#Rilla Piett | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

numerousbees1106 · 5 months ago

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Ecesis

Ecesis - The process of establishing and growing base/pioneer species during ecological primary succession

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The twilight sky above shone a velvety cobalt-violet, textured by wispy clouds so high up in the atmosphere that they still shone hypnotic shades of pale blue and silver, gleaming in an elusive sunlight that no longer graced the small cafe Piett currently sat at. All around him, the bustling yet quiet din of conversation murmured like a stream, a burbling brook of words he, admittedly, would eagerly eavesdrop on had he not been in such a foul mood.

Indeed, Piett grumbled to himself, he was positively gloomy that evening.

By all accounts, he should have been enjoying himself - he was in a fancy cafe-bar-hybrid decorated with one of his favored aesthetics. The moderately sized area was bedecked with elegantly carved wooden tables and chairs near the front, and gorgeous bookshelves stocked with real books all along the sides, books that he was free to simply pick up and read to his heart’s content. Live plants tucked in every nook and cranny gave the impression of the area being full, but not crowded, a splash of unassuming, subtle wilderness that Piett found oddly comforting. Lights hung on rose-gold wires, twisting around vintage wood beams running along the ceiling that Piett suspected were more for decoration than for structural support, casting the room in a warm glow that added to the cozy atmosphere. Near the back, where he was, a bar with fern-like ivy tenderly cascading down from above served simple yet deluxe drinks, one of which he was currently nursing.

Despite being in the midst of a bustling city, the cafe honestly felt more like a garden, an oasis of life reserved for those of higher class - which, Rilla had pointed out with a grin as she had shoved him out the door earlier that night, pressing a card with the directions to the cafe into his hand, he now counted as.

He scowled as he recalled the subject of his ire and the reason for his current bad mood.

‘Go out and have fun,’ she said. ‘You can’t just sulk around the house until your boyfriend gets back,’ she said.

Piett scoffed to himself.

Well, now I’m just sulking around here instead!

Begrudgingly, he would admit that the soothing atmosphere did make him feel slightly better, but true to the infamous Piett stubbornness, he would literally rather get shot than tell her that.

A wave of concern that wasn’t his washed over him.

Love-shot-hurt? The faint impression came across their bond. This far away from each other, it was all his lover could manage, but it still had Piett startling slightly where he sat slumped over the countertop, a stray leaf tickling his arm as he did so.

Clearing his throat awkwardly as the person behind the counter gave him an odd look, he straightened in his seat and allowed his lover to feel the sense of security and safety and calm that his surroundings inspired in him. After a moment or two, during which Piett gently batted the plant away absent-mindedly, his lover completed whatever inspection he had set his mind to, and purred out a soft noise of satisfaction.

Love-dramatic-stubborn, he noted with amusement, and Piett sent back a wave of embarrassment and what he hoped translated to a mental apology. Although, really, Piett thought, that was rather rich coming from him. Another purr-like sensation, along with a sense of mock-offense came from his lover to show that he had overheard that last thought, and Piett was alone once more.

For about five seconds.

Once again Piett found himself startling in his seat as his peripheral vision was suddenly overwhelmed by the visage of all six-foot three-inches worth of army general.

“Ah, Prince Consort Piett! A pleasure as always, Your Grace,” Veers exclaimed as he sat down unreasonably close to him.

“Stop calling me that,” Piett said, glaring at the man who, in Piett’s experience, was like most of the army-folk in that he lacked any and all sense of personal space.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Veers clucked, raising his hand to catch the attention of the bartender. “It really should be Your Majesty, shouldn’t it?”

Piett simply gave a long-suffering sigh, ignoring Veers as he chuckled to himself as he ordered his drink.

“Did Rilla put you up to this?” Piett asked as soon as Veers was finished.

The man shot him an over-the-top injured look, putting on his best wounded expression.

“Is a man not allowed to simply visit his best friend?” Veers asked, voice full of faux hurt. “You wound me, Firmus, truly.”

Piett simply stared at his friend for a few long moments in silence.

“…But yes, your sister did send me,” Veers relented.

“Hm. Thought so,” Piett said, raising the drink he’d ordered what felt like hours earlier to his lips to take a pointed sip.

Veers huffed, taking a sip of his own drink, before rolling his eyes fondly.

“Firmus, you’ve been moping for, like, a week now! Of course she’s gonna call me to come make you stop sulking!”

“I have not been sulking,” Piett huffed with a scowl. “And it’s been two days, Max. Hardly a week.”

“And besides!” Max continued, ignoring Piett completely. “You have a week to plan your guys’ celebration! You should be taking this opportunity and running with it, not- not slugging about your sister’s apartment!”

“Slugging about-” Piett spluttered in mock outrage, before the rest of that sentence registered. “Wait. Celebration?”

Veers looked at him with wide eyes.

“Firmus,” he said, aghast. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Forgot what?” Piett squawked, desperately running through all the important dates he had memorized.

Veers gaped at him, his joking demeanor replaced by one of horror.

“Firmus. Fir. Your anniversary.”

Piett blinked at him once, twice.

“…Shit.”

Veers barked out a laugh at his expense, though tension lingered in his shoulders before the man shook himself, seemingly deciding on something as he did so.

“Yeah, I’d say so, buddy,” the man said with a grin. “Not to worry, though - you’ve got me to help!”

“Joy,” Piett muttered joylessly, then shook his head. “Has it really been a year? Already?”

“It has! In fact, I think today marks the day of the Bridge Incident!”

Piett shot Veers a glare.

“Veers, I swear to fuck, if you bring up the Bridge Incident one more time-”

“You’ll what?” Veers interrupted. “Smack your head against the counter, throw up, and proclaim your undying love for Darth Vader?”

Blushing a scarlet red and acutely aware of the way the bartender froze and nearly dropped the glass they were holding upon hearing his lover’s name, Piett hastily slapped down what he sincerely hoped were enough credits, grabbed Max’s arm in an iron grip, and stormed out of the cafe.

“Ack! Firmus, my drink- Firmus!”

Ignoring Veers’ protests, Piett continued down the street towards the city’s market center.

“What should I get him?” He asked Veers, who was still loudly complaining.

“What- how should I know? You’re the one dating him!” Max retorted, which, yes, Piett would admit, that was fair.

“You’ve had anniversaries before! What did you do then?” Piett questioned as he released his grip on Veers.

“Uh, mostly just got them a heartfelt gift, took them on a special date, and followed that up with some mind blowing sex?” Veers replied, rubbing his arm tenderly. “Kriff, Firmus, how are you so strong? You’re like, half my size!”

The rest of Veers’ complaints faded away as Piett’s brain stuttered and shut down at the idea of him and his lover doing… that.

“-Uh, you alright there, Fir?”

Piett attempted to answer but instead of words, all he managed was a very undignified squeak.

“Firmus, are you seriously blushing bright red at the mere mention of sex? You are two grown men who are also dating, no one is surprised that you two do that! It’s nothing to get all bent up over,” Veers huffed.

Piett shook his head, his cheeks feeling as though they were on fire.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just- uh, I- I hadn’treallythoughtofhimlikethatbefore…?”

Veers stopped walking and blinked at him.

“You… haven’t thought of him like that before,” Veers repeated slowly, narrowing his eyes in contemplation at Piett. “Are you… oh, what’s the term… er, ace-sexual?”

“Um, not as far as I’m aware,” Piett squeaked, still blushing, trying his best not to fidget where he stood. “I mean, my exes and I were… active. It’s just that… I don’t know! It’s just different, with him, but as soon as you said it, the thought entered my mind, and…”

“And now you want it?” Veers finished for him, managing to sound only mildly disgusted.

Piett shrugged.

“I’ve been happy just, doing my own thing, you know? I guess I just figured that he’d show interest when he’s ready.”

“Well, I mean, he might be waiting for you to come onto him,” Veers suggested. “With the power imbalance between you two, it might just be that he didn’t want to pressure you.”

“Maybe,” Piett mused, mulling it over in his head. It certainly seemed like something his conundrum of a lover would do, being as oddly sweet and considerate as he was.

“Well, if I’m right, then I think you know your anniversary gift already,” Max said with a sly, mischievous grin.

“Oh, stop it,” Piett grumbled, smacking the other man’s arm, then paused.

“I still want to get another gift. Just in case, you know?”

Veers nodded.

“Makes sense. What were you thinking?”

“That’s the issue,” Piett said with a sigh, continuing his trek towards the markets, the noctilucent clouds fading as the last vestiges of sunlight fled from even the upper atmosphere. “He loves speeders and ships, but…”

“But that’s kinda a huge gift, even for an anniversary?” Veers supplied, nodding in understanding.

“Exactly. Plus, it’s a bit out of my budget.”

Veers winced in sympathy, then elbowed him playfully.

“What, being third in line for the throne doesn’t pay well?” The menace of a man teased.

Piett simply shot him a caustic glare, earning a self-satisfied chuckle before the general shook himself.

“Well, what else does he enjoy? Mechanics, right?” He inquired, to which Piett nodded, mentally mulling over any potential mechanical gifts he could give.

“The issue with that is that he has essentially everything he could ever want, what with his position, and all,” he eventually sighed.

“I agree, but also, I think it would be less of what the gift is and more the idea that it’s a gift from you,” Veers replied, tilting his head slightly as he spoke.

“Do you really think so?” Piett questioned with a frown, a warm and pleasant feeling fizzing in his chest at the thought.

“Firmus, I practically know so,” Veers crowed.

“I suppose I could get him some new tools,” he decided after a moment’s contemplation, brightening. Veers, however, didn’t seem to be listening.

“I wonder…” the man murmured quietly, his demeanor suddenly somber. “Do- Do you think I should get Zev something? I know he’s older now, but…”

Piett winced. Veers and his son had been getting into more and more spats in the recent years, and though Piett tried his best to help, it was honestly all out of his experience.

“I’m sure he’d like that,” Piett said softly, hoping desperately that that was true - he’d be devastated if he accidentally made the riff between his best friend and the boy he practically considered a nephew deeper. “What’s he into, these days?”

“Literature, mostly,” Veers replied. “Especially this series about talking dragons - Fiery Wings, I think?”

Piett frowned, tilting his head before he realized what Max was talking about.

“Ah, I think you mean Winged Fire,” Piett corrected, recalling briefly delving into the series during one of his late-night searches for something to read in his youth. “That series is still going?”

Veers shrugged.

“No idea. Zevulon absolutely adores it, though. I wonder if the stores will have anything…?”

Now it was Piett’s turn to shrug.

“Perhaps one of the arts & crafts stalls will have something, or maybe even be willing to custom-make something for you,” he suggested.

Veers froze mid-step, face scrunching up in confusion.

“Stalls?” He questioned, sounding bewildered.

“Well, yes?” Piett gave him an odd look. “Max, we’re on Axilla. While we can certainly go to a store, you’ll likely find better wares in the marketplaces. Plus, in the market you can barter.”

He paused.

“Well, I can barter,” he amended.

Veers gave him a glare of mock-offense, but his shoulders slumped in relief at the words.

“Right,” the general said with a sniff. “Lead on, then.”

“It’s quite literally right around this corner,” Piett told him, amusement only increasing at the incredulous look his best friend gave him. “Can’t you smell the food?”

“Is that what that is?” Veers asked, seeming both curious and cautious.

“For me, it is,” Piett replied, taking the last few steps needed to round the corner. “For you, I think it’d probably give you some serious food poisoning, at least until you’ve built up a tolerance.”

“I’m 90% sure that is not how food poisoning works,” Veers said, doubtfully.

“Are you willing to risk that?” Piett questioned, pointedly raising a brow.

“No,” Veers said, then blinked as they passed by an admittedly delicious smelling pastry stall. “Maybe.”

Piett simply snorted, tucking his belongings closer to his person and motioning for Veers to do the same. This was the nicer part of Axilla, sure, but it was still Axilla.

The two walked in comfortable silence for a while, quietly browsing the stalls as they went and basking in each other’s company - it had been far too long since the two of them had simply hung out. In fact, Piett mused, he’d reckon the last time had to have been during the Imperial introduction ceremony of Jelucan, back when Piett had been a junior officer under Grand Moff Tarkin and Veers had been a lieutenant.

They’d been in close contact since, of course, either keeping up a long-distance friendship or, in more recent years, serving side-by-side with each other aboard the Lady.

Piett was snapped out of his quiet contemplations as he realized Veers had wandered a bit farther away, the man speaking to a younger artist who seemed quite enthused. As Piett subtly moved closer to the two, not trusting his friend to see past the youthful, innocent face of the artist to any potential scams, he listened as a rather confused-sounding Veers was trying to describe something.

“Er, and then I think he said the- what did you call it? A Bug Dragon?”

“A Hive Dragon!” The teen chirped excitedly.

“Yes, that,” Veers said with a nod. “He said his favorite scene was when the Hive Dragon first met the butterfly guy, the one who was being chased, or something.”

Ah. Veers was seeking a commission for his son.

“He said he really loved how she had gone against all she had known to help a stranger in need? I’m not quite sure, he was rambling at that point.” The general shrugged, his demeanor almost awkward in the face of the young artist who was so excited they were practically vibrating with energy.

“That’s an excellent scene!” They exclaimed, grinning widely, eyes shining.

Piett tuned them out as the teen began explaining the intricacies of the scene to a bemused Veers, rolling his eyes with amusement at his friend’s predicament. There was nothing but genuine artistic passion in the teen’s demeanor - he felt secure leaving Veers to his own devices.

Turning away, Piett began browsing the stalls once more, humming softly to himself as a street musician played a familiar tune a few stalls down, making a note to give whoever it was a tip when he passed them - they were quite talented.

“Lookin’ for something special?” A raspy voice called.

Head snapping up, Piett met the gaze of an old woman, her gray hair appearing almost tawny in the warm lighting of the market, her pale eyes staring intently into his own. In her hands, clasped between fingers gnarled by age and palms calloused by a life of labor, was a block of wood she was slowly but surely chipping away at, a carving knife held with a smooth sort of steadiness that belied great skill and experience. Piett hummed in agreement as he watched tiny slivers of bark - she was carving from raw wood, interesting - fall to the ground, the woman calmly crafting to a blueprint only she could see.

“Well, young man? See anything that catches your eye?” She asked with a wink.

Piett blinked at her, confused, before her meaning caught up to him and he flushed a deep red and shook his head.

“Oh! Oh, no, I do apologize-” he began, but she only cackled, her eyes glinting with mischief as she grinned at him.

“Relax, young man. I tease, I tease,” she reassured him, before motioning to her wares with a sweeping gesture. “Please, have a look around!”

Wetting his lips, embarrassment still heating his cheeks - and really, what would his mother say, if she caught him staring like that? - he turned to gaze at little rows of beautiful wooden figures.

Some appeared to have been sanded, while others still had bark on strategic places to act as texture or shading, such as a bantha with bark highlighting its horns and hooves. Some had some sort of finish applied, but most were raw, natural wood, occasionally bedecked with other materials as well. A small flower-shaped wooden plate had streaks of paint for color, and along the bottom waxy leaves had been attached to give the impression of it blooming. A little humanoid figure had clothes made out of wool of some sort covering it, and a gorgeous band could be worn as an adjustable bracelet by tying small loops of twine around one’s wrist.

But what really grabbed his attention was a smaller figure near the back, hidden by the larger, flashier, more complex pieces it was surrounded by. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the light reflecting off the tiny little gemstone embedded in the figure to act as an eye, he likely wouldn’t have seen it at all.

Reaching out to tenderly pick it up, he was surprised by the heft of it, as well as the rough sturdiness of the wood. It was a little bird, obviously painstakingly crafted to achieve all the intricate little details that decorated it. Thick, deep lines clearly defined the head, the wings, and the rectrices, while shallower lines carved out the bird’s markings and beak. Looking closer, Piett could see lines so small and thin they were almost invisible in the dim lighting outline all the other little details, from feathers to nostrils to - he noted with delight - tiny little feet on the underside of the figure.

Its eyes were small jewels that Piett didn’t recognize - one was a brilliant sky blue, and one was a bright amber-yellow.

“Topaz and cobalt,” the woman rasped.

Piett’s head snapped up to look at her, having forgotten she was there.

“The eyes,” she said, noting his confused expression. “The left one’s processed cobalt and the other’s honey topaz.”

“Ah,” Piett murmured, turning the small figure over in his hands. “It’s beautiful.”

“Mmm. Indeed,” the woman replied, though with a distinctly pleased air about her. “That little thing took months to make.”

Piett blinked at her in shock.

“Yes, yes, it’s true! Genuine japor wood, that one. Real pain in the ass to carve. Very sturdy, though!” The woman chuckled. “Step on it, run it over, hell, blow it up! It’ll probably be fine.”

She paused.

“Within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” Piett agreed with a small grin and a shake of his head. “How much for it?”

“Is it a gift for yourself or someone else?” The woman asked instead of answering.

“Oh, it’s an anniversary gift,” Piett replied. He didn’t know when, exactly, he had decided he would give it to his lover, but it felt right.

“Oh, how exciting!” She crooned as she gently took the bird from his hands and began wrapping it in a little bundle. “How long?”

“One year,” Piett told her, unable and unwilling to hide the smile that rose to his lips. “Since we started dating, that is.”

Technically, they had begun dating a few months after their agreed upon anniversary date, but they had both decided that the whole incident with the rebels counted as a first date.

“Ah, I take it you both like birds?” The woman tied the bundle with a little ribbon.

Piett flushed.

“Er, I do, yes,” he explained. “But on our first date, he discovered a new bird species, and it’s become our symbol, in a way.”

“Oh, to be young and spry, birdwatching as a first date,” she sighed dreamily, ringing up his total.

Piett snorted out a soft laugh at the idea of his lover sitting in a park with a pair of binoculars.

“Alright, dearie, here you are,” the woman said with a smile, and Piett blinked down at the total in surprise - it was far less than he had expected a piece of this quality to be.

“Ah, who am I to get in the way of young love?” She asked with a shrug and a smile. “Consider your heartwarming tale of romance as part of the payment. Just tell me something.”

Piett nodded, she leaned forwards.

“What did he name the bird?”

“Oh, ah, he- he named it after me,” Piett admitted sheepishly.

The elderly woman let out a barking laugh, eyes shining with delight, and Piett found himself laughing along too.

“Yeah, it is rather corny,” Piett said, smiling.

“He’s a keeper!” The woodcarver insisted, nodding in thanks as he passed over the credits, plus a few extra.

“A tip,” he explained as he gently tucked the bundle against his chest as if it were fragile, despite having been reassured that it could survive a small explosion.

The elderly woman nodded sagely, smiling at him one last time, and with a respectful nod Piett turned and scanned the crowd.

Max was still talking to the young artist, it seemed, though it rather appeared that the poor man was being talked to, judging by the rather haggard expression he was wearing.

With a snort of laughter at his best friend’s expense, Piett sauntered over to him with a cheery grin.

“-And that’s why the paint is so important, because it symbolizes how they both wish to be someone they’re not, but by the end of the arc they both grow but also realize that in a sense, they were already who they wanted to be!” The youngster was explaining, pausing only to take a breath.

Max looked up and, upon catching sight of Piett, practically slumped in relief.

“Ah, Firmus!” He called, and Piett was tempted to pretend not to know him, if only to get back at him for mentioning the Bridge Incident earlier. Alas, Piett was too good a man for his own good, and he took pity on the poor sod that was the esteemed General Veers confronted with an overeager teenager.

“Max,” he greeted, coming to stand by Veers’ side. “Any luck?”

“Ah, yes!” The teen squeaked, turning back to their stall to quickly fish out a form of some sort - who still uses physical forms, Piett wondered.

“If you could just fill this out, I’ll complete the piece within a few days depending on the size and detail and send it to wherever you want!”

Looking immensely relieved, Veers took the offered form and stylus and began to fill it out.

“For the piece description, just put ‘Cobalt and Beetle meeting scene’; I’ll know what that means,” the teen chirped.

“Should I send this directly to Zev, do you think?” Veers turned to ask him. “Or should I just give it to him?”

Piett frowned.

“Is he on planet?” He asked.

Veers gave him an odd look.

“Did your sister not tell you? He’s staying with her to help babysit Sarkli for the week, for some extra credits. Not much!” Veers was quick to add. “Just enough to get himself a book and some snacks at the end of it.”

Piett sighed.

“I’m beginning to think she doesn’t tell me anything at all,” he grumbled, then nodded. “Give it to him in person - I think it’d mean a lot to him.”

With a nod, Veers finished filling out the form and returned it to the still-eager teen, who quickly stored the flimsi safely in a folder of what Piett assumed were similar commission forms.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” The kid squeaked, grinning at them as Veers handed over his credit chip. “Half upfront, half once it’s delivered! Have a great night!”

With a smile and a nod, Veers turned so fast that Piett briefly worried for the man’s neck before power walking away. Piett tried not to laugh at his six-foot-three hardened army general of a friend blatantly running away from a scrappy, lanky 15-or-so-year-old.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Veers asked once they were some distance away.

“I haven’t gotten any tools, no,” Piett replied. “I’d probably be better off getting those from an actual distributor. But,” he held up the bundle, “I did get something I think he’ll like.”

“Speaking of something I think he’ll like,” Veers said with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows, nodding his head to where the stalls became farther and farther apart, eventually marking the end of the market altogether, with-

With a sex shop squarely at the end of the street.

“Absolutely not!” Piett squeaked, flushing.

“Firmus, we literally share a mindlink,” Veers huffed. “And besides, you once had me pick up your lingerie for you that one time!”

“That was different!” Piett squawked, his face feeling as though it were on fire.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stay outside if it bothers you so much! But, Firmus,” Veers continued, suddenly serious. “I’m your best friend, your wingman, remember? I’m trying to get you laid, and I don’t know how that might work with your, er, partner of choice.”

“Since when have you been my wingman?” Piett demanded to know, still-burning brow scrunching up in confusion.

Veers rubbed his hand down his face.

“You,” he accused, pointing at Piett in a manner that was oddly similar to what Piett’s lover frequently did, “-are missing the point.”

Piett sighed. “You’re right,” he begrudgingly admitted. “I’ll probably need some specialty bacta lube, or something.”

Veers made a face at that, but really, it was on him for insisting he be Piett’s wingman.

Setting his face, expression as blank and stoic as if he were on shift aboard the Executor before he and his lover met, Piett handed Veers the little bundle and strode into the shop.

A cheery little ding! rang out as he entered, eyes subtly darting around as he stiffly returned the nod the tired-looking togruta working the counter gave him.

Ducking into the closest aisle, his gaze quickly scanned over the shelves lined with what appeared to be boxes containing strap-ons for virtually any species Piett could think of. There were a couple different human, twi'lek, and togruta models of various lengths, girths, and styles, but surprisingly there were also models for wookies, besalisks, and even one for chiss.

Piett tilted his head. He had never really considered it, but it suddenly occurred to Piett that his lover may be lacking the, er… equipment usually possessed by biological human males, which Piett presumed his lover to be. Although, now that he thought about it, he realized he didn’t actually know his lover’s species and birth-sex for absolute certainty.

Deciding that it didn’t much matter, and that Piett would deal with that issue if and when it arose, he quickly strode past the various displays, still keeping that stone-faced expression he had long-since mastered.

Turning into the next aisle, he saw rows upon rows of various dildos, vibrators, and stimulators, along with a myriad of fleshlights and cockrings and other such toys. Very quickly deciding that he didn’t need anything of the sort, Piett skipped the aisle entirely, and the one after that too.

Who still buys porn? Piett thought as he moved onto the final aisle which, thankfully, seemed much more promising. That shit’s been available on the holonet for literal centuries now.

Breathing out a little huff of relief, Piett eyed the various tubes and bottles of lube available for sale. Most of it was the typical type one would find in pretty much any couple’s bedside drawer, though there were quite a few that were admittedly of greater quality than that commonly sold in convenience stores and pharmacies.

Ah, here we are, Piett inwardly sighed with relief.

“Medicated Lube” the package read. “Bacta-infused lubrication for human and human-adjacent use.”

Piett scanned the back of the box.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

10% bacta lubrication for any and all penetrative purposes. Perfect for those with sensitivities, autoimmune disorders, bacta-treatable STDs, and for post-birth intercourse or masterbation.*

*The Health Overview and Treatment Committee Of Collective Knowledge (HOTCOCK) recommends abstaining from any sort of sexual activity for at least 1 to 3 months post-birth. Please consult with a doctor or healthcare official before use if you or your partner have recently given birth. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Perfect,” Piett muttered, tucking the small box under his arm and wincing only a little at the price.

Avoiding the cashier’s eyes and instead focusing on fishing out his credit chip, Piett placed the box on the counter and tried to ignore the slight awkwardness that clung to him like strangler vines.

With an impassive nod, the bored-looking cashier handed him back the credit chip and went back to scrolling the holonet, Piett quickly scuttling out of the store with his - thankfully, very discreetly packaged - purchase in hand.

Veers looked up as he approached, an odd, almost bittersweet smile on the man’s face.

“Your sister just sent me a photo,” he said, seeming almost sorrowful.

Piett realized why his friend sounded so morose as soon as Veers showed him the image - it was a slightly-blurry, very candid photo of Zevulon sitting at the table, Sarkli in his high chair next to him, the two of them finger painting. Sarkli’s picture was a mess of random colors and shapes, nonsensical streaks and smears decorating both the paper and seemingly everything else, too, up to and including Sarkli himself. Zev had one hand on his own painting, which seemed to be of a coppery red dragon with blue eyes, and the other hand gently grasping Sarkli’s tiny, furled fist as the baby tried to shove his own paint-covered fingers into his mouth. Zev wore an exasperated yet amused expression, grinning even as he tried to look annoyed.

“How did he grow up so fast?” Max asked, sighing softly, startling Piett out of his examination of the image.

“He’s thirteen, Max, not thirty,” Piett reminded his friend playfully, smiling as his friend gave him an faux-annoyed expression shockingly similar to the one Zev wore in the image.

“I should probably get back to the hotel,” Veers sighed as he tucked his com away.

“Hotel?” Piett questioned with a frown.

“Yeah, the Empire partners with it to house army officials during leave for a reduced price,” Veers explained with a shrug.

“Max, you’re on my home world, literally just a shuttle ride away from my sister’s house. Why not stay with us? Hells, Zev already is!” Piett playfully berated, crossing his arms.

“That defeats the whole purpose of having Zev babysit, if I’m hovering around him all the time!” Veers protested.

“Don’t hover, then! Just hang out, relax, spend some quality time with your son when he’s not busy,” Piett huffed. “And you could help out with the finer parts of babysitting. Show him how to parent, and all that.”

Max’s eyes went wide.

“Wouldn't that be, I don’t know, stepping on Rilla’s toes? I wouldn’t want to intrude,” he said.

Core-Worlders, Piett internally scoffed. Always so prickly about the oddest things.

“Veers, she’s known you for the better half of a decade now. She helped with Zev, for stars’ sake! I can assure you, you would not be intruding,” Piett assured him, then smirked teasingly at his best friend. “Besides, you’re practically an uncle to Sarkli, and unlike Sarkli’s other uncle, you actually know how to deal with babies.”

“I sure hope I do, considering I work with them all day,” Veers deflected, though his eyes were wide and misty with wonder, appearing for all the world to be deeply touched even as he joked around.

“I’m telling You-Know-Who you said that about him,” Piett teased, watching in delight as Veers’ eyes widened with horror and mild panic before turning and beginning to walk.

“Oh, don’t you dare!” Veers squawked, stumbling into motion until they were side-by-side once more. “I’ve only just now convinced myself he won’t kill me! Don’t you dare tempt him!”

Snorting, Piett let his shoulders shake with silent laughter, a laughter which only deepened as Veers’ composure began to break, the man’s face splitting with a wide smile as he chuckled along.

“Here’s your gift back, by the way,” he said as he handed Piett the small bundle containing the figurine, to which Piett nodded in thanks.

“Home, then?” Piett questioned lightly, tilting his head slightly in silent question.

Veers only gave him another smile, this one far softer and brimming with genuine happiness.

“Home,” he agreed.

And with that, they began walking towards the shuttle station to take them back to Rilla’s house, a small bundle in Piett’s hands and a large bundle of contentment in their hearts.

It would seem, much to his visceral dread, that his Master’s morbid intrigue in Vader’s newfound abilities was not, in fact, a passing interest. To be fair, he never truly believed that it was.

He knew better than to do anything but what his Master demanded. Resistance was pointless, and persuasion was fruitless. Sidious would do what Sidious wished, and Vader could only play along to minimize the damage.

The droids buzzed around him like blowflies to a carcass, removing his sepulchral armor with harsh efficiency and liquid-smooth cruelty. The foul stench of blood, both fresh and stale, mixed with that of skin that was either rotted or rotting, the sickly-sweet odor of infection strong enough that even he could smell it with his fire-damaged, limited olfactory capabilities. Lights, so uncomfortably bright they made his head pulse with dull agony, shone down upon him, almost making the pale, discolored flesh that now lay exposed to the cold, sterile, stinging air seem to glow. Trilling machines and beeping droids buzzed around him, a cacophony of noise in the enclosed room, thrumming in time with his rising panic.

One of the droids injected him with something that made his veins burn, and Vader felt himself begin to retreat back into the Mindscape - no. He could not, not with his Master so close - the man would surely discover it if he did so, and Vader’s only safespace, the only place he felt like himself, felt comfortable, would no longer be so.

And, Vader thought with a sickening lurch, who knew what his Master would do if he found Piett, Veers, and the little Jedi Padawan lurking within his manifested realm?

And maybe it was odd, that Vader had grown a strange sense of- of- of something he didn’t quite know the word for, for the young rebel. But he could not help it. Perhaps it was because the child had infiltrated his psyche, loitering around the vestiges of Vader’s mind, slowly becoming a part of it. Maybe it was that, despite being his enemy, the rebel had shown him nothing but amicable respect, and to the other two something Vader could almost call friendliness. And Vader saw the way Piett and Bridger interacted - less like soldiers on opposite sides of a war and more like a mentor advising and looking after an apprentice, Piett imposing life lessons and morals onto the young Jedi any chance he got. Veers, too, had taken to teaching the Padawan various combat moves and styles, which Vader had initially opposed, but… But, he supposed he, too, had developed a soft spot for the teen.

Vader’s musings were cut short by the screen next to the operating table he was strapped to blinking to life, Sidious’ sharp yellow gaze suddenly on him. It made his skin crawl, the way those putrid, sulfurous eyes raked over him like a butcher assessing a peculiar cut of meat, vivisecting him where he lay, giving no mind to Vader’s still-racing heart.

“Ah, Lord Vader,” the Sith Master began, voice deceptively friendly.

It was for him, he could almost convince himself. He still cares.

“I hear your abilities have only gotten stronger, though your control still seems to be an issue, if this latest… incident is indicative of anything.”

Vader flinched, slightly. He knew exactly which ‘incident’ his Master was referring to - memories that weren’t his, experiences that he had stolen, still flashed through his head.

And yet, he couldn’t quite find it in himself to feel remorse. They had been rebels, enemies of the Empire, enemies of his Master, and as such Vader had been ordered to destroy them. And when Vader had come across them, a small battalion eating at their temporary camp in the woods, a hunger and a jealousy so intense and mind-consuming he had no name for it took him over.

He didn’t remember reaching out in the Force, didn’t remember how he did what he did. All he remembered was the way a hundred thousand forgotten sensations had flooded through him the moment he connected with the first mind, the agonizing yet addicting influx of tastes and smells and textures and sights that he had been starved of for so long, stirring something deep within him, an awakening, a revolution, an internal apocalypse-

He didn’t remember how it had happened. Only that, at the end of it all, every single rebel and a couple of his own men lay unresponsive, their minds completely robbed of every memory, thought, and idea, everything, anything they had ever had. All of it was his, now, and for the first time, the very first time in all the time he could remember, he felt alive.

The rebels were not dead, but they were hardly alive, either. Not only had Vader scraped out every aspect of what made them, them - but even as they lay there, he was still leeching off of them, parasitizing every new sensation and thought as they formed, and he knew that even if he left, he had done far too much damage.

The men would lie there until they died. Until they starved, or were overcome by the elements, or were dragged off by wildlife.

He had killed them without thought, on impulse and instinct that felt far too ancient and impossible and ethereal to be his own, all without conscious decision on his part, and he could not bring himself to regret it.

Even as the rest of his troops doubled over, some with searing pain as they were caught in the fringes of his feeding frenzy, and others with horror and shock at the sight of a hundred men all silently and suddenly doubling over at the exact same moment, without any warning, laying catatonic where they fell, never to move again - even as he regained his senses, he had felt nothing but that still-raging emptiness deep within him. In mere moments he had lived a hundred lives that weren’t his own, loving and hating strangers with all his heart, singing, laughing, crying, cursing, fighting, dancing, grieving, breathing, being, and all the tyrannies and treasures of being alive-

But it had not been his. A hundred lifetimes in a hundred heartbeats. None of it was his. He had been alive only as long as they had been.

He had never truly realized how hollow he was until he had gotten a taste of what they had.

He wanted more.

No. He needed more.

He needed it with every fiber of his being, every cell in his body screaming out for it, every neuron and molecule and atom all crying out in unison, demanding to have that addictive sensation back, even if just for a moment-

His Master pulled back in the Force, and Vader recognized that the Sith Lord had been watching, peering through Vader’s eyes as the memory unfolded, observing.

“Fascinating,” the Sith Master breathed, eyes alight with interest and gleaming with that horrid look Vader had learned to associate with the painful, torturous experiments his Master was fond of.

If Sidious saw the way his apprentice shrank in on himself, he didn’t comment, and instead the Emperor turned to the droids hovering around the room.

“Status report?” He prompted.

“Patient is functional,” the lead droid beeped. “Multiple skin lesions have become infected, but are responding well to antibiotics. No injuries were obtained during the latest mission.” The droid’s processors blinked for a moment.

“Debridement is necessary,” it said, sending Vader’s heart plummeting to his stomach as it skipped a beat, then began racing. His blood turned to ice in his veins as, unbidden, a whimper of fear escaped him.

“Very well,” his Master said with a wave of his hand. “Perform the procedure.”

Then turning to Vader, Sidious tilted his head slightly, that ominous gleam still in his eyes.

“I will call you again once I have need of you,” he said, before the call cut out, leaving Vader alone with the droids as they began to prep the area for the procedure.

Breath coming in fast, shallow pants, his rapidly beating heart hammering in his chest, Vader began to struggle against the restraints. It was futile, he knew - he had struggled against these same binds countless times before. They partially cut off his access to the Force, and even if he could destroy the droids like his instincts screamed at him to do, he knew his Master would punish him and then supervise the procedure himself.

He knew the old, fetid, putrid, necrose skin had to be removed - already, it had caused several infections, and every movement tugged at the sloughing skin which, while it itself could no longer feel pain, it tore at the still-living skin and flesh underneath. And yet, the way the droids did it was agonizing, and it always left him feeling tender and sore for days after.

So, as the whirring of vibroscalpels reached its crescendo, Vader began to retreat. He called upon that Lonely Ghost, reaching deep within his psyche, and silently slipped into the Mindscape, ignoring the tortured screams that were no longer his own.

Blinking open his draconic eyes, he was immediately greeted by the sight of a mop of grayish fur sprawled across the tip of his snout.

With a low rumble of greeting, Vader eyed the disheveled feline figure, noting the ash and soot that coated the poor teen. Carefully reaching out with the Force, a surprisingly difficult feat in the Mindscape that he was gradually getting better at, he gently combed through the matted fur, removing all the soot and dust from every hair and inch of skin until the small form was back to the fluffy, pristine white it was supposed to be.

“Thanks,” Bridger muttered sleepily, yawning as he blinked up at the slowly-rotating cloud of ash above his head, the ash that Vader had removed from his fur and now softly spun with the Force, a miniature nebulae that the tooka gazed up at in wonder, as of he really were staring at the birthplace of stars and not merely the debris Vader had removed from him.

“What have you done to get so filthy?” He chided, dispersing the cloud with a flick of his tail-tip, turning his attention back to the tooka still perched precariously on his snout, who seemed almost disappointed at the cloud’s absence, though the expression didn't linger for long.

“It’s not my fault!” Bridger protested as he rose to his feet, stretching in the way that cats did. “This is literally a volcanic hellscape, it’s impossible not to get dirty!”

Vader exhaled through his nose, rousing puffs of cinders and soot that hovered in the air before finally settling once more.

Bridger turned to stare at the cloud of particles, then turned back to him as if to say see?

Perhaps the young rebel had a point, Vader could concede.

“Why are you on my nose?” He asked instead.

Ducking his head in a manner that Vader could only describe as embarrassment, the cat sniffed and began scratching at his ear.

“Felt like it,” he muttered crossly. “It’s the least dusty area here.”

The lie rang out like a bell, but Vader decided not to mention it. Ultimately, Bridger’s eccentricities mattered not, and Vader had more important things to do.

Like find Piett.

“Where-”

“Is Firmus? Dunno,” the tooka said with a yawn.

Vader narrowed his eyes at him.

“Since when are you on a first-name basis with Piett?” He growled.

“Why do you call your boyfriend by his last name?” The cat retorted, avoiding the question.

“It is the name he prefers,” Vader retorted. “Therefore, it is the name I call him. It is the same with Veers, though he does not mind his first name nearly as much as Piett.”

“You never asked me which name I prefer,” Bridger said sullenly, hunched over in unhappiness.

Vader paused, ears flicking up in thought.

“No, I suppose I haven’t,” he said slowly, contemplating and resisting the urge to tilt his head as he did so, lest he dislodge the sulking rebel who had chosen Vader’s snout as a bed.

He ignored the small flash of something that the notion inspired in him. He refused to show affection for a rebel, least of all a Jedi padawan rebel.

“And what would your preferred name be?” He asked, merely out of curiosity, and nothing else.

Absolutely nothing else.

The cat’s eyes brightened as their ears perked up, gazing at him with a surprised, yet pleased expression, and Vader once more resolutely ignored how he had to resist the urge to chitter encouragingly at the sight.

“It’s Ezra,” the rebel, Ezra, said. “I prefer Ezra.”

“Very well,” Vader acquiesced, promising himself that it was a one-time thing, and that it was only because the rebel made Piett happy, and for no other reason did he agree. And, even if there were, hypothetically, another reason, it was most certainly not because the unhappy slump of the tooka’s shoulders twisted a part of Vader’s soul in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

Absolutely not.

Vader let out a long sigh, closing his eyes, ignoring Ezra as he purred happily, turning in a tight circle before plopping back down on Vader’s snout with a contented mrrp!

He didn’t know how long the two of them simply lay there, listening to the sound of the wind blow through the rocky canyons and hills, and to the waves crash like thunder off in the distance. He wasn’t quite sure why the inky black ocean was there - there certainly weren’t any oceans on Mustafar, as far as he was aware - but the sound of the hissing, spitting tides as they raged against the stony shore was soothing nonetheless.

The sound of pebbles skittering across rock had him peeling open his eyes to see Piett approaching, the ground-mouse exuding an air of joy and excitement. As if the eager anticipation were infectious, Vader found himself lifting his head and sitting up slightly, ears pricked, tucking his forelegs closer to his body.

“Firmus!” Ezra meowed happily, raising his tail in greeting as he scrambled up Vader’s head, across his neck, down his shoulders, and then leaping off of his back onto the ground, another cloud of soot rising and enveloping the rebel.

Vader huffed in annoyance as he saw that the tooka was, once again, more gray than white.

“Ezra,” Piett greeted, though he sounded less formal than usual - he seemed, in fact, to be in quite the good mood, as he even stopped to playfully bat at the tooka, to which Ezra excitedly began to play back. The two of them roughhoused in the ash, and Vader sighed once more as Ezra’s fur became dirtier and more tangled as they tussled. Not that he would do anything to stop them - they were having far too much fun for him to do that.

Eventually, the two broke off from each other, both of their pelts ruffled and coated in soot, but an air of exuberance around them.

“Piett,” Vader rumbled fondly, laying his head down to get closer to the small ground-mouse. As his powers grew, it seemed that his dragon form grew, too. Already, he was a good bit larger than he had been a year ago - where Piett had been the size of his eye, now he was the size of his nostril, and Vader was growing larger still.

“Love,” Piett greeted warmly, pressing himself against the soft scales of Vader’s snout.

They basked in the contact for a long moment, Ezra wandering off to give them some privacy.

“Where are you, right now?” Piett eventually asked.

Frowning, Vader sunk into the Force, reaching back into the real world hesitantly. The Lonely Ghost was no longer screaming, but was that due to exhaustion, he wondered, or had the debridement finished?

Reaching farther, the sensation of warm bacta encompassed him - the procedure had finished, then, and he had been placed in his bacta tank to soak.

“I am in my chambers, soaking,” he told his lover as he retreated back into the Mindscape, the phantom sensation of stinging pain lingering. “Death Squadron is on its way back to Axilla as we speak.”

Piett perked up at that.

“You'll be here soon?” He breathed, his earlier excitement returning.

“Within a few days,” Vader replied. “And, barring any sudden emergencies, I have reason to believe we shall have some downtime for the days after.”

The excitement Piett was radiating suddenly crescendoed, along with something that Vader couldn't quite place, but felt similar to exuberance nonetheless.

“You seem rather excited about something,” Vader noted when his lover didn't respond.

“Ah, yes!” Piett squeaked, snapping out of whatever daze or daydream he had been in. “Love, it has come to my attention that a very important date is approaching.”

Vader froze, his mind racing as he frantically tried to figure out what Piett was talking about.

Empire Day? No, that was in a few months.

Piett’s birthday? No, that had been half a year ago.

Veers’ birthday? He didn’t even know when that was, so maybe-

Piett slumped, and Vader nearly flinched as guilt flooded him, but Piett only sighed in relief.

“Oh, thank the stars, I wasn't the only one who had forgotten,” Piett breathed out a laugh, and Vader relaxed at the realization that Piett was relieved rather than enraged.

“I'm afraid you will have to remind me,” Vader rumbled, wanting nothing more than to hear his lover’s voice.

“Our one-year anniversary,” Piett told him, his voice breathless with awe.

His eyes widened.

“Has it truly been a year already?” Vader remarked, surprise coloring his tone.

“That's what I said, too, when Veers reminded me,” Piett chortled, wiping at his face with his paws. “And, I have something very special for you.”

A sudden jolt of panic electrified his veins with adrenaline and his head shot up, eyes widening.

“A gift- I did not get you anything,” he worried, tail beginning to lash, leaving deep scores in the blanket of ash where it dragged across the ground.

“That's alright, love, truly - just being able to spend time with you is gift enough,” Piett tried to reassure, but Vader shook his head.

“Unacceptable,” he growled. “You have deemed me worthy of a gift of some sort - therefore, I shall give you one as well. It is only fair.”

Piett seemed to sigh, though only an exasperated sort of fondness emanated from his presence.

“I suppose you'll be busy with that, for a bit,” Piett said mildly, and Vader blinked down at him apologetically.

“We will see each other again soon,” he replies but it was a cold comfort - even as his mind raced with gift ideas, his heart ached at having to separate once more. But this was important. This was their anniversary, and while Vader couldn't quite remember all the nuance as to why that was important, he could recall that it was.

“I would gift you any star in the sky, should you ask,” Vader breathed, suddenly overcome by a rush of love for the figure gazing up at him with that same sense of longing and affection, an oasis of good in the desert of pain that was Vader’s life.

Piett’s eyes widened comically and he let out a squeak.

“Oh, please don't!” He cried. “Organizing my visit to my sister’s has been difficult enough, I can't imagine trying to manage an entire solar system!”

His sister's, Vader thought with a hum. That was yet another factor of a relationship that they had been robbed of - meeting each other’s families. Vader, unable to meet Piett’s side, because of who Vader was, and Piett, unable to meet Vader’s, due to his inability to remember who they were in the first place.

Oh, he knew they existed to some extent - on good days, when he felt more like himself, like a person, he could recall distant memories and sensations, words so faint they were unintelligible, garbled fragments of nonsensical conversations with people he did not know but who still haunted him. He'd catch glimpses, sometimes, out of the corner of his eye, glimpses of figures blurred so heavily that he could not make them out, but who carried with them a lingering sense of familiarity that, ironically, made them seem all the stranger.

He had known those people. They had known him. And yet they were no longer with him. Where were they, he wondered? What had happened to them? What had happened to him to make him forget? Were they ever real at all, or were they just fragments of his imagination taking liberties in filling in blanks with gibberish and nonsense?

“I apologize, love,” Piett murmured softly, sorrowful, snapping Vader out of his ruminations. “I should not have mentioned my family. I know it upsets you.”

Vader shook his head.

“It matters not,” he said, forcing all thoughts of the phantoms that haunted him out of his mind, focusing on the only thing that truly mattered to him. “The droids shall pull me from the bacta soon. I will heed your advice and attempt to rest.”

“I appreciate that,” Piett told him. “It means a lot to me.”

Vader let out a low rumble of affection, lowering his head to delicately press his snout against Piett’s small body.

“I… love you,” he said, warmth blooming in his chest as he felt Piett press against him to the best of his ability.

“I love you, too,” Piett breathed back.

Reluctantly, Vader pulled away.

“I shall go now. But, rest assured, next time I see you, I will have the greatest gift to give you,” Vader promised, and already he had an idea in mind - it wasn't the most grandiose, and indeed it was quite humble, but he knew that that was exactly how Piett preferred his things. Vader admired that in him - it was a trait they both shared.

“I know it will be,” Piett said with a smile. “If only because it is you giving me the gift.”

Vader crooned, touched, and with one last loving look at his partner, he pulled out of the Mindlink, already ruminating on the details of his planned gift even as he drifted into unconsciousness.

The days passed by both agonizingly slowly and far too quickly, as the time period Vader had to prepare his gift became ever shorter, yet despite his stress he still found himself wishing the time would pass faster if only so he could see Piett all the sooner.

Eventually, however, the day arrived when Piett, Veers, and the rest of the personnel aboard the Lady returned from their leave. Vader was already waiting for them there in the hangar when the first shuttle landed and the people on board began to disembark. Most startled when they saw him, rapidly snapping into salutes or scuttling off if they thought he hadn’t noticed them, but he paid them no mind - he was here for one person, and one person only.

Finally, that one person emerged from the shuttle, uniform as pristine as always, posture straight but not rigid, expression stoic and professional.

Vader tilted his head ever-so-slightly down at the man as he approached, but took care to not react in the way he truly wanted to - they had a façade to uphold, after all, and his Master’s spies were all over the ship. Already, he was risking quite a bit by coming to meet Piett, but it could be dismissed as Vader having an important matter to talk to his assistant about.

Upon seeing him, Piett’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and a faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth - it was so subtle that Vader doubted anyone who didn’t know the man well would be able to see it.

“My Lord,” he said politely as he stopped a safe distance away from him, head bowing in greeting - all proper etiquette for a favored officer to greet their superior with, but it still tormented him greatly. He wanted nothing more than to pull Piett into his arms right there and kill everyone who saw.

Alas, not only would such a thing undoubtedly alert his Master that perhaps something was amiss, but it would also likely upset Piett, and Vader despised causing his lover distress.

Vader turned and began walking, not a word uttered through the Mindlink as he moved towards the hangar exit, Piett dutifully falling in step just behind and to the left of him.

Professional. Distant.

Safe.

He hated it.

The walk to his quarters was painfully slow, made even more so by the fact that he was forced to slow his pace so that Piett could keep up. Finally, after an eternity and a half, they made it, slipping inside with practiced ease, the door closing behind them.

Immediately, Piett relaxed, a wide, warm smile gracing his features, his eyes softening with affection.

“Love,” he breathed. “I missed you.”

He reached out, a silent request to touch, and Vader moved forwards, allowing the man to lean against his chest. That was something they had been working on - learning that not all touch was meant to hurt him.

“Is this alright?” Piett asked, his breath fogging up the armor of Vader’s chest. That was another thing they had been working on - consent, and more specifically, Vader learning he could refuse.

Vader sent a wave of love and adoration over the Mindlink in response, leaning into the touch and radiating contentment in the Force.

“How was your break?” Vader questioned, to which Piett hummed, eyes half-lidded.

“It was good,” he said. “I stayed with my sister and her nephew, and also spent some time with Veers and his son. Mostly, though, I just relaxed and read.”

He smiled.

“Finally finished that story I’ve been telling you about,” he added.

Vader cocked his head.

“Whale Heart?” He guessed after a moment’s thought, and was rewarded when Piett’s smile widened as he nodded.

“Yes, it’s an excellent read,” Piett gushed. “The non-traditional layout of the story really made it stand out, and there were some parts that felt more like poetry than a chapter in a book, but that worked really well for it. It made me tear up a few times, too - it’s a very touching story.”

Vader nodded along, listening intently as Piett continued on, describing his favorite parts and aspects of the book, gesturing as he described the scenes he loved the most and his eyes lighting up when Vader asked a question regarding the characters or the plot.

“-And the transformation is literal, in the story, but of course it’s an allegory for real-world diseases, more specifically cancer,” Piett finished, breathless. “I could go on for hours about this book. Em’ily H. Abeck is truly one of the greatest authors of our time.”

“Perhaps I should look into obtaining a signed copy, for you,” Vader offered. “A late anniversary gift, if you will.”

Piett’s eyes widened, then grew misty.

“You’d do that for me?” He whispered in a choked voice, sounding deeply touched.

“Of course,” Vader rumbled, raising his fist in promise. “I promised you the stars and planets. If you want the book, nothing shall get in my way.”

He lowered his fist, leaning down slightly to press his forehead against Piett’s.

“Anything for you,” he promised.

Piett gave a wet-sounding chuckle, wiping away the tears of gratitude that glistened his eyes.

“Just please try not to give my favorite author a heart attack,” he said. “I quite like her works and it’d be a shame if you sent her to an early grave.”

Vader nodded, and they simply held each other for a long moment.

“Oh!” Piett said suddenly. “I almost forgot! I have something for you, too.”

He pulled out a small bundle from his pocket, tenderly pressing it into Vader’s large hands. It was wrapped in a cloth bundle, tied with a small ribbon that Vader’s sensors told him was blue.

With the Force, he gingerly untied the ribbon, undoing the bundle to reveal a small wooden bird figurine with glinting gems for eyes. It was beautiful, and heartfelt, and perfect in every way - Vader would treasure it eternally, if only because Piett deemed him worthy of a gift. He would have felt the same had Piett given him a literal blank scrap of flimsy, but it was obvious that a lot of thought had been put into the gift.

“It’s japor wood,” Piett explained, shuffling almost nervously, and Vader realized he had simply been staring at the small figure in his hands. “I was told that it should survive a small explosion. I figured that it seemed like something you- you would like.”

Vader exhaled softly, running his thumb across its head and down its back reverently, awe and gratitude swelling within his chest and pricking his eyes with unshed tears.

“It is perfect,” Vader told him, pushing every emotion he felt through the Mindlink along with the words. “Especially because it seems we were of the same thought.”

Without looking away from Piett, Vader used the Force to open one of the drawers of his desk, floating the small metal statue he had crafted in the days prior over to Piett’s hands.

Letting out a wet laugh, Piett cradled the second, larger bird figurine close to his chest, rubbing his hands across the metal body and wire frame. It had taken Vader many failed attempts to get it right, especially considering his hands no longer had the fine motor control necessary to actually craft the gift, and as such he had relied on the Force. Still, seeing Piett beam at the gift made all the time and effort worth it, as did the careful yet joyous hug Piett gave him after.

“It’s- It’s wonderful,” Piett breathed, eyes shining.

“I am… pleased you think so,” was all Vader could think to say.

Piett remained quiet for a moment, smiling softly down at the gift before he seemed to remember something, his gaze snapping to Vader’s as a wave of something Vader couldn’t quite name flooded the Force.

“Oh, there’s one more thing,” he said, gingerly setting the metal bird on Vader’s desk, giving it one last gentle pat on the head before turning towards Vader’s meditation pod. Placing his own gifted bird figurine right next to the other, Vader followed, and blinked in surprise as he saw that the usual seat he used while in the chamber had been replaced with an odd sort of table, though it didn’t resemble any sort of table Vader was familiar with. It appeared cushioned, for one, and it had a dip in the center as well as a dip in the middle of the head cushion.

“I had Medic Kix help me set this up,” Piett began to explain, shuffling nervously as Vader approached the table. “It’s just temporary - your seat will be put back after we’re done.”

Vader turned to Piett, tilting his head in silent question. Piett only coughed, seeming embarrassed.

“There’s a special mixture of oxygen in the air right now,” he continued. “Enough so that you can breath with only a supplemental mask, but not too much so that it’d make me sick. We can- We can spend time here, together. With you not in the suit.”

Vader’s heart did an odd flip at the thought, and he found that he liked that idea very much.

“So…” Piett continued, grinning slyly, though Vader could still sense the faint embarrassment his lover was trying to mask. “Would you like a massage?”

He gestured to a large container labeled ‘bacta lotion’, still grinning.

A nervous sort of anticipation thrummed through Vader’s veins. He had never done such a thing before, at least, not that he could remember. He wasn’t too certain as to what a massage entailed, but he trusted Piett, and he could sense how much Piett wanted to do it. And so, he smiled back, ignoring both the painful tug it caused at the corners of his mouth and the fact that Piett could not see it through the mask.

“I would love nothing more,” he said.

#ao3 #ao3 author #star wars #fanfiction #read on ao3 #wastelands #darth vader #star wars darth vader #firmus piett #maximilian veers #ezra bridger #darth sidious

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