The Freak Fleet 'verse: A series of stories exploring the dynamics among Grand Admiral Thrawn, Pellaeon, Covell, Parck, Niriz, Dorja, and other members of the Seventh Fleet. Legends cast in Rebels, a couple of OCs. Mix of Canon and Legends (Essentially AU). Serious, as well as not-so-serious fics. Semi-crack.

The Freak Fleet - Breaking the Ice - Of Chiss and Men - Witch Hunt - Second Chances - Chance Encounters - The Evil So Terrible It Tried To Black Out The Stars - An Unstoppable Force Meets an Immovable Object - All Roads Lead to Coruscant - Freak Fleet Files - A Kingdom of Isolation

Author's Note: Set during the Season Three of the Rebels, having Grand Admiral Thrawn and Captain Pellaeon grown more accustomed to each other.

Contrary to what most civilians might think, chasing smugglers, fighting rebels, bringing the law and order, and spreading the might of the Galactic Empire thorough the Galaxy, comprised only a mere fraction in the life of an average officer of the Imperial Navy.

What the service had been really about was paperwork.

And higher the rank, the larger number of files in the datapad. What the bureaucrats in the Imperial Center could do with so much data, or where they could possibly even store it was completely beyond Pellaeon's comprehension.

It was the end of the Imperial fiscal year, and Pellaeon had been compiling his first annual report as the captain of the ISD Chimaera. And considering how much paperwork a mere captain had to do, just thinking how many reports the Grand Admiral must have written about the whole Seventh Fleet, or how many files he must have checked and read was enough to make him feel nauseous.

Grand Admiral Thrawn had been known for being thorough; he would have read every report and every file that had been sent to him, and by reading he meant of course reading it through, not simply scrolling down like many others admirals would do.

The only person who could have possibly avoided paperwork would be the Dark Lord himself. No one in the Galactic Empire would ever dare to suggest to Darth Vader to sit down behind the desk and fill in forms. Pellaeon couldn't suppress a chuckle at the thought of what would have happened to such poor, unfortunate soul who would be foolish enough to approach him.

"Yes, Captain?" Thrawn asked absentmindedly, not bothering to look up from his datapad.

For the past four hours, they had been sitting in the Grand Admiral's office going through the infernal report together. The protocol dictated that the Captain would have the report sent to Thrawn, the Grand Admiral would have read it through and sent it back with his comments, the Captain would have corrected it, sent it back to the Grand Admiral, who would have finally forwarded it to the Imperial Center.

Since this was Pellaeon's first such report under Thrawn's command, the Grand Admiral suggested they should save both of their times by going through the report together. On one hand, it meant that for the past four hours Pellaeon had to completely swallow his ego for the Grand Admiral missed nothing. On the other hand, it indeed saved both of their times because the Grand Admiral had been basically re-writing and re-dictating in front of his very eyes, his voice calm and measured, with only an occasional frown or a spark in his eyes. By all means, Thrawn could have, and he should have, just given him the damned report back.

But he didn't.

"I am sorry, sir, perhaps a short break would be in order?" Pellaeon suggested, hoping the other man would take the hint.

He didn't.

"By all means, Captain, you may take a break if you need one."

Thrawn dismissed him with a simple gesture, still not taking his eyes off the datapad.

I am not the one who needs a break.

And so Pellaeon continued sitting there until the Grand Admiral had finally raised his head and focused his red eyes on him, narrowing them once the subtle message finally registered in his alien brain.

Yes, he definitely needed a break.

Pellaeon would have been a very poor Captain if he had not known that the Grand Admiral had spent past two weeks alone in his office going over the Seventh Fleet's accounting and working out their next year's budget. And even if Pellaeon truly had not known, a half-drunk coffee mug at the end of the table would have told him everything he needed to know.

It was a plain gray, standard-issue coffee mug, and yet it spoke volumes on how exhausted the Grand Admiral must have been to have resorted to caf. Thrawn clearly drank half of the mug before Pellaeon came in, meaning he must have been dead tired before they even began.

Pellaeon cleared his throat and turned his head in the direction of the coffee mug, trying hard to ignore the disapproving frown on the alien face. The Grand Admiral has always tried to look perfect and immaculate, above his mere mortal subordinates. The coffee mug was a crack in that armor, a stain on his pristine white uniform, a sign on weakness. And no one wanted to be reminded of their weaknesses, especially Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Pellaeon wondered if he would ever become a perfect model officer who could turn a blind eye on everything. How many more years it would take? Five? Ten? Would it take service under Darth Vader to finally erase that stubborn Corellian streak of his? It had been there, deep down, and even all his military training couldn't stop it from emerging from time to time, making him say something inappropriate.

Like this.

"I am sorry, sir, and I very much appreciate your help, sir, but it does not have to be finished in a one day."

The Grand Admiral kept glaring at him, his expression cold and distant.

"There is a saying among my people, Captain, 'never leave until tomorrow that which you can do today.'"

It was said that Corellians had rocket fuel for blood, and well, Pellaeon was a pure-blood Corellian even if he spent most of his life off-world.

Never tell us the odds.

"And there is a saying among my people, sir," Pellaeon coughed and squirmed in his seat. "What can wait for tomorrow can wait for the day after and then you've had two days off."

Pellaeon knew that the Grand Admiral was not Darth Vader. Even if the Chiss had the ability to call the Force to his will, he would not have choked him with it. That was not in his nature. However, Thrawn was still his direct superior officer and as such he had the means to make his life hell.

And Corellia had not just one but Nine Hells.

"Yes. I am familiar with that particular saying," Thrawn said, his face and voice devoid of any emotion, completely unreadable, "it might come as a surprise to you, Captain, but the very first Humans I met were, in fact, Corellians."

There were only few extremely rare occasions, in which the Grand Admiral revealed anything about himself. Almost everything about him remained a complete mystery. Pellaeon had known the proper name for his species, he had known the Galactic Basic was not his mother tongue, he had known it was Voss Parck who brought him to the Empire, and he had known that Chiss could see a little bit more of electromagnetic spectrum.

That particular piece of information slipped during an art lecture in which Pellaeon casually mentioned that the violet color and the purple color look more or less same to humans, to which the Chiss appeared surprised and proceeded to call in the rest of his senior command staff, repeating the whole three-hour lecture for them, coming to the conclusion that it truly had to be a difference between Human and Chiss range of vision. Pellaeon was certainly not the most popular Captain that day.

"You may ask your question, Captain." Thrawn said in a calm, measured voice, reaching over to the end of the table for his mug.

Did he imagine it or had the corners of the alien's lips actually twitched in a smile?

Thrawn put the mug to his mouth, hiding whatever expression or emotion that might have been there, and took a deep sip of the cold coffee.

A one single question? There were probably million questions that Pellaeon wanted to ask him. Where should he even begin?

Yet as he kept looking into those red eyes, watching them dimmly glow, reminding him of a flame that burned steadily in a fireplace, he knew what question he should ask.

"I, ah," Pellaeon began clumsily, "I cannot help wondering what kind of impression those humans must have left."

There was a brief, indescribable shift in that red gaze. As if Pellaeon just went through a some kind of test. However, did he pass? Or did he fail?

"Hmmm..." Thrawn mused out aloud and put the mug back on the table. He leaned back in his chair and steeped his fingers in front of his face.

"They were reckless and irresponsible, behaving like exceptionally spoiled Chiss children."

Thrawn's brow furrowed in a frown.

"I did not even need to speak their language to understand what they were trying to say for it had been written so clearly on their exotic faces. They kept pestering me with questions of personal nature, a serious breach of good manners and etiquette. They expressed an interest in my native language but their pronunciation left much to be desired, even my name sounded like a gibberish."

The Grand Admiral grew silent, and Pellaeon felt like he had been slapped on the wrist. He supposed this was how most alien races must have felt under the New Order of the Galactic Empire.

"I see..." Pellaeon swallowed hard, at least he had his answer. No wonder Thrawn never paid any attention to racial slurs directed at his non-human heritage.

"I suppose humans must seem inferior to you then."

The Grand Admiral shook his head.

"I never said inferior, Captain, simply different."

Pellaeon blinked.

"While is true that humans are physically weaker and less durable than Chiss, or many other species for that matter for Chiss are hardly the strongest race in the universe, it is humans who became the most common and most resilient race in the Galaxy. Despite all your faults and misgivings, it was you humans who managed to conquer most planets you set your feet upon. Your bodies managed to adapt to all kinds of environments and gravities and your minds shaped differently based on the culture you come from."

The Grand Admiral paused for a few seconds, his features tense, his lips pressed into a thin line; the expression on his face reminded Pellaeon of those that he used to have during a battle with a particularly unpredictable enemy.

"The most curious thing, Captain, when I face a human opponent in a battle, I cannot simply think of them as 'human.' I need to take into an account what kind of planet they come from, what kind of culture shaped their curious minds. There is a typical Mon Calamari, a typical Twi'lek, even a typical Chiss. But a typical human? There is no such thing as a typical human."

Thrawn shook his head.

"Corellians are too stubborn for their own good and they never know when to give up. Mandalorians care too much for their honor and suffer from a quick temper, and Alderaanians are playing with fire with their peaceful demonstrations for equal rights. Their intentions might be noble but sooner or later their actions will invoke the wrath of the Emperor or a fanatical follower of the New Order."

The Grand Admiral appeared to come back from the faraway distance his musings took him, his face clearing up, his red eyes focusing back on Pellaeon.

"I could give you a lecture about the importance and the role the environment and conditions played in shaping and affecting your human minds. It would take days, perhaps weeks to even get past the basics. However, despite all that, despite all your differences, you still remain one species. In other words, Captain, humans are the true work of art. A one that I am still not done analyzing yet."

Pellaeon simply sat there, rooted in his chair, his brain slowly processing what was being said. Just how was he supposed to respond to something like this?

"You said your name was unpronounceable to us."

As he could think of a no fitting reply, Pellaeon decided to change the topic completely.

"That is two questions, Captain."

"I am sorry, sir," Pellaeon said automatically, his military training kicking in even though it was clearly not meant as a reprimand.

Thrawn waved him off.

"It is of no consequence as I decided very early on to allow humans to use my core name, Thrawn, to avoid the unintentional results of their mispronunciation."

Pellaeon leaned in, letting his curiosity show openly on his face.

Just how long and complicated the Grand Admiral's name must have been? What would it translate into? And more importantly, what would the mispronunciation translate into?

Thrawn let out a soft sigh.

"It is not… completely impossible to pronounce but it requires certain practice. It took Captain Voss Parck several years and I would very much prefer not to go through this ordeal again." Thrawn concluded, his tone making it clear as crystal that the Grand Admiral did not wish anything more to be said about this topic.

"Understood, sir."

"Very well, Captain. One hour break and then we will finish this task. While your Corellian saying is not without merit, I fully intend to complete this report by tonight."

And then they continued for eight more hours, taking only few necessary breaks, until they won the battle with their bureaucratic enemy. As the time passed, it was Pellaeon who did more and more re-writing and re-dictating, with Thrawn needing to step in less and less.

When they were finally done, it took Pellaeon all his will and training not to fall asleep in the way to his quarters. He fell dead asleep on his bed, removing only the jacket of his uniform, praying to whatever higher powers in the universe that he could get at least some rest until the beginning of his shift.

Thus when he was roused from his sleep by the ship's intercomm, he had almost smashed the receiver apart.

There had better been an excellent excuse…

"Captain Pellaeon on the line," he barked at the communication officer, and immediately felt a stab of guilt for doing so. It was not the young man's fault for waking him up after an extremely long and taxing day.

"Captain, your presence on the bridge has been requested. The Grand Admiral ordered a drill and he wishes you to come over to lead the battle personally."

A drill? A mere drill?!

"I'll be right there, Lieutenant. Pellaeon out." He rolled over and checked the chrono.

03:30

Barely two hours of sleep.

The Grand Admiral had a real talent for choosing the most unfortunate timing for a surprise drill, such as in the middle of the lunch break the only day of the month the ship's cooks prepared something that could be called a real food, or five minutes before the finale of a whatever HoloNet series the crew had been hooked on that month.

He should have known that the Grand Admiral would not let him off he hook so easily. There were always strings attached to favors.

Pellaeon buttoned up his uniform jacket as fast as he could and went over to the sink, turning on the icy cold water, washing his face in a hope the shock would at least wake him up. When he was done, looked at himself in the mirror, taking in his red, bloodshot eyes and dark circles under them.

Grand Admiral Thrawn is not the only person around whose looks could kill.

When he reached the bridge he could see the Grand Admiral in a conversation with the night shift's executive officer who flinched when she saw him approaching.

Gritting his teeth, Pellaeon gave them both a curt nod.

"Captain Pellaeon," Thrawn said in a greeting, giving his disheveled look a disapproving frown.

The Chiss looked wide-awake and well-rested, full of command authority, dressed in a new pristine white uniform. As if he had not kept Pellaeon awake until one o'clock, going over the annual report with him.

Onna fulle guth, Pellaeon muttered a curse in ancient Corellian under his breath.

"The ISD Relentless has just arrived in system. I surmised you might be interested in an opportunity to lead a mock battle against Admiral Konstantine's executive officer, Commander Dorja."

Dorja was on the night roster?

Something told Pellaeon that Admiral Konstantine did not share the Grand Admiral's idea of the importance of the night watch. That meant Dorja would certainly not have dared to wake up their Captain, let alone their Admiral, for a mere drill.

Pellaeon cleared his throat, all his irritation gone in an instant. He owed his alien commander an apology, this was not a revenge, this was a real privilege.

"Thank you, Admiral," Pellaeon tried to sound as off-handedly as possible, "If I might be so bold to suggest to organize a boarding party to try to capture the flag? The Army could also use a good field exercise."

The Grand Admiral put his hands behind his back and looked at the triangular shape of Relentless behind the viewports.

"You surprise me, Captain," the Chiss said with a rare hint of pride in his voice. "As long as our strike teams set their weapons on stun and avoid permanent physical damage to the crew, I suppose there are still enough funds left in our budget to compensate for any possible damage to the Relentless's equipment that might have arise."

The red eyes were glowing like two orbs, reminding him of a fire breathing Krayt dragon about to strike.

"Major Covell, in particular, might be interested in leading the boarding party to the Relentless's bridge."

Pellaeon tried hard to wipe a smirk off his face and failed. He could safely bet a bottle of his Whyren's reserve that the Grand Admiral would not pass an opportunity to don on full battle gear including his helmet to capture the flag himself. Lately the Chiss has been uncharacteristically tense whenever Konstantine's name was mentioned.

And the image of Grand Admiral Thrawn breaking into Admiral Konstantine's bedroom with his Death Troopers in the middle of the night was simply priceless.

The Grand Admiral might not have been as ruthless as Darth Vader but he had his moments.

THE END

Bad boys, bad boys,

Whatcha gonna do,

Whatcha gonna do,

When they come for you

*cackles madly*

I would love to read in your comments what kind of PJs Admiral Konstantine sleeps in XD .