Chapter Text
The scene before him was born of nightmare.
He was no stranger to nightmares—-he had them frequently, and there were certain themes that his subconscious enjoyed plaguing him with:
The Admiral choking to death on the bridge of the Lady.
All of his men blown up in one terrible blast.
Zevulon dead by his hand.
And it was as though Fate had conspired to potentially bring all three to pass simultaneously.
Between the green sphere that was Endor and the small grey sphere that was the unfinished Death Star were spread both the Imperial and Rebel fleets—rapid flashes of lasers and explosions going off in and around the combatants like a fireworks display on Empire Day.
Zev was out in one of those damned X-Wings.
“Sir!” shouted the pilot, banking sharply. “Orders?”
Veers had hoped to rejoin the fleet before any action.
That hope died the moment they snapped out of hyperspace.
This shuttle had minor defensive capability, but was not designed for any sort of serious combat—-only defense.
“Try to land on Endor!” he snapped, climbing out of the navigator’s chair and taking the co-pilot’s seat in order to reach the weapon’s panel. “We have no hope out here.”
The pilot did her best, but they just couldn’t maneuver like all the fighters about them.
For a while, the enemy ships were too preoccupied with firing back at the more dangerous TIE fighters. But then an X-Wing locked hot on their tail and the pilot couldn’t shake him.
“General…!” she called in panicked tones.
“Get us away from the conflict,” he ordered, firing back and cursing the slower response of the ship’s defenses.
She obeyed, fingers moving swiftly over her controls as she turned tail and fled out of Endor’s orbit.
The ever karked X-Wing followed .
“Desperate for a kill are you?” Veers growled under his breath. He fired the rear lasers and they skimmed close to the body of the Rebel fighter.
It swerved skillfully, but they gained some distance because of this.
“Nicely done, sir,” the pilot said, her face tense and drawn. “Didn’t think these weapons had any targeting to speak of.”
“They don’t,” he replied curtly. “Eyeing it.”
She barked a brief laugh as another distant blue orb appeared ahead in their viewport.
“It’s why you’re the best, General,” she said. “I’m aiming for that planet. See if we can lose him in the atmosphere.”
Veers tapped in the coordinates.
Firrerre .
He only knew it was largely water with a very small native population.
Lasers streaked by their ship so closely that it rattled.
“Kark,” hissed the pilot. “Sorry, General. That was too close.”
“Do your best,” he said as calmly as possible, firing back.
The X-Wing was catching them though. It was inevitable really. This pilot must have their heart set on a kill of any kind to pursue them like this. And while the young woman beside him was very decent, she hadn’t trained as a fighter pilot.
She dodged and turned and rolled, but the X-Wing was relentless.
Veers almost felt glad to have it over with when the impact came.
“Our left engine is gone completely!” the pilot screamed above the warning blares from multiple systems.
They were now in the orbital pull of Firrerre, and Veers found himself furious.
They were going to crash, and likely die, on this Force damned water world. He was not going to rejoin the Fleet and stand at the side of the man like a brother at his most critical hour. While the pilot wrestled with their dying vessel, he honed in on the X-Wing and began to fire rapidly at where the fighter was likely to be rather than where it was.
And his skill and rage were rewarded.
One of the wings was blown completely off, sending the ship in a wild spin of its own. But he didn’t have time to gloat over this because they were now in real trouble.
The heat began to flow over the viewport as they entered atmosphere, and Veers could only grip the console as the woman swore and battled the shuttle.
“Aim for an island if you can!” he yelled over the noise as they broke free of the turbulent clouds and saw the vast blue spread below them. “The ship won’t float!”
She did her best, this brave girl. It was all he could ask of her.
Firmus , he thought. Safe stars.
Impact.
**
Consciousness came in fits and starts and pain.
Veers could smell burned wiring and the over heated scent of metal. His limbs felt odd and heavy which, upon exploration, was due to the fact that he was dangling from the co-pilot’s chair by the safety straps.
He cautiously managed to wedge his boots on the control panel and then undo the straps holding him to the seat. He stumbled ungracefully as he came free, but he managed to cling to the armrest as he made his way over to the pilot.
He’d known already, the moment he’d seen her. But he had to check.
He pressed his fingers to her neck and waited.
Nothing.
But it still made his gut hurt with a pain that was unrelated to his bruises.
She’d hit the viewport hard—-her straps not as secure as they should have been— and he could see the indent in her skull. But it was the broken neck that had killed her.
“Damn it,” he whispered hoarsely, closing her brown eyes.
She’d tried so hard. Saved his life actually. But not her own.
He struggled out of the cockpit and through to the passenger area.
The shuttle was surprisingly intact and he managed to hit the manual landing ramp control, allowing it to drop hard onto the sand.
Fresh air and the smell of the sea raced in, intermixed with strong smells of plasma and ozone.
Veers made his way a bit unsteadily down the ramp to the sand, placing a steadying hand to the shuttle and wiping at the damp on his face.
Blood.
He searched his hairline and found a cut—not serious as far as he could tell, but bad enough to bleed steadily.
Something caught his peripheral vision and he turned swiftly, hand going to the blaster on his hip.
The Force had a nasty sense of humor it seemed.
He could just see the tips of the X-Wings’ laser cannons slipping beneath the waves, but that was not what had caught his eye.
The bright orange figure of the pilot was also visible as he thrashed in the water, desperately working on divesting himself of his helmet.
No doubt the heavy flightsuit harness and boots were pulling him under.
Veers thought of the brave girl whose body was cooling in the shuttle behind him, and his eyes narrowed.
That bastard needed to suffer and die.
The pilot managed to unlatch his helmet and he tossed it away in panic, his choking and wheezing audible even from the shore.
He made a pathetic attempt to swim, but he was in the big swells that looked as though they might push him in toward the shore, torturing him with cruel hope, and then they grabbed him to pull him back under.
And as he flailed and fought, Veers saw his face.
Really saw him.
It was as though he himself was drowning.
He was tugging off his boots before he consciously realized he was doing so, and he ripped his duty jacket away as he sprinted down the sand and into the blue waves.
He struck out, heedless of his own bruises and grief, the adrenaline of the moment overriding all of that.
The pilot was exhausted and barely keeping his face above water by this point. He had maybe fifteen seconds before he gave up, and Veers was keenly aware of this.
Just as the pilot sank again, Veers reached him, seizing him under the shoulders and drawing him up against his chest.
He was heavy —-a deadweight in the General’s hold and Veers swore, spitting water and shouting in his terror.
“NO! Stay with me…!”
He struck out for the shore, trying to time his efforts with the waves coming in, allowing them to push, and using that inertia to then kick forward ahead of the rip.
And at last he was staggering onto the sand with his burden, dragging the unconscious boy up the beach to a safe location. He dropped to his knees and felt for breath.
None.
“Please, Zev!” he begged, and then he drew in a great lungful of air and blew into his son’s mouth before he ripped away the control panel over Zev’s chest in order to begin compressions.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,” Veers huffed, pressing his hands hard onto the sternum. He carried on for thirty seconds and then checked the pulse under Zev’s neck.
Nothing.
“DON’T DO THIS!!” he roared at the sky. He gave Zev another two breaths and began again on the compressions.
It was eternal. His shoulders ached like hell and he was starting to get black spots at the edges of his vision.
But he didn’t quit.
Quite suddenly, just as he finished another rescue breath, Zev choked.
“Yes, that’s it, YES!” Veers panted, turning the boy on his side as Zev convulsed and vomited up seawater. Veers pounded his back to encourage this and waited as Zev tensed, drawing in another breath and promptly expelling more sea water violently.
Veers cautiously checked him for any other injuries once Zev flopped onto his back, heaving in air and blinking water out of his eyelashes.
“Zev,” Veers said, bending over him to shade his eyes from the sun.
That moment—-when those green eyes locked with his—-stayed burned onto Veers’ soul for a long time afterwards.
“ Dad? ” Zev asked incredulously. “Am I…dead?”
“No, Zev,” he replied, heart thundering as he reached out to brush sand off of Zev’s face.
His son was puzzled, frowning up at him with Myra’s green eyes. Eyes he’d not thought he’d see again.
“I don’t…then HOW?”
“I’ll explain later, Zev,” he said, shoving back the darkness of all the ‘might have beens’. “Want to try and sit up? Make sure you got all that water out?”
He got a hand under his son’s back and helped ease him into a sitting position.
Then he slumped down at Zev’s side, drawing up his knees and breathing deeply to slow his heart rate.
They were quiet for long minutes as Zev gazed out at the ocean. His helmet was bobbing in the surf on the shore along with some other bits of debris from the crash.
Zev narrowed his eyes and Veers saw the moment that he recognized a bit of Imperial shuttle. Immediately, he shifted to look up the beach and behind him a ways.
His head whipped back, eyes wide in horror and face white with shock.
“Dad…” he whispered hoarsely. “Oh KARK. Dad —that was—-was it—-?”
Veers hung his head staring down at the sandy surface between his legs.
“We’re not ready for that conversation, Zevulon,” he said tiredly. “We’re both here. We’re both alive.”
“ Dad .”
He looked up again to see that Zev’s eyes were full of tears and his mouth twisted in a horrible grimace.
“I was doing my
karking
best to shoot you down—-
YOU
.”
Veers rested a hand on his son’s shoulder.
“And I fired the shot that took your wing off,” he replied, “but our focus at the moment needs to be on survival, not—-”
Zev turned from him abruptly as a new fit of vomiting struck him. He went to hands and knees, dry heaving painfully.
Veers knelt beside him, keeping a hand on his back and at last Zev was spent, remaining on hands and knees, trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, Dad. Oh Stars , I just—-”
“I know,” Veers said. “Son. I know.”
And he gathered his boy into his arms, allowing them both this moment to feel that each was alive and warm and real .
At last he pulled back to look his son seriously in the face.
“We have to get off this planet,” he said. “And I have some ideas.”
*****************
Zev watched his father (his father!) trudge back up the sand, retrieving his discarded boots and jacket as he did so.
He’d told Zev to wait and grab his helmet while he did something in the downed shuttle before Zev came aboard.
Zev had offered to help with whatever it was, but Dad just shook his head.
“No thank you, son. I need to do it alone.”
And two guesses what that was.
Zev’s lungs tightened again and not from his ingestion of sea water.
“Did…did you pilot yourself?” he asked, already aching from the expected answer.
“I’m not much of a pilot,” Dad had said briefly. “Someone else does that part.”
And Zev hadn’t pushed any further.
But he felt sick all over again.
He made his way down the wet burnt orange sand to find his helmet. He snagged other bits of debris as well to see if they could be useful. Maybe Dad wanted to see about rigging long range comms. Of course, that would get awkward when it came to whose fleet they should try to raise.
He took his time, allowing Dad to do what he needed to.
As he made his way slowly back toward the Imperial shuttle, Dad emerged down the landing ramp, spotting him.
“Thank you,” Dad said briefly, “you can come aboard. There’s emergency supplies and we can calculate our rationing. I want to get this ship functional again.”
Zev raised his eyebrows. This was more ambitious than he’d thought.
“That engine is done for, Dad, I don’t know—”
Dad nodded.
“Port side is, yes. But the starboard is undamaged. As far as I can tell, it’s still spaceworthy. But we need to reroute a great deal. And we need to find out what we need to jury rig.”
Zev followed him into the small ship.
A simple black nylon bag, roughly the size of a person, lay against one of the bulkheads.
“I’m sorry,” he said again helplessly, and Dad followed his gaze.
“Her family would appreciate a body,” he replied simply, facial muscles tight. “Let’s get rations and go outside. We both need food and water before we get to work on anything.”
He directed Zev to several bulkhead compartments, and they both unpacked the various boxes and supplies that were within.
Zev felt strange passing that nylon covered form as he moved in and out of the ship.
She was an enemy pilot. He’d shot down over 56 enemy pilots as his kill count had proudly proclaimed on the side of his fighter.
But this was the first time he’d ever seen the results of his skill up close and personal.
Personal.
Kark.
Couldn’t get much more personal than shooting down his own father.
Zev might have been able to free himself only to find Dad’s body in the damaged ship.
The thought made him nauseous all over again and he hurried outside with his last burden, taking in deep breaths of warm sea air
His chest still hurt from Dad’s exertions to save his life.
And Zev was still mulling over whether to ask a rather critical question.
If you didn’t know it was me would you have let me drown?
“Help me get the tent set up, Zev,” Dad said behind him.
Neither of them wished to sleep in the shuttle—while it was better insulated against the heat, the pilot’s body was there.
So he turned and began to help Dad unpack supplies and tools for the tent.
It was easy to set up, unlike the older Rebel ones. It was sleek and well designed—-and naturally done in Imperial grey.
Dad moved some of the supply crates inside to help anchor it against stronger winds and then glanced out at the horizon.
“We should get a fire going,” he commented, shading his eyes with his hand. He was merely in his t shirt and trousers now, having set aside his henley in the heat. Zev had also stepped out of his flightsuit and boots—his trousers rolled halfway up his calves. “It’s supposed to get quite a bit cooler at night on this planet.”
Zev didn’t know much about this world at all, and so trusted Dad knew what he was talking about.
Besides, setting up a fire and rummaging for food gave both of them more time to marshal their thoughts and emotions, once the critical urgency of their situation had passed.
The sunset was a glorious array of colors that painted the vast sky in broad strokes.
And initially, as they ate some self heating rations (much better than Rebel ones) they discussed ways to get off the planet.
“I think,” Dad said, gesturing with his spoon to the hushing waves, “that we can salvage what we need from your ship.”
“How?” Zev asked, taking a long pull from his water bottle. “I don’t think either of us can hold our breath that long, Dad.”
His father nodded.
“True. But we have your helmet. And there are two full medical oxygen tanks in my shuttle. They have thirty minutes each. If we can rig a rudimentary diving helmet then we can get what we need.”
All right. Yes. That could work.
Real hope speared through Zev.
“I know…a lot was happening,” Dad said more awkwardly, poking at the flames with a long branch and watching the pop of sparks and responding surge of fire. “But do you recall what was damaged and what wasn’t?”
Zev pictured his control panel in those last critical moments before he impacted the water.
“It was the loss of my wing that shorted out other things,” he mused. “I think most of my controls were functional, but obviously…”
“The ship won’t respond the same way,” Dad filled in. “And we don’t know if the crash damaged other internal workings. I’ll make a list of what I know the shuttle needs to get that engine functioning since I’m afraid you’re the one who will need to do the diving. This leg will slow me down too much.”
He tapped the right leg and Zev frowned a little.
“Prosthetic,” Dad said clinically, jaw a little tighter. “I can handle water with it, but it is still a bit heavier than my real leg. No problem on land,” he added as though to reassure Zev. “But it makes a difference when every minute counts down there.”
Dad had lost…a leg.
And there was only one situation Zev knew of where that could have happened, memories of his awful fear rising up once again.
“Hoth?” he managed, setting aside his ration to clasp both hands together between his knees.
Dad nodded slowly, chewing a bite—-the flames casting shadows on his face as the twilight deepened.
“Mmm. Took a long time to heal. I was actually returning from my final prosthetic check back on Coruscant when you lot showed up.”
A surging storm of feelings raged in Zev’s chest.
“I…we didn’t know what exactly had happened to you when your walker went down,” he managed, his voice hoarse to his own ears. “I thought you were dead for two weeks.”
There was a long silence between them, filled by the crackle of the fire and the gentler sounds of the breakers on the sand.
“And…was that a good or bad thing?” Dad asked at last, staring down between his feet.
How could…?
Did he actually think that Zev…?
“ Dad ,” Zev said, “Kark. You think so little of me?”
“The last thing you flung at me, Zevulon, you may recall,” Dad stated, still not meeting his eyes, “was that you wished I was dead. So.”
He made a small gesture with his hand.
Yes, Zev remembered that last appalling conversation very well. The one right before he joined the Rebellion.
“I was destroyed for two weeks,” Zev ground out, picking up his food ration container and flinging it into the flames angrily. The fire rose to echo his mood, the scent of burning food acrid in his nose. “Thinking you had died with things as they were between us—-”
Dad lifted his head at last, jaw tight, and eyes glinting in the fire light.
“All right. I don’t want to—Thank you, son. I’m sorry for that. It doesn’t help anything, but the fear was mutual. I never knew if you…I just lived out my worst nightmare today.”
Another awkward pause. Dad rose stiffly and retrieved more wood to place on the fire. It flared up happily, dancing with joy at the new fuel.
Dad seated himself beside Zev this time—both of them on the sand leaning against a large, heavy crate.
“I had a letter,” he said gruffly. “If I died. I wrote it to you about six months after you left. Piett would have made certain it reached you.”
“Piett?” Zev asked, grasping for why that name was vaguely familiar.
Dad allowed his mouth to curl a little in a rueful smile.
“The Admiral of Death Squadron. And my closest friend. I…kark I wish I knew how that battle went. If he’s alive.”
Zev felt the same.
Luke. Wedge. Hobbie. Scraps. The list went on.
So Dad had a good friend. Who just happened to be the Admiral. And sitting here like this, it was impossible to think of his father as the enemy. As the faceless Imperial villain. He was just—--Dad. And they’d fought viciously, but here they were with Dad having saved his life…
“Dad…” Zev began, and then just plunged in. “If you didn’t know it was me—-would you have—?”
He watched Dad’s throat bob as he swallowed and blew out a breath.
Then he turned his head to meet Zev’s eyes.
“No,” he said honestly. “I…was going to let the bastard who killed my pilot go down. And then…and then you took off your helmet…”
He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them, reaching to cup his hand on the back of Zev’s neck.
“I have to believe the Force or Fate was at work there,” he murmured. “Or I could not have lived with myself.”
Zev knew this feeling intimately after the last eight hours.
“I…was worried you hated me,” he admitted. And something warm uncurled in his chest when Dad’s arm slid around his shoulders, drawing them closely together.
“Never,” he said immediately. “I can honestly tell you I never hated you, son. I was angry, yes. Furious even. But never hate.”
“Yeah….” Zev trailed off. “Love does that—makes us furious.”
Dad nodded again, his cheek brushing Zev’s hair.
“It’s messy,” he agreed.
And they sat, watching the flames die down and the multitude of stars light up the sky.