Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

By now the smell was getting nearly unbearable. But then, these poor little ones had been trapped here for easily twelve hours. Piett wasn’t sure---time in this dark container had no meaning anymore. The little light there was could be found along the joins where very small gaps in the metal had occurred over time. He was near one of these himself, unable to move from his spot. They’d tied him very cleverly, the bastards, and he daren’t allow the children to try and release him.

 Not with the detonator he held in his hands.

Half conscious from the blow that had taken him down, he’d felt them shove it into his hands and knew instinctively that it was armed. 

“Better hold that button, Lieutenant. And there's no way to disarm it. You let go, you all go.”

A cruel voice and foul breath, but Piett couldn’t picture the speaker’s face.

He’d been bound in a stress position---couldn’t sit or properly stand, and his arms trembled with the effort of holding himself and the damned detonator. 

And time passed in the dark.

The children cried at times in their fear and hunger. And of course there were no facilities. So the smell persisted. 

Piett did his best. But he was so very tired. And at some point, his body would fail him and his fingers would slip off the detonator trigger and….

Stop. 

“Lootenant?” came the small voice that had spoken to him the most. He was reasonably sure it was the Nautolan child he’d glimpsed as they were all loaded in here. She had been remarkably calm for a little girl no more than six. 

“Yes, darlin’?”

“How many more minutes?”

Piett carefully moved shoulders that were reduced to red bars of agony now. He’d told the children that help was coming. That his Axxilan fleet would find them. The child smugglers who had captured them all would be apprehended.

They should die with hope rather than despair.

“Hmmm, well Livva, I dinna hev a clock in here, so Ah’m not verra accurate. Mebe another fifty?”

“That’s a lot.”

“Yes it tis, dear.”

A lot for a child and a lot for the young Axxilan lieutenant were very different things. 

Time passed. The pain was useful for one thing. He couldn’t fall asleep. Whenever he sagged, the burn of his muscles and nerves scorched him back to awareness.

But at last, his arms were trembling madly and he knew they had minutes at best. He gave a quiet sob---part of him so desperately wanted it to be over. It would be quick at least. He could ensure that for all of them if they were close enough. Give them a merciful and immediate death.

“Liv….Livva?” he croaked, voice dry from lack of water.

“Yes?”

“Kin ya gather….all O ye near me?”

“Are they coming now?”

A pause.

“Yis,” he lied, arms shaking in the ropes trapping him. Please Force, let it be quick. He heard the little girl passing his message and the movement of the children toward his corner shook the container slightly. 

“Well….well done, darlin’,” he panted, and then felt a little hand on his face.

“Are you crying, Lootenant?” she asked with that immediate concern children had. 

No use denying it. “...yis, Livva. I’m….I’m so verra sorry…”

“It’s almost done,” she told him confidently. Another pat. “You did a good job.”

Oh dear sweet baby. He had tried certainly.

And then--

Light. 

Bright and blinding, and he could only close his eyes helplessly against it.

“Mother of….! Cranston! Riley! Disarm it now ! The rest of you get the children out.”

Hands on him and they were touching the detonator. 

They couldn’t….He strained to keep it from them but he had no ability….

“It’s all right, Lieutenant,” said a voice he faintly recognized, “you can let go. We’ve deactivated it.”

He blinked, eyes adjusting and realized that he was looking at Admiral Jariff. The officer strode to stand before him, not worried about the filth on the floor. 

“It’s all right, Piett.”

Another man came around to show him the detonator they’d taken from his hands. 

“Perfectly safe, sir.”

Piett pressed his cracked lips together and bowed his head.

Safe. He couldn’t believe it.  

“Let’s get you free, son,” Jariff said, and moved to allow Piett to rest his aching head on his shoulder as the ropes were cut. 

The Admiral held him up when he was freed at last, and someone else wrapped a blanket around him.

“....waiting for a gravsled, sir,” a voice said distantly as Piett fought the pain in his abused limbs. 

“This boy has waited long enough,” the Admiral said gruffly, and he was lifted into someone’s arms---the Admiral’s?---and carried out of his prison at last. 

“Children?” he managed, unable to lift his head. 

“All safe. Being seen to as we speak,” and yes it was Jariff carrying him. “You did very well, Piett.”

He was laid down at last onto a grav sled and something hissed into his neck, providing glorious freedom from pain. 

The last thing he saw was Livva’s soft pink face, tendrils curling around her head slowly as she bent over him to smile and pat his hair. 

“I knew they’d come. Now you get to take a nap.”

Piett smiled and did so. 

Chapter Text

He wondered if this was essentially what a completely dry sponge felt like. Devoid of any moisture. Though a sponge shrank when that happened and his tongue felt swollen, and far too big for his mouth with the gag in there too. 

How long had it been?

Too long, whispered a voice. Too long. He could be dead already.

At least twelve hours, Scraps decided. Twelve hours since they’d taken him. He could hear them talking in the other room--voices rising and falling in urgent rhythms, but nothing he could discern.

He worked carefully on the knots pinning his wrists behind him. He’d done as Fox had trained him to do---held his wrists tense and slightly apart as they bound him in order to give himself a little room to maneuver. 

The trouble was, they were using very rough rope and his blood made it far more difficult to pick at the knots. It had soaked the fibers and slowed his process down. 

He hoped Yang understood the cryptic message he’d managed to fire off on the datapad before it had been knocked from his hands. 

They had been so kriffing fast . 

And they had known the duty schedule. If he got out of this, he would be looking closely into that little detail. 

Because if they knew that, they had access to other schedules which meant every representative at this summit was in danger. Because Scraps was sure there were more of these beings around the compound, no doubt waiting for their targets just like this group. 

Would Yang realize that he’d sent the code word? He’d done it unconventionally, but he had to hope that the logical lieutenant would see the pattern.

The time for the summit had to be close now. Scraps’ heart was thundering. 

Quite suddenly the door hissed aside and the would be assassins strode in.

“Thought you’d want to watch,” leered their leader, his gold front teeth glinting in the low light. “Who wants an Empire or a Republic? Not out here we don’t.”

Scraps was dragged, not able to get his feet under him as they hauled him into the other room and dumped him near the window. They were above the wide courtyard with a perfect vantage point.

“The others in place?” asked one of them in low tones.

“All in place,” Gold Teeth replied, raising macrobinoculars to his eyes. “This little kriffer wasn’t in time to warn them.”

They’d looked at the datapad and determined he was sending a regular message before he’d realized what was happening. So he had been successful in hiding that from them at least. Now to hope that Yang got that obscure puzzle reference. 

“Thought you’d particularly like this view,” the leader continued, gripping Scraps’ head and forcing him to turn his face toward the window. “Done our homework of course. You’re the Admiral’s lead then. Thought you should see him go down first. And then you can know it’s happening all over this compound.”

Scraps glared, the gag preventing him from speech. His jaw ached horribly and he knew the dry and abused skin of his lips and around his mouth was cracked and bleeding now. He was desperate for water and his wrists were a dull ring of fire. 

But all of that paled in comparison to his fear for his Admiral. For the team. For the summit. In that order. 

“Here we go,” said one of the men holding him and he realized that a small group was coming from the direction of the elaborate gates toward the green lawns of the courtyard.

Please, please, please , Scraps thought.

Three of the men took their positions with their blaster rifles, sighting down the scopes. The leader stood behind them waiting to give the order. 

“Don’t worry,” he told Scraps with a dry chuckle, “You’ll be joining them shortly.”

He could see the small form in the center of the detail---uniform impeccable as always---walking with great energy toward the assembly room. 

He tried to struggle but the man holding him had a grip of iron. He heard the click of rifles charging.

Admiral….

“Now,” Gold Tooth said into comms and the blaster rifles fired.

Scraps jerked as if he himself had been hit when Piett went down, Wheeler on top of him and N’grella drawing his blaster to fire back. 

“Got him,” said one of the men wielding a blaster rifle and the leader nodded. 

“Excellent. Shoot this one and then we need to go.”

Yang hadn’t got the message.

Scraps felt empty---someone had scooped out his chest. He was therefore utterly emotionless as a blaster was leveled at his head…

A shot fired, but he wasn’t hit. The empty feeling gave way to puzzled curiosity as the man went down, a smoking hole having appeared between his eyes. 

Several more shots came in rapid succession, a stun blast taking down Gold Teeth. 

And Scraps blinked, struggling to move himself to see the door behind him. 

Piett lowered his blaster, but kept it in his hand as he glanced around the room.

“I think that’s all of them. Take that one for questioning,” he ordered, and Yang stepped further in, blaster in his hand as well.

The relief that flooded Scraps was so great that his vision became slightly fuzzy. 

“All units report success, sir,” Yang said after listening to his earpiece for a moment. “General Veers wants to know if you found the Lieutenant Commander.”

And the Admiral smiled into Scraps’ eyes as he took a knee in front of him, drawing his knife out of his boot and very carefully, slicing through the gag. 

“You can tell him I’m looking at him, Lieutenant, thank you.”

Piett eased it out of his mouth and tossed it to the side, frowning at the damage it no doubt revealed, before he moved to slice the ropes on Scraps’ wrists as well.

“You hurt anywhere else?” his commander asked, examining the deep and bloody furrows in Scraps’ wrists with gentle hands.

“No sir,” he croaked and smiled despite the pain in his face. “The detail...who was in your place, sir?”

This was answered as a clatter of footsteps announced the arrival of someone else and then Hatley was kneeling at his other side with a medkit. Her uniform bore scorch marks center mass and the body armor visible beneath showed the damage as well.

“Hi Matt!” she said breathlessly, grinning at him. “Suits me don’t you think?”

Piett gave her a resigned eyebrow. “Don’t get any ideas, Hatley.” He opened the kit and pulled out antibacterial wipes while the Lieutenant administered a pain killer to Scraps’ arm. 

“No worries, there, sir,” she chirped brightly, digging out a water bottle. “I wouldn’t want your job for the galaxy . Besides, I like my own job just grand.”

She patted Piett’s shoulder and handed the water bottle to Scraps who really should tell her off for being that familiar with the Admiral, but in this moment, with evidence of her devotion to Piett smoking on her uniform, he really couldn’t . 

He looked up to Yang, standing behind the Admiral and overseeing the custody of the leader as troopers placed him in binders and cleared out the bodies of the others. 

“Got my meaning then?” he asked hoarsely.

Yang gave him a small smile. “Yes, sir. Very good thinking, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Figured you would get the puzzle reference.”

“Stop talking, Matthew,” Piett told him sternly, but the expression on his face was fond as he gently cleaned the blood from around Scraps’ mouth, then moved to his wrists.

“Sir, I can….”

“Shush.” Piett didn’t look up and Scraps leaned his head back against the wall while Hatley informed the medics that the Admiral had things well in hand. 

Scraps watched tiredly as Piett wrapped the wrists in bacta bandages with firm and practiced hands. He finished and looked up to meet his security lead’s gaze once more.

“I was terrified it was you,” Scraps murmured softly while the others were preoccupied behind them. “That shot---they made me watch.”

“Well,” answered Piett quietly, “I was equally terrified we wouldn’t get to you in time, dear boy. Very well done. You saved numerous lives today. You’re going to have to deal with a commendation from me, I’m afraid.”

“I’d settle for food,” Scraps told him, smiling slightly so as not to stretch the wounds around his mouth. 

The Admiral gave a small snort, still kneeling before him. Then he reached to draw Scraps’ head to his shoulder. 

“So very proud of you, Matthew,” he said into the Lieutenant Commander’s hair. 

Scraps let himself close his eyes briefly, safe in that wiry embrace. 

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let’s get you some breakfast.”

Chapter Text

He was desperately trying not to panic, but they’d thrown a dirty black bag over his head and while his rational mind knew that it was fabric—he could breathe— the instinct inside was feeling trapped, cornered, suffocated .

He’d tried to slip from their grasp several times now, but after he’d pulled that trick of relaxing and sliding through their hands, one of them had a grip on him the whole time. 

This was the second time he’d been waylaid and had his wages stolen. He’d thought he’d taken a reasonably round about way home through the city this time, but apparently not. 

Another fist landed in his face and he felt hot blood gush over his mouth and chin. He was shoved into someone else’s arms and hit in the ribs. Something gave way---he felt the hot flame that indicated it was broken. 

What did it say about him, Firmus thought grimly, that he knew what a broken rib felt like by 13?

He was shoved to hard earth, the heat from the day rising in warm waves even now in the evening hours. 

A kick to the side and he cried out. They’d already taken his credits. Which meant this was purely for sport. Like baiting a tooka kit or flogging a runyip to make it race. 

“Tell ya what kid, if you can tell me who kicked you just then, we’ll let you have the credits back.”

“No ya won’t,” he answered grimly, trying to roll away.

Cruel laughter, and he was seized by the scruff of his shabby jacket and hauled back choking, even as he tried to get his hands on the damned hood. 

“Yeah, it’s not likely, but ya never know. C’mon, brat.”

Another blow to his face and he collided with the chest of the person holding him. 

“Who hit ya?”

He coughed, desperate for clear air. 

“A….bastard.”

He could almost see Rilla’s eyes roll as he antagonized his tormenters.

“Must you be so stubborn, Firmus?”

“Oh that’s going too far, ya little runt…”

He braced himself for what was no doubt going to be very bad when he heard a blaster fire.

“Get out of it. Go on! On with ya! Pathetic kriffers, don’t have anythin’ better ta do than beat a kid! Kark….”

And Firmus was hauled to his feet by his upper arm. A big hand lifted the bag off of his head and he blinked in the early evening dimness. 

A rough man in his fifties made a face at him.

“Oof, kid. That’s pretty brutal. I don’t have much time but I could try ta get ya to a healer…”

“No,” Firmus muttered, shame faced. “No credits. But thank ya.”

“You sure? Here, have a drink at least.” And he pulled out a battered flask and offered it to him. 

Firmus didn’t refuse, taking a healthy swallow of the alcohol, allowing the burn to clear his head. 

“Thank ya.”

“You near home? I’m sorry, I’ve got a freighter ta get ta or I’d walk with ya….”

“It’s fine,” Firmus told him. “Ah’ll be all right. Thank ya agin.”

The man shrugged, holstered his blaster and walked away.

He hadn’t had to stop at all and chase off the gang. Firmus couldn’t ask for more. He wiped his tender nose on the sleeve of his jacket to clean some of the blood off and began his limping way home. 

He wondered if there was any way he and Rilla could save for a blaster. They needed to be able to protect themselves.

That mile and a half was long, but he’d experienced a longer walk, years ago when he was little.

Well.

Littler . 

He could see her looking for him as he approached. He was sorry for worrying her. She knew all too well what it meant if he was late. But they didn’t want to burden mother with this. Her mental health was fragile at the best of times. Not that they’d ever had those. 

“Firmus!” Rilla jumped off the fence with effortless grace and came to meet him, sliding her arm around his waist and taking some of his weight. 

“How bad?” she asked as she helped him toward the side of the house where the clay steps led to the flat roof of the little home. 

“Canna work tomorrow,” he panted as she helped him take each step slowly. “Broken rib. Rest is jist bruisin’.”

“ Jist ,” she repeated angrily. “Ya canna see yerself, Firmus. How’d ya get away then?”

“Man stepped in,” he told her as she eased him to sit on his pallet in the little tent they’d put up here. It was both a retreat for them and a convenient place for Firmus to recover when he was injured---something that happened regularly enough to need the spot. They didn’t want their mother to know. 

“Not shore why, but he was kind enough.” 

Rilla had been prepared, he saw. Clean rags and water were laid out neatly on a battered metal tray he’d found a few years back.

“Tek off yer jacket an shirt, then, dear,” his big sister told him, and he obeyed painfully, Rilla helping him. She hissed and bit her lip at what she saw, but set to work with grim and gentle determination. 

“Lie back now,” she ordered when she was done with an impressive rib wrap. 

“How’d ya know ta do thet?” he asked her as she tidied away the bloody rags, then dipped the last clean one in the water and wrung it out to lay over his aching and swollen eyes. 

“Ah’ve had ta help with some brawls in tha cantina,” she replied and he heard her rise. “Larned quick how ta treat some wounds thare. Ah’m gettin ya some tea now, Firmus. Ah hev a little feverfew left, so Ah’ll put thet in.”

“We should save it…” he began, but she interrupted.

“No. Ah’ve watched ya in pain too many times, little brother.”

He lay there and just breathed through it while he waited for her to return. 

“All right.” She took off the compress and then seated herself behind him, helping him sit carefully in order to lean against her so he could sip at the tea. 

“Thank ya, Rill,” he told her. Then in a low voice---- “They took tha credits.”

He felt her kiss the top of his head. 

“O' course. Not yer fault. We ken just about get by on ma wages until yer next pay.”

Firmus hurt, and he was so angry and tired at the injustice in their world. But right now, he was grateful for his sister---his literal support in the moment, his rock. 

The two of them watched the sun set over the dusty horizon of Axxila. 

Chapter Text

She glared at the female Dathomirian holding the blaster. 

“Even you, little Jedi, even you would not be fast enough,” she purred.

And the thing was, she was right. 

Leia hated her so very much in this moment. 

They had been trying so very hard to be incognito too. Which was why her lightsaber was in the pocket of her trousers and not her hand. 

Though to be fair in this situation, her blaster was the better choice. Currently it was aimed between the glowing eyes of the Dathomirian, and in turn the other woman had her blaster pressed very firmly to Piett’s temple. 

Leia was aware that Scraps was behind her in the mix of beings watching this tableau and Veers was across from her. It didn’t seem as though their target was aware of their presence, but Leia couldn’t be sure. 

“You have to know that if you pull that trigger you’re dead,” Leia informed her, striving for cold tones.

“I’m very aware,”  Val’yk replied. “But then I’m just that vindictive. If I’m going to die, I might as well bring suffering to you and others with this one’s death as well.”

She shook Piett slightly, but he didn’t change expression, watching her steadily.

Leia bit her lip, thinking furiously. Val’yk had been elusive for ten years. At last they had tracked her down and Leia wanted to see her face justice in a New Republic court for the atrocities she had committed on behalf of the Empire. 

Though this development was making it very personal at lightspeed levels. 

My dear….

She very carefully held her facial muscles in neutral at Piett’s touch in her mind. 

….shoot me. 

What??

You heard me.

“So,” Val’yk said, sneering at her. “You will let me walk out of here with him. When I’m far enough I’ll let him go. Anyone follows, he dies.”

Leia met Veers’ eyes across the room. His blaster was in his hand, but he didn’t have a clear shot through the crowd. He shook his head very slightly.

I trust you, princess of mine. Shoot me.

“I don’t trust you, Val’yk,” she said coldly, but her eyes never left those big hazel ones. “There’s nothing stopping you from killing him and fleeing.”

The Dathomirian laughed nastily “Well that’s the risk isn’t it? Shouldn’t have come after me, little princess.”

And even in this tense moment, her Admiral quirked an eyebrow at her.

You going to let her get away with that? Shoot me and take her down.

It’s not on stun, Admiral. I can’t switch it or she’ll notice.

I know. Hit my leg.

She hesitated. She was a good shot. But this was Piett they were discussing. One of her very dearest people.

I trust you, darling.

“Time’s not on your side, princess---”

Leia fired.

Piett went down and before he contacted the floor, the Dathomirian was hit by two stun blasts, one from behind and one from over Leia’s shoulder.

But she let Veers and Scraps deal with their downed target.

She flung herself to her knees beside the Admiral and shrugged out of the jacket she was wearing to press it against the wound he was clutching, blood welling between his fingers.

“I’m so sorry,” she found herself saying repeatedly, brain fizzing on overdrive. His other hand reached to cover hers and she stilled her frantic movements.

“Princess. I’m going to be fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

She met his gaze and he smiled at her as the General came to kneel on the other side.

“He rarely gets to say that, so thank you, your Highness,” Veers remarked dryly, helping his friend sit up.

“Hilarious, Max,” her Admiral said, and Leia was able to draw a breath and examine the wound more objectively. He was right. It had merely winged his thigh, right above the knee. 

Scraps was at her side then, and she took the medkit out of his hands, appreciating the fact that he knew she needed to do this.

Security personnel had secured the unconscious Val’yk and taken her away by the time Leia finished wrapping the wound. 

“Do we need a grav---?” was as far as the General got before Piett speared him with a glare. 

Veers put his hands up. “Ooooor we could do stubborn bastard mode.”

Leia smiled, long used to this particular argument, and moved to get under Piett’s left arm while the General pulled his right over his own shoulders and they got him to his feet.

The Admiral tested his weight on the leg and pulled free from them both. 

“Good shot, my dear,” he told her, and she sighed as Scraps led the way out of the building, while she and Veers flanked the Admiral.

“Henley will have different thoughts,” she informed Piett. “Just because you can limp….”

“Are all three of you with me?” he asked her confidently. “Did we hurt any civilians, or do anything worse to ourselves than the equivalent of a blaster burn?”

“A little bloodier than that, Firmus,” the General informed him, his long strides much slower to accommodate his shorter friend and no doubt, Leia herself. “But if that’s your defense for the Doctor….”

“I’m merely stating facts,” Piett said loftily, but he rested his arm over Leia’s shoulders and kept it there all the way to the shuttle. 

Chapter Text

Fox coughed and spat blood onto the muddy earth. 

Stupid. He was growing soft and stupid by hanging out with these Rebels and their soft ways. He would have known the kid was paid off a few years ago. Would have seen the trap.

But it was a kid with dark skin and big eyes, and kark it, but Fox was vulnerable to that as a clone….

He’d followed the too thin form because the kid’s ‘brother’ was hurt and he was only five and….

Huttspit. 

He’d managed to get a hand on his blaster as they leapt upon him, but there were just too kriffing many. The child scampered off with bread in his hand and really Fox couldn’t fault the kid. 

If that was his payment, he was desperate indeed. 

Another kick to his cracked ribs and he grunted in pain, trying to roll away, to get up---anything to feel as though he had a karking shot here. 

Note to self , he thought as a fist crashed against his cheek, never go anywhere without armor. Including the beach or fancy dress balls. 

“What made you think you could just stroll around here as though you were a person, clone ?”

He went for the legs of the nearest one and took a knee to the jaw. His mouth filled with blood and he coughed, spraying the clothes of the ones beside him.

“Watch it! Don’t need your filth on me, murdering bastard.”

Fox wasn’t sure who he was supposed to have murdered here. He was considering it now , certainly, but before?

And at last they made a mistake. One of them knelt to mock him, grasping his hair to pull his head back. Fox slammed his head forward instead, hitting the other’s chin solidly. As the man staggered back, Fox leapt on top of him, drawing the man’s blaster in a smooth movement and rolled off, ignoring the screaming in his ribs.

He thumbed the setting as he fired. He may want to kill the kriffers, but he was an officer of the New Republic and he would not dishonor that. Five went down and then the rest were miraculously lifted off their feet and flung against the nearest building. They impacted and slid down. 

And things were eerily silent with the exception of Fox’s harsh breathing.

Fox knew three people who could do that. But he was positive he knew who he would see as he turned, still on his knees.

Luke Skywalker lowered his hand and walked swiftly toward him.

“You fight remarkably quietly,” he commented calmly. “I wish you were louder. Easier to find you.”

Fox rolled his eyes.

“What in kark’s name is the point of being a panting mouth breather, Skywalker?”

The kid grinned at him and it was better than the pity or horror others might have shown.

“Fair enough. Here’s the deal. I help you or I take you to Henley. Which one?”

The kid had learned him well. 

“You,” Fox told him grudgingly, aware that he couldn’t make it anywhere on his own at the moment. 

Skywalker gave him a hand up and they made it slowly back to the hotel where all of them were staying while planetside for this mission. 

“I’m not Leia,” he said, blue eyes earnest as he located a standard med kit and approached Fox who had pulled over a chair from the desk so as not to get blood on any of the upholstery. “But I can help with the pain and get a start on the ribs knitting.”

The Fox of a mere two years ago might have refused the Jedi kebise. He still wouldn’t take it from General Skywalker, but his son was different.

“K’atini,” he muttered, and the boy snorted as he opened the antibacterial wipes, handing one to Fox and tugging at the Commander’s shirt.

“Kaysh shu’shuk,” he replied, straight faced the cheeky little tooka. 

Fox gave him his best unimpressed look but it was no doubt falling short at the moment due to the black eye. 

“You got the pronoun wrong,” he stated, trying not to care that Skywalker was learning Mando’a and getting reasonably adept at it. 

The kid shrugged. “Good thing you can help me with that then isn’t it? Can I touch your side?”

Fox appreciated his asking permission more than he could express. After years of impersonal exams, with doctors who manhandled him like a droid or a mere thing, being asked was an act of human consideration that he deeply responded to. Not that the kid needed to know all that of course.

“Sure.”

And somehow in that one word, Fox was certain that the boy understood, no doubt due to that damned Jedi insight of his.

He felt that strange warmth that Jedi healing could produce, and was struck by the fact that he was familiar enough with the practice to know that. 

He wiped at his face with the cloth Skywalker had handed him. “Why were you looking for me?” he asked as the pain in his side reduced to manageable levels. 

“Oh...just...like to keep an eye on things when we’re planetside,” the young Jedi replied.

Solo had a point about the kid being a terrible liar.

Fox raised an eyebrow at him and the boy flushed.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked, lowering Fox’s shirt and rummaging for pain killers. “Wouldn’t you rather pretend we all don’t care that much?”

He allowed himself to smile mischievously and Fox sighed in exasperation.

“Well now, I’m curious, Skywalker. If you weren’t being strangely overprotective and following me like a convor chick in your own right, who would possibly---?”

“The General is aware of the anti-clone sentiments in this sector,” the kid interjected, giving him a hypo and easing much of the pain Fox was in. “He asked me to monitor the situation  with my ‘abilities’ as he put it.”

“A Jedi tracking device,” Fox said dryly.

Skywalker sat back on his heels to regard him solemnly. “I had a vague idea of where you were that’s all. But once you were attacked, I got a clear sense. I assure you I wasn’t ‘tracking’ you in that sense. I was on my way to one of the local museums actually.”

Sometimes Fox wondered how this farm boy kid who liked museums apparently, and trying weird restaurants, had defeated the most powerful Sith in the galaxy. But perhaps it was those very things--the simple pleasure Skywalker took in things and people---that had overcome such evil as Palpatine had been. 

And General Veers wanted to make sure his security lead had his own back watched….

Fox would not dwell on that too much because that was the kind of soft nonsense that he was most definitely not allowing…

“I’ll let you rest,” the kid said, rising. “But you should probably find a bacta tank or bandages somewhere if you don’t want the others asking questions about your face.”

“I’ll have Scraps bring me some,” he responded without thinking, and the kid grinned brightly. 

“Well good. Glad you can trust him to be discreet.”

Kark that bright smile and kark the fact that he trusted Scraps.

“Don’t you have a museum or some other wild entertainment to hit, Skywalker?”

“I do. Rest up, sir.”

“Vor Entye,” Fox murmured, not quite able to meet that clear gaze again.

“You’re welcome,” Skywalker said and the door hissed shut. 

Chapter Text

She watched him sleep, the dear exhausted boy, and considered what Roy had told her. How this officer had persevered to keep his people safe. His tenacity to do right. Roy was so proud to be serving with this lieutenant. 

And he was so very young. Did his mother worry for him? A family?

Roy said he didn’t speak about himself much. He knew his lieutenant wrote to a mother. It was all the family he’d heard about at least.  And the boy had been very startled when she’d hugged him earlier. Hadn’t known what to do. But the utter hunger for affection she could see in his eyes….

Mrs. Lunders teared up thinking about it while she knitted steadily in the chair by the bed. She didn’t want him to be alone---injured as he was and again, so young . 

She crossed her needles a little more violently than necessary at the thought. 

Just twenty, Roy had said. 

She hated that necessity often bred these situations out here in the Rim. So many of their young people turned to crime. It was admirable that Piett had chosen a far more difficult path. 

He frowned slightly and she set her knitting down to reach for the med kit. If he was waking up again, she could treat the bruises on his face once more. She checked the clock. Not quite time for more pain killers, according to the schedule the doctor had left. She opened the kit for the bacta wipes and anti-bacterial liquid for the abrasions. 

He looked much better already than when Roy had carried him in eighteen hours earlier, filthy and battered, and followed by an old Mandalorian and a Nautolan child. 

Her Roy had always had a soft spot for strays.

If it was up to her, she would keep the boy here and mother him until his knee was completely healed, but she knew it wasn’t possible. She already knew he wasn’t the sort that would stand for that, and besides, he and Roy needed to rejoin their fleet. 

Big hazel eyes blinked up at her again though the dark circles below them were still very apparent. 

“Hello, dear,” she said, smiling and seating herself beside him on the edge of the bed. He made a motion as though he was going to sit, but she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Lie still, sweetheart. I’m just going to treat your bruises again while you’re awake. How’s the knee feel?”

He glanced at the brace on his leg. “Sore. But not unbearable. Ah’m verra able to git up and…”

“Dear boy,” she said, stroking an unruly brown curl off his forehead. He froze at the touch. She paused and then continued gently as though she hadn’t noticed. “You are not here all that long. Use the time to rest.” 

She opened the anti-bacterial liquid first and very carefully dabbed it on the abrasion gracing his left cheek bone.

“It’s jist….yore goin’ ta a lotta trouble fer me…”

“No trouble, Firmus dear. If you only knew how many times I dealt with Roy’s scrapes and injuries. Sometimes it felt like he was on a mission to achieve a scar on every part of his body.” She smiled and shook her head, retrieving a bacta wipe and carefully brushing it over the purple and green bruising around his right eye.

“Besides,” she finished and placed the used materials in the waste unit. “You’re very well worth the trouble. There. I think almost as good as your mother could do.”

A dead silence and she looked in concern to his face. He’d turned it away slightly but she could see the tears glimmering beneath those lashes and had her suspicions confirmed. 

What woman would deprive such a wonderful child as this of love and affection?

She reached again and stroked her fingers down his cheek carefully. 

He lay very rigidly still. 

“Sweetheart, if you’d rather I didn’t…”

He turned his head back to her at that, face twisted in the grimace one gets if trying to hold it together. 

“It’s not that. I jist...Ah’ve niver…..No one…”

She understood. Had worked with touch starved orphans for several years. A tender touch could be both deeply desired and very overwhelming at once.

Mrs. Lunders nodded calmly. “Life is hard in the Rim,” she said simply. 

He drew a shuddering breath. “Yes. Ma mother...well. She lost so much. I couldn’a help her. Was’na...enough. Not her fault.”

She felt hot anger flow through her. It may have been hard, but that this boy, who had given his all to save his people mere days ago, should feel he wasn’t enough… .!

She composed herself with a deep breath. “You should sleep some more, Firmus dear. It always helped my Roy, when he wasn’t feeling well, if I stroked his head. May I?”

He couldn’t speak and merely nodded slightly. She started carefully---gently running her fingers into the soft brown curls and she began to talk about Roy. About his childhood and the adventures he’d had. He wouldn’t mind---her bluff, dependable, dear son. Not if it helped this broken young officer know that he mattered. To know what a loving hand felt like.

He was stiff at first, but relaxed more quickly than she had expected. She was speaking about the incident with Roy and the candy smuggling when she felt him lean into her touch. He likely didn’t know he was doing it and she continued on as if nothing had occurred. She dared to look at him while speaking about the time Roy took the entire speeder apart to see if he could put it back together again. 

He was sleepy, but content, and she smiled at him, running the back of her hand down his cheek once more. The gratitude in his eyes was fairly staggering--so much so that she couldn’t stop herself and bent to kiss his forehead, then pulled back to rest her palm along his jawline.

“My dear,” she said quietly, “you are enough . Never let others make you believe otherwise. You would be enough without the heroism you’ve displayed. You could sit at a desk and be enough. But you---you’re special. I know that. My Roy wouldn’t care so much if you weren’t. That old Mandalorian fossil you found wouldn’t have followed you if you weren’t. That boy Dex thinks the galaxy of you. And so do I if it comes to that,” she finished, calmly wiping the tears from his face with her fingers. 

“Yore rather special yourself, Missus Lunders,” he told her.

“Sleep now,” she commanded kindly, well pleased with his tired sincerity. And she stroked the brown head until his breathing was deep and even and peaceful.

Chapter Text

Was it possible her heart would just explode from the impossible pace it seemed to be setting? 

Perhaps that would be the thing that killed her and not the weapons she could hear crashing all around her. 

She could feel heat, smell blaster ozone, and taste the copper of blood.

But she couldn’t see .

He’d done something---that bastard magician---moments before it all went to the nine hells. He’d looked at her and smiled, muttering something, and Leia’s world went dark.

All around her now were screams and fear and death. It was overwhelming her as her other senses battled to compensate for her loss of sight. She couldn’t grasp the Force---it slid through her reach, gliding and twisting away from her desperation.

“Please,” she sobbed. “Please…” People needed her. This peaceful town with children playing here in the square only moments before. Now being torn apart.

She spread her hands before her and stumbled over something. Going to her knees, she realized it was a body---still warm. And Leia’s hands were coated in fresh blood. Keening sharply, she wiped her hands down her trouser legs and crawled forward again, wherever that may be. She smacked her head solidly onto stone and she stopped, feeling it with frantic fingers. 

The monument. It was the large monument in the middle of the square. A blaster shot landed close enough to send small stone fragments across her cheek---the bloom of pain something she distantly registered. 

She pressed her back to the stone and tried to draw into herself. Tried to center herself. She had only felt such helplessness a few times in her life and it had been nightmarish.

It felt as though she were drowning in the suffering of others. She struggled for air, for clarity. For her kriffing eyes !

Were the others dead? She couldn’t grasp the Force enough to sense that. Her heart decided to prove it could go even faster, choking her with its frantic pace and Leia screamed into the void.

And the void replied. 

No. Not the void. It was friendlier. 

Princess of mine.

Calm. Touching her mind with that warm and comforting presence. Her heart decided to back off a bit.

Admiral?

I’m here, my dear. To your three o’clock.

I….I can’t see….he did something…..

A pause. 

All right. We’ll deal with one thing at a time. I’m coming to get you.

But she knew he shouldn’t. Somehow she knew it was far too dangerous.

No!

And then the Force surged back, and she felt the spike of danger. Heard the renewed screams of terror…

What is it? She asked the Admiral.

Enemy reinforcements, he answered grimly. Veers is coming, but he won’t be here for another ten minutes. There’s not enough of us to save all these people…

But an idea lanced through her. 

Admiral! Be my eyes!

Stunned confusion. How?

She didn’t answer with words, but reached for him---for that warm presence that she loved so well. His mind was occupied with getting to her, with getting these people to safety, with Matthew and his team as they fought, with Veers….

She pressed further and felt his startled acceptance. He trusted her. She was quite certain this could only work due to that bond and trust that they had. She was careful nonetheless, she didn’t want to hurt him at all as she strove to see what he saw…

And how strange .

She could see herself, crouched by the monument. All around were bodies and fighters. And advancing toward them were black clad invaders---relentless in their onslaught. 

Admiral. I need you to watch the enemy , she said. I need to SEE.

She was confident now and rose, unhooking her lightsaber from her belt. It was still very strange to feel herself moving and yet see herself from someone else’s perspective. But the Force was with her as was her Admiral, and Leia had her weapon. 

The white blade ignited as the blaster rifles swung her way.

Have Scraps get the civilians out, she ordered, batting the first few shots aside.

My dear…

You must watch for me! I need your eyes, Admiral! She insisted.

She could feel him comply and she extended herself deeply into the Force---relying on it in a way that she’d never had to before. And it responded. 

The bolts seemed so slow now as she melded into the Force, her blade an extension of her arm. Distantly she could feel Piett’s awe and simultaneous concern for her. She sensed the fear of the enemy as she bore down upon them. She knew the moment that Piett left his cover to sprint to her side because she could see herself getting nearer from his perspective. 

She could feel Scraps’ determination as he rounded up civilians with half his attention on his Admiral. 

And then it was almost as if she could see again with the Admiral right beside her and looking almost exactly at what she was facing too. She thrust her hand out and snarled because these invaders were attacking the defenseless and the innocent, and Leia’s blood always rose at such an act. 

Something bright and deadly burned overhead and she knew that General Veers had arrived. The rumble from the AT-STs was not as ominous as their much bigger sisters, but for a battle of this nature-- which needed a swifter response--- they were perfect. 

It was over quickly after that. 

Leia deactivated her blade and turned to the Admiral who blinked a bit in surprise.

“What is it?” she asked, and then could see herself through his eyes. 

Her eyes were glowing white---a perfect match for her blade. 

Well that was….interesting. 

“Admiral,” she said, her whole being still humming from the battle, “I’m going to pull back from my Force connection with you. I’ll likely not be able to see again…”

“I’ll be here my dear,” he replied promptly.

How she loved him.

Carefully, she pulled at their connection and quite suddenly the world was dark once again in sharp and disturbing swiftness.

But Piett’s hands were warm on her arms and she focused on that steady presence.

“I have you, princess,” he said confidently. “By the way. That….what you did….If I hadn’t been here to see it myself, I wouldn't have believed it.”

“Well,” she said as he began to guide them out of the aftermath. “I was very grateful for your sight.”

“And that was remarkable as well, darling. You continually remind me just how powerful you are. Stars .”

He kept an arm around her waist, guiding them carefully through the rubble and bodies, and then Leia felt a warm sunburst as her brother’s presence came across her awareness. 

“Leia! I was worried! You felt….what’s wrong?” 

“Not sure, Luke. He did something to my eyes…”

She knew her brother could feel her fear...knew that she was desperately trying not to allow her panic to show in the sudden crash of adrenaline

“Hmm.” She felt his Force touch. “If I help guide you, Leia, I think you could heal this. Here…”

And between Piett’s physical presence beside her and her brother’s Force ability, she was able to focus on healing herself. 

The first thing she saw were two of the faces she loved the best, smiling at her in relief. 

Chapter Text

The cough sounded appalling. Like something was shredding him internally. And that was worrying for a man who had been given a new set of lungs not that long ago.

Sensing her eyes on him, her Father lifted his own gaze to meet hers. 

“You don’t need to worry, Leia. It’s just a cold.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and inexplicably, Anakin chuckled. 

“What?” she asked, rising and moving to the small galley in her Father’s quarters. They were waiting for Luke so they could have dinner together---just the three of them. It didn’t happen often, but the fact it could happen at all was something.

“Just….” the former Sith Lord mused while she started his kettle heating. “....Piett does that exact expression down to the eyebrow. The skeptical look.”

Leia smiled to herself. It was true, she supposed. She hadn’t realized that she’d adopted it until now. Somehow that small connection between herself and her Admiral made her happy. Even with her concern over her Father’s health.

“Well it’s quite effective for him,” she commented, searching for a mug and the tea. 

“It works for you too. Not on me , of course, but….”

“Oh of course,” she said dryly, pouring the hot water over the tea bag and appreciating the strong ginger and lemon scents.

Her Father coughed again and she came back to the living area with the mug. 

“You should talk to Henley about that,” she said, handing it to him. 

He glared at her over the rim of the mug and those blue eyes were both so like Luke’s and yet not.

Luke could get that intense look as well, but even when he was like that, his blue was warm. Anakin’s went cold and icy in his wrath. Not that she was intimidated.

“You should . I would say the same to the Admiral and have before. You know I have.”

Her Father sipped the tea and it struck Leia that he had never really let her see him when he felt weak or ill. She knew Luke had been there, but that was Luke . The favored one. The son Anakin had ripped the galaxy apart to find….

No. She should not go down that path. They were both trying. She knew her Father felt eternal guilt over what he had done to her on the Death Star. Knew that he would never forgive himself for that. But she could. She had. 

Didn’t mean that hurt didn’t still rise up sometimes. So Leia focused on the fact that Anakin was allowing himself the weakness of a cold (though it sounded worse than that) in her presence. And she could respond to that with grace. 

“I am not Piett,” her Father reminded her calmly. “ He may be helpless to your whims, but I have long had to deal with these things.”

Leia sighed and tapped at the data pad she’d brought. 

“Father. You have ‘long dealt with these things’ by having Henley around as well, may I remind you. You have a temperature. We can postpone this dinner because we shouldn’t risk your health….”

“ No . We...we don’t do this often as it is, Leia, and….” he broke off to hack horribly again. She used the Force to take the mug from his hand before it spilled and it hovered before him as he wheezed in air and brought things under control.

And in that unguarded moment, Leia could feel his emotions.

Fear that she would cancel the evening. Grief that they weren’t closer. Frustration that he couldn’t overcome the physical consequences of Mustafar even now. Deep seated desire to be with her and with Luke...

He heaved in another breath and focused his gaze on the hovering mug before him before reaching out slowly to take it again and look at her. 

Leia’s heart hurt. She too felt that longing for things to be different. And perhaps if Alderaan and the Death Star had not happened they would be. 

Father and daughter held each other’s eyes and then Leia set down the pad and moved toward his fresher. 

“Do you have the meds you need in the cabinet?” she called to him as she entered.

“Yes,” he replied and she rummaged for the cold meds and a hypo for the fever.

Leia returned triumphant and handed him the pills while she administered the hypo to his neck.

Then she sat beside him and considered what to say.

“We’ll have dinner. You’re going to have to deal with Luke fussing about you, you realize.”

He huffed lightly and sipped again at the tea. “I can weather Luke’s fussing. Just as I can weather this cold.”

“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. “It really is a wonder that you and the Admiral didn’t collapse simultaneously at some point. You are so very similar when it comes to this stubborn refusal to rest… ”

Her Father snorted and gave her an offended look. “I had the suit . And the Force. The Admiral merely has his ridiculous amount of sheer will. Of course I wasn’t going to collapse.”

“I’ve heard stories,” Leia reminded him. “You weren’t invincible, Father. Still aren’t.”

“Piett really is an utter push over when it comes to you, isn’t he?” Anakin grumbled, and Leia actually laughed.

“What makes you think the Admiral would sell you out so readily? I think you’re forgetting that he isn’t the only one who can tell tales about you, Father.” She glanced conspiratorially up to the ceiling, and felt the Lady’s wash of satisfaction in being so included.

Her Father sighed. “Yes, well….”

“And of course there was the time that Luke was summoned by our Admiral to help get you off that Force forsaken rock because you messed with a Sith artifact and, shockingly, it backfired…”

“Your brother does not have a great ability in keeping his mouth shut…”

“What do you mean? I never betrayed the Rebellion did I?” Luke asked, entering at this juncture. 

Leia fixed him with the raised eyebrow and at her side, Father chuckled again. “Piett should just adopt you and be done with it,” he murmured quietly. Leia found herself grateful that he could joke about it---that he could acknowledge that the Admiral was in possession of something precious that he himself couldn’t have. 

Leia patted his arm and rose to give Luke a hug. “ Some would say, brother of mine, that you did precisely that by haring off to save the Sith Lord fighting the Rebellion. And then accompanying him and his Admiral almost back to the Imperial fleet so that said Admiral would make it there before passing out.”

Luke grinned at them both. “And I kept my mouth shut about it, didn’t I? And don’t pretend you aren’t happy I did that.” *

“I am now ,” Leia agreed. “I wasn’t then. Anyway the point of this conversation is that Father is sick. So he is going to eat on the sofa and we can pull up a piece of the floor.”

Leia set out the food on the low table near the sofa and listened to Luke fuss over their Father. She met his gaze over Luke’s blonde head, and they shared brief amusement over her brother.

They may never be close, but she wouldn’t change things. 

Chapter Text

He and Lord Vader froze. Piett realized he was even holding his breath in his effort to hold still. 

The Mirialan male laughed. “I have the power you see. It helps when one doesn’t care about living or dying. You can feel that can’t you, Lord Vader ? Or should I say Anakin Skywalker? After all it was Anakin that begot her.” He shook the small form in his hold.

And Piett felt helpless fury at the fact that she was so limp and pliant. 

Please , he pleaded with the universe, please . After searching for so long. After so much hardship. Please let them save her. His dearest girl. 

“If you let her go, I will kill you quickly,” Lord Vader said, and he may be free of the mask and the suit, but Piett heard Sith like tones coming from those lips. And the thing was, he wasn’t going to lift a damn hand to stop him if the Mirialan started choking. 

“Did you think you were the only one to bring special power to the table, Vader?” the man spat, eyes glowing oddly. In a cold rush of horror, Piett realized they were dealing with another Force user. 

Clearly this was not news to Lord Vader.

“Your pitiful attempts are not what I would term powers, Mirialan,” his Lordship said in low, cold tones. Piett felt the cold. His rage was enormous then.

He didn’t lift a hand, but the Mirialan seized suddenly. He made gagging sounds but his hands didn’t lift to his throat.

Because they couldn’t, Piett realized. Even as he watched though, the man’s eyes narrowed, sweat pouring off him as he fought against Vader’s power.

“Princess!” Piett called, trying to get her to move away from him. But she lifted a heavy head. She was drugged. 

“Come to me, my dear,” he told her taking a step and even as she reached for him, the Mirialan made a massive effort to move his hand----

---his hand holding some sort of button….

“NO…!” Lord Vader roared.

His thumb depressed in the same instant that Piett heard his neck shatter.

There was no massive explosion. No noise. No light.

But the princess’s head jerked strangely and she fell to the earth with that rag doll finality. 

And Piett knew. 

Even as he flung himself to his knees beside her, to feel for her pulse and begin to breathe for her, he knew. 

She was already gone.

Their connection---that warm and golden thing in the Force was now an empty stillness. He pulled back to look at the lovely, pale face. Something was odd with one of those wide brown eyes…

“He planted a small explosive in her brain,” his Lordship said, and Piett hadn’t heard him take a knee beside him, so quiet had he been. 

An explosive….

He felt so sick. 

Leia Organa Skywalker’s father reached to close her eyes, but the man she had chosen to fill that position, stopped him---gripped that prosthetic wrist in such boldness as he had never dared. 

“No.”

He couldn’t bear it. Because then it was real. Those eyes would not open again. Her beautiful doe eyes---tender, laughing, fierce. That face that had rested so often against him when she embraced him. 

Never again. 

His dear girl. How was it possible to live again the flaming agony of holding Rilla as her life poured out of her? How could he possibly bear this too?

“Piett.” And the Admiral had not known how gentle his commander could sound.

“I can’t….” his voice cracked. And another time he would have been so humiliated to have such a thing occur in Lord Vader’s presence. 

“You must.”

And that black gloved hand shook off his grip to close her eyes. 

Something awful and HUGE and burning was growing in Piett’s chest. He moved and lifted her off of the ground to cradle her against his chest, rocking slightly. Losing a sister had been a crucible of suffering. Losing a daughter was burning the heart out of his chest. 

A hand splayed on his back and Lord Vader did not once protest that it should be him holding his murdered child. She had chosen Piett. She had chosen him---she had given him the greatest gift and now….and now….

A terrible sob wrenched out of his soul, his tears like magma on his skin. He wept until he felt wrung out, his grief drenching the rich brown hair under his cheek. And through it all, Lord Vader stayed with him.

At last, he spoke again.

“We….we need to get her back to the ship…”

He was right. Piett raised his head and then so very gently he lifted the princess to deposit her softly into her biological father’s arms. Then he rose, drew his sidearm, and stalked over to the body.

“Piett.”

Never in his life had he so completely disregarded Lord Vader. He fired and the body jerked in the impact. He pulled the trigger again. And again. And again. 

“ Admiral .”

He was cold as ice and Lord Vader could use whatever command tone he wanted. Piett had to do this….

That strong grip closed on his right arm and Piett yanked out of it, whirling to point the blaster at the bereaved countenance of Anakin Skywalker. 

“WHY?” he screamed, desperate for an outlet to this awful tide of grief inside him. “HOW COULD YOU LET IT HAPPEN???” 

And it wasn’t fair---Lord Vader had done everything in his power. He and Piett and Solo had hunted nonstop for the last seventeen days. 

That scarred face gazed at him with compassion. 

Piett’s arm trembled with the strength of his own grip. “I….I can’t….” he tried and Lord Vader took the blaster from him, but he didn’t seem angry.

The Admiral sank to his knees in the dirt and leaned over, his head touching the princess’s cooling arm. He wept without tears and became aware of a heavy arm (those prosthetics were very heavy) draped over his shoulders.

“Firmus…”

“Father you have to kill him! I can’t get through to the Admiral otherwise!”

Where had that come from?

“Firmus, she’s gone and we need to give Solo the opportunity to grieve her as well.”

Gone.

His princess. 

It couldn’t be possible….

And then—-

—-it wasn’t.

Something surged around him----something dark and powerful, and simultaneously warm and golden and….

He knew that. 

“Admiral. Dearest Admiral, can you hear me? Are you with us?”

Slim arms around him. Someone was kneeling in front of him, mirroring his posture but his head was resting on her shoulder…

A strong, warm shoulder that moved and lived .

He lifted his head with effort and found himself looking into familiar brown eyes. Not fixed in death. Not drugged and unknowing.

“Admiral,” said the princess, cupping his face in her hands. “There you are.”

“But….” he whispered hoarsely, terrified that he was delusional as his eyes flitted around, looking for the body that had just been….

The only body he could see was that of the Mirialan, Lord Vader standing a silent guardian over it. 

“He made one last play,” his dearest girl told him, small fingers reaching to brush at his hair. “When it became clear that Father and I together were too much for him, he did something to you. Told us if we killed him, it would kill you. But I could tell it wouldn’t.”

“You’re really….?” he moved at last, to bring his hand up to her left wrist and rest his fingers on her pulse point.

“What did he show you?” she asked him gravely, and he could see she already knew.

“You were….” the raw, unfiltered agony was still so close to the surface and he stopped.

“You thought I was dead,” she finished for him, sympathy in her face and he couldn’t speak.

“Dearest Admiral,” she said, searching his ravaged countenance, “if I was, you wouldn’t feel the connection we have. You know that.”

And he could feel it---reassuring him even now. And it broke him again. A sob burst forth and she grasped him close, murmuring comfort in his ear. 

“I’m so sorry. I know. I do understand. Father of my heart, I know .”

And gradually, his overwrought mind was able to recover. “My dear,” he said quietly, “I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to have you alive. Not only due to what that bastard showed me, but these long days without you…”

He pulled away slightly to see her. “Are you all right? Not hurt?”

“I’m tired of being a prisoner, but no, Admiral darling, I’m all right.”

He rose and pulled her to her feet with him.

“My Lord,” he said, looking over her head to the man who had waited with remarkable patience. “I apologize if I did or said anything that might have caused offense.”

He had pointed a blaster at LORD VADER.

This thought must have been clearly broadcast because his Lordship merely smiled at him grimly. “I assure you, Admiral, what was inflicted on you was your suffering alone I’m sorry to say. A blaster though, Piett?”

He flushed. 

“I….I was not in my right mind….”

“Mmm. Understandable. Though the strength of your affection for my daughter is admirable.”

“Let’s go,” said the girl in question, arm firmly around Piett. “I want to see Han and I very much want to see a fresher as well.”

As they started walking, she added quietly, “Thank you both. For coming….”

“Always,” replied her Father.

Piett couldn’t agree more. 

Chapter Text

The cough ripped out of him and he half expected to see part of his lung in the crook of his sleeve where he’d buried his face. 

No such luck. 

Piett would rather not have his lungs at the moment. All right, yes, in reality he would like his lungs where they were thank you very much, but feeling as they were…

He leaned his forehead against the fresher mirror, appreciating the brief moment of coolness against his skin. 

Why now? Why?

The timing was terrible. He really hadn’t been feeling that badly when he left the ship. A bit of a sore throat and he had been very good, ask Scraps, about taking tea and meds and even going to bed at decent hours the last few days. 

Now this had travelled to his lungs, Force damn it, and for Piett that was never good.

However, this accord was too delicate and tricky to beg off. Piett was the chief factor in keeping things civil and moving forward. And kriffing hells did he hate politics.

But this was military politics, and while he may despise it, he knew it well. Thus why the Head of State had tapped him for this mission. 

Her highness was on a mission of her own with Solo and her brother. Veers was on a much needed and deserved shore leave, and so Piett was on his own. Not really---he had his security team, but they couldn’t discuss the progress (or lack thereof) for this accord and besides, their chief duties involved keeping him safe. In this large gathering, that was a very complicated job and he didn’t want to distract them from that. 

His Lady drifted serenely above the planet---and she was excellent back up, for him and for reminding those assembled to keep things polite. At least physically.

He sighed and straightened, resigned to the fact that he looked sleep deprived. Piett wasn’t vain---it had nothing to do with that. It had everything to do with a security lead who had very sharp eyes and a big heart. He wouldn’t want his Admiral going to a long day of meetings.

Piett stepped out of the fresher and went to retrieve his hat from his wardrobe. His rooms here were very comfortable, but he wanted the familiar comfort of his quarters on the Lady rather badly right now.

Someone tightened the iron vice in his chest another notch and he hacked once more, bracing himself against the back of the sofa. When he looked up, he met very disapproving green eyes.

“I’m very happy to let them know you won’t be able to attend today, Admiral,” Scraps said steadily. 

Piett blew out a breath and straightened. 

“Matthew, I have to. You know that. This whole agreement is holding together with spit and space tape at the moment. And without sounding too full of myself, I have to be there to keep it all from folding in on itself. I know you know that. Please…” he rubbed at his head and moved toward the kitchen for water. “....please let’s not have a disagreement over this.”

“Sir, could we ask them to delay it a day? Allow you a little time to recover?”

Piett took a few sips of water and then the pills he needed to prevent a migraine.

“I would like to get this over with, Scraps. We’re so close. We can finish it today. And I need more than a little time to recover. Please just...help me get through this. Then I’ll do whatever you and Henley want. But this has to be done and it has to be done by me.”

“All right, sir,” the Lieutenant Commander said at his elbow and Piett could hear the sympathetic tone. “Do you have the meds you need for the chest infection?”

“Well it wasn’t a chest infection when I left,” Piett told him, leaving the kitchen and picking up his black gloves from a side table. “I have meds for a sore throat.”

“Mmm.” Scraps looked down at his data pad and typed something in. “I’ll get some sent down from the Lady, sir.”

A moment and then something pinged quietly and Scraps gave a very tiny smile. 

“Do I want to know what kind of language the Doctor is using?” Piett asked knowingly, pouring himself a thermos of his tea and sealing the lid. 

“You can likely guess, Admiral,” the boy replied. “And you’re to report to him straight away when we return.”

Piett had expected that. And when it came to this sort of illness, he had learned not to delay in seeing Henley.

“Right. Well, shall we?”

He had to duck down a side corridor twice on the way in order to cough violently and the second round left him dizzy. He was grateful for Scraps’ arm to steady him out. Right before they entered, the officer paused.

“Sir. I have a pain killer on me if you’d….”

“Yes, good thinking, Matthew,” Piett agreed, accepting the offered hypo and applying it swiftly to his forearm. It was a little thing, but he appreciated being able to treat himself if he could. He knew that Veers would say he was being stubbornly independent, but Piett had dealt with too many times in his life when he had not been given a choice. 

They entered the chamber, and Piett began one of the longest days of his life. 

The break for lunch was very welcome. Scraps steered him to a small room that looked as though it was someone’s office and Piett was so very grateful that he didn’t have to attempt small talk at a large dinner table. He didn’t think he would have the oxygen. 

A bowl of soup was waiting on the desk, along with water and meds. Piett sank into the chair gratefully and inhaled, then cocked a puzzled eye at it.

“That smells suspiciously like Mac’s special soup….”

“You would know, sir,” Scraps told him, grinning a little and nudging the pills toward him. “I think he makes it exclusively for you when you come down with this thing. And these are the meds from Dr. Henley, Admiral.”

Piett did know that. He was still puzzling over how this soup had reached him from the Lady.

“How….?” he began and Scraps calmly interrupted.

“Hatley took the shuttle up and back, sir.”

“A great deal of extra work for her,” Piett said, and then doubled over once more, his chest utterly burning and his diaphragm declaring its intention to quit.

A warm hand was splayed on his back when he could think clearly again, head splitting. A glass of water was placed in his hand and Scraps gave him the pills. 

He was deeply grateful that the boy didn’t try to convince him to leave the meeting again. He didn’t have the strength to argue and he HAD to see this through. He took the meds and then picked up the spoon. Mac’s soup was one of the few things he could manage when he got chest infections and he made his way through a decent amount before resting his head against the back of the desk chair and looking over to his security lead. 

Matthew looked up from whatever he was studying on the datapad and the two of them just shared a moment of understanding before the boy spoke.

“Back at it then, Admiral?”

“Once more unto the breach, Mr. Scraps,” he replied, replacing his cap and standing slowly. Kriff, he was so tired. Was this how it would be when he was eighty?

“Sir…” Matthew said as they made their way out of the office and back toward the main chamber. He was walking close enough for Piett to reach him if he needed support, but not so much as to be hovering. Piett glanced up at him.

“...I just want you to know that I’m confident you can do this, Admiral.” 

He smiled slightly. “Thank you, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Also, the moment it’s over, will you please let me take charge?”

Piett rubbed at the inferno in his chest. “I think you’ll need to, Matthew.”

And he straightened his spine to enter the massive room once more.

Six hours later it was done. Hands and paws had been shaken. Champagne drunk and flimsis signed. He had managed some brief words with the top officials, but he didn’t remember anything he said. 

Then Scraps was at his side, smiling politely and carefully maneuvering them through the crowds toward the corridors. It was clearer here, but there were still beings passing back and forth. Piett must maintain his Fleet Admiral demeanor a bit longer. He had to pause briefly by one of the colonnades to catch his breath while Scraps discreetly spoke into his commlink. 

“This way, sir,” he said, taking a left turn. It was quieter the further they went and Piett didn’t recognize the area.

“I got permission for your shuttle to land on the private pad back here,” the officer told him. And just as they reached it, his lamda touched down gently. Wheeler met them from another direction, carrying Piett’s bag. He’d completely forgotten that. 

He entered the shuttle and was at last able to relax his stance. Hatley met them in the passenger area.

“Well sir, you look like you played space ball with Gundarks and lost. But well done with the treaty, Admiral!”

Scraps rolled his eyes at her and Piett smiled. Irrepressible Hatley.

“Thank you I think, Lieutenant.”

He realized that one of the med bunks had been pulled down and... where had that duvet come from? That wasn’t standard issue on shuttles. He frowned slightly.

“I don’t….”

“Would you like the good news or the bad news first, sir?” Hatley interjected, holding out her hand expectantly. It took him a moment to realize she wanted the cap he had just removed. 

He handed it to her, wondering what in the galaxies she was talking about.

“Ah...bad news.”

“The planetary defense shield fritzed badly three hours ago and damaged about five ships. They’re not letting anyone on or off planet until it’s repaired.”

No. That was bad news indeed.

“How long?” Scraps asked, his tone revealing his own displeasure.

“Another three hours I’m given to understand.”

“And the good news?” Piett asked, wanting nothing so much as his own bed. He could feel a cough building and dreaded it.

“The Lady sent a team to help from the orbital side of things. The Chief is on scene, sir, so that estimate is probably accurate and we can trust the job is competent. Also, no one was killed so that’s good.”

Well.

It was.

The cough erupted and Piett saw stars. When it was over he really was light headed and was vaguely aware that Scraps had steered him toward the med bunk.

“....sent your scans to Dr. Henley,” he was saying as Piett sank down on it. “So he can be as ready as possible. And he said you should be resting, Admiral.”

Piett nodded, too spent to speak, merely undoing the clasps for his duty jacket and handing it to Hatley who hung it neatly and then opened another storage panel to pull out two fat pillows. Again, not standard.

“When did we start carrying those?” he asked, gesturing slightly as Scraps knelt to tug off his boots.

Hatley exchanged a look with Matthew. “Just wanted to be prepared, Admiral. Your shuttle hasn’t been very equipped in the past.”

He gave both of them the eyebrow. “I don’t like fuss. You know that.”

“No sir, no fuss,” Hatley replied calmly, setting the pillows on the bunk. “But we have a check list sir, for our duties in regard to you. Your health and well being are on the list. I’ve ticked the safety box for this mission, Admiral, but I can’t tick the one that says ‘all necessary medical care’ until you lie down, sir.”

His mouth curled at the corner as he met those earnest blue eyes. “It doesn’t say that.”

“It does, sir, with all due respect. I need to tick all my boxes. Otherwise I’m in dereliction of my duty, sir.”

He looked between her and Matthew who smiled at him faintly. “No hovering, Admiral, I promise. But you need to be lying down.”

“Well,” Piett sighed, cautiously swinging his legs up onto the bunk and leaning back into the pillows, “can’t have a box unticked can we?”

“Thank you, Admiral,” Hatley said primly, tapping her pad while Scraps drew the duvet up and over his chest. She trotted serenely back into the cockpit and he could hear the murmur of her voice with Yang and Wheeler. 

It felt ridiculously good to be lying down. He was inclined enough to allow breathing in his congested state, but the relief of not having to carry himself like an Imperial officer was fantastic. Scraps removed his own cap and glanced at his data pad when a small light blinked at him indicating a message. He nodded slightly at whatever he saw there. 

“If you like sir, I can be up in the cockpit as well,” he said, moving to another storage compartment and removing the medkit. “But if you need anything I just thought I could be here. It’s no trouble either way, Admiral,” he added hurriedly, knowing Piett’s preference for privacy. “I can check in once in a while and….”

Piett managed to keep the cough to less than seismic levels this time. “You can stay, Matthew,” he panted when it passed. The boy was frowning at him in concern but smoothed it away as he returned to Piett’s side. 

“All right then, sir,” he said quietly, shaking out what Piett recognized as a cold compress and laying it across the Admiral’s forehead. “Dr. Henley said to try and keep the fever at bay,” Scraps told him, settling in the seat beside Piett’s head. “Let me know if it bothers you though.”

There was much that Piett would love to say to Matthew---to all of them really. But he settled for a simple, “Thank you, Scraps.”

Matthew’s hand pressed his shoulder and Piett gripped it briefly with his own before closing his eyes.

*********

He was aware when he woke this time around that the fever had broken. He felt lighter and his head was blessedly clear and free from pain. 

Which no doubt allowed him to sense that he wasn’t alone. 

“I leave for two weeks and you do this again,” Max’s voice said accusingly as Piett turned his head to meet his friend’s gaze. 

“Sorry----” he whispered and was irritated to discover how raw his throat was from coughing. Veers sighed and reached for the small bowl of ice chips on the table by the bed. 

“Not your fault, Firmus, you know I’m just giving you a hard time. Here, Henley said you’d need this.”

And Piett didn’t argue, just opened his mouth and received a spoonful of cold relief. 

While he was allowing these to melt on his tongue, Veers leaned back in his chair and regarded him.

“Young Scraps says you really did attempt some form of self care this time and that it was just bad luck it turned into this.”

Piett inclined his head.

“The princess will be back on board in about twelve hours. She did not have the same triumphant success that you did and, I gather, is deeply displeased that her mission prevented her from getting back here sooner to spoil you.”

The Admiral smiled.

“She’s all right though?” he asked, keeping his voice low and soft so as not to irritate his throat. Veers offered him another spoonful of ice chips.

“Perfectly fine.”

He’d got a bit of a tan, Piett noted. He hoped that Max had found some recuperation as well, hiking in the mountains. 

“Henley says ah, that due to things beyond your control, he needs to be more cautious with you.”

Oh that didn’t bode well.

Veers read his face correctly. “Don’t worry, Firmus. I am the one tasked with telling you the developments, but I’m happy to say I think you’ll approve.”

Another mouthful of ice chips. Bigger this time. Veers wanted him to stay quiet for a moment then. He raised an eyebrow at his friend who chuckled.

“I know. Underhanded. Deal with it. So. Henley says that the moment you get any sort of cold symptom---chest, head, throat---doesn’t matter. You’re off duty. He’d rather you miss one shift or so than go down like this. And I think you’d agree.”

Hard to admit, but true.

“He also says, you need time to properly get yourself as strong as possible. Ever since that episode…” Veers paused and Piett didn’t have to be told which one. The Imperials’ interrogation had left its mark on him.  *

The General glared at the ice chips and blew out a breath. “Well. You’ve not been quite yourself. You need time and while we have many competent people on board, there’s not one who could just ...step into your role the way that needs to be done. But I think we may have a solution.”

Piett swallowed the melted ice. “Oh yes?”

“Mmm. Venka is coming out to assist for the next three months. Gherant was recently promoted as you know and Venka recommended that he command the Home Defense Fleet in his absence. He wrote to me last night and I think there are very broad hints that Tom is missing the action out here.”

Piett raised his eyebrows. “I thought he was rather glad to be off the front lines if you will.”

Veers grinned. “I suspect he’s bored. Anyway, we can find out for certain while he’s here. He can take care of ship things so you can focus on the fleet.”

Piett rolled his eyes, but smiled. “ Ship things , Max? You mean the naval matters ?”

“I’m an army man, you may recall, Firmus.”

“Oh, I recall,” Piett muttered, frustrated because he was already tired. “Heathen.”

“The point, my stubborn vac head friend, is that you are getting reinforcements. You aren’t being replaced or shunted aside. But as this last mission demonstrates--your job has become far bigger and you need help with it. Venka would be perfect.”

Veers was right. He frequently was, the kriffer, but Piett was yawning and...when had he closed his eyes?

A chuckled sounded above him and a warm hand landed on his shoulder. “That’s right, Admiral. Go back to sleep. One of us will be here.”

Piett drifted off on the thought that it was rather lovely having people who would be there. 

Chapter Text

He was simultaneously wet and dry. 

That seemed very contradictory. 

He tried to focus and his head protested. But this time he was sure he could smell salt and the briny scent of the ocean. 

No sand. Father hated sand. Luke wasn’t quite as passionate about sand, but he preferred lusher climates. Why was he pondering sand?

Right. 

The ocean. 

The ocean generally got interrupted by stretches of beach. Sand. 

Opening his eyes would likely be useful at this point because his brain was a muddled mess and couldn’t be trusted as a reliable narrator. 

He cracked them open and the awful glare tore into his retinas without mercy. He would persevere though. Do or do not and all that. 

Things were moving around him and that really wasn’t fair. If they would just hold still one second so his exceedingly unhelpful brain could catch up….

Oh. 

They couldn’t hold still because he was on the ocean. It tended to move. Oceans had that habit. 

Gradually, Luke realized he was lying on a piece of wreckage. Not his X-Wing. 

What had happened?

His brain remained frustratingly unhelpful on the issue. But Luke knew he needed to survive, and that meant more than just floating along like so much rotting seaweed.

His mouth tasted awful and it was so very dry. Surrounded by water and not a drop to drink , Luke thought.

He slowly moved his arm to pat at his flight suit and take stock. His lightsaber was still zipped into an inner pocket so that was something. He felt for the standard issue flare. That too. So he had some things that could both locate him and possibly get food if he could lure a fish close enough to his blade. 

The thing was….this sun could kill him pretty fast. 

And then in a horrifying rush, Luke remembered Artoo. Artoo had been with him. Oh kriffing hells…..

“Artoo!” he croaked aloud and was appalled at his voice. 

Nothing.

Surely….surely his booster rockets would have saved him….right….?

But if so, Artoo could also certainly have found Luke.

Judging by how high the sun was and how he felt, Luke had been here for a number of hours. He closed aching eyes again and drew in a deep breath, allowing himself to connect to the Force, drawing upon the strength of the teeming life all around him. It may not be visible, but he could sense the myriad creatures of the deep. He could hear the heartbeats of the gulls and seabirds above him. He pushed further, ignoring his thirst and aching body and there.

Land. The rootedness of the foliage and the meeting of earth and sea. It was to his north west and all Luke had was the Force to propel himself, but that was enough. He moved through the swells on his tiny piece of wreckage for hours. Once a large eye, the size of Luke’s body, broke the surface, blinked at him lazily and disappeared again. A sapphire hued gull had the audacity to land on his back and hitch a ride for awhile and he actually didn’t mind the company of that small life form, though he could have done without it defecating. 

Even as deeply in tune with the Force as he was though, Luke’s body was failing him. He knew it distantly and tried to keep himself calm at that knowledge. 

Surely this wasn’t the way he would go. Surely not something so mundane as being lost at sea.

And he wondered at himself vaguely that he was more irritated at not knowing what had happened than anything else. 

A massive shadow passed over head, affording him some relief from the relentless sun. But then even more relief swelled over Luke as he turned his head with great effort, hair blowing about his face from the wind caused by the Falcon’s engines.

And in a strange sense of deja vu, he was looking at his Father’s outstretched hand. He half expected to hear the words ‘join me’ and knew that he was delirious if he was thinking like that.

A wince of pain in the Force even as Luke was levitated toward that tall figure, balancing on the Falcon’s landing ramp.

“You are delirious, my son. Why didn’t you call for me?”

“Forgot that you were here? Where IS here?”

Resignation flowed over him as he landed carefully in his Father’s hold and Anakin Skywalker moved back into the ship.

“I have him, Solo, you may depart!” he called as he carried Luke into the dingy passenger area. 

“He ok?” Han hollered back, and Luke would never not find it strange when his Father and his friend worked together like this. 

“He will be,” his Father answered, laying him on a medbunk as Luke became aware of mad twittering and chirps from an overwrought astromech.

“Artoo…” he murmured, reaching a hand out to rest on the scratched blue dome. “What happened to you?”

[Nothing. I had to save you again, Luke Skywalker.] the droid answered primly. [After ensuring you would stay afloat, I retrieved Anakin Skywalker]

“True,” his Father confirmed, handing him a bottle of water. “Drink that. Slowly.”

Luke obeyed with shaking hands while his Father removed the sodden flight suit and draped numerous towels over him.

“We would have found you sooner, but didn’t realize we had to take your temporary amnesia into account. Ah. I see why.” His prosthetic fingers brushed very gently over the back of Luke’s head and he felt a tender spot.

“We’re sure it’s temporary?” Luke murmured tiredly. He watched his Father run a scanner over him with half open eyes. 

“I’m sure,” he replied firmly. 

Luke shivered. It was actually colder in the Falcon than on the warm, tropical sea. 

“What did happen?” he asked, drinking more water. He felt warmer quite suddenly and noted a faint steam coming from his clothing. His Father was using the Force to dry him off and it was such an innocuous and thoughtful use of his power that Luke smiled broadly.

“Once again,” his Father rumbled, hand resting on Luke’s hair, “you, young one, decided to do something rash.”

Artoo whistled in agreement. 

Chapter Text

“The codes, Ad-miral!” sang Bal’Esh in a horrible off key sing song and Piett didn’t bother lifting his head.  He wasn’t sure he could even if he wanted to. 

“Kriff….you.”

It had been his standard response for some time now---- hours? Days? He wasn’t sure anymore. 

His dislocated shoulder burned white hot, but there was no mercy for that. He had been restrained once more against that damn slab and when they had shackled that wrist above his head, he’d heard more pops. It was like being shot multiple times in the same spot.

His entire body was connected to itself with red hot wires---all of them working soley to transmit the pain he was in to his brain. 

And they wouldn’t let him pass out. Every time darkness descended he was yanked back out of it by the hiss of a hypo against his neck---no mercy to be found in unconsciousness. And neither was he allowed to die. They monitored his life signs, treating him as needed with injections or antibiotics.

The huge Dathomirian wanted him to beg. And Piett didn’t want to give him the karking satisfaction. 

But he couldn’t take anymore. He’d been called a stubborn bastard (often by his closest friend) but this was going way beyond even his rather high pain tolerance. 

He watched as the other being’s fingers trailed delicately to the button on the control in his hand and Piett knew what it meant, knew what was about to happen….

“No…” he whispered wretchedly, and hated the triumphant grin on Bal’Esh’s face at this sign of his weakness. 

“Yes, Admiral,” he stated smugly, and pushed the button.

His body seized in agony, the currents racing relentlessly through him and he screamed with a throat already ragged from doing this countless times before. 

His teeth hurt, his flesh burned, and his muscles would surely come apart from how hard they were seizing. 

And then it stopped and the only sounds in the room were the Dathomirian’s chuckles and Piett’s heaving and sobbing gasps for air. He could feel the tears on his face and taste the blood trickling down from his nose to his mouth. 

His limbs were trembling from residual shock and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. 

A back hand to his face and something gave way---likely his cheekbone. 

“He  wants results yesterday, Imperial. I will start breaking every bone in your pathetic body….”

Wait , Piett thought. Shouldn’t Skywalker be speaking to him in his mind by now? Shouldn’t there be SOME hope…?

And Bal’Esh was swinging that awful rod at his dislocated arm…..

**********

Veers tried not to move too quickly through the Lady’s corridors. It was unusual enough to see the General at this time of night, he didn’t want it to look too urgent. 

It had been a while since the Lady had alerted him like this. He’d hoped things were getting better. They were getting better. He knew that. But no doubt something had set his friend back…

Well of course it had. It had only been a few months ago that Piett and Scraps had been taken. Veers himself had nightmares about that. *

He leaned back against the wall of the lift as the Lady sent him speeding to the right deck.

“Thank you, Lady,” he told her quietly, glancing at the data pad in his hand. She flashed her lights for him. 

You’re welcome.

A beat. He wondered what she had felt when her Admiral had been taken. It was before Veers had known just how very REAL she was. Five years now. He would not have predicted that a sentient Super Star Destroyer would help him to look after his closest friend. An image flashed up on the pad and Veers realized it was a live feed near his intended destination where another officer was hovering near the doors. 

So someone else had set up alerts for Piett’s movements then. Unsurprising he supposed. 

“Thank you for the heads up, Lady,” he murmured. 

Her special green light, used only for him, washed the lift and then the doors opened. He moved out and down another polished corridor until he spotted the tall form in a hastily donned uniform, hesitating outside the lounge doors.

“Sir,” Scraps said in evident relief. “You have an alert as well then?”

“Of a sort,” Veers replied. “I imagine mine is a bit different from the security one.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, much going unsaid between them. Veers checked the Admiral’s location once more.

“Come with me and stay in the main area by the doors,” he ordered, “if I need you, I’ll let you know.”

Piett’s security lead nodded and they entered the Alliance lounge. Scraps sat down at one of the tables closest to the doors. It was largely deserted at this time of night, many officers preferring the smaller lounges for late evening, early morning shifts. 

Veers headed straight for a corner that was well protected by Nabooan willows. He rounded them to see the slight figure he expected, perched on one of the smaller sofas. He was slightly hunched over, elbows resting on his knees and shuddering slightly. A largely untouched glass with a clear liquid that definitely wasn’t water sat on the table before him. He’d discarded his duty jacket rather untidily beside him, and his hair was tousled as though he’d run his hands through it. 

Veers squared his shoulders. There was a small network of them now---to help each other with nightmares. But there had been a reason the Lady had alerted him and not the princess or Scraps.

Piett answered that question for him by bringing a hand up to rub at his left shoulder.

All right then. They had faced the reality together, they could face the nightmare. It had been some time since Piett had struggled with those events. Damn those Imperials for bringing them back….

Veers rounded the sofa quietly and eased himself down beside his friend. 

A service droid bustled up and Veers gestured at Piett’s glass. “I’ll have what he’s having,” he told it as Piett tilted his head to look at him wearily. 

“You sure about that, Max? It’s vodka and…”

“I can handle vodka, my navy friend. You know I’m no lightweight….”

“It’s Axxilan.”

Veers paused and the corner of Piett’s mouth twitched.

“Well,” the General sighed. “I’ve had worse.”

Piett reached for his glass and cradled it in his hands for a moment--staring at the clear liquid within.

“I just….wanted something hard and spiced and rough to remind me of….where I come from. Who I am.”

Veers almost held his breath. Piett rarely just shared exactly what he was feeling, even with Veers. The General wanted to hope that they were taking baby steps forward again if his friend was starting like this. 

“Fair enough,” Veers remarked as the droid whirred back with his own glass.

He held it out and Piett glanced at him before touching his tumbler to it with a light clink.

Both of them drank and Veers was not going to give the navy man the kriffing satisfaction of knowing just how much it burned .

No doubt Firmus knew though, judging by the very tiny smile hovering around his lips. 

“The Lady told you?” he asked, leaning back at last and allowing his tense body to relax marginally. 

“Mm.”

A beat as both of them weighed the situation. Veers decided to be bold and push slightly.

“Black Sun?” he asked calmly and waited as his friend raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned slightly to look at him.

“Yes. How did you know that? She could not possibly know what my nightmares….”

“You were rubbing at your left shoulder when I came in.”

Piett huffed a breath through his nose and took another drink. 

“Yes, well. It’s a toss up which is worse---dreaming that I’m having electricity coursing through my body with a shattered shoulder or drowning in ice water.”

Veers pressed his lips together, hating the ghosts of Piett’s tormentors with renewed vigor. He had killed some of them personally, and the princess had slain others with the help of Jade. 

If only they could slay Piett’s nightmares as easily.

“I’m sorry,” the General murmured, sipping more cautiously at the vodka.

“Not your fault,” the Admiral said automatically. He raised a hand again to run through the brown curls, causing more disarray. There was distinguished grey at his temples, and Veers knew some of it was a direct result of what his friend had endured. 

“I’d take them for you if I could,” Veers said, meaning it profoundly. 

Piett smiled down at his glass once more then back up to Veers with eyes that had seen too much. But he didn’t seem as strained.

“I know that, Max. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that you’re here.”

“You have done the same, my friend.”

Piett inclined his head. He had. He’d anchored Veers in some very dark dreams centering around Zev….

“Anything new?” Veers asked after they had sat in a companionable silence for a moment. 

Piett sighed. “No. I suppose I should be thankful it wasn’t featuring the princess or Matthew.”

“Has that happened in… that context?” Veers asked, feeling sick.

Piett merely nodded, drinking more deeply this time and wincing slightly as he swallowed.

“In various ways,” he said softly. 

Veers shifted very slightly so that their shoulders touched. “Does it help to say that neither of them were there?” he asked.

Piett’s jaw tightened. “I do know that. I wake up and I remind myself of that. But….unfortunately, both of them know what it is to have this happen. And then I am reminded that I could do nothing while Matthew was nearly beaten to death in front of my eyes. And my mind can too easily conjure what my dear girl went through with an interrogation droid and….”

He broke off and Veers could see the unshed tears in Firmus’s eyes. The General leaned back against the sofa and they both contemplated the cold purity of the stars outside while Piett took a few deep breaths.

“Two steps forward, three steps back,” Veers commented, and Piett actually snorted slightly in disbelief beside him.

“Is that my pep talk for the evening, Max?” he asked dryly. 

“Yep. You know it well, Firmus. You’ve come a long way, my friend. But denying setbacks doesn’t help any of us. You’re still so far ahead of the stubborn bastard who was determined to take on the galaxy alone to protect everyone at the expense of himself.”

Piett flushed. “Yes. Well.” He cleared his throat. “I’d still rather protect all of you…”

“Mutual,” Veers interrupted immediately. “And I know you know that.”

They finished their drinks in silence, but somehow Veers knew that Piett was more at peace. The Admiral set his glass down and shrugged his duty jacket back on as he rose. 

Veers tried to be subtle about tapping his data pad to warn Scraps they were coming.

Piett did up the clasps of the jacket and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Who else did I alert then?” he asked knowingly. 

“Who do you think?” the General responded. The princess would not have hesitated to come, but she was off ship at the moment. She was also very good at sensing when she should go to the Admiral, and when she should let Veers do it alone.

They entered the main part of the lounge and Scraps rose, clearly unsure of himself here and how Piett may react to his presence with such personal circumstances.

He looked exceedingly young in his rumpled uniform, his green eyes worried. 

“I’m sorry to get you up at this hour, Matthew,” Piett told him as they left the lounge at an easy pace. 

“I don’t mind, sir,” Scraps responded swiftly, eager to assure. Keen to keep the Admiral safe, even from himself. 

Piett gave him a small smile as they reached the lift that would take him and Veers back up to their quarters. 

“I’ll um….I’ll see you in the morning, Admiral,” the boy said, straightening a bit and placing his hands behind his back. Veers knew Piett noted the gesture when his friend cleared his throat lightly.

“I rousted you out of bed, I’m sure one of the others can….”

“I’ll be there, sir,” Scraps said with quiet determination, and everything he wasn’t saying was apparent on his countenance.

There was a beat.

“I hope you know, Matthew,” Piett stated with a little curl to his mouth, “that you’re my favorite security lead.”

The smile he received hurt the father in Veers. His son had given him that smile long ago...

“Good night, sir,” Scraps said and the two senior officers stepped into the lift. 

“I hate getting you all…” Piett began, and Veers held up a hand. 

“Nope. More than happy to demonstrate to my friend that he can always trust me to be there.”

Piett looked down and ran a hand over his chin. “I do. I know I’m historically bad at trust, but…”

“Firmus, given everything that life has thrown at you, I’m continually astonished that you’ve let us all in. I’ll say it again---you’re the strongest man I know.”

Piett smiled at him. “How does that saying go? ‘He is strongest whose friends are truest?’ Something like that? Anyway. Rather relevant for any strength you see in me, Max.”

Veers appreciated what he was saying, though Piett had come through the fires of suffering alone with a character burnished brighter long before he’d met the General. 

The lift opened for them.

“You going to be able to get back to sleep?” Veers asked.

His friend bit his lip and gave a little nod. “Talking….helps. I know I was reluctant, but it does help. So yes, Max, I think so.”

Veers gripped his shoulder briefly. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Good night, General.”

Chapter Text

There was so much blood. It was horribly and grotesquely spattered in brilliant relief on the purity of the snow.

How had things become so karked so quickly?

Leia could still hear the whimpering and keening sounds of the animal as it fled into the night, the blizzard raging around them still. 

But she had no sympathy with it. She had to focus her energy on keeping their General from bleeding out in front of her. 

She used the Force to plant her lightsaber in the snow as a temporary source of light while she ripped at his already shredded trouser leg to see the nature of the wound the beast had left. 

It was bad.

“Caut…...cauterize…” Veers panted, and she could feel his grasp on consciousness slipping. 

“General,” she began, hating this situation but knowing already that he was right. 

“ Now , princess….please….”

She pulled out her blaster, flicked the switch for the light and then called the lightsaber to herself again.

Veers was pulling off one of his gloves with trembling hands, and then he placed it between his teeth.

He nodded at her, lowering his head back down on the snow.

Oh she really didn't want to do this to him. But she must.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, and carefully lowered her blade to rest lightly on the gashes in his thigh.

Veers groaned mightily and his whole body was rigid in the strain of keeping himself still, but he managed it, though his hands were clenched into knots. The smell of his burning flesh was awful and the sound was worse. It sizzled horribly and the General was doing his utter best not to move, but his agony in the Force was battering at her…. Leia strove for calm---she had to keep those things at bay and hold her hand steady just a few more seconds. 

He went blessedly limp right before she finished. 

She deactivated her weapon and unwound her scarf to wrap it tightly around the wound. Veers as secured as he could be for the moment, she considered their dire need for shelter. And now that the urgency of saving the General’s life had passed, she allowed herself to worry over where Han and Fox and Goolsby had got to.

There had been two creatures. 

This thought hit her hard and she felt ill. Were the others still alive?

Do what’s in front of you.

Veers was in front of her. Passed out and pale and in imminent danger of hypothermia if she didn’t act soon. 

How could they stay warm? This wasn’t Hoth and they didn’t have a tauntaun to slice open as Han had. Think Leia.

She had herself, but she was tiny in comparison to Veers and how could they generate enough heat for both of them to survive….?

The answer hit her hard. The snow itself would give them shelter. She utilized her faithful lightsaber once more, moving swiftly to create a deep hole. She then melted a path that slanted out of it so she could drag the unconscious General down into their impromptu snow fort. 

It was astonishing how much warmer it was immediately without the wind biting at her ears. The snow was thick around them too, allowing their body heat to actually be effective. Leia tried to make Veers as comfortable as possible and the settled down beside him as close as she could to share heat. 

Please let Han be ok , she thought. Let him and Fox and Goolsby find shelter. 

This blizzard could go on for days. This planet was known for such things. Could they be located by pinging their comms? She’d already tried them numerous times and clearly the weather was causing all sorts of issues. 

Luke and her Father were a system over---they couldn’t get here in time. Piett was very attuned to her but she doubted he could find her exact location. 

But there was someone else who could…..Leia had never tried to communicate with her at such a range, but she would absolutely try. Resting her hand on Veer’s neck to reassure herself of his pulse she breathed deeply and reached in the Force.

It was disturblingly silent down here and while she appreciated that there were no other life forms to threaten them, it was very discouraging as well. 

Leia pictured her target in her mind---every detail and fine curve. Her cold and elegant essence. Her fierce desire to protect….

<Dear One!>

Leia smiled and rested her head on Veers’ shoulder in profound relief. 

<Dear One, my Admiral is so very anxious for you all!> the Lady told her. <The storms do not allow me to find your commlinks. You are wise to reach to me.>

<Thank you for that, Lady,> Leia told her, mildly amused at the condescension. <Can you locate me now?>

<Yes! I am getting my Admiral’s attention. He is directing the rescue shuttles to look in that area.>

<Lady, General Veers and I were separated from the others. They need a broad search pattern. And Lady, we need medical aid. The General is badly hurt.>

She hated picturing Piett when he got this news. He was already worried, and she was adding to it. 

<It is being addressed,> the Lady told her after a pause. <My Admiral is speaking with Dr. Henley.>

A beat as though the Lady broke off to listen to something.

<My Admiral wishes to know if you are injured> she told Leia and she could picture Piett’s face as he asked this.

<You can reassure him that I am fine if a little cold. Thank you so much, Lady.>

<He is very impressed with us for communicating like this. I suspect he is jealous of me, Dear One>

Leia smiled a little, drawing the collar of Veers’ coat as far up around his face as she could to protect him. 

<We don’t all have your abilities, Lady> she told the ship and was rewarded with the Lady’s satisfaction at the compliment. She felt Veers move suddenly under her hand and turned her attention to the General. 

Grey eyes clouded with pain blinked up at her in the dim illumination provided by her blaster light. 

“Princess….?”

“Right here, General,” she said. He took stock of the situation, glancing around their snow shelter and returning his gaze to her, stretched at his side.

“Cozy,” he commented, “But already better than Hoth.”

Leia felt for him. That had to have been rather traumatic for him. Piett had shared the bare bones of the Imperial perspective on Hoth, but had merely stated that Veers had nearly been killed in that engagement. 

“Apologies, General,” she said, “But we needed to share body heat…”

He smiled faintly, clearly very tired from blood loss and the cold. “You did exactly right, Princess,” he murmured. “Solo will just have to deal with it.”

She snorted a bit and checked his pulse again. Weaker than before.

“Our...comms won’t be working in this...I assume,” he managed. 

“No,” she agreed, “But help is coming, dear General, so please hold on.”

He cracked an eye open once more to look at her. It was a bit disconcerting to be so close to him---that steely gaze was intimidating even weakened as he was. 

“You know that? Or...just humoring me?”

“I spoke to the Lady,” Leia told him matter of factly. “She has communicated our position to the rescue shuttles.”

“You spoke…..” Veers huffed a sigh. “Well of course you did.”

A pause and Leia shivered. They were becoming more frequent. She started slightly when an arm came over her back and drew her closer to Veers’ chest.

“Can’t have you….freezing with help….on the way,” the General told her. “Firmus just about...crawling out of his...skin then?”

She smiled. “The Lady said he was anxious, but we can likely deduce that he is wanting to lead rescue efforts himself.”

Veers snorted lightly, but she could feel the pain he was trying to suppress and silently urged the shuttles on. 

“I will bet you the next round... of drinks we have together, that Scraps will not... let him off the Lady. Especially to come down into this.”

“I think the Lady would not let him off the Lady for this planet,” Leia agreed, quirking a little smile

But it heartened her to think of her Admiral and know that both he and his ship would never leave them. 

“The...others?” Veers asked after a few moments.

“I don’t know,” she replied softly. “I’m hoping for the best. They’re all rather good at surviving after all.”

He nodded very slightly and she could feel him weakening as the General shivered in his turn. And he had much less blood to keep him warm at the moment. Leia snugged in closer, doing her best and cursing herself for not learning how to do that little warming Force trick that Luke used sometimes. 

But just as she was becoming truly fearful, a bright light shone down upon them as though an angel was coming to make a grand pronouncement, and the Lady surged back into her mind.

<I have found you, Dear One. All will be well.>

And Leia heard voices and felt the tremble of booted feet hitting the ground and knew the Lady was right. 

Chapter Text

“I am sorry, my Lord, but I really do need to know if you understood what I….”

“Admiral.” Lord Vader’s tone was even but it was also the one which had always stopped Piett in his tracks.

“I am quite clear on what you have been dictating.”

Piett had long practice in not rolling his eyes. “Not dictating, my Lord. But this particular area is exceedingly unfriendly to Force users as well as former Imperials. Also I am here under the extreme displeasure of both your daughter and General Veers.”

That eyebrow raised at him and Piett wondered how many times this had happened behind the mask. 

“Indeed, Admiral. I wonder then, that you agreed to come.”

“Because you asked me to, my Lord, and I have learned over the years that a summons from you can mean anything between you’re dying to a djarik game.”

And Piett witnessed Lord Vader snort in open derision. When he smiled like that, Piett got glimpses of the man that was---before the Empire, before the mask. Before the tragedies that had so badly destroyed Anakin Skywalker’s life. 

“You would risk the displeasure of my daughter and the General for djarik, Piett?”

No mistaking the mocking tone. Piett would rise above. As always.

The Admiral had to do a little jog to catch up with the long strides of his commander. 

“You are my commanding officer, sir. So….yes. Yes I would.” He paused because that was not all there was and both of them knew it. And Piett had slowly learned that his Lordship needed to hear that he was more than a former Jedi, Sith, or Supreme Commander. Lord Vader was after all, at core, a man. And a very flawed and broken one at that, who was seeking to atone for the red in his ledger. 

“You are also my friend, my Lord,” he added, internally pleased as he saw the other man’s shoulders relax marginally. “So as far as is possible for me, when you summon me, I will come.”

They were walking from the space port to the pub that Lord Vader had suggested. The city was not large, but it was busy at this time of the evening. It was a crisp and clear night---the sort that made Piett very glad for his overcoat and gloves. The architecture here was older and pleasing to his eye. He felt that it was the sort of thing Myra Veers might have liked and decided he should bring Max down here in a few days.

The Lady was in orbit above them while the princess conducted diplomatic business in the capitol city located in the western hemisphere. Her brother and Solo were with her and she had entered Piett’s office to see if she could coax him to spend a day planetside with her.

“Darling, I am trying to crawl out from under this pile of flimsiwork left from that fiasco with the Phraxyn shipping lanes and…” He tried not to let his deep frustration with that pour out on her.

He paused as the computer flagged an urgent communication. 

“Pardon me, princess,” he said, tapping it and she waved a hand, perching on the arm of his sofa to study the ship model Veers had made for him. 

He opened the message to find that his Lordship just happened to be on this planet as well, incognito. And he needed the Admiral’s assistance, though with what he didn’t say. The princess either felt his surprise or read his face well.

“What's wrong?” she asked. 

“Your Father is here,” he told her, knowing that it would be impossible to hide this from her. And he would rather get this over with. “And he wishes me to join him planetside.”

“Why?” she asked immediately, straightening her stance and frowning slightly.

“He doesn’t say.”

She rolled her eyes. “That man. Admiral…” she trailed off sensing his decision already. “Whenever you two go off on an adventure together, disaster follows.”

“Not always,” he murmured, though he felt the painful truth of her words. On the other hand…

“It seems to be a trait for any mission Skywalkers undertake,” he said, leaning back in his chair to make it very clear he was not seeking to do battle here.

She huffed lightly at him and rose to come around to his chair so she could lean over the back of it. 

“I freely acknowledge that you have a point, Admiral dear, but seeing as you are an honorary Skywalker, you have also made my point for me. Disaster guaranteed.”

He smiled because he couldn’t help it and reached up to pat at her arm. “This is the one thing I must do and you know that.”

“I may know it,” she sighed, sliding her arms over his shoulders, “doesn’t mean I like or understand it.”

He knew that, but could tell she wasn’t going to argue with him and he appreciated it.

“He is my commander, and always will be,” he said simply.

“All right, Admiral of mine,” she said, kissing his temple. “But if either of you need help, please ask for it. And good luck explaining this to the General.”

He had needed that luck when Veers accompanied him to his shuttle, pointing out in clipped and military terms all the things which could be problematic. Piett had also had to withstand the sparking and disapproving eyes of his security lead who was waiting for him by the shuttle landing ramp. 

“Matthew, we have discussed how this works if Lord Vader…”

“Yes sir, we have,” the boy had replied coolly, glancing briefly to Veers. “And I will respect that, Admiral. But I am sure his Lordship will not mind me piloting your shuttle and waiting for you at the landing pad, sir.”

Bold to assume what Lord Vader would not mind, but Piett appreciated it, and couldn’t argue with his officer.

“Bottle of Ryloth scotch if you come back without any incident,” Veers said, skeptical eyebrow firmly in place.

“I’d enjoy that, Max, thank you,” Piett had told him firmly. 

Scraps coughed lightly and Veers didn’t change expression. “I’m not picky about the year but I do prefer the gold label,” the General continued. Piett shook his head.

“Oh ye of little faith.”

“Damn straight.”

So here they were, the Admiral and Lord Vader, and Piett was very keen not to have to get Veers a bottle of scotch. 

“What are we doing here, my Lord?” he asked as they crossed the road toward a brightly lit establishment.

“We are having a drink, Piett,” Lord Vader replied. “Something between dying and djarik. And I note that you have come in uniform despite your concerns about the attitude toward Imperials.”

Piett inclined his head. “I am not on shore leave, my Lord, and the Executor is here on official business. It would not be appropriate for me to be in civilian clothes. And I said that the attitude can be hostile. Not that it will be. Regardless, I am not afraid.”

Another partial chuckle from the ex-Sith. “That you are not, Admiral. Here we are.”

“My Lord, please, I am asking you not to use the Force…”

“Yes, Piett, I was clear. I will withhold from frightening the locals.” The tone was utterly condescending, but Piett would take it. 

They entered the building and the Admiral  appreciated the warmth. Given the part of the city they were in, he surmised that this was quite an old structure. It didn’t have the warmth of old wood that was his preferred type of environment, but the place was illuminated in a golden glow and the use of the lighter local stone was very effective. Potted olive trees dotted the place and Piett wasn’t sure he’d ever seen any of that blood red hue before. 

“We’re really here for….drinks? No covert plans? I’m not about to assist in bringing in some criminal you’ve been tracking, my Lord?” he asked as his commander wound his way through the large room to find a table toward the back of it. 

He shot Piett another amused look from those bright blue eyes, and the Admiral was strongly reminded of Commander Skywalker in the moment.

“Such a suspicious mind, Admiral.”

“Prepared,” murmured Piett, removing his cap and gloves to set them on the table.

“Yes, we’re really here for drinks. Which I shall choose and you will deal with that since you have decided to be so reluctant.”

Piett sighed and Lord Vader smirked at him, their roles long established. It seemed that his Lordship would never tire of baiting his Admiral and Piett would put up with it because he, in turn, knew that it was their strange way of expressing friendship.

“Naturally, my Lord,” he replied, undoing the heavy overcoat and setting it neatly over the back of the chair while Vader moved toward the large green marble bar at the other end of the room. 

Piett sat down and took stock of the room---a long ingrained habit from the Axxilan fleet days. He needed to know potential threats and exits. 

It was not packed, but it was busy. A pleasant murmur of voices filled the space and numerous beings around the galaxy were represented here. Not too surprising perhaps, given the proximity of the pub to the spaceport. A broad staircase led to an upper level which was open and gave the room its airy feel. 

Over there led to the kitchens and there was always an exit to be found through a kitchen. There was another to his left. He could feel the slight draft waft through the room when the doors hissed open and closed. There were no real fireplaces (which Piett also loved. Veers often pointed out that Piett would have done very well to live in the age of nautical sail and he likely wasn’t wrong) but there were torches along all the walls, friendly flames dancing with the shadows they created. 

Lord Vader returned with two brimming pint glasses. Beer this evening then. Piett was rather picky when it came to hops and it would be just like his Lordship to pick something he’d have to choke down. 

But he would do it, and he would do so without batting an eyelid, because even now, Darth kriffing Vader would not get the satisfaction of making Piett visibly perturbed.

The other man set down the glasses and slid into the seat opposite the Admiral, grinning widely. 

“I can feel you activating your stubbornness, Piett. By all means. Try it and employ your power of keeping your face utterly expressionless.”

Piett raised an eyebrow at him in superior fashion, but reached for his glass and raised it to his lips. 

And he had to fight very hard indeed to remain stoic because it was rather good. But of course, no amount of stoicism could hide his reaction from a Force sensitive and Lord Vader nodded knowingly.

“I know you by now, Admiral. You really need to recall just how much I could observe about my officers when I was hidden behind a mask. Leaving the Force aside, I still knew a great deal .”

Piett took another sip and relaxed marginally. 

This was very true and also something he didn’t care to dwell on too much. 

“You have never asked me, Piett, what I thought of you as an officer.”

Piett gave him a look over the rim of his glass and lowered it slowly to the table. “Am I getting a performance evaluation now, my Lord? Seems a bit late in the game, don’t you think?”

Lord Vader chuckled. “You should know that some of your own thoughts when you were Captain under Ozzel amused me mightily. I had precious little to amuse me then, and I did appreciate that.”

Piett gave him a disapproving look. “You see that, right there, my Lord---that leaves me wondering just how much you eavesdropped on all of our minds….”

His commander sighed down at the table. “I didn’t care to all that much, Piett. Only when I needed to ascertain loyalty. Or the mood of certain officers I trusted.”

It was so very strange to hear this. To re-evaluate so many things from those years and picture the man before him, trapped in that hellish suit…

“He wanted you separate from us didn’t he?” Piett asked suddenly. He lowered his voice. “Palpatine? He didn’t want you connecting with us on a more….human level I suppose.”

Vader regarded him steadily. “No. I realized that as well, years into it. He was right to fear that as it turned out. Because it was that very connection that allowed me to have an ally in you. In Veers. My son.”

“He wasn’t counting on the loyalty of the men to a commander who led from the front though,” Piett told him. “They may not have seen you as human, my Lord, but they saw someone who stood with them. Who was loyal to his subordinates no matter how ah….harsh you may have been with discipline.”

And the man opposite him smiled. “It is because you see these sorts of things Piett, that I valued you so much. I knew you were tactically gifted and a man of principle. I had not expected your...well your heart I suppose. That became an important factor when the Lady accepted you so readily. She saw things in you that she valued. I realized that I needed to value them as well.”

Force damn it, Piett had not come expecting this. He was terrible with receiving compliments. But then, of course, Lord Vader knew that too. He swallowed and tried to control the flush that was inevitable when he was given approval. 

“Thank you, sir,” he said. At this juncture several shadows fell across them and he looked up into the dark and unhappy faces of about six men. 

Oh no no no. He had a bottle of scotch riding on this. One time. Just one, where he and Lord Vader had no incident. 

“Most Imperials aren’t stupid enough to show up in these parts,” growled one, gesturing at his uniform.

“I’m glad to hear it,”  Piett responded calmly. “Since I am a former Imperial officer, and current Admiral in the New Republic fleet, I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”

He was using his most ‘Imperial’ tones as the princess liked to say and was aware that his face was cold. 

And Lord Vader, kark his soul, was smirking into his pint glass. There was no hope to be had that Anakin Skywalker would show any moderation in a situation like this. It was up to Piett.

“Former, current. Doesn’t really matter. Hate ‘em all. Just because you’re hiding with the New Republic now, you filthy murderer, doesn’t change anything.”

“You don’t know me---” Piett replied with icy politeness, aware that more men were joining the crowd.

Karking, karking hells…..

“----so I will let your rudeness pass. Clearly you’ve had too much to drink and I suggest you remove yourselves from this establishment before you do something rash.”

“You can go, friend,” another man said to Lord Vader, innocuous in his simple greys and browns. “But I’d watch the company you keep in future.”

“Oh you’re letting me leave?” his Lordship asked, and his grin was predatory. 

Piett glared across at him. They could still salvage this, it didn’t need to be an incident. And if he used the Force they were utterly karked….

Piett rose to draw the attention back to himself. “Rethink what you’re doing here,” he snapped in his best command tones, and was pleased to see a few of them looking nervous. “I assure you, this is not…”

The man was fast, Piett gave him that. He’d been expecting a hit, but not with the left hand. He staggered back against the table, the glasses falling and sending beer to the floor. 

“If the New Republic is keeping such friendly company with former Imps, we shouldn’t be having anything to do with it,” snarled another being. “Your princess is clearly an easily manipulated little sl---!” 

He didn’t finish. Piett’s fist stopped his mouth and all worry about preventing an incident fled his brain. Because there was indeed a part of Piett that was still the kid who’d had to fight viciously for everything he’d ever achieved. And a part of him embraced that this had been inevitable. 

He was here with Lord Vader, who had risen as well and torn into their assailants with relish. They hadn’t asked for this, but now that it was here, well. 

You could take the kid out of Axxila…..

He took several solid hits to the ribs as he danced between his opponents---all of Max’s excellent training second nature to him. He had to keep moving, and he needed to stay on his feet. His stature wouldn’t allow him to do damage with brute force as his Lordship was exerting. He had to give precision strikes---going for vulnerable places and debilitating his enemies. 

His jacket was a slight hindrance, but there was no time to shed it. He punched another man in the throat, and as he went down gagging, Piett added a knee to the groin to keep him on the floor in agony. He could hear the yells and shouting around them, but he had to focus on the people around him as well as his surroundings. He made sure to stay out of the corner and as three of them advanced he pushed himself up onto their table, grabbing one of the chairs by the back as he did so. The high ground was helpful for him and he swung the chair with great effect to one of them before diving for another, taking them both to the floor, and Piett made sure his skull came up under the other man’s chin with punishing force. 

He rolled off and came up with one of their discarded glasses which he smashed on the head of another. 

And then.

Disaster.

His right boot skidded away in the beer on the marble floor and someone’s fist caught him squarely in the left kidney. The bright flare of pain sent him to one knee and then they were on him. Two held his arms as a third swung meaty fists into his face. Piett felt his nose snap and he struggled to slide through their grip. The hands grasped him with punishing force and he was shoved to the ground, feeling the beer soaking into his left side. Something hard hit his back and he realized one of them was wielding a broken chair leg.

He flung up an arm to cover his head, but his other arm was trapped under a heavy boot. He took several more brutal blows to his back when he heard an actual bellow of rage and suddenly the assault upon him stopped.

Don’t use the Force. Please don’t have let him use the Force…

 He rolled, knowing he had broken ribs, and was treated to the sight of Lord Vader at the center of a bar fight. 

He hadn’t used the Force. It was his sheer power, and the added benefit of prosthetic limbs that couldn’t be hurt by assailants such as these. He had a man grasped in each fist---no doubt the two he’d pulled off Piett---and even as he watched, he flung them impossibly far across the room. He was so fast . Piett marveled at this, even as he struggled to get to his feet and to his overcoat.

Vader cut through the remaining fighters like a blade through grass. He was terrifying to watch and clearly the others were finding him terrifying to fight. Piett’s fingers closed on the blaster in his overcoat pocket and he pulled it, making sure it was set to stun before he began methodically picking off anyone coming at them. 

Not his best shots due to a broken nose, but all that mattered was that they made contact. 

One final man went crashing out the front doors, Lord Vader having lifted him over his head to fling him away, and then all was quiet. 

Panting and holding his ribs with one arm, Piett limped up to the bar where the shaking proprietor was clearly on comms with the authorities. 

“Apologies for the mess,” Piett told him, handing him a credit chip. “We will of course, be happy to press charges and if you just hand me that data pad…” he tugged it from the man’s limp fingers. “....I’ll put in the relevant contact information you need. We’re in orbit several days, so we won’t be far.”

He tapped the pad, shoved it back across the counter and turned to retrieve his coat. To his irritation, his adrenaline was leaving him fast and he really really hurt .

But he needn’t have worried. From seemingly out of nowhere, his overcoat appeared and he was helped into it before his commander hauled Piett’s arm over his shoulder and took most of his weight. 

“Wait, wait,” Piett gasped, turning back to the owner. “I’m….I’m going to need a bottle of the gold label Ryloth scotch.” 

“Admiral….” Lord Vader said, clearly puzzled, but Piett was adamant and they waited while the poor man retrieved it and handed it to Piett.

They stepped outside and nearly ran into a tall young man who made an exclamation of distress.

“I heard about a disturbance here...oh Admiral .”

“Not...not our fault,” Piett slurred through bloody lips, and could feel the anger from his security lead coming off of Scraps in waves.

But no more comment was made. Scraps flagged a hover cab and they made it back to the shuttle in record time. Piett submitted to sitting on the medbunk in the hold and allowed them to remove his jacket and shirt to deal with his more severe injuries.

Lord Vader hissed at the bruising he could no doubt see as Scraps administered a pain killer.

“Take us back to the Lady, Lieutenant Commander,” his Lordship ordered quietly, and Matthew knew better than to question that tone. He laid a gentle hand on Piett’s shoulder and then moved to obey.

“If you would hand me that wipe I’ll deal with the blood on my face,” Piett told his Lordship and was irritated to see that his commander had only mild bruises at best. 

Lord Vader handed him the antibacterial wipes and then got to work with the scanner.

He finished and they were left looking at each other for a beat as the shuttle lifted smoothly into atmosphere.

“I truly am sorry, Admiral,” the ex-Sith said at last. “I….did not intend….”

But Piett smiled, painful as it was and checked to see if his nose was displaced. Happily not.

“Sir, those bastards wanted a fight. We did our due diligence in trying to avoid one, but….”

And he enjoyed Lord Vader’s somewhat astonished expression. “Piett. You enjoyed that.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “They insulted your daughter, sir.”

The other man gave him a slow answering smile. “That is true, Admiral. But you wanted to teach them a lesson and Force did you ever. It was pure misfortune that you slipped in the beer.”

“That was not your first bar fight either, my Lord,” Piett responded, tugging his shirt back on painfully. There wasn’t much they could do about his ribs at the moment. 

“No,” his Lordship said after a beat. And they smiled at each other in the perfect understanding of two men who had been forged in the Outer Rim. 

Chapter Text

“How long do these typically last?” Piett asked the Wyxxlian as the lightning lit the atmosphere in a variety of colors. It would be beautiful if he wasn’t so very worried.

“Sometimes hours. Sometimes days,” the native replied in his broken Basic. He ran a hand through the deep blue hair characteristic of his people, large brown eyes distressed on Piett’s behalf. 

Days.

The shuttle had been fried and Piett had only barely managed to land it once more. These storms were quite unique and he had understood with chilling clarity just why these people did not have much in the way of comms equipment. If it could be knocked out at any given moment by these deadly and gorgeous lightning storms, it was understandable. 

He glanced back to the small room where his security lead lay, tossing restlessly as one of the women tried to calm him.

“I need to reach my people,” Piett told the man----what was his name? Lipau. That was it. “Lipau is there any way we can get to them?”

“Yes. Yes a way. But. Two days. And two days.” He held up his elegant fingers so that Piett was sure to understand his meaning. 

“Two there and two back,” Piett translated.

Well. It was worth a try. No doubt Veers, Fox, and Henley were worrying about them as well. 

“I would appreciate it,” he told Lipau.

The leader nodded and spoke in his language to several others. It was an interesting mix of of lilting sounds and clicks. Lipau turned back to him as his people left the dwelling.

“They pack and go in one hour,” he told the Admiral. 

“They know to ask for the Doctor particularly?” he asked, keen that Henley come, and not just his friend.

“Yes, the healer.”

Piett blew out a breath and nodded. “And...is that your healer with my officer?”

Lipau glanced where he was looking to the woman with the long grey and blue streaked braid down her back as she tried to assess Scraps. 

“Yes. I can help you speak.”

Piett nodded and followed the man to the room. Scraps was darkly flushed and his red curls were wet with sweat. Piett and Lipau had removed his jacket and boots, but the olive henley was drenched already and no doubt the sheet beneath him as well. 

The older woman looked up as they approached, face worried. She had two distinctive white marks on her dusky throat---something that only the women had. She and Lipau conversed rapidly and Piett sank to the bed on Matthew’s other side to feel his forehead. 

It was scorching and Piett felt his lungs constrict in anxiety. Surely they would need to try to get that lowered as soon as possible. 

“Matthew,” he whispered, but the boy remained oblivious to his presence, freckles vivid against the whiteness of his face, the fever flush draining as swiftly as it came. 

“She say very sick. Sometimes we see thees fever. But not know the cause.”

“How would you treat it?” Piett asked, not taking his eyes from Scraps’ face. He looked so young like this. Young and vulnerable…

“She say we must fight the fever. Cold. She makes a tea. Good to help.”

“Very well,” Piett said, looking at her wise eyes. “I will be guided by you. And please thank her for me. I am grateful for your kindness.”

Lipau conveyed this and the healer reached across to tap Piett’s chest with her wrinkled hand, saying something as she did so.

He held her gaze. “What did she say?” he asked Lipau.

“She say, your heart is…” he paused, struggling for the word. “...mighty. Yes. Good.”

He didn’t feel like it at the moment.

“Thank you,” he told her. Then he took off his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his henley and got to work.

24 hours later, Piett sat by Scraps’ bed, resting his bowed head o n his hands. His security lead twitched and moaned---most of what he was saying garbled and pleading. Piett wished that he could be the one to go for help, but then he would be leaving Scraps alone without a familiar presence. 

These lovely people had done their utmost to give them generous hospitality. Had worked very hard to even be able to contact the New Republic in a request for aid against what they termed the ‘marauders’. 

In so doing they had inadvertently discovered the secret slaver lane that Lord Vader had been searching for in the last three months. The Lady had gone to investigate with Piett and Veers going planet side to speak with the inhabitants while his Lordship and Skywalker searched the system for traces of space stations and other areas where slavers could try to blend in. 

They had discovered just how deadly these electrical storms were too late to take precautions. While Piett had some mechanical knowledge (largely forced on him by a commander who could literally speak to machines) he was not equipped to repair the shuttle’s fried systems out here. 

So they must wait for the native riders to retrieve help. Thank the Force that Henley had come planet side.

“Please…. Please….” Scraps moaned, turning his head restlessly.

Of course, that would do them no good unless he could get to them in time. 

Piett and Lipau had already changed Scraps from his soaked clothing and then replaced the sheets, but he could see they would likely need to do it again soon. He grabbed the simple clay mug of water and knelt beside the boy’s head once more, having done this many times.

“Come on now, Matthew. Try to drink a little hmm?”

He slid an arm beneath the fever hot head and lifted Scraps slightly to rest against his chest as he held the water to his dry lips.

“Can’t… can’t….I’m sorry…..” his security lead panted, but Piett was firm, trickling it into his mouth, not caring if some ran out the sides.

“You can, dear boy, that’s right, swallow. Just a little more…..” He coaxed Scraps into having a decent amount before replacing the mug on the rude table and retrieving another cloth from the stack one of the women had brought in at his request. He wiped the sweat from the other officer’s face and neck, before running it over the damp curls. 

“Sorry,” Scraps said again and then unnaturally bright eyes were open and piercing into Piett. 

“Dad,” he said clearly. “I’m so sorry . Please Dad. Please talk to me.”

Piett’s heart lurched at this. Matthew’s greatest sorrow---not being able to mend things with the parents who had disowned him before they were killed in a speeder accident. 

He wrung out a cloth in the bowl of cool water beside him and rested it on the younger man’s forehead. 

“It’s all right, Matthew,” he soothed.

“Please, Dad,” Scraps pleaded. “Please, I never stopped loving you. Please , I have to know if...if you still loved me even though you were so angry….”

Piett wanted to scream and weep at the same time. Matthew had no filters at the moment and that plea was welling out of that very sincere and broken heart. He dropped the cloth back into the bowl and moved to get one arm around his boy and rest his head to the fiery warm one of Scraps.

“He loved you, Matthew,” he said, and he could hope it was true couldn’t he? “Dear boy, you are so very loved."

With surprising strength, Scraps reached to grasp Piett’s shoulders and clasp him tightly. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed. Piett shifted slightly so he wouldn’t end up being throttled and allowed Scraps to embrace him before gently moving his arms. 

“Can you stay, Dad? Don’t feel good….”

“I will stay, Matthew,” Piett told him, stroking the red hair. This seemed to sooth Scraps and he fell into a deeper sleep. 

“He is not your blood son then?” Lipau asked from behind him. Piett turned to look at him. The other man was carrying a tray with broth and bread which he set down on the table. 

“No, he’s not my son,” Piett said quietly, accepting the tea Lipau handed him. It was gingery and potent, but he liked it. 

“That is not all true,” Lipau informed him, sipping at his own mug. “Do you not have thees in your culture? Do you not have family that does not share blood?”

Piett pondered this. “You mean...adoption?”

“Is that your word?”

“It is what parents do for orphans or children who need good homes,” Piett answered, running his hand over Matthew’s hair once more. “But as you see, he is grown.”

“That does not stop my people,” Lipau told him, frowning a little. “Age matters not. We have family of the heart.”

Piett looked at him quizzically. It was a strong echo of his princess. “What do you mean?”

Lipau ran a hand through the deep blue hair as he sought for the right words to explain the concept to the Admiral. The colored lightning outside lit the room occasionally, joining the light from the numerous candles. 

“A….friend who is closer to you. The old woman who is like a….grandmother. A child that loves you. All these are family of the heart. We celebrate. Make it known. These are my people. We have….great feasts. Declare to the others---this is the family.”

Piett smiled at him. “You must have a lot of feasts then.”

Lipau nodded and grinned back. “Many. It makes…..strength for the people. Our culture.”

He gestured at the boy under Piett’s hand. “He is...important for you. You do not leave him. He calls for his parent, and you are there. Is he not the son of your heart?”

Piett held that serious brown gaze for a moment before he looked back down to Matthew--calm for the moment under his touch. The young man who had begun as a Rebel soldier willing to work with former Imperials. Who had trained and sweated to join Fox’s security division. Who for some inexplicable reason was dedicated to joining the Admiral’s security team and who ended up leading it. Was willing to die on Piett’s behalf…

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes he is.”

“I will help you fight for him,” Lipau said gravely. 

And it was a fight. 

Piett lost track of all time. Everything revolved around the freckled kid burning before him. 

Changing sweat soaked clothing.

Same for the bedding.

Giving him water in drips and drabs.

Cooling his forehead and hands. 

Trying to eat something himself so as to keep going. 

Nodding off and jerking from sleep with his head on Scraps’ shoulder. 

Comforting a distraught boy as his fever dreams tortured him.

Watching the colorful lightning dance and parry outside.

Piett was standing at the window, hands behind his back and ready to drop in his strain and exhaustion, willing his eyes to see returning figures with a doctor when a weak voice spoke behind him. 

“Sir….?”

He spun on his heel and knelt beside Scraps, searching that pale face. 

Matthew looked so very young and weary, but those eyes knew him, he was certain of it. 

“I’m right here, Matthew.” He took Scraps’ left hand as he often had over these terrible hours, and felt instantly wobbly inside when the officer’s fingers closed around his. 

His security lead studied him for a moment.

“I’ve been….how long...sir?”

“Days,” he replied, trying to keep his voice from trembling and, judging by the understanding in the green eyes, failing miserably. 

“Thought….so. Beard...suits you,” Matthew managed, mouth curling slightly. 

The Admiral sobbed a laugh, bowing his head over the blanket.

“That...bad, Admiral?” Matthew murmured, and Piett looked at him, then tenderly pressed his lips to the boy’s head. 

“That bad, son.”

And at last, at last , he heard familiar voices approaching from the other room, Henley’s dominant among them. 

Scraps sighed in content and gripped Piett’s hand more firmly. 

“You were...here though, sir. All I….need.”

“We’ll stick with each other then,” Piett told him as Lipau led Veers and Henley to them. 

Chapter Text

Anakin waited, sitting on the other bed in the private suite and adjusting himself to the new oxygen mask. 

It was so very strange to be reminded every second that he was no longer in the suit. 

He was no longer in the suit.

And the wonderful, heroic, reason for that was sitting across from him with his shirt off as Henley gave a final check to the white scars crossing all over his son’s body. 

Dark Force scars. Not likely to ever go away. 

Anakin was fiercely glad all over again that he had slain Sidious personally. And if his joy over the death of another was of the Dark side he was kriffing all right with that. Sidious had tried to kill his son . 

Henley finished his check.

“The bacta did its work, Commander. You’re doing very well indeed. I need to enter a few things in the system for your records,  but then I can come back and discharge you.” He spun to pierce Anakin with a stern eye.

“ You , on the other hand, my Lord, will need to stay here a day or two more while we adjust medications and make sure you don’t collapse the moment you leave my care.”

Luke wasn’t hiding his grin at this evidence of at least one person willing to stand fearlessly up to his Father. 

Cheeky brat , Anakin thought at him, even as he gave Henley his most unimpressed look--recalling again that the man could actually see it now. 

“You released my Admiral and he had far more dire injuries than I.”

Henley snorted derisively. “I released him to his quarters, my Lord. Hardly active duty. Besides, my sickbay was going to be overrun with all the people coming ‘just to check on him’.”

Anakin was aware and rather obscurely glad that Piett had such a support network, given the nine hells Anakin had put him through over the years, let alone the last few days. 

Henley departed for his office, and Father and son were left to look at each other. 

This remarkable boy who had fought so hard for his Father’s redemption---so very sure that Anakin Skywalker was in there. And….he’d been right. 

He bore the marks of his faith now for the rest of his life. 

“Luke….” Anakin began, raising a hand to gesture at the white network as his son reached for his simple black shirt.

“I know what you’re going to say, Father,” his son interrupted, tugging on the black shirt and doing up the clasps. “I do not mind them. They don’t hurt----”

Anakin raised an eyebrow.

“--- much anymore.”

He hopped off the exam bed with an agility Anakin envied and came to stand before him. 

“I would gladly have given far more to defeat Sidious,” Luke said seriously. He studied Anakin’s face as he had been doing ever since the mask had been removed and Henley got to work on doing what he could. But Anakin was aware of just how awful he must appear to others.

Luke smiled suddenly and placed a gentle hand on the raised scar crossing Anakin’s cheekbone. 

“I don’t see a monster,” his son told him. “I see a man who was broken inside and out, and chose to fight back anyway. For me. And….others.”

Leia’s name was not easy to speak between them. After the initial meeting with the Rebels post Endor, she had refused to see him. He didn’t blame her---the girl he’d wronged so very badly.

My daughter, Force help me, I hurt her, mocked her pain….

Luke sighed and bent his head to rest it against Anakin’s. 

“One thing at a time. The cost of living is going to be high, Father. And all of us bear scars far deeper than physical ones.”

Anakin brought his prosthetic hand up to rest on that slim shoulder. 

“I….am not well practiced in….asking for help, my son.”

Luke snorted gently, but didn’t move away. “Yeah. Understatement of a lifetime. But...you won’t have to ask. I’ll just give it, how about that?”

And Anakin Skywalker wept in his son’s arms. 

Chapter Text

The boy’s sister had arrived. Which was just as well because Fox was getting rather karking pissed about having to keep the kid’s blood in his body. 

He had no business bleeding this much. He was a kriffing Jedi and Fox was frankly offended by this. 

He had not asked for the kid to wade into the knot of assailants Fox was surrounded by on the battlefield. He could handle himself thank you---he wasn’t Rex or Cody or any other of those long lost clone commanders who had seemed to want to stick by a Jedi. 

But once Skywalker had arrived (with all of the classic family flair---vaulting in from out of nowhere and throwing out a hand to create a ring of unconscious bodies) it wasn’t like Fox could just tell him to leave again. Not with Goolsby white and unmoving at Fox’s feet. Not with the General somewhere across the field in a location that didn’t include Fox. 

So they had fought back to back, somehow managing to keep Goolsby between them the whole time, and fine, they worked well together. He was professional---he could admit that. 

And who-- for kriff’s ever loving sake-- still used projectile weapons? Could these criminals and drug lords not afford modern technology? Really ?

Fox was finding himself personally offended by a great many things at the moment. But then he frankly had that right because his hands were the ones covered in the kid’s blood, and he was the one having to admit that might mean something to him. 

Those desperate, pleading tones surely couldn’t be his could they? He called for help in a stern, serious manner. 

The kid stirred under his pressure. “Gonna….gonna be ok, Fox.”

“No,” Fox snapped to him. “You don’t comfort me, kid. Not how this works.”

“Commander…” Force sake, the kid was a wormy little tooka. 

“Don’t move, Skywalker! Trying to keep all of this blood inside. MEDIC!” 

He didn’t have a sitrep on the General who was supposed to be his primary charge on the field. Goolsby was uselessly unconscious and if he died, Fox would suspend his ass for it because he was not having another one die when he was right there , damn it.

In short, this situation was karked, and Fox wanted to DESTROY. He did not like feeling helpless in any way, and this reminded him far too heavily of the moment the chip was disabled and he had no idea what to do.

The kid’s fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“Goolsby’s gonna be...ok. Not serious,” he managed, and really ? He was bleeding like a stuck bantha, but he had to reassure Fox that one of his team was all right. Not that he was worried about that per say….

But then a small hand rested on his armored shoulder and the princess was kneeling beside her brother.

“I’ve got him now, Commander,” she said reassuringly, placing her hand over his on the kid’s abdomen. 

“You’re sure…” he said, reluctant to move his hand. So much blood….

“I’m sure, Commander Fox,” she replied gently and even as he watched, Skywalker was relaxing as his sister’s healing powers took effect. “Thank you,” she continued. “You two were remarkable.”

“Very,” said another voice on Fox’s left, and another knot of worry unspooled as Veers took a knee by Goolsby to open a med kit and pull out a scanner. “If Skywalker hadn’t been hit I think you two could have single handedly routed them.”

“Make...a good team,” the kid’s voice said from the ground, and he met those clear blue eyes watching him with the understanding that Fox both appreciated and desired to spurn.

“You’re still going to need bacta,” he commented sternly, and the damned Jedi child grinned at him. 

“I don’t mind….sickbay the way the rest of you...stubborn di’kut do,” he said and Fox was not amused at the use of the Mando’a, he was not .

“Shush, Luke, you’re breaking my concentration,” the princess scolded.

And Fox wanted to stand and walk away--above it all now that everyone would be all right. But….

“He’ll be all right?” he asked gruffly. 

Veers shot him a glance but made no comment. It was why he was the ideal officer to work for. 

“He’ll be all right,” her highness agreed. 

As he’d known. He rose to go look for a grave sled. Least he could do for the kid. 

Chapter Text

This was not the end of things on which Veers expected to find himself. 

This wasn’t his job even though he was current in emergency field care training. This…..this right here , wasn’t his job. 

“General,” Fox said, and he realized that the commander had had to repeat his name. “Sir, I need you to deal with the shrapnel in his shoulder so it doesn't get septic.”

The cold business tones of his security lead helped Veers return to his own more objective actions.

He had to ignore the mangled shuttle behind them, and the smell from the bodies of those who hadn’t made it out and were now burning in the destruction. He had to focus on the still living form under his hands. 

Though that had been in question mere minutes ago as the medic had needed to give CPR to get the heart going again and hadn’t that been an awful moment.

So the General became ‘Iron Max’ indeed and worked to carefully remove shrapnel as ordered while Fox labored over a splint for the leg, and the medic exerted himself mightily over the severe wound in the abdomen.

Goolsby, keen to help but mostly getting in the way, had been ordered to stay on patrol around them just in case any more hostiles were in the area. Veers knew that it wasn’t likely, and Fox knew it too, but the clone commander was giving the younger man something to do and it was actually useful. 

“There,” the medic said, sitting back and using the back of a bloody hand to wipe sweat from his forehead. “Not great but he’s as stable as I can make him at the moment.”

“Can we get him back up to the Lady now?” Veers asked, running a scanner over the shredded flesh he’d been working on and confirming that he’d removed all the shrapnel. He began to clean the area with the antiseptic wipes.

“As soon as the Commander secures the leg, yes sir.”

Fox tapped at his ear piece, pausing in tying the splint as he listened.

“General, Commander Skywalker reports the skies are free and clear now. They’re running a CAP anyway just to keep our route secure.”

That was one less thing to worry about then. Veers moved aside to allow the medic to finish with the shoulder wound. Then it was a matter of all of them lifting the unconscious man to the grav sled and beginning to move back to Veers’ shuttle.

“He’s going to make it?” he asked as steadily as possible, sternly not allowing his mind to go down a path that did not include the man they were transporting.

“He should, General,” the medic replied, “He’s a tough old bast----” he paused, recalling that he was speaking to the Senior General. “He’s tough,” he amended lamely. “No doubt he’ll wake up to immediately criticize my treatment.”

Goolsby snorted lightly and Veers couldn’t blame him as they boarded the shuttle. 

Henley would do exactly that. But if it meant the Doctor survived to bless them all with his krayt sized ego another day, Veers would listen to him gladly. He looked at the unnaturally still face of their Chief Medical Officer and back up to Goolsby.

“Take us home,” he ordered. 

Chapter Text

There were just….days, Scraps decided. 

He really couldn’t describe them any other way. It would either take too long or he just wouldn’t have the vocabulary to describe them. 

So they just…. were . 

He knew right away this was one of them. 

He ran up the last bit of the dune, legs burning as he coped with the strain of running in sand to reach his fallen commander. 

Fox was already struggling to remove the cuisse from his left thigh, and the red splattering the white plasteel was not just the paint of the Coruscant guard. 

Veers and Goolsby were also making their labored way to him, the General cursing impressively as he came. 

Veers hated sand largely because it was so very terrible for his Herd. Scraps didn’t feel the same way, as he loved oceans and beaches, but this sand? Yeah, he could get behind hating it. 

Hot and shifting and making each step a battle. 

He knelt beside the commander as Fox finally managed to remove the armor and they got a look at the wound in his thigh.

Not arterial, thank the Force.

“Don’t panic kid,” Fox growled, slapping away his hand. “It’s just a scratch.”

“You….it’s…..Sir, you just fought a krayt dragon ,” Goolsby panted, still winded from his torturous climb up the dune. 

Scraps opened the medkit at his belt and appreciated that the General was doing the same. He’d been so focused on the wound, and now that he knew Fox’s life wasn’t on the line, he allowed himself to pay attention to the huge carcass sprawled behind them, its black blood creating a torrent down the other side of the dune. 

“Retrieve my knife would you, Scraps?” Fox asked calmly as Veers handed him antibacterial wipes to clean off the blood. “And shut your mouth, Goolsby, you look gormless.”

He exchanged a look with Goolsby who snapped his mouth shut immediately.

“I’ve got this,” Veers said firmly, in a tone that was clearly also meant for his security lead. Fox sighed long sufferingly.

Scraps and Goolsby staggered to their feet and made their way down to the black krayt. Scraps could just see the handle of Fox’s knife imbedded in its throat.

“That’s ah...that’s made of beskar right?” Goolsby asked as Scraps stepped gingerly over the outstretched front leg, noting the claws that were as long as his forearm. 

“Yeah,” he answered shortly, as he moved to the creature’s head, able to see the massive gashes in its face from said knife as well as the destroyed mess of the right eye. 

Even from a distance, Fox’s battle had been….impressive didn’t even cover it. 

“Oh KARK, sir!” Hatley had yelled, her macrobinoculars glued to her face.

Scraps whipped his own up in time to see the black scaled tail lash their clone commander off of his speeder bike. 

No. Why. They were here for a simple show of strength to quell restless smuggling groups. To remind them that the New Republic did indeed pay attention to the Outer Rim. 

Veers had brought four of his Herd and they had several divisions of troopers. Scraps and Hatley had joined them planetside to help out and give themselves a refresher in dealing with desert combat. 

This was NOT what he’d had in mind. 

Fox rolled in the sand and came up with his DC-17s in hand and firing. The shots merely rebounded off the hard scales of what was clearly a lesser krayt, or the commander wouldn’t have stood a chance. 

The creature roared in anger and charged him. A huge blast knocked it off course, and Scraps swung his binocs to see that Veers’ AT-AT had fired at it. 

Even that only slowed it down. Scraps watched Fox holster his weapons and draw the knife from its calf sheath before the krayt was on him and blocked him from Scraps’ view

There were no damn speeder bikes available. 

Scraps ran and saw Goolsby and Veers doing the same as they exited the walker.

Fox danced away from the creature and swiped at its outstretched head, taking out the eye in a gush of dark blood. It screamed in pain and reared up to leap from its powerful hind legs. Fox darted in---UNDER ITS HEAD--- to bring his arm down as solidly as possible in its exposed throat. 

Both of them rolled on the sand --the huge body of the krayt blocking the clone from their view as they all labored up the dune.

Scraps yanked the beskar blade free and cleaned it off on his uniform trousers as best he could. 

“Karking insane,” Gooslby hissed at him as they stared a moment more at the dead beast, the hot sun already causing it to smell. But Scraps could tell that Goolsby was not upset by this fact about their clone commander. 

He grinned briefly at his friend before they turned back toward Veers and Fox. 

“And that, Goolsby is our superior officer and the one who trains us how to keep our officers safe.”

“Is he ever,” Goolsby breathed reverently.

Chapter Text

“Go ahead,” Veers told the last of the scum sucking sons of a Hutt who faced him trembling. “See if you can make it.” 

He watched the Weequay gauge the distance to his weapon. The bodies of his less fortunate compatriots lay smoking on the floor—- put there largely by Scraps and Veers. 

The boy’s face was cold in a way it rarely was and he held his blaster rifle steady, though his finger was relaxed on the trigger. They both knew this one was Veers’. 

The pirate lunged and then fell—- Veers’ shot having taken him through the eye. Yes he could have tried to take him prisoner. 

Couldn’t be bothered. 

“Fan out,” the General ordered. “These people will kill you without blinking. Blasters on kill.”

He knew he was treading a certain line very closely. Hells he was dipping his boot over it. And he could give a Force damn about that. 

Because these wastes of carbon had taken Firmus . They’d taken his wonderful, big hearted friend who had suffered so much already in his life and Veers had a standard of treatment for beings who dared raise a hand to the Admiral. It was a very simple standard as it involved two options---his fists or his blaster. 

Piett had been taken with Hatley, who was assigned to him at the time. He hated to think what they would find. He knew by the set of Scraps’ jaw that the thought had already occurred to him as well. 

The Admiral had value. 

Hatley did not.

At least to people like these. 

He and Scraps separated at the lower level and Veers tapped his earpiece. 

Stay in touch.

Scraps nodded grimly and then turned down the corridor to the left. Veers heard blaster fire deeper in the compound and felt fierce and vicious joy.

More justice then.

He fired at each door pad he came to, scanning the rooms for life before moving on.

He was just starting to worry that perhaps they had been wrong, that perhaps Piett and Hatley had already been moved, when the door hissed open and there he was. 

Veers felt equal parts hurt on his friend’s behalf and rage at those who had done this to him. 

Piett had been stripped to his skivvies and Veers could see the slightly blue mottled tint to his skin. He was chained to the wall at the wrists and ankles, unable to move nearly at all. 

But that was not what had Veers ready to tear apart the next pirate that came into his sphere with his bare hands. 

The Admiral’s ears were covered with a bright orange substance that Veers recognized as a noise cancelling polymer. A black and chrome device that looked a great deal like night vision goggles was covering his eyes and Veers knew they would not allow his friend to see. A wide piece of adhesive was covering his mouth. Entirely unnecessary as Piett would not have been heard here even if he shouted his lungs out.

A form of white torture. Black torture , Veers thought grimly. 

But Piett had clearly sensed that someone had come into the room. The shift in air currents had no doubt alerted him as he tilted his head toward the door. 

Veers holstered his weapon and moved swiftly to the Admiral’s side. 

Ears first. Reassure him. No matter what, Piett wouldn’t appreciate hands being laid on him in this helpless state. 

He couldn’t avoid it, but he hated the bastards who had done this anew. He tapped at the edges of the orange polymer and Piett tried to move his head away. Veers couldn’t help the involuntary hand he placed over his friend’s chest---over his heart. He patted twice, hoping the kindness in the touch would translate

Then he turned his attention once more to the polymer. Piett’s breathing was rapid and harsh through his nose. He needed to move quickly before the Admiral had a panic attack. Usually if one tapped the polymer like so….

There.

The orange substance shrank and he pulled it off with little effort. 

“Firmus,” he said, pitching his voice low. If Piett had been subjected to this the whole four days, his senses would be tender.

Immediately that brown head became still and his friends’ breathing became more rapid.

“You’re safe now,” Veers said, moving to the other side and tapping the polymer in that ear. He discarded them to the floor and examined the adhesive covering Piett’s mouth. 

“I’m going to free your mouth, all right? It might sting a bit. I promise you my friend, it’s going to be all right. The team is all here.”

And he was encouraged when the Admiral nodded once, very briefly. He was coherent enough to understand. That was something.

Veers believed in a ‘get it done’ approach and grasped the edge before pulling it off swiftly. 

Piett gasped but was clearly glad to be rid of it.

“Max.”

“Right here in front of you. Thoughts on how to remove this device over your eyes?”

But Piett had more urgent concerns to convey.

“ Hatley ,” he gasped hoarsely. “Max, Hatley was here. They….they said they were going to torture her to death. Please… .”

Veers felt sick. Sweet, little firebrand Hatley… .“Scraps is looking for her, Firmus. Hold on.”

He tapped his commlink. “Scraps, I’ve located the Admiral. He’s intact. Anything on Hatley?”

“I’m with her, General. She’s ah….she’s recovering from a rather extreme anxiety attack, sir. I’m going to try and bring her to you---reassure her that the Admiral’s alive.” The boy lowered his voice. “You’re certain he’s all right…?”

“Nothing serious in that sense, Scraps, yes. You have our location?”

“Yes, sir.”

“See you soon.”

He turned his attention back to his friend. “She’s all right, Piett.”

“You...you’re sure ?” the Admiral asked anxiously. “Right before they….they put me in all this, they told me what they would do…and I couldn’t hear her...I didn’t know… .!” 

“Scraps is bringing her here. It’s the only way to show both of you. Now….”

There. That looked like a small release button toward the back of Piett’s head. Veers depressed it and a clasp sprang open. He loosened it further and pulled it apart before cautiously removing it from Piett’s face.

His friend was left squinting at him even in the low light of the cell. Veers turned his attention to Piett’s restraints and was relieved to see they were standard and fairly outmoded. He depressed the right combination and the Admiral’s hands were free. He made a small noise of distress as his arms dropped, but he was able to hold himself upright.

“Just a little longer,” Veers told him, kneeling. “Get a hand on my shoulder, Firmus, before I release your ankles...good.”

He released the catch to those chains and Piett leaned heavily upon him as Veers moved to get an arm around him and allow him to sink to the floor. He did his best to overlook the further sounds of pain, knowing Piett didn’t want attention drawn to that. 

Then he shrugged out of his duty jacket and knelt again to draw it around his friend’s slight frame.

“I’ll have them look for your uniform,” he told him, passing on this command to the troopers.

He remained kneeling in front of Piett who clasped the General’s jacket around himself gratefully.

“You’re….you’re not injured beyond the bruises I can see?” Veers asked him, still using low tones. Piett shook his head. 

“No. I….how long…?”

“Four days,” Veers stated, running a hand over the stubble on his jaw. Four awful, nightmare inducing days where he barely slept and ate only because he knew he must keep up his strength. And if he had suffered….

Recalling that he needed to alert someone else, he contacted the cruiser which had brought them here and asked them to relay the good news to the princess. She had been deeply invested in high level and very secret negotiations with another system and couldn’t be pulled away from that. The conversation with her, when Veers had to inform her that Piett had been taken, had been terrible. 

She had tried and failed to contact the Admiral in that special connection they had. Veers thought he understood now why she had been unable to reach him.  If Piett had been deprived of his senses like this and was so focused on worry for Hatley, he was likely not very receptive to her Force touch.

That was clearly not a problem anymore. His mouth curled slightly as the Admirals’ head tilted sharply as though listening to something. Then Piett met his eyes and gave him a small smile. 

“She’s fairly happy to reach you then?” he asked his friend knowingly.

“Yes,” Piett replied. There was a short pause. “Only four days, Max?” he asked quietly. “It felt so….so much longer.”

“I can imagine,” Veers said sympathetically. “I think we’ll be able to easily make our case to the New Republic for patrols of this sector now.”

Piett snorted lightly and leaned his head back against the reddish stone. “I should think so.”

A trooper entered at this juncture and saluted.

“Sir! Good to see you!” 

Piett winced heavily at the volume, and Veers frowned terribly at the man.

“Yes, what is it?” he snapped and it wasn’t fair---the trooper couldn’t know what Piett had been subjected to, but the General was feeling fairly protective at the moment.

“Ah….apologies sir, but we located the Admiral’s uniform and I thought….”

“Thank you, trooper,” Piett told him quietly.

“I brought a medkit too, General, just in case…”

Veers rose and took the pile of clothing and the kit. “Thank you---what’s your name?”

“Green, sir.” 

“Well done, Green. See if Lieutenant Commander Scraps needs anything would you?”

“Sir.” He saluted sharply and left.

Veers turned back to see that Piett was making his painful way to standing once more, hand braced on the wall behind him. 

Veers handed him an article of clothing at a time, and it was a somewhat surreal experience to watch his friend piece himself slowly back together. A metaphor he hoped, for what he was doing internally as well. 

Veers did the clasps of his jacket up when it became clear Piett couldn’t raise his arms much beyond his chest. Then he took a knee again to assist him in getting into his boots.

“Thank you,” Piett told him and he looked more assured and less lost than he had. Piett’s armor was his uniform in many ways, and while Veers didn’t want him to retreat behind it, he could appreciate that his friend drew strength from it at the same time.

“You know Henley is going to insist on bacta for your muscles,” Veers informed him with a small grin. 

“You know, Max,” the Admiral responded, leaning tiredly against the wall, “I’m not going to say no. I think I can feel every single one.”

Admitting to weakness was a good sign with Piett---he wasn’t shoving his traumas down.

And then there were voices in the corridor. Veers placed his hand on his blaster, but he needn’t have worried.

Scraps appeared in the doorway, supporting the much shorter Hatley.

****************

Piett felt shaky and sore and unsure. 

He hated it.

Everything was intensified and he wanted to lash out. To finally move and do something after his forced helplessness. 

Max was exactly the right person to be with him in the moment. He didn’t speak very much and just did the practical things as well as the kindness of wrapping his jacket around the Admiral. Piett had forgotten that he was cold until the contrast of the warmth under the gaberwool brought it back. 

He accepted the Generals’ reassurances about Hatley with his rational mind. But his gut still stirred in terrified acid that maybe….maybe they were just pacifying him. Didn’t want him to know the truth until he was in a safer medical environment…

The arrival of his uniform was welcome despite the loud voice of the trooper who’d brought it. He put it on slowly, every single muscle letting him know in no uncertain terms that it had been abused. But he felt better for getting it on. He was himself on that level at least and he was most definitely warmer . 

Max was opening the medkit, no doubt to treat his raw wrists when Piett raised his eyes to the door and saw Matthew with his arm around a red eyed Hatley.

There was a beat where Piett assessed her swiftly with his gaze, his eyes telling him that she was all right for the most part. That she hadn’t been tortured in the horrific ways his mind had been telling him.

And then she broke from Scraps’ hold to stagger to him, fresh tears on her face.

“Admiral. Admiral, they said….they told me…” she was hiccupping sobs and of course Piett was going to reach for her and hold her close. He needed to feel her as much as she needed to touch him----to have the reality of bone and muscle and breath under each other’s hands. 

“I’m sorry,” she gasped into his chest, “I’m so sorry. I should have…”

“No, Hatley,” he murmured into her blonde hair. “No, dear girl, don’t you dare blame yourself. You did everything you could.”

And she had. She’d fought like a Loth wolf for him after he’d been hit with the tranq dart. His last memories before waking up in his cell had been of her literally standing over him, blaster firing unceasingly. 

“We were able to find you because you had the presence of mind to drop your commlink, Hatley,” Scraps told her and Piett met his eyes over her head. He could see the strain of the last four days in Matthew’s face as well, but both of them knew that Hatley needed him in this moment. 

“They said….oh, Admiral they said they were doing such awful things to you. They would come and tell me every day and….”

So she had not been deprived of her senses then. They had tormented her a different way. 

“I tried to escape…” 

He pulled one of her arms from the grip she had around him to raise it and see the bacta bandages around her wrist.

“I’m so very grateful you’re all right,” he told her, then glanced to Veers. “Have we contacted her family….?”

His friend nodded. “Yes.”

“You’re going to take some leave, Lieutenant,” he told her as she raised her head at last, to look at him with a red and ravaged face. “Your parents need to see you and hold you too.”

He smiled at her as she nodded, a little bit of the Hatley he knew creeping back into her expression. 

“Can you promise not to leave the Lady while I’m gone, Admiral?” she asked, and Scraps made a sound of agreement.

“I think I can manage that,” he replied.

Utterly no one commented or made any sort of face on the ride back up to the cruiser when Piett sat beside Hatley to keep his arms around her the whole time. 

Chapter Text

“Father!” he shouted, his body vibrating like an ancient tuning fork. “Father please !” 

“I am trying my son!” Anakin yelled back, all his attention fixed on the poisonous blue object casting a strange glow on his face as he stood over it. 

“I can’t stop…..Father….I can’t stop !” Luke almost sobbed this last, his outstretched arms shaking as he fought the unseen force controlling him. 

And before him, three dear friends had their hands to their throats, desperately trying to heave in air as Luke slowly throttled them to death.

Well. Not Luke .

Whatever Force damned thing was controlling him from that awful Dark Side object.

“Not….not….your...fault…..Luke….” Wedge managed to wheeze. He was still standing, though Hobbie and Saunders were on their knees already on the rocky earth. 

The most terrible part of this was that Luke was himself. He didn’t want this. Was fighting with everything in him against this. But his body was simply not HIS at the moment and somehow, neither was the Force. 

The forgiveness in Wedge’s eyes was more painful for Luke than any kind of retribution. He could feel the sweat rolling down his face as he strained to fight against the sadistic force making him slowly murder some of his dearest friends. Friends he had fought with side by side for years. Friends who hadn’t ever left him behind and had shed blood on his behalf. 

“Father!” Luke screamed, and Anakin roared in answering anger at the object he was trying to manipulate. Then, the rims of his eyes turned gold and the blue artifact trembled. 

“Father….” Luke wept in despair. He couldn’t have Anakin save them all at the expense of the Dark side.

The former Sith thrust out his hands once more. “I promise you, Luke, I will not allow it to control me,” he declared. “But this is the only way and the only power it recognizes.”

He could see his Father’s black gloves begin to burn off, exposing the prosthetics beneath. The durasteel hands began to glow a dull red in whatever energy was being given off by the object. 

Anakin frowned horribly and braced his powerful body--- shoving in the Force at the object. 

And it exploded outward in tiny shards. 

Luke was free.

He dropped his hands at last and raced to his friends----all lying unmoving on the hard ground now.

“Wedge,” he gasped, aware that his face was wet with sweat and tears. He turned the Corellian as Anakin joined him, utilizing the Force to do the same to Hobbie and Saunders---his prosthetics were still too hot to use. 

“Please, please…” Luke was repeating, desperate for any sign. Desperate to know he had not just murdered his friends personally…

And Wedge heaved in a breath.

Chapter Text

She waited impatiently in the bank. It was merely a small local branch and therefore a transfer of this size took patience. She was wearing very thin on that commodity because time was very much not on her side.

She resisted the urge to touch her lightsabers---not wanting to draw attention to the fact that she had them. She kept her hood up, though her face was not in shadow so as not to seem suspicious to the tellers. 

Hurry up you browsing herd of Nerfs! She thought urgently.

She didn’t have time.

More accurately, Rex didn’t have time. 

Finally the Toydarian teller winged his way toward her. He was ancient and wizened and she wanted to scream at how slowly this was all going. 

“Here you are then….” he told her, gradually extending a shaking limb holding a credit chip. “All is prepared….”

She barely managed not to snatch it from him. 

“Thank you!” She flung over her shoulder as she moved swiftly out of the doors. Ahsoka merged seamlessly into the busy flow of life out on the dingy streets, everyone illuminated by the garish and colorful signs advertising literally everything all around them.

She took a turn down a narrow alley and then broke into a run.

Do you have him?

She growled in frustration at the intrusion.

Don’t distract me, Skywalker.

He came back right away and even at this distance in the galaxy, his urgency and underlying concern could be felt.

Should I come?

I can handle it , she sent back immediately. But thank you, Anakin.

She moved swiftly through the underbelly of the city. Once a grasping hand tried to stop her and she was vaguely aware that the Clawdite was brandishing a knife. She didn’t even stop---merely thrust her hand out behind her and the being was flung into a pile of trash.

There. 

That building. She could sense him, having become quite attuned to his signature over the years even though he was a non Force sensitive. Someday, she and Leia would talk, as Anakin had mentioned the nature of her bond with Piett, but right now she must focus on Rex.

She took a moment in the shadows to compose herself and draw her hood back up over her lekku before she turned to the entrance. A massive Ishi Tib stood before her, arms folded forbiddingly. She sent a Force suggestion at him gently and waited calmly as he frowned and then stood aside, pushing the button to allow the door to slide back. 

She slipped in and was hit by the wall of noise, sound, and smells in the dim blue light. She followed the steep metal steps down two stories and came around the corner into the top balcony. 

The roaring was deafening and the auctioneers would never be able to hear the bids. Thus why they paid attention to the chits which sent alerts to their data pads. 

She slowly made her way through the beings, being as unobtrusive as possible. She focused again on Rex’s Force signature. She could tell that he was anxious but was doing his best to stifle that. She needed to see him---see the sort of restraints they had him in.

At last she politely shoved her way near the front of the platform which was at the bottom of the immense room---much like a lecture hall back on the elite educational institutions of Coruscant. 

She scanned all the unfortunate beings at the back of this platform---shackled and bowed while waiting for their turn under the auctioneer’s gavel. As she watched, a familiar powerful figure was shoved forward. 

They’d taken his shirt to display his impressive physique though they’d left him his trousers and boots. She could see bruises and terrible red marks on his back. This made sense to her moments later when the man in charge grinned and swing his heavy stick into the clone Captain’s back. Rex grunted, but stood tall and glared over the heads of the cheering crowd.

“You see?” the man called, the voice modulator on his throat amplifying his volume. “He is strong! He can work very hard! He can fight! You may need to train him as he is...rebellious.” 

Ahsoka could feel the sadistic anticipation of numerous potential buyers. And the bidding began.

She entered on the fourth bid, only offering a thousand more than the last. She had no desire to be too flamboyant. She wasn’t Anakin after all. 

She knew the moment Rex spotted her in the crowd. The platform was brightly lit and he was squinting fiercely but she could feel when his shoulders relaxed.

It was humbling to have someone trust you that much.

At last the bidding was between Ahsoka and a being across the room and further up the balcony. And she was forced to make increasingly notable credit adjustments. She was so grateful for Anakin and his deep pockets.

At last she made a significantly higher bid and the crowd rumbled around her. 

“No other takers?” Called the auctioneer. “Going once...going twice….!”

For a moment Ahsoka allowed herself to hope that perhaps she could just ‘purchase’ Rex and walk away.

That was dashed when a roar rose even above the noise of the crowd.

“I challenge this bid! This lot is mine!” 

Ahsoka closed her eyes briefly. Then she opened them and met Rex’s steady brown gaze. He raised an eyebrow and she gently waved two fingers at him.

“Mine!” roared the challenger, wading toward her, shoving other bidders aside.

Numerous things happened simultaneously.

Rex’s chains fell off at her bidding. 

Ahsoka tossed him a blaster.

And the being (a Trandoshan) reached her, grabbing her by the throat as other beings cleared out, screaming.

As he lifted her, she drew her lightsabers to bring them up and shear off his hand before dropping back to the floor lightly.

Rex leapt off the platform next to her.

“We were very close to just doing this the easy way,” he commented as they began to run back up the stairs.

“I tried!” she yelled over her shoulder.

“I know,” he agreed, grinning through the bruises. 

As they reached the doorway Ahsoka turned once more, focusing her power on the other hapless prisoners on the platform. 

Their chains clattered to the floor and she moved back to Rex as they sprinted out the doors.

“That was kind,” he told her.

“Are you going to be all right?” she panted, the wounds on his bare back very apparent. She was very tempted to murder all of the kriffing slavers back there.

“I’ll be fine, Tano,” he responded, grinning at her. “I take it the credits came through from the General?”

I have him, Anakin , she sent. Aloud, she said, “Yes. And he was very worried.”

“Good of him,” Rex returned as they continued to dodge and weave through the dark alleys toward their ship. 

Thank the Force. And I wasn’t worried.

Whatever you need to tell yourself, she told him.

Chapter Text

Anakin had no mercy. 

Hot rage was bubbling below his surface much like magma under a solid crust. But he must keep it there and not allow it to overflow. That way lay the Dark---not Balance.

He swung smoothly and powerfully, allowing his purple blade to slice through the panicking Rodian frantically firing a blaster at him.

One down. 

For Veers---newly freed and far too pale and underweight as he dropped to his knees on the reddish soil at the cavern’s entrance---anguish written all over his features.

Anakin continued on, reaching out a black gloved hand as the second perpetrator shoved a massive rock from the ledge above the path.

He swept it effortlessly aside--the Force singing with awful justice in his blood as he used his power to crush the being like a handful of dried clay.

Two down.

For Leia--holding her Admiral and extending her powers to the utmost to save the man she loved so much more deeply than she would ever be able to love Anakin. 

The last one was fleeing across the metal catwalks suspended far above the huge mining shaft. He turned to fire at Anakin and he held up a hand, allowing the shots to ricochet off of his prosthetics. Then he made the blaster heat up to the point that the man screamed in pain and dropped it. 

In the second that he looked down, Anakin leapt--improved prosthetics making this much easier---and landed thunderously right in front of his quarry. The metal walkway trembled under them and the man held his hands up and away from his body.

“Perhaps a bargain…?” he asked, then a wrist blade snapped forward from under his sleeve.

Laughable.

Anakin cut him in half and watched the two pieces fall into the depths below.

Three down.

For Piett, having just saved his dearest friend only to be fighting for his life in his daughter’s arms. 

Anakin turned, cloak swirling behind him as he strode back the way he came.

He could not change what had happened. But he could ensure these beings would never cause harm again.

Revenge? 

Perhaps.

Anakin thought of it as justice.

Chapter Text

“This always happens when I have drinks with you!” Venka threw at him, glaring as furiously as a man who is sprinting in military boots can do.

“Yet you agree every time!” Han flung back over his shoulder, noting a very narrow alley and seizing the Vice-Admiral’s sleeve to drag him with him. 

Blaster fire spattered all around them, kicking up stone chips and sparks. 

Venka grunted but Han ignored this, hauling the man down the dark and smelly alleyway as swiftly as possible. He had vague memories of a covered market in this direction and if they could reach that, they could get lost in the crowds.

He heard their pursuers enter the alleyway behind them and hauled harder on Venka who was slowing down for some reason.

“C’mon!” he growled. “Stop fussing about your kriffing uniform---you have cleaners, you can…!”

They burst out the entrance into a larger street---the weak daylight filtering down and Han got a good look at his friend.

“A….a….little  harder to get….blood out…” Venka managed, raising his eyes from the red stained hand pressed over his abdomen to meet Han’s gaze.

“Oh kark .”

He slid under Venka’s arm to give him more support and hustled them both down the street. 

He needed to get them into a secure hiding place, contact the others, and take care of the wound.

“How bad?” he muttered to the other man as they moved toward the growing murmur of voices. This was good in that they could lose themselves amongst the crowds, but not so good with Venka being clearly injured.

“I….not….not an artery….” murmured the officer.

Which was good, but it was still a large amount of blood and Han was taking on more of his weight which meant Venka likely didn’t have long in the conscious plane.

They broke out into a massive square filled with booths and vendors. Han scanned it with a well practiced eye, practically dragging Venka now behind various rows of booths. And at last he saw someone he felt would be more inclined to help them.

She had to be in her sixties---practical and grey haired---marketing numerous tea blends as well as serving brewed tea. The scent was wafting toward him as Han panted up to her. 

“I need your help, please,” he informed her in urgent tones. “We need to hide. Now.”

She scanned him and the half conscious Venka and then calmly gestured to the back of her booth.

“In here.”

There was a small closed off area behind a thick velvety rug and Han pulled both of them inside. The woman moved some papers and a teacup off a pile of more rugs and gestured for Han to lay the former Imperial down. 

“You are being pursued closely?” she asked in rich tones. 

“Yes,” he said, “but as you see, my companion is injured…”

“He is Imperial,” she commented without judgment in her tone.

“Former,” Han told her. “He works for the New Republic.”

Please don’t let this be the reason Venka doesn’t make it. Don’t let her betray us for that.

“My family was killed by Imperial ships,” she told him, again without emotion coloring her voice.

Well kriff.

He stared at her and gestured helplessly. “And can you say it was this one? I know him only as a good man. One who helped overthrow the Emperor.”

She knelt and pulled out a satchel from a small cabinet.

“Even if he was, I cannot in good conscience allow him to die so. Then his blood is on my hands. Here. Do what you can. I shall go out and ensure that those hunting you do not find you.”

She ducked out, leaving Han and Venka in semi darkness, so thick was the rug. He rummaged in the satchel, finding bandages, some sort of disinfectant, and various other herbal things that Han didn’t know. He didn’t see pain killers, and would have to deal with that. 

“Hang on, Venka,” he ordered his friend as he ripped open the tunic and belt to pull the shirt more carefully aside from the wound. It was further over than he had feared and therefore something they could cope with for the moment. 

Venka groaned as he cleaned it to the best of his ability. He patted the officer’s arm. 

“Hang on. I’m gonna get you out of this. I promise.”

“I….have….so much….sympathy….for Piett right...now,” Venka panted. 

“Meaning what exactly?” Han asked, pressing bandage to the wound and looking for something to hold it in place.

“Dealing with….all of you...on a…..daily...basis...the amount….of scars he….has….”

Han gave him a glare since that was easier than showing worry. “I would like to remind you that I am not a Skywalker!”

Venka snorted and then coughed and then moaned in pain.

“Serves you right,” Han snarked but then froze when they heard voices outside.

Soft murmurs occurred from the woman followed by the sharper voices of men. Then the sound of motion and the woman ducked inside.

“I sent them further down the square. But if you have people you can contact, you should not stay here long.”

Han felt deep gratitude to a complete stranger for her courage and kindness. She gently shoved him aside and took a look under the bandage. 

“Get him some water---there in the pitcher. I will finish here.”

She did so very efficiently and then laid her hand to Venka’s head. She hummed and turned to her satchel, pulling out a vial of herbs. She left again and returned holding a steaming mug with a very fragrant scent. She knelt by the Vice-Admiral’s head and lifted it on her arm.

“Drink,” she told him, “this will help your pain.”

Venka’s eyes met his momentarily and Han inclined his head slightly. They had no reason not to trust her. He’d gone with his gut for years thank you very much, and it had yet to steer him completely wrong.

Venka obeyed and Han pulled out his commlink to make contact with Leia. Once she had finished telling him exactly what she thought, she promised they were coming and he moved to sit down on a crate beside Venka while the woman handed him tea in a mug as well.

“You may not….be a Skywalker…” Venka slurred sleepily, “but you attract...just as...much trouble...if not more.”

“It’s not my fault,” Han shrugged.

Venka smirked with his eyes half closed. “Did you choose...to throw….in your lot with…a short princess and a….Tatooine farm kid?”

“I was….”

“Your fault,” Venka stated.

Yeah , Han supposed as his friend slept, that was his fault. He wouldn’t change it for the galaxy though.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Luke dreamed about falling.

Not the awful plunge at Bespin, no. Though he dreamed about that as well. It featured frequently in nightmares with many iterations.

He fell endlessly, missing the weather vane and plunging to his death on the gas planet below….

He fell onto the Millenium Falcon only for it to be captured and Leia, Lando, and Chewie were executed before his eyes as Vader looked on unmovingly…

He fell only to feel the inexorable Force grip of his Father hauling him back to an awful fate….

Those were all terrible.

But he would still prefer those dreams to the other. To the kind where his eyes turned a poisonous gold. The kind where he turned on friends and family without one shred of emotion. The kind where he makes Darth Vader look merciful by comparison.

He takes that outstretched black hand---all hope driven from his body and mind. He throws himself into the Dark Side because he has no other purpose anymore. 

And the galaxy burns.

**

He pauses in his furious hacking when he cuts off his Father’s hand and the Emperor laughs in pleasure.

He looks to his own mechanical hand and listens when the Emperor tells him to strike down his Father.

So he does. And then he kills Palpatine. 

He is the Darkest Lord in the history of the galaxy.

**

He has pursued his sister relentlessly. For he can have no challenger.

Piett and Han try to fight for her and her children. He cuts through them ruthlessly, and her fierce grief and anger batter at him in the Force. She shoves him back and proves again why he must be rid of her.

He lifts his lightsaber, glancing at the hover cradle behind her. 

And his sister prepares to sell her life dearly. 

Luke woke, coated in sweat and weeping in terrible remorse. He leaned over his knees on the bed and sobbed into his hands.

Because what if he did fall? What if he turned on all these people who loved him….?

Luke...what is it?

His Father had sensed his distress, even though he wasn’t on the Lady.

The nightmare, he sent back.

A sigh in the Force.

Oh, my son….I wish I could make you believe me. You are the best of us. You will not fall.

But you CAN’T know that.

…..No.

Luke felt another presence approaching and untangled himself from his sheets. His Father sensed this too. 

Speak with her. Know that I love you.

Thank you, Father.

Leia entered without chiming the pad.

“What if I was changing?” Luke asked her, trying for a lighter tone. 

“You weren’t,” his sister said, rolling her eyes and handing him a mug of cocoa, bless her.

She moved gracefully to his sofa and folded onto it, patting the cushion beside her.

“You know I’m the older one,” Luke told her, obeying anyway and settling closely next to her. “You are awfully imperious for the baby sister.”

She smiled and sipped the cocoa. “I’m a princess and a diplomat, Luke. I earned imperious. But also, I’m your sister and I was born with it. Now. Stop being the Jedi hero and be my brother who battles nightmares like the rest of us.”

He took his own sip, savoring the cocoa. No one made it like Leia. And he loved that she had taken to adding just a touch of Piett’s Axxilan spice to it. It was so very her, but also a tangible reminder of the family she had chosen for herself. 

“I feel like you must be up every night given how many of us you’re trying to look after,” he said, leaning into her.

“Sometimes,” she agreed. “But I’ve seen all of us healing as well.” She shoved him gently with her elbow. “Talk to me, farmboy. Was it the ‘you’re a Sith’ one again?”

She always knew.

“Worse,” he whispered. 

“The one you never tell me about?” she said, frowning slightly in concern. “I wish you would.”

It was too awful. He was terrified she couldn’t look at him again---even though it was a dream.

“Sometime,” he told her, dealing with her frustration. “It helps that you’re here right now, Leia. But that one….” he shuddered slightly.

She couldn't know that he dreamed of killing her and her children. She would spurn him.

“I love you always,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.

Luke hoped she was right.

Chapter Text

He was going to collapse. She knew he was. And they were going to have to let it happen. Because when he got like this it was like trying to stop the Lady with a piece of flimsi.

Hatley had never been to Axxila before, and she had to admit it wasn’t doing a lot to impress her at the moment. Hot. Dusty. Boring. Well, it would normally be boring. At the moment it was an impressive hive of activity. 

A wave of illness had broken out and become an epidemic in a matter of days. Due to the spread out nature of settlements on the planet, only the southern hemisphere was being affected. But that was bad enough.

The New Republic had immediately sent relief ships and the Admiral had insisted that the Lady lead the fleet to help. Hatley had been on duty with him when he received the news as well as the estimated and ever climbing death toll.

The skin around his eyes had tightened and his knuckles had gone white as he clenched his hand on the desk. 

“Are other systems sending aid as well?” he’d asked the small image of Vice-Admiral Venka.

“Yes, sir, but none of them have the kind of medical supplies we can offer. Mon Mothma is reaching out to various governments to see if they have any treatments in storage they’d be willing to give and that will be sent your way as soon as possible. I’ve sent you a list of the urgent needs, Admiral. Once the Lady arrives, you can be the focal point to coordinate the needs. Sir, I’d come myself but…”

“No, Tom, thank you,” Piett had replied, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Very kind. But you and I both know you have duties where you are. Just keep me informed. I’d prefer not to have any surprises.”

“Absolutely, sir.”

Dr. Henley had determined, after 24 hours of non stop testing work, that the illness was similar enough to Dinibian flu that those who’d had that would be immune. The crew who had were sent to the surface immediately to begin building more shelters for the sick and the families bringing them to the hopelessly overcrowded hospitals. 

The medbays on the Lady were working overtime to produce more treatments based on both this illness and the Dinibian flu while various other systems were receiving the strains, carefully packed in bio containers, in order to produce more medicine as well. 

Hatley and Yang had received a hypo, having not had either illness previously. Scraps and the Admiral had both had Dinibian flu before, though Henley had done a full work up on Piett before allowing him to go to the surface. They were not risking their Admiral’s health.

Well. From the illness. Whether they could protect him from himself was another matter.

But, kriff if she wasn’t nine ways to Freedom day proud to be working for such a man. He’d had a remote command center set up on the surface. That way he could coordinate efforts from various systems, the ships in orbit, and the local representatives. The most severe cases were treated in the Lady’s largest hangar bay which Henley oversaw. It had been cleverly retrofitted by Baldwin with bio seals and sanitizing measures to protect the rest of the massive ship. Then Henley had turned it into the biggest sickbay in the galaxy.

They had specified shuttles which were only used between that hangar and the surface, to prevent transmission. Hatley herself had now flown countless relays. 

General Veers and the TIE commander helped to keep the peace as people were understandably frightened and desperate. Most of the army was building shelters and brushing off their medic training. The TIE pilots did daily CAPS as well as brought people from remote areas for treatment. 

They had to be getting a handle on this thing. They HAD to be.  But Hatley lived hour to hour at this point and she hadn’t had time to really surface for a bigger perspective. 

Besides. Her complete focus was on a small figure who seemed to be everywhere doing everything. She had been sternly tasked by Scraps to make sure the Admiral had water and food every four hours. She had thought about retorting that their officer was not a pet Nyroth pup, but Scraps’ face was forbidding so she swallowed it. 

The Lieutenant-Commander alone could wrangle the Admiral to take a few hours rest and then he was back at it.

Speaking to various officials, representatives, and medical personnel on holo comm.

Touring makeshift treatment sites in the speeder. 

Checking in with the General.

Checking in with Henley.

Checking in with Kelly.

Speaking to various New Republic officials to give updates.

Speaking to the princess who was in the midst of a different crisis across the galaxy. Hatley appreciated those talks. He was always a little brighter for them.

Constantly working to make sure food and clean water were available to all. This one was particularly important to him. He checked on the children in particular---needing to know that they were getting the right nutrition and care. 

And now it was time to head out to the makeshift orphanage they’d had to set up. Another grim reality of this disease.

But her Admiral made time in each day to see these children. It was clearly important to him on a deeply personal level, and when Yang had suggested that perhaps he rest during that time, the politeness in the Admiral’s refusal had been awful. 

So here they were. Hatley followed at a discreet distance and did her bit to entertain the children as well. Yang and Wheeler patrolled outside today, and Scraps was tasked with wearing out the livelier ones with a raucous game of keeping the ball away from the officer in the shaded and fenced area outside the hastily constructed buildings. 

She could hear the happy shrieks, and clearly Piett could too, because he lifted his head from the story he was reading to smile briefly in the direction the noise came from. 

Hatley helped get small girls dressed and set out snacks for children. 

The Admiral walked a fussy baby, patting its little back while he admired the drawings of various children at a table in the corner. 

He took part in building AT-ATs from blocks and sticks.

He sketched the Lady for curious eyes and Hatley was rather impressed with his skill. She’d not seen him do anything like that before. 

Hidden depths to her Admiral….

He read one more story, shortly before the childrens’ lunch, a massive crowd of the younger ones gathered around him, and a four month old baby asleep in one arm as he read. 

“Vader’s Admiral,” said Scraps quietly appearing at her side. He was sweaty and breathing hard from playing with the older ones, but his eyes were soft as he watched Piett. 

Hatley nodded, smirking a little. “Yes indeed. Though given what I’ve heard in the scuttlebut about how volatile Lord Vader could be, the Admiral’s skill with children is perhaps not a huge surprise.”

Matt choked beside her and he tried to be stern, but she knew he found it too funny.

“ Hatley . Kark. Never let the Admiral hear you say that. Or, Force forbid, Lord Vader .”

Piett finished and rose, smiling a little as small voices begged for ‘just one more’. He handed the sleeping infant off, and then pulled his cap back on, before finding them with his gaze.

“They worked you hard then, Matthew,” he said mildly as they walked from the building.

“Yes, sir,” Scraps replied ruefully, and Hatley sympathized. They were sweating already in this climate. Even with his jacket off to play with the children, Scraps would be quite warm. 

“Admurl!” A small voice called and Piett paused as a little blonde boy hurled out of the building, a caretaker on his heels. “Hugs!” the child insisted.

“Sorry, sir,” said the woman apologetically.

“No, no,” Piett replied. “Can’t forget that. I’m sorry Jack.”

Hatley recalled that this child had made it a bit of a ritual whenever Piett left and  she sighed internally. The ravages of this epidemic went far beyond the illness itself as these orphans showed.

The Admiral knelt to receive hugs and give them in return, hand running through the soft blonde fringe swiftly. Satisfied, Jack pulled back and waved before trotting contentedly into the building. 

Piett rose and staggered. 

Matt was there instantly. “Sir!”

“Sorry, just….a bit dizzy,” Piett panted, but he allowed Scraps to hold onto him as they continued to the speeder. 

“Do you need to eat something, sir?” Scraps asked and shot her a look over the Admiral’s head.

“No, mother hens,” Piett told him, glancing at her as well. “I’ve been very good. Hatley is quite prompt with snack time.” 

There was the characteristic snark.

“I’m just….tired.”

It was the first admission she’d heard of any weakness. 

They rode back to the command center in silence, the Admiral lost very deeply in thought, face sad and grave.

Hatley reflected for the millionth time, that he had grown up here. Not in this hemisphere perhaps, but it was his home planet. And she could only imagine the demons that seemed to be plaguing Piett. 

They arrived as the wind picked up a bit and Hatley sniffed hopefully. Rain was rare but it would be most welcome. Ok, the mud wouldn’t be, but fresh water could be harvested and it was just...cleansing. 

She clambered out of the speeder and Piett followed slowly. He stood by it for a moment, a hand resting on the smooth metal side.

“I’ll need to check in with the General shortly,” he said. “And I’d appreciate an update on the….on the…..”

“Sir!” Scraps exclaimed as Piett put a hand to his head.

“Sorry. It’s fine….I’m fine...I….” And he crumpled gracefully. 

Matt was way ahead of this and had Piett in his arms almost as soon as Hatley blinked. 

“Ok,” he said resignedly. “We knew this was likely. And I swear to the Force, any of you make a crack about taking bets on this….”

Hatley was startled by the protective anger in his tone.

“ Matt . We wouldn’t. Not for this.”

“No,” Scraps sighed. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m tired too. We all are. Let’s set up that cot, and Wheeler, I’m hoping you remembered the supplies I asked for….”

“In this crate sir,” the other man replied. In no time they had a spot in the back of the command tent set up. Scraps laid the Admiral down carefully on the cot, and Hatley got to work unlatching his jacket while Yang took off his boots. Wheeler opened the crate to pull out a light blanket and a pillow, as well as a canister and a mug.

Hatley smiled over at Scraps as the two of them lifted their commanding officer to get his duty jacket off.

“You got some of his tea. How?”

“Have you met Mac yet? Chief Steward for Senior Officer’s mess? He can hook you up. If it’s for the Admiral, he’ll do anything.”

“Nice one, Matt,” she said, grinning more widely and tucking the blanket around Piett’s still form. Scraps pulled out the med scanner and they waited quietly as he looked at the readings. 

“Not sick,” he said, and she could see the relief on his face. “Just plain exhausted. And none of us are shocked by that. So. We monitor him for fever but there’s no need to let Henley know. I’m letting you all know though, that I am going to apply section Resh 14 on this.”

She exchanged a look with Wheeler and Yang. “Matt. You’ve never done that with him….”

“I know. But...well, I’ll chat to him about it when he wakes up.”

A comms light blinked and Yang went to answer it. He came back a moment later.

“Sir. General Veers for you.”

Hatley was profoundly glad that Scraps was the senior officer. 

“We’ll be outside getting some rations, sir,” she said and the other two took the hint, leaving Matt to navigate these tricky waters.

**********

“Sir,” Matt said, once the others had left. He sank onto a collapsible stool beside Piett.

“And why, Lieutenant Commander, am I speaking with you and not the Admiral?” came Veers’ cold tones. But Matt had known him long enough now, to know that the General was not angry with him. This was his way of masking concern. 

“Sir, he’s resting at the moment….”

“Bantha poodo, Scraps.”

Matt sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. This aspect of things was not one he’d signed up for. Veers was Fox’s job. 

“Sir….look, he collapsed. But we were prepared for it, General,” he added hastily. “He’s not sick. No temperature or any other symptoms, and you know he’s had all the hypos needed to be here. He’s just hit the end of his very significant endurance levels.”

“Stupidly significant,” the General muttered and Scraps wondered if he was supposed to have heard that. “All right, Mr. Scraps. You’re sure you have things handled on that end?” 

“Yes, sir,” he replied. “Do you have anything I should pass along to the Admiral?”

“You can tell him I think we’re getting a handle on this thing,” Veers said. “Case numbers are down and the food supply is steady now, so that does wonders for people’s confidence and outlook.”

Scraps breathed in silent relief, glancing down at Piett’s strained face, but reassured by his steady breathing. 

“I will, General. We’ll check in with Captain Kelly as well, sir.”

“Good man. Thank you, Scraps. Do you ah….need any assistance in keeping the Admiral down?”

Scraps grinned at the ground.

“Thank you, General, but I think we can handle it.”

A chuckle from the other end. “Good luck then.” And the connection cut. 

Scraps got to work. A nutrient shot for the Admiral just in case. He patted the pocket with the migraine meds and was reassured he’d remembered those. He contacted Captain Kelly and received further good news: a massive shipment of the treatment and inoculation had arrived. Also encouraging numbers of medical reinforcements had come from neighboring systems. At last they could start giving real breaks and recuperation periods to their people.

Veers commed again to say he was headed their way. Things were under control and he could take temporary command while their Admiral took some much needed rest. 

The man himself stirred as Scraps ended that conversation and he steeled himself to do a very polite battle with Piett. He’d never referenced Resh 14 with the Admiral before. He hadn’t had to. But then, Piett had never collapsed from sheer exhaustion before either. At least while Scraps had worked for him.

The security lead rose and started the small solar water heater before returning to seat himself beside his charge. 

Piett’s hazel eyes blinked up at him in confusion a few seconds later. 

“Hello,” Scraps told him as Piett raised a slow hand to his head.

“I…” he looked around, recognizing his surroundings. “Did I…. pass out ?”

“Yes sir,” Scraps replied calmly, rising to fix a mug of tea as the kettle pinged and then returning to Piett’s side. The Admiral was easing himself into a careful sitting position, moving his legs cautiously over the edge of the cot and leaning over to get his bearings.

“I assure you, I’ve been eating, Scraps, I….”

“Exhaustion, sir. You’re not sick. I checked. Just...you’ve been at it non stop and even you can only go so far. Here you are.”

He handed Piett the mug when he was sure his commander was steady enough to take it and Pitt looked up at him. 

“Do you stash my tea for every mission, Lieutenant Commander?”

Scraps smiled at him and seated himself once more, trying to quell the thundering of his heart at the task ahead of him. He’d rather be shot at than face Piett’s disapproval. 

“Endeavoring to, sir.”

There was a pause as Piett sipped slowly and avoided Scraps’ eyes. He had to know there was a discussion coming. 

“I….I really fainted, Matthew?”

Scraps could hear the frustration in the Admiral’s tone.

“Yes, sir,” he answered quietly. “And with respect, Admiral, it was not a surprise. Sir….”

Just spit it out.

“...I’m going to employ Resh 14 from the regs.”

A very heavy beat between them.

Piett took another very deliberate drink of his tea as he no doubt gathered his thoughts. Scraps was effectively removing him from duty. He’d never done so before. 

“And who precisely, Lieutenant Commander, would take my place?” he asked, fixing unreadable hazel eyes on Scraps. He HATED being referred to by his title in polite tones. 

“General Veers is on his way now, Admiral.”

Piett nodded slowly. “I see.”

He didn’t.

Scraps took a deep breath. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“I’m not sure it’s advisable, but granted,” Piett replied.

“Then Admiral, please hear me out. I’m happy to say that not only have new medical personnel arrived on scene, we also received massive shipments of the treatment. They’re being ferried from orbit as we speak. General Veers reports that the assessment from all locations is that we’re getting a handle on this thing. It means we can truly start giving our people breaks. That includes you, sir.”

“And you don’t think I’d take one unless you instituted Resh 14.”

“That’s correct, Admiral,” Scraps said. He was in it now. He wouldn’t pull punches. “Further it states that ‘should sufficient evidence be in place that the officer is incapacitated outside of illness or injury, the detail head shall make the call on the ability of said officer to carry out their duties to the level required.’ You passed out, sir. I think any reasonable person would consider that sufficient evidence.”

Piett pressed his lips together and brought a hand to his temple.

Wordlessly, Scraps pulled out a hypo of migraine medication and handed it over to the Admiral.

“And since I’m speaking freely, Admiral, I was also worried one of these might come on. Sir.” He dropped all formality from his tone. “It’s me . And your team. I...you know I care about you, sir, and I would never apply this if I really didn’t think it was necessary. And if we can get you the rest needed now, we avoid the potential of you needing Doctor Henley later.”

A long silence. He could hear the murmur of Yang and Hatley speaking outside. Some birds cried far over head.

“Matthew. This is….my home. It may have been...terrible in many ways, but I know the struggle these people know.” Piett looked at him and Scraps was humbled by the vulnerability his commander was showing him. “It….I have felt that if I am not stretching every possible skill I possess, that I am not doing right by them. I…” 

He paused and bowed his head, and Scraps knew that he needed more than a security officer in the moment. He moved to sit beside Piett, allowing their shoulders to touch, and wanting to put his arm around the Admiral, but not daring quite that far.

“I know it’s not logical, Matthew...”

Scraps was immeasurably grateful to be ‘Matthew’ right now.

“...it’s just that drive to do just a bit more. That just one more thing could tip the balance.”

“Sir,” Scraps said, heart aching for this man who was so desperate to ease the suffering of any he encountered. “No one person can do that. But together we can, sir. And we are. Sir, you...I don’t know if you realize the impact you have. You are tipping the balance. And in order for you to keep doing that, you need to rest, sir.”

“When did you get so wise, Matthew?” Piett asked wryly. 

“I watched you, Admiral,” Scraps said sincerely, and was rather pleased that he could make his commander flush like that. 

“Well….” Piett trailed off, but Scraps could tell what that meant to the man because the corners of Piett’s mouth were curling slightly.

“All right then. What do you propose, Mr. Scraps?”

He wouldn’t show the profound relief he was feeling. He would keep things light.

“Sir I think you should sleep first. Your sweats are ready for you, Admiral, and Hatley is retrieving an inflatable topper for the cot so it’s more comfortable since I assume you won’t want to leave for a real bed in the city.”

Piett snorted lightly. “I’m getting the impression you think you know me that well, Lieutenant Commander.”

“Am I wrong, sir?” Scraps asked innocently, raising his eyebrows.

“No, you manipulative young upstart,” Piett replied. “And there. You have forced me into using a stodgy parental reply to your….” he trailed off as he rose to his feet, realizing what he’d just said. 

A beat and then Scraps grinned, feeling foolishly happy. “I won’t say anything if you won’t, sir,” he said and the dual meaning wasn’t lost on either of them. 

“How long do you wish me to be sidelined then, Matthew?” Piett asked, but there was no heat.

“Not sidelined, sir. I thought you should sleep as long as you wish. And then, if it suits you, Admiral, I thought you could take the day tomorrow to ah, to spend with the children. It’s not the administrative burden you’ve had, but you’re doing something I know you like to do.”

Piett moved to the solar kettle and got it going again. “I think that’s a good plan and I will follow it on one condition.”

Scraps waited. 

Piett smiled. “You have to come with me.” He patted Scraps’ shoulder and added tea to the mug.

“Always, sir,” he replied, content. 

Chapter Text

He knows his own work---the murders committed by his hand and his alone. Those are known and frequent visitors to his nightmares. 

And they are terrible.

His demons. His friends. His accusers. His victims.

But there are worse visions to haunt his dreams. 

The murders forced on the innocent. The men who had not been given a choice. Ones who had died not realizing what they had done. Others, like Fox, who found out later and lived with an awful guilt that was not his.

Those rip out what little is left of his soul. Because he would do anything to change that if he could. He chose what he did. He had accepted that and was atoning in the only way he could. 

But his men? The clone troopers and commanders and captains serving with all the Jedi?

No choice had been given them. And the thing was---the real crux of the matter that made him weep and splinter objects with his lightsaber---if they had been given a choice, he was rather sure none of them would have turned on their Jedi Generals.

He had read about the deaths of as many as he could. Penance for himself he supposed. He knew he had not placed the chips. He had not come up with Order 66. No, that responsibility lay with the corpse he hoped was lying eternally uneasy. 

But…..

He had hunted down the others. 

Including his former padawan….

He could only thank the Force he had not been successful in getting to her. 

Ki-Adi-Mundi: shot down by his own men on Mygeeto. Bewildered by their betrayal and attempting to fight to the end.

Kind and brave Aayla Secura---remarkable in so many ways, only one of which was being a Twi’lek. She always led from the front, would give her life for her men. Shot in the back.

Plo-Koon in his fighter---shot out of the sky without a second to defend himself. 

Stass Allie on Saleucami---riding side by side with men she’d served with for years. They’d dropped back and shot her with out hesitating.

Jaro Tapal: killed aboard a Star Destroyer while defending his padawan. 

Depa Billaba, fighting so very desperately to the very end to save her padawan. If Anakin was correct she had been successful. But her death haunted him worse than the others because so often his dreams would replace her face with his mother’s. 

“Why, Anakin?” she asked as he thrust her through, and he saw she had been defending….himself. 

A young nine year old Anakin was watching him wide eyed behind her as she dropped to the ground. 

Every time.

Anakin woke screaming his anguish, and was surprised to find that a pair of hands were resting on his shoulders. Hands that he knew.

He sat up fully on his rough bed roll and scrubbed at his eyes. The hands didn’t leave his shoulders---they were firm and confident and he was grateful for the contact with his biological body. It was real and comforting. 

And he knew who it was.

“What are you doing here?” he asked hoarsely, summoning his flask of water from his pack.

“Thought we could help with this particular mission, General,” responded the deep voice of the friend he’d had long ago. 

Rex sat calmly on the other side of Anakin’s fire and poked it with a stick.

Ahsoka knelt behind him, grounding him with her touch as he shook off the last clinging tendrils of his nightmare before she rose and came around to sit beside him, folding cross legged gracefully. 

There was a silence as he drank water and the other two….waited.

“I imagine many of your dreams bring you the kind of agony I felt,” Ahsoka said at last, staring at the dancing flames. “But, forgive me, in trying to bring you out of this, I….saw the last bits of this nightmare.”

He dropped his head to his hands.

“You...you weren’t there for all of those,” she continued softly. “Why…?”

“I researched,” he interrupted curtly. “I needed to know how they all died, Snips. I needed to see what we made all of our men do.” He looked over to Rex.

“I’ve never asked you, how….how did you…?”

“Ahsoka helped me,” Rex said calmly, though with remembered pain in his eyes. 

“You were fighting it,” she responded immediately. “I could see that…” She sighed. “I used the Force to locate the chip and some droids helped me remove it.”

“....Cody?” he continued, not wanting to know but also needing to. “Wolffe? Bly?”

The look that Ahsoka and Rex shared pierced him anew.

“I….don’t know,” she admitted at last. 

Anakin broke. So many souls…

But he was anchored in this storm by a slim brown hand holding his and a firm masculine grip on his shoulder. 

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived it was much too late. 

The Lady had raced to the source of the call for help but even she with her mighty engines could not prevent the way of nature. 

Despite the best efforts of the people, the huge mine had collapsed. 

Thousands trapped. Thousands dead. Thousands grieving.

He couldn’t have stopped his princess if he tried, and he wasn’t going to try. She needed to do this and he understood her.

She was there each day as long as she could physically hold out---looking for the missing with the Force. Using her incredible power to move things that others couldn’t without causing injury or worse destruction. 

She was saving literally hundreds.

But more died. 

Piett stood waiting for her on the fifth day, at the entrance to the school that was being used as one of the makeshift hospitals. He was inordinately proud of his crew. Medics, engineers, techs, galley workers---all of them were here providing care, help, food, and sometimes just a shoulder to cry on.

Baldwin was on the site each day as well with his best people---working on shoring up the dangerous areas and looking for creative ways to try and get into the tunnels that were still intact. 

Veers and his Herd had found a unique way to be useful. The massive AT-ATs were able to anchor on firm ground and provide something for massive winches to attach to and bring heavy beams and equipment up and down in ways that shuttles couldn’t.

Piett himself helped communicate between the Executor’s crew and the Governor who had jurisdiction here and was running the overall retrieval efforts.

When he wasn’t doing that, he volunteered a hand with this field hospital nearest his command center. Because he couldn’t just do admin. He had to be with people---doing something tangible.

It was a cold time of year for the planet in this hemisphere. No snow thankfully, but a constant wet chill. Which had of course, been the major issue for the mine. A crack had opened and an unexpected underground spring had appeared. 

It went to hell from there. 

He sensed her coming before he saw her and practiced feeling out the mysterious connection they had in the Force. 

Her anguish and grief were the overwhelming emotions and they battered him like physical blows. He braced himself for that, here in the portico leading to the school. He was in his field boots as the shipboard uniform held no place here on the muddy wind swept surface. He’d also donned a heavy knit sweater, of the sort that fishermen typically wore, because his uniform jacket would be a loss and it wasn’t warm enough, despite being made of gaberwool.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, feeling rather un-Admiral like in doing so, and kicked himself for leaving the gloves Matthew had given him back at the command centre.

Her small form appeared at last, moving slowly, head down and shoulders in an uncharacteristic slump.

Scraps, nearby, glanced at him and then inclined his head inside. 

Dear Matthew . He was getting very good at anticipating what was needed for the various situations they found themselves in. Piett nodded in understanding as his security lead ducked inside. Still near, but giving him and the princess some semblance of privacy.

Her Highness lifted her head as though it was more heavy than she could bear and saw him.

The understanding between them was complete and she walked straight into his arms to bury her very grimy face into his chest and squeeze him tightly.

Wisps of her hair had worked out of her braids and crossed his face gently. He felt her suppressed desire to weep in despair as though it were a denton in her chest waiting to explode. 

“Darling,” he murmured, “Can you tell me?”

She shuddered in his hold. 

“I just….” A sob---the first crack in the dam---trembled against the thick sweater.

“I could only find…..bodies. I tried, Admiral. I was lifting…. so much rubble. But…”

Piett had known they were reaching this point. The point where finding survivors was nearly impossible. How he wished he could be useful on the site. But he knew he’d only be in the way for those efforts. 

“I….we uncovered a group of about thirty beings….” she paused, gulping with the raw memory. “The medics said they must have died an hour earlier. An hour . And….I can only think, if we had been just a bit faster….if I could have sensed them that little bit sooner….”

Her pain was his. He tightened his arms and rested his cheek on her head. 

“My dearest girl. I do know that feeling. I understand. But….”

“I have the Force!” she cried into his chest. “What good is this huge power if I cannot save lives….!!”

“You are ,” he insisted. “My  dear, you are tremendous. If you weren’t here, hundreds, possibly thousands at this point, would have lost their lives.” He was reminded of Matthew’s words to him on their recent efforts at Axxila. “You are making a difference, princess of mine,” he told her.

“Not enough!” she choked, and the flood unleashed.

Piett held her, feeling weary enough for a man twice his age at the suffering of the galaxy. Sometimes it was war. Sometimes illness. Sometimes the inexplicable power of nature as here. 

But one could train and work and see terrible things occur. One could believe that they had distance and the ability to compartmentalize.

And still, the pain of the galaxy could hurt on a personal level. 

Like now.

He waited, allowing her to have a safe place to vent her grief before he spoke again.

“ You are enough, sweetheart,” he told her, those words echoing down from his own past and a kind voice that had given him the same assurance. “More than enough. You have literally carried this galaxy on your shoulders. But you cannot save it. That is not the job of any one being. I know you know that. You have reminded me as well. But not being all powerful is not a character flaw, my dear.”

She snorted into his sweater and lifted a red and swollen face to his. “You...what would I do without you, dearest Admiral?”

He smiled down at her and kissed her forehead tenderly. “You would continue to be the magnificent human you have been.”

“Hmmm,” she replied dubiously. “All I know is that I don’t ever want an answer to that question.”

She paused, content it seemed, to lean against him for a moment.

“Now what?” she murmured.

“Tea,” he responded promptly. “And food. And rest.”

“Have you had those things?” she asked. 

“I will soon,” he told her. “But I need to head back to check in at the command centre.”

She pulled away reluctantly. “All right. I will fuel up. And then I shall go back at it as well. Thank you, Admiral of mine. You are my rock.”

She patted his cheek and moved inside to find the hospital canteen.

Scraps exited a moment later, holding the med kit Piett had taken to having with him. One never know in current circumstances when it may be needed. 

“Do we have time for some rations, sir?” Matthew asked in carefully natural tones. He knew they did. It was his gentle way of telling Piett he needed to eat. 

He couldn’t quite manage a smile but he inclined his head. “Something hot I think, Mr. Scraps,” he replied as they crossed to the small three person speeder. Matthew piloted and they made their way toward Piett’s tent. 

His hopes of a break were dashed as he and Matthew noted a small knot of humans who seemed to be trying to support someone. Scraps slowed the speeder and one of the people ran over.

“She’s in labor! But something’s wrong and we need help!”

Piett was already moving from the speeder, snagging the medkit as he went before he jogged toward the group.

A young woman was panting and moaning while being held by two other women. 

“Can we get her to our speeder?” Piett asked them, but the woman herself shook her head, then gave a little half scream.

“No...no...it’s now….AH!”

“Your coats!” Piett barked. “Lay them on the ground.” He tugged his own sweater over his head as the others obeyed and they laid the woman down carefully. He placed his sweater under her head, and half turned to Matthew.

“Comm the hospital and get them to send a transport.” He could see the blood (too much, his mind provided) on the woman’s clothing. “Then get that tarp!”

It was starting to rain---because of course it was---and they were out in the exposed area. The wind cut through him now that he was in his shirtsleeves.

“I want Piotr!” cried the woman, her blonde hair wet with sweat and rain. “Where is he?”

Piett glanced to one of the other women, barely more than a girl.

“Her husband,” she supplied. “He’s an emergency worker. Medical. He’s likely at the mine right now.”

“Is someone going for him?” Piett asked, rolling up his sleeves. This would be a first for him, but he’d assisted in an emergency birth once in his time with the Axxilan fleet. 

“Gregor went for him,” said the other one. Scraps returned and with the help of the third member of their party, a young man, they became a living tent---stretching the tarp over the little group to provide what shelter they could. 

Piett looked up to the woman. “May I…?” he began as she cried out again.

“Yes….” she moaned.

He moved her clothing and took a look. Definitely too much blood. Possibly the baby was breach. 

He reached into the medkit for gloves, snapping them on and finding the antiseptic wipes to clean her legs and give him an idea of what he was dealing with. 

“Scraps, what did the hospital say?” he asked, kneeling in the mud. 

The woman gave another shriek and strained. There. He’d glimpsed a foot he was sure.

Kark . 

“They said twenty minutes, Admiral. They’re pretty short on transports of the right size at the moment sir since they’re largely at the mine.”

Piett wasn’t sure this poor woman had twenty minutes, but it wouldn’t do to say that. 

“What’s your name?” he asked her, finding a painkiller and giving it to her. She panted and focused a little more.

“Ann,” she replied, tears in her eyes. “Please, I want my husband...I’m so scared. It shouldn’t hurt this much, the midwives all said….AH!”

Another contraction hit and Piett saw two little feet now. He waited until she relaxed again and felt for the baby. He had no idea how to turn an infant like this and he was rather sure that at this point it was too late anyway. 

“We’re sending someone for your husband,” he said calmly, though his heart was thundering. Please Force… . “It is true that this hurts more because the baby is breach. But you can do this, Ann. I’m sorry it hurts, but you can do this…”

The two women on either side of her murmured comfort and something he said must have reassured her. She nodded, a new look of determination on her pale face. It contorted again with another contraction and he caught hold of the little legs, tugging gently with her. She screamed again.

He caught Scraps’ eye briefly---the boy looking at him gravely.

Matthew knew. He knew as well as Piett.

The Admiral willed the hospital transport to get here. 

“That was very good, Ann,” he encouraged. The baby gave a little kick. At least it seemed to be doing all right for the moment, but a breach birth meant more likelihood of oxygen deprivation and things needed to move quickly.

Another contraction and the woman’s suffering was terrible. He tugged again. Almost there.

“You,” he ordered one of the women. “Be ready with something to clamp the cord.” He vaguely recalled that he shouldn’t cut it right away because...well he couldn’t remember but he would go with his gut. He needed something to wrap the infant….

“Hand me my sweater and get her head on your knees,” he told the remaining girl. She obeyed, trembling slightly and he set the sweater on the jackets beside the woman.

She was looking at him now, agony in her eyes.

“Ann, you’re doing very well. Do you have other children?” he asked.

“N-nno. No this is the first...ah….the first baby. So….excited. Piotr is certain it’s a girl….” She cried out once more and Piett focused on the little body making its way out. He tugged again and the baby slid out as the mother screamed once more. He patted the tiny back and used clean bandages to wipe the nose and mouth clean to open the airways. The little one squalled and the woman lay back on her friend. 

“What….what is it?” she asked faintly. 

Piett smiled at her as he wrapped the baby in his sweater and handed it up to its mother.

“A girl,” he told her, “looks like your husband was right.”

“Thank….thank you…” Ann said, holding the baby with shaking arms while Piett got to work, trying to stem the flow of blood. 

Too dark. Too thick.

He raised his eyes to Scraps’ again, desperately, and the boy shared his grief.

“Ann!” said one of the other women sharply. “Ann…!”

Piett looked up. Ann’s arms were loose and the other woman had taken the squirming baby.

“Scraps!” he called. Damn the tarp at the moment. “CPR!”

The boy moved swiftly to drop to his knees and begin life saving measures for the new mother.

Piett frantically pressed all the bandage he had to the site, but knew that his efforts could do nothing. 

Please… ..he thought. Please….after all the other tragedies….

He saw the moment Ann’s eyes became fixed at some point over his shoulder.

“Scraps…” he said softly and the boy looked up from his chest compressions. The baby was screaming now and he was left kneeling in the mud, arms bloody to the elbow, staring at the cooling body of the young mother.

The rain would at least hide the tears on his face. He wiped off the blood as best he could, rolling down his sleeves. 

“We ah….” his throat clogged and he tried again. “I’m so sorry. Was she...family?”

One of the women shook her head. “No. I just met her this morning.”

“The baby needs to be seen,” Piett said, desperately trying for practical as Scraps gently closed Ann’s eyes. “Scraps if you...would wait here for the hospital transport for the...body, I can see to it that the baby…” 

“Yes sir,” Matthew said, and Piett was glad to have his support.

So the Admiral piloted their speeder back, one of the women joining him to hold the baby. Once there the little girl was cleaned and wrapped warmly. Perfectly healthy, they said and that was something. 

She was inconsolable however, despite the bottles offered and the warmth of her blankets. Piett returned from a swift sonic shower to her shrieks of rage and his heart hurt for this little person who wanted her mother and would never have her. 

“Can I give it a go?” he asked and the overworked nurse looked him over, then nodded and handed the infant to him, pointing him to a small room. 

“There’s a rocker in there and it has a little more privacy.”

“Her mother…?” he asked, holding the baby carefully to his chest.

The nurse sighed. “Body arrived ten minutes ago. Nothing you could have done Admiral. You saved the baby, remember that.”

She left and he moved to the slightly darkened room.

“All right little one,” he soothed, offering the warm bottle, brushing it on the rosebud lip. “I know that today has been all sorts of kriffed up, but I have found that warm beverages help. You’re not old enough for tea, so this will have to do.”

He rocked gently and shook a drop of milk onto that stubborn little mouth. He watched it trickle in as the baby cried some more, then, almost comically, that little tomato face eased and the lips shaped themselves to nurse. He eased the bottle in and brushed a finger on the soft cheek. The baby latched and relaxed in his hold as she fed.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “Good girl, darling. That’s the stuff.”

At one point, Scraps poked his head in, smiled at him and whispered, “Tea, sir?”

Piett nodded and continued rocking the tiny warm body. The baby had the whole bottle and then went angelically to sleep. 

He gazed down at the small innocent face.

Another lifetime ago he had hoped to be a father. Had dreamed of perhaps doing this very thing while his tired wife slept. That dream had died a quiet death during a galactic civil war, and it was something he had come to terms with. But there were moments like this, very occasionally, when a tiny hand was wrapped around his index finger as the baby slept secure in his hold, that he felt the bite of longing. 

Matthew returned at the right moment, holding a mug and a plate of warm Creb pie by the smell. Piett handed over the newborn to eat and drink while Scraps handled the baby gingerly as though afraid he might break her. She was blissfully unaware and Scraps became more secure as Piett drank his tea thirstily and Matthew very carefully touched the fine fuzz on the baby’s scalp.

“So soft,” he marveled quietly and Piett smiled, coming to his side. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him, but they must return to his tent before Piett could really think about sleep.

A minor commotion outside the room had Scraps handing the baby carefully back to Piett and striding out the doors. Piett held the infant close with one arm and touched the tip of the blaster on his hip with the other hand to reassure himself. There shouldn’t be a threat, but some of the people were very overwrought---one never knew….

Then Scraps returned, followed by a tall man in a medical uniform with anguished brown eyes. Piett didn’t need to be told who this was.

The man’s eyes zeroed in on the baby, then up to Piett’s face.

“I...I came as soon as I heard…” Piotr said brokenly. “They said….she’s really...gone?” He was pleading with the Admiral as though waiting for him to reassure him it was all a huge mistake. 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “My understanding was that there was an undetected placenta previa. And the baby was breach….”

The grief on the face of the new father was almost more than he could bear. 

“She’s here. Ann,” Piett told him. “If….if you’d like to see her…”

“Yes,” her husband whispered and turned, stumbling out again. Piett looked at Scraps and inclined his head for the boy to go with him. Matthew nodded and joined the man. He shouldn’t be alone right now.

The tiny girl in his arms stirred, blinked a few times, and then looked up into his face with large blue eyes. He smiled at her as she studied him, realizing that he was one of the first people she had seen in her little life. It was a rather miraculous moment---pure and lovely as the Admiral and the baby studied one another.

“Your father is here, sweetheart,” he told her very softly, touching the velvet cheek. “He needs you more than you can possibly know.” He thought of the princess and bent his head to touch his forehead very gently to the infant’s. “Daughters are special creatures,” he confided. 

He heard movement again and the young medic returned, fresh tears on his face. Scraps waited outside the room.

“They said….they said you were with her. That you delivered the baby,” the other man said, clearly quite shattered.

“Yes,” Piett returned. “Again, I’m so sorry…”

“I’m….I’m glad she wasn’t alone. That she had all of you helping…” Piotr choked, tears still overflowing. Piett moved to him at this and held out the baby very carefully. 

“You have a daughter,” he informed him, and the new father took the little bundle and looked down in awe at the blue eyes. 

“I’m….what do I do?” the man asked shakily. “It’s our first….I don’t know…”

A movement in the doorway caught Piett’s eye and he looked over Piotr’s shoulder to see Veers appear.

“You will figure it out,” Piett told him, placing a hand on his arm. “I assure you.”

As if to help her father with this, the infant raised a small fist into the air and the medic smiled tremulously, reaching to touch it with reverence. “Did Ann have time….that is….we never settled on names…”

“Sorry,” Piett replied. “It was….it was quick. She was able to hold her, but…”

Piotr nodded, pressing his lips to the baby’s head. “I can’t thank you enough. They said...you’re the Admiral. Of the huge ship that came to help us.”

“Yes,” Piett agreed. “I’m sorry we weren’t sooner…”

“What you’re doing is tremendous,” Piotr told him. “And for me personally...I’d consider it an honor if you would help me….” he paused and composed himself. “Do you have children?”

Piett looked over at Matthew swiftly and then to Veers’ serious grey eyes. 

“Ah… not exactly…”

“Well,” the young father said, “What would you name a daughter if you did?”

Piett had not been prepared for that spear to the heart. Veers watched him with compassion, no doubt seeing this on his face. 

He put his hands behind his back and cleared a suddenly tight throat. Because he knew. Of course he did. 

“I would….I would name her Rilla. Rilla Ann for your wife.”

The man smiled slightly and nodded. “Perfect. Hello, Rilla Ann,” he murmured. Then he looked back up to Piett. “I need to get things sorted with the nurses. But again, thank you, Admiral.”

“Of course,” Piett replied and the new father and widower departed the room with his precious bundle.

Piett was left to meet the General’s eyes and suddenly everything was too bright and too fragile….

“Scraps,” Max said quietly. “Give us a minute would you?”

Matthew nodded and moved down the corridor as Veers stepped into the room, allowing the door to hiss closed. 

“You, Firmus, are most certainly the best man, the best person , I know and I am kriffing proud to be your friend. Because I know what that cost you.”

Piett was so tired, and the emotions of this day had been enough for a lifetime, and he was tired of being strong….

“It’s just me,” Veers reminded him, and Piett broke then. He wept for his princess who felt she had not done enough. For all the families who would not see loved ones again. For the young father who had lost his wife while he tried to save the lives of others. For sweet Rilla. For the children he would have liked to have and never would. For Max who knew what it was to lose his family. 

He came back to himself quite spent, but safe in the embrace of his friend. He patted Max gently on the back twice and then pulled away and the two of them regarded each other in deep understanding. 

“Yeah,” Veers said quietly. “It’s been one of those days.”

Max was his rock. But as both of them were well aware, even rocks could break sometimes. 

“Come on,” his friend said, slinging an arm across Piett’s shoulders. “You may ‘not exactly’ have kids, but one of them is no doubt wondering how he can hug you right now and not breach military etiquette.”

Veers was one of the few people who could make him smile in the face of hopelessness and despair.

“All right,” he agreed, “Let’s find Matthew and go.”

Breaches of etiquette or no, the hug was much appreciated.

Chapter Text

The prisoner stared at the unchanging wall. It was a dull white like many of the things in here. There were scuff marks near the floor. 

Possibly some of them were from his escape attempts. He’d fought as hard as he could… why?

It was hard to recall what he’d been escaping to.

But...someone needed him. 

No. More than one. His family. 

They wouldn’t let him go.

And he couldn’t remember….couldn’t explain. They were merciless. 

And he was helpless. 

**

Veers sipped his cold caf---one of many uncountable cups---and widened his eyes to keep them working as he scanned the datapad. He was using his office near the bridge, which wasn’t a common practice for him, but Kelly appreciated having him nearby as he shouldered the responsibilities of acting Admiral.

Veers himself preferred being up here as the search continued for their missing personnel and as they tried to help these people dig out from the devastation of battle. 

And it had been brutal. More so than expected. Once they realized what they were up against---no mere supporting action for the locals---Veers had fully deployed his Herd. Black Squadron had gone planetside as well.

But the damage had been done. 

They were still pulling bodies from the rubble of the massive explosion that had demolished half the city. Henley and his people had been working around the clock and neighboring systems had sent massive amounts of medical personnel to assist both on the Lady and planetside. 

Veers put the pad down and rose to heat the caf for the millionth time. He needed to shave and he’d worn the same uniform for three days now. But such things seemed so inconsequential in the face of the losses they had suffered. In the face of ongoing search and rescue efforts.

And how desperately General Max Veers wanted this to be a rescue mission still. He bowed his head and rubbed at the back of his neck.

Because his friend had been missing for three weeks. Because the New Republic was preparing to declare him missing in action and likely dead. 

The Lady had an almost permanent violet hue for him at the moment. He was certain she was searching for her Admiral in her own way. And if she had not had any luck….

Not to mention a Force sensitive princess who looked positively haggard these days. And that was understandable on several fronts. Her brother had been near the Admiral when the first explosion had ripped through the air.

They had been lulled into a false sense of security---having battled the raiding forces and won. 

Seemingly . 

Piett and his team had joined Commander Skywalker after their victory, in order to speak with the city leaders about how best to help rebuild and aid the locals when the devastating first explosion had ripped through the area they were in. Two more had followed in quick succession and Veers and his men had gaped for a few awful seconds---trying to believe what they were seeing as they were patrolling the edge of the city for any outlying skirmishers. 

Fox, at his side, had cleared his throat and then began snapping orders into his commlink with a hoarse tone to his voice.

Veers had commed the Lady for the full force of his Herd and Captain Kelly had deployed their TIE squadrons. The General had locked his bruised heart down hard and commanded the battle because that was his duty. Rescue efforts had to be conducted by others. 

He was made aware that Scraps and Yang were both injured and that Scraps had refused to leave the area. Hatley was monitoring him as he dug in with the rescuers.

“I’d have to shoot him to make him stop, sir,” she’d told Fox. “I can’t do that to him, sir.”

A shift in the pile that Piett’s security lead was working in, had flung him down and broke his leg badly. He’d been taken from the scene unconscious and Veers actually saw Fox press his lips together when he got the news. 

So here they were three weeks later. One of the biggest obstructions to their efforts had to do with the very primitive conditions of this planet. During the Empire, it had been essentially enslaved, but none of the inhabitants received any of the benefits of modern technology---that was all reserved for the Imperial occupiers at their bases. 

No bacta. No hover technology. No commlinks. Droids were unheard of. Medical care was easily two hundred years behind what they currently had. 

So this meant there was no way for the Lady to scan who was admitted to hospitals around the area. There was no database that was easily uploaded. They had people out physically searching within fifty miles of the site, but it was slow going. And very disheartening.

But Veers, the princess, and the Lady were not prepared to declare the Admiral...dead. 

The General had already been dealing with nightmares and flashbacks to the death of his son and now his friend was joining Zev in the nightmares. He’d had to go into Henley’s sickbay one night at the request of Dr. Jellan to calm a Scraps who had awoken from surgery distraught. He’d held the boy and found himself murmuring comforts he hadn’t used in years, trying to dissuade him from leaving to get right back planetside to look for his Admiral. 

The machine pinged and he took his mug and sipped again. It was bilge but it was hot bilge and he would take that right now. 

“You know what’s wrong with caf?” Piett asked, grinning at him over his mug of tea as he slumped comfortably on Veers’ couch.

“Nothing, but you’re going to tell me anyway aren’t you?”

‘It’s LYING to you. It smells really good and then you taste it and it’s like someone dumped an ashtray in your mouth.”

“Thank you for that, Firmus.”

“You’re welcome.”

Veers’ chest hurt. It was doing that a lot lately and he rubbed at it as though the pain was physical. 

His door chimed and he really didn’t want to talk to anyone, but he was the Senior General in a post combat zone so that wasn’t an option. 

“Enter.”

The princess was composed, but she looked drawn to his eye. She had most definitely lost weight and her eyes were perpetually red rimmed. 

“Your Highness, what can I….?” he trailed off at the look on her face and wished he was sitting. 

He set his mug down as she stared at him, a data pad trembling in her hands. 

“You found him,” he said flatly, striving to find the ‘Iron General’ that everyone liked to attribute to him. 

Her lips moved and she had to clear her throat before words would come out. 

“Yes,” she replied hoarsely. “They’re pretty sure at least.”

“How can they be ‘pretty sure’? They know what the Admiral looks like….!”

Veers fought awful images of bodies burned beyond recognition.

“It’s not our people who found him. Some native inhabitants saw one of the flimsis we’ve been putting around with our missing people and recognized him.”

“And….” Veers’ traitor voice failed him. He couldn’t ask. The princess knew though. 

She blew out a breath. “Alive.”

He leaned quite heavily on his desk and she crossed to him at that point, the data pad falling to the floor as she put her arms around him. “I know, dear General,” she murmured into his chest. “I know.”

And he couldn’t be ashamed of the sob that escaped him. He was too tired and too relieved and….sometimes one had to break. 

She squeezed him tightly, not able to quite reach her arms around him, so tiny as she was. He patted her back and gathered himself. 

“When can we go?”

“Dr. Henley is prepping a med shuttle, but we can go ahead of him. The Admiral is ah...he’s injured obviously and apparently he doesn’t….he doesn’t know who he is.”

She pulled back to pick up the data pad from the floor as Veers grappled with this news. 

The princess tapped at the screen. “Fairly severe head injuries. He was thrown in an unexpected direction. They didn’t find him for 24 hours and at that point they were just transporting the injured to the nearest triage location. Nothing life threatening, but serious. The Doctor has suggested we pack things that could help trigger his memories.”

Veers nodded. He had a mission. His friend lived and he was going to retrieve him. They would deal with his injuries as they always did----together. 

“All right. How much time do I have?”

She studied him. “What do you need?”

“A shower, shave, and clean uniform.”

She gave him a small smile. “You have time for that. Suggestions on things to bring? I’m going to get some of his tea and I thought that little tree I got him that’s his favorite...”

The General downed the caf in a bitter gulp hoping the caffeine would do something for him. “In his desk drawer in his office. There’s a hair clip…”

“Yes,” the princess said softly. “Good, I’ll get that. And some holos.”

“Where can I find you, your highness?”

“Hangar bay seven.” She turned to leave when something occurred to Veers.

“Princess. How is your brother?”

She glanced back. “Doing very well now that Father is here.”

He hadn’t known.

“Lord Vader is here?”

“Yes,” she said and sighed slightly. “I asked him to come. Luke was never in danger but it was bad. And...the Admiral…” She paused again and looked at Veers. “You and I both know that you two are my Father’s only friends. He deserved to know.”

Veers would need to check in with his commander then as well. 

“Yes,” he agreed gravely. “He does.”

**

They made him eat. He didn’t want to---not if this was life. 

Life. Hardly. 

Unable to move. Unable to recall who he was. Faces passing in and out. Sometimes, a tickle on the farthest edge of his memory….brown eyes. Stars. Not viewed from the ground---viewed in space. But then these not memories would disappear leaving him in this white nothing.

They were not rough with the prisoner, but he almost wished they were just to feel something.

And always that ache of missing. Longing.

**

Leia appreciated that the General didn’t feel the need to fill time with needless talking. She watched him pilot the small shuttle---a humble C class, they didn’t need a lamda---to the coordinates they’d been given. She held the canvas tote carefully. It contained things precious to Piett and she was hopeful they would help his memory. It concerned her deeply that his injury had affected her ability to sense him. Was it the physical wound that had done that? Or was it the fact that he didn’t know who he was and therefore the connection was lost?

She was inclined toward the latter, but their connection was still so new and mysterious.

Skywalker sensitive , Veers liked to tease him. 

Please let him be so still, she thought, looking out the viewport as they flew over the terrible destruction toward the outskirts of the city.

Matthew had been gutted when he was informed he wasn’t well enough to join them. Goolsby was in the seat behind her as Fox was not letting them go anywhere on their own. The young security guard was doing well in keeping his mouth shut too. Of course, he was one of the General’s team and had long practice in the habits of his charge. 

Scraps had solemnly enjoined Goolsby to keep him updated and his friend had patted his shoulder in understanding. 

They landed in a field right behind the small hospital and were met by a strained looking doctor as they disembarked. 

“Princess,” he said in that interesting, somewhat nasally accent. “Welcome. I am sorry it has taken so long to contact you…” 

“Not your fault,” she told him, impatient to see Piett. “This is General Veers, the Admiral’s dear friend. Lieutenant Goolsby, our security. We would like to see the Admiral immediately, and confirm that it is indeed him.”

Part of her was still frightened that there had been a mistake. Until she saw him with her own eyes, she couldn’t  wholly let herself believe it.

“Of course. I must tell you that you will need to be patient. Injuries of this nature are so unpredictable. He may recognize you right away and he may take days, even weeks to come back to himself.”

“But he will?” Veers asked fiercely as they strode over yellowing grass into the building. “His memory will return?”

“I think it very likely,” the doctor said cautiously. “I have sent copies of my notes to your Doctor Henley and he concurs.”

That was something. 

“You should also know,” the doctor continued, leading them down a small hallway, past other rooms. They were all occupied. Leia reminded herself that these people had endured much and were doing their best. “You should know ah, that he tried to leave several times. Obviously, with his injuries, we couldn’t allow that. He got rather….aggressive the last time so we had to restrain him I’m afraid.”

The General stopped dead.

“ What ?” he growled dangerously. “What do you mean, ‘restrain’ him?”

The doctor sighed. “I hate doing it too, but I assure you, General, it was for his safety. Medical restraints---nothing that would hurt him.”

Leia watched Veers clench his hands at his sides. “How. Long?” he clipped.

The doctor looked distinctly nervous now, sweat beading on his forehead. 

“Well...it was in that first week when it was so crucial he not move, much less be out of bed. He kept insisting that his ah, his family needed him.”

And tears sprang to Leia’s eyes at this. She thought she had wept them dry but apparently not.

“You mean to tell me, that you have kept my friend tied up and helpless for two weeks ?” Veers snarled, looking positively feral. Leia was aware that her Admiral hated to be helpless. But Veers knew it better than anyone and he knew Piett’s reasons as well. 

“I...well yes, General, because…” 

Veers actually took a step toward the poor man and Goolsby moved to get in between.

“Sir. Sir, we need to get to the Admiral and the doctor is taking us. I do understand, General, but please, sir….”

Veers looked terrifying, but with supreme control he stepped back, jaw tight.

“Lead on then, Force damn you.”

They continued walking and the tension was palpable.

“Did the Admiral say anything else?” Leia asked eventually.

“Ah, no your highness. After...after we restrained him, he seemed to retreat into himself.”

“Did it occur to you bastards, that you might be making it worse ?” Veers snapped.

“We did our best, General,” the doctor said, pushing back a bit---clearly at the end of his rope. “We’re a small hospital and we’ve been overwhelmed.”

Leia put a hand on Veers’ arm. 

“Here we are,” the doctor said, clearly relieved to have arrived. And he opened the door.

**

The prisoner was vaguely aware that more faces were flowing by as they did. 

But one stayed. 

That was different. And this face was talking. To him? No matter. They did that sometimes. Nothing changed.

Until it did.

**

Goolsby waited in the hall as Leia and Veers entered the room. A man lay on the simple bed. It was partially raised to allow him to see, but his head was turned to the wall, thick bandage wrapped around it. One arm was in a sling and there were fading bruises on his countenance. Strong white medical restraints were attached to his wrists and ankles and Leia drew in a sharp and painful breath. She moved swiftly across the room, setting the canvas tote on the chair and getting her first good look at the man.

It was her Admiral. Thinner and empty eyed, but it was Piett. 

“Admiral dear,” she whispered. “We’re here.”

Nothing. He didn’t blink. Kriffing hells this was so awful. 

“Get him out of those restraints immediately!” Veers ordered from the other side of the bed. 

“Well it’s not policy when…”

“Kriff your policy!” the General snarled. “We’re here…”

Leia didn’t take her eyes off of Piett and even as she watched, a single tear trembled in his left eye before running down his cheek.

“You’re in there, aren’t you?” she said quietly and waved her hand, using the Force to undo the restraints. 

The doctor choked behind her in surprise. 

“You...you..ah…”

“Thank you for your help ,” Veers said coldly. “We’ll take it from here.”

The unfortunate man retreated from the room as Leia seated herself on the bed beside Piett to take his free hand gently and move it so it was level with his eyes.

“They’re gone,” she told him softly. “You’re free. We’re here, Admiral dearest.”

And Piett blinked. 

**

Something had changed. He felt it. 

This wasn’t the removing of his restraints to attend to his needs. This was different. 

A girl was sitting on the bed. Not a doctor or medic.

He didn’t understand.

**

“Firmus,” Veers said, drawing up the chair on the other side, “I’m so sorry , we weren’t here sooner.”

His friend was so thin and so pale. The General wanted to go out and punch that doctor. Because those big hazel eyes were so dead. It was awful to have Piett there and yet not there. Yes, he realized the medical staff could have no idea of the traumas that the Admiral had gone through---but to have such a head wound and then be bound as he’d been….Piett had clearly dissociated. 

“We’ll bring you back, friend of mine,” Veers said with fierce love. “As long as it takes.”

The princess reached for the bag and drew out the box she’d packed the little tree in. She opened it and showed it to Piett.

“Pretty isn’t it?” she said, and he could see the effort she was putting in to keeping her voice calm and cheerful. “This one is your favorite, Admiral dear, and I’m rather pleased since I gave it to you. I know you know this already, but I’m Princess Leia. Really, I’m not a princess anymore because Alderaan is gone---” her voice quivered very slightly before she carried on, “---but you and General Veers over there are too used to being formal so you call me princess.”

Veers gave her a small smile.

“But you also call me ‘my dear’ and no one else does that, Admiral,” she continued and she took his hand to guide his fingers to the soft needles of the little tree. Piett blinked again and then he moved his head at last to look down at the tree. Then he looked over their heads, and Veers felt as though he could see his friend retreating once more. 

“Maybe faces?” Veers said to the princess and she nodded, carefully putting the tree away and pulling out the holo images. 

“Here we are, dearest Admiral,” she said, “this is my Father and you and the General after a successful skirmish. I don’t recall where, but you’re all in that wonderful armor from the 501st.”

“Velar,” Veers said and she glanced swiftly at him. “That’s where the battle was.”

Piett’s eyes flicked over the picture and away again.

“This is Matthew Scraps,” her highness continued, with a smile at the image. “He is your security lead and he’s so very devastated he couldn’t be here.” She gripped Piett’s hand again. “He um, he loves you just as much as we do, and I’m rather certain you see him as a son.”

Was it the General’s imagination or was Piett breathing a little more quickly?

“This is the Lady,” the princess said. “You love her and you’re so proud of her. Your flagship and, to my knowledge, the only sentient Star Destroyer in existence. She’s so very sad right now and we need to get you back to her.”

There. No mistaking it. Piett had moved his hand from the princess’s to touch the image. She passed Veers the hair clip.

“Firmus,” Veers said. “I know that it feels safer wherever you are in there. I know you’re just trying to cope. That’s fine, friend of mine. But we’re very ready to help you cope here . With us. I think it will be more effective. I’m saying that so you understand why we retrieved this.”

He pressed the pretty hair clip into Piett’s hand. 

“This was your sister’s,” Veers told him as the Admiral’s fingers ran over the fake gems and smooth metal. “You kept it after she died. You told me about how well she looked after you. How much you still miss her. Her name was Rilla.”

**

They wanted him to come out. And there was something very compelling about them. 

He had looked at faces and flashes of things had flickered in his mind.

--Will you help me save my son, Admiral?

----I can’t lose you too, sir.

---I love you, Admiral of mine.

---never had a brother before…

Rilla. Pain. Loss. 

He found his voice. 

**

“My family needs me…”

Veers jerked his head sharply. Piett was staring down at the clip in his hand. The princess met his gaze when he looked to her.

“Yes dearest Admiral, yes they do. Part of it is right here. We need you so very much.”

“They won’t let me go. I need to find my family.”

“They will let you go, Firmus,” Veers put in, resting a hand on the Admiral’s shoulder. “We told them to. Because we’re your family.”

The princess was opening the small jar of tea leaves and their spicy potency filled the room. Piett gasped quite suddenly and put a hand to his bandaged head. The princess started almost in unison with the Admiral.

“What is it?” Veers asked, trying to keep his voice steady so as not to alarm his friend. 

She was staring at Piett and then very slowly, so that the Admiral could see what she was doing, she reached and touched his face carefully. 

“You know that on a deep level don’t you, dear Admiral? It’s very ingrained for you.”

Veers watched as Firmus actually looked at the princess, really looked at her, and felt hope spear through him sharply. 

“General,” the girl said very softly, not looking away from his friend. “I think I can try now.”

He tried to quell the churning in his gut. Henley had urged caution in using her powers for this. Brain injuries were tricky at the best of times and Force users needed to tread particularly gently, especially if the subject had dealt with mind trauma before. 

But this was Piett and the princess. Their connection was special and built solidly on trust. 

“If you think it’s the right time,” he said, “then I believe you.”

“Can you help ground him?” she asked. “Just a hand on the shoulder or arm…”

Veers was on the side with the broken arm and he wanted to be careful. He replaced his hand on Piett’s shoulder and the Admiral twitched slightly.

“Good,” the princess breathed. “Ok….”

And the room was quiet.

********

Leia cautiously reached in the Force. She was aware of how tender the Admiral’s mind was. It felt like she was making her way through very narrow aisles and everything was made of thin and delicate glass. If she moved wrong, things could shatter. 

She walked lightly and it was as though she went through a….back door, was the only way she could describe it. 

She exited into a nondescript corridor---there were no recognizable features--it was a blur of greys and whites but she could feel Piett’s presence and she proceeded until she came to a set of doors that seemed vaguely familiar. This was his mind after all, he would choose things that he knew….

They opened for her and she stepped into…

...the Alliance lounge. And she knew where she would find him. She made her way through the vast and empty room to their corner. The Nabooan willows. The familiar sofas and chairs in their spots. 

And…

“Admiral,” she said softly.

He was in uniform here, having chosen as many things as his injured mind could come up with that were familiar and comforting she was sure. The only jarring things were the heavy fetters on his wrists and ankles--keeping him bound to the chair he was in. 

Piett looked up as she came around and she hated the raw pain in his eyes. 

“Princess,” he breathed. “ How… ?”

She drew up one of the ottomans and seated herself in front of him, crossing her legs and giving him a smile.

“You recall, I think, Admiral of mine, that I wield the Force….”

He blinked. “Have you...have you come to get me out?”

“Yes. But...You need to want to come with me.”

“I very much would like to,” he told her, “but…” he tugged at his bonds. 

She nodded. “I know. But Admiral, those….aren’t real. You put those there.”

He frowned. “I assure you, my dear, I wouldn’t desire to be stuck like this…”

“No,” she agreed. “That is true in regular circumstances. But we are dealing with your subconscious at the moment.”

And the room around them trembled, the lights flickering slightly.

“What was that?” Piett asked, looking up. “And why hasn’t the Lady been responding? I can’t….I can’t….feel her...ah!”

Pain crossed his features. 

Leia leaned forward slightly to place a hand on his knee. “What hurts, Admiral?”

“My head….”

She nodded. “You were hurt. It affected your memory. The General and I are here. We’re trying to help you…” she trailed off as she realized that there was a table beside the Admiral. Upon it sat a tiny tree, a data pad with holo images, a pretty hair clip and a mug of tea, steam rising gently from it. 

Piett saw where she was looking. “Those...I don’t remember how those got there,” he commented.

“I do,” she replied gently. “I can show you if you come with me.”

He sighed. “My dear girl, I would love to, but….they won’t let me.”

She pondered this. She didn’t want to push too hard---she knew it had to be him deciding to break those chains--but she also needed to guide him as to how.

She rose and came to kneel beside his chair, resting her hands on the gaberwool clad arm. “Admiral dear, who is they ?”

He looked at her. “Well they…” then he paused.

“Is not the Lady your ship? She would never let you be so restrained like this.”

Piett looked around once more and the room trembled more violently. 

“Are we under attack?” he asked, concerned. “ Damn these fetters!” 

“No attack, Admiral,” she said quietly. “But I think your mind is questioning what’s happening.”

She watched his breathing increase before he slowly turned his head to look at her again.

“What….what is happening then, my dear?”

“Do you trust me, dearest Admiral?” she asked him earnestly. “Before I explain, do you trust me? That I wouldn’t hurt you? I wouldn’t lie to you?”

“Of course,” he responded without hesitation and she rejoiced at that. She could feel they were close. 

“Then, Admiral of my heart, this isn’t real. You were injured in an explosion. You ah...you lost your memory..”

“But I know who you are. Who I am,” he insisted.