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Admiral Ar’alani was glad she had insisted Lieutenant Commander Eli’van’to stay behind to coordinate the rescue efforts on this particular mission. It was the logical choice - he was the only one aboard the Steadfast who spoke both Galactic Basic and Cheunh, and both crews had at least a passing familiarity with the man. The fact that he did not have to face first-hand the death and destruction that the bridge crew of his old ship had faced was merely an added bonus.
Ar’alani, on the other hand, was right in the middle of it. Standing in the same place she had been less than two months ago, the quiet hum of activity she had come to expect from the Lesser Space ship replaced by the soft whoosh of air from her exosuit. She scanned the bridge, looking past dead controls and fried electronics for the casualties. There were surprisingly few of them, which Ar’alani attributed to the gigantic hole on the starboard side of the bridge viewport, holding everything in with a thin layer of energy that seemed to flicker dangerously every couple of minutes.
She was beginning to lose hope when she finally spotted him - a blue hand wrapped in shadow, thrust out from a pile of debris. She rushed over to him, kneeling beside his hand as she fumbled with the sensors on the medpack she was carrying. She finally managed to get it on, breathing a sigh of relief as she looked at the results - Mitth’raw’nuruodo was still alive, at least for now.
Ar’alani called over some of the medics, and within five minutes, they had him out in the open. His white uniform was torn and blackened, and one of his legs was bent at an odd angle, but he was breathing.
“Leave us,” she commanded, watching as Thrawn’s eyes fluttered open. “There are others.”
She watched the emotions play across his face - pain, confusion, the spark of hopeful recognition and despite herself, Ar’alani felt herself smile. “I thought we had progressed past the point where you needed me to save you from yourself.”
“It seems we have not.” Thrawn’s eyes were dim and his breathing was ragged, but his mind seemed clear enough. “My crew?”
“We’re working on it. Commander Vanto is acting as liaison.”
“How many…”
“Don’t.” She looked down at the med scanner - his chest was a mess and he would likely need surgery on his leg as well - but there was nothing immediately life-threatening. “not now.”
Thrawn swallowed, looking up at her with a painfully raw expression on his face. “What about Bridger?”
“Who?”
“The Jedi… who…” he gestured vaguely around him, wincing as the movement pulled at his broken ribs.
Ar’alani shook her head. “We have had no reports of him as of yet.”
“Be on your guard.” Thrawn coughed, his eyes welling with tears that Ar’alani pretended not to see. “He likes ventilation shafts.”
“We will keep an eye out for him.” She gave him a critical glance. “I’m going to splint your leg. I suspect it will be unpleasant.”
Thrawn nodded, his expression one of grim determination. “I am prepared.”
Ar’alani gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder, patting him affectionately before turning her attention solely to the task in front of her. She put her focus into setting up the splint and bandages, pushing her thoughts away from the pained expression on Thrawn’s face.
“Three, two, one ,” she muttered to herself, pushing the splint into place as Thrawn let out a choked-off cry.
Ar’alani looked over her work - not the professional splinting she would expect from her medics, but it would hold. She knew how Thrawn felt about medics, knew how he hated to be vulnerable in front of strangers, and it was worth the price of mediocre first aid.
“Thank you,” Thrawn ground out, as if reading her mind. “I appreciate it.”
“Don’t appreciate me yet,” she said, slipping an arm under his legs. “We still have to get you home.”
He made a noise halfway between a laugh and a groan, leaning towards her as she slipped her other arm under him. “Home… I’m not sure the Syndicure would agree.”
“Fuck the Syndicure,” Ar’alani said as she picked him up, feeling him tense as his broken bones shifted around in his chest. “I’m not losing you again.”
Thrawn shook his head against her chest. “Your reputation…”
“Doesn’t matter.” She pressed the faceplate of her suit into his hair. “You’ve given more than enough, it’s time for someone else to take the helm and make the sacrifices.”
“But…”
“No buts. I’ll order you if I have to.”
“You don’t outrank me anymore.”
She paused, giving him a look. “Does it matter?”
He hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “No, I suppose not.”
“You focus on recovering, and let me do the rest.”
“Very well, Admiral.” Thrawn said with a small smile.
“It’s Ar’alani when we’re alone,” she said quietly, “and don’t you forget it.”