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Ar’alani weaves between cargo crates as she navigates the shipyard, glancing down once more at the printed schedule in her hand. The dock is relatively quiet this time of day; she’s sure that this fact, just like every other thing about this plan, has been well thought out in advance. Making her way toward the far end of the yard, she rises up on tiptoe to look over a stack of boxes, and at last she sees him, standing near the Parala – the choice of ship makes her stomach churn – and dressed in the outfit that he and Ba’kif have decided on as a realistic option for a castaway on a planet far from home: simple hide garments, stitched together with thick fibers. It’s not like anything she’s ever seen him wear before – but at least it looks soft, she muses, hurrying forward to close the gap between them until she’s standing in front of him.
“Admiral,” Thrawn begins, and then the words catch in his throat, and he bows his head. When he looks up again, his lashes are jeweled with tears, and his eyes rest on a point far, far past her, barely blinking. She has seen this glazed stare on his face many times before; this time, though, there’s something else behind it, a quiet desolation that wrenches her heart.
She hasn’t seen him like this since his brother’s death.
She suspects that means nobody else has, either.
As he stands before her, worrying at the fingers of one hand with another, she struggles to find words of comfort. But for once, she finds herself just as tongue-tied as Thrawn, though for a different reason; what can she possibly say to a man who lives on routine and consistency, and is about to lose every scrap of it? In all their time as friends, though she has fought beside him on so many occasions, she has never seen him as afraid as he looks now.
So she steps forward and squeezes around his shoulders, and holds him without a word, just as she would on all those nights at the Academy, when his self-doubt and the weight of the world got to be too much for him.
Oh, how much has changed since those days.
And how much has stayed the same.
Thrawn rests his head on her shoulder, and she presses her cheek to his temple as he snuffles into her uniform, tightening his grip around her waist. She holds him close, his shaky breaths juddering her body, for what seems like forever – and oh, how she wishes it could be. She won’t cry, she tells herself, she can’t – she has to be strong for her friend.
And then, after a long, long time, he lifts his face, and moves his hands to her shoulders, and kisses her forehead so, so gently, and then her own tears begin.
“Promise me you’ll come back,” she whispers, taking his hands as he begins to draw away. His only answer is a nod, and a gentle squeeze of her fingers, but it’s all she needs. When he steps back again, she lets him go, wiping her eyes – pointlessly – with her sleeve. It feels like a dream, watching him move toward the ship through a haze of fresh tears.
At the top of the boarding ramp, turning back to face her, Thrawn snaps to attention, looking noble as ever despite the roughness of his garb, and whips out a salute. Straightening up, Ar’alani returns it, keeping her chin high and her face brave.
After all, it’s not as though he’s leaving forever.
That’s not what friends do.