the transition between the two scenes then I'll post it to ao3 🤭 and when i write my Eli prequel to "far from the world that i made", this will feed into that

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After dinner, Mak’ro takes a shower to “rinse the last of the Family ties off” and Thalias carefully hangs up the Commodore uniform. (He doesn’t make a direct offer for her to join him, just a curious tilt of an eyebrow when he declares his intentions during their meal. Thalias declines by saying she’ll handle his uniform.) 

She calls a porter to pick it up and arranges to have it sent ahead to his new command so that he doesn’t have to worry about lugging his dress uniform around. He’s also left a duffle at the bell desk as he stopped by earlier that morning to add her name to the reservation and pre-check in, which she has brought up. She leaves that for him in the bathroom. 

After that, Thalias busies herself with tidying up from dinner. She fixes her makeup and hair curlers strewn across the vanity. She puts her dress away in the closet, resigned instead to never wearing it. Because what good will a formal dress do her all the way out on Ool? 

Thalias doesn’t even realize how lost in her own head she’s getting until a pair of warm arms wrap around her middle and hoist her off her feet. 

“I’m pretty sure there’s a saying about idle hands,” Mak’ro comments as he half carries her to the sitting area. 

“I couldn’t possibly know what you’re talking about,” Thalias replies as she gets her feet back under her. “I wouldn’t know what to do with an idle moment.” 

His hands remain at her waist, his grip loose enough that she can turn around to face him properly. He’s wearing one of the bathrobes and his damp hair is slicked away from his forehead. She loves seeing him like this and she gives in to the urge to run her fingers through his hair. “I’m sure I have a few ideas, if you’re wanting,” he offers, and his laugh is smothered by her kiss. “I meant like you could knit! I didn’t mean anything else.” 

“Of course not.” Thalias grips the open collar of his bathrobe and pulls him in to kiss him again for good measure, and again and again — drawing it out until she can feel the humor in his lips fade into simple contentment. “The girls are a handful at the best of times. I hardly have a chance to pick up a hobby.” 

“What?” Mak’ro does an expert job at faking surprised. “A bunch of children away from home are a handful? I don’t know what you mean; Sache was a perfect angel.” 

Thalias laughs despite herself. “You can say that because you were more preoccupied by me.” 

He hooks a finger beneath her chin and tilts her face up so he can meet her eyes. “You’re very distracting,” he comments.

“You say that with fondness now,” she teases. 

Mak’ro’s answering grin is crooked on his lips and he places a kiss on her forehead. “It’s been nearly twenty years. I’d have hoped you have forgiven me for that by now.” 

Her expression softens and she presses the palm of her hand against his cheek. “I can officially say I have now, Commodore Mak’ro.” 

His grin softens to match, and he turns his head to press a kiss to her palm. They linger like that for a moment, then two, before separating. “You want anything to drink?” he asks as he wanders over to the minibar. 

“I’ll have whatever you’re making,” Thalias says, moving to sit on the couch. Her questis is already on the cushions after she abandoned it there earlier in the day. She settles in against the arm of the couch and gives a languid stretch of her back. 

Mak’ro joins her a moment later, handing her both glasses so he can clamber onto the couch as well. 

“How are you supposed to drink yours?” she asks, amused, as he kicks his legs out and settles his head into her lap. 

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he admits, taking his drink back and settling his hands over his chest. “This seemed more important.” 

Thalias smiles and runs her hand back through his hair. It sticks up at odd angles and refuses to settle. “I’ll catch it if you start to fall asleep with it.” 

“Lifesaver.” Mak’ro already has his eyes closed, a small and self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips. He’s never this relaxed unless its in the privacy of either of their quarters, and these days they see each other so rarely that she hates to imagine how much pent up stress he’s been harboring. 

She glances at her questis for a moment in consideration. “Darling?” 

He opens one eye, suspicious. “Yes?” 

“Was Ar’alani at your promotion ceremony? I heard the Steadfast is in for repairs.” She hesitates a beat as he stares at her, waiting for the shoe to drop. “After their whole adventure in Lesser Space.” 

“She was there,” he says slowly. “She didn’t stay long but she did want to offer her congratulations.” Mak’ro sets his glass down on the nearby table and props himself up on one elbow so he can get a better look at her. “Why?” 

Thalias plays with her questis hoping her shrug comes off as dismissive. “I read the publically available version of her and her officers’ reports of the event. I was just hoping I could get a copy without all the redactions.” 

His face does something complicated before settling into an expression she remembers from her time aboard the Springhawk at Sache’s side. “You are not asking me to send you a combat report that is strictly limited to flag rank officers the day I am promoted to Commodore.” 

“You don’t have to send it to me,” she says innocently, though they’re both at an age where that doesn’t quite work. “I can read it on your questis—” 

He looks so tired as he runs a hand over his face and she wonders just when the gray at his temples started to look so pronounced. “You know what I mean, Thalias,” he says on a sigh but doesn’t push her hand away when she reaches up to brush the hair just above his ears. It’s the tone of voice that highlights the old animosity of Ufsa versus Mitth, even if it has been nearly twenty years for them. Even if he cut ties with his Family. It’s an old habit to fall back onto. “Ask anything else of me, but not that.” 

She hates that this was exactly what she was setting him up for. Ask for the impossible first and then the slightly more outlandish but completely possible. So she braces herself and says in a rush, “I want to meet him.” 

This catches Mak’ro completely off guard and the exhaustion immediately fades into confusion. “Meet who?” 

“Eli’van’to. The human.” She almost says Thrawn’s human but stops herself. “Was he there too?” 

“No. What? Hold on—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then rolls back over so he can get his drink and take a fortifying gulp of it. “Okay, back up. Why do you want to meet Commander Ivant?” 

Thalias props her chin in her hand, leaning against the arm of the couch. “You know why.” 

He frowns. “Alright that was a stupid question. I don’t know how much he knows about…” Mak’ro gestures at her. “All of it.” 

“That’s why I want to read the report.” She holds up a hand when he gets that look on his face again. “I know, I know. I’ll have to go through official channels to requisition the data from proper channels…” Thalias doesn’t know what her expression does next because Mak’ro reaches up for her, letting his fingers tangle in her hair and his hand anchor at the back of her neck. Keeping her there in that moment. “They found a sky-walker, didn’t they?” 

His silence is answer enough. 

“She’ll need to undergo evaluation and proper training and—” 

“I can’t help with that,” he says, cutting her off. “Officially, I can’t tell you anything. I won’t confirm or deny any guesses you make, but my hands are tied.” 

Thalias sighs and presses her thumb to his lips, smearing a bead of liquid against them. “Alright.” Then, after another sigh, she repeats, “Alright.” 

“Are you?” 

“Am I what?” 

“Alright?” 

She laughs despite herself, nudging him upright so she can curl up against him. His arm drapes around her shoulders, warm and comfortable, and she presses her hand to the exposed skin of his chest where his robe is open. “Are any of us?” 

Mak’ro gives a disgruntled huff but places a kiss to the top of her head all the same. “What a good fucking question,” he grumbles, and she smiles at the familiarity of his frustration. 

#star wars #thrawn novels #a lil miss fic #lil miss writings #thalakro #I have been thinking about them NON STOP the last few days #there is a ✨spicy ending✨ version to this i'll never write #but my ship deserves more content on ao3 where they aren't a side couple #this is also a very good motivation for me to write that eli prequel