Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the ISD Executor was soundlessly gliding through space.

The dark exterior of the battleship glinted as it made its way forward, its shiny surface reflecting the rays of the nearest stars. With a length of 19.000 meters, more than 5.000 turbolasers plus ion cannons and thirteen thrusters, the ship was the largest star destroyer ever build.

The Executor - also known as the Lady by her faithful crewmen - was truly a sight to behold. There was no star destroyer more powerful, more dominating, in the known universe. The wet dream of every navy officer, if one was inclined to think that way.

Serving on the Lady was not only a privilege, it was an honour.

Unfortunately, there was also a rather huge downside about serving on the Empire's most admired super star destroyer.
As befitting a Lady of her status, the Executor was commandeered by no one less than a Lord. Her master was no one else as Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith, second in command to the Emperor and Heir to the Imperial throne, which rather complicated things.

On the bridge of Lady, Firmus Piett, Captain first rank of the Imperial Navy, gloomily stared out of the windows in contemplation.

He had only been transferred to the Executor three months ago.

It hadn’t been the first time a transfer order to the Executor had popped up in his mailbox. All those years before, Piett had luckily – and quite skilfully – managed to avoid serving aboard the Lady by requesting transfers of his own within the other star destroyers of Death Squadron.
Just right on time, so the orders to serve on Lord Vader’s flagship had always been cancelled out by his own transfer requests.

But three month ago, his luck had run out. Unprepared for yet another transfer order to serve aboard the Executor, Piett hadn’t succeeded to reverse the request.

And now, here he was. Pitying himself like a bloody cadet.

I’m sorry, Lady, Piett thought, fondly patting the wall of the big ship. No offense.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to serve as captain of the Lady. He felt immensely honoured, but also constantly on edge. Within the first two weeks of his service, he unfortunately had been right on duty when Lord Vader had decided to execute Communications Officer Reinold for a minor mistake. The agonised, contorted face of the poor man still haunted his dreams every once in a while.

First Lieutenant Venka had even told him these incidents, as he called them, happened so often that the Human Resources department had taken to giving them their own informal code name:

De.b.t.s. – Death by tremendous strangulation.

A rather bad show of morbid humour, Piett found.
But also, quite true. Normal debts, you could pay back. But not with the Dark Lord.

One day, Piett had decided to read the file of his own predecessor. He had found two notes at the end of the document:

STATUS: Deceased.
CAUSE OF DEATH: De.b.t.s by Lord Vader

His daily ratio of caf intake had promptly doubled since then. Fortunately, the former Captain had also left behind a fairly large variety of strong alcoholic beverages.

Piett grimaced inwardly. Being the Captain of the Executor and thus one of the highest-ranking officers on board had brought him closer to Lord Vader’s attention than he liked. And, if he wouldn’t be careful, his own demise.

Shaking off his thoughts, Piett concentrated again on the present tasks at hand. Slacking off was a definite No-Go with the Sith Lord breathing down the crew’s neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, the captain saw one of the Lieutenants making his way over to him with a datapad.
“What is it?”, he asked.

“Sir”, the man hesitated, “these are the plans for the army drills in hangar forty-five and forty-six.”

Piett made a sound of dissatisfaction. “Every plan for changes within the hangars has to be signed by the Admiral, not the Captain. I’m not sure why you’re bringing this to my attention, not Admiral Ozzel’s.”

The man squirmed under Piett’s firm gaze. “My apologies, Captain. It’s just... I tried to get the Admiral to sign it one week ago, but he didn’t have time for it, Sir. And the Army’s really pressing and asking non-stop for their confirmed drills, Sir.”

Upon hearing that, Piett couldn’t help himself but shoot a glance to where the Admiral was currently standing on the bridge.
Ozzel was… an idiot, simply put. A pure core-worlder to the boot, Ozzel’s opinions about everyone and everything were purely based on how far off from the core worlds they were born and on how high their political status was.

When Venka had been in a particularly foul mood after another one of the Admiral’s egocentric speeches, he had told Piett in no uncertain termes that Ozzel’s position as Admiral was only due to his personal connections with the higher-ups, not due to skill. As far as Piett could judge someone he’d only met three months ago, he was inclined to agree with his colleague.

Ozzel was an arrogant son of a hutt, as far as he was concerned. Claiming how naïve and of simple nature off-worlders were, boasting about his supposed brilliance and talking down others in one go.

It didn’t help at all that Piett was from Axxila. His home planet was situated deep in the Outer Rim, not even close to the Admiral’s beloved core worlds.

As a result of that, Piett was constantly treated with contempt and barely hidden disregard by Ozzel, no matter how hard he tried or how perfectly he served. Being one of the Admiral’s direct subordinates, Piett had no chance in evading the hassle Ozzel seemed to throw his way on every occasion.

The Admiral’s arrogance and constant looking down at “lesser” individuals had also driven quite a rift between the Navy and the Army troops aboard the Lady, as Venka had informed him back then.

Apparently, Ozzel and his entourage of other high-strung idiots deemed the navy officers as far superior than their army counterparts, sneering at them for being dirtpounders and men who did the simple, dirty foot work.
Naturally, said infantry troops weren’t happy about such comments, which only served to deepen the rivalry between the Army and the Navy.
It was a cause for concern. Good-natured rivalry between the two groups was only normal on every star destroyer, but Piett had never witnessed such a tension like on the Executor.

But as long as everyone acted with full efficiency, Lord Vader didn’t seem to be bothered by that. Until then, Ozzel had free reign.
Hopefully, the man would make a grave mistake and bite the dust soon.

Resolving to do better than his superior, Piett accepted the datapad, which contained the hangar changes needed for the drills, with resignation. “Leave it to me, Lieutenant”, he said. “I will personally place the hangar plans on the Admiral’s to-do-list.”

With a nod of thanks, the man scurried away.

Piett gave the datapad a glare. Ozzel would do his duty. He would make sure of it.

Chapter Text

Captain Firmus Piett’s quarters, Executor, two days later

With a curse muffled by the pillow, Piett blindly pated around for his alarm clock, trying in vain to turn it off. He’d only fallen into bed five hours ago. The Executor had been sent to pacify an unrest on one of the mining colonies the day before, which had sadly impacted nearly all of his time off duty.

Ring, ring, ring.

Groaning, the Captain finally succeeded in snatching the damn thing and hitting the off-button. He blinked, then forced himself to sit up. Time for another round of jolly activities with Ozzel. Or Lord Vader, depending on the Sith Lord’s mood.

Only half awake, Piett padded into the fresher and started his morning routine. Showering first, then shaving and brushing his teeth. As he absently-minded stared into the mirror, his own tired reflection stared back at him.

No wonder Venka had given him that concerned look last day. Even his eyebags had eyebags.
Shrugging in annoyance, Piett put on his neatly folded uniform, combed his hair back and put on his cap.
Sleep was for the weak. Duty was not.

On his way to the bridge, the Captain snatched himself a cup of caf and a sandwich. After a few sips, he could feel the strong caffeine seeping into his tired body, forcefully jolting him awake. Caf. Caf was great. Sometimes, he felt it was the only thing that kept him going. And sane, after all those "incidents" on the bridge.

Switching to his sandwich, the Captain let out a sigh. On a normal day, Piett religiously had a nice breakfast in the Officer’s lounge, but today there was simply no time. He was already two minutes late, thanks to his lack of sleep, and didn’t want to give Ozzel yet another reason to target his moods on him.

While he was nibbling on his food, he quickly checked his datapad for the newest updates and reports.

And nearly dropped it in surprise.

As the Lady’s Captain, he could not only see his chores, but also the Admiral’s, as Ozzel had him do most of the tasks. And on the top of the list, marked in an urgent red, were the hangar plans for the army drills. Still pending.

With a frown, Piett checked to see the status of the inquiry. His frown deepened.
Ozzel hadn’t even read the plans. Let alone signed them.

With growing unease, Piett scrolled down to search on which day the exercise was supposed to take place.

Tomorrow.

Stifling a curse, the Captain drained the rest of his caf and quickened his pace. The Thundering Herd, the troopers the drill exercises were for, would be furious. Complaints would follow. New tensions arise. In turn, Ozzel would be furious. And as a result of the formers, probably even Lord Vader. Oh dear.

When he finally reached the bridge, disaster was already unfolding itself.

At first sight, he could see Venka unsuccessfully trying to stop a well-built man in an Army uniform charging towards the Admiral. The man seemed rage personified. And not overly impressed with Venka’s attempts because he just bodily ramed his shoulder into the other's side and kept going.

Hurriedly, Piett tried to catch up with him, decided on doing damage control. Thankfully, Lord Vader was nowhere in sight.

“Commander Khartov!”, he shouted, tone friendly yet firm. When the bulky man stopped his onslaught in a moment of surprise at the new voice, Piett took the chance to unobtrusively slide in the line of sight between the man and the Admiral.
He could see Venka shooting him a grateful look.

“Commander Khartov”, he repeated placatingly, like one would talk to a wounded animal, “may I ask what brings you to the bridge? Can we help you?”

The Army man slowly cast an icy glare from Piett to Venka, before apparently deciding that Piett was the major threat. Or the more important man. Piett sincerely hoped for the latter.

“Help me?”, the man bristled. “Sure you can, Captain!” An accusing finger was stabbed in his direction. “I’m here to ask why the kriff the plans for our battle exercises aren’t signed yet. We submitted them four weeks ago! Four weeks!”

Piett deliberately took a second to breathe in and out. As far as he’d heard, Khartov was an experienced and well-respected commander. He got things done. The older man was just… very direct.

He tried again. “I understand your anger, Commander. Let me assure you, we…”

Khartov interrupted him with a harsh snarl. “I don’t care about paperwork, Captain. Can you even imagine how pissed General Veers is that the Thundering Herd won’t be able to perform tomorrow? We spend a month planning those drills!”

General Maximillian Iron Max Veers. That name definitely rang a bell.
Piett had only met the famous General in person twice, in meetings. One had been attended by Lord Vader himself, so there had been no discourteousness that day, but the other one had mostly consisted of Ozzel shouting something and the General growling back retorts in barely suppressed anger.

It would had been quite impressive, if it hadn’t been a cause for concern and a threat for bodily harm.
Tall, well-built and with a deadly stare that could probably fell a Wookie, General Veers had wielded authority like a well-honed blade. He was said to be strict, but fair, and to have the unlimited loyalty of his troops. A model soldier. And a guy who could probably snap an enemy’s spine in half with his bare hands.

Back that day, Veers had risen right up on Piett’s mental People-Better-Not-To-Cross-list.

And now said man was probably very pissed.

Sending a quick prayer to whoever deity willing to listen, Piett held up his hands in a soothing gesture. But before he could diffuse the tension any further, he felt Venka suddenly stiffening beside him. Not without reason – Admiral Ozzel seemed to have finally noticed the commotion and was making a beeline towards them. Luck really wasn't on his side today.

“What is going on here?”, the Admiral demanded, throwing the trio a suspicious glance.

Before Khartov was able to open his mouth, Piett quickly intervened. “The Commander was asking about the delay on the hangar plans they sent you to sign, Sir.” And which I personally placed at the top of your to-do-list, you incompetent prat.

“And?”, the Admiral asked in a bored tone.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Piett could see Venka giving the already furious commander a quick jab to the ribs to keep the man from lashing out.

“And – “, Piett ventured on, in a frantic try to stop any further escalation, “– I think, Sir, it may not be too late to remedy the situation. If you would read and sign the documents now, there would still be some time to talk to the hangar master in order to rearrange the training grounds for the exercises.”

The Admiral only sneered in response. “Now? You can’t be serious, Piett. I can’t just spend my valuable time on random whims.”

“But, Sir -”

Ozzel gave him a devious look. “But, what, man?”, he hissed. A sudden victorious smile appeared on his lips. “You know what, Captain? Since you’re so adamant on dealing with army stuff, why don’t you review those plans in my stead and personally check in with the hangar master?”

“Sir, my shift – “

The Admiral gave him a hard look. “After you finished your current shift, of course. I’m sure a man of your talents can manage a double shift.”

Face deadpan, Piett was mentally seething in anger.
A double shift after the already short night caused by the mining uprising was just cruel. It would mean another twenty-four hours without sleep. On further notice, checking in with the hangar master to implement changes for battle exercises was normally a task done by the Army personnel, not a Navy officer. It would saddle Piett with even more work than he already had. The Admiral was deliberately punishing him.

He tore his eyes from Ozzel’s far too smug face and shot the Army commander, who had watched the exchange in unusual silence, a look. There was no going back now.

“I will speak to the hangar master, Sir.” His voice was firm.

The Admiral only seemed amused. “You do so, Piett. Oh, and in case you’ll have second thoughts…” The smug smile was back. “Consider it an order.”

Chapter Text

Twenty-four hours and another double shift later, Piett found himself stumbling towards the Officer's Lounge on weary legs.

He needed caf and he needed it now. After so many hours of Ozzel flinging insults at him and dumping every possible bit of workload on him, he felt overly drained. Like his brain had melted. Or burst. Or both. Not to mention the following reviewing of the Army drills and the subsequent draining talk with the hangar master about the needed changes for the battle exercises.

The hangar master hadn’t been happy about the last-minute adjustments.
Piett hadn’t been happy about the hangar master.
Long story short: They had both been unhappy.
In the end, they’d scowled at each other until they had found a solution acceptable for all parties concerned, which had taken a veeeery long time.

Shuffling through the corridor, Piett was positively sure he would soon break the thin line between being absolutely tired to going absolutely apeshit if he didn't get his caf on time.

Or punch Ozzel in the face. Or both.

As he rounded the corner, he nearly collided with a huge stack of datapads on two legs, jerking back in surprise. The mountain of datapds skidded to a halt, the datapad on the top sliding dangerously close to the edge.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Sir!", the datapads cried. Piett blinked in confusion until a distinctly human head with deep brown, unruly hair, peeked around the pads, looking embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, Sir", Lieutenant Gavin Oon-Aii, first and only Aide-De-Camp to Lord Vader, repeated. "I'm afraid I can't really see people crossing my way at the moment."

Piett suspiciously glanced at the swinging mountain of plasisteel that the younger man balanced with tremendous effort in his arms. "Yes, it does certainly look like that", he said.
The Captain arched an eyebrow. "I don't mean to pry, Lieutenant, but what on earth are you doing?"

The datapads shifted a bit. "I was just about to deliver these to Lord Vader's office, Captain, Sir."

That definitely made Piett perk up.

It wouldn't do to belay any of His Lordship's biddings. All orders from the Supreme Commander were best fulfilled as fast as possible if you liked to keep breathing and see another day. However, the poor boy was already staggering under the weight of the datapads, looking partly concentrated to keep them from falling and partly exhausted.

Sighing, Piett made a decision. Caf could wait for another four minutes.

Sleep is for the weak.

He carefully picked up the top stacks of the pads, relieving the Lieutenant of some of his burden, before gesturing with his head towards the lifts. "Do come on, Lieutenant, I don't have all day."

He was rewarded with a beaming smile. "Oh, thank you, Sir!", Oon-Aii noted, happily making his way over.

Piett couldn't help but smile fondly at the youths back. The young man was a miracle himself, always cheerful and high-spirited despite having to deal with Darth Vader on a regular basis. Respectful, well-mannered and with an eye for details, the Captain could see why people said Oon-Aii was the perfect aide. Even Lord Vader had to see something in the young man - after all, he was still alive.

He remembered his first meeting with the Lieutenant all too well. At first, everyone had wondered that Lord Vader had chosen an ADC. Not that the Supreme Commander didn't need one, as even the Sith Lord had plenty of paperwork to do, but it had been a shock to the crew to simply see Darth Vader bring - and tolerate- one himself.

He also vividly remembered how Lord Vader had summoned the top brass of his officers and, with a small wave of his hand, had ordered the unassuming (and at that time, quite pale and nervous) Lieutenant forward.
The Dark Lord had simply boomed "This is Lieutenant Oon-Aii. He will serve as my personal aide aboard the Lady” and left it at that. Naturally, none of the officers had dared to question Lord Vader. And so, the new position of Aide-De-Camp to his Sithness, Lord Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, had been born.

When the lift went down, Piett eyed the man beside him in contemplation. As rumour had it, dozens of crewmates had tried to get the pleasant young Navy officer to spill the beans about how he’d come to be in their lordship’s employ, but to no avail.

The Captain, being of a curious nature himself, had also tried his luck, of course.

However, every time the topic of conversation had veered dangerously close to Oon-Aii’s debut of career, the Lieutenant had gotten quite pale-faced and stared at him with such a haunted look in his eyes that Piett hadn’t had the heart to ask any further.

Obviously, the young man still had to deal with some kind of Vader-induced trauma. That was something Piett could easily accept.

Torn out of his musing by a chime from the lift, Piett ordered his sluggish brain to once more give its attention to the present, moving out of the lift and towards Lord Vader’s office.

At their destination, after a moment of fumbling for his code cylinder, Oon-Aii managed to get the doors to open, so they could enter the Lieutenant’s outer office, which was directly connected to Lord Vader’s business chambers by a small door.

They quickly dumped their respective piles of datapads on the young man’s desk.
The Lieutenant made a relieved huff. “Thank you again, Sir, for all your trouble. I don’t know if I would have managed on my own. How can I be of service in return?”

Piett just nodded tiredly. “Never mind, Lieutenant”, he said, giving the datapads one last hard look. “But before we go: What are these tons of data about?”

Oon-Aii simply shrugged, making a casual wave with his hand.
“These? Oh well, you know…”, he answered nonchalantly, “…just some information about the Skywalker incident.”

Startled, Piett wiped around to stare at the young man. The search for the rebel pilot named Skywalker (who had blown up the Death Star, also known as the Skywalker Incident), was something Lord Vader was positively obsessed about.

And an obsessed, short-tempered Sith Lord was nothing Piett wanted to – or could, in his sleep deprived state – deal with in the next few hours. It was a mystery to him how the Lieutenant could keep his usual sunshiny attitude in moments like these.

The Captain gave the other naval officer a searching look. “Don’t tell me you have to stay here and review all these”, he muttered, picking up two datapads at random after a moment of hesitation. When no complaints were forthcoming from the Lieutenant, Piett guessed his rank as Captain was probably high enough to warrant access to the data the lad had collected. As he was skimming the text, his eyebrows steadily wandered up.
That was interesting. Quickly, he highlighted some of the text.

To his surprise, Oon-Aii answered his question in the negative, tearing him back to the presence. “Not to worry, Sir, I’m off duty for the time being. Lord Vader wants to review the information in person. He should be down momentarily.”

Right. Lord Vader. Skywalker Incident.
As it was, Piett wouldn’t have made it to Captain if he didn’t know when it was time for a strategic retreat. He put the pads down again.

In a matter of minutes, he helped the Lieutenant arrange their dumped piles of datapads into one neat stack, placing the pads he had skimmed only moments ago on the top.

Time to leg it. Ushering the other man out of the room, he gave Oon-Aii a small smile. “Why don’t we just head to the Officer’s Lounge, young man?”, he suggested. “I’m in dire need of some caffeine.” He eyed the other officer. “And I’m sure you haven’t had any breakfast yet with all those tasks His Lordship wants you to do.”

The Lieutenant laughed. “You know what, Sir? As a thanks, paying for your caf is the least I can do.”

Chapter Text

Finally, in the Officer’s Lounge, Piett could feel the tension draining out of his body the moment Lieutenant Oon-Aii and himself stepped over the threshold.
As it was morning, the heavenly smell of caf hung in the air, stirring his tired brain awake again at the sheer prospect of having a cup himself.

Against his hopes, the lounge was well-attended. Multiple officers had gathered in small groups to enjoy a shared breakfast and get the latest spills of the rumour mill.
An attentive observer could note the seated groups had divided themselves either deliberately or subconsciously by their affiliated military ranks - as far as Piett noticed, the ground troops seemed to prefer the darker, wooden tables on the left as usual, while the fleet officers tended to stick to the glinting, metallic grey ones on the right.

In the middle of those informal territories, a few tables were occupied by a mix of Army and Navy officers, each chatting – amicably for once – with their respective counterparts.

Piett was just about to make his way to his favourite table on the “Navy side” of the lounge, when his gaze landed on the officers already sitting there. Admiral Ozzel and his entourage. The last persons he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Oon-Aii, having followed the Captain’s look with his own eyes, shifted uneasily at his side. The lad didn’t seem too keen to bear the Admiral’s company as well, but was be far too polite to ever utter a word of disregard about a superior officer in front of Piett. He would follow wherever the Captain would lead him to, regardless of an annoying Admiral or not.

Luckily for both of them, Piett had no qualms about disregarding his superior officer.

Before any of Ozzel’s cronies could spot them, Piett abruptly veered to the right and headed for the only other table which was currently unoccupied. It was a nice spot, situated on the far-right side of the lounge, a bit secluded from the ongoings of the place, but near enough to the bar to get the bartender’s attention without too much effort. One also had a fairly good overlook over the lounge and – most important – was out of Ozzel’s direct line of sight.

As Piett let himself plop down onto the blueish cushions, he noticed a few of the Army members around them staring at them in a mixture of curiosity and disapproval. It was logical – the table they occupied was right in the middle of the “Army territory” of the lounge.

Of course, Piett could have pulled rank and shooed out some junior officers on the “Navy side” of the lounge, but he wasn’t Ozzel, after all.

So, given the situation, he opted for sending a stern look the observers’ way, upon which they quickly reverted their gazes and went back to chattering with their tablemates. He was the Captain of the Lady, after all. He could sit at any free table if he damn well pleased, regardless about its whereabouts.

Across him, Lieutenant Oon-Aii was already waving to the waiter, who went straight up to them.
“Two cafs, please. I’m paying.”

“How would you like your caf, Sir?”, the waiter turned to Piett, casting a sympathetic glance at Piett’s eyebags. “Navy strength?”

The Captain nodded in delight. “Yes, please. And the veggie omelet, Ho’Din style, with some extra hot chili and pepper. And for you, Lieutenant?”

Oon-Aii made a face. “Just the normal caf and some Dantooine cereal, please.” The young man shot Piett an apological look. “No offense, Sir, but your food could wake the dead.”

The Captain huffed. “You’re still young, Oon-Aii”, he answered in good humour. “Wait until you’re as old as me, you will need to gather your energy from wherever you can.”

Then, he glanced down at his uniform, rumpled after the long time on duty and forced himself on his legs again. “Excuse me for a moment, I need to freshen up a bit.”
The lad nodded absently minded; nose already buried deep into the dessert menu. Fondly shaking his head at the youth, Piett went off to the fresher.

Minutes later, after a quick wash of his face and hands with cold water, he couldn’t help but stare into the mirror and contemplate his life choices again. It was all pros and cons. He wanted to serve the Empire. He wanted to be in the Imperial Navy, to be Captain of the mightiest ship the galaxy had ever seen.
But on the other side, he definitely didn’t want to serve under Lord Vader or – he grimaced – Admiral Ozzel. Sadly, you couldn’t do one without the other, so well, there was the dilemma.

Sighing, Piett towelled his hands off. What he wished for would have no effect on his current situation. After all, even as a high-ranking officer, he was only a tiny cog in the massive machinery of the Emperor’s reign.

Shaking off the tiresome thoughts, Piett stepped out of the fresher to return to Oon-Aii and his – hopefully already served – food and drink.

On his way back, he couldn’t help but have a bad feeling about leaving the young man on the Army side of the lounge on his own, despite knowing that no one would harm the boy in any way. Oon-Aii was Lord Vader’s personal aide, mind you, so nobody would dare lay a hand on him if they didn’t have an actual death wish.
Furthermore, the Lieutenant was far too well liked by everyone to have actual enemies.

But still.

When he returned to the lounge, the unease in his stomach increased. Even a few meters away from their occupied table, Piett could make out three hulks of definitely Army men standing around the seated Oon-Aii in not quite a threatening, but remarkable intimidating manner. Guessable from the rigid posture the lad had adopted, the Lieutenant felt quite the same.

Cursing under his breath, Piett swiftly made his way over.

His arrival clearly startled the three, two of the Army officers even taking a quick step back from the table. Only the man in the middle, whom Piett could barely identify as one Major Covell, one of the chiefs of the AT-AT brigade, merely raised an eyebrow in question and gave him a nod.

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”, Piett asked sharply.

The Major regarded him with interest, eyes flicking to his rank badge, then up to his face and down again. “Captain.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the other two officers who quickly scurried off, out of the line of fire. “We were just politely telling our Lieutenant here that he’s sitting at the General’s table. No hard feelings.”

Piett pointedly took his seat at said table again. “Oh, did, you?”, he remarked, dangerously polite. “I’m afraid there aren’t any name plates or reservations on this table, so it would take a hard guess to know where one is supposed to sit or not.” The Captain narrowed his eyes to slits, halfway expecting a confrontation.

To his surprise, the Major backed down at once. “My apologies, Sir.” Covell shot Lieutenant Oon-Aii a glance, before again turning to Piett, curiosity and faint amusement on his face.
“The lad’s with you, Sir?”, he asked. His tone was light and polite, all hostility the man had exuded before Piett’s arrival gone under a mask of courteous manners.

The Captain nodded.

Covell’s eyes sparkled with something akin to fascination as he kept trying not to stare at Piett, but at the same time seizing him up, thus failing admirably. Piett couldn’t help but wonder about the man’s sudden change of moods.

When he had first seen him speaking to the Lieutenant, the Major had seemed quite unhappy to find a Navy officer sitting at obviously their General’s most appreciated spot of the lounge. Stars, he’d looked more than unhappy.
But now, the Army man seemed actually quite delighted to see them, all good manners for whatever reason.

To add further to the mystery, Covell gave him an understanding nod as if Piett had just shared some vital piece of wisdom with the man.

“If he’s with you, it’s alright, Sir”, the man promised. “You must excuse my men, they are quite tense about anything Navy-related in that part of the lounge, thanks to the Admiral. They’ll behave better next time, now that they know.”
He gave Piett a serious nod.

Beside him, Oon-Aii gave Piett a confused look, flabbergasted by the turn of events.

“Oh”, Covell suddenly exclaimed, “I forgot. If you would be so kind to wait here for a moment…”
With a practiced gesture, the man pulled out his commlink.

The unease in Piett’s stomach returned, eyes fixed on the smirking Major comming a number.

“General? I found him.”

Chapter Text

The General’s arrival was easily heralded: All Army personnel was suddenly interested in the doorway. After a second, there was a quick shuffling to smooth down uniforms and a rapid change in the atmosphere to a more focused, more dutiful mood.

General Maximillian Veers, Commander of the Thundering Herd and the Imperial infantry troops of the Executor stood in the door. With a height of 1,93 meters, chiselled features, impeccable olive-green uniform and insanely broad shoulders, the man made for a truly impressive sight.

“Terran”, a booming voice shouted over the ambient noise of the lounge, “I see you’ve found our man!”

Stars, the man was loud. What a set of lungs.

Piett winced when the call reached his ears, vividly remembering that one meeting where Ozzel and the General had shouted at each other. He’d left with ears ringing.
Next to him, Major Covell waved the General over.

As a tactical officer to the core, Piett automatically analysed the reactions Veers’s troops made when they caught sight of their General. There were glances full of nervousness mixed with respect, dutiful nods, short salutations and looks of pure admiration as the man in question was making his way over to their table.
Some of the men and women were even staring at the man with clearly starstruck eyes, adoration on their face.

The General himself gave his officers non-verbal responses of his own. A pat on someone’s shoulder, a small smile – Veers seemed to know his men quite well.

“Sir”, Covell greeted the newcomer curtly.

The General gave the Major an acknowledging nod. “Thanks for informing me, Terran.”
He surveyed the scene with a practised glance.
“It seems I need to remind our boys and girls that their eavesdropping skills still need much to be desired”, Veers said humorously, eying the table next to them, where two men and a woman were pathetically straining to appear as uninterested as possible.

“At ease, everyone! And back to your business.”

At that, Veers also dismissed the Major with a flick of his hand, before he focused on Piett and Oon-Aii. “You’re occupying my favourite spot, gentlemen”, the Army officer observed, cocking his head and staring at them like a scientist would stare at an unexpected, but fairly inconvenient puzzle.

From his seated position, the Captain had to crane his neck to look the standing man in his eyes, but that didn’t stop him. He dealt with Vader and Ozzel on a daily basis, he should easily deal with this guy, too. “And a good day to you, General”, he drily answered, hiding his unease.

To Piett’s growing concern, the man’s piercing gaze found Oon-Aii who gave the General a nervous smile in return.
“Sir”, the Lieutenant cautiously greeted.

The Army man regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Do be so kind and pop off, Lieutenant”, Veers suggested sternly, but not unkindly. “It’s time for the adults to have a talk.”

Quickly, Oon-Aii shot Piett a look. The Captain answered with a confirming nod. “It’s alright.”

The Lieutenant smiled briefly at him, then stood up and saluted to both of them. “Sirs.” And, after a short hesitation, he disappeared into the crowd.

Huffing, Piett shot the General, who had plopped down on the chair Oon-Aii had occupied before in a matter of seconds, a dark look.

“That was quite rude.”

Amused, Veers gave Piett a look of his own. “Touchy, aren’t we, Captain?”

Piett shrugged, downing a good portion of his caf before replying. The caffeine seeped into his tired veins, lighting them up with newfound energy. “At least, in the Navy you learn the basics of etiquette”, he bit back.

“Says the Navy officer while disregarding a superior’s rank”, Veers huffed.

Piett grimaced. Veers was right – the General did technically outrank him, as he was only a Captain. But still.
"May I remind you, General, that this ‘Navy officer’ is still Captain of the Executor. The very ship you are currently standing on", Piett said with an icy glare. "And in my capacity of Captain of this vessel, I will make sure there's at least a decent amount of polite social interaction, regardless of their military affiliation or rank, Sir." The same goes for mouthy Generals, went unspoken.

The General's eyes narrowed, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Oh, really?", he purred, voice low. "What do you want to do - throw me out of an airlock?"

"Accidents do happen, Sir."

Abruptly, Veers leaned forward, bringing his face dangerously close to the Captain’s. The sudden movement took Piett by surprise, but he stood his ground, barely containing a flinch. Hazel eyes stared at him, unyielding. The tiny primeval part of his brain screamed at him to watch his mouth, highlighting the way Veers’s muscles moved under the uniform and the way the man’s impressive frame towered over him, at least a head taller.

"Careful, sailor", the General growled, teeth bared. “You don’t want to ruin my good mood, do you?”

“The ‘sailor’ can still give you a tour of the airlocks”, Piett shot back, face carefully blank. He felt a bit lightheaded, maybe some aftereffect of his rapid intake of the Navy-strong caf. Or maybe his brain just didn’t care anymore and had decided to kriff it all.

Nevertheless, Piett regretted his cheeky remark the moment it left his caf-befuddled brain. So much for his self-preservation instinct, the Captain noted bitterly. The General’s hands had closed into fists, amusement draining from his face and being replaced with real, raw anger.

For a moment, Piett feared he had overstepped. Mentally cursing himself, the Captain broke eye contact to stare ruefully at his food. Normally, remarks like this would bounce off him like worthless gossip, but after nearly 46 hours without sleep he guessed he had reached his limit. He really had to sleep more; he was acting like a prick. No wonder the Army thought the Navy officers were prats. And here he was, proofing them right. Unforgivable.

Shooting the General an embarrassed look, he coughed lightly. “Sorry about that”, he apologised, voice soft. “That was uncalled for, Sir. I meant no offense.”

Veers blinked. “What?”

Avoiding the other’s stare, Piett slowly traced the rim of his cup with his index finger. “I’m sorry”, he repeated, tired, before he fixed his gaze on the Army man again. “A minute ago, I told you about the necessity of being polite and now here I am, making an ass of myself.”

The General blinked again, clearly surprised. A tense minute went by.
Then, suddenly, Veers relaxed and leaned back again. And - to Piett's surprise - barked a laugh.
"You have balls, Captain, I like that!”, the General admitted with a twinkle in his eyes. Slowly, the man’s good mood returned.

“Truce?”
“Truce.”

Thankful, Piett let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Recognising the banter for what it was, Veers made a dismissive gesture. “No offense taken”, he assured. “I started the whole mess, so I guess your response was fair. I’m glad at least someone in the Navy can stand up for themselves.” The man measured him with another inquiring look, taking in Piett’s eyebags and the small crinkles in his uniform.

“My, you look a lot smaller than I remember”, the General continued.
“Oy!!“
“And a lot more exhausted.”

The Captain only shrugged in answer, gloomily impaling some of his food and staring at it. He knew he looked beat, but he didn’t need a reminder of that, thank you very much. He also didn’t need some more witty remarks about his sorry state. Irritated, he stuffed the food into his mouth and swallowed.
Incidentally, he noticed the waiter reappear and set down a glass at Veers’s side. He didn’t comment on it.

They ate and drank in silence for a while.

After some time, when no more smart remarks from the General were forthcoming, Piett focused his eyes on the General again.
To his surprise, the man was watching him eat intently, studying him with interest.
“You’re that Navy shrimp Ozzel hates guts, right?”, Veers broke the silcence.

Startled, Piett nearly dropped the fork he was holding.
“I beg your pardon?!”

“Just citing Commander Khartov, Captain.” At least, Veers had the decency to look slightly abashed.
Piett only glared at him.

Noticing the pause, Veers fidgeted a bit. “The Commander told me of your intervention on behalf of the Army”, he continued, brown eyes shifting to the side. The intimidating man suddenly didn’t seem that intimidating anymore. “Well, you know, uh – word went round.”
Was that…?

The Captain had to mentally shake himself out of his stupor. Had the General just indirectly, in his own twisted way, admitted to being grateful? He blinked.
“I was just doing my duty, Sir.”

Veers just rolled his eyes at that, glancing at the Navy side of the lounge before looking back at him again.
“I know, I know. But, to be honest, you saved us all a lot of trouble. It would have taken us months to set up another exercise like the one we performed today.”

The General went on: “Hangar master Riggs told me you saw about all the hangar changes yourself, didn’t you?”

When Piett stayed stubbornly silent, Veers sighed, lowering his voice. “I know Ozzel’s punishing you because you intervened on my behalf. To be honest, my nerves would be running thin, too, if I was on, like, five hours of sleep, not to mention dealing with an irritated Riggs. The man can be insufferable.”
The steel in Veers’s eyes returned at Ozzel’s name, hard and unforgiving. There was really no love lost between the Admiral and the General.

“Anyway”, Veers continued, “I just wanted to tell you I appreciate the gesture, Captain.”
In an act of mock dramatics, he put a hand over his heart, nodding solemnly and winking at him. Stars. “And you know the saying – the enemy of my enemy is my friend. So, if you need any help with Ozzel – “

Piett couldn’t help but let out a guffaw. “I can quite look after myself, General, trust me.”

Veers shot him a dubious look. “Oh, indeed?”

Eyes full of mirth, Piett grinned. Time to show some good will by sharing the news.
“Yes, indeed.” At Veers’s unimpressed face, he added: “Maybe not in matters of sleep. But -”, he said deviously, “- I believe our dear Admiral will have a most uncomfortable meeting in a few moments.”

As if on cue, a pale-faced Ozzel came into their line of sight, holding his commlink and heading with panicked steps to the exit of the lounge, a number of confused and frightened Navy officers hot on his heels, hastily typing away on their datapads.

They both watched Ozzel and his cronies depart in silence.

When the officers were gone, Veers turned to Piett with narrowed eyes.
“What did you do?”, the man asked warily.

Content, Piett cocked his head. “Well,”, he answered, “before my visit to the lounge, I happened to help Lieutenant Oon-Aii carry some important datapads concerning the Skywalker Incident to His Lordship’s quarters. And, as luck might have it – “

“Yes?”

“- as luck might have it, I found some juicy report of the Department of Analytics on one of the pads, regarding Ozzel’s missing enthusiasm in terms of sending the fleet to gather information about Skywalker.”

“Oh.” Veers whistled. “But what about the Admiral’s sudden departure?”

Piett’s grin widened.
“Lord Vader is reviewing those datapads personally. And I may have highlighted and put the pad with the information about Ozzel right on top of the other pads to be reviewed first. In the next few minutes, the Admiral will probably have a nice chat with the Supreme Commander about his failures.”

At first, the General only stared at him, dumbfounded. Then, his whole face lit up in delight.
Barking another laugh, Veers eyed the Captain with newfound respect. “Oh my, you’re a sly one. Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

Piett hesitantly smiled at the man. “The same goes for you, Sir.”

Veers retuned the smile, then held out a hand for Piett to shake.
“Let’s try again. General Maximillian Veers. Call me Max.”

Clasping the man’s hand with a firm grip, the Captain shook it in earnest.
“Captain Firmus Piett.”

It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Chapter Text

The two weeks after their initial lounge meeting went by in a blur.
Rebels were active, uprisings occurred, pirates threatened trade routes and opposing forces were demolished. To everyone’s growing apprehension, none of the events happening helped them to find even a trace of that Skywalker pilot. Regrettably, it also set their Dark Lord on edge, souring Lord Vader’s normally dark mood even more, frustration and anger radiating from the man in waves almost tangible.

Naturally, this caused the whole crew of the Executor to be on high alert, especially the bridge personnel.
Apparently, the Sith Lord had taken to unexpectedly turn up on the bridge, stand at the viewport and brood for a while, then vanish again like a dark spectre of death. Unfortunately, their Lord’s unforeseeable behaviour also led to upset most of the working men, who in result made blunders out of sheer fright because Darth Vader was suddenly standing behind them, which in return caused the death by de.b.t.s.-rate to spike at an alarming rate.
Rumours even had it that half of the bridge crew was seriously contemplating suicide by now.

With half an ear listening to the chief engineer pointing out the damage his AT-AT sustained in the last battle, Veers couldn’t help but be a bit concerned about his newest Navy acquaintance.
Meeting the man face to face had been a pleasant surprise. The small Captain had skilfully perfected the image of the harmless, unassuming officer, only to strike back with startling wit when time was right. Ironically, the man had turned out to be a lot tougher than he seemed, mastering the art of avoiding Lord Vader’s wrath while also getting things done with remarkable competence. He also seemed quite capable, in opposition to Ozzel’s usual bootlickers, and to be able to hold his drink.

Veers had found out the last bit through painful experience. Firmus Piett and him had reached an alliance of sorts, which consisted of sharing the newest gossip on both Army and Navy side and talking shit about Ozzel. Said meetings usually took place in the evening in the Officer’s Lounge, drink in hand.
And boy, that sailor could drink.

The General wasn’t quite sure where the Captain stored such amounts of alcohol in his lithe body, but he supposed the man was just used to simply sustain himself on caf, spicy food and alcohol alone.
After a few meetups, Veers hadn’t been able to deny that Piett was a good, honest man, Navy or not. So, he had begrudgingly admitted to himself that he liked the new Captain. Firmus Piett had obviously reached that conclusion about Veers as well, as their evenings had shifted from dutiful alliance to friendly companionship within one and a half week.

Losing the man to one of Lord Vader’s rages now would be a shame.

A poke to his ribs startled the General back to the presence, which found the chief engineer staring at him sourly. “Would you mind?”, a female voice scolded him.

“Do go on, I’m listening”, he quickly assured.

Chief engineer Ellinger snorted, throwing back her curly red hair in a gesture of annoyance.
“Sure, boss. And my mother’s a hutt.”

“Alright, alright”, Veers admitted defeat. “So, about the leg. You were saying?”

“As I was saying – which you would have known, if would you have just listened to me for one damn second, Sir – that Blizzard One’s left hind leg has suffered a major malfunction in the hydraulic attenuation in the third quadrant of the shock-absorbing generator, so the recoil impulse is way too high for the rest of the machinery to catch up.”

“So, in easy words: It’s a pice of junk.”
“Absolute junk, Sir.”
“How wonderful.”

With a sigh, he contemplated the offending non-functional hind leg, staring at the malfunctioning component as if his sheer glare could bring it to function properly. It didn’t work, of course.

He turned to Ellinger again, whose annoyance at the dysfunctional leg was clearly visible on her face. Just as he was about to discuss further procedures for the repair, his commlink beeped loudly.

Grumbling, he switched it on. “General Veers.”

“Station control here, Sir”, a male voice chattered. “Patrol says there’s one Navy officer looking for you.”

A small smile flashed over the General’s lips.
“Let me guess: Small stature, pale skin, looks like he hasn’t slept for a week?”

“Affirmative, Sir! Oh – patrol says it’s the Captain, Sir. Shall I direct him right to you?”, the voice exclaimed.

Although it couldn’t be seen via commlink, Veers found himself nodding in agreement nonetheless.
“Yes, please. We’re in bay 26, with the AT-Ats.”

A confirming hum was the answer. “Will do so, Sir. One tiny sailor coming right up!”

Behind him, he could hear Ellinger stifle a laugh at the last sentence. Sighing loudly, he shot the chief engineer a resigned look over his shoulder, before turning to the commlink again to reprimand the other. “Language, soldier”, he scolded, but without much heat.

The commlink crackled for a second before the voice was back, not sounding very sorry at all. “Sorry, Sir!”

Snorting, Veers left it at that. He knew his men didn’t mean any disrespect to Piett. Word about the Captain’s intervention on behalf of the Army had spread like a wildfire among the Army troops; many of the troopers “adopting” the small Navy man on the spot.
Unfortunately, some of his soldiers had also overheard him calling the Captain a tiny sailor in good humour when they’d been five drinks deep into their usual banter. Obviously, his troops had jumped at the opportunity to get a call-sign for the Army’s newest ‘honorary member’ and well, the nickname had stuck so far.

Not that he would ever mention that to the Captain’s face. Piett would jump him, probably.

He was just about to tell Ellinger to behave herself when the Captain’s frame entered his field of view, heading straight towards them. The man looked exhausted as usual, dark circles under his eyes, but walked with speed and confidence, carrying a datapad under his arm.

“Firmus!”, Veers greeted amicably. “What’s my favourite Captain of the Executor doing here?”
Said man only rolled his eyes in response. “I’m the only official Captain of the Lady, General.”
“Exactly!” The General gave him his best shit-eating grin. He just received a miffed look.
“What’s with that sour face?”, Veers asked, curious.

“You missed the Admiral’s weekly debrief for our joined forces”, the Captain rebuked him. “I don’t have to tell you that Ozzel was not amused, do I?”

Veers shrugged. “I was excused, was I not? Even send a proxy. Repairs can’t wait if we’re heading for the next Rebel cell over at D’Quar. By the way: How’s Ozzel? Haven’t seen the man in a while.”

Piett shrugged. “Still breathing. His throat seems to have mostly recovered.”

“A pity.”

“Don’t change the subject, Max. You sent Major Covell as your replacement. Covell!”, Piett wailed, rubbing his temple with his free hand.

Pouting, the General crossed his arms. “What of him? He’s a good man.”

Clearly exasperated, Piett only shook his head. “He may be a good soldier, but you can’t just send the man into meetings like that. Do you know what he did? He waltzed in, four minutes late, grunted “General’s busy” and slumped into his chair. Just like that! No further explanations. That could have meant anything!”

“Well,”, Veers huffed sulkily, “I’m sure he still did a good job.”

Piett looked him dead in the eye. “That man has the attention span of a goldfish, Max. A goldfish. One time during the meeting I even caught him counting the tiles on the ceiling”, the Captain explained.

“I guess he was bored. No wonder when Ozzel was talking."

“Oh, do tell”, Piett muttered. “General, that meeting was important. Lord Vader has decided on a new strategy to find Skywalker.”

Interested, the General perked up. “Really?”

“Yes, really”, Piett affirmed, motioning to the datapad under his left arm. “We’ll use probe droids. I’ve decided to bring you up to speed as your Major didn’t seem overly interested in the details.”

Veers eyed the Navy officer in contemplation before he swept an arm around the smaller man’s shoulders and gently stirred him along, away from prying eyes and a gleefully watching Ellinger. “Don’t tell me you came all the way down here to just keep me informed, Firmus”, he quietly murmured, smirking. “You could have just told me at our next lounge meeting. Nevertheless, I am flattered.”

Under his arm, he could feel the Captain’s posture grow rigid, a worn expression appearing on the man’s usually composed face. Concerned, Veers quickly loosened his hold to step around the Navy officer and scan the man for injuries. Or maybe Piett was one of those socially awkward Navy guys that didn’t like physical contact? After two weeks, there still was much that he didn’t know about his colleague.
“Firmus, are you alright?”

Sighing, Piett waved him off, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m fine”, he muttered.

“Don’t bullshit me, man. You don’t look fine.”

Piett sighed again, deeper this time. “I know, I know. It’s just… he’s in a real mood today.” There was no need to explain who he was.

Sympathetic, Veers winced. “Anyone I know?”
He only received a blank stare in return. “Fine, fine,”, he relented, “you don’t have to talk about it.”

“I’d rather not”, the Captain admitted.

Humming in thought, the General decided to direct the conversation to matters Piett would be more comfortable with.
All at once, the General had an idea to cheer up his newest Navy acquaintance. Gesturing to the AT-AT at their side, he spun around to pull Piett over to the impressive machinery, a grin plastered to his face. The Captain didn’t tense under his hand this time, so he guessed physical contact was fine.

“Behold”, he declared with a dramatic gesture, “the finest and deadliest armoured transport vehicle ever know to the Imperial military.”

“Which you invented. I read the files.”
“Which I invented.”

Lips quirking up, his colleague shot him a quick glance, before obediently turning his attention to Blizzard One. “I do know what an AT-AT is, Max”, he assured, but seemed grateful for the change of topic.

The General snorted, decided on giving his Navy friend an impromptu lesson about his beloved machines.
“Oh? And do you know that the Imperial AT-AT is armed with two heavy laser cannon turrets, four anti-personnel blasters, and a dorsal twin laser turret at the rear? Which allocate into precisely two dual Piperii-Cerlurn R-90C medium blasters located on the sides and a pair of heavier Taim & Bak MS-1 heavy blaster cannons fitted on the front?”

“Well, no”, Piett answered hesitantly, gesturing to the pad under his arm, “but we still have to talk about the - “

“No? I thought so.”

Before the Captain could start about that stupid strategy again, the General continued the ‘tour’ for some minutes, explaining the various benefits of his All Terrain-Armored Transport while Piett – who had obviously given up on talking about the damn meeting – listened patiently. Just as he was about to tell the Navy man how many soldiers could fit into the machine, Piett raised his hand in question.

“Yes?”, Veers asked, arms akimbo.

“Excuse my humble interruption of your knowledge about Army machinery- “, the Captain said, gingerly touching the surface of the AT-AT, eyes focused on something to the side, “- but is that left hind leg supposed to fume like that?”

Surprised, the General followed Piett’s line of sight, only to see flames engulf the cursed damaged leg.

A few paces behind them, Veers could see Ellering forming an indignant ‘O’ with her mouth, before storming off to get a fire extinguisher.

Groaning, Veers facepalmed, then eyed the now definitely mischievous Captain with a sigh. Son of a hutt.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed more and more people rushing in to get the fire under control.

“We could continue our debrief in my quarters”, Piett suggested innocently, datapad suddenly in hand, ready for action. The very picture of a prim, proper officer. “I still have to tell you about the new strategy.” That sly fox.

Defeated, Veers gave the officer, who was already heading to the hangar exit, a resigned salute.
“If you insist… So, what was that about probe droids?”

Chapter Text

Captain Firmus Piett’s quarters, three hours later, evening

“… and that’s where the probe droids come in”, Piett concluded. He’d given the none too happy General an accurate explanation of his missed meeting, not leaving out even the tiniest details.

He also deliberately ignored the way Veers had switched from glaring at him to sending him long-suffering looks. The Captain knew his colleague was a man of action and despised formal meetings the way most Army personnel did, but he’d rather wander through the seven Axxilian hells naked than leave his friend uninformed. Information was key, especially if it concerned Lord Vader’s plans. Therefore, Veers could shoot him as many suffering, puppy-eyed glances as he liked – he would only let the man leave when he’d felt that his Army friend fully comprehended the whole mess, as it was for his own best.

“Max. Max! Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmn?” Absorbed in thought, the General was brought back to the present by Piett’s question. Quickly, the man gathered his wits, nodding vigorously. “Yes, yes, of course”, he muttered. “In short: Use the fleet to swarm out and release as much probe droids as possible to look for the rebels.”

“Exactly.”

“So, we’re looking for a needle in a haystack”, the Army officer grumbled, reaching for his wine glass again. The red liquid sloshed invitingly. Piett had opened the bottle to sweeten Veers’s misery about the debrief a bit; the General had begrudgingly, but gratefully accepted the bribery.

In thought, Piett glanced at his own glass. They had already finished another wine bottle, the empty bottle lying on the floor next to him and they were going rather quickly through its successor. Sighing, the Captain also took his glass in hand, draining the remaining content in one go.

“I know, it sounds crazy. But we’ll have thousands of probe droids searching the galaxy for any rebel activities, so there really may be a slight chance for us to encounter some.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Veers snorted. “And who will inform Lord Vader of those findings? I don’t know about you, but to me it looks like the perfect way to get yourself strangled”, the General grumbled. “Just imagine, you’d tell him we found the rebels, only to backtrack later because the scanners just picked up a smuggler settlement, or whatever.”

Biting his lip, Piett nodded. That was a scenario he himself was very aware of. The Captain only shrugged in answer.
“That would indeed be… unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? Hah!”, Veers bellowed.

Sighing, Piett refilled his glass. He could already feel a headache forming in his head even thinking about such a situation. Or maybe it was just the alcohol. Both, probably.

Irritated, he squinted at the way too harsh light of his own quarters. “Dim lights 60 percent!”, he shouted at the ceiling.

Veers hummed in appreciation when the lights went down, illuminating the room in a warm, cozy glow. The General reached for the wine again, dumping the rest of the alcohol in his own glass. As the man leaned forward, Piett couldn’t help but notice how soft his chiselled features looked in the diffused light of the lamps. What a harsh contrast to the image of Iron Max, the unyielding soldier.

He was torn out of musings by Veers who shook the now empty bottle in disappointment, then shot an accusing glance at him.

“You drank all the wine, Firmus”, Veers huffed.
“We drank all the wine, you oaf”, Piett corrected. Well, on second thought, maybe he drank a few more glasses than his colleague. But screw that. He’d had a hard day.

Admitting defeat, the Captain stood and wandered over to his predecessor’s – now his - alcohol supply, hidden under the closet, and fetched a new bottle. Which he placed pointedly right in front of Veers, before sitting down again.

Said man only nodded in appreciation, then studied the label on the front.
“Ithorian rum? Stars, Piett, are you trying to poison us?”

“It’s still drinkable, as far as I know.”

“Huh”, was the only comment the General made in return, regarding the alcohol somewhat sceptically. Without batting an eye, Piett opened the bottle and filled their glasses again. Just as he was about to propose a toast, his door bell chimed.

Simultaneously, both officers looked at each other. Puzzled, the Captain answered Veers’s inquiring gaze with a shake of his head. No, he was not expecting someone at this late hour. But whatever it was, it was probably important enough to disturb him in his time off duty.

Quickly tapping a panel at his side, he opened the door, which admitted the person outside. To his surprise, it was no other than Venka.

“Captain”, the First Lieutenant said, swiftly making his way inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there has been another…” Stopping mid-sentence, Venka halted abruptly, staring first at Veers, then at Piett, then back at Veers again, eyes wide.

“…incident”, Venka finished lamely. The man looked rather unwell of a sudden.

Puzzled, Piett watched his second in command shift uncomfortably closer to the door, hands raised in apology.
“I - I’m really sorry, Sir!”, the man stammered, blushing furiously.

Beside him, Piett could hear Veers bark a laugh.

“What?”, he asked, dumbfounded.
At the same time, the General purred: “Oh, don’t be shy.” A flash of teeth.

Belatedly, the Captain realised what the situation had to look like for an outsider. Veers and him had both taken off their hats and uniform jackets, leaving them in only their shirts and trousers. The lights were dimmed in an almost romantic manner. Empty wine bottles were on the table. They were sitting rather close. And it was long past the normal time for their usual meetings.

Spluttering, he jumped up. “It’s not what it looks like, Tom!” In the chair beneath him, Veers was roaring with laughter.

Venka, who looked like he might faint any second, stopped his pathetic attempt at escape.
“It’s… I’m not intruding, then?”, the man asked timidly.

Pouting, Piett shot the still giggling Veers a glare. “No, you’re not. The General’s here purely on business.”

“Oh.” Venka relaxed. “I’m sorry, Captain, it was really dumb of me to assume…”

The Captain snorted, then waved Venka to come closer and sit down with them. Veers, who had gotten himself under control again, observed the Navy man with watchful eyes, amusement written all over his face. “Well, well. Fancy seeing you here, Venka.”

“I could say the same of you, General.” Colour back in his face again, the officer got his composure back rather quickly.

Piett poured him a glass as well. The man looked like he needed it. “What happened?”, he asked, concerned. “Another death?”

Sighing, Venka nodded. “Lieutenant Warren. Just transferred one week ago. Lord Vader strangled him.”

Tonelessly, the Captain grabbed his drink. Another letter of condolence for him to write in the morning. He grimaced.

“To the deceased”, he intoned, raising his glass. Veers and Venka followed his lead, repeating the gesture. Afterwards, they downed their drinks in one gulp. The pure grog burned in his throat.

Next to him, Veers coughed.

Suddenly tired again, Piett put his head in his hands. Veers looked at him in sympathy, before pouring them another round. “He’s really chewing through them, huh?”, his friend asked, voice subdued.

Behind his hands, the Captain groaned.

"Shame we cannot ask Lord Vader to refrain from harming our crew members as to create a stable, positive working environment”, Venka muttered. “You know, a workplace that promotes employee safety, growth and goal attainment. With environments that are most conducive to a successful workforce as they encourage employees to perform to their highest ability”.

Simultaneously, two pairs of eyes turned to stare at the man.

“Tom”, Piett said hoarsely.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Shut it.”
“Sorry”, the First Lieutenant mumbled.

Across him, the Captain watched Veers pull put his commlink and send a message in silence. Upon his questioning gaze, the General rewarded him with a crooked smile. “I’m just organizing some divertissement to take you mind off things, Army style”, Veers explained.
In passing, Piett thought he should probably be concerned. After all, Veers didn’t do anything by halves.

They managed two more rounds of rum before the doorbell chimed again, this time admitting another familiar face.

Oh no.

“Good evening, Gentlemen, Sir!”, Commander Khartov boomed, a huge crate of beer in his hands.
“Alright, you miserable bunch! Who in here knows how to play Sabacc?”

Chapter Text

Well into the night, Iron Max found his mood to be improved by far. That’s what alcohol and good company will do to you, Veers thought, satisfied. Khartov hadn’t disappointed, as usual. The soldier was not only one bear of a man, he was also quite good at making people drown their worries in alcohol.

Bemused, the General watched Venka’s head loll from side to side, fast asleep. They had been playing and drinking for about two hours when the First Lieutenant had started to drift off, which the Commander had commented with a simple “Lightweight” and rolled his eyes.

Blinking, Veers tried to focus on his cards again. Admittedly, the rum was also taking its toll on him, making his brain feel fuzzy and empty. Groggily, he watched Piett trying to grasp a card with a shaking hand to no avail. The small Navy man had kept up with them for quite some time, but now he had no chance. It was two against one. And if there was one thing the General’s muddled brain recalled, it was that you couldn’t outdrink the Army.

Beside him, Khartov downed another shot. The man seemed far too alert for someone probably this close to alcohol poisoning.

Across Veers, the Captain had stopped to claw at the fallen card in frustration, looking every bit as inebriated as he should be. The General knew his Navy friend had a high alcohol tolerance, but there was only so much his lean body could take. It was easy to see Piett was desperately trying to stay awake.
Two second later, Piett’s head hit the table with a thud.

“So”, Veers grunted. He had to move his head to face the now slumped Navy officer, which sent his world spinning. He quickly gripped the table with his left hand to keep himself upright.
“Do you.. do you.. accept defeat, Captain?”

A high-pitched noise.

“…I’ll take that as a Yes.” Slowly, Veers turned to the Commander who was happily poking the unconscious Venka in the ribs. “Khartov!”

“Hm?” The man in question spared him a side-glance, then continued to ruffle Venka’s hair in an almost cheeky manner. The First Lieutenant snored softly.

“Stop that. Get… see the man home, will you?”

Disappointed, Khartov halted his attempts to further muss up the officer’s now utterly destroyed hairstyle. “Aye, Sir. You’ll take care of our Captain?”

Veers managed a careful nod. He watched the Commander stand and effortlessly flick the still sleeping Venka over his shoulder, then give him and the Captain a small salute. “Good night, Sirs.”

A small sound rang out from the table.

Amused, Veers turned from the leaving Commander to his Navy friend still lying on the desk. Two hazel eyes tried to focus on him.

“Come on, sailor”, he muttered softly. “Let’s get you to bed.”

As it turned out, that was easier said than done. When Veers stood, he immediately got dizzy. The world became a blur. Huh. Blinking wildly, the General tried to supress the upcoming nausea. One step at a time. His vision swam for a moment, then cleared again.

Annoyed, the General planted both of his arms on the table to support himself, then tried again. Step, step. He slowly managed to make his way over to the barely conscious Captain.

He shook Piett’s shoulder carefully. “Come on, wakey, wakey! Don’t fall asleep on me, Firmus.”
The slumped form on the table didn’t respond.

“Firmus Piett!”

A whine.

Well, not dead, then. Grinning a bit, Veers did his best to hoist the drunk Captain upwards. He grunted. Normally he could easily lift a man onto his shoulders, but the alcohol kind of limited his motoric control, making it hard to get a good grip on the Navy man. So, he opted for slinging Piett’s left arm over his shoulders and bringing the officer to his side to support the Captain’s weight.
“Come on, Firmus.”

The whine turned into a questioning tone.

“I’m… trying to get you into bed, you dummy.” They staggered a few steps forward. Veers swayed a bit, then hastily regained his footing. They continued their way, slowly, but steadily. “A little help would be nice”, he panted, dragging on the sleepy Captain.

The General received no answer. Great. The Army to the rescue, then, as usual.

Collecting his strength for the last time, Veers determinedly marched forward, pulling the now unconscious Piett with him. The man snored softly into his right ear.

When they finally reached the bedroom, Veers felt positively exhausted himself.
Grunting, he unceremoniously dumped the slumped mess of a Captain onto the bed. The movement brought him out of balance, sending the world spinning again. He crashed onto the bed, barely avoiding the sleeping man.

Get a grip, Max, he scolded himself, annoyed at his state. Carefully, he rolled on his side to look at Piett.

Even asleep, the Captain’s face was lined with exhaustion, brows furrowed together. Tentatively, Veers reached out a hand to brush the small blonde strands of hair that had fallen right onto Piett’s face back again. The Captain sighed in his sleep, nuzzling deeper into the soft mattress.

Fascinated, the General watched the Captain’s face relax with every sleeping breath. It made him look younger, softer – more like a human being, not like the working machine the man so often seemed to be.

Veers couldn’t help but smile fondly at the sight of the officer. Although they had only known each other for two weeks, he had to admit he already regarded Piett as a friend. Almost a dear friend. The man was the best thing that could have happened to the Navy, the Executor and her crew. And to the Army, too. He was sure Piett didn’t know it, but the small Captain had won his troops already over with his actions. They would die for their Captain.

The Army was his. But most important, Piett was theirs as well.

Carefully, Veers retracted his hand, eyes still on the sleeping form. They would watch out for their tiny sailor, no matter what. Even if they had to break bones.

Or well, help the man drown his worries in alcohol.

Slowly, as not to disturb the sleeping man, the General tucked the officer’s upper half into the covers, then got up again. After some struggle, he quickly removed Piett’s military boots and placed them at the side of the bed. The man snored softly.

He would sleep on the couch in Piett’s front room. It simply wouldn’t do to leave the man alone in his state, let alone leave the quarters and be seen by some curious crewmen. Rumours would spread like a wildfire and damage both his and the Captain’s reputation.

As he turned to leave the room, a small noise made him turn his head back to Piett again.
The Captain’s eyes were open, unfocused, bleary gaze staring at his behind.
“Max”, the man rasped, but otherwise didn’t move one bit.

“Firmus”, Veers said, hushed. “Go to sleep.”

The hazel eyes lingered. The Navy man looked only half awake, with the typical gaze of someone totally wasted. The officer wouldn’t remember one bit the next day, the General was sure of it.

Amused, Veers followed the man’s line of sight.
“Are you staring at my ass?”

The small mass on the bed hummed softly. “It’s a nice ass, Max.”

Snorting, Veers shook his head at his drunk colleague. The man was totally plastered. He gleefully imagined the time Piett would be sober again – he would tell the Captain all the embarrassing things he had said with delight.

“The man with the nice ass needs some sleep. Good night, Firmus.”
“Good night, Max.”

Before Veers could even close the door, the Captain was fast asleep once more.

Chapter Text

The next day, Piett awoke with a splitting headache.

He felt awful. Like he’d been chewed through by a Sarlacc.
But also, he felt quite… comfy?

Blinking wildly, he abruptly sat up in his bed. His bed. How had he gotten into his bed? The Captain let out a small groan and took stock of his surroundings, massaging his temples. The first thing he noticed was that his boots were off, set aside on the floor at end of the bed. Someone had draped the bed covers over his body which explained why he hadn’t felt cold in the night. Also, his cap was missing.

Vaguely, he remembered some of the booze they had drunk. The wine. And the rum. And then the other rum. And then some beer?

He tried in vain to recall the rest of the evening, only to come up short. He must have blacked out. Stars, had he thrown up like some lousy cadet? Please not. Piett quickly sniffed the air, then surveyed the room. No, everything was alright, he noted with relief. Throwing up in front of his fellow officers would have been quite embarrassing. He would’ve never heard the last of it.

Cursing under his breath, he crawled out of his bed. He should have known better than to drink along. After all, almost everything Veers had a hand in ended with a big bang.

Thinking of Veers… he hazily remembered the General pulling him – carrying him? – to the bedroom. A firm hand at his side, a warm body next to him, pressing him flush against the man’s impressive set of muscles.
Shaking himself, Piett stopped this train of thought.
He suddenly felt more awake than a minute ago. Distraught, he tried to recollect the rest of the evening. Had he done anything... improper? Frantically, he peeked down at himself. No, he was still clothed, thank the stars.

Breathing a sigh of relief once more, Piett spotted his datapad blinking in a soft yellow on the nightstand, which meant new communications. His cap was placed neatly beside it.

Groggily, the Captain reached out to read his new messages. There was no time for self-doubts when duty was calling. Luckily, he had the evening shift today, so he could take his time getting ready and preparing for duty.

He quickly scrolled through most of the messages as they were the usual reports of maintenance, duty roosters and the like. There also was one message from Veers that read Army: 1, Navy: 0 and had a photo of a sleeping, slightly drooling Venka attached. Piett involuntarily smiled at the display, then sighed.

There also was a message from the Lady’s transport and hangar crew, marked in an urgent red. Curious, Piett opened it. It reported in an oddly formal, but increasingly panicked form of speech that Lord Vader had shown up in the main hangar bay in the middle of the night, ordered the crew to mind their own business, sent them back to work, quaking in their boots, and had then taken one of the Lambda-class shuttles himself to disappear into nowhere.

Well, that didn’t sound ominous at all.

The Captain was just about to select one of his spare uniforms out of the closet when his datapad beeped softly.

Sparing a quick glance while buttoning up his fresh uniform, Piett nearly did a double take. It was a direct message from hangar bay five.

Lord Vader would be back in half an hour.

-

A quarter of an hour later, Piett entered the main hangar bay with quick strides. He hadn’t quite run all the way to the bay because you just didn’t do running when you were the Captain of the Executor, but he’d walked as fast as his dignity allowed.

He’d even found a note written by Veers on his table on the way out, reminding him to bloody eat something before starting his shift, but that had to wait after the Supreme Commander’s return. He'd also noticed the crumpled blanket on the couch which probably indicated that Veers had spent the night in his living room.

As for now, he stood ready, waiting to face his Lordship upon his return, back straight, hands back, face bland.
Lord Vader was expected to turn up in about 15 minutes. It would give him enough time to collect and organize his thoughts.

As usual, he was alone in the hangar to welcome his Lord home. He had guessed as much. The Admiral never set foot in the hangar bays, usually avoiding Lord Vader as much as physically possible and always sending Piett in his stead. Ozzel probably thought it would reduce the risk of him being strangled. And increase the chance of getting rid of Piett.
Normally, the actions of the Admiral would be deeply offensive to the comman standard superior. Luckily, Lord Vader didn’t seem to give a damn about a big welcoming party. In fact, he rather seemed to despise them most of the time.
As Piett swept his gaze around, he noticed the rest of the working hangar personnel had beat a hasty retreat as well – no one could gauge what mood his Lordship would return with, so the crew had followed their usual better safe, than sorry-direction when it concerned Lord Vader and turned tail.

His commlink beeped.

“Yes?”, he asked.

“Lord Vader will arrive in about five minutes, Sir”, the nondescript voice said. “His shuttle’s been sighted about one quadrant from here.”

“Very good”, Piett answered, because what else could he answer? Certainly not My hands are cold, my feet are cold, my head hurts, don’t let me alone with the murder machine, please. Certainly not.

That left for some dreaded five minutes.

Just as he was contemplating about how to greet Lord Vader without landing himself into the goo, an acquainted figure appeared at his side.
Surprised, he turned left to face Lieutenant Oon-Aii who flashed him a smile.

“Lieutenant”, he acknowledged in astonishment. “Pray tell, what are you doing here?”

The lad gave him another soft grin. “I’m Lord Vader’s aide, Sir. So, I’m waiting for his arrival.”

The Captain sent him a rather dubious look. There was no protocol dictating that aides should be on scene if they weren’t needed. “As far as I’ve heard, aiding someone doesn’t necessarily mean waiting for their arrival, but being on call when needed. Least of all as ADC to his Lordship, who by the way despises unwanted attention.” The young man didn’t stir.

“Lieutenant?”
“I’m aiding, Sir. I wait, I aid.”
“Did Lord Vader order you to wait for him?”, Piett pressed on.
“Well…”, Oon-Aii admitted, looking slightly guilty, “…not, ehm, directly?”
“Then what by the stars are you doing here?” You’re putting yourself in unnecessary danger was something he didn't need to say aloud.

The man shrugged. “I thought it would be a nice gesture, Sir.” Then, as if he’d suddenly remembered something important, he started to pat down his pockets. “Oh, and by the way…”
The lad pulled out a small box and a little water bottle in a gesture far too casual not to be planned. “I’ve got something for you, Sir!”

Piett stared at the items Oon-Aii trust into his automatically waiting hand, then slowly opened the small box. It contained two aspirins.

“Lieutenant”, the Captain said, giving him a stern look. “You are just here to give me aspirin, aren’t you? Did General Veers tell you to bring me this? I’m fine! You do know I’m not inept?”

The young officer grinned; sunshiny attitude full on display. “Just take them, Sir.”

“Lieutenant!”, Piett admonished.

The smile vanished. Taken aback, Piett watched the man hesitantly reach out for the items, face a display of strained nonchalance. “I’m sorry, Sir”, the lad mumbled, eyes on the floor. Bashful, the Captain saw the Lieutenant’s expression morph into the one of a sad puppy. A sad puppy that had just been kicked. Piett immediately felt like an asshole. Oh dear, oh dear. That was bad. Bad Piett. He silently cursed himself. He couldn’t help it, he always reacted allergic to people meddling with affairs concerning his health and he already felt on edge, waiting for their Lord.

Trying to remedy the situation, he softly swatted Oon-Aii’s hand aside. “It’s – it’s very thoughtful of you, despite that”, he assured. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

A slightly relieved look appeared on the Lieutenant’s face.” Please, Sir, just take them.”

The Captain sighed, then swallowed the pills and washed them down with the water.
“I hope the General didn’t threaten you bodily harm in order to get you to bring me those”, he muttered darkly.

Oon-Aii gave him a sheepish smile. “The General can be quite intimidating, Sir.” Upon seeing Piett’s raised eyebrows, the Lieutenant quickly added: “But no, Sir, don’t worry. He just snatched me off the corridor, gave me a charming smile and told me you hadn’t slept well.”

Piett snorted. “Charming smile? Bared his teeth, you mean.”
Oon-Aii laughed, the 100-watt smile back on his face. “Who knows, Sir?”

Before the Captain could utter a retort, a blaring siren interrupted them, announcing an incoming shuttle.

Lord Vader was back.

Chapter Text

Twenty meters above the main hangar bay, two pairs of eyes watched the ongoings in silence, gaze firmly fixed on the incoming shuttle.

The first pair of eyes were a striking blue, looking through the pane of the hangar station control in an almost lazy stare.
The other pair were a soft brown, almost hazel. But despite the colour, there was no warmth in them for the moment. These eyes weren’t fully locked on the shuttle. From time to time, they roamed around; piercing gaze freezing the station control personnel in place, before turning their attention once again to the target.

“Sir”, Major Covell remarked, keeping his voice low. “Don’t know if you noticed, but you’re scaring the station crew.”

Brown eyes briefly flitted up to meet the Major’s, then rested on the two small figures on the ground of the hangar bay again.
“Hm”, the General hummed. “Is that so?”

Covell glanced at the cowering Ensign on their right, who had the dubious honour of sitting closest to the two standing Army officers. The Navy man was hiding as best as he could behind his control terminal, trying hard to blend in with the background as far as possible and not gain any attention from the Iron Max. The rest of the crew didn’t fare well with the General’s presence as well, throwing them nervous glances now and then when they thought the Army men weren’t looking.

The Major snorted. “Maybe you should tone down the wrath a bit”, he suggested, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Veers only huffed.
He knew fully well that his presence played havoc with the whole working arrangement of the station personnel. They simply weren’t used to an Army General standing in their control station. It probably didn’t help that he radiated frustration in waves almost tangible, too.

For now, Veers didn’t care. “They will have to bear my esteemed presence for a while longer”, he simply muttered, sarcasm dripping from his every word.
The General watched as the shuttle ramp lowered itself and the postures of the Captain and the Lieutenant grew more rigid.

Beside him, the Major cocked his head, following his line of sight. “You really like him, don’t you?”
Veers regarded him with a raised eyebrow, but his colleague didn’t seem fazed. “You even sent that poor lad after him, didn’t you?”

The General just rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up, Terran.”
“You really did?!”
“Terran…”
“You really did!”

This time, Veers turned around to fully glare at the Major. “I’ll have you know that this man down there is one of the best Captains we’ve had in years. The first one to willing to work with the Army in ages. And I won’t risk his premature demise just because Ozzel can’t control his karking ego for one second. Do I make myself clear?”

If Covell was affected by his snappish tone, he didn’t show it. He gave a respectful nod. “As clear as glass, Sir.”

“Good.” He turned back, purposefully ignoring the knowing side-glance the Major gave him and the now more cowering crew around him who had shrunk even further into themselves upon his outburst.

Below, the Supreme Commander emerged.

Even far away from the ground, Veers could feel Lord Vader’s oppressing presence before he could actually see the man. Like someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over his head. A sudden darkness that gripped his heart. Immediately an unexplainable wave of fear and dread caught him, causing uneasiness to spike. His muscles tensed. Belatedly, he noticed he had subconsciously straightened even further into parade rest.
Beside him, Covell shifted. The Ensign next to them rubbed his face with a jittery motion. A quick glance around him confirmed that the rest of the men were affected as well. As per normal, Veers thought.

The General shook himself as he watched the black figure walk down the shuttle ramp, cape billowing behind him. He could swear the temperature dropped every time Lord Vader made an appearance. He also knew it was Lord Vader’s doing that caused their sudden discomfort. It was rumoured that his Lordship’s magical powers had something to do with it, making the man able to control the fear he was spreading.

Veers couldn’t care less about what caused the mysterious waves of unease. Fact was: Lord Vader was powerful, mystical force powers or not. And a brilliant warrior that commanded respect.

And just like that, the dreadful feeling stopped.

Releasing a collective breath, the Imperials continued to monitor the ongoings below them.

The Captain had adopted his business-like stance and – from the looks of it – turned right into giving a full report to his Lordship. Lord Vader himself didn’t bother to halt to receive the news as usual, but Veers could have sworn the man had slowed his steps a bit, giving Piett and Oon-Aii the opportunity to catch up with him.

Interesting. The General was pretty sure his Lordship hadn’t done that with Piett’s predecessor. Or with Ozzel. At least, as far as he could remember. He contemplated the thought a bit, then smiled to himself. No, definitely not with Ozzel.
It gave him a tiny bit of hope that Piett wouldn’t meet his early demise at the hands of their wrathful commander. And hopefully outlive that slimy bag of shit named Ozzel. But the more he watched Piett and Vader interact with each other, the Captain all professional mannerisms and subtle gestures while their Lord seemed to deem the small Navy man at least worthy of his attention, Veers was sure that Piett was on his best way to surpass the Admiral. The General nodded, satisfied. He had guessed as much, but now his suspicions were confirmed.

Below, Vader dismissed the Captain with a wave of his hand who promptly bowed and marched out of the bay.

Veers chuckled to himself.
Ozzel would be toast before the war was over.
Maybe he should start a betting pool. Discreetly, of course.

On his right, he noticed Covell eying him like he clearly thought his superior was crazy. The General briefly wondered why, then checked his own reflection in the window pane.

Oh. He was smiling like an idiot. Not his happy smile – against all rumours, he was capable of smiling like a decent human being, mind you – but the grim, wolfish smile which usually meant nothing good for the person on the receiving end.
Then, of course, the Major didn’t know that he was grinning because he imagined the Admiral’s demise in the most gruesome ways and not because his Lordship was back on the Lady. To be honest, if Veers himself saw a man apparently smiling entranced at the image of Lord Vader bossing around Imperials, he would think them crazy, too.

Quickly, he made sure to gain his upright posture once more. Face blank, eyes forward, back straight. He had a reputation as a hard, unyielding General to uphold, after all. A model soldier.

As soon as he had regained his usual stoic demeanour, Covell relaxed minutely. At that, Veers decided it was probably time to deliver the rest of the working personnel from his presence. He had seen enough. His friend was save enough, for now. And that Navy folk from the station control had their breaking point, too. Judging by the nervous glances they were still throwing at the two Army men, they wouldn’t get anything done if Veers continued to stay and meddle with their affairs.

Just as he motioned the Major to leave, one of the Ensigns picked up an incoming message from the hangar bay and hesitantly opened the channel. It was Lieutenant Oon-Aii. In the background, the rhythmic breathing of Lord Vader could be heard.

Everyone froze.

“Uhm – hello, this is Lieutenant Oon-Aii”, the lad’s voice said slowly. “I was ordered to inform you that the Lambda shuttle Lord Vader arrived in is in need of some urgent repairs. Apparently, his Lordship met some quite disrespectful pirates – “, at that, the voice turned quizzical for a short moment, “- yes, thank you, my Lord, some pirates on his way back to the Executor and saw fit to remove them.”

Veers stared. Covell stared. The crew stared. The Ensign looked like he was about to faint.
Had the Lieutenant just asked Lord Vader for confirmation? Like it was nothing? And Lord Vader had actually answered?! Lord Vader?!
Veers shuddered, resolving to be more careful around the boy.

Silently, he motioned for Covell to move again.

“Oh, and –“, Oon-Aii continued, making the Major tumble in his steps, “ – I’m to tell General Veers to better stop lurking about, lest he forgot that all officers are due to meet Lord Vader on the bridge in half an hour for a debrief.”

Suddenly, Veers found himself in the centre of attention again. His confused gaze met the Major's eyes which were widened with an edge of hysteria. How the kriff does he know we’re up here?!, the Major mouthed. The General found himself momentarily stunned as well, then reminded himself it was Lord Vader they were dealing with and well, there was nothing the man couldn’t do. He sighed, defeated.

The Ensign at the station made a panicked gesture in his direction. He quickly cleared his throat, then answered with a calm, steady voice:
“I will, Lieutenant, thank you.”
And as an afterthought: “My Lord.”

This time, he didn’t need to tell the Major to get going – the man was already out of the door.

As Veers exited the room as well, he couldn’t help but smile again. The signs of a good warrior were simple – lead your subordinates and obey your superiors. A lesson Ozzel had yet to learn.
Lead and obey.

You just had to know when to do the latter.

Chapter Text

Bridge of the Executor, ten days later

“Captain! More enemy ships coming in from hyperspace!”

“Admiral, front shields at 86 percent, Sir, and holding so far.”

“Sir, the forward fire battery -“

Piett swivelled around to face First Lieutenant Venka whose call he’d made out in the clutter of voices. It was hard to keep track of the important news within the flood of information raining down on him from every side. The Lady’s red lights flashed angrily at him, signifying their ongoing battle status. Outside the viewport he could make out three more incoming Rebel ships, heading fast towards their location.

He hastily made his way over to Venka, who was standing next to one of the Lieutenants from the Strategic Corps and had waived him over, and joined them in the crew pit.

“Status report, Lieutenant!”, he briskly ordered.

The addressed man swiftly gestured at the blinking dots on the tactical map in front of them. “Three more ships from the Rebel Alliance coming in from mark four, Sir. Two MC30c Frigates and an Assault Frigate Mark II, nothing too heavy, but an obvious danger for all our transport ships at mark five.”

“Mark five?”, Venka intercepted.

“Our infantry troop transports, Sir”, the Lieutenant clarified.

Damn it! Piett really wanted to curse aloud. Infantry transports, that meant Veers and his troops. He threw a quick glance at Venka, who promptly dashed off to tell to the Chief Communications Officer, who in turn would relay the message to all ships and TIE-fighters currently involved in the battle.

Releasing a controlled breath, Piett clambered the few steps to the elevated bridge walk again. It had all gone so well. They’d received a distress call from one of the Imperial prison garrisons on Wobani a few hours ago and deployed all available troops to take care of the situation, including Veers and his Thundering Herd. As far as the reports went, the assailants hadn’t stood a chance again the might of the Imperial Army. Veers had even sent an Army: 2, Navy: 0 to his datapad after the battle had been over.

But now, everything had descended into chaos. Just as the Imperial troops had boarded their transport ships and been on their way back to reembark again, Rebel ships had appeared.

And were now threatening half of their Army troops. Threatening Veers. Blast the nine Corellian hells, he wouldn’t lose him. Only over his dead body. After all, he was like the only sensible person of the goddamn Army. His friend.
His stomach clenched painfully. A friend, just a friend, his subconsciousness mocked him. He gritted his teeth. Yes, damn it. Just a friend.
Then why are you so worried? The voice inside his head laughed at him.

The Captain shook himself. Enough of that.

Mind racing, Piett made a beeline for the front bridge, where Admiral Ozzel and Lord Vader were watching the ongoing battle.
His Lordship was a bastion of calm within in the flurry of activity. He stood tall, unmoving; the black mask firmly fixed on the sky. A tower of strength. As he drew nearer, the Captain wasn’t even sure if the Supreme Commander had moved in the last ten minutes. One could easily think there was just a dark statue standing at the viewport, if you didn’t count the fear-inducing sounds of his respiratory mask that had everyone on the bridge on edge.

And the bone-chilling cold that gripped your heart within a ten-meter-radius around his Lordship.

With some effort, Piett thrust his fear and uneasiness aside and he halted smartly before his superiors.
“My Lord, Sir”, he greeted, clicking his heels. He got to business right away. “Our strategists have analysed the situation regarding our transports and the enemy fighters. There is great danger. If the incoming Rebel ships will manage to reach our shuttles at mark five before us, there won’t be any transports left for us to collect. They’ll be obliterated.”

Lord Vader’s helmet tilted some centimetres towards him, then resumed his position. The coldness lifted a bit.

“And half our Army with them, my Lord”, Piett continued. Lord Vader didn’t comment.
“Can we reach them in time?”, Ozzel inquired.

“Probably, Sir, but they would still need time to fully reembark, thus making them vulnerable. Our transports are barely equipped to withstand normal firepower, any direct hit from the Assault Frigate would destroy them in an instance.”

Piett took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. Images flashed before his eyes. Veers and his men, smouldering corpses. Thrown into the vast of space, freezing to death. Suffocating. He quickly abandoned the thoughts. His mind was needed here, now, on the bridge.

“Sir”, he tried with determination, locking eyes with Ozzel when no suggestions from the Admiral were forthcoming. “If we were to steer the Lady as fast as physically possible in the direction of our shuttles, made a side turn to 90 degrees to bring her in the firing line between the enemy and our troops and brought her into a tilted position with our hangar openings towards the transports, we – “

“And expose our upside to the incoming firepower?”, Ozzel ranted. “Are you mad, man?”

“Sir, I – “
“You’re forgetting yourself, Captain!”

“That’s enough!”, a baritone voice thundered. Both Imperial officers instinctively held their tongue. The coldness was back, even colder than before, biting into their skin. Lord Vader rounded on them. The air tensed. Waves of fear spread out, gripping the heart of the bridge personnel. Nobody dared to move.
Piett’s knees almost buckled under the pressure.

The black mask stared down at them.
“Captain Piett’s idea is sound”, Lord Vader rumbled. “Speak, Captain.”

The pressure lifted a bit.
Someone gulped. Oh, right, it was him. Strained nerves and all that. He coughed slightly, then launched right into his explanation again. The Executor would edge between the freighters and the frigates, shielding them in the process, and tilt about 45 degrees, so the transports would be easily able to just fly into the hangars and not have to carefully manoeuvre their way in. Meanwhile, they would transfer all power to the upper shields of the Lady to reflect any incoming bombardment.

It wasn’t the best plan, but it had to do.

For some excruciating seconds, Lord Vader didn’t say anything. The Sith Lord’s body language was next to non-existent, but Piett prided himself in thinking he had at least learned some hints on his Lordship’s feelings in the last few months. Right now, it didn’t look like the man would strangle him in the next minute. Hopefully.

The excruciating seconds ticked by, then their Supreme Commander nodded. “Act accordingly”, he told the Admiral. The Captain half expected Ozzel to refuse, just because it was Piett’s idea, but even his hot-headed superior seemed to have an ounce of self-preservation instinct.

The man shot him a glare, barked the orders and then shooed him away with a wave of his hand. The Captain risked a quick glance at Lord Vader, but the ominous being had already turned back around, so Piett took it as a dismissal as well.

He quietly went back to Venka who was already deeply engaged with making sure Piett’s plan was set into motion. The man only nodded at him to signify he had everything in hand. Well, if you didn't count the enraged Head Engineer who was currently on the comm. "He wants WHAT?", a voice bristled. "Tilt? Just like that? In the next minutes?! The whole ship?"

Venka winced a bit. "Yes, exactly", his subordinate answered meekly.
"Oh, yeah, right!", the voice raged on. "Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to do that? TILT? Get me the damn Captain!"

Venka shot him a helpless glance. Piett just rolled his eyes, then moved closer to the station.
"Head Engineer, this is Captain Piett. Do you have any hearing problems?"
"I, uhm, no, Sir." The voice seemed taken aback.
"Then.Tilt.The.Damn.Ship." Sorry, Lady, he quickly apologized.
"...Fine." He could hear some mumbling that sounded distinctly peeved, then the comm went silent.

Venka smirked at him and nodded gratefully. The Captain just nodded back. There was nothing he could do now but wait. The orders had been given.

He silently positioned himself next to one of the large viewing panes of the bridge and willed his feet to stay firmly in the same position, arms behind his back. A picture of utter calmness. No one of the bridge crew noticed he clasped his hands so hard that the leather of his gloves creaked for a second.

Out of the corner of his eye, Piett saw Venka shoot him an unreadable look. He didn’t know if his subordinate and friend noticed his tense posture, but if he did, he didn’t comment on it. Piett was glad for it.

The next twelve minutes were agonizing.

Despite his inner turmoil, Piett stood tall – he could almost hear the General’s laugh at the irony of the sentence – and observed how his plan was set into motion with quick efficiency. The Lady and her crew were, after all, the best of the best. He watched how the transport drew nearer and the Executor blocked the line of sight from the Rebel ships to the shuttles.
When she tilted, the Captain subconsciously adjusted his stance. Quietly, Piett thanked the stars for artificial gravity. Otherwise, the whole crew would have probably found themselves in a big heap on the floor right now.

The sudden change of position seemed to be a shock for the Rebels. They probably hadn’t thought a ship as large as the Lady could tilt to such degrees in a matter of seconds. Furthermore, their prey – the transports – had abruptly vanished out of their line of sight. Which left them with only the Lady, the most massive battleship of all times.

Piett smiled to himself as he watched the enemy do the only reasonable thing he would do if he were in their position – turn tail and vanish into hyperspace.

“Sir”, a lieutenant called. “All shuttles are secure!”
A few cheers erupted from the crew pits. The Captain allowed himself a grin. He only noticed in passing how Lord Vader ordered the Rebels’ trajectory to be traced back. They had saved their men. Saved Veers. He released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

Their victory brought him such a relief that he almost forgot to wipe the pleased, boyish grin out of his face. Almost. The pointed stare of Venka was more than enough to bring him back to reality – a reality where it wouldn’t do if the Captain of the Executor grinned like an absolute fool.

Stifling a sigh, he turned on his heel to walk back to his superiors. Back to business, then. But first, he sent a quick message to Veers, a small and definitely smug smile back on his face.

Army: 2, Navy: 1

Chapter Text

In the main hangar bay, Veers observed the last of his troops reembark with weary eyes.

The battle on Waboni hadn’t been his most difficult fight, but it had been a struggle nonetheless. It had been difficult to differ between friend and foe as some of the rebelling prisoners had taken Imperials as hostages or had simply dressed up like them, rendering the situation even more problematic than before. And that damned, sticky mud on that cursed planet. A nightmare for everyone fighting with AT-STs or AT-Ats. Not only had it been very tricky not to get stuck in the slimy underground, but it had also impaired their ability to even find those damned Rebels, hiding between all that muck.

As to the journey back… Veers chuckled humourlessly.

He’d never been one of those crazy Navy persons that loved to fly and got teary-eyed whenever they saw the models of the newest battle ships. It was, after all, why he was in the Army. He loved solid ground under his feet, fresh, unrecycled air and the certitude to probably one day die with his feet on a beautiful planet. Not explode into dust in the vast of space.

But being nearly blast into smithers in the middle of space after a successful mission on a planet? That was definitely a new low. No wonder he hated flying.

The General was torn out of his musings by a youthful voice that cut through the clutter of noises.
“General! General Veers! Sir!”

Irritated, Veers whirled around to find himself face to face with another one of these nondescript, prim and plain looking Navy officers. He just wasn’t in the mood to deal with any more naval problems right now. He was tired, exhausted and covered in grime, slime and mud. Also, there was a frightening amount of dried blood on his cuirass – not his, luckily – and the General’s hands were itching to just rip his stained armour off. A nice shower, that was what he craved right now. Not another possible problem to deal with.

His bad mood must have shown, because the officer actually stumbled a step back when Veers rounded on him, taking in his appearance with wide, frightened eyes.

“What?”, Veers growled.

The officer gulped. “My-my apologies, Sir. The Admiral tried to reach you, but your datapad was offline and…” The man swallowed down the last of his sentence when Veers gave him another deathly glare.

“And?”, he prodded, eyes fuming at the mere mention of Ozzel.
“And the Admiral ordered me to relay that he wants to see you at your earliest convenience, Sir”, the man squeaked, frame stiff as a board.

Veers glowered at him. “Oh, did he now?”, he asked, voice dangerously low. The Navy officer seemed to shrink even further into himself. Veers was about to say something definitely unbecoming of an Imperial General when the image of a scowling Piett suddenly popped up in his mind. His colleague wouldn’t be too pleased with his manners around the Captain’s fellow Navy officers. Fine, then. No sense in killing the messenger, as the saying went.

He heaved a sigh, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to the still frightened officer that was looking at him like a deer caught in the headlight. “I got the message, now off you go.”
The man didn’t need to be told twice, barely taking his time to hastily salute him and legged it right away.

Veers himself didn’t waste time either. Ozzel wanted to see him? Well, then the Admiral would see him in all his damned, muddy glory.

“Lastok!”, he called out over his shoulder to one of the two pilots commandeering his personal AT-AT, Blizzard One. “Seen my datapad anywhere?”

A head popped out behind one of the transports. “Left it under your helmet, I think, Sir!”

“Thanks!”, he called back, quickly collected his pad and switched it on while making his way out of the hangar. The first two messages were indeed from Ozzel, demanding his attention at once in that typical pompous tone of his. Veers deleted them without a second thought.
The third message actually made him chuckle for a second. It was from Piett, stating their new Army vs Navy- point ranking. He fondly shook his head. Smart, tiny sailor. What had he done to deserve that man? Alright, he would give it to him – the Navy really had saved their asses this time.
He switched the datapad off again, slid it in one of his enormous trouser pockets and continued to stomp on. He had an Admiral to visit. His strides turned more aggressive with each step towards the Admiral's office. And if he, by any chance, left a trail of muddy footprints in the pristine grey of the corridors, he didn't care.

People were quick to jump out of his way when he brushed past them. Some shot him subtle, confused glances, while others visibly blanched upon seeing his bloodied, dirty attire. It only took one look at his annoyed, pissed off expression that they all made sure to give him a wide berth.

Veers didn't bother to knock at the door when he reached his destination, but went right in, thus startling the pretty blond secretary at the front desk.
Her eyes widened almost comically at the General's crusted battle attire. Veers gave her his best non-threatening, cheeky grin.

"General", the woman stammered. "Do you- do you have an appointment?"
"In fact, I do. Kind of", Veers answered, deliberately ignoring how she went to rise up to stop him. He just side-stepped her, earning himself an undignified yelp and barged into Ozzel's office.

To the General's amusement, the Admiral's eyes went wide as saucers when he entered, taking in his gritted teeth and bloodied appearance. Mud was dripping everywhere.
"General!", Ozzel huffed. "I hope you have a good excuse to explain this entirely unbecoming attire!"

Veers gave him a dirty look, but stood at attention to follow Imperial protocol nonetheless. "You summoned me, Sir. According to the tone of speech your messages were sent in, I assumed them to be rather urgent."

Ozzel puffed himself up, but couldn't argue against that. The man sneered, then waved him to come closer. He didn't bid Veers to sit down. Probably doesn't want his precious chairs to get dirty, Veers thought.

"I wanted to congratulate you on your victory on Wobani", Ozzel began.
Veers blinked.
The Admiral looked up at him expectantly. "Thank you, Sir", Veers dutifully answered.

"Your career has, of course, been most successful so far, too", Ozzel continued. What was the man aiming at? "So, you see, I couldn't help but notice how you seem to spend a lot of time around our newest Captain." Ah, there it was.
"In fact, I am quite concerned about you, General."

"Captain Piett is nothing but an exceptional officer, Sir", Veers calmly stated.

Ozzel made an irritated gesture with his right hand. "Maybe, maybe", he admitted distgruntedly. "But that doesn't excuse the manner in which he conducts himself, nor the place he's coming from."

What.

"You seem to forget the Captain is of low birth, Veers. Not like an esteemed core worlder like yourself. You shouldn't let such a man... tarnish your reputation. He's beneath us." At that, a nasty smirk appeared on the man's face. "I know you just wanted to test the waters, have some fun. Trust me: We will soon show him his rightful place."

The General couldn't believe his ears.

WHAT.

Veers stared at the Admiral, facial features completly frozen.
"I beg your pardon...?", he choked out, anger already settling into his gut.

The Admiral - that sick slime ball - smiled thinly. "Oh, you know what I mean, Veers. It's about time to set this crew to rights and, well, get rid of undeserving and disturbing components."

That did it. The anger exploded. Inside, Veers fumed. That bastard. That sick, utter bastard. How dared he?! His heart roared, searing with hot, piercing anger. He could feel the blood rushing to his head.
Piett was a brilliant officer. Smart. Kind. A better man. Stars, he was better than Veers would ever be. Someone to be valued, not to be wrongly put in place.

Someone to protect, his mind whispered.

The General's right hand twitched. This incompetent excuse of a human being in front of him wanted to get rid of Piett. Certainly not.
His right eye twitched slightly. Just a step forward and a quick movement... It would have been so easy for him to snap that slimy assholes's neck. Just one step… His fingers curled. It took everything in him to not wring the Admiral’s neck there and then. But if he did, one of Ozzel’s lackeys would become Admiral. He himself would probably be ordered shot. And Piett would have another nasty superior without Veers to support him in his time of needs.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, fiery gaze burning holes into Ozzel, who was looking at him with an expectant air, completely oblivious to the General’s homicidal intentions.

The General grit his teeth. Anger was written all over his features. “Is that all?", he ground out.
Ozzel reeled back, visibly confused. "I-"
Veers bared his teeth. "Tell me, Admiral. Do you have anything, I mean anything, reasonable to say at all?”
Ozzel gaped at him, clearly taken aback. “General – “, the man sputtered.
“If, not -,” Veers spat, interrupting him, “I will take my leave now, Sir.”

Before Ozzel had even the chance to gather his wits, Veers turned around in his heel and marched right out of the office, back into the secretary’s room.

It was empty, thankfully.
Once the door to the Admiral’s office had shut, he couldn’t control himself anymore. Screw Ozzel and his pompeous ass. A cold fury erupted in his chest. In a gesture of anger, he knocked over one of the dozen pencil cups on the front desk, spilling all its contents on the floor. The white, hot rage searing inside his head didn’t stop. Kriff Ozzel and his goddamn kriffing ideals. He would not let him threaten Piett.

Screw him.

Veers tried to take another deep breath. His head swam. By the stars, what was wrong with him? He'd nearly killed Lord Vader's Fleet Admiral. What a way to ruin his career. He just... couldn't think, anger blinding all his senses. Piett would probably laugh at him now. The professional Iron Max, devoured by his own emotions. What an irony.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Veers tried to regain his posture. Enough feelings for today.

With a huff, he turned to leave the room when his eyes fell on a small, roundish object which was laying in the middle of the mess he'd created on the desk.
He stopped for a moment, then quickly snatched it. Afterwards, Veers pulled out his comlink and sent a quick message to Covell. He needed a drink.

To his surprise, Commander Khartov was already waiting for him when he stepped outside, which meant word had already spread around where Veers had stomped off to earlier.
The man gave him a careful nod, taking in his wrathful features and still muddy appearance with a raised eyebrow. "General."

"Here", Veers grumbled, thrusting the round object in the Commander's direction. "Take that to the Major. He knows what to do."
Khartov's other eyebrow lifted as well, but he took it without comment. And didn't budge.

"Dismissed!", Veers barked. But Khartov didn't move.
"What?", the General grunted, clearly annoyed.
"Sir", the Commander said hesitantly. "What happened?"

Veers carded a hand through his grimy hair, then grimaced.
"The Admiral threatened our Captain. Told me how much more 'superior' we core worlders are." He clenched his teeth, blind hot rage still simmering inside him.

At his side, the Commander's expression changed to one of understanding.
"Oh", Khartov muttered, voice unusually soft. "I see." He gave his superior one of these strange looks Veers had received a lot lately. Even Covell had previously eyed him like that when he'd mentioned Piett.

"And you took that personally, I guess, Sir?", the Commander ventured.
"Yes, of course, I took that damn personally!", Veers hissed, temper already short.

Khartov cleared his throat, then gave his superior one of the sharpest salutes Veers had ever seen. "Don't worry about Ozzel. We've got you covered, Sir."

"Good man", Veers answered, turning to leave. He'd only taken two steps when Khartov's voice made him turn around once more.

"General...", Khartov hesitated.
Irritated, Veers motioned him to go on. The Commander cleared his throat once more, then positively beamed at him, smiling with such an uncharacteristically warmth that Veers could only blink in astonishment. "May I just say that we are all very happy for you and the Captain, Sir. Congratulations." And off the man ran.

Momentarily stunned, the General stared after him. What.

What?

His head suddenly felt lighter. Trying to compose himself, Veers leaned on the wall.

He - Piett - Khartov - did he - ? And then realisation hit him like a brick.

The rage he'd felt when Ozzel had threatened Piett. He hadn't felt such rage since someone had threatened his late wife. The love of his life. He hadn't '-

Veers froze, inner monologue coming to an abrupt halt.

Kriff.

Oh kriff.

And then he understood. Stars. The man was right.

Oh dear.

Could it really be..? The highly amusing banter they shared. The strange ache in his heart when their lounge meetings ended. The strange pang and worry in his chest whenever Piett stood near to Lord Vader, life on the line.
Huh. By Denon’s seven moons, he he’d been such a blockhead.

The longer Veers contemplated it, the less he could deny it. He just knew the man was right, now that Khartov had said it. Somehow. He'd been so dumb.
By the stars!

He could never tell Piett. The man was Captain. It would compromise his professional work, painting him an even bigger target to Ozzel's ire. Relationships between two persons of the Imperial military weren't explicitly forbidden, but certainly frowned upon if you were of higher rank. Especially by Ozzel, that piece of bantha podoo. If found out, he would double his efforts to destroy Piett's career for sure.

The General rested his head against the wall. No, he couldn't tell Piett. Or could he? And how would the small Navy man react to his advances? No, he wouldn't risk it, the General in him decided.
He needed a plan first. Scout out the territory and all that.

Coward, his mind whispered.

Veers shook himself, Iron Max taking over. He wouldn’t tell Piett – for now - but he could still try to protect him from afar. Ozzel still needed a lesson.
It was time to create some trouble.

Chapter Text

Corridor 4212, Executor, 10 days later

"Stop fretting, Firmus", a surprisingly calm Veers told his colleague while the two officers were making their way towards meeting room 42B.

"I'm not fretting, General." Piett shot the man a glare. He didn’t know it for sure, but he could have sworn Veers had been avoiding him for the last days. Only to turn up at their usual lounge meeting yesterday and let everything descend into mayhem.

The Army officer snorted. "Of course, you are, my dear Captain. The crew may not notice, but I've known your stupid mug long enough now to read you like an open book."

Piett took the opportunity to roughly shove his elbow into Veers's side as they were rounding a corner into an empty hallway. Lately, the Army man had been acting strange a lot. Piett couldn’t quite put his finger on it. And now he was being a cheeky little shit. It had to be punished.
The little Ooof the General made and the miffed look that followed were absolutely worth it.

Unfortunately, Veers was right. While being his usual calm and impassive self on the outside, Piett had been inwardly worrying himself for hours. He grimaced. "It may be news to you, but being reprimanded by our Supreme Commander, who also happens to be Lord Vader, isn't something I am looking forward to!"

The General glanced at him, then shrugged. "Well,", Veers said, "it isn't my fault that Ozzel's lackeys can't keep it in their pants. I will not stand for one of my troopers being molested by those imbeciles in my presence."

"Oh, as well as it wasn't your fault that the whole Officer’s Lounge turned into a warzone after you punched Lieutenant Commander Arden and broke his nose?", Piett shot back. He didn’t mention that he’d been quite impressed by it.

They rounded another corner and stepped into the lift. "I guess the timing was a bit inconvenient", Veers admitted. The General had at least the decency to look a bit sheepish. "But it was also not my fault that a group of Army officers just walked in right on time to hear Arden threatening to shove his blaster up my butt."

Piett pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. The suddenly resulting brawl between the Admiral’s men and the other officers had been almost comical. Bonus points for Ozzel watching the whole scenario with the distinct impression of a gaping fish.

Veers adjusted the shirtsleeves of his already impeccable uniform, the only gesture that betrayed some nervousness. "To my defence, I quickly got the situation under control", he grumbled.

Grudgingly, the Captain nodded in agreement. It had been quite an imposing show to watch Veers subdue the situation. With lungs trained over years to be heard in the chaos of the battlefield and a deathly glare to match, the General's roared orders to kriffing pull themselves together had shocked the fighting men and women right into standing at attention in a matter of seconds. They hadn’t been the only thing that had stood at attention – the General’s roars had gone straight to Piett’s groin, luckily concealed by the thick layers of the Imperial uniform.

And the poor sod closest to Veers probably needed hearing aids now.

But not only that. If Piett was honest with himself, he’d actually enjoyed the sight of Veers taking control far too much. The way the General’s muscles had rippled under his tight uniform after he had knocked out some wayward officer, who’d wandered too close to Piett for his own liking, had been quite distracting. Very distracting to be exact.

Piett had also involuntarily found himself at parade rest, a result of the military drill ingrained in every Imperial crewmate. Even Ozzel’s hand had flinched like he’d wanted to salute.

Nobody had dared to utter a sound until a red faced Ozzel, an out-of-his nose-bleeding Arden and several other officers of the Admiral's entourage had left the lounge, noses high in the air. And just like that, peace had resumed.

And, of course, people had started to flock around Veers like bees enticed by honey. Piett knew the General was admired by his troops. But he hadn’t been able to stop the twinge of jealousy inside him when he’d heard one of the pretty female officers within earshot sigh audibly, telling her friends she’d felt all hot and bothered, as the youngsters said. And no, her friend’s murmured answer that he’d definitely tap that, hadn’t helped either.
The Captain had been this close to write them up for misbehaviour.

Huffing, Piett grit his teeth. It wasn’t his right to deprive Veers of well deserved – if misguided – admiration. The Army man certainly deserved the highest praise. He was fair, loyal, intelligent and quite the charmer if he wanted to be.
Oh, stop that!, Piett groaned internally, feeling his cheeks getting warmer. Since the incident with the transport where his friend’s life had been in danger, he had stopped to deny to himself that the man had certain… effects on him. But still, he had to keep up appearances.

Beside him, he could almost feel the General eying him with a concerned look.
“You alright?”, the man asked, hazel eyes turning soft.

“Just… preoccupied”, Piett answered quietly. It wasn’t really a lie. Damn him for his pale complexion. He was really good at keeping a stoic face, but his light skin didn’t do him any favour in situations like these.
With his toned skin, Veers had more luck. The man had the perfect poker face. And a nice tan. And a nice body. No wonder the whole crew wanted to get into the General’s pants.

Don’t you?, the voice inside his head snickered, laughing at him.

The Captain sighed, banishing the thoughts and concentrating on the presence once more.
They had both hoped that the lounge incident wouldn’t spread any further.

Nevertheless, here they were, off to get an earful from the Supreme Commander. If you're lucky and survive, his treacherous brain helpfully supplied. Obviously, word of the incident had gotten around. Scuttlebutt really was as fast as lightening sometimes.

Piett couldn't help but sigh again when they reached their final destination, stopping just outside the meeting room.

"Will you promise me to behave yourself this time, Max? Or do I have to shoot you out of the airlock for real?"
The General flashed him a cheeky smile. "I am a professional, you know."
"That's not a Yes!"
"Well, it's not a No."
“Max!!”

As they entered the room, Piett resolved he really needed to stock up on his alcohol supply.

-

Inside the meeting room, three facts all but sprang into Piett’s face.

First, it was unnaturally cold, the coldness gripping his heart right away. Second, Lord Vader was already there. And third, Oon-Aii was with him, standing as far away from his Lordship as possible, white as a sheet.

It didn’t take a genius to combine these observances to a single one: Lord Vader was angry.
It never bode well for them when Lord Vader was angry.

Gulping, Piett quietly got in line with the other officers, Veers not far behind. The General however continued over to Ozzel’s left side as he was the highest-ranking Army man present. Nobody dared to sit down with Lord Vader looming at the far end of the conference table.

The big meeting room suddenly felt oppressive and far too small. Piett could feel the hairs on his neck stand up, so cold were the waves of fury the Dark Lord radiated. He forced himself to keep still. Several officers around him seemed to try not to fidget as well, as if the first one to move would draw their Lordship’s ire.

The Captain swept a quick glance about the gathered Imperial personnel. They weren’t many people in the room. He could spot some Army Commanders and Majors behind Veers – one of them being Covell, if he remembered correctly – and some of Ozzel’s henchmen next to the Admiral, including Lieutenant Commander Arden. His nose still sported a big red bruise.

Next to Piett stood a lady with gorgeous black, short hair and a typical Imperial flight suit. The Commander of the TIE-Squadrons, probably. There were also some other officers the Captain had seen before in the lounge but couldn’t quite remember the names.
Also, First Lieutenant Venka was just stumbling through the door, hastily taking up his position behind Piett.

Apparently, everyone was present now. Lord Vader left them to stew in their own fear for some seconds more, the coldness and the pressure in the room increasing. When Piett finally thought his legs would soon give out, Lord Vader deigned to open the meeting.

“It has come upon my notice that a rather outrageous incident happened on my ship today”, the deep voice rumbled. Several officers flinched. Piett felt like an invisible hand clenched his heart and squeezed painfully.

“Naturally, such incidents are to be avoided”, the Sith Lord continued. He stood still like a picture of utter calmness; hands loosely placed on the backrest in front of him. But Piett knew that looks were deceiving. Underneath that black armour, Lord Vader wasn’t calm. He was fire. He was death.

The unseen pressure on their frames increased. Another wave of dread hit Piett like a brick.
Behind him, an officer stifled a groan.

Lord Vader continued with his speech. “This infighting between the ranks is not only unnecessary but annoying. I won’t have resources wasted by your pitiful squabbles. Resources needed to find Skywalker.” The last sentence was like a hiss, dripping with malice.

A silent warning. Cold shivers raked up and down Piett’s spine. Sweat ran down his temples, frame utterly frozen like the other officers’. Nobody dared to move.
His eyes searched for Veers in a moment of panic, but the General was stoically facing towards their Lordship, features hard. Lord Vader had turned around to face the senior officers.

“Good”, the deep voice purred.

The shove that followed caught Piett completely off guard.

It wasn’t physical.
The Captain’s knees buckled, finally giving in to the pressure. He hit the floor, hard, arms automatically flailing to absorb the fall. Around him, the other officers went down as well, Lord Vader’s unseeable powers forcing them to their knees, a reminder about who was in charge.

Across him, Ozzel, Veers and Arden were on the ground as well. The Admiral was panting while Veers seemed to strain against the invisible force that held him down. To no avail, of course. The General’s face had lost his composure, lips tightly pressed together in pain. It wasn’t until Piett noticed the strange position the three respective officers held themselves in that he realised Lod Vader just went ‘easy’ on himself and the others.

The General’s posture was stiff, the back ramrod straight, the neck forced down in an uncomfortable angle from an unseen force. His arms were pressed to his sides in an unnatural way, making him look like a grotesque puppet that had its strings pulled in the wrong direction.

Piett’s heart missed a beat, a new wave of panic settling in his gut. Nononono, his mind repeated like a broken recorder. Max.

Obviously, the Supreme Commander knew who was indirectly responsible for the whole mess at the Officer’s Lounge because the Admiral and Arden were mirroring their colleague’s painful posture while Piett and the others were allowed to stay relatively unburdened on their knees. Only Veers and Ozzel seemed to catch the full brunt of their Lord’s ire. But Ozzel – the Captain didn’t give a damn about him. He would be glad if the man would finally bite the dust.

His eyes focused on Veers again, who attempted to regain his stoic demeanour without success.

Gritting his teeth, Piett tried to struggle against the pressure that held him down. Lord Vader wouldn’t fatally hurt his best Army General, he tried to convince himself. Veers was fiercely loyal to Darth Vader and a most competent officer, beloved by his troops. The Sith would only compromise his own standing if he would gravely injure his best infantry officer.

The thoughts were rational, but didn’t help to calm his nerves in the least.

Out of the corner of his eyes, the Captain could see Lord Vader slowly ambling past a still standing, but very pale Oon-Aii who had pressed himself into the wall, over to where Veers and Ozzel were kneeling.

His heart skipped a beat.

The Sith Lord tilted his head, looking down at the two senior officers at his feet. Piett could have sworn the man was amused.

“These open hostilities between the Army and the Navy will cease”, their Lordship ordered in a no-nonsense voice. “Do you understand?”

With a lot of effort, Veers seemed to gather all strength he had left to look up at their Supreme Commander, proud and sober. “Yes, my Lord.”

Ozzel just whimpered something.

Lord Vader nodded, obviously satisfied for now. And just like that, the pressure stopped. The cold lifted, the chilling dread in the air vanishing in a heartbeat. A small, relieved sigh escaped Piett’s lips.

Lord Vader swept one last look about his officers.
“Dismissed”, the vocoder rumbled.

Before any of the men and women were able to regain their posture, Lord Vader had turned around and swept out of the room with long strides, cape billowing behind him. Just like that. His aide, the Lieutenant, trailed behind him, as much distance between them as protocol allowed. The door shut behind the pair.

The lesson was over.
The whole room collectively let out a breath.

Muscles still aching, Piett struggled back to his feet. He had to check on Veers. However, he only managed one step in his direction when the Admiral was suddenly in his way.

“What are you all gawking at?!”, a barking Ozzel interrupted his advance. The Admiral had regained his footing. Beside him, Veers was helped up by one of his troops. The General winced slightly when he stood straight again, a hand pressed to a spot on his chest.

The Admiral also seemed to stumble, but that didn’t stop the man. “Everyone back to their post!”, a red faced Ozzel spat, humiliated by Lord Vader’s treatment.

Piett faltered, levelling a worried glance at Veers. “But, Sir – “
“Are you deaf, Captain? Back to your post!”, the Admiral hissed.
Piett bristled.

Maybe he would have thrown hands, but Venka chose the moment to put a hand on his shoulder and slowly steer him in the direction of the exit. “Come now”, his subordinate and friend murmured, voice low. “It’s no use arguing with him.”

Defeated, the Captain let himself be shoved through the door. Veers was alive, he reminded himself. That was all that mattered. He would check on him later. And if his heartrate sped up a bit at the thought, well, he didn't comment on it.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon found a miserable General Maximilian Iron Max Veers sitting in his quarters, nursing a brandy.

Not that the average trooper would have spotted his misery, of course. On the outside, the Army General still looked every bit the iron soldier he should be, face grim, posture proper. But to the close observer, a finely tuned eye could see the little twitches around his mouth now and then and the slight frown that had settled itself between his brows, indicating its bearer was in quite some pain.

Moping, Veers stared unseeingly in his glass, only to wince seconds later when Major Covell pulled the bandages around his chest a bit too tight.

“Sorry”, the man muttered, securing the bacta batch with another round of plaster. “You know, you really should be in a kolto tank, Max. I’m no expert, but I’m pretty much sure that rib here is slightly broken.”

Veers shrugged, just to regret the action seconds later when a painful jab went through his upper torso. “I’m alright. Don’t need a bloody doctor”, he grumbled.

“Oh, indeed?” The Major shot him a dubious look, giving the mentioned spot another hard pat to finish up. Veers winced again, then stubbornly ignored the pointed I-told-you-so look his friend was sporting.

Covell just snorted. “Maximilian Veers, sometimes you’re as stubborn as a hutt. Even I gathered that nasty position must have hurt you. Looked pretty uncomfortable, if you ask me.”

“Luckily, no one’s asking you, then.”
“Oh, shut up, Sir.”

Exhaling slightly, Veers tugged down the loose shirt he was wearing to conceal the bacta batch on his chest. It had hurt, yes. But right now, what was hurting was rather the feeling of shame in the General’s chest than the actual injury itself. He had disappointed Lord Vader. The Sith Lord had been right – the time wasted for their infamous lounge fight could have been better used to find that Skywalker pilot and his nest of Rebel friends.
After all, Veers was a General, commanding battle strategies and authority like no one else. He should have found another solution to the incident at the lounge.

His wound throbbed painfully again, but Veers found it bearable. He would endure the slow healing process the bacta batch induced as the punishment it was intended to be. He would make sure not to disappoint their Supreme Commander again, the loyal Imperial soldier in his brain ranted at him. He had promised himself to never fail Lord Vader.

And he would certainly not start to do that now. He owed it to their Lord and his troops. And to Piett, of course. There would be no one to protect the tiny sailor from Ozzel’s wrath.

Beside him, his friend just sighed, packing up the bandages.
“You should just tell him, you know?”, the Major mumbled absent-mindedly.

“What?” Startled, Veers was brought back to the presence.
“What?”, Covell parroted.
“Do you mean…”
“Hm?”
“Are you just saying what I think you are saying?”
“What, that you two should definitely bone?”

Dumbfounded, Veers just stared at his subordinate, the throbbing pain in his chest completely forgotten. Khartov’s words popped up in his brain, unbidden. And now, apparently Major Covell was into it as well. Gods help him. “Oh Terran, don’t you start with that, too!”, Veers groaned, burring his head in his hands.

Covell grinned, patting the General gently on the back. “There, there.”

“By the stars, I hate you so much”, Veers complained without heat. “Bone?! Who else thinks the Captain and I need to bone?”

“Oh, hm, well – the whole Army?”, the Major answered, suggestive wiggling of the eyebrows included. “And First Lieutenant Venka, I think.”

Groaning again, Veers facepalmed. “I haven’t even told him, Terran. I just can’t!”

“I know”, Covell said. “Khartov told me you stared at him completely thunderstruck when he congratulated you. Slight miscalculation on our part, I guess.” At this, the Major looked at least a bit sheepish.
“I mean, who could have known you’re such a blockhead, Max.”

Growling, Veers sat up straight and glared at him. “You better watch your mouth, soldier.”

The Major just shrugged. “No offense, Sir. But clearly the Captain has the hots for you and you for him. What’s the big deal?”

Irritated, the General turned to stare at his friend. “What do you mean, clearly? That man is constantly looking as unaffected as the durasteel walls of the Lady!”

This time, Covell just looked at him like he was a complete idiot. Then, he released a long, exasperated breath. “You two really are a number, Sir”, the Major sighed.
“I mean, didn’t you notice how our Captain was making moony-eyes at you in the meeting room? Or the look he gave the Admiral when he was dismissed from your presence? I ‘m telling you; the little sailor was this close to jumping Ozzel on the spot.”

Completely surprised, Veers felt his eyebrow wander higher. Piett had been about to throw hands with Ozzel? For him?

“And- “, the Major continued, “- remember that time we were stuck in that blasted infantry transports at Wobani? I know from a reliable source that out dear Captain was all too jittery when we groundpounders were this close to being blown up in space.”

At this, Veers couldn’t help himself. He snorted.
“Reliable source, my ass. Venka?”

“Venka”, Covell affirmed, grinning again.
“So… I’m just a blockhead.”
“Yes, Sir”, the Major happily chirped.
“And Piett?”
“Also a blockhead, Sir. With all due respect.” The Major laughed when Veers shot him a sour look.

What Covell didn’t know – in his head, the General was currently breakdancing in joy. Piett liked him. Piett liked him! If it wouldn’t have sounded so pathetic, Veers would have said his heart sang full of delight. But as it was, he wasn’t the soppy, poetic kind of man, so he just settled for a self-satisfied nod. The terrain was scouted, at the least. Now it was just necessary to plan the course of action.

His train of thought came to an abrupt halt when the door to his quarters hissed open, admitting the last person he expected to see at the moment. Next to him, the Major promptly turned his head to stifle a laughter.

His tiny Captain stood in the doorway.
Veers blinked, then mentally hit himself over the head. His tiny Captain? Oh dear, he was really in head over heels.

After a minute, he noticed he hadn’t said a thing, just stared dumbly at the Navy man who was now shifting awkwardly on the spot, not having received an invitation to step inside.

“Firmus”, he quickly broke the stupor. “What are you doing here?”

The Captain shifted again, looking almost timid. “Hey. I just wanted to check on you, see if you’re alright.” His eyes shifted to Covell. “We can’t lose our best Army General, can we?”, Piett hastened to add. As if the whole Army wasn't currently trying to set them up with each other. But well, the sailor didn't know that. Yet.

The General blinked again, willing his lips to move. “Don’t you have to be on the bridge right now?”

“Oh, that.” Sheepishly, Piett glanced quickly at the ground, then up again, indifferent mask back in place. “First Lieutenant Venka was so kind to take over half of my shift. May I come in?”

“Of course, of course”, Veers answered. Venka, that little shit. He glared at Covell who seemed to have trouble to wipe the stupid, smug grin out of his face. Obviously, Piett’s and his subordinates had teamed up to give their superiors’ newfound – and until now, still utterly non-existent – love life a push.

“And you, Major…”, Veers threw the definitely complacent soldier a dirty look, “... get out.”

The Major happily complied, springing to his feet and giving both of them a salute, still grinning. “Aye, Sir! May I –“

“Out!”, Veers barked.

Covell laughed, then almost ran out of the room. Piett looked after the man in confusion, then turned to the Veers when the doors slammed shut. “What a strange man, Max.”

The General nearly choked on his drink when the Captain sat down in front of him, hazel eyes full of concern. Piett’s face was impassive as usual, but his gaze was full of heat. Their knees were brushing. Did the Captain even know how he was looking at him, right now?

“Oh yes”, Veers muttered in a haze. “Strange indeed.”

He quickly stood, ignoring Piett’s befuddled look, to fetch another glass for the sailor. It was time to throw the last of caution out of the window. He would approach the matter like everything he did – head on.

But only after a few drinks, mind you.

Chapter Text

Somehow, Piett couldn’t shake off the feeling that the whole situation was some kind of absurd déjà vu. The two of them had been drinking and talking a lot, like that awkward evening when Piett had gotten totally drunk and probably said lots of embarrassing stuff.
Except this time, it was the other way round. They were in Veers’s quarters, not his. And this time, Piett was meticulously trying not to overdo it, only sipping at his drink now and then.

He carefully glanced at the General who had been listening to his rants about Ozzel and those stupid probe droids with the patience of a saint, then eyed the half empty wine bottle next to them.

He would never forget the short, painful expression that had been crossing Veers’s face when Lord Vader had exerted his power. An expression of raw pain Piett had never seen on the General before. It had scared him. Of course, that and Ozzel denying him to speak to the General had only managed to spike his anxiety even further. Stars, he’d been worried sick his whole shift. When Venka had silently offered to take over the rest of his duties for the time being, Piett had all but sprung for the opportunity to check on Veers.

Luckily, the officer in front of him seemed well cared for, even if the one providing the care had been Major Covell. Piett felt a slight pang of jealousy at the thought, then shrugged it off. He should be thankful to the Major for providing support when he himself wasn’t able to do so. Veers seemed to be alright given the situation, his t-shirt sporting a square bulge at his chest. A bacta-patch, probably. Piett hesitated slightly, then shot the man another look.

The Army officer had been unusually silent, listening intently and offering an encouraging nod here and there, a small smile on his lips. However, Piett couldn’t help but feel like something was… different. As if Veers himself was different. Of course, the General still looked and acted like his usual self, but seemed somehow distant. Preoccupied.

“Max?”

Soft, hazel eyes stopped staring in the distance and focused on the Captain once more, smile slightly widening at the mention of his nickname. With a small flick of the man’s hand the brightness of the room went down. The soft glow of the neon lights illuminated the General’s chiselled features, all sharp profile and angles, brown hair bathed in a gentle shine.

The words died on Piett’s lips, his brain coming to an abrupt halt.

Stars, the man looked breath-taking.

Even battered and bruised and probably quite in pain, Veers was stunning. The tight shirt highlighted the way the General’s muscles moved under the clothing, empathising his broad shoulders and build.
The Navy man gulped. Get yourself together, man! It was like the first time Veers had been in his quarters. Even then, at the beginning of their friendship, Piett had been in awe of the soldier’s finely cut features, soft in the diffused light.

Only when said officer’s gaze turned questioning, Piett realised he’d forgotten the glass in his hand halfway to his lips and hadn’t said a thing.

“Max”, he repeated, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to say I am very glad you’re okay.” The Captain only hoped the dim lights concealed his damn blush.

Veers chuckled, averting his gaze for a moment before focusing on Piett again. “Thanks, Firmus, me too.” For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something more, but then left it at that.

“Although I am not quite sure why you decided to forgo the kolto tank”, Piett continued, throwing the patch under the General’s shirt a suspicious look.

The Army man just shrugged, then winced slightly at the movement. “I – ehm – wanted to show you something, first.”

Now it was Piett’s turn to shoot his counterpart a questioning look. “Show me something?”, he repeated. Something more important than the General’s own health?

“Yes”, Veers affirmed. Before the Captain could ask him to elaborate on the point any further, the General fished a small, longish object out of his pocket and placed it on table beside them.
Its steely surface glinted in the dim light.

Piett stared at it in confusion. “That’s a code cylinder, used for getting access to data and open restricted areas. Why…”
He glanced at Veers who actually had the gall to smirk at him. Oh no. No, no, no. A beginning feeling of dread settled in his stomach. “Max. Max. Who does that code cylinder belong to?”

The smirk turned into a full shark-like grin. “Let me show you, sailor”, the General growled, voice low. He stood up abruptly, offering an inviting hand to the Navy officer.

Piett swallowed. The growl had stirred something inside him, shooting right to his groin. Hesitantly, he stared at the man’s outstretched hand. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. Whatever Veers had planned this time, it wouldn’t keep in reasonable bounds for sure. At least, not within Imperial regulations.

But those hazel eyes. Eyes that were looking at him with such an intense heat, Piett couldn’t say No. He wanted more.

“Fine.” He would regret this for sure. With a sight, Piett clasped the man’s hand, letting himself be pulled upwards with a seemingly effortless tug. Veers switched to grabbing his uniform sleeve instead of his hand, but didn’t let go.

Grinning like a madman, the General ushered the wary Captain out of his quarters before Piett could so much as blink, then pulled him along through the corridors.

Gladly, it was near midnight, so there weren’t much Imperial personnel crossing their way as the night shift would continue for another four hours. They only met some clearly tired officers on the way up to the tenth floor who were far too sleepy to give them more than a short, confused glance before stumbling on.

As they were rounding another corner, Piett struggled to keep up. Veers had drunk much more alcohol than him, but seemed far too quick on his feet for someone inebriated. Only slightly drunk, then. As much as the Captain didn’t mind the nice view of his colleague’s firm buttocks, being pulled through corridors by his shirtsleeve wasn’t really the romantic idea he’d had in mind.

“Hey!”, Piett exclaimed, subdued. “Where are we going?”

The addressed officer shot him short glance over his shoulder. “We’re nearly there. Just… ah!” The General halted suddenly at a door on the right, causing Piett to nearly bump into him.
“There we are!”

The Captain stepped around the tall officer to look at the name plate on the left side of said door. His eyes widened in shock.

Agitated, he whirled around to face his smug colleague. “Max!”, he hissed in a low voice. “Are you out of your mind?! That’s the Admiral’s office!”

“What an astute observation, Captain”, Veers drawled. Ignoring the small Navy man’s protest, he inserted the code cylinder with a quick motion, then actually giggled a bit when the door flashed green and sprang open. “After you.”

Frozen, Piett turned to stare at him. “You pinched Ozzel’s code cylinder”, he whispered numbly. “You – you really stole the Admiral’s code cylinder.” Panicked, he glanced at the ceiling above them. “The cameras! They will record us – “

Veers made a shooing motion. “Don’t worry, the cameras are taken care of.” Without further ado, he gently grabbed the overwhelmed officer by his shoulders and steered Piett inside. The door shut behind them with a hiss.

Still stunned, Piett let himself be shoved past the secretary’s desk and into the next room, namely Ozzel’s office. His could feel a migraine coming on. If Lord Vader was already pissed about the current ongoings aboard the ship, what would he say to two of his officers being caught breaking in a superior’s office, let alone the Admiral’s? They were so done for.

Numbly, he watched Veers steer him even further into the room, right in front of Ozzel’s desk. A pile of four datapads was stacked tidily on it, blinking with unread information.

That was it. No way he would read classified information. He spun around to give the General a good piece of his mind. “What do you think we’re doing here?”, he hissed in a low voice. “We – “

He didn’t get any further as Veers only shot him an annoyed look, fended of his flailing arms with trained ease and spun him back around, securing Piett against his front with two strong arms. “Just look at them, Firmus”, the General’s deep voice breathed into his right ear.

The Captain shuddered. He couldn’t exactly tell if it was anxiety or arousal.

He nodded stiffly. But Veers’s firm grip didn’t waver. “Fine, fine”, Piett acquiesced, “I’m not going to run out screaming, okay?”

“Good”, Veers answered. The Captain could almost hear the purr in his voice. Reluctantly, the Army officer let go, so Piett could step forward and inspect the datapads properly.

Gingerly, as if the pads could bite him, he picked the first two up and skimmed the content. His eyes went round. He quickly scanned the readings of the third and fourth datapad. Reports, all of them reports about Rebel sightings on different planets, authored by the monitoring team of Project Swarm – the probe droid project dedicated to find the Rebel base.

But the planets…
His head swivelled around to Veers who was watching him with a calm demeanour and a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Max”, he whispered. “Those reports… I’ve spoken to the team of Project Swarm. Mustafar, Dantooine, Onderon, Jakku – there are no Rebel cells on these planets. The team leader told me so himself just hours ago.” He stared back at the readings. “But contrary to his assertions, these reports clearly state that there are Rebels, precisely on those planets.” Realization hit him. “Which means – “

“– which means the reports are fake, yes.” Veers had folded his arms, shark-like grin back in place.

Flabbergasted, Piett turned to look at him. It made no sense. Why should someone deliberately write false reports and present them to the Admiral? It would mean only trouble, dulling Ozzel's motivation to even read another report if all the reports before didn't so much as contain a real trace to the Rebels.

“You have the monitoring team write fake reports", Piett repeated numbly.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
“How many?”
“Hm?”
“How many?
“A lot of them, actually.” Veers shrugged.
“I – that - how, Max?”
“Let’s say, one of the guys owes me and the Major a favour.”

Piett only stared at him. Why would Veers do such a thing, sabotage his direct superior? That would mean... And then it clicked. “You’re having the team fake reports with no real results, so Ozzel will neglect all other incoming reports. After so many false traces, the Admiral won’t believe a report with real Rebel sightings even when it hits him in the face!”, the Captain exclaimed. “So, when the time comes and the probe droids really sight a Rebel cell…”

“… Ozzel won’t believe it and make an ass of himself, exactly. And then, enter Lord Vader, bye bye Mr. Admiral.” The grin turned even sharper.

Piett felt completely lightheaded. “Why?”, he ground out.

Veers stared at the floor, fidgeting. “We did it for you, Firmus.” He looked back up. The sudden vulnerability in the General’s eyes hit Piett like a brick. “The man is treating you like shit. Kriff, the man is treating you even worse than shit. Do you actually know that he offered me to join forces to get rid of you, in this very office?! I just wanted…” The Army officer trailed off, averting his eyes again.

“Veers”, Piett calmly stated. The General actually flinched when the Captain used his last name. “In my official capacity as Captain of the Executor, I have to reprimand you. That scheme of yours is plain stupid, not to mention dangerous for our direct superior.”

The surprise and hurt that flashed across the Army officers’s face nearly made Piett regret his words in an instant. He could see Veers balk at his words, a steely and stubborn glint making its way back to his eyes. The hurt was gone in a second, face turned into a mask of professional blankness.
Just as the General opened his mouth to speak, Piett held up a hand.

“However,”, the Captain continued, “in my personal opinion?” A grin slowly spread out on his face, so big it nearly split his face in half. “This is the best and most wonderful plan I have ever seen. I mean, with the right timing, I could probably even use it to my advantage.” He gestured excitedly. “You’re a genius!”

Veers had relaxed once more, a smile back on his lips. Stars, the man looked so good standing there, all green uniform trousers, broad neck, white shirt and firm muscles.

“In fact, I could kiss you right now”, Piett blurted out.

He hadn’t even closed his mouth when his brain caught up with the the last words that had slipped out. And promptly went beet-red. Ooops. Brain-to-mouth-filter officially broken.

Veers, taken by surprise, just blinked at him. And then, his gaze tuned predatory. Like a kid in a candy store that had just been told he could eat everything he wanted. It sent a shiver down Piett’s spine.
With one long stride, the General stood right in front of him. “Care to repeat that, sailor?”, he purred darkly. The Navy officer had to crane his neck to look him in the eyes.

Soft, fiery hazel met his. He subconsciously wet his lips. “I – “

And then they heard the door to the front room open.

Before Piett had a chance to react, Veers had already grabbed him and bodily shoved him into the little wardrobe in Ozzel’s office, cramming himself inside after the Captain. Just in time – only seconds after Veers had managed to shut the side doors, a blonde woman came in. Piett forcefully held his breath, watching her through the door crack. Ozzel’s secretary, probably.

Intensely, he became aware of how small the wardrobe was. He was pressed chest to chest to Veers, the General’s hot breath tickling his nose. A rummy feeling settled in his gut, warmth streaming through his veins. He could feel the General’s right hand at his hips, not having moved after shoving him inside. His heart skipped a beat.

The Captain forced himself to focus once more on the secretary. Whatever the woman had been doing seemed to be over, the blonde leaving without so much as a last glance about the room.
Piett released a breath, turning his attention back to Veers. “I think we can – “

He didn’t get to finish the sentence.

Lips were on his, soft and chafing nonetheless, effectively halting all other words on his tongue. He could taste traces of the alcohol they had consumed earlier. A hand had settled on his neck, pulling him closer in a gentle manner. Piett positively melted, all thoughts forgotten. His stomach fluttered in a funny way.

Belatedly, he realised Veers was chuckling, the soft baritone vibrating through them both. Well, maybe he had mewled a bit when kissed. But only a bit. Or well, a bit more.

Gasping, Piett broke the kiss, putting a hand on the General’s chest. He could have sworn those hazel eyes were glinting with amusement.

“Not to say I didn’t enjoy this”, he croaked out hoarsely. “But… what?”

The Army officer’s eyes grew soft, regarding him with a gaze so fond it nearly stole the Captain’s breath again.

“Let’s just say, I’ve wanted to do this for some time”, Veers mumbled, nuzzling the side of his face.
“Since you saved our Army asses at Wobani.”

Piett slowly traced the edged of the bacta patch under the General’s shirt, humming softly. “At Wobani, when you were out there, all helpless in space”, he whispered. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, you know?” He swallowed. “And I realised...” ...how much you mean to me. The words were stuck in his throat, but Veers seemed to understand regardless.

A happy, relieved laugh escaped the General’s lips. “Me too, sailor, me too.” A firm hand glided down Piett’s side, sending a rush of blood to his loins.

The Captain yelped slightly when the hand groped his left buttock, then pinched it.

“General!”, Piett spluttered indignantly, then seized control by grabbing two hand-full of the General’s shirt and pulling Veers down for another kiss.

The Army man groaned. Or was it him? He didn’t care. Suddenly feeling far too hot, he noticed the large bulge in front of Veers’s trousers. His own lower parts twitched at the sight. Time to relocate.

He deepened the kiss, then forcefully shoved the soldier away.

“My quarters, now”, he briskly ordered, the firm Captain-like tone back in place that left no room for argument. He swatted the officer’s hands away. No way he would continue this in a wardrobe, in Ozzel’s office of all the places.

The tall General smirked down at him. “Aye, aye, Sir.”

“And Max – “, he continued, his finger poking the other person in the chest for emphasis.
“Yes?”
“- leave the code cylinder.”

A pause.

“… Fine.”

Chapter Text

Some hours later, Veers found himself woken by an insisting finger poking at his lower ribs. He sleepily rolled around, huffing. Screw all morning persons.

The poking didn’t cease.

“Hrrmmph.” He buried even further into his pillow, blindly sweeping the annoying hand aside. Just some more minutes. His alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.

The poking continued with intensified strength. “Come on, get up…” A sigh above him.
He didn’t move.
The irritating touches ceased.

Only to be replaced by a voice shouting directly into his ear.
“General Maximilian Veers!”

Startled, Veers leapt up in reflex, nearly bouncing out of bed, ready for action. Only to tumble down the next second because that damn blanket had wound itself around his feet.

There was amused laughter behind him. Caught in the wicked net of the blanket, the General slowly manoeuvred himself around and groggily cracked an eye open, only to be met with the image of an already impeccably dressed Piett smiling fondly down at him.

He stared.

“And a good morning to you, too”, the Captain said, before sitting down on the bed to put on his boots. He was freshly shaven, his cap already on top of his head, not a hair out of place.

Veers blinked, then carefully disentangled himself off the blanket and stood up to let himself flop on the bed once more. He squeezed his eyes shut again, blocking off the harsh light of Piett’s quarters.

“Damn, why are you already up?”, he grumbled. “Is the ship on fire?”

The bed moved slightly as the Captain stood up.
Arms akimbo, Piett stared down at him with a raised eyebrow. “Unlike you, I have to be on the bridge in ten minutes and cannot lie in bed like a sack of potatoes. The Navy is always punctual.”

“Oy!”, Veers protested weakly. He squinted up at Piett. His… friend? Lover? Colleague?
The man showed no signs that their night had been quite short and exhausting, looking as proper as usual. Well, not totally proper.

“You – ehm – got something on your neck”, he pointed out, gesturing to the hickey at Piett’s neck that wasn’t covered by the man’s uniform.
Aghast, the Captain turned around and made his way to the small mirror on the wall, craning his neck to catch sight of the mentioned item himself. Amused, Veers noted that he staggered slightly as he walked, movements stiff and careful.

“Karabast, Max”, the Captain swore softly. “Come on, help me with that, will you? Ozzel mustn’t see I’ve got a hickey.” He glanced at the other officer in the mirror, then promptly blushed. “And by the stars, put on some pants.”
It earned him a laugh. But Veers complied.

When the General had successfully hunted down his boxers, the Army officer quickly put them on and then swaggered over, a smug smile plastered on his face. He noted Piett’s eyes roaming over his athletic body before the tiny sailor managed to get himself under control again, blushing even more.

The General sighed. “Come on, Firmus, it’s not like you haven’t seen everything the last few hours.” He accepted the tiny box of tinted cream Piett offered to him, then swiftly applied the content at the neck, erasing all visible traces of their love-making not covered by the uniform.
“There you go, all prim and proper.”

The Captain nodded stiffly. However, when the man turned around, he winced. “Kark it, Max. How am I supposed to walk like a normal person?”, Piett complained, grasping his buttocks.

Shrugging, Veers grinned like a cat that got the cream. “Well, you know they call me Iron Max, right? And I wasn’t the one who bounced up and down my dick like there was no tomorrow”, he pointed out.

He was treated with another sight of Piett blushing furiously. Stars, the sailor was so cute when he did that. He smiled contently and leaned down to kiss his Captain once more…

… only to be interrupted by the blaring of Piett’s datapad.

Before he could even blink, the other officer had shot past him to hastily grab the offending device, staring at it in awe, the half-naked General in his quarters completely forgotten.

“Hey!”, Veers complained indignantly.

Piett didn’t react. Veers huffed.

Still no reaction. The General cleared his throat.

Distracted, the Captain finally whirled around. The eagerness and thrill of anticipation written all over the officer’s face caught Veers by surprise. “It’s happening!”, the Navy man told a bewildered Veers, voice full of nervous joy. “By the Axxilan hells, Max, they found something! Project Swarm!”

Although still a bit annoyed, Veers couldn’t help but be intrigued. “The probe droids? For real?”

“Yes!” The General hadn’t seen the Captain so excited in weeks. The man was practically bouncing up and down on his feet. “According to the team of Project Swarm, there seems to be a chance of 87 percent that they really found a Rebel cell! On Hoth, of all the places.”

Well, that was something. “Great, that’s great”, Veers muttered. He closed the distance once more, trying to pick up where they had left off. However, he couldn’t even so much as lean down, when another ping interrupted his advances again.

He could immediately see that it wasn’t good news. The Captain’s brows furrowed, a steely look entering his eyes. The next moment, those steely eyes were on his, sending an icy glare his way.
“What?”, Veers exclaimed. Confused, he watched Piett stepping out of his reach and towards the door. “Wait, what is it? Did I do something?”

“You’ve had your fun”, the Navy officer simply answered, face a blank mask. If his tone had been full of warmth only moments ago, it was now positively glacial, dripping with ice shards.

“Eh?”, Veers said eloquently.

“I have to go.” Piett shot him another one of those deadly looks, then turned to leave. Gone was the face full of joy and the fondness he’d regarded his lover with.
“Good day, General!”, was the last thing Veers heard before the doors slammed shut.

The General stupidly blinked after him. What had that been all about? Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his left pectoral, where the small Navy man had bitten him in the throes of their passion. “Good luck, sailor”, he murmured.

He sighed. Those Naval people and their behaviour – they would always be a mystery to him.
He would find out, sooner or later. Gaze sweeping about the absolute mess they had made of Piett’s quarters, he sighed again. Time to hunt down the rest of his clothing.

-

Five minutes later, an impeccable dressed General Veers stepped out of the Captain’s quarters, unseen by the ‘accidentally’ switched off cameras in the sector.

He stood for a second, checking his appearance, neat uniform all in place, before ambling off in the general direction of the bridge. If everything went according to plan, Ozzel should be already informed about another Rebel sighting, heading to the bridge himself.

The closer he got to the bridge, the more the corridors became packed with all sorts of Imperial personnel, officers and stormtroopers alike. They all gave him respectful nods, letting him pass with ease.
If they only knew what their General and Captain had planned for the Admiral, Veers thought in good humour.
His heart gave an annoying throb at the thought of Piett and the manner they had parted. He shook himself. No time for emotions.

Veers accelerated his steps when he spotted a familiar head of grey in front of him.
The Admiral. Finally.

As an Army General, he could not just show up on the bridge without a reason. The Army had no business on the bridge, with it being the heart of all Navy operations. The Army officers were usually summoned for meetings on the bridge, if necessary, but were not really tolerated there otherwise. But with the Admiral at his side… An idea formed in his mind. He nodded grimly.
Time to put his plan into action.

He quickly closed up to his superior, keeping a respectful distance between them. “Good morning, Sir.”

The Admiral looked surprised to see him – no wonder, after their heated talk about Piett – but then seemed to shrug it off. “General”, the man acknowledged. “I trust you’ve come to your senses.”
Haha. No.

Playing the role of the repentant sinner, Veers nodded humbly. “Indeed, Sir.”

Ozzel shot him a suspicious look. Veers looked back at him; false smile firmly plastered on his face. Arrogant prick.

The Admiral scrutinized him once more. “So, I trust you see the error in the way you behaved at our last conversation?”, Ozzel probed.

Inwardly, Veers gritted his teeth. Certainly not.
Outwardly, he faked an abashed cough. “I’m sorry, Sir.” He could almost see Ozzel puff up at his words.

Obviously satisfied at this display of submission, the Admiral nodded. “Good. Good.” He finally seemed to notice that the Army officer was set on following him to the bridge. “What brings you this way? Has Lord Vader summoned you?”

Veers perked up at the words. Vader was on the bridge? That was better than everything he’d hoped for. Maybe they could finally get rid of Ozzel, if Piett played his part right.

“No, Sir”, he quickly answered. “I’ve just heard the news that Project Swarm found another -“, here he deliberately added a note of contempt to his voice, “- of those ‘Rebel cells’ or what they call those pieces of unimportant structures they’ve found so far. I was just curious if this turns out to be another false alarm.”

“You’ve heard about all those false ‘sightings of Rebels’ then, I see”, Ozzel bit out in annoyance. “I don’t think Project Swarm will ever be successful – we’ve had so many false leads; you won’t believe it. And trust me, General, this one will turn out to be wrong once more, mark my words!”

Veers laughed to himself. If the man only knew why there had been so many false reports on his desk.

Like in a drama movie, the doors swished open to reveal the might of the bridge. And the dark, imposing figure, standing at the viewport on the very end.

Veers felt his eyes immediately drawn to their Supreme Commander towering over the bridge. He could feel the waves of power washing over him, radiating from Lord Vader like a candle radiated light. Every noise seemed subdued in the wake of their Lord, the Navy personnel only talking to each other in low voices. A deadly calm.

And there, on the right side, shortly before the gangway of the bridge started, stood Piett. He was the very picture of a proper officer, collected and concentrated on his task. The General’s pace faltered a bit. How would the sailor react, seeing him on the bridge?

Just as Veers and the Admiral were about to pass the station Piett was standing at, the Captain’s voice rang out, loud and clear. “Admiral.”

Ozzel immediately whirled around in annoyance, stalking over to Piett in big strides. On an instinct, Veers followed curiously at a slower pace. That should be fun.

“Yes, Captain?”

“I think we’ve got something, Sir. The report is only a fragment from a probe droid in the Hoth system. It’s the best lead we’ve had.”

Veers allowed himself to step in the middle of the two officers, acting like it was totally normal for an Army General to amble about the bridge. Piett only blinked once in surprise when he caught sight of him, but otherwise didn’t react.
Impressed, the General mentally congratulated the Captain on the timing and the neutral tone of voice he’d delivered the ‘news’ in, as if the report about Hoth had just come in. Sly, small sailor.

“We have thousands of droids searching the galaxy”, Ozzel immediately dismissed Piett’s words. The man seemed unnaturally pissed. But maybe Piett’s mere presence was already enough to rile the Admiral up, who knew.
“I want proof, not leads!”

“Visions indicate life forms”, Piett protested.
“It could be anything! If we followed up every lead - “
“But Sir, - “

Veers didn’t concentrate on the rest. The bridge had gone eerily silent.
That could only mean…

He only heard the heavy steps and the telltale mechanical breathing behind them mere seconds before Lord Vader reached them.
Oh boy, he thought grimly. Here we go.

It was time for the spectacle to unfold.

Chapter Text

“You found something?”

Lord Vader’s deep baritone instantly silenced the two arguing officers. Piett watched as Veers hastily stepped back, making way for their Supreme Commander.

Veers. It had been a surprise to see the man on the bridge, after everything. His heart clenched painfully. And for once, it had nothing to do with Lord Vader standing next to him.

Quickly ignoring the whirlwind of emotions inside him, Piett affirmed His Lordship’s question, bringing up the image the probe droid on Hoth had transmitted. It showed a building of sorts, a shield generator, to be exact. At least, that’s what the team leader of Project Swarm had told him.
The Captain sincerely hoped the man had been right. After all, it was his own life that was on the line.

Lord Vader leaned forward to take a better look at the picture. All the while, Piett held his breath. Would it really be a Rebel base? Was it the Rebel base Lord Vader was looking for? Would he order Ozzel to attack? Would -?

“That’s it. The Rebels are there.” Lord Vader’s voice interrupted his panicked thoughts.

Piett blinked, not believing his ears. The Supreme Commander… approved? Just like that?
He shot a quick glance at Ozzel who actually had the gall to bristle at Lord Vader’s words.

“My lord,”, the Admiral began, tone borderline condescending. The Captain couldn’t help but stare at the man for a second. He knew Ozzel was an idiot – but such a huge idiot? Judging from the way Veers was goggling at the man for second before he had himself under control again, the General felt quite the same.
“There are so many uncharted settlements. It could be smugglers, it could be –“

“This is the system!”, the Sith Lord boomed. After all his time with the Sithlord, Piett could make out an edge of annoyance in the filtered voice. “And I am sure Skywalker is with them. Set your course for the Hoth system.”

Lord Vader swirled around, not even considering to spare the Admiral another glance, nearly knocking into Veers in the process, who had stepped closer to take a look at the image as well.

The Iron General didn’t flinch.

Piett did. Even if he was currently out of sorts with Veers, he found that he wouldn’t bear it to see if the man were hurt. Softie, his mind mocked him. He gritted his teeth.

Lord Vader, however, seemed unaffected by the improper closeness.
“General Veers”, he ordered. “Prepare your men.”

Like the model soldier he was, Veers didn’t so much as blink, just nodded in affirmation and stepped back a bit to let the Sith Lord through. Piett watched him turn to Ozzel, following the proper chain of command as Lord Vader was still situated somewhere outside of the official Imperial military. Upon receiving a small nod, the General turned on his heel and marched off without another glance at Piett, mind obviously already set on the task before him.

The Captain didn’t watch him go. Instead, he suddenly found himself face to face with Ozzel, far too close for his own liking. The Admiral looked incredibly pissed, shooting him a look of utter loathing. It promised pain. Pain and awful consequences for letting Ozzel look like a complete idiot in front of their Lord.

Piett carefully schooled his features, focusing on a spot on the wall above the Admiral’s right shoulder. The Admiral regarded him with hate for another moment, then brushed past him in anger.

This time, the Captain turned to watch the man storm off, watching him bark orders at his underlings to set a course to Hoth.

Swallowing, Piett turned back around.
He felt a bit dizzy. He had done it. He had actually done it.
He’d managed to undermine Admiral Ozzel’s authority right in front of Lord Vader.

The Captain quickly supressed a small smile that threatened to appear on his face. It wouldn’t do to show how much Ozzel’s incoming demise made him happy. He was a professional.

Besides, he noted First Lieutenant Venka observing him with interest. He motioned for his subordinate to join him at one of the large viewports, making sure no one was near enough to overhear them if they spoke softly enough.

Stepping beside him to gaze out of the window, Venka offered him a congratulating nod. “That was well done, Sir”, the man said, voice low.

Piett glanced at him with guarded optimism, then gave the officer an innocent look. “I’m not sure I can follow, Lieutenant.”
The man in question only scoffed. “Oh, please, Sir. I’m not dumb. I know you made the team of Project Swarm promise to tell you of every important discovery they make before informing the Admiral.”
The Captain shrugged.

At least there was one person who didn’t betray him, he thought bitterly. Distracted, he noted they had gone into hyperspace, the swirling colours surrounding them in a blueish glow. The Captain sighed, turning to Venka again. He had to make sure.

“Is it true, Tom?”, he asked in a low voice. “That message you sent me?”

His friend averted his gaze for a moment, then focused on Piett once more.
“The betting pool? Yes, I’m afraid.” His voice was full of sympathy when Piett’s face fell. “I’m so sorry, Firmus.”

Heart aching, the Captain only nodded, dismissing the First Lieutenant with a flick of his hand, before gazing into space again. He had been so naïve, so dumb. Like someone like Veers would really be interested in him. Him, a pale, lousy Navy officer. Preposterous.

Nausea bubbled inside him. Their night had been so great. It had all seemed so real. And then, boom. Venka’s message had hit him like a brick. The image attached had told Piett all he needed to know: There was a betting pool, going around in the Army ranks. A betting pool if Veers would be able to get the “tiny sailor” into bed. Him.

His stomach clenched painfully. The General had used him. There was no way Veers didn’t know about the bet – after all, the betting pool seemed to be originated by the high command of the Imperial Army, as far as Venka had found out. Gods, he had been so stupid. As if a man like the famous Iron Max, with thousands of attractive admirers, would really love him.

But why had Veers been on the bridge, then? To show Piett he cared? To lord his victory over him?
It made no sense.

He cursed under his breath. Screw all Army men. He would show them how the “tiny sailor” dealt with enemies, proper Navy style.
Swallowing down the last of his emotions, his blank mask took over. He had preparations for an attack to organize.

-

“ETA ten seconds!”, one of the fleet officers yelled. The Lady’s red lights flashed silently, signifying their upcoming battle status. “… Three, two, one…. Dropping out of hyperspace now!”

And as one, Death Squadron, the full might of the Imperial Fleet, appeared at their destination.
Hoth.

The ice planet glinted faintly, reflecting the light of the nearest stars. It looked beautiful.

And utterly too close.

Piett didn’t need to see the confirming grimace one of the tactical officers made to know they had jumped out of hyperspace too close to the system. He side-eyed the Admiral who seemed far too content for such a blunder. And indeed, Ozzel obviously hadn’t noticed something was wrong.

“All right!”, the Admiral exclaimed. “Forward fire batteries, target the reactors. I want the turrets to take care of anything that might come over way. The rest, concentrate bombardment on the main facilities.”

The seated Lieutenant next to the Captain and Piett shared a look. “Will you tell him, Sir, or should I?”, the man mumbled.
Piett raised his eyebrows. “By all means, Lieutenant, be my guest.”
The poor man sighed, then arched his neck to where the Admiral was standing. “Sir! Planetary shields are up! I repeat, planetary shields are up!”

That got Ozzel’s attention. “What?” He marched over to them. “Too bad, thought we caught them by surprise. Inform General Veers we’re likely going to need him and his men.”
Across from them, Venka’s head peeked out behind a control station. “Already done so, Sir! He’s going to get his marching orders confirmed by Lord Vader.”

“Well, good”, Ozzel said. He stepped closer to the Lieutenant to get a better view at the planetary shields.
The next few minutes were spent by discussing various strategies and tactics about how to proceed. Piett was just patiently explaining to the Admiral that it would take literal months to weaken the shields by simply opening fire on them, when the view screen behind them crackled to life.

Piett noticed it first, quickly turning around and standing at parade rest. It was Lord Vader, as ominous as ever. He carefully schooled his features, his mind fully alert. Nevertheless, he was glad when Ozzel stepped forward, drawing their Supreme Commander’s attention on him.

“My lord”, the Admiral began, “the fleet has moved out of lightspeed and we’re preparing to - uhh-“

Confused, Piett tilted his head.

“You have failed me for the last time, Admiral”, their Lordship rumbled. Oh dear. That didn’t sound good.
A second later, his own name was called out.

“Captain Piett!”

“Yes, my lord!” He quickly stepped forward, risking a glance at Ozzel. Oh my. The Admiral was choking. No, no, that was wrong. The Admiral was being choked. Over the screen. By Lord Vader. Who was on the other end of the ship? Which were like, thousands of meters? The primeval part of his brain blacked out for a second and then screamed, screamed and screamed.
Yes, of course, he wanted the Admiral gone – but did Lord Vader have to choke the life out of the man right next to him?!
He could feel the hysteria taking over.

“- land our troops beyond their energy field and deploy the fleet, so that nothing gets off the system.” Right, right, Lord Vader was talking to him. Piett hastily tore his gaze away from Ozzel, but couldn’t help himself to shoot the dying man another glance now and then.

He stared at the black mask of his Supreme Commander in a mix of terror and forced inexpressiveness, sweat gathering at his temples. The Admiral’s failure could easily be transferred to him as well, with him being the Captain and everything. He tensed even further. Would Vader kill him, too? Could the man choke two people at once?

Please don’t choke me please don’t choke me please don’t choke me please don’t -

Lord Vader’s voice interrupted his panicked thoughts once more.
“You are in command now, Admiral Piett.”

And behind him, Ozzel dropped dead.

Reflectively, Piett said the first thing that came to his mind. “Thank you, Lord Vader", he uttered.
And the screen went blank.

It took his panicked brain a few seconds to process the new information. He was Admiral.
He was Admiral.

Oh yes!
Oh no.

The terror gripped his heart in an instant. He had just been promoted to Admiral. By Lord Vader chocking his superior to death. Piett had jumped like, what, five ranks up in the hierarchy? Which meant, he was in charge now. In charge of the whole clusterfuck Ozzel had left behind. And was Lord Vader’s direct subordinate – a boss who liked to choke officers failing him across the ship for fun.

Piett blinked.
He was a rational being. He would handle this like every rational being would.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh -

He took a deep breath to calm himself. He was the Admiral. Lord Vader wouldn’t have promoted him without a reason. He could do this.

Swallowing, Piett turned around to the two officers at the station control, only to find them staring at him in frozen shock. He quickly let his gaze wander over the bridge.

Everyone was staring at him. The bridge crew was staring. Venka was staring. The security officers were staring. He was pretty sure even the mouse droids were staring at him, frozen on the spot.
Around the Lady, the beginning of a space battle was forming; Rebel pilots trying to escape.

Piett cleared his throat, all attention on him, then shot the personnel on the bridge a stern look. This wouldn't do.
“Gentleman", he said, voice full of steel. "Could I trouble you to shoot at something?!”

Chapter Text

Frozen plains, Hoth

Step by step, the Thundering Herd moved forward as one. The rhythmic clang of the AT-Ats was almost soothing. Calming like the thick snow that muffled every other sound, making the wide, frozen space appear devoid of any forms of life.
AT-Ats weren’t meant to be swift and flashy. They were slow, but steady and got the job done.

Veers smiled to himself. Hadn’t he been in battle right now, he would’ve found the landscape almost poetic. Romantic, even. He should get Piett to come down afterwards, get some fresh air. It would do the man some good to get off that star destroyer every once in a while.
Piett… He sighed internally.

One minute love’s hot, one minute love’s cold.
One minute love’s new, one minute love’s old.
One minute love’s up – one minute love’s down.
One minute love smiles – one minute love frowns.

He softly shook his head. He still didn't know why the tiny sailor had shown him the cold shoulder before his departure. As far as Veers could remember, he hadn't done anything to offend the Captain. Or had he?
The General huffed. He would find out, after the battle.

Before them, the first line of the Rebel defences came into their view. The two AT-AT operators in front of him, Lastok and Greymann, shifted slightly in their seats. Veers had handpicked them some years ago to serve as gunner and pilot to his beloved Blizzard One because of their outstanding skills. And their battle-tested personalities.

To his left, Lastok’s helmet turned around, indicating that the man was looking at him.
“Sir”, the distorted voice said. “Wanna hear a winter poem, Sir?”
Veers could hear the grim sense of humour in the pilot’s voice, a tactic often used to calm oneself before a fight.

He hummed.

Lastok ovbviously took that for a Yes, for the man chuckled and continued.
“A winter poem:
Shit, it’s cold.
The End.”

On the General’s right side, Greymann sighed audibly.

Veers tsked.
“You better stop waxing poetic and concentrate on the mission, Lastok”, he ordered briskly. His features were composed, showing the Iron General he was known as. “Open a channel for broadcasting.”

“Sir!”

“This is General Veers. All troops to battle station. Blizzard Force, commence formation Tango-Alpha and concentrate your fire in the direction of the main power generators. Commander Khartov, I want those AT-STs covering our left and right flank. Be sure to take out those DF.9 turrets and FD P-tower laser cannons at the trenches. I do not need to remind you to be careful of the frozen and slippery surface we walk on.”

A chorus of “Yes, Sir!” answered him.

Veers allowed himself a grim smile. “Good hunting, ladies and gentlemen.”

In front of them, the first Rebel air fighters emerged in alarming speed.

“T-47 airspeeders incoming!”, Greymann shouted. The General’s eyes narrowed; mind already set on their goal in the distance. The main power generator. Then, he concentrated on the incoming enemy again.
“The airspeeders won’t be able to penetrate our defences. Let those Rebels rag themselves out until they won’t have the energy to do so anymore. Continue the assault. Nevertheless – “, he quickly pressed a button to open communications again,” – I want all troops on the double, before those air fighters might pose a threat.”

“Roger that, Sir!”, Covell’s voice chimed back.

Veers stood tall, directing his hard gaze to the incoming fighters again. They had split up into groups to cover themselves, but no avail. He chuckled silently. Those airspeeders were going down like flies.

Like a group of powerful, intimidating beasts of steel, the Thundering Herd continued its deadly advance without mercy.

“Sir!”, Lastok exclaimed. “Main target in sight, I repeat, main target in sight.” And indeed – the power generator finally came into view.
“Incoming transmission from His Lordship, Sir”, Greymann told him almost in unison.

Swiftly, Veers brought his superior up to speed. “I’ve reached the main power generators. The shields will be done in moments, you may start your landing.” Vader didn’t bother to reply, switching the transmission off as fast as he’d send it. Typical, the General thought. But not unwanted. A man of few words, a man of action. Like himself.

“General!”, his commlink cackled to life. “Blizzard Four is down! Blizzard Four is down!”
Veers blinked. Had his troops made it out? “Blizzard Three, report!”
“It looks like they are trying to trip our AT-Ats with tow cables, Sir!”

Annoyed, Veers grit his teeth. The only weakness of his beloved machines. It wasn’t like his engineers hadn’t noticed it; they just hadn’t had the time to fix it. And yet, one of these Rebel pilots seemed to have found their weak point in a manner of mere minutes.

“Use evasion manoeuvre Kneecap when one of the speeders gets too close!”, he barked. They had trained for this.

Almost simultaniously, the General summoned the Captain of his ground troops with a simple click. He didn't have to wait long. Calmly, he turned around to the snowtrooper who had appeared behind him. “All troops will debark for ground assault.” The soldier nodded and swiftly walked away to convey his orders.

Veers turned to his pilot and gunner again. “Prepare to target the main generator. Steady now.”
Scanning the air in front of them, the General quickly noticed the airspeeders coming in for another round, mind obviously set on bringing another AT-AT down.

“Blizzard Eight and Two, focus fire on the speeders at one-pont-six”, he ordered. And lo and behold – before the two Rebel fighters even managed to come close again, the left air fighter burst into flames. The other one was hit, too, rapidly losing height and spiralling past them into the ground.

Satisfied, Veers curled his lips. That would show them.

Suddenly, a shock wave hit Blizzard One, rippling through the metal and making the ground below his feet waver for a second. “Blizzard Five just detonated, Sir!”, Khartov shouted. “Single target at its feet, Sir! One lone soldier. But we can’t target him, he’s lying exactly between the walker’s legs, Sir!” The downed pilot – the General almost couldn’t believe his ears. How…?! He concentrated on their goal once more. A single man on the ground wouldn’t be able to do any more damage.

“Leave him”, Veers ordered. “Save your firepower for the turrets and speeders. AT-STs, move forward to clear the trenches!”

Below them, panicked Rebel foot soldiers emerged, running back to base as fast as possible in a pathetic attempt to escape. Lastok and Greymann lowered their cannons, picking them off in masses.
In the background, the General’s commlink sprang to life again, informing him that the snowtroopers had successfully advanced on the enemy’s base.

“Distance to power generators?”, Veers asked.
“One-seven-decimal two-eight”, Lastok answered.

Satisfied, Veers nodded. Nearly there…

Abruptly, Greymann veered Blizzard One’s head to the right. “Another fighter incoming, Sir!”
“Evasive manoeuvre!”, Veers quickly ordered. But, well-trained as his pilot was, his warning wasn’t needed. The AT-AT stopped mid movement, left hind leg taking an evasive step backwards, front legs lowering a fraction. In a matter of seconds, the enemy speeder was reduced to flames.

Lastok whooped excitedly. Veers face didn’t betray any emotion, but he couldn’t help but allow himself the hint of a smile. “Well done, soldier.”
Then, the moment of truth was there. The generator.

With a swift move, Veers pulled down his spyglass, focusing on the building in front of him.
“Target. Maximum firepower!”

A flash of red. And then -

Boom.
The bright explosion blinded him for a moment, leaving his ears ringing. Debris and ashes rained down from the sky; a thick cloud of black smoke spreading out.

Veers grimly stared at the empty place the generators had been before. They had done it, reached their goal. The Rebel forces were utterly destroyed. All resistance obliterated. Lord Vader would be satisfied. Like he had sworn to himself after that mishap with Arden at the lounge – Veers would never fail him.

“General.” Greymann’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “It seems our sensors are blocked by that kriffing smoke around us.”
To his left, Lastok cocked his head. “Must be the icy winds holding it down”, the man mused. “I’m sure Lord Vader will be very pleased, Sir”, the gunner continued.

Veers brushed the compliment off. “Lead and obey, that’s all.”

At that moment, in the corner of his eye, he caught a shadow moving towards them through the smoke. Alarmed, his head snapped to the left, only to catch sight of a smoking Rebel speeder hurling right toward them. No.

He faintly noticed Greymann grabbing the controls in panic. But Veers knew it would be too late.
I'm sorry, Firmus.

A second later, the world crumbled in pain.
And everything went black.

Chapter Text

On the bridge of the Executor, Captain, no, Admiral Firmus Piett was watching the ongoing hustle and bustle with sharp attention.

News of the overwhelming victory of the Imperial forces on Hoth had just reached them an hour ago, promising a pleasant outcome to the battle. Even if a certain Army General was a son of a Hutt, Piett was professional enough to recognize strategical talent mixed with properly executed leadership and give credit where credit was due.
On the Navy’s part, they had obliterated nearly two dozen small fighters, blasted one freighter and even managed to capture one of the transports. Lord Vader would be very pleased for sure.

Someone had even taken care of the sad remains of the former Admiral – a disturbing sight, for sure, as Piett had always felt invisible fingers ghosting around his throat whenever he’d looked that way – which meant the bridge was once more in pristine condition, physically and morally.
There was nothing that he loved more than a structured and orderly work space.

And as a last point, Ozzel’s former cronies were acting respectfully around him now, too. Maybe, apart from the constant threat of strangulation, he could really get used to being the Admiral.

All in all, Piett found his mood to be improving constantly.

“Admiral, Sir!”
Piett turned to the direction the voice came from, mildly amused to see Oon-Aii walking all business-like towards him. The Lieutenant looked concerned, Venka hot on his heels.

The newly-minted Admiral smiled. “Yes, dear lad, what can I do for you?” His smile slowly faded when he recognised the crestfallen look the Lieutenant gave him. Behind the man, Venka was frowning grimly.

When Oon-Aii hesitated to reply, the First Lieutenant answered in his stead.
“News from Lord Vader and High Imperial Army Command just came in, Sir”, Venka said darkly. “It’s the General. Apparently, he was… hurt.”

Piett stared at him for a second before the words finally registered. Veers. Veers was hurt. He noticed Venka was looking at him very carefully; Oon-Aii had turned quite pale.

“Hurt?”, the Admiral repeated numbly. “How bad?”
“Quite bad, Sir”, the young Lieutenant mumbled, clutching his datapad. “They’ve been hit by a speeder. Lord Vader himself mentioned it’s a wonder the General survived that crash.”

The numbness spread, gripping his heart.

Like in trance, Piett blinked owlishly at the two people standing in front of him. Max was injured. Badly injured. His chest suddenly felt too heavy to draw a breath. With forced calmness, the Admiral clasped his hands behind his back, nails digging into his palms so hard it hurt even through the leather. The pain brought him back down to earth, reality once more overtaking his senses.

The numbness receded a bit, but stayed firmly in his heart, spreading its cold.

“I see”, he forced out. “Where is the General now?”

Venka turned to look at the datapad Oon-Aii was holding. “Brought aboard with an emergency shuttle. They seem to have taken him to med bay twelve.” He glanced up at Piett again. “Shall I …?”

“Yes”, the Admiral interrupted. He had to go before his calm façade would crack, having trouble to maintain the usual blank mask. He felt his grip slipping. “First Lieutenant Venka, you have the bridge. I will check on the General. Lieutenant.”
He nodded to Oon-Aii who was looking sympathetically at him, then turned briskly around and marched off.

The huge doors of the bridge shut gently behind him.

In a moment of weakness, when no one else was around, Piett leaned against the wall, swallowing down a sob. His hands were shaking.

He didn’t want Veers to die. He couldn’t let Veers die. Idiot or not, lover or not - Max was his idiot – and his best friend. His stomach was churning, reminding him again how much the man meant to him.

Releasing a short breath, Piett pushed himself from the wall, making a beeline towards the lifts.
The whole way down, his heart was hammering so loudly he could have sworn the poor unsuspecting officer next to him had to hear it. But no, the woman just glanced at her Admiral with attention, trying not to eye him too curiously.

When he finally reached the med bay, chaos was unfolding itself.
There were doctors and med droids running and wheeling around, shouting hectically; bloodied faces in clean white sheets; Army soldiers standing here and there, creating puddles of icy water at their feet and the ever-present cold-faced nurses trying to get the situation under control.

With some effort, Piett cut his way through the flurry of activity around him to where he’d spied a group of Army officers standing, two of them being Covell and Khartov. The Major seemed to be consoling a young man in a gunner suit bleeding from a nasty looking cut at his left arm, patting the lad on the back in a fatherly gesture.

The group startled when Piett reached them, all eyes drawn to his new rank insignias. Right, Piett recalled, the Army had already been on the move when his promotion had taken place, so they probably hadn’t heard the news yet.
Major Covell looked relieved. “Sir”, he greeted, face grim. The gunner on his side had stopped speaking, eying the short Navy man in front of them in wonder, before he remembered to salute with his uninjured arm. The others followed suit, then Khartov and Covell shooed them away, all except the young man as he seemed to be in dire need of some medical attention as well.

Piett got to the point right away, amazed at himself that his voice sounded almost normal.
“How’s the General, Major?”

“The doctors are with him, preparing a kolto tank.” Covell motioned to a closed door at their left which read “Emergencies only”.
Swallowing, Piett could taste bile on his tongue. “Will he…?”

“Was pretty close, with the head of the AT-AT being nearly destroyed and everything”, Khartov grumbled. “The pilot was killed instantly. Thank the stars for young Lastok here, aye?” He gave the young gunner a fierce slap on the back, sending the lad tumbling a step forward.

Piett eyed the man, who was glancing down shily at him, memorising his face. “And you are -?”

“Gunnter First Rank of Blizzard One, TK-7834, Alexy Lastok, Sir! I just – “
He didn’t get any further because a female, authoritative voice cut him off.

“Ah, Admiral Piett!”

The door had swung open, revealing a small, brown-skinned woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a doctor’s white coat. Her voice effortlessly drowned out the clutter of noises around her, reminding the Admiral of Veers in drill-mode.
The petite woman easily glared her way through the chaos, an elderly man trailing behind her.

“Glad to see you finally deigned to join us, Admiral”, she went on, taking his hand and shaking it in a vice-like grip. Ugh, doctors.

“I’m doctor Helbig, this is doctor Stephan. Now if you would please just all get inside – no, not you, young man! You better park your behind right there and have that shoulder looked at!”

Lastok quickly sat down.

“Good. Now, you three gentlemen just go right through the decontamination shower here, because I will not have you destroy our sterile environment – that goes for you, too, Commander, don’t you slink away – then we can proceed.”

Before any of the group could protest, she had ushered them right through the door, a mist of disinfection hitting Piett’s eyes and making them water, before she marched on to the kolto tanks.

The sheer sight took Piett’s breath away, but not in a good way.
Amidst the soft light of the room, a harsh, blueish glow spread across the chamber. The deep blue liquid in the tank was a stark contrast to the pristine white the walls were painted in. Inside the tank, a blurred figure moved slightly with the curling flow of the kolto, but otherwise was stock still, making for an eerie sight. Apart from the air bubbles that escaped the breathing apparatus now and then, there was no other sign of Veers being alive. The man had his eyes closed. Even from a distance away and with Piett being by no means a medical professional, the Admiral could see something was wrong.

His heart throbbed painfully.

Beside him, doctor Stephan came up, regarding him with a concerned glance.
“Are you alright, Admiral?”, the white-haired man asked softly, his voice lowered in a gentle manner.

Piett gulped, then nodded. It was a lie, of course. And he knew the doctor knew. But, small mercies, the man didn’t comment on it.

“What – “, Piett croaked out, then cleared his throat until he could steady his voice again, “– what’s wrong with his legs?”
Behind them, Covell made a gurgling noise.

The doctor motioned to his colleague, who was busy checking the tank readings and sighed. “You do know the General was lucky to even survive this, right? Hadn’t it been for that young gunner who somehow managed to drag him and the General out there alive, we wouldn’t even be standing here.”
“What is wrong with his legs?”, Piett repeated hoarsely.

Doctor Helbig marched over. “They’re completely fractured”, the woman stated, all business. “Not even one bone that isn’t broken. Tissue and nerves completely damaged. According to witnesses, a part of durasteel fell on them, all but squashing them in the progress.”

The Admiral suddenly felt very, very sick. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Khartov averting his gaze away from the mess where Veers’s legs once had been. Oh, my stars. Piett’s vision swam for a moment, then focused again.

Piett swallowed again. “Is there anything you can do?”, he whispered.

“Of course!”, Helbig answered indignantly, shooting him a miffed look. “But the damage to the legs is irreversible. We will have to remove them and fit the man with some prosthetics. Or he’ll have to use a hoverchair the rest of his life. That’s up to the General’s emergency contact to decide.”

Upon hearing this, Piett felt like fainting. Veers without legs? Fierce, proud Iron Max? The man who loved running and exercising, bullying even him into keeping up his training as a lousy Navy officer? Stuck in a hoverchair? No, he couldn’t imagine that. Veers would hate it for ever.

Hesitantly, he reached out to place a hand on the kolto tank. He had to make sure the General received the newest, most unobtrusive and best prosthetics there were. Even if he had to rip that emergency contact apart by his own hands. He owed it to Veers.

Carefully, he let his hand drop again, turning to the doctors with a firm resolution, steel entering his voice. “Who is that person you have to contact in such a situation? I want to know his or her name.”

The two doctors and the Army members gave him a strange, gentle look.
“You are, Admiral Piett”, Helbig said softly. “General Veers has noted you down as his emergency contact.”

And just like that, Piett’s heart burst. His façade crumbled down, grief, anger, frustration gripping him all at once. Veers had made him his emergency contact. A role normally saved for the truest of friends, spouses or family. His chest ached.

Hastily, he shut down on the tears that threatened to spill. He was Admiral, for kriff’s sake. Khartov and Covell looked politely away for a moment until he had composed himself once more.

“Then please do so, doctors. Save no troubles and expanses on those prosthetics, will you?”

“Fine”, Helbig muttered, all business-like again. Apparently, her daily quota of sympathy for stupid Imperial officers had run out. “Now, all of you: Out. We have to prepare the patient for the surgeries.”

“Surgeries?”, Khartov asked, face pale.
“At least four of them. Will take approximately eight hours”, Stephan answered happily, fully in his element. “Now, listen to the lady and get out.”

And just like that, they were thrown out. The group stared dumbly at each other when the door swished shut.
Piett cleared his throat. “Alright, men… just tell me when it’s over and the General’s awake, will you?” He made to go.

But the Major caught his arm, then hastily retracted it as if surprised by his own action.
The man was unusually hesitant. “But don’t you, ehm, want to wait with us, be there when he wakes up, Admiral?”

Of course, Piett wanted to be there. But he didn’t even know if he should be there, now that his mind was clear again and his rational thoughts were slowly coming back. And with them, the anger and the sadness were back. Anger about that betting pool stunt Veers had pulled. Sadness about being used.

He rounded in on the Army officers; eyes so full of steel the Major took a quick step back despite having more than a few centimetres on him.
“Oh, stay here and wait until he’s awake?”, he seethed, anger colouring his voice. “Already opened another betting pool for the occasion, have you? Not this time. You and Veers had your fun.” His sentences were so sharp, you could have cut glass with it.

Khartov actually flinched back, looking guiltily at everything but him. Covell paled a bit, then sighed, shooting his cowering colleague a reproachful look.
“Please, Admiral, Sir, stay and let us explain, Sir”, the Major said, deeply uncomforatble. “I think we have a lot to apologize for.”

For a moment, the Admiral was tempted to just let them stand right there, wallowing in the misery the Army officers exuded. But then, an image of Veers appeared before his inner eye, the moment he’d smiled so softly at him after their night together, hazel eyes full of tenderness.

Piett listened.

Chapter Text

There were voices.

Distant, soft voices, that spoke words that didn’t make any sense to him. He tried to concentrate, but found he wasn’t able to do so. He felt light, sluggish. Also tired, so tired.

And then it hurt. Everything hurt.

The overwhelming pain threatened to suffocate him. Veers tried to coax his eyes to open, but they didn’t follow his directions.

The last thing he could remember was the speeder hurling towards them.

He had died. Period.
In his very own machine of death. How ironic. If he hadn’t felt like every nerve in his body was on fire, he might have laughed.

But apparently, even death seemed happy to torment him. Veers had never been overly religious, but it was clear he was in hell, rather than heaven, if the pain was anything to go by. It would suit him, the killer of men, murderer of families, butcher of Hoth. He deserved it, probably.

In the middle of his sluggish thoughts, something someone? had grabbed his hand, squeezing it. He was too weak to return the gesture, but found the touch comforting nonetheless. Even if it only meant he wasn’t alone in his own personal hell.

The soft voices above him were speaking their gibberish again, one female and one male. He liked to imagine they sounded like his Firmus and the other one like his Mia. He had been missing his wife so much, so much. And now, she was here.

He felt a pang of sadness. If the male voice was Piett, then the man had to be dead, too. And Veers didn’t wish for him to be. The small sailor didn’t deserve to be in hell – that was Veers’ burden and only his burden alone. Even if Veers would, oh, so dearly miss him.

Suddenly, there was a hiss and a new, small pain in his side.
The darkness welcomed him once more.

-

The next time Veers regained consciousness; his eyes actually obeyed him.

With some tremendous effort, he managed to open them into slits, squinting against the dimmed light. His head throbbed.

Oh.

Apparently, he wasn’t dead yet, contrary to his last assumption. At least, he hoped so, as he was staring at the ceiling which almost certainly was a medical ward ceiling. And hellish afterlife or not – eternal damnation in a med bay did seem a bit over the top, even for his standards.

Carefully, Veers managed to roll his head over to the right, grimacing at the sudden onslaught of pain and nausea that hit him. There was a hand holding his own, clasping it lightly where his arm lay on the blanket. A warm, fuzzy feeling hit him. So, not everything had been pure imagination.

His features softened when he took sight of the owner of said hand. Piett was sitting in a chair at his bedside, engrossed in a datapad in his lap, tapping furiously with his left hand. The man looked more exhausted than he’d ever seen him. Not even the dim lights of the room were able to conceal the dark shadows under the Navy man’s eyes.

He must have groaned faintly, because Piett’s head shot up and whirled around to face him, datapad completely forgotten.

“Max!”, his friend – lover – exclaimed in relief. “You’re awake!” Hastily, the man turned around to face him wholly, the left hand joining the other to clasp his own between them. “How do you feel?”

“Head… it hurts”, Veers managed to croak out, voice hoarse. The immense relief and warmth in Piett’s tone however nearly let him forget the throbbing pain. His traitorous heart skipped a beat.

The Navy officer’s grip on his hand loosened as Piett bent over to retrieve a med pen, emptying the soothing kolto into the General’s arm.
“Better?”

“Better”, Veers affirmed. And indeed – the pain and the fuzziness receded, letting him think clearly for the first time. With some effort, he managed to sit up a bit, just in time to have a glass of water shoved in front of his face.

Obediently, Veers carefully took it, taking a sip. His body felt so… different. He couldn’t really put a finger on it, but something was not as it used to be.

He peered up at Piett again.

“Wow”, Veers said drily. “You look like shit.”
Piett chuckled, a relieved smile on his lips. “You’re one to talk, General.”
But his eyes were sad. He took the General’s hand again and squeezed it, not meeting his gaze.

Veers swallowed, then softly squeezed back.

“What of my crew?”, he asked.
Piett shook his head. “The pilot was killed instantly.” For a short moment, sorrow filled the General’s heart. “But your gunner is alive, praise the stars. He got you out.” Lastok. Good man.

“Then what’s wrong? Still mad at me?” Veers tried to joke. The small sailor seemed crestfallen about something.

Piett sighed, then swallowed audibly, eyes full of heartfelt sympathy. Then, he slowly grabbed the blanket to uncover Veers’s legs.

The General stared, unblinking.
Those were his legs. They looked like them. They moved like them. But at the same time, they weren’t.
His shocked brain took a few seconds to comprehend the meaning behind what he was seeing.
That was why he’d felt so different. Why his legs felt so different.

They were protheses.

Almost hesitantly, Veers reached out to touch the surface of his new legs. The fake skin didn’t look any different than his natural one, feeling smooth under his hands. Carefully, he moved his toes against the durasteel end of the bed; amazed he could feel the cold.

Okay. Okay. That was a lot to take in. He clamped down on the panic that threatened to claw its way to the surface. He had legs. Somehow. Just… different legs. He could still walk and jump, probably.
Veers forcefully breathed out.

At his side, Piett fidgeted, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Max”, the small man whispered. “I didn’t know if you would want to have them, but the doctors assured me they’re the newest models and feel and look just like your old legs and are, like, three times more powerful if you get used to them and you can even take them off if you want to and you’ve always said that you love running and jogging and I just couldn’t image you sitting in a hoverchair for the rest of your life and – “

“Firmus”, Veers interrupted him. The other officer’s mouth shut abruptly.

“Stop rambling and come here.”
He opened his arms to engulf Piett in a bear-like hug, nuzzling his face. The Navy man held on tightly like he would never let him go again.

“Please,” Piett croaked softly against his neck, “never scare me like that again.”
I love you.

Veers smiled slightly. “You’re not getting rid of me yet, sailor.”
I know.

And Veers meant it. Piett was his as he was Piett's. His partner would make sure they stayed together in his new capacity as Admiral. And Veers would protect him - no matter the cost. Determination filled him. He would master his new legs, become more efficient than ever to ensure it. He would keep the small sailor safe - no one would stop him, not even Lord Vader.

In his arms, Piett hummed softly.

They would have stayed like that forever, hadn’t it been for a subtle cough that reached their ears in that very moment.

Blushing furiously, Piett all but jumped out of the General’s arms, trying to look professional.

The small doctor who had miraculously appeared in the doorway didn’t seem overly impressed.
“Tell me, Admiral - when do you intent to collect your two wayward officers out there? They’re getting on my nerves with all that jittery behaviour and nonsense they’re sporting.”

“They’re Army!”, Piett protested.

“Then they are your – “, here she fixed Veers with an unyielding glare as well, “– problem as well, General.”

Piett sighed. “Please tell them to come in, doctor Helbig.”
“Finally,”, the brown-skinned woman muttered.
“Thank you!”, Piett called after her.
“Just get them out of my lab, Admiral!”

The Navy officer turned back to Veers for an explanation: “You know, Major Covell and Commander Khartov wanted to wait outsi-“

Veers blinked. Wait a minute. Had that woman just-?

Completely bewildered, he interrupted Piett. “Did she just call you Admiral?”
“Well, that’s –“
“Piett… Are you wearing Admiral insignias?!”
“Well, I – “
“Vader’s kriffing dick, you are wearing Admiral insignias! Why haven’t I noticed that before!”

The Captain – no, the Admiral, Veers corrected himself mentally – made a face.
“I would prefer if you would let Lord Vader’s lower anatomy out of it.”

The General grinned from ear to ear. Piett had finally gotten the position he deserved!
Laughing, he pulled the man towards him and planted a noisy, wet peck on the sailor’s cheek.
The Admiral yelped in surprise, but didn’t resist. “You did it!”, Veers continued proudly. “Oh, Firmus, you have to tell me all about how Ozzel died. I hope it was horrible! Guess I have to call you Sir now, huh?”

“Nonsense.” Then Piett blanched a bit. “Oh, and yes, it was. I will tell you all about it after you’ll have started your rehab training.”

Veers pouted. Then, a thought came to him. “Wait, you’re not mad at me anymore! Why aren’t you mad at me?” He cocked his head. “Or rather: Why were you so mad at me?”

Looking a bit embarrassed, Piett pointed to the flustered Major and Commander who had just stepped over the threshold. “Why don’t you ask them?”, the newly minted Admiral harrumphed.

Squinting, Veers directed his irritated gaze to his two officers, who unsuccessfully tried to hide behind the small Navy officer. It was a hilarious sight: Two bearlike men cowering shamefully at Piett’s backside – a man who wasn’t only about a head smaller than them but also seated at the moment.

“Terran, Khartov”, Veers said slowly. “What is the meaning of this?”
The two men swallowed audibly. Covell gave him a shaky smile. “Well, Sir – that is, to say – “

Piett gleefully cut in on his nonsense. “Did you know”, the Admiral sing-songed”, that there was a betting pool about you bedding me going around in the Army?”

“What?”, Veers barked. No wonder Piett had been pissed.

“And your two officers here are originally at fault”, Piett continued with visible enjoyment.

“What?”, Veers roared, louder this time.
Khartov flinched.

“What the kriff?! Khartov?! Covell?!” Seething, he tried to sit up even more. The General growled. “I want an answer. RIGHT NOW! Or by the gods, I swear I will kick both of your stupid asses right to Denon and back with those new fancy legs of mine!”

Wringing his hands, the Major tried again. “It was just a joke, Sir, really! We didn’t mean any harm.”
“He’s right, Sir!”, the Commander piped up behind him. “We would never!”

Veers’s left eye twitched dangerously. “Explain.”

Major Covell sighed. “Max – Sir – you know we would never intentionally do anything that would hurt the Admiral. It was just… we talked about it, because the two of you were such blockheads – no offense, Sir - “, here, he gave Piett a short nod, “- and somehow the troopers with us overheard us and, well…”

“You know how the boys love a good bet, Sir”, Khartov chimed in.

Veers sighed, then facepalmed.

“But there’s no harm done, Sir!”, the Commander continued. “They are all very happy for the both of you! And very ashamed, too, Sir, because our Admiral was hurt by their doing. It has already been decided unanimously that Admiral Piett should get all the betting profits.”

The General huffed, but relented when he saw Piett watching the spectacle with a satisfied air.
“Your decision, Admiral.”

The Navy officer smiled crookedly. “I already told your Army I’d graciously deny the money on the conditions that a) I will never be a part of a bet again, b) they will give all the money to charity and c) I will be informed about all the ongoing bets on my ship, Army or not.” He winked.

“Hm”, Veers mused. “Sounds fair.”

Khartov and Covell let out a collective breath.
The General gave them a glare. “We will still speak about this later, gentlemen. Now, sod off.”

His subordinates didn’t need to be told twice. They both thanked Piett profusely, wished Veers a speedy recovery and promised to come back with lots of already eager visitors, then turned on their heels and promptly legged it.

Piett watched them escape with glee.
“I guess that makes our Army vs Navy -point ranking even now, doesn’t it? You winning the battle of Hoth and me getting promoted and overcoming your Army bets.”

Veers laughed warmly. “Let’s call it even, sailor.”

Carefully, he leaned back again to rest his body against the bedframe. His body still ached everywhere and after the whole spectacle he felt awfully tired again.

The Admiral nodded, then moved to sit at the General’s bedside to gently tilt his chin up.
“You know, General, the doctors said you need lots of care and positive reinforcement to get well enough for rehab.”

Worn out, Veers managed a nod.

"You know -", Piett continued, smiling mischievously, “- as your superior, I would be remiss in my duties not to ensure said care.” A hand trailed down his collarbone, stopping at his chest.

Oh. Suddenly not feeling tired anymore, the General perked up. “Indeed, Sir?”

Piett’s eyes positively glowed. “Oh, indeed", the man purred. "And I have just the thing in mind.”

And Piett, as always was right – the kisses that followed made Veers feel a thousand times better.

Chapter Text

Executor, Admiral’s quarters, eight weeks later

Humming softly, Piett wiggled around on the couch to relax into a more comfortable position. He didn’t slouch, of course. Admirals didn’t slouch.

Piett sighed, highlighted some of the already typed-out text on his datapad and deleted it for the fifth time. Quite unusually, he was at a loss for words. It had taken him literally hours to even come up with something substantial, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to write down the customary flowery conclusion.

He huffed, rubbed his eyes and tried again, only to delete the sentence seconds later. Words didn’t flow today. The crucial point was: He just wasn’t dedicated to the task. He wasn’t even sure he actually cared one bit.

Sighing again, the Admiral longingly gazed at the half-empty wine glass beside him. In vino veritas, his mother had always said - in wine is truth. Maybe he should just drink himself into a stupor to get his work done.
Unfortunately, after Veers’s accident, doctor Helbig had taken to not only check in on the progress the General made in rehab, but also begun to monitor Piett’s health as well. And had promptly declared him as healthy as a walking corpse, not to mention the other expletives that had been used to describe his mental state.

In short words: Helbig believed him to be a nervous wreck - well, he could see where that point was coming from, thank you, Lord Vader, had dressed down his entire sleep schedule, had scolded him about his bad eating and drinking habits and had very clearly threatened to declare him unfit for duty, should he continue that way.

She had also promptly confiscated every alcoholic beverage in his quarters, all except the now opened bottle of wine next to him.

Piett could still hear the General’s laughter when he’d told the man.
But Veers could be forgiven – now and then, his partner managed to smuggle in a bottle of Ithorian rum, used only for the most nerve-wracking of days.

The Admiral smiled a bit as his heart skipped a beat. His partner. He liked that.

But right now? Piett had time off.
Another measure prescribed by the doctor to get him to relax at least once a week. The Admiral could have sworn Veers had something to do with that as the latter was always lamenting about how Piett was married to his work.

Speaking of the devil, the door chimed, only to let in the famous Iron General. Veers had even joked that now, he was even more iron than before, if you added the durasteel components of his prosthetics.

“Firmus!”, said General exclaimed in the usual loud manner all Army men were privy to. “Admiral of my heart, slayer of Ozzel and master of space – there you are, my dear fellow.”

He stomped over to affectionally rumple Piett’s blond hair. The Admiral snorted, then batted the offending hand away. “Very funny, Max.”

“Everything for you, Sexy Pants”, Veers shot back, grinning.

Piett groaned, rubbing his eyes. “You really have to stop that, Max. You’re insufferable.”
“No more horrible nicknames for now?”
“No more horrible nicknames, please.”
“All right, all right.”

The General relented, then stood right in front of Piett, using the opportunity to prop up his left foot on the Admiral’s armrest and smile smugly like the insolent brat he was.
“Behold”, the officer said proudly. “The fastest legs in Death Squadron.”

Piett just raised an eyebrow, shooting the boot next to his arm a glare. “Haven’t we talked about you not putting your fancy new legs on all my furniture?” Nevertheless, he gave the mentioned shin a quick affectionate pat. “Fastest, hm?”

“Well, as you know, rehab’s going very well so far and I had the opportunity to test them out against some of my closest Army members.” The General grinned like a cat that got the cream. “Quite powerful in combat, too. Sparred a few times.”

The left eyebrow joined the right one. “Is that why Karthov reported sick to the weekly meeting, saying, I quote, that there was a work accident at the gym?”

Veers shrugged innocently. “Told you I’d kick their asses.” Then, his eyes widened, the way they did when he’d just gotten another terrible idea. Oh dear.
“You know, Firmus, I haven’t tried my luck against Lord Vader yet – with the Commander probably being more machine than man – “

“No!”, Piett interrupted vehemently, horrified at the mere thought. “You will not ask Lord Vader to spar with you to test out your legs!”

The General laughed. “Just joking, sailor. I’m not suicidal.” He winked, finally taking his leg off the armrest. Instead, he plopped down on the cushions right next to Piett, placing an arm around the smaller man. Interested, Veers peered at the text the Admiral had been trying to finish hours ago.
“You’re writing an obituary for Ozzel? Really?!”

Piett sighed. “I have to, Max. I’m his successor. And it’s long overdue.”
“Just write down he was a little bitch.”
“How very professional of you, General.”
“Just the truth, Admiral.”

The Navy man had to smile despite his effort not to, leaning a bit more into Veers’s warm and firm-muscled body. The General hummed, pleased, and tightened the arm around Piett’s shoulder to hold his counterpart even more securely against his broad chest.

“Which point are you stuck on?”, the larger man muttered, nibbling at Piett’s earlobe in a very distracting manner.
“Cause of death”, the Admiral admitted. Of course, he knew how Ozzel had died – after all, he still had nightmares about it, now and then, thank you – but he couldn’t quite bring himself to write de.b.t.s (death by tremendous strangulation) into the empty line.

“Who cares?”, Veers mumbled, now trailing his neck with soft kisses. “The man is toast.”

Piett tried to ignore how the action made his insides feel like jelly. “Stop that, dear. I’m trying to concentrate!”
Veers – the bastard – didn’t stop, of course. “Admiral’s orders?”, the man teased.

“Mhhm!”, said Admiral managed. It took his very distracted brain that was gleefully trying to direct his blood flow to certain parts of his lower anatomy a few moments to catch up with the General’s words.

Satisfied, he quickly wrote down a cause of death.

Surprised, even Veers stopped his onslaught for a moment to peek curiously at the datapad.
“Toast, Firmus? Cause of death: Toast?”

“t.oa.st.”, the Navy officer corrected. “Just as you said before. Terminated by overload of stupidity.”

The General barked a laugh. “It will take our HR department some time to get your meaning, my love.” He affectionally ruffled Piett’s hair once more.

“That’s the plan, you irritatingly handsome man.” Piett smiled at him, then glimpsed at the soft-glowing stars outside the window.

He still had difficulties to comprehend his situation.

Life had taken such a turn. He had started as a lowly Captain with few friends and lots of enemies, only to come out with so much more in the end.

He was the Admiral now. It was a heavy load of responsibilities, dangers and threats of strangulation included. Enviers were around every corner; backstabbers just waiting to get the perfect opportunity to claim his position.

But there were also Venka, Oon-Aii, Khartov and Covell, the whole Imperial Army and many more Navy officers supporting him now. Looking out for him.

He fondly glanced up at the General who was also watching the stars with a face full of contented bliss.
And Veers, of course. The handsome, intimidating Iron General. His partner. His friend. His love, as sappy as it sounded.
But nobody knew what the future would bring.

Carefully, he took the General’s hand in his, the latter’s fingers closing in a firm grip.
“Stay with me?”, Piett asked in a low voice, heart full of warmth, but also full of unsaid questions.

Nonetheless, the man understood. His eyes glittered in the dim light.
The General smiled softly, then delicately squeezed his hand like Piett had done when Veers had been in the medical ward.

“Always.”