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Me gusta la mañana, me gustas tú
Me gusta el viento, me gustas tú
Me gusta soñar, me gustas tú
Me gusta la mar, me gustas tú
Veers isn’t exactly a fan of taking leave. He can admit to that in the privacy of the shuttle taking him to the seaside villa they - or really, Piett - had picked for their leave. He can’t exactly argue that point with the sailor, because he’s been the one that consistently badgered Piett to take some leave.
The thing is, the Navy spends all their time with their feet on durasteel, breathing in recycled air, eating processed food. People aren’t made to live in a synthetic environment all the time. Though planetside missions aren’t exactly a vacation, there is something to be said for feeling the wind in your hair and breathing in fresh air.
If it gets Piett’s feet on some solid ground, then he’s willing to go along. But unfortunately, his sailor is wrapping up some final Fleet business and will be travelling a few days later. Had it been up to Veers, he’d have stuck around and they’d have travelled together. Firmus had given him one of those looks when he’d voiced that idea and thus, Veers was going alone for now.
Well. Alone on the shuttle, at least. The villa he’s on his way to belongs to one Admiral Motti, and that Admiral Motti is already there, complete with his ever-present partner, Moff Jerjerrod.
Moff Jerjerrod is an unlikely friend to Piett. Veers had never gotten to know the man much, mostly because he always seemed a bit flustered to meet him, and then Motti would stare at him as if he was somehow personally responsible for the Moff’s state of being. It went beyond Veers’ pay grade to try and figure out what the problem was, and he knows Firmus values the friendship greatly, so that’s enough for him.
As he steps out of the shuttle into the small port on Seswenna’s southern end and starts walking towards the villa, he regrets not swapping out his uniform already for the lighter summer wear he’s packed. The sailor had rolled his eyes at the choice of clothes, but he was hardly the one to talk. As far as Veers is concerned, if it still fits, it’s fashionable enough. His trusted cargo shorts would have been far more comfortable in the heat.
He frowns at his own line of thinking. Has he gone that soft that some heat gets to him that quickly? Perhaps he is in need of a vacation, though he’ll of course not be disclosing that to Piett.
Or maybe he will, when they have the villa to themselves. Fir will be ever so gleeful about it, and that always gets him in a fun mood. He might even be convinced to—
“Hiya Maxi!” Motti’s drawl breaks into his thoughts with all the subtlety of an AT-AT cannon blast. “Glad you could join us, dressed for the occasion as ever, huh?”
Motti is leaning against a large tree near the entrance with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s in some odd clothes, almost looking like a mockery of an old style sailing captain’s uniform. Well. Perhaps that is the latest in fashion, Veers isn’t about to ask. Besides, Motti has always been oddly short with him, as if Veers has done him some personal harm. That’s another thing he’s not about to ask.
“I figured I’d change here,” Veers offers in return, already getting busy undoing the flap of his tunic so he can at least shrug that off. Baring his arms to the sun feels pleasant, and despite Motti still staring at him, he already feels more relaxed. Perhaps he really did need a vacation.
He’s saved from small talk by the arrival of Jerjerrod. The Moff is crossing things off some list on his top of the line datapad with firm strokes of his lightpen and doesn’t immediately spot Veers. “Darling, did you make sure to pack the evening wear as well? I know the intention is to flaunt, but—”
There’s a choked little sound as Jerjerrod looks up and sees Veers in his undershirt. The Moff is oddly red, and Veers frowns at it. With so much time spent in space, he should really be more careful about applying sunscreen. He would have thought a man as fussy as Jerjerrod would take better care. It just goes to show that the Navy types are spending too much time in artificial lightning. Jerjerrod even has some ridiculous shorts on, exposing even more spacer-pale flesh to the sun.
A lot of spacer-pale flesh, if he were honest. Now that he’s getting a good look, it seems Jerjerrod, too, is wearing some sort of imitation of old style sailing clothes, though Veers is confident that the sailors of days long past would not have been showing that much leg or that much chest.
“Oh, hullo, General Veers, I didn’t quite see you there, why, it sure is warm today, isn’t it?” Jerjerrod is clutching his datapad with some force. He seems to have gone even more red. Perhaps the Seswennan climate is too much for him. He’s a tall man, certainly not dainty, but Veers has seen Navy officers wilt in heat before.
“He was just going to get changed,” Motti says, before Veers can say anything else. He has reached out a hand and is tugging Jerjerrod to his side by the hip. “And we got a boat to get to, Maxi, a little sailor and pirate party, I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Veers doesn’t, but he’s spotted the large pool behind the villa, and he has better things to do than deal with Motti’s temper. “Sure, I’ll see myself in.”
“Hmm. No sandy boots on the furniture, I know you Army guys like to get down and dirty.” Motti somehow manages to make this sound like an insult. Still firmly tucked against his side, Jerjerrod reaches out a long fingered hand and squeezes at the pudge sitting over Motti’s waistband.
“Be nice, Conan. Maximilian, you should feel absolutely free to do whatever you want.”
“Thanks,” Veers says, blinking a little at hearing his full name spoken in that plummy Core accent. Jerjerrod is still staring at him. “I uh, will.” He ignores the exasperated sound Motti makes at his admittedly bumbling talk.
With another tug on Jerjerrod’s hip, Motti steers them both towards the path to the beach. He pauses, then turns back to look at Veers.
“Oh and one more thing, Maxi, Thrawn is coming later, but he knows his way around here, so that won’t be an issue.”
With a grin that can’t quite be called friendly, Motti turns back to Jerjerrod. With a large hand splayed over a lean behind that’s only barely covered by his shorts, he marches Jerjerrod over the dunes and disappears out of sight.
Well. There’s a pool and a comfy chair calling Veers’ name. Navy manners are already floating to the back of his mind as he makes his way inside. He’s going to enjoy himself, and he might even send a little holopic Piett’s way.
Veers hums that fun little pop song Lastok has been blasting in the cockpit during training as he picks a bedroom and drops his luggage. He’s even packed his good swim trunks. This is going to be just fine.
~~~
For most of the afternoon, it is fine, even excellent. He swims a few laps and then spreads out on one of the large chairs at the pool side. The sun is pleasant now he’s out of uniform, and he groans in satisfaction as he stretches out as far as he can with some very satisfying pops of various joints.
As odd as Motti is, he keeps a well stocked drinks cabinet and Veers has fixed himself a nice cocktail. He’d sent Piett a holo already, posing with the glass. Piett had pretended to find the little mini umbrella he’d stick in the drink ridiculous, but Veers could so easily picture him sitting behind his desk, rolling his eyes and pretending so hard not to be enamoured.
He stretches again. He’ll spend some time in the sun, and then maybe he can check out that little restaurant he’d spotted while walking over. Piett will complain about him being a giant sap, but he does intend to take the sailor out for a good meal. Best to have a taste beforehand.
There’s a rustle of something and then the sun is no longer shining. Veers shoots up in his seat with reflexes honed in battle, throwing his arm and also his drink in the general direction of the sound.
“Good afternoon, General Veers.”
Holos had not conveyed the sheer size of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Nor had they quite conveyed the effect of those glowing red eyes. The Grand Admiral is standing right next to his chair, with one blue hand around his wrist. He’s standing so close that he’s looming, impossibly large. Veers is too much the trained Army man not to notice the casual strength in that hand that easily spans his wrist.
Veers hasn’t earned the nickname of Iron General for nothing. From as far back as he can remember, nothing ever seems to rattle him. Even Piett has remarked before on how eerie it is, but it’s not even a conscious thing. He just doesn’t get worked up or spooked no matter how intense the situation.
Very slowly, he looks up at the alien. With a nifty little shift of his wrist, he gets his arm out of Thrawn’s grasp. Judging by the barely-there lightning quick widening of those glittering eyes, Thrawn had not seen that coming.
“Good afternoon, Grand Admiral.”
Thrawn is still eyeing him, but the energy is different now. Veers doesn’t know him and thus can’t really read him, but he’s always been good at seeing minute details in someone’s bearing no matter the species - a rather essential skill in his line of duty - and he can tell the change is there.
“I shall join you,” Thrawn rumbles. Just as quietly as he had walked up, he turns and disappears into the house. Veers shrugs and finds he didn’t spill all of the drink, so he has a few more sips left.
He’s heard the rumours, of course. He does not care for Navy scuttlebutt most of the time, especially not when it comes to Thrawn, who has everything going against him. With how Thrawn had apparently decided to announce his arrival, though, he can’t help but consider some of the rumours might be true.
Not that he had all that many doubts before meeting the man, if he’s fair. Mostly because the sailor had been absolutely delighted to tell him a thing or two about his previous visits to this very villa. It had been enough to make Veers’ face feel very warm - not out of any misplaced sense of jealousy, far from it, but rather because of Piett’s colourful language and the images it had invoked in Veers’ mind. It had only egged the little menace on, naturally.
No, Veers wasn’t all that surprised by Thrawn’s very unusual arrival. Nor was he concerned by the alien’s quiet, stalking energy. He was here to relax, and that was what he was going to do.
That the voice in his mind that sounds like Piett is sounding very smug and delighted as it reminds him of some details about Thrawn is something he is choosing to ignore.
~~~
Veers is already back to swimming laps when Thrawn returns wearing swimming trunks with a similar cut to what he has seen Motti wear. Well. Piett had said the two of them were very close friends.
He expects Thrawn to join him in the pool, but the alien Admiral sits on the edge instead. He doesn’t seem to be doing that to enjoy the sun, though.
He’s staring. Staring with an intensity Veers can feel.
Veers isn’t generally bothered by that stuff. He gets the occasional starry-eyed hero worship thrown at him especially since Hoth, and he’s been on far too many recruitment holos not to have gotten some very, very odd holomails. Lastok and Covell once showed him a part of the holonet he never wants to think of again, but even that didn’t faze him too much - whatever it takes for Imperial victory, and all that.
With Thrawn, though, it gets a tad unnerving. Perhaps he needs a little coaxing to join in, to know his presence is welcomed. Had it been anyone else Veers would feel a little annoyed to be pegged for that kind of Core person, but with Thrawn, he can understand there may be some concerns based on previous experiences.
“The water’s nice, you know,” he says, as he emerges from a dive near where Thrawn is sitting.
There’s a twitch on Thrawn’s face, smoothed away almost too quickly to see. “I do not like swimming.”
“Huh, I went through a phase like that,” Veers nods. He braces himself on his arms on the side of the pool as he ponders. “They had us swim so much in the first year of the Academy, I swore I’d never swim again.”
“I have rather the opposite problem,” Thrawn says, sounding oddly wistful. “I am from an ice planet. We do not swim.”
Ah. That makes sense. The Navy folk don’t get quite the same rigorous exercise regime their Army counterparts get in the Academy - and that is assuming Thrawn even went through the Academy.
“I’m not half bad at teaching.” The words fly out of Veers’ mouth before he has time to think. Thrawn lets out a sound that is some matter of scoff, and it has something very close to competitiveness flare up in Veers.
“Really, come in at the shallow end and I’ll have you swim laps within the hour.”
Thrawn is staring at him again, and perhaps it would be wise to beat a hasty retreat, but Veers isn’t some hapless Lieutenant.
To his surprise, Thrawn rises to his feet with a fluidity that looks almost off on a man his size and presumed age. He takes the steps into the shallow end of the pool looking as if the water is somehow going to rise up and swallow him whole.
Veers is reminded of the first time he was back on a snowy planet after Hoth, and he fights against the urge to offer some meaningless comfort. Anything that can be seen as pity is not appropriate here, he knows that.
The water on the end of the pool is shallow enough for men their size that the water doesn’t come further than Thrawn’s ample belly. Veers wades over and comes to a rest just beside the alien Admiral. Well. No way back now.
“So, best way to go at it is to get a feel for how the water carries you. You don’t want to fight it, you want to swim with it.” Thrawn has cocked his head to the side slightly and is listening with rapt attention. It emboldens Veers enough that he reaches out to touch the alien’s arm.
“That’s all you need to do, float on your back, I’ll be here.”
This time, Thrawn’s little scoffing sound is more pronounced, though one side of his mouth quirks up. “I am far heavier than a Human, General Veers, you cannot hold me up.”
Now that’s a challenge Veers can work with. He grins.
“One, it’s Max. Two, we love to work out in the Army and I keep up to date on drills. Three, the water will help me. Trust me.”
For a long moment, Thrawn observes him. Veers hasn’t moved his hand from where he has it lying over Thrawn’s impressive bicep, and Thrawn’s eyes flicker to it before he looks Veers in the eye again.
“Very well, Max.” The name rolls off of Thrawn’s tongue in a very pleasant way.
The Admiral is still looking as if he expects the water to swallow him whole in some grand wave, and Veers can see the tension in his jaw, but he does move. When his feet leave the bottom of the pool, Veers feels the tension in Thrawn’s arm, but the alien holds himself under rigid control and does not give any outward sign of the discomfort. Veers isn’t going to delve into the hows and whys on how that rigid control came to be. It doesn’t matter.
Calmly, casually, he moves his arm to sit under Thrawn, roughly around his shoulders. The water does help, but there’s a dense enough weight there that Veers realises Thrawn may have had a point. Still, he’s floating. Now if he could look less like he’s floating to his own demise, Veers would be happy to take the next step.
“Breathe, Admiral,” he says, in a deliberately upbeat voice. “I’ve got you.”
And he does, he’s not just saying so. Yes, Thrawn is heavier than he looks, but he’s floating surprisingly calmly. There’s an unnamed feeling swirling deep in Veers’ lower belly as he ever so gently pushes Thrawn a bit further towards the deeper end of the pool. Something protective that really has no place to pop up in this context. Still. It unfurls slowly as he moves them both deeper into the water. Never so deep that Thrawn cannot stand, of course.
“Doing all right?” Veers can’t not ask it. Thrawn has gone quiet, and with how close they are pressed together he has felt some of the tension leave him, but he needs to be sure.
“Perfect,” Thrawn says, in a tone that suggests it’s not entirely truthful. But he does look less strained, and so Veers will take that small victory.
It’s odd, in a way, how calm this feels. Veers is absolutely not in the habit of gently pushing around floating Grand Admirals, and he has no doubt Firmus is going to find new ways to tease him for weeks to come when he learns about it. Still, it feels relaxing. There’s a gentle sea breeze coming in over the dunes, the sun’s warmth has gone from slightly too much to a more gentle warmth and the only sound is the soft rumble of the pool’s filter and the songs of various birds scattered around the trees.
“I would…I would try more, Maximilian,” Thrawn says, jolting him out of his thoughts. He has never cared much for his full name. It’s too grand a thing for a boy from Denon, too reminiscent of what his parents expected of him. It sounds nice coming from Thrawn though - and won’t Piett have even more to tease about when he learns about that fun little feeling?
“Here, stand up, I’ll show you a basic technique.” It is with some reluctance that Veers lets go, and he’s absolutely not going to analyse that. Thrawn slowly comes to his feet again. He blinks a few times, slowly, as if waking up from a slumber. Then, that glittering red focus is back, and Veers swallows.
“Right, so,” he says, a little stupidly. Just a simple breaststroke, he can show that, he’s done it a hundred times.
“Start with a float again, and move with broad strokes, you don’t want to paddle quick, you want to paddle strong.” Veers swims a few rounds around Thrawn. When he comes to a stop again, Thrawn is actually grinning. It makes the wrinkles around his eyes deepen, and Veers sees a flash of a very sharp canine.
“Will you also hold me again, Maximilian?”
Veers makes an embarrassing spluttering sound at that and Thrawn laughs. It’s a deep rumble of a laugh, coming from all the way down inside that massive chest. Veers is absolutely not noticing how it makes parts of Thrawn jiggle in a most pleasing way. Piett has enough teasing fuel. He does not need more.
“Forgive my small joke,” Thrawn says. He looks playful. Playful in a way some very big cat is playful, but a far cry from his earlier discomfort, and so Veers grins back.
“Race you to the other end of the pool, then?” Thrawn lifts an eyebrow, then looks to the other side and back.
“Perhaps. Allow me some practise.”
With only slight hesitation, Thrawn moves to try a few strokes. His initial movements are clumsy, and for a heartbeat, Veers is ready to jump in and help. He really thought Thrawn’s reluctance for that initial floating was holding him back, not so much a lack of technique, but now he’s not sure. There’s a determined set to Thrawn’s mouth, though, and then, almost anticlimactically calm, he begins swimming properly.
And quite fast.
Veers had noticed how fluid Thrawn moved when on land, but it seems the same smoothness to his movements carries over in the water now that he has figured out the exact motions. He’s shockingly fast, actually. Fast enough that Veers is thinking there’s no way he can win a race.
It’s an incredibly pleasing sight, and he wants as much as possible out of it.
“Best of five laps, then?”
Thrawn smirks.
“If you are up for the challenge.”
Shoulder bumping Thrawn is rather like shoulder bumping some very solid wall, but Veers does it anyway.
~~~
Motti and Jerjerrod come back late in the Seswennan evening while Veers has changed into a loose linen shirt and got himself a drink and a rare cigarette. Jerjerrod is moving oddly stiffly, probably the poor man doesn’t have the sea legs required for a boating trip. His little sailor’s hat is missing its ribbon and sitting askew. He mutters something about freshening up before limping into the villa as quickly as he can.
Motti, whose hat is missing entirely, does a double take when he sees Thrawn come out of the pool. “Huh, didn’t know you picked up swimming, buddy.”
Thrawn smiles serenely, then reaches out and puts a dripping wet hand on Veers’ shoulder, soaking the linen almost immediately. With his hair falling in his face in wet strands, he looks younger, more carefree.
“I had an excellent teacher.”
Veers grins back and takes another sip of his whiskey. He’s beginning to enjoy taking leave.
