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Chapter Text

Din watches his reflection in the glass of the elevator as floors flick by at a speed so rapid, he’s sure that if he tried to focus on any of them, pick out detail of any kind, it would leave him nauseous. Instead, he studies the phantom image his own form in the glass, both familiar and strange to him. A cape the color of freshly dried blood hangs from his shoulders, barely skimming the floor. It seems to suck in the light his armor reflects, which has been polished to the point where it could possibly be considered a weapon if aimed just right in the sun. He looks regal. He looks kingly. And he hates it.

Bo-Katan looks up from the data pad in her hands. “If you’re going to insist on this, you will at least look the part,” she says. It’s almost cordial. For her at least.
Din straightens his posture. “We need the trade.”

She doesn’t say anything, but he sees her grimace reflected in the glass. He resists the urge to sigh. After their initial meeting on Moff Gideon’s ship, Din was convinced that Bo-Katan would challenge him for the Darksaber on sight. But she didn’t and doesn’t seem to have any intent to either. Which makes him feel uneasy. Instead, she’s turned into a council member, a reluctant advisor. The cloak was her idea.

The elevator slows to a stop.

“Don’t cause an intergalactic incident,” Bo-Katan hisses, not to Din but to Cara and Paz who stand in the corner.

Cara just smirks while Paz shrugs. “We would never,” Cara says. Her tone insisting that she very much would.

“Most comm codes by the end of the night?” Paz asks.

“Deal.”

Bo-Katan looks murderous but her oncoming threat, in all its assured violence and severity, is cut short by the opening of the doors.

“Ready to schmooze, your Highness?” Paz asks. Bo-Katan looks over at him in seething, silent contempt, and gestures for Din to lead the way.

And he does.

He strides out of the lift and into the party. The snickers of Cara and Paz follow him as his friends – entourage, as Paz insists – stay close to him. Their proximity is something that Din feels simultaneously grateful for and suffocated by as the reality of the party sinks in. The invitation and all the other official documentation had called it a gala to “celebrate peaceful discussions”, but it’s transparently and engineered moment for the New Republic to flex their wealth and newfound prosperity after rebuilding from the Empire. Easily a hundred attendees of varying citizenship are crammed into the room, swirling around each other in blur of sparkling robes and glittering jewels.

Though perhaps “crammed” is the wrong word, Din thinks to himself, for a room with impossibly high ceilings and impossibly tall windows to match. It’s an odd mix of claustrophobia and openness that he finds uncomfortable. There are too many eyes, but nowhere to hide. And, after his arrival is announced loudly, all those eyes are on him. He and his group are an oddity, they all know that. But he didn’t realize oddity would mean a show. Slowly, the dull roar of chatter starts again, but he can still feel their gaze on him, even as the Chancellor rushes forward to greet them. Not for the first time, or the last, he’s grateful for his helmet.

“We’re honored by your presence, Mand’alor.” the Chancellor says, seeming genuine. “I’m Leia Organa, New Republic’s Chancellor.”

He nods. “Thank you for having us.”

“Are your rooms to your liking?”

He nods again. He was never good with small talk and being king has only seemed to make it worse. “Yes. This is Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, Cara Dune, and Paz Vizsla.” He gestures behind them.

The Chancellor, Leia, takes their group in, her warm brown eyes shining with an emotion Din can’t quite name. “Excellent to meet you all. You’re welcome to stay for as long, or as short, as you would like. Though, if Senator Linz gets ahold of you, you might never be able to escape.”

Din smiles despite himself. “Thank you, Chancellor.”

She smiles back at him, almost like she’s aware of his expression, nods, and leaves to make her rounds.

Cara lets a low whistle. “If she wasn’t already married.”

“Dune,” Bo-Katan growls in warning.

The other woman just laughs. “See you on the other side,” she gives Din a salute and bow so facetious that no one could ever mistake it for sincere. Paz quickly makes his exit with a shrug.

“They’re going to ruin this,” Bo-Katan complains. “They should stay with you.”

“No, they won’t. Besides, you’re here. Aren’t you?”

She looks unhappy though unable to argue. Neither Cara or Paz has the political understanding to get him through this hellish evening, but both of them know when to shut up and walk away. Two qualities that Din has always found admirable. Though having Bo-Katan at his side ensures that the next two conversations he gets trapped in go smoothly.

Right now, a young Senator, Senator… Bown, is droning on about their most current bill to… well Din isn’t quite sure what the bill is about. It sounds boring. He lets his companion field the conversation while he looks over the crowd of party goers.

They’re all dressed richly, in an extravagance that Din can barely comprehend or stomach. He sees jewels line robes dyed vivid shades, and all he can think about is the price tag attached to them and how long that money could have sustained him, or helped his Covert, or helped anyone. But instead, the money is used to drape finery over bodies who will only wear it once. He swallows hard, trying to fight back the disgust rising in his throat. He needs this. Mandalore needs this. Its people need this. He thinks back to Chancellor Organa, and how her dress, while beautiful, was simple. Almost understated for the occasion. He wonders if it’s genuine, or a very well thought out move for her reputation. It’s this line of thought that he finds himself in when he sees him.

The man in question is surrounded by a few people and seeming to entertain them in a way that seems effortless, a gentle smile on his face that never falls. He’s dressed in pale blue robes that remind him of the Chancellor’s in their simplicity. The blue fabric a neat contrast against his blonde hair and accentuates his eyes. Din knows this man. It’s the Jedi.

What the fuck.

Din lurches forward without thinking, effectively ending the conversation he’s found himself in. “Excuse me,” he mutters and leaves Bo-Katan to pick up the pieces. It might end in her attempting to assassinate him, but that’s something that he’ll have to deal with later.

It’s only halfway to the Jedi that Din realizes he has no way to make this interaction not the most painful moment of the night. His stride slows, but he doesn’t stop. Maybe this is a moment to rip off the bandage. But he also doesn’t want to incur the wrath of Bo-Katan any more than he already has. This is-
A sudden presence by his side disrupts his thoughts. It’s the Chancellor.

“Oh- Chancellor- “he comes to an ungraceful halt.

If she notices his stumble, she doesn’t let it show. “It would be terrible of me to not introduce the two of you,” she says and then holds out her hand. In an instinctive and fluid move that would make Bo-Katan proud, he offers his arm. The Chancellor takes it, and Din allows this tiny, powerful woman to lead him across the room and towards the Jedi.

“Luke,” she calls out when they get closer.

The Jedi looks up and smiles when he sees the pair approaching. Din can’t help but notice how the small crowd disappears as they approach.

“Mand’alor, meet my brother. Commander Luke Organa. Luke, this is the king of Mandalore.” Leia pats his arm.

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Commander Luke Organa says with a smile that’s blinding and achingly sincere. And there’s not even a flicker of recognition.

Din nods silently.

The silence doesn’t seem to bother either of them.

“The Mand’alor is here to negotiate trade between Mandalore and the New Republic,” Leia says. She abandons Din’s arm for her brother’s, and he lets her with an easy confidence that speaks of a well-worn comfort. “I know how interested you are in this sort of thing.”

“Oh of course. Trade negotiations are of upmost importance to me,” Luke says seriously. “I would love to talk to you in detail about your plans,” Luke looks up at him, head tilted to the side. Din isn’t sure if he’s being made fun of.

“That would be… interesting,” Din says, praying that he sounds polite. He’s not sure what’s going on here and he’s becoming less and less sure that this is actually the Jedi he’s been looking for.

Leia looks behind her and out to the party. “As much as I would love to join you, I believe my husband is going to start a fight if I don’t intervene.” She’s gone as fast as she appeared.

“Follow me,” Luke says and starts to walk away at a brisk pace.

Din looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see Bo-Katan anywhere. He follows Luke.

Eventually, they come to a balcony attached to a room a fair distance from the ballroom. It’s surprisingly quiet outside; too high up for the noise of the city to reach them. Din feels a swell of gratefulness that takes him by surprise. He’s not used to being in a place with this many people, this much noise. And although the stars and moon are hidden by the light pollution, the distance from the city makes this small balcony comforting. Not comforting enough to make him feel ready to have an impromptu conversation about trade negotiations, however. Din turns around from the view and his thoughts to look at Luke Organa, who may or may not be the Jedi who took Grogu.

Luke isn’t looking at him though. Rather, his gaze fixed outwards, to the city and the glimmering buildings that make up the view. There’s a very different expression on his face now then there was just minutes ago in the ballroom. In there, surrounded by politicians and party goers, he wore a lighthearted smile that reached his eyes and spoke of an easy charm and a trail of broken hearts. But out here, his guard down, Luke Organa looks like he holds the world on his shoulders. And then he turns that gaze on him.

“So, it’s true. You’re the Mand’alor,” Luke says, smile returning to his face. “Grogu will be ecstatic.”

A tension he didn’t realize he was holding leaves Din. “How- Is- Is Grogu okay?”

“More than okay, I would say. He’s thriving. He’s a fast student! Really large appetite though.”

Din’s heart contracts painfully. “Sounds right.”

“Do you want to see him?”

The words buzz around senselessly in his head for a moment. “I can?”

“Tomorrow, if you wanted,” Luke says. The smile on his face softens into something smaller, and he looks back out to the city. The dull, orange-grey fuzz of Coruscant’s billions of lights catch in his hair.

Stupidly, Din says: “Why?”

That gets the Jedi’s attention again, looking sharply back at Din, blatantly confused. “Do you not want- “

“No; I do. I just- I thought-” Din fights the urge to walk closer to the Jedi, to stand beside him. He stays where he’s at, hovering between the exit and the other man. “I was told attachments were forbidden.”

Luke just blinks at him for a moment. Then he sighs; runs a hand through his hair. “They used to be.” He turns around, back to the city, and leans against the railing. It makes Din’s hands flex instinctively: the sight of him relying on something so flimsy to protect them from such a fall makes Din nervous. “But… he needs his father.”

Something catches in Din’s stomach, hot and sharp and unidentifiable. He’s not sure if the Jedi is just talking about Grogu anymore, but he’s also not sure how to broach that possibility. However, the option to ask is taken away from him abruptly. Luke pushes up and off the railing. “He’s excited to see you.”

“Tomorrow,” Din says before he can think through the schedule Bo-Katan has been harassing him with for days. He’ll make it work.

Luke nods, a softer, more genuine smile growing on his face. “He’ll be happy to hear that.” He fidgets with his robes, and Din notices, again, the single gloved hand. The dark shine of the glove is a dark spot against the soft blue of his robes. Like a ship in a faded desert sky. That sharp feeling flares in his stomach again and Din can’t squash the urge to keep this conversation going.

“Commander?”

“Yes?” Luke looks up sharply.

“Does Commander outrank Jedi?”

Luke laughs, much more genuine and carefree than Din was expecting. It’s nice to…

Well.

“It doesn’t,” Luke explains. “At least I don’t think it does. But it was decided that it would be better for me to be just Commander Luke Organa.” He grimaces. “So, it’s just Commander. Well, not just. Commander and brother of the Chancellor isn’t just anything. It’s a lot.”

Din tilts his head, again not sure what to say.

Luke, for his credit, doesn’t jump to fill the silence like many others usually do. Instead, he just looks up, studying his helmet, like something about the glass and beskar will reveal something. Din wonders what he’s looking for; what he’s seeing. In the end, Luke just looks back out to the Coruscant.

“Did you decide that?” he finally says.

The way the Jedi shrugs is flippant, but Din suspects it’s a façade. “Yes. It’s better. I don’t want to be used by the Senate and it keeps things simpler for Leia.”

“But you’re still a Jedi.”

“If you’re concerned about your son, I-“

Din’s heart twinges again at that phrase. “I trust you.” He means it, which surprises both of them. “He needs to learn from someone… like him. He wants to. If he’s safe and he’s happy, then I trust you.”

“That’s- Thank you.” Luke moves his ungloved hand forward and then pulls it back in an aborted motion.

It’s quiet again.

“I should take you back before I get accused of kidnapping the Mand’alor,” Luke says, moving towards the exit. Din watches him slowly reassemble the person he saw in the ballroom: his posture loosens, effortless, but enticing. Now, after the balcony, he can see the falseness to it and the way that the Jedi shrugs it on like a jacket.

He wonders if he should learn something from that.
__

After their encounter last night, Din didn’t expect to see Luke at the first rounds of negotiations. Even if Luke’s interest in the burgeoning trade relations between Mandalore and the New Republic were sincere, there was no reason for him to be present. According to the articles Din had… happened upon last night before falling asleep, Commander Luke Organa has no actual political roles or obligations, but rather seems to spend his time accompanying his sister and creating more than enough material to keep the gossip columns in business. And to deprive Din of a full night’s sleep. Some headlines were obviously fake, trying to sell themselves on sheer outrage alone. Like the few he saw claiming Luke as the real father of the crown prince of some core planet. But most just speculated on his actions, usually about his relationship status. More often than not, text debating Luke Organa’s attachment to whoever he was last seen with is pasted over pictures of him and various peoples of various political importance. But none of the headlines, rumors, and theories line up with who Din saw on the balcony last night. The difference felt acidic in his throat. However, despite whatever inaccuracies Din observed, it was clear that Commander Luke Organa had no business, or even desire, to be at the table.

Which is why Din freezes when he enters the conference room to see the other man sat at his sister’s side.

The Chancellor and her brother are clearly deep in conversation. Though their dialogue is too hushed and too fast for Din to process what is being said. Whatever they’re talking about, neither one of them is happy about it. Once again, the Chancellor is dressed in white, this time in a smart pantsuit and a dark grey blazer. She looks professional, serious, maybe even deadly. Her brother is dressed far more solemnly than last night in an outfit of all black. Din wonders if the contrast was purposeful, but for what reason, he can’t image.

Luke looks up briefly when Din and his council enter the room; his expression slips, just for an instant, into a smile and a wink, and then he lets himself get drawn back into whatever discussion he and his sister are having. It ends shortly though, and seemingly abruptly, as the Chancellor looks up and away from Luke.
“Manda’lor.” She stands up fluidly, a calm and inscrutable smile on her face. “Thank you for agreeing to meet us here. We thought it would be beneficial to write a draft of the agreement here before bringing it to the entire Senate.

If Din hadn’t witnessed it, then there would have been no way he would have known she was just arguing with her brother. He nods. “That would be for the best.”

Her smile changes, a fraction warmer than before. “Excellent. This is Senator Kru’dj,” she gestures to a female Bothan, “and Senator Min,” a Twi’lek man nods politely, his expression blank, “and you met my brother last night.” Luke waves.

“Lady Kryze,” Din gestures to the woman standing next to him.

A flicker of something passes over Luke’s face, but it’s gone too fast for Din to identify it.

“Please, sit down,” Leia gestures at the empty sits in front of them.

“Will anyone else from your party be joining us?” the Twi’lek, Senator Min, asks as they take their seats.

“No.” Din smiles briefly. The idea of Cara and Paz being willing participants in what promises to be a boring and untenably long discussion is amusing and would inevitably end in a fight picked out of boredom. He’s not sure what they’re doing, but he does know Bo-Katan has threatened to end their lives if she gets wind of even a whiff of a trouble. The usefulness of that threat, however, is up for debate.

Din finds himself sitting directly across from the Chancellor Organa. Which, despite the logic of their positions, he finds uncomfortable, like he’s under scrutiny. But the look on her face makes him wonder if it’s possible to leave this planet with a new ally.

She clears her throat. “Shall we begin?”

He tilts his head in agreement.

The Chancellor correctly interprets the motion and presses a button. The tabletop flickers to life, revealing a large holo-pad built into it.
Impressive.

“As we’ve established through our prior communications, these are the goods that we expect will be in the most demand from Mandalore,” she swipes at the holo-pad, and the list appears in front of everyone. “And these are the planets that have indicated an interest in what Mandalore is willing to offer.”

It’s a longer list than what Din was expecting. He feels Bo-Katan relax next to him. Imperceptible in a way that the New Republic entourage can’t read, but he can. He shares the sentiment. Options are good.

“Can we expect universal rulings,” Bo-Katan jumps in. “Or will we have to negotiate specific deals with each planet?”

Gods this is going to take forever.

-

“The repatriation of Beskar has always been in the terms.” Din finds himself trying not to yell two hours later.

Senator Kru’dj barely holds back a laugh but does not bother to repress the smirk on her face. “It’s been in discussions but we’ve yet to agree on it. Asking every planet to hand over Beskar is ridiculous. They found it. You have no right-“

“Found is a generous term for stolen,” Luke cuts in. His tone is light, not invested, but the way his eyebrows furrow slightly contradicts it.

The Bothan senator splutters. “Well, it may have been repurposed into something else of significance, of- of cultural importance. They have-“

“No one but a Mandalorian who has been specifically trained can forge Beskar,” Bo-Katan says, an unspoken threat.

For her credit, the senator barely flinches.

“Anyone can melt it down into ingots,” Senator Min supplies. “The Empire proved that, but it’s useless to anyone else. Though I suppose the possession of Imperial Beskar ingots could be… incriminating.” Another threat from an unlikely source.

The Chancellor clears her throat. “So, it’s settled? Trade with Mandalore requires the repatriation of any known Beskar both planet side and any other affiliated holdings?”

The room makes a general noise of an agreement. The Bothan stares at the table, furious and silent.

Luke sighs. “Should we break for lunch?” It’s directed towards his sister.

She nods. “How about the day? We’ve made a lot of progress and I’m satisfied. What do you think Manda’lor?”

“Yes,” he hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate.

They adjourn.

Senator Min smiles on his way out. “Very good to make your acquaintance Manda’lor.” Thankfully he doesn’t seem interested in making any conversation beyond that and exits quickly, Senator Kru’dj close behind him. Bo-Katan leaves as well, after a quick look to check for her dismissal.

That leaves Din alone with the Chancellor and Commander Organa.

Before he can bite out a stiff farewell and flee, the Chancellor lets out a very aggravated growl and braces herself against the table.

“I’m going to strangle Vias,” she says.

“You can’t tell me stuff like that, or it’s premeditated,” Luke chirps from where still sits at the table. He’s doing something on the table’s holo-pad. Din is too far away to make it out.

“You can’t testify against me anyways, you’re my brother.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works?”

“Don’t you start with me too, Luke,” she straightens up and smacks his arm.

“Hey!”

The Chancellor looks over at Din. “You’ll have to forgive us for the Senator’s behavior. She’s relatively new and-“

“Annoying.” Luke is still fidgeting with the holo-pad.

She shrugs in agreement.

Din, like he so often is, is lost for words. He just nods again.

“I believe you have a reunion to get to,” the Chancellor says, gathering her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you Chancellor,” he says.

She waves him off, like his words are bee invading her personal space. “Please, call me Leia. I’ve babysat your son too often for us to be that formal.” She flashes him a grin and leaves before he can process the words.

“You’ve made the Chancellor of the New Republic babysit Grogu?” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

Luke laughs. “She’s also my sister you know,” he teases. “Besides, she owed me.” He looks down at the table, frowns, and turns off the screen. The tabletop flickers back into place. “You weren’t expecting me to be here today.”

It’s a statement, not a question. Din doesn’t contradict him, though he isn’t sure how Luke knows that.

Luke sighs and pushes back from the table. Again, with just the two of them, something about his expression changes. He looks much more tired than he ever did during the negotiations. “I wasn’t either. But our disappearance last night was noted,” at that, he offers Din a small smile.

There’s a significance there, he can tell, even if Din isn’t versed enough in governmental ploys to understand it. “So, your presence here was?” he trails off.

“Suggested as a strategy to please you.”

Oh. Oh.

Luke shrugs. “It’s alright. It’ll explain why we’ll be spending time together while you’re here. I’d rather keep Grogu’s existence a secret.”

Din nods. “Yes, that would be best.” And then, “Do they… suggest that you do this often?” His stomach twists with the thought of being asked to extend such affection to any number of figures of political importance.

Luke’s eyes snap up to his helmet. “No, not usually, but you’re very important, don’t you know?” He smiles up at him in a clear attempt at a joke.

It doesn’t work. Instead, he just finds himself deeply uncomfortable with the implication. “Did your sister-“

“No.” Luke cuts him off, firm. “She never asks.”

That’s reassuring. “Good.”

Luke squints at him. “You’re very different than I expected Manda’lor.”

He shrugs. “I’ve been told.”

The other man laughs. “Yes, I’m sure you have.”

It’s quiet. Just for a moment, but it feels like an eternity as he stands there. Unsure what to do or say. “I was pleased to see you,” Din confesses, against all better judgement, because it’s true. Shocking, but true.

The Jedi’s face is unreadable. “I think Grogu should be up from his nap now,” he says. “Follow me.”

Din does, with a sinking feeling that this won’t be the last time he does so.

-

Grogu shrieks when he sees Din. He drops the small, stuffed Bantha toy he had been holding, and immediately toddles away from where he had been babbling to Han towards his father.

Luke swallows hard when he sees the Manda’lor drop to his knees and hold out his hand. He doesn’t need the Force to tell him what the man is feeling or what his whispered Mando’a means. “Come on,” he hisses at Han who looks like he’s two seconds away from saying the second stupidest thing Luke’s heard today.
Han rolls his eyes, but listens, thank Stars, and leaves them to it.

“Is he here to finally take the Kid back?” Han gestures to the closed door of the study with a jerk of his shoulder. He rummages through the cabinet where Leia keeps the strong liquor.

“Grogu’s grown on you,” Luke accuses, correctly, and take the offered glass.

Han shrugs. “Yeah, whatever.” He fills both of their glasses past the socially acceptable amount. “How you doing Kid?’ Which tells Luke that he heard his fight with Leia this morning without actually having to fess up to eavesdropping.

He puts off the inevitable by taking a long pull of clear alcohol. It burns going down: purifying in a way he’d deny to anyone else. “Fucking awful.”
Han chuckles without humor.

“The Senators will argue anything, no matter how small or logical or reasonable it is. It’s so stupid.”

If Leia was here, she’d jump to the Senate’s defense. She wouldn’t disagree with him; they both agree on that. But she feels a reasonable amount of ownership over the Senate, over the New Republic. Which Luke understands, just like she understands his own point. She also would have pointed out that he could have said no to the request and avoided having been in negotiations all together. But, Han, to his credit, just raises a glass in sympathy.

Luke takes another drink and focuses on the twisting burn in his stomach. “It’s too early to drink,” he gasps out.

Han snorts. “Don’t try to trick me into thinking a Tatooine farm boy has any decorum when it comes to drinking.”

He laughs. “Maybe so.” But he puts the glass down anyways and sighs heavily through his nose.

“Did you see the news this morning?” It’s an innocent enough question, but Luke has a feeling that Han isn’t referring to the stories of a stormy election season occurring halfway across the galaxy.

He shakes his head.

The shit eating grin on Han’s face just gets bigger. He downs the rest of his drink, which makes Luke visibly wince, then he turns around and starts looking for his data-pad in the living room. When he finds it, he cackles and hands it over to Luke. “Looking good, Princess.”

Luke tries, and fails, to kick him in the shins but takes the data-pad from him anyways. “That was funnier when you called Leia that, and it wasn’t that funny then.”

He ignores him. “Read it, Kid.”

The data-pad is open to an article, the lines of text small and shoved to the side to make room for a picture of Luke and the Manda’lor returning to the party last night. In the picture, Luke is mid-laugh and hanging off the Manda’lor’s arm. Briefly, Luke admires the striking image of the other man in all his dark reds and shining silvers.

So maybe Han didn’t hear their argument.

He shoves the data-pad back at his brother-in-law. “Leia already beat you to it.”

This morning, Leia had come crashing into Luke’s room. She smacked the light on and tossed the data-pad at him. He had sat up blearily, squinting at her. “Do you need help with your hair?” he guessed.

It had been a genuine question, after all half of her hair was pinned up in an elaborate style and the other half falling wildly down her back and over her shoulders, but the question only seemed to make her more upset. “Luke, when we agreed on you staying quiet about being a Jedi, that wasn’t permission to cause problems in other ways.” She gestured at the data-pad. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

It was the same picture he’s looking at now. He sighed. “Leia, this happens all the time. And you sent us off together what did you-“

“You couldn’t have come back one at a time?!”

He did not think of that.

“My council is suggesting that I encourage you two to spend time to each other and that I bring you to negotiations today to ‘keep him in a good mood’.” Leia would never deign to actually use air quotes, but the tone in her voice made them clear enough.

Luke had silently stared at the data-pad before starting to drag himself out of bed. “Well, I better get ready then.”

“For fuck’s sake. Luke!”

Their argument had only spiraled out of control from there. In fact, it still probably wasn’t done if the way she had cut him off in the conference room was any indication.

Han yanks the pad out his hands. “Well, congrats on the engagement Kid.”

Luke wants to kick him so bad, Jedi or not.

“What engagement?”

The Manda’lor has rejoined them. Grogu babbles happily where he’s cradled in the Manda’lor’s arms. The child is emoting intensely through the Force. It almost feels like a physical blow to Luke’s chest, the feelings of safety, love, and Buir are so strong.

“There’s no engagement,” Luke explains. “Han’s just kidding.”

Han at least has the decency to look slightly cowed by the Manda’lor’s presence.

“Han Solo?” He tilts his head to the side.

“The one and only,” Han grins. Han’s taken to the fawning praise that’s followed him since the Rebellion like a duck to water.

“Lot of bounties on your head,” the Manda’lor notes. He adjusts his grip on Grogu.

Han goes grey.

“Han,” Luke intercedes. “Don’t you need to meet Chewie?” He knows he’s doing an awful job of hiding his smile and that Han will take his revenge sooner rather than later, but it’s not often Luke gets to watch someone who isn’t Leia fuck with Han.

“You know what Kid, you’re right.” He leaves the apartment in a rush.

When the door hisses closed behind him, Luke lets himself laugh. “Are there really still bounties on Han?”

The Manda’lor shrugs. “More than likely. It’s been a while since I’ve had a reason to check.” He looks down at Grogu and offers his son his hand, who happily wraps one tiny hand around a finger and babbles with even more enthusiasm.

Luke rapidly blinks away the tears that are forming in his eyes, brought on by yet another spike of affection and love in the Force. A Jedi does not covet, he reminds himself. Then you’re a dismal example of a Jedi a voice that sounds uncomfortably like his own counters. “You can keep him overnight,” Luke offers suddenly. It’s sincere, but also a shaky attempt to pull him out of his own head.

The Manda’lor looks up at him sharply. “Are you- That’s alright? It won’t interfere with his training?”

“Oh no,” Luke smiles. “After all, his training is mostly about control. It’ll be good for him to learn how to do that with his father.”

He looks back down at Grogu. “What do you think?”

Grogu shrieks his approval.

“I don’t know where you picked that up, you little Womp Rat,” the Manda’lor laughs.

“He’s never done it before. I think he’s just very excited to see you.” Luke lets himself lean against the kitchen counter. He hopes he looks casual, and not exhausted. But there’s no way to know what the other man thinks outside of vague, unclear movements in the Force, which Luke doesn’t interrogate. If it’s out of respect for the man’s privacy or Luke’s own sanity, he’s not sure. Either way, he has no way of knowing if he looks an idiot right now. But, according to Leia, he always looks like an idiot.

If he had known, back on Tatooine, during all those times he had desperately hoped for a sibling that it just meant prolonged bullying you had to put up with forever, he… probably still would have wanted one. Tatooine was a lonely place, and he always felt like Uncle Owen forced him to be at arm’s length from everyone around him for so long. Of course, he had his reasons, which Luke understands now. And once Luke hit puberty and started what passed for school on Tatooine, it was harder for Owen to wrangle him in. But that ache never absolved itself, and maybe, never will. He’ll still take Leia teasing him over that isolation any day.

“He’s made friends,” Luke says. “At the preschool he goes to sometimes. It was Leia’s idea. She and Han send the twins there, so it’s safe and he already knows some kids, but he’s very popular with… well everyone really.” He stops himself before he rambles too much.

The helmet tilts again. Something in Luke’s stomach twinges at the sight of it.

“The twins?”

Luke blinks, then- “Oh! My niece and nephew! They and Grogu see a lot of each other already, so we thought it would be an easy transition.”

There’s a moment of dead air between the two of them where the Manda’lor’s helmet stays fixed on him. It’s illogical, but Luke feels like the Mada’lor’s gaze is fixed on him, and it burns. He tries to resist the impulse to squirm.

“And this preschool is safe?”

Luke nods. “We wouldn’t send the twins if it wasn’t.”

He nods and looks down at his son. “And he likes it?”

“He loves it. Like I said, he’s a popular kid.” He can’t help the affectionate smile he gives the pair. “We take the education of the Manda’lor’s son very seriously around here.” It’s supposed to be a joke to help lighten the mood, maybe to distract himself from the affection that sits in his throat like a rock.

“Din,” the other man says quietly, still looking down at his son.

“Excuse me?”

Finally, the Manda’lor looks up. “My name is Din.”

The significance of this moment is not lost on Luke, even if his understanding is incomplete. “Thank you,” Luke says, voice soft. His feelings swell, threatening to overtake his airways and cut off his breathing entirely. He swallows hard. But it doesn’t go away. “It’s nice to meet you Din.”

Again, the helmet settles on Luke. Luke wants to look at away. Just the thought of the possibility that the Manda’lor’s- no, Din’s gaze is fixed on him feels intense in a way that’s inexplicable. It’s embarrassing.

“Thank you, Luke.”

Stars alive.

Grogu reaches up and pats his father’s face. “Patoo,” he says, serenely.

The doors to the apartment click, then hiss, announcing Leia’s return. But even without the sound of the doors, the chaos that accompanies his sister would have been more than enough fanfare. She has the twins with her. Jacen runs circles around his mother.

“And then Teacher Marial said if you leave the seeds in the ground outside they’ll grow really big all by themselves and you don’t have to water them and-“he says.

Jaina chimes in from her mother’s arms. “That is not what she said Jacen. You have to give them water or they’ll die,” she says with the seriousness only a five-year-old can muster.

“The rain gives them water! But when they grow, they’re gonna be really pretty and then we can take home and give them to you and Daddy.”

Jaina wiggles in discontent. Leia concedes and puts her daughter down. “I can’t wait to see them,” she says, smiling.

“Mine’s gonna be blue,” Jaina tells her.

“Uh-uh! Teacher said they’re all gonna be white,” Jacen shouts.

“Mine’s gonna be blue!”

Leia straightens up and sees the scene playing out in her kitchen. She raises an eyebrow at her brother which says much more coming from her than it would anyone else. Luke shrugs.

“Hello Manda’lor,” Leia says.

Their mother’s words cause the twins to pause in their bickering to see the strange, very metal, man in their home. They rush to her in perfect synch. Jacen hides behind her legs, but Jaina, ever curious just grabs a fistful of Leia’s trousers and stares up at him.

‘Kids,” Luke says, “this is the Manda’lor. He’s Grogu’s father.”

Grogu wriggles in his father’s arm, reaching for the twins. Din puts him down and watches him walk over to the pair. Jaina takes his tiny green hand.
“You’re very shiny,” Jaina informs him. “Are you green under there?”

The Manda’lor laughs. “No. I’m not.”

“We like Grogu. He’s good at hide and seek. He always wins.” Jaina’s clearly been won over already. “Can we go play?”

Jaina looks around at all the adults in the room. And once Leia and Din give their permission, they all scurry off. Jacen skirts around Din, clearly not as comfortable as Jaina, but once they disappear out of the room, his voice is loud and clear.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon,” Leia says.

“We got caught up in conversation,” Luke offers.

“Hm,” Leia looks like she’s going to follow that with a statement with the most absolutely scathing subtext but finds herself cut off by Din.

“I was asking your brother if he would show me around Coruscant. I’ve never been here before and I’m…curious.”

That’s absolutely a lie, but neither twin will call him out on it.

“Well, be safe,” she says airily. ‘Nothing newsworthy’ Leia warns him through the Force.

‘I know.’

“See you two later,” she calls, leaving for her room.

Luke looks over at Din and pushes himself up off the counter. “So, a private tour huh?”

-

The next day Luke is standing outside Din’s quarters.

To be quite honest, Luke has no idea what could possibly interest Din here on Coruscant. For the most part, when he finds himself on the planet, he sticks to his sister’s apartments, whatever party she needs him at make an appearance at, and wherever his latest acquaintance has dragged him. None of those distractions seem like they would appeal to him. Or, quite frankly, are appropriate to take the father of his one and only student to. It doesn’t help that the only things Luke knows about him at this point is his name, his fatherhood status, and that he’s the Manda’lor. It’s not a lot to go off of. It’s not enough to know someone with.

But that lack of knowledge doesn’t stop his breath from catching, imperceptibly, when Din opens the door. He’s still wearing the same armor, because of course he is, but Grogu is nestled into his arms, like he never even left. And again, despite the walls Luke knows Grogu has cultivated over the months, the warm wash of love and safety and buir is achingly overwhelming. Luke can feel it in his jaws, like he’s spent hours grinding his teeth together. He rubs at his jaw before he can realize what he’s doing.

“I want to take the kid with us,” Din says, forgoing hello’s and stumbled “good mornings”.

Usually, Luke struggles to get any kind of read on Din’s emotions. Something he chooses to chalk up to the Beskar armor rather than… other possibilities. Right now, however, Luke can feel the barest threads of unsureness and nervousness. He catches the fond smile that threatens to betray him with his teeth, biting down hard on his lip before: “That’d actually be great.”

The man doesn’t visibly betray any emotion. His posture doesn’t even change. But Luke likes to think he’s relieved, or at least the tiniest bit more comfortable.

“Shall we begin?” Luke gestures with a flourish towards the lift he just exited. Din, predictable and quiet, just nods and leads the way.

Luke takes a moment to ponder if he should be learning something from that.

But any newfound breakthroughs on predictability and quietness vanish the minute it’s just the three of them in the lift. Grogu babbles, shaking a silver ball at his father like it’s the most important thing in the world. The Mandalorian looks down, and Luke wonders if he’s smiling at his son and how that smile would look. If it would be soft and warm or beaming and proud. It feels indecent, though, to think about something so clearly purposefully concealed and Luke pushes it aside before the thought can take root, hopefully.

“I- uh- we’re not going too far today,” Luke says. Not for the first time, Luke can hear the farm boy he used to be, all nerves and blind courage, pushing through in his stutter. “I hope that’s alright with you.”

“Yes,” Din says a little too quickly. Which he seems to realize. “Coruscant is very beautiful, but it’s distracting,” he says in explanation.

This time, Luke can’t help but smile. He hopes it comes off as charming or serene, or anything other than overly fond and overly familiar. Smothering his emotions has never been his strong suite. “It’s very loud,” Luke agrees. “Where we’re going is not.”

It’s not even a far walk from the government complex that the Mandalorian party has been staying in, a small mercy that Luke finds himself thanking the stars for. He meant it when he said the city was loud, he also just meant it in more than one way. All the lifeforms on the planet have an energy that pulse and swarm in a way that all of Luke’s training never addressed. The walls help but never enough. Blessedly- annoyingly, Grogu’s walls seem more than fine. Or maybe Grogu just doesn’t find all the energy overwhelming. That’s more upsetting somehow.

Luke spares a glance over to his student and his father. Grogu is still satisfied playing with that silver ball, but Din is looking at him. He looks away quickly, like he was shocked. There’s no way to know if Din was actually looking at him through the visor, so he should really stop acting like he’s fourteen and sneaking around with-

No. Fuck, he needs to get a grip.

They arrive, finally, at the Greenhouse. The doors slide open and a rush of warm, humid, fragrant air rushes out. Luke smiles, unrestrained for the first time all day. “This is Grogu’s favorite place on Coruscant.”

Din comes to stop next to him, both of them hovering just inside the gardens. A frog dashes in front of them. “I can tell,” Din says as Grogu strains after the frog.
Luke chuckles, breathless. “We’ve had a talk about where it’s acceptable to catch frogs.”

“Did that work?”

“Oh, no. Not at all.”

Din laughs at that. It’s flattened by the vocoder of Din’s helmet, but Luke preens under the attention anyways.

“Come on.” Luke leads the pair deeper into the Greenhouse. It doesn’t take them too long to reach the small clearing where he and Grogu always spend their time. The trees and bushes that skirt the edges of the clearing provide more than enough privacy from the path and any people who like to stray.

Grogu straightens up in recognition and start smacking his hands against Din’s armbrace. The ball in his hand clanging loudly against the Beskar.

“Calm down,” Din says, affection clear. “Vicious little womp rat.”

The child toddles over to where Luke is already sitting down and collapses next to the Jedi.

“You should join us,” Luke says, looking up at Din and ignoring the flop of his heart at the sight of Din towering over him.

A Jedi does not covet. A Jedi does not want.

But all Luke knows is wanting.

“What are we doing?” Din settles on the ground across from his son and Luke. He looks extremely uncomfortable, which makes the corner of Luke’s mouth quirk.

“Why don’t you show him Grogu?”

Grogu squeaks in an affirmative and he shuts his eyes, squinting with the intensity of his focus. Luke feels himself start to float off the ground, just a few inches but floating, nevertheless.

Din’s head tilts. “He’s lifted bigger.”

Luke pouts unremorsefully. “Okay, but he can put me down softly.”

With a giggle, Grogu drops Luke. It’s not soft.

Din snorts. “Sure.”

Luke groans and flops onto his back. “We’re really not making a good impression here, Buddy.”

The Child just babbles happily.

“You are,” Din says quietly.

There’s that lump in Luke’s throat again. He pushes himself up, gathering himself into a respectable position.

They just watch Grogu play for a moment. He’s devised some kind of game with the silver ball and a rock that includes floating them around. The rules are unclear to Luke, but the Child seems more than happy.

“You said this is his favorite place?” Din asks.

Luke nods. “It’s quiet, and private. We do a lot of our training here and he thinks training is a game. Which I figure is fine because it keeps him engaged?” He really wishes he didn’t say that like a question.

But Din doesn’t point it out. Though, Luke reminds himself, there’s no way for him to know if Din keeps a running list of all the time Luke has made a fool of himself. The list is probably longer than Luke would like.

Grogu shows Din a rock, who nods appreciatively.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says.

The owl-like stare of the helmet is turned on Luke again. “Why?”

“I- I didn’t mean to disappear with him.” He sighs, chest heaving. “I spent so long thinking about how I wanted to do that. Meeting my first student I mean. I wanted to end the cycle of pulling families apart. But once I heard Grogu…” Luke looks up at the roof. “I wasn’t myself. It was like I was-“

Possessed is the word Leia had used to describe the way his face went blank in the middle of dinner with her, Han, and the twins. Fucking freaky is what Han called Luke’s stone cold, unshakeable stride to his X-Wing. Terrified was what Luke felt when he suddenly came back to himself in hyperspace with the child in his lap. He remembered every action he had taken to get to that moment, but he couldn’t remember making the decisions. He felt cold and his hands shook with it as he flipped on his comms. “Leia,” he remembers that his voice was thin and just as unsteady as his hands. “What happened?”

He didn’t know the Force could do that.

“It wasn’t me on that ship. I’m glad you found us, - him, I mean,” Luke finishes weakly. Silently, Luke begs Din not to ask him to expand or explain. He’s not sure he can without revealing that as horrifying as the whole experience was, it was the most in tune with the Force that he’s felt since staggering off the Death Star with the weight of his father’s body on top of him. The truth sits in his stomach like ice.

The Manda’lor doesn’t say anything. The helmet just stays on Luke, silent and foreboding.

Luke sighs. “Do you know what the Force is?”

Din nods. “Magic.”

“I- You know what, sure. Good enough. But it kind of used me? To find Grogu. It was me, but I wasn’t driving.”

“Is that going to happen to him?” His voice is worried.

He heaves another sigh. “I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of it happening before, and I can’t find anything about it. Just me.” Luke offers a weak smile. “I’m just a special guy.”

“Is that going to happen every time you find a student?”

“Stars, I fucking hope not.” Luke doesn’t mean for it to come out as exhausted as it does.

Grogu yells from the bushes and turns around holding another rock. He walks over as fast as he can and dumps it in front of Din and into the ever-growing pile. He gives his father’s knee a pat before returning back to his mission.

“It’s not easy, is it?” Din says quietly. He watches his son.

“What isn’t?”

“Bringing a culture back from the dead.”

-

Din fucked up. The Jedi was just as friendly and polite as he always was, but he can’t get the image of Luke going grey and physically wincing at his words.

“Bringing a culture back from the dead”.

“I’m so fucking melodramatic,” he tells the kid.

Grogu just slaps the small table, splattering his dinner and making an admirable mess. “Patoo!”

Din sighs. “Good point.”

At some point, dinner became less about Grogu actually eating and more about him seeing how much he could cover his tiny body in it. It’ll be a pain to clean up later, but Din can’t bring himself to care with how happy Grogu is. He crouches next to his son. “You’re cute enough that he’ll keep teaching you. I’ll probably just have to stay very far away.”

Grogu very carefully places a handful of smashed vegetables on top of Din’s head.

“Thanks, Kid. But you’re supposed to be eating that.”

He just squirms cheerfully.

“Okay, that’s it. Bath time,” he scoops Grogu out of the highchair that had appeared in his suite while they were out with Luke and holds him close, food scraps be damned. Grogu coos. He gets less happy after he realizes where they’re headed.

After his bath, it only takes a few minutes of coaxing for Grogu to fall asleep. It had been a busy day for the both of them. Din takes his moment to shower himself and pick out the vegetables still stuck in his hair. He watches a decimated carrot slip down the drain and distantly hopes that doesn’t plug something up somewhere. Finally, he turns the water off, gets out, and gets ready for bed.

He’s not tired. Not really. His time with his son and Luke had left him on alert, trying to parse out what the Jedi had said to him. But he falls asleep somehow, in between memories of Luke laughing and looking like the weight of the galaxy was killing him.

-

Luke’s in the conference room again. The sight of him makes Din stumble, again, but for a very different reason this time. Every time Din has seen the Commander, his robes have been sensible and dark. Except for that first night, Luke Organa has dressed sober and practical. Today there’s so much skin. Maybe not for Luke or anyone else in the room, he reconsiders. His idea of modesty does tend to skew wildly from what other’s. Yet, Din can’t stop staring at Luke anyways. He’s leaning against the table, back to Din and the door, talking to his sister again. They aren’t fighting this time. The shirt Luke wears is black, long sleeved, and backless. The fabric is stark against Luke’s skin and Din wants nothing more than to reach out and-

And nothing.

Bo-Katan clears her throat, and the room comes to attention.

Din should have been the one to do that. He does introduce Paz and Cara though.

Luke smiles welcomingly at the newcomers. “Thank you for joining us,” he says. The shirt he wears is perfectly respectable from the front.

“Fuck,” Paz whispers next to him. “Pretty.”

Din clenches his jaw and prays no one heard that.

No one reacts; Leia just gestures for everyone to sit and eases them into the start of the meeting. But Luke looks at Paz and winks. He knows Luke has winked at him too, but his gut twinges with something like jealousy at the sight anyways. But it shouldn't be- it isn't- jealousy.

“I’d like to revisit the repatriation of the Beskar,” Senator Kru’di starts the session.

“Absolutely not,” Leia responds in a tone that offers no room for argument. “Shall we discuss agricultural trade?”

“Please,” Din says.

-

It’s a brutal five hours of bickering and trading and compromise and Din hates every second of it. Bo-Katan seems to thrive in it; he isn’t sure if he should be worried about it or grateful for her barely suppressed glee, which is par for the course for them. But Paz and Cara are certainly melting into their chairs from boredom by the time the Chancellor huffs angrily.

“I have two children that I would like to see sooner rather than later,” she flashes a look of irritation towards Senator Kru’dj. “Shall we adjourn?”

No one argues, but no one says anything either. Instead, everyone stands up and starts to file out of the room.

Bo-Katan paused by his shoulder, hovering over him. “This is going better than I expected. You should be proud,” she says in Mando’a.

Din blinks in surprise. “Thank you.”

“Don’t fuck it up,” she briefly clasps a hand on his shoulder and leaves.

That makes more sense.

Din looks up just in time to see the Chancellor offer him a cordial nod before her exit, and he has no idea where Dune disappeared to. He expects for it be just him and Luke again. But it isn’t. Paz and Luke stand next to the windows, talking. Paz says something, and Luke laughs. His head tilts back with it, and the afternoon sun catches his hair, turning it luminous. The Jedi reaches out and his ungloved fingers graze Paz’s arm brace.

Paz is funny, but he isn’t that funny.

Din just stands up. He balls his fists and leans against the table. This tension he’s feeling is just the result of multiple hours of negotiations and nothing else. He misses his son. He has a growing headache. There’s no other reason his back is rigid.

“You’ll have to spar with me some time,” Paz says with an obvious eagerness.

Luke rocks onto the balls of his feet, all enthusiasm. “You think you could take me?”

He grinds his teeth. He’s tired.

Paz’s helmet moves with the way he’s looking Luke up and down. “I’d be willing to give it a shot.”

Luke laughs again. “Time and place?”

Din straightens up. “Paz.”

The other Mandalorian’s gaze snaps over to him. “Manda’lor?”

He doesn’t actually have anything to say, but that doesn’t bother Paz, who seems to find his own meaning in the silence. Paz walks over to him and, like Bo-Katan, places a hand on his shoulder. He brings his hand down much harder than she had.

“You could have just said something, Vod.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Din hisses.

Paz leaves the room, but he laughs the whole time.

It leaves Luke and Din alone in the conference room. Again.

“What was that about?” Luke asks. He pulls at his shirt. It looks like he could be merely adjusting it, but there’s something about the movement that reads as nerves.

Oh, gods, he’s being a dick. “Sparring is… it can be a form of courtship for Mandalorians.”

Luke’s eyebrows furrow. “Can? So not always?”

“No, not always. But Paz certainly meant it that way.”

“I- Oh my stars.” Luke ducks his head, gloved hand flying up to rub the back his neck. “I had no idea.”

“I figured,” Din shrugs.

“Is- is it rude to retract your agreement?” Luke looks at him and Din realizes he’s blushing. There’s something about that, seeing Commander Luke Organa, Master Jedi, blush that feels delightfully out of place in the cold professionalism of the conference room. He doesn’t look away.

“No,” Din says. “You can tell him you’re not interested in courtship if you still want to spar.”

“Ah, I don’t want any confusion.”

He assesses the Jedi in frontt of him. “Is there someone else?” It’s a question he has no right to. He knows he’s more than toeing the line of decorum here, but he wants to know anyways.

Luke blinks at him, still blushing. “Oh- oh no. I mean, not for, uh, Leia’s lack of effort.”

“But yours?” He doesn’t know what in the seven hells is wrong with him today. He doesn’t care about this. He shouldn’t be asking these questions. But someone put a shovel in his hands, told him to dig his grave, and now he can’t stop.

“A Jedi does not want.” Luke casts his eyes down, eyelashes splayed on his cheeks. It’s spoken so quietly that Din has a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

The question he wants to ask dies in his mouth. It’s something he knows he would never be able to take back, but he can’t help but think: “Do you want?” He’s just curious. Maybe inappropriately so, but that’s all this is. “Sounds… painful.”

Luke’s eyes snap up to his. Din has to suppress the urge to make sure his helmet is still on.

“It is.” Luke sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Should we spar?”

Din freezes.

“You know, for appearances?”

Right. Stupidly, he had forgotten this part of Luke’s presence here in this conference room. It’s a farce. Their proximity is, though not entirely, still part of a ruse. “If you want.” He offers a choice, instead of his own opinion. He can’t help but wonder when the last time was the Jedi felt he had the option to choose. It seems that Luke is given obligations, disguised as choice and options. The thought makes him flare with recognition.

From across the room, farther than he wants Luke to be and closer than makes him comfortable, Luke grins. “Oh, I want.” The sun lights him up from behind, turning him into a shining, luminous thing.

Din is so stupid.

-

Like most things on Coruscant, the sparring rooms are overwrought in their detail and luxuries. There’s droids and services and customizations and choices and so much fucking technology in one room that it almost vibrates with it. For Din, a sparring room needs nothing but an adequate amount of padding and an adequate proximity to medical attention. Which, for its credit, the room has both. But it also has an unfortunate number of windows.

“They’re pretty strong, for windows,” Luke says in lieu of announcing himself.

Din turns from where he was observing them to see Luke striding through the doors. For the second time today, he finds himself struck by how stripped down the Jedi is dressed. He’s abandoned the blacks, opting for a tan outfit that he’s clearly dragged with him through his time in the Rebellion. It’s practical.

“If you insist.”

Luke laughs. “I don’t.”

Fair. “Ready?”

The Jedi nods, expression suddenly serious and blank. “Absolutely.”

They start on opposite sides of the room. Immediately, Din puts Luke on the defensive. He rushes the man, beskar spear in hand and bringing it down with as much force as he finds reasonable. There’s a new hum in the air and Luke catches the spear with his lightsaber. They push against each other for moment and Din lets himself lean into it. Which turns to be a mistake when Luke’s blade disappears and the Jedi ducks and dashes away.

He catches himself before he can fall and whips around to see Luke backing up, blade back out and a breathless grin on his face.

“Had enough?” Luke calls out.

Never. “You’re the one running away,” Din says. And then he’s charging again. Luke meets every blow with his saber and each response feels graceful. The way Luke fights is even tempered, measured. Painfully controlled. It grates on Din. He’s absolutely sure that the serenity of the Jedi persona is hiding something wild, something feral and he wants to see it.

He drops his spear, the mats rendering the sound of its fall dull.

Luke freezes clearly caught off guard. Din pulls the Darksaber from where it sits on his hip and lights it. The blade pulls all the light in the room and casts Luke’s face in a stark shadow. The Jedi is clearly awestruck, and Din struggles not to let the expression go to his head. But his ploy works: something about the Darksaber changes Luke. His gaze turns predatory, and finally- finally, Luke goes on the offensive.

Din can barely keep up with the flurry of movements, but still, he keeps up. He manages it for as long as he can. At one point, he gets the Jedi cornered in the same way he did in the beginning. Except this time, it’s Luke bearing down on him with all his weight. The sparking of their blades makes Luke grin, and it’s just as ferocious as he hoped it would be. It’s also distracted. Din disengages his saber and drops to the ground, but instead of retreating, like Luke did earlier, he bowls forward and into Luke’s legs. It’s a low blow, both literally and figuratively, but it works. Luke goes down with a grunt.

His advantage doesn’t last for very long though. Somewhere, somehow Luke gets his legs wrapped around his waist and the leverage to flip them over. He sits on Din’s stomach, chest heaving, face flushed and sweaty, eyes lit up, and his saber hovering so close to Din’s neck that the heat is almost unbearable. Din has a vibroblade tucked against Luke’s stomach like a promise. It’s obvious when that fact registers with Luke. His entire body tenses and his breath hitches. Before the reality of what he’s doing can sink in, Din places his free hand dangerously high on Luke’s thigh, following some kind of hot, low instinct.

Luke’s lightsaber clatters to the floor, disengaged, next to Din’s head and then the Jedi is disappearing through the very door he came in.

He lets head fall back, helmeted head smacking the floor. “Fuck,” he gasps.

-

Their match had the intended affect.

When Din stumbles into his quarters, head buzzing with the fight, its abrupt end, and the promise of seeing his son, Cara crows gleefully holding up a data-pad for him to examine. He refuses to look at it first, opting to shoot her a glare he knows she can’t see.

“You’re gonna wake Grogu up,” he says.

She scoffs. “He could sleep through an earthquake. But Manda’lor, Bo’s gonna kill you for not telling her you’re courting.”

“Oh, so it’s “Bo” now?”

“Shut up and look at the holopad.”

He looks up at the ceiling, looking for guidance from anyone really, before sighing and taking the holopad from Dune’s hands. He collapses next to her on the couch and takes a petty feeling of vengeance from the way the furniture groans under his sudden weight. The news article Cara has pulled up looks like the one from the morning after the gala that Bo-Katan had shoved accusingly in front of his helmet. Except this time, it’s about their spar. It’s blissfully clear of any discussion of how it ended, but instead crammed full of speculation about Mandalorian courting rituals and potential marriage arrangements. It seems they were spotted entering and leaving the building but not actually fighting.

He groans and leans his head back to stare at the ceiling again. “We’re not- It was suggested to him that we spend time together. We’re just keeping them off his back.” He hopes Cara doesn’t ask who “they” are.

She doesn’t. She’s smarter than that. Instead, she pulls it from his hands. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Paz told me about your… interaction in the conference room.”

“Dune-“

“Listen, if it’s really just an act. Whatever. But it doesn’t sound like it’s an act.” She pauses. “At least not for you.”

He’s pushing himself up and off the couch before what she’s said can take root in his chest. “I barely know him.” Once he stands in the kitchen, he starts the ritual of unloading the weapons from around his waist and strapped to his chest onto the counter. It takes longer than it used to; his position apparently makes weapons of varying kinds of the best kind of gift. It’s a silent dismissal of Dune, though not a frigid one. She sighs and stands up, dropping the pad onto the couch where it bounces softly, the screen now black.

“Don’t be stupid Mando.”

The modulator of his helmet makes his scoff into a flat hiss. When he pulls two lightsabers from his belt, he fumbles, and they both drop to the counter with crash, the metal of the two hilts ringing as they collide, loud and ugly unlike the way Beskar on Beskar would sing. Cara looks sharply at him, the noise bringing her into the kitchen.

“Did you steal the Jedi’s lightsaber?”

“No. I- He left it in the sparring room. I picked it up.” What he doesn’t mention is that somewhere in the hours between there, his council with Bo-Katan and the clan leaders back home, and here he had forgotten he had it entirely.

She arches one eyebrow at him in a way that reminds him so much of Leia that he has to choke back a laugh. “You better take it back before you start an intergalactic conflict.”

He wants to roll his eyes, but he also doesn’t know if the accidentally thievery of Luke’s blade would actually start that, so he just nods, sharp and silent, before skirting out the doors of his quarters again.

“Hey, I didn’t mean right now!”

The door closing cuts off the rest of her protests.

He finds himself blindly retracing the steps he took a few days ago when Luke led him to his son, to his sister’s quarters. Luke has never mentioned having his own apartment before, and so Din has to hope that he’s either there or the Chancellor is in a good enough mood this late at night to give him directions. Though, when he presents her brother’s weapon, she might just hit him, but there’s no other option really.

The path between buildings is softly lit by small lights embedded into carefully manicured grass. He didn’t notice them in the daytime, though that’s probably the point. The city is still alive, casting a dingy orange light on the ever-present clouds of the planet. It even eats away at darkness: instead of the black of night, everything is painted over in a pale, lifeless grey. The constant activity of this planet makes everything feel false, like a lie that he can’t shake. Even this path that he treads and the precisely managed gardens it winds through hum with falsehood. The crunching of the gravel beneath his boots does nothing to disguise the zinging hum of the traffic below him, an ever-present reminder that he’s not grounded, that nothing here is grounded, and instead he floats hundreds of miles above the earth.

It’s making the masks Luke uses make more sense. Din can’t imagine that being he saw earlier, that wild, nearly uncontrolled presence, existing happily among all this farce. It makes sense, the constant holding back but it doesn’t stop the regret Din feels over it.
He won’t be able to breathe easy till he’s leaving this place, with the planet and its lights and its droids miles and miles behind him. Luke and Grogu is included in that too; he realizes with an ache. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets there.

Maybe it won’t kill him.

He arrives at the Chancellor’s quarters faster than he expected. Two guards stand outside, gaze glued to the horizon. They don’t acknowledge him.
“Can you tell the Chancellor that the Manda’lor is here,” he requests with an authority he still doesn’t really feel. But Bo-Katan makes a good example for study, and he’ll fake his way through it till it feels real or he’s dead. Whichever comes first.

The one on the left gives a single, stiff nod and disappears into the apartment. His compatriot stays staring straight ahead. Din can, and does, appreciate the dedication, if not the fanfare.

The guard comes back moments later, Leia following him. She’s obviously dressed for sleep in dark sleep pants that obviously belonged to her husband first and a white t-shirt with similar origins. There’s a bright smear of blood on her shoulder that he only catches a glimpse of before she’s pointedly draping her hair over it.
“Manda’lor,” she bows her head politely and briefly. “I wasn’t expecting you this late. Is everything alright?”

He looks over the two guards, letting the movements of his helmet become obvious. “Not quite,” he hedges.

It’s her turn to look him over, eyes sharp and clear. Finally, she nods. “Follow me.” She turns on her heel and walks away at a brisk pace.
He gives the guards one more look before following her inside.

They reach the living room before she turns to face him again. The space looks just as welcoming and lived in as it did before, but the lights are turned off with only one solitary lamp that casts the place in a warm, amber glow.

“What’s wrong?” she asks. She hasn’t yet dropped the carefully guarded, searching expression.

He pulls Luke’s lightsaber off his belt. “Your brother, he left this in the sparring room. I didn’t want anyone to worry after it.”

She looks at it, and sighs heavily. “You have great timing. You can give that back to him yourself and maybe knock some sense into that hollow fucking head of his.” Her words are quiet, conscious of the sleeping children in the apartments, but her tone could strike a weaker man down. He can’t imagine Luke wins many arguments with his sister.

“Come on,” she leaves the lightsaber in Din’s hand and strides down the hallway. He follows her. She walks fast and doesn’t seem intent on explaining herself any further.

At the end of the hall, she waves a hand, and a door opens, allowing light to spill out. They walk inside, Din just behind her.

Luke Organa sits on the edge of the bed, nursing a messy bloody nose. When he sees Din, he straightens up. “Leia!” his voice is gummy and stifled by the blood that’s no doubt trickling down the back of the Jedi’s throat. “Why did you call-“

“I didn’t call him; you forgot your lightsaber, you nerf herder, and the Manda’lor very graciously brought it back. But he is going to patch you up so I can get some sleep tonight.” She grabs a pile of bacta pads and bandages off the bed and shoves it, hard, into Din’s arms. “Thank you,” she says to Din, who nods despite the fact that he very much did not agree to play nurse.

She whips back round on her brother. “We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.” She pokes him hard in the chest.

“Ow! Leia- “But it’s too late and the door hisses close behind her.

Din just stares at Luke for a moment, silently cataloging damage. His nose is bad, but probably not broken, there’s a shadow of a black eye growing around his left eye, what seems like an actual bitemark on his right shoulder, and a myriad of bruises and scrapes on the skin not covered by the same beige fatigues from earlier.
“Did you lose on purpose?” Din asks.

Luke laughs and then winces. “No, it just looks like it.”

Din rolls his eyes and drops the supplies, and the lightsaber, back on the bed. “What the fuck happened?”

“A fight.”

Din already knew Luke was being evasive, but if there were any doubts, the way the Jedi keeps his eyes fixed on the wall behind him makes it obvious. He just stays silent, instead choosing to pick through the medical supplies Leia handed him. It’s an impressive array, and he finds just what he’s looking for. He takes a package of bacta wipes and pushes his way in between the Jedi’s legs, using his free hand to gently press on Luke’s jaw till he looks up, blue eyes meeting a dark visor.
Without any prompting, Luke removes the hand pressing gauze to his nose. It’s not as bad as it could be. The bleeding has slowed to a lazy trickle, but blood is smeared all over his face. Some is dried and flaking off his face, though most of it is still wet, the red of it making Luke’s eyes even more blue than normal.

“There’s underground fighting rings here, down in the lower levels of the city,” Luke offers.

Din just hums as he carefully wipes away the blood on his face.

“I go to them, sometimes, to fight. Obviously, Leia hates it.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

Luke chuckles softly. “Yeah. I guess Commander Luke Organa being spotted participating in an illegal fighting ring is less than ideal.” He spits out the title like it burns, like it’s a lie. And suddenly something slots into place. The title, maybe all of it or perhaps only some of it, is a lie. So far, Din has assumed that the lie was the omission of Luke’s Jedi nature, but it’s something else. Something that makes Luke resent it.

But the Jedi keeps talking, so Din swallows his questions for later.

“It helps ground me,” he says, eyes flickering away from Din’s visor and back to the wall.

“Losing?”

“Who says I lost?”

Din puts the slightest pressure on Luke’s nose, both to make a point and to check for broken bone. Luke hisses and tries to jerk back but Din holds him steady, spare hand cupping the back of his head. “If this winning, I’d hate to see the other guy,” Din says.

“I did win,” Luke insists, “I’m just not as brutal as the other guy was.”

That’s not surprising. Luke’s a lot of things, but he doesn't seem needlessly cruel.

Once Din is satisfied with the state of his nose, he moves onto the black eye blossoming under his skin. Din reaches over and grabs a small tube of ointment and then- well then, he hesitates. Before Luke can ask what the holdup is, Din is forcefully tugging a glove off and discarding it; it lands amongst the medical supplies with a dull thwack. He spreads the ointment, cold, shiny, and thick, onto his ring and index fingers, then goes about applying it to the Jedi’s face. Luke visibly shivers at his touch: at the cold shock of the medicine on his face no doubt.

“There are other ways to ground yourself,” Din says.

Luke’s eyes have fluttered shut; blonde eyelashes spread against the pink flush of his cheeks. “I know,” he sighs. “But they don’t always work.”
“And the fighting does somehow?”

Luke frowns. “Yes.”

The stark honesty takes him by surprise, and he doesn’t know what to say. He wonders if the Jedi feels the way he does sometimes. If he can feel restlessness skittering under his skin and down his bones like Din can at night, threatening to close up his throat. Those nights, the only thing that keeps him from running is goading Paz or Cara or whoever into the ring with him. But those late-night matches always end with him and whoever agreed laying on the floor, sweaty, panting, and talking. They never end with this much damage, this much blood.

“You’re gonna set a bad example for the kid,” Din says instead.

Luke grins, keeping his eyes closed. “He never sees me like this.”

Din cocks his head to the side. “So, you usually heal yourself?”

Luke does open his eyes at that, mouth open in astonishment. “I- Heal myself?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve only seen Grogu heal other people. Can you not heal yourselves?”

He just blinks at Din, clearly shocked. “I didn’t know we could do that at all,” he whispers.

He tries to take that in, tries to parse out what that means. “Were you never taught that?”

Luke laughs, but it’s a bitter sound. “My training was unconventional.”

Din just hums again. He doesn’t trust himself to say the right thing, to not burst out in anger at whoever raised Luke like a weapon.

“I should figure out how he did that,” Luke whispers.

“Don’t push your luck tonight,” Din warns. He’s moved onto the bite that mars the tan skin of shoulder. It’s so bloody and messy that he’s a little surprised Luke isn’t missing a chunk of flesh. The first hesitant prod at the wound sends Luke jerking back again. Instinctually, Din uses his ungloved hand to grab at Luke’s uninjured shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay.”

The Jedi just looks up at the ceiling. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Hurt?”

He nods. “Leia wasn’t even supposed to see. But she was awake when I came home. Sometimes my walls slip, and she knew, well she felt me get my ass kicked.”
“I thought you won.”

“I did. I just- It’s not a big deal.”

Din sighs. The modulator of his helmet translates it into a hiss. “You can hold your own in a fight.”

Luke doesn’t say anything. He just lets the Mandalorian work on his shoulder.

“You can hold your own in a fight against me. Not bragging, just fact,” he says before Luke can tease him. “So, when you come shuffling back home in the middle of the night, bearing an embarrassing number of injuries that you could have avoided, and you don’t want anyone to see them, then the obvious conclusion is that you got yourself hurt on purpose, Luke.” He places a bacta pad on top of the bite, satisfied that it’s free of debris that could get stuck inside the wound as it heals. Finally, he looks back at Luke’s face.

He's staring at his visor, straight into his eyes like he can see them, and biting down on his lower lip. His eyes shine with tears that Din knows he’s fighting. Finally, after what feels like forever, Luke lets out a shaky sigh and give him an amused smile. “You’re very perceptive. You and Leia would make quite the team.”

“You’re just easy to read, Luke.”

Luke chokes on something that sounds like a sob. “Fuck, Din,” he whispers.

Again, Din acts without thinking and places his hand on the back of Luke’s neck and hauls him in close, gently bringing Luke’s forehead to rest on his chest. Finally, Luke starts to cry in earnest. His shoulders shake, but the act is still quiet and reserved in that way Luke does everything.

He lets his hand wander up, fingers combing through blond hair in a manner Din vaguely recalls finding comforting when he was a child, far before he was a Foundling, before the Creed, and before his helmet. The action makes Luke cries even harder, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he tries to pull himself closer to Din, searching for something but only finding Beskar. It doesn’t seem to matter though when Luke’s fingers find Din’s sides. The touch is light, but insistent and holds Din there, like Luke is trying to keep Din in place. He tries to ignore how the touch makes his heart pound and relies on his armor to shield the sound from Luke.

They stay like that for minutes, till Luke’s sobs trail off into deep, unsure breaths. Finally, Luke pulls back and wipes at his face, taking care to avoid his nose. “I’m sorry,” he says with a rough voice. “I promise I didn’t get snot all over your armor.”

Din huffs and rolls his eyes. “I can clean armor.” He studies Luke’s face. “That black eye is already looking better. Probably won’t even be there tomorrow.” He tries to not let himself miss the feeling of Luke’s body close to his own.

“Gotta keep the face looking nice for the cameras,” Luke smiles, trying for charm and missing entirely.

“What’s your real name?”

Luke visibly flinches at the question. “How did you know?”

Din just shrugs. “It wasn’t obvious.”

Luke sighs. “Still, I must be a worse liar than I thought.”

“You’re a fine liar,” Din says. It strikes him how odd of a compliment that is to give, but when the moment calls for it, he guesses. “Just not when you let people in.”

Luke exhales like he’s been punched, but he doesn’t look away from the visor. “Skywalker. I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“Nice to meet you, Luke Skywalker.”

Luke’s returning smile is brilliant in its sincerity. “Back at ya, Din Djarin.”

Din’s gloved hand flexes and then closes into a fist before he relaxes again. “You’re all patched up,” he tells him. “You should look good as new tomorrow.”
“Oh, thank you,” Luke blinks. “You really didn’t have to-“

“I wanted to.” Though he’s not sure which action he’s referring to, he means it about all of what he’s done here tonight. He picks up the glove he discarded, takes a step back and out of the Jedi’s legs. Sliding the glove back on, he looks up and into Luke’s eyes. “Listen, next time you need this kind of… grounding, you come and find me.”

He looks like he’s going to say something, but then stops himself and nods.

Din turns around and sees himself out.

-

When Luke wakes up, he immediately reaches up to touch his face. His skin is smooth under his fingers, if not a bit sticky from the dried bacta ointment. There’s no proof he was out last night, letting some giant being that he was more than capable of defeating beat the absolute shit out of him. And, outside of the sticky residue of bacta and the hollow ache in his chest, there’s no proof of Din’s presence last night. He sighs, and turns over, staring at the curtains that cover his windows, and keeping his room dark.

His door hisses open, and he knows it’s Leia.

“Oh good, you’re awake and alive.” He feels her sit down on the bed near his knees.

He groans, then flops onto his back. “Good morning, Leia.”

“It’s midafternoon,” she corrects.

The realization makes Luke lurch into a sitting position. “Fuck. Leia, you let me skip negotiations?”

She simply arches a brow at him. “You needed the sleep. Besides, today’s session was brief.”

“Negotiations are over?” he sounds more panicked than he wants to, but even if he had control over his tone, Leia would still see right through him.

She shakes her head. “The rough draft is over. It goes to the Senate now, and who knows how long that’ll take.” She puts a hand on his knee. “Luke, I’m sorry about last night.”

This time, he raises an eyebrow at her. “Hold on, did I hear that right? You’re sorry?”

She growls and slaps his knee, not hard but with enough force to get her point across.

“Okay, okay. I’m listening. But what are you sorry for?” He’s genuinely confused.

Leia starts rubbing absently at Luke’s knee, just like he’s seen her rub the twins back after a particularly bad nightmare or when they’re up late, sick and in pain. She waves her free hand, and the curtains start to open.

As he squints through the light of a Coruscant afternoon, he thinks again about how Leia could probably outstrip him by leagues if she ever put her mind to being a Jedi. He wants to ask her how the Force feels for her. If it’s something that works in tandem with her, or if it’s a jumpy, indecisive animal like it is for him. But one question at a time.

Finally, Leia starts to talk, still absently rubbing Luke’s leg. It’s a comfort, and he doesn’t want to draw attention to it in case it makes her stop, so he just sits there quietly.

“For yelling at you last night. Acting rashly. I just got scared when I felt you get hurt, and I was even more scared when you came in bleeding and hurt. It reminds me of-“ she cuts herself off and stares out the window. But she doesn’t need to finish her sentence. Luke knows what she was going to say. It reminds her of Bespin, of catching him in that ship and watching him convulse and scream through the pain, not knowing what had happened to him and if he was going to live through it.

Shame burns through him, hot and painful. “Leia, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“I know,” she squeezes his knee. “We can both be sorry. I just don’t know why you keep getting yourself hurt.”

He stares at where her hand rests on his knee. “The Force,” he sighs.

“Luke-“

“No, listen. It’s not the Force telling me to do it. That’s not it. After Endor I thought- I thought I had figured it out. That I was one with the Force, and that I had full control. But things keep falling apart. It’s still there, I can still use it, but I can’t predict it. Sometimes it’s too powerful and sometimes I can barely reach it. I don’t feel at one with it, I feel like a tool that it’s using. And last night I just- I needed to control something Leia.”

“Oh Luke,” she says, voice soft.

“I know.” He wants to throw up. “I’m not a Jedi. I don’t know what I am.”

She crawls on the bed and up to where he sits, then throws her arms around him, drawing him close to press a kiss to his forehead. They settle into the bed, just like they have when they marathon classic holo films. Those days when they hole up in Luke’s room, insisting that Han bring them whatever food they want and throw popcorn at the screen. Luke sighs at the familiarity.

“I know who you are,” Leia says, briefly jostling them to pull her hair out of the day’s elaborate style. “You’re my brother, Han’s best friend, the best uncle to Jaina and Jacen, a fucking excellent pilot, a classic holo-film trivia extraordinaire, a terrible baker but an excellent cook, a wonderful teacher to Grogu, just wildly good with kids in general really, a wickedly good mechanic, and most importantly, you’re Luke. Not Luke Skywalker, the last Jedi and son of Anakin. But Luke Skywalker, a very good friend and person. Whatever happens with the Force or your new Order or whatever, none of those things change.”

For the second time in a matter of hours, Luke is fighting back tears. “Leia,” he chokes out.

“I know that this doesn’t permanently fix anything,” she continues, “But just try to remember you have a family who loves you. Always.”

He nods, unable to speak.

“Should we watch a movie?” she asks.

“Do we have time?”

She shrugs. “I’m the fucking Chancellor of the New Republic, we’ll fucking make time.”

-

The next morning finds Luke letting Leia fuss with his outfit. They’re about to be led into the Senate meeting, where the terms of Mandalore’s trade agreement will hopefully be ratified. Though, if the way Leia can’t stop adjusting the details of his outfit is any indication, his twin is a pessimist today.

“Leia,” he gives a small, apologetic smile to the escort waiting to walk them in. “I don’t think the deal depends on my outfit.”

She huffs, annoyed. “It might, you don’t know. But, fine, yes, you have a point.” She takes a step back to take it in.

Today, they’re matching inversions of the other. Leia, in addition to her usual white, wears a stormy grey blue cloak, and Luke has a white cloak over his outfit of the same blue. It’s striking and presents them as a united front. One night, Leia explained to him why she was constantly doing that, wordlessly linking them together. Protection, she had said. Ensuring that their ploy worked, and it had so far. To the public, he is solidly and undoubtedly exactly what the announcer calls him as he and his sister enter the Senate room. She is Chancellor Leia Organa, and he is Commander Luke Organa. And that is all they are.

Leia gracefully moves through the opening process, calling the Senate to order and setting the debate of Mandalore’s proposed trade deal into motion.

The Mandalorian party’s platform floats forward and Lady Bo-Katan Kryze reads the proposed treaty in full. Once she’s done, the floor becomes chaos, hundreds of senators clamoring for a chance to air their grievances. Leia groans, and dives into governmental procedure.

Luke settles in next to her, and desperately wishes he could have brought a data-pad. Afterall, his presence here is ceremonial, much more for Leia’s benefit than to actually make political decisions.

“The Senator from the Glee Anslem has the floor,” Leia’s tone is impeccably calm.

For once, the Senate is in near total agreement. They’re mad that Mandalore is, yet again, declining to join the New Republic. They feel as though there’s no real enforcement for Mandalore to uphold their side of the deal. So on and so forth. Luke notes that the Senators who fight hardest against these accusations are the ones who represent planets eager to trade with Mandalore, but the party from Mandalore stays quiet. He would give anything to know what they’re saying to each other or to know what Din is thinking.

Finally, Leia cuts through the chaos. “As outlined by the constitution this very Senate ratified and signed,” her voice is sharp, “we cannot browbeat any planet or sector into joining the New Republic. However, Mandalore’s continued commitment to trade and peace with the New Republic is a sign of friendship and goodwill. That is something which I, and I believe every senator here, can appreciate.”

A murmur rushes through the room.

One party requests permission to speak.

“The Senator from Bestine has the floor,” Leia concedes.

“We agree, Chancellor.” A voice rings out. “We are very grateful for the participation of Mandalore, however, we believe that a more concrete approach to enforcement of the agreement would ease the concerns of many. Perhaps, the presence of an ambassador from the New Republic on Mandalore?”

Leia and Luke trade looks.

“How would that fix anything?” Luke hisses.

Leia ignores him but pushes the general idea of “how am I supposed to know” at him through the Force. “Is this sentiment an official proposal?”

The party from Bestine responds immediately. “Yes.”

“Is the motion seconded?”

The senate lights up in offers.

“Manda’lor,” Leia redirects her attention to the group in question. “What is your response to this proposal?” It’s a gentle reminder that Din holds the ultimate veto here. Leia may get the last say, but the Manda’lor can kill this before it becomes real.

There’s a pause and then: “We find this acceptable.” It’s Din’s voice this time.

Leia begins to discuss the matter of creating committees to choose lists of candidates and vetting processes and- well Luke feels something. Maybe it’s the Force. He hopes it’s the Force that pushes him to cut off his sister as she speaks to say: “I will do it.”

The Senate goes dead silent.

His sister turns off their microphone. “Luke-“ But, Bestine requests permission to speak and Leia can’t ignore them. “The Senator from Bestine has the floor.”

“We propose that Commander Luke Organa acts as the ambassador to Mandalore.”

Leia glares at Luke while she says: “Is this seconded?”

There’s more support now than there was for Bestine’s first proposal.

“Manda’lor?”

There’s a solid three minutes of silence, which is long enough to make Luke question whether or not this was the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life. He clenches his fists till the leather of his glove creaks.

Then, finally, Lady Bo-Katan Kryze’s voice crackles to life. “The Manda’lor finds this proposal acceptable."

The vote is unanimous.

The trade deal passes.

The Senate adjourns.

-

Leia hauls Luke out the Senate floor and down the halls to her office with an iron grip, and when they finally reach the door, she very nearly throws him in.
“Would you like to explain what in the actual seven fucking hells were you thinking!” she yells before the door even closes.

“Leia-“

“No!” she crowds into his space and pushes. “Sit down!”

He does, collapsing onto a cream couch, stunned.

“What was that? What dangerous, stupid thing were you thinking? Can you please tell me what the point is of you assuming my last name to keep you out of politics if you keep insisting on throwing yourself into the thick of it anyways?” She’s pacing now. “In all the years I have known you I have never seen you act with less thought, and we first met when you were dressed as a Storm Trooper on the fucking Death Star Luke!”

“Leia, wait-“

“No! Luke Sky-“

There’s a knock on the door.

“Do not think you are getting away with this,” she hisses. She answers the door to see her secretary.

Luke tunes out the conversation, trying to calm himself because, contrary to wait Leia thinks, he also can’t believe he’s done this.

When she comes back, she’s calmer but not by much. “Explain. Now,” she demands, still standing over him.

He takes a deep breath. “The Force, I think.”

She growls.

“No, wait listen. You’re right. I know I’m supposed to stay out of it but Leia, this gets me out of it even more. The Senate can’t push me around or offer me to some monarch when I’m in Mandalore. And- and I can train Grogu and keep him with his father,” he means what he says, even if most of it is coming to him as he talks.

“Luke,” she cuts in, voice low and dangerous. “I am very grateful that the Manda’lor seems to enjoy your presence but, may I remind you, Mandalorians and Jedi were ancient enemies. So, excuse me if I don’t feel optimistic about his people sharing his attitudes.”

“Leia, I can protect myself.”

“Yes, as a Jedi! Which you are publicly not! Which means that you’ll have to continue hiding it, but this time in a place that would want you dead if you were discovered!”

“Maybe we should just be honest then!”

“Luke this was your idea!”

And that’s the worst part really. It had been his idea. At the beginning of all this, after Endor, he had found himself horrified at the prospect of repeating the past, of becoming a pawn for the New Republic. It had seemed worth it then.

“I know,” he scrubs a hand over his face. “I really do.”

Leia pauses in her pacing and places a hand on his shoulder. “I wish this could be easier for you.”

He laughs. “Me too.”

She sighs. “We can work on you announcing your status publicly if you want. But it would have to wait till you returned. I can’t veto a unanimous vote. No matter what, you’re going to Mandalore.”

-

Luke’s in his bedroom, mind reeling as he rummages blindly through his closet. He’s not sure what he should pack, not sure what the surface of Mandalore even looks like, or what he’s even supposed to be doing on the planet, but there’s a warm fluttering in his chest from the Force that this is right. That pushes him forward, both calming and absolutely terrifying but, he is sure. For the first time in a long time, Luke feels sure about something.

He yanks four different sets of robes from his closet and drops them unceremoniously to his bed to study them. So far, he’s shoved his luggage full of his usual black wardrobe, but there’s a voice, that sounds an awful lot like Leia’s, nagging him that he is going to be representing the New Republic in some formal capacity now. That makes him blanche, and he packs all of the dress robes, reluctant to think about it anymore.

Artoo lets out a sad beep from the corner.

“It’ll be fine, Buddy,” Luke says. “It’s not a permanent position.”

Another melancholy beep.

“My droid getting a crush on a protocol droid isn’t a good reason to renege.”

That makes Artoo squeal and shake, enraged by the false accusation.

Luke laughs. “Come on, it’s not like I’m leaving you behind!”

Artoo just swears at him in Binary and zooms out the door.

He doesn’t watch the astromech leave, instead focusing on how many of the old, crumbling Jedi texts that sit on the shelves of his room could survive a trip to Mandalore. It’s a grim prognosis.

The door opens behind him, but he’s too distracted by the books to bother reading the Force signature of his guest which is probably why he just says: “Leia, if you’re here to yell at me again, you might as well wait till Han’s here to join in.”

The soft laughter that answers him is definitely not Leia.

Luke turns on his heel to find the Manda’lor standing in his room, like it was still the night before. Unlike that night, however, Din is wearing what Luke assumes is his formal armor. It’s still dazzling, unpainted Beskar, but edged in gold, and his usual cloak is replaced with one of grey fur that Luke is suddenly desperate to touch. It’s quite the image.

“I had a feeling that’s where you two disappeared to earlier,” Din says.

Gingerly, Luke taps the book he’s holding against his prosthetic hand. “Well, she had a lot to say about the session.”

“I’m sure she did. A lot of people did.”

Suddenly it dawns on Luke that maybe he’s managed to piss Din off. “If you would rather someone else represent the New Republic, we can arrange that,” Luke says, grasping for the calm tone Leia always uses in negotiations.

The other man doesn’t say anything for a moment, then folds his arms and a hissing noise that Luke is starting to recognize as a sigh emanates from his helmet. “You didn’t even think about this before you offered, did you?”

Luke frowns. “The Force works in mysterious ways. It told me to volunteer my services, and I did.”

That doesn’t make the irritation flickering off of Din dissipate. “Do you want this position?”

He nods, brows furrowed in confusion.

Another sigh. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll be there. Grogu too.”

More silence as that helmet bores into Luke’s soul. “Good.” Din leaves.