A/N And here we go!

First and foremost, I just want to reiterate that this entire story is mean to be shameless crack humor and that I apologize for absolutely nothing. There IS a plot that will rear its ugly head every so often but... it's just fluff. It is pure, simple, father-son fluff that will rot your teeth. I have a lot of content written for this and I'll update as often as I can!

With all the humor in my heart, I hope you guys enjoy it!

Admiral Piett and General Veers

Piett kept his expression professionally neutral even as his thoughts were chaotic and running every which direction as he tried to process what he now knew.

Just when he thought his job and his life couldn't get any more complicated.

He had meant to walk to his private quarters and rest for a few minutes – it had been a long day and longer still on account of all that he'd been assigned to do in order to keep Skywalker's presence on the Executor a secret from the larger public and the Emperor. It was going to be difficult on a ship as large as this one was but Lord Vader had already done some quick murder of various and seemingly random persons while Piett had quickly implemented some major security measures and shut down outgoing ship correspondence, setting the system up to flag everything and anything for any mention of 'Luke Skywalker', 'Rebellion', 'Death Star', 'Darth Vader' and any of the other numerous variations of the same.

But after a few minutes of being lost in his own thoughts, Piett looked up and found that his feet were taking him in the direction of the high-ranking officer's private lounge and bar.

Apparently he needed a drink.

Pulling out his ID, he scanned himself inside and was greeted by a mostly empty bar room. It was an elaborate space and he approached the silver protocol droid programmed as a bartender and requested a strong Corellian whiskey. The dark mahogany wood of the bar table was complimented by several large viewports staring out into the wide expanse of space and some rather splendid foliage that was artistically placed around the bar to give it an open, luxurious air. Towering wooden cabinets were mounted into the wall behind the counter and were filled with gorgeous drinking glasses and Imperial memorabilia type items. A few pieces of artwork adorned the walls as well; it was usually a pleasant change from the drab gray of the ship's main corridors.

"Give me the strongest drink you have." Piett said wearily, settling into one of the bar stools.

"Of course, Admiral." The droid said politely.

The two men that were already present stood up from their table in the corner and, after offering Piett a polite nod, disappeared out the door, leaving him alone. The only sound was the tinkling of glass as the droid poured his drink.

"Will that be all, Sir?" It asked, sliding it towards him on a coaster with an image of the Imperial cog on it.

Piett nodded his head, picking up the small tumbler and staring at the wall. "For now," he said dismissively. "Leave the bottle though." The droid took its cue to leave and disappeared from his line of sight.

Corellian whiskey was stronger than what he usually went for but he lifted the tumbler to his lips and downed the whole thing in one go. His thoughts were running so fast and going in so many different directions that he forgot to hold his breath and then barely even noticed the taste going down.

He didn't want to think.

But it seemed that the day was not through with him yet because only a few minutes later, the door beeped as another card was scanned from the opposite side and Piett looked up as it slid open silently and as someone else stepped through.

It was General Veers.

Damn.

Damn damn damn.

Piett grabbed his drink and the bottle of whiskey and moved away from the countertop, going to sit at one of the corner tables that was farthest from the door. Veers tailed him and then sat down on the opposite side of him.

Judging by the disbelief on his face, he had heard what had happened earlier through the Lady's gossip chains. That did not bode well for secret keeping; though Piett suspected that even their best efforts would not hide who they had onboard indefinitely.

What the hell? Veers mouthed silently, leaning towards him slightly.

Piett shook his head minutely even as the events of the day came crashing down on him once again. It made his heart pound and his hands begin to sweat. He poured himself another drink and then raised his whiskey to his lip, sipping it slowly.

"Is it true?"

A long drink.

"Firmus – "

"Shut up." Piett said instantly, lowering his glass and raising a finger to point at Veers' face. "Just shut up. I don't know anything. You don't know anything. No one knows anything. Luke Skywalker is not on the Executor."

Veers was silent for all of about ten seconds. "But is Skywalker really his kid?" He whispered.

"Why do you think I know?" Piett demanded in a hushed whisper. "You think just because I'm the admiral that I'm suddenly privileged to know all of Lord Vader's Force-damned secrets?"

"You were there!"

"Max!" Piett sighed, burying his face in his hands with an exhausted groan. He was barely able to resist banging his head on the table. "I cannot – I cannot possibly stress to you enough how much I cannot say anything about this. Not right now, at least. So, please – just don't. For both our sakes."

He did know. He had been there when the kid had collapsed in the hangar bay and later for the medical visit where everyone present had been trying to figure out how Skywalker could be four instead of twenty-three; the medical staff present had been treating the whole debacle like the galaxy's most interesting science project, poking and prodding and scaring the shit out of the poor kid until Vader had finally lost his patience and demanded to know what the hell had happened to his son.

One could have heard a pin drop in the stunned silence that followed that wholly unexpected revelation.

Medical staff changed their tune real fast after that and, in Piett's personal opinion, were lucky they hadn't been executed. Instead, one of the old clone medics that served on the ship had been summoned by Vader himself and had taken over.

But the image - the image of Vader picking up the damn kid like he was the galaxies most awkward and socially inept step-uncle of his sister's husbands aunts niece that was being handed a random baby and just… standing there dangling Skywalker out in front of him as if he had absolutely no idea what the hell he was doing with a person so small and vulnerable was branded in Piett's brain for the rest of forever.

As well as the tender little hug he'd managed to give the kid that had finally calmed him down afte and sent him to sleep.

Dear Force.

Luke Skywalker was the son of Darth Vader.

All of the damn officers Vader had killed for ever mentioning even the slightest hint of aggression towards the Rebellion's famous poster boy made a hell of a lot more sense now. As well as the somewhat infamous "Alive and Unharmed" stipulation that had been added to Skywalker's bounty a little over two years ago.

A long moment of silence stretched between them before Piett dared to peek through his fingers. Max was just staring at the table top now, one hand pressed against his mouth. His eyes were wide with disbelief; a few seconds later he exhaled a shaky sigh and signaled the droid for a drink.

The droid delivered it a minute or so later, setting it down in front of Veers with a customary, " Here you are, Sir."

Max took the glass and downed the whole thing in one go.

Piett understood the feeling perfectly. Another minute or so passed between them and then he sighed. "I'm not saying that whatever you think you've heard is correct… but I might need your help in tightening up security around the ship. Preferably by tomorrow."

Their eyes met for a moment and Piett knew without words being said between them that they were both on the same page of understanding with each other.

"Well, fuck." Veers sighed.

Fuck.

Piett snorted a dry laugh. "Fuck," he agreed tiredly, before clinking his glass together with Veers' and downing it entirely. He glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was five hours after the end of his original shift. His self-appointed break was only going to last for another fifteen minutes.

It was going to be a long, long night.

Thanks for reading! The fluff begins next chapter!