Archive of Our Own

“Hyperdrive’s shot,” Luke grumbles, heading back into the cockpit and tossing himself into the co-pilot’s seat, followed by an annoyed whistle from Artoo trundling along behind him. The scenery outside the viewport is a whole expanse of kriffing nothing, just pinpricks of light in a blanket of darkness. “We’re going to have to find somewhere to hunker down for a bit while I find us a replacement.”

He can sense Din’s wince. “That bad, huh?”

Luke sighs. “When I say shot, I mean completely unusable. We’re flying the old-fashioned way, right now.” He tries not to be too annoyed, but for something called the Wayfinder, it sure isn’t very good at finding them a way out of this Forceforsaken backwater system.

Din brings up the starmap, pokes around until he finds their position. Luke leans over, chin propped on his hand, watching Din search.

“Oh,” Din says. “We’re close to Sorgan.”

Luke squints. It’s a minuscule blue pinprick near a small, inconsequential star, the closest hyperlane a considerable distance. He’s never heard of it. It is, however, reachable, and Luke will take what he can get out here in the middle of nowhere.

“You know it?” he asks. Din is quiet for a moment, pensive.

“Yeah… stayed there with the kid for a while, helped some people out,” he says.

“Then at least we’ll find some hospitality while I get this thing fixed,” Luke says. “Chart a course, I’ll go check on Grogu.”

He rises from his seat and gives Din’s helmet a quick peck, because it’s silly and never fails to make Din chuckle warmly. Artoo trills at them to get a room, which earns him a knock on the dome.

Grogu is fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the mechanical drama that unfolded only a few metres away from him, which means he feels completely safe, nothing disturbing his dreams at all. Luke watches him for a long moment, watches his little chest rise and fall, an overlarge ear twitch, with a smile on his face and his heart full of affection.

“We’re on our way,” Din says, coming up behind him and winding his arms around his waist. He is not, Luke notes with a pleased frisson, wearing his helmet. He nuzzles behind Luke’s ear, presses a kiss there. “It’ll be ages before we get there, and the kid’s dead to the world…”

Luke hums in anticipation. “Oh? Do you have something in mind to pass the time?” he asks, light, casual.

“I can think of a few things,” Din purrs, and Luke bites his lip, the low rumble of Din’s voice sending a delicious shiver down his spine. He turns slightly, managing to meet Din’s eye with a smirk.

“Lead the way,” he says, and Din responds with a grin of his own.

“Well, it’s… quaint.”

Din chuckles, giving Luke an arch look through his visor. Luke shrugs helplessly.

“There’s nothing here,” he says. Artoo agrees with some unimpressed beeps.

“Sure there is,” Din replies. “You just have to look a little harder.”

“No space port, no industrial centre, no big urban areas…” Luke ticks them off on his fingers. “That’s pretty much nothing. I don’t even know if I’ll find a replacement out here.” There’s a bit of a petulant whine to Luke’s voice, so Din bumps their shoulders together to distract him, beskar to beskar. Luke huffs, but he seems mollified.

“I know a tavern, we can ask there,” Din says.

He remembers the way easily. Artoo stays with the ship, on guard, though neither of them are particularly worried. They watch Grogu scurry ahead, occasionally stopping to study a flower or an interesting rock, which makes the trip more of a stroll than anything. Not that that matters to Din – there’s something unbearably romantic about all this, their footsteps in unison, the birdsong and the light rustle of the breeze through the towering Sorgan pines, and he summons the courage to hook a couple of fingers around Luke’s, tentative.

Luke immediately slots their fingers together, palm to palm, and squeezes gently.

“You’re allowed to hold my hand, you know,” he says with a grin. He leans in closer, his grin becoming conspiratorial. “It’s not scandalous if we’re married.”

Din looks down at the path, the back of his neck burning. It’s been months now, and he’s still sometimes embarrassed to just… ask for things. Luke’s hand is his to hold, his lips are his to kiss, he’s free to touch and embrace, but knowing he can have and actually going through with it are too very different creatures.

Luke makes up for it, though, thank goodness. He laughs and swings their clasped hands playfully, and Din sighs. It’s still a new and peculiar sensation, to feel this serene.

The tavern appears round the bend in the path, and Grogu babbles excitedly, dashing forward. Luke chuckles.

“He wants bone broth,” he says. “You’re paying, this time.”

Din grumbles, but it’s a token protest – it is his turn. His hand feels cold and empty when Luke’s fingers slip from his with a last fond squeeze, and together they enter the tavern.

It’s much the same as when he last saw it, except Cara isn’t arm-wrestling a cluster of rowdy Zabraks. The resident loth-cat growls at Grogu again, but this time the kid sticks his tongue out.

“Don’t be rude,” Din says, nudging him with his boot gently, and Grogu huffs, demanding to be picked up. Luke in the meantime, has headed over to the bar, where the barwoman gives him a welcoming smile. Her eyes widen when Din comes up beside him.

“Oh, you’re the Mandalorian from a while ago! The one who helped the village!”

Din greets her with a nod.

“What can I help you with?” she asks, even warmer than before.

“Can we get a replacement hyperdrive anywhere around here?” Luke enquires, but he doesn’t sound hopeful. The barwoman’s responding wince speaks volumes.

“I don’t think anyone would have something like that around here,” she says with an apologetic shrug. “At least not one that they didn’t already get here with.”

Luke sighs, slumping over the bar and running a hand down his face. “We’re stuck,” he says grimly.

The barwoman pats his arm consolingly before bustling off to deal with an order. Luke is pouting, which means he’s irritated but it could be worse. Din turns to him.

“So, plan B, then,” he says. Luke straightens up, gestures to a free table, and they sit.

“Ok, so, we have two options,” says Luke, fingertips pressed together. “We call Han, or we call Mandalore.”

“We’re not calling Mandalore,” Din says vehemently. The last time he’d called Mandalore for an emergency, Bo-Katan hadn’t shut up about him “recklessly endangering himself” and “the future of their people” for about a week, and the Armourer’s disappointed silences had been just as excruciating.

“Han it is,” Luke says. “The Falcon’s faster than anything on Mandalore anyway.” He props his cheek on his fist. “Until then, we’re here.”

“Worse places to be stranded,” Din says. Luke admits it with a tilt of his head, giving Din a brief smile, before ordering bone broth for the kid and hot chocolate for himself, because he’s adorably predictable.

“Oh! Mr Mandalorian!”

The two of them turn, and Din is surprised to see two familiar faces. He waves a greeting and Coben and Stoke hurry over, both grinning.

“It’s good to see you again!” Stoke exclaims, and before Din can move his hand he’s shaking it vigorously enough to make Din’s armour almost rattle. Coben raises his hand to offer a clap on the shoulder, but wisely thinks better of it when Din stares at him. Luke, Din notices, is smirking over his threaded fingers.

The two krill farmers sit without the slightest invitation, one of them giving Grogu a gentle pat on the head, which Grogu coos at.

“What are you doing back here?” asks Coben as Stoke flags down the barwoman for a bottle of spotchka.

“Ship trouble,” Din says. “We’re waiting on a hyperdrive.”

“Oof, that’ll take a while,” Stoke says cheerfully, thanking the woman when spotchka and two glasses are placed on the table in front of him. “You’re stuck here, then?”

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, you need to come and visit, then!” Coben says. “I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you.”

“Especially Omera,” Stoke adds with a snigger, earning himself a nudge in the ribs from his companion.

A guilty weight settles in Din’s stomach. Of course. It’s not that he forgot, per se, it’s that, well… A lot has happened since then. He’s chased and been chased around the Outer Rim, rescued the kid, found a Jedi, fallen in love with said Jedi, had the Darksaber fall into his lap, waged a war, started ruling a planet…

It’s been a busy year.

The two farmers finally seem to notice Luke’s presence. He smiles at them, that polite-but-warm smile he trots out for introductions.

“Hey, Mando, who’s your friend?” Stoke asks, holding out a hand, which Luke shakes.

“Husband,” Din corrects, and the silence that falls over the table is so pregnant it’s in labour. “This is Luke Skywalker.”

The two krill farmers stare, openly, at Luke, as if he’s some special exhibit in a menagerie, and Din doesn’t know whether it’s because it’s Luke Skywalker or because of the role he’s just announced Luke plays in his life. Luke just keeps up his smile.

Coben clears his throat. “Nice to meet you, Mr Skywalker.”

“Just Luke is fine,” Luke says, dismissing any formalities with a casual wave of his hand.

Stoke is frowning. “Skywalker… that sounds familiar.”

“Tons of Skywalkers out there,” Luke says breezily, a complete and utter lie. “Can’t throw a rock out there without hitting a Skywalker.”

Din fights the urge to snort, turning it into a cough quickly. Luke nudges his foot under the table, his own lips twitching.

“So, uh, anyway, we hope you’ll still come back to the village,” says Coben, now sounding uncertain. “You know, you’re still our local hero!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Luke says, giving Din an expectant look. Din nods.

“Don’t see why not,” he says. Coben and Stoke both immediately brighten.

“Great!”

“We just need to finish some things and we’ll take you!” Coben says.

They wait outside for the two farmers to finish their errands, watching Grogu waddle around, following bugs in the short grass.

“So… who’s Omera?” Luke asks. He’s not jealous, or anything like that – he trusts Din with every part of him, and if Din can live with the knowledge of Han and, to a lesser degree, Lando, then Luke will certainly be perfectly fine with Din’s exes as well.

That doesn’t mean he’s not still curious.

“She’s a krill farmer,” Din says. “Good with a blaster rifle.”

Luke snorts, giving Din a bump with his shoulder. The beskar of their pauldrons clinks, a pretty, familiar song. “You stereotypical Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders hitch with one of those small huffs of amusement that get lost in his vocoder but then he goes quiet, head dipped in thought. “It wasn’t meant to be, I suppose. Me and the kid were being hunted, it was too dangerous to stay and…” He shakes his head. “I wasn’t ready.”

Luke knows what he means. Not a day goes by in which he isn’t grateful to have Din’s trust, to know and love this man’s face. He leans in, Din meets him halfway, the beskar of the helmet cool against Luke’s forehead. They stay like that for a soft, quiet moment.

“Besides,” Din goes on once he pulls away, “can you imagine me as a krill farmer?”

Luke chuckles. “The armour would weigh you down.”

Din gives a short, low laugh, and at that moment Stoke and Coben return at the helm of an empty cart. Luke scoops up Grogu and they clamber into the back, Luke helping Din up because he likes being a gentleman, likes feeling the delighted little hum in the Force at the gesture.

The village is very much the same as it was when Din left it – minus the haphazard, clumsy defences and any damage that had been left. The cart comes to a stop, and this time it’s Din’s turn to help Luke down. He knows Luke is perfectly capable of doing it by himself, but gestures like this always net Din one of the smaller, sweeter smiles that Din so cherishes.

Once they’re out of the cart, it’s not long before people notice the familiar beskar, and a chattering crowd forms to greet him warmly.

“Good to see you, Mando!”

“Welcome back!”

“How have you been?”

It’s a little overwhelming. Din’s not used to this much positive attention coming from people outside his immediate family, so he just stands there, awkward, unsure of what to even begin to say. He looks to Luke for help, but the traitor is just grinning like a loth-cat, leaning against the side of the cart. Din huffs. That’s the last time he’s helping him out of any vehicles.

“GREENIE!” A joyous shriek comes from somewhere to the right, and then a stampede of children come barrelling over, clustering around the back of the cart.

“He hasn’t grown at all!”

“He’s still tiny!”

“Hi, Greenie!”

Grogu positively glows under all the attention, squealing in delight and waving his tiny fists.

“His name is Grogu,” Luke offers, and all the children stare in awe, first at Luke, then at Grogu.

“He didn’t have a name last time we saw him,” says one of the kids.

“Grogu!” says another, and Grogu immediately chirps at them, cocking his head curiously. The children giggle in delight.

“Can he come play?”

“Sure!” Luke says. He picks Grogu up and hands him to the tallest, most responsible-looking child, and they run away with gleeful laughter.

They exchange a few more greetings. Din, Luke notes with not a small amount of pride, is as popular as he always is with people. He underestimates how much charm he has all the time. Perhaps that’s what makes him a good Mand’alor.

“What have you been up to, then, Mando?” one villager asks.

Din exchanges a look with Luke, who shrugs. “Oh, this and that,” he replies. “Been… busy.”

“Oh, Omera! look who showed up again!” yells one of the villagers, waving enthusiastically.

A woman comes into sight, carrying a bundle of firewood, and Luke tenses, all nerves deep in the pit of his stomach. She’s very beautiful, tall, long-limbed and graceful, with long dark hair and dark, warm eyes. Luke can feel, bright and clear, her kindness in the Force, and also… sadness – buried deep, quite old, but still there, almost a fond companion by now. He closes his eyes against the pinprick of pain that makes him feel, casting it out into the Force since it’s not his to bear, and his eyes fly open when he feels a familiar touch at his elbow.

Din is looking at him, the tilt of his helmet one of concern. Luke attempts a smile, but he knows it stretches pretty thin.

“You ok?” Din asks softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine!” he says. It’s not a lie, but… it’s not entirely a truth either. He doesn’t know how he’s feeling at all. “Just… the Force.” He waves his hand as if it’s nothing.

Din doesn’t seem entirely convinced, hesitant to turn away from him, so Luke looks away first. There is a girl, with bright round eyes and messy hair, skipping around Omera, and she notices them – or Din, rather – and launches into a full sprint towards them.

“MANDO!” she yells, the villagers hurriedly parting to allow her to throw herself at him. “YOU CAME BACK!”

Din staggers back a step or two with a loud “oof”, and Luke can’t help but laugh. This happens every time they return to Mandalore, as well. Kids like throwing themselves at Din, perfectly certain in the way only children are that he won’t mind.

“You’ve gotten taller,” Din remarks, ruffling her hair and making it even messier. She grins up at him and dangles off his arm, except he can’t really lift her, so she just hangs there with her knees bent.

“Mom said she’s gonna teach me to shoot, soon!” she crows.

“I did not say that,” Omera says, finally reaching them. She smiles at Din, warm, welcoming, familiar, and it makes something twist nauseatingly in Luke’s stomach. He isn’t jealous, of course he isn’t, but there’s still… an ache.

“Welcome back,” she says, achingly soft, and Luke has to look away. It feels like he’s intruding.

Around them, the villagers make a show of dispersing, but not very far. It’s clear this is now the entertainment, and Coben and Stoke, the two farmers who gave them a ride, are very conspicuously busying themselves with their cart.

“Hello,” Din replies with a nod.

“Is your boy here too?” Omera asks, and when Din nods the girl gasps in delight.

“Does that mean you’re staying, Mando?!” the girl demands eagerly. “For good this time?!”

“We’re just here until we get a replacement hyperdrive,” Din explains with an apologetic shrug. She lets out a long, keening noise of frustration, letting her head fall back in pre-teen anguish.

Omera gives her daughter a stern look. “Winta, stop that,” she admonishes. Winta pouts bitterly.

“But I want him to stay!” she whines. “I want him and Greenie to stay here!” She looks suddenly mischievous, and stands up straight, arms folded, eyeing Din with a glint in her eye. “You could finally get married–”

Din splutters and Luke coughs, and Omera looks like she’s in physical pain.

“Winta!” she barks, pressing a hand to her face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, no, it’s… it’s fine,” Din wheezes, looking away with his hands on his hips.

“Well, why not?” Winta demands, stamping her foot. “What’s stopping him?”

Oh, Luke can think of a few things: Mandalore, for one, and already being married for another. He can’t help the snort at that, even though he knows it’s a little unkind, and Winta finally notices him.

“Who’re you?” she asks, more curious than suspicious. Luke offers a weak smile.

“I’m–”

“–Commander Luke Skywalker,” Omera finishes. Her eyes are very wide, a hand over her mouth. Din slowly turns to look at him, and Luke can almost feel the raised eyebrow. Luke can only shrug helplessly.

“It’s, uh, usually ‘Master’, these days,” he admits sheepishly. Omera nods quickly.

“Oh, of course, because of the… Jedi thing,” she says. She gives him a smile, and it’s sincere, full of actual admiration. “It’s an honour to meet you.”

Luke never fails to squirm when people say that. “Did you serve?” he asks. Omera’s smile fades slightly, turns sorrowful.

“Until we lost Winta’s father,” she says, wrapping an arm around her daughter’s shoulders, pulling her close. “He served under General Syndulla.”

Luke nods. “Hera’s pilots were always the bravest and the best. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Omera nods graciously. Then she looks, from him to Din, curiosity piqued. “You have friends in high places, Mando,” she says with a small chuckle. “How do you two even know each other?”

“Long story…” Luke starts to say, attempting to buy himself some time.

“We’re married,” Din says, just like that, like he’s ripping off a bacta patch. Luke winces. On the one hand, that’s probably for the best, but on the other… geez, Din, that was tactless.

Omera blinks, obviously thrown a little. She opens her mouth to say something.

“WHAT?!”

All three of them look down at Winta. She looks absolutely livid, glaring at Luke as if he’s the source of everything terrible in the galaxy, her mouth twisted in an expression of pure loathing. The waves of it crash into him in the Force, like a physical blow, enough to make him gasp and clutch his head. The krill pools ripple, the grass around them twitches. Over in the village square, Luke can feel Grogu’s anxiety at the sensation, like a whimper through their Force connection. Luke sends back as much calm and comfort as he can.

“Luke?” Din asks, placing a hand on his shoulder, his voice full of concern. Luke shakes his head.

“Go get Grogu,” he says, “I’m fine.”

He opens his eyes, blinks. Winta has run off, Omera calling after her. Luke watches her leave, and he knows, with a certainty that only the Force can bring, that Winta is Force-sensitive.

Grogu refuses to leave Luke’s side, curled up beside him, face buried in his cloak. Luke continues to stroke his head comfortingly, and although Din can’t sense it himself, he knows something’s passing between them in the Force. The only comfort he can give is physical, and he did his best to do that earlier, but Grogu had reached for Luke, whimpering, and he’d had no choice but to hand him over. It hurts, like a physical wound, to see Grogu so distressed.

“What happened?” he asks. Luke sighs.

“Winta’s emotions were very strong,” he says. He looks off to the side, frowning slightly, clearly still trying to find the words. “I should… talk about her. To Omera.”

Din frowns. “That sounds serious,” he says.

“It is,” Luke replies. “If she can project her emotions like that, then she’ll need help.”

Din folds his arms, tapping his bicep thoughtfully. “Are you saying she’s like you and Grogu?”

Luke rubs his forehead. “I think so? I usually only feel such clarity with other Force-sensitives, at least.”

Din nods, though it’s less because he comprehends, more because he’s listening. Din still barely understands it, this Force, but it’s such an integral, inescapable part of the two most important people in his life that he has to at least try.

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe outside, and they both look up. Omera pokes her head around the curtain.

“I brought some dinner,” she says. Grogu sniffs, and rolls over, sitting up. As usual, food is his greatest motivator, and he gets to his feet to toddle over to Omera, who smiles at him.

“Hello, little one!” she greets, stepping inside with a tray. Grogu babbles something, immediately setting upon the bread-puffs like a ravenous skysnare.

“Say thank you!” Din orders, giving him a gentle tug on the ear. Grogu looks up and coos around his mouthful, and Omera gives him a gentle pat on the head as his reward, beaming.

“He seems to be feeling better now,” she says. “What happened earlier?”

“It’s… hard to explain,” Din admits.

“How is Winta?” Luke asks. “Is she ok?”

Omera sighs. “She’s… definitely not taking it well,” she says apologetically, pinching the bridge of her nose. “She got over-excited. At first she asked after you a lot, and then I suppose she just started daydreaming.” She shrugs helplessly. “You know how kids are.”

They both nod. What else can they do?

“How long will you be staying?” Omera asks politely.

“My brother-in-law gives it… about a week, to be safe,” Luke says.

“If you don’t want us imposing that long, we can leave,” Din adds. Omera scowls at him, and he almost recoils – it’s quite vicious.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” she says, shaking her head. “You’re guests! And you are still our friend, Mando.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “I’ll leave you to it.” She gets to her feet, bids them goodnight, and leaves.

Once he’s sure she’s gone, Din releases the catch and removes his helmet at last, taking a deep breath of unfiltered air. It’s slightly dusty in the guest hut, obviously not used very often, and the scent of the krill pools and the pine sap wafts in on the night air.

He catches the way Luke is looking at him, and shuffles closer, reaching out a hand–

“Oh, I forgot to bring you something to dri–”

Luke is on his feet in a flash, holding his cloak up as the only, flimsy barrier between Din and eyes that definitely should not be seeing him. Din has no idea what’s happening, but from the decidedly awkward silence, he’d put credits on Omera staring. His heart is hammering in his chest.

“I’m sorry!” she babbles. Luke clears his throat.

“It’s fine, really!” he says. Din looks up, sees him smiling nervously. “No harm done!”

“I’ll remember to knock next time, I’m so sorry…”

Din hears the clink of a bottle being set down and then hurried footsteps and the flap of the curtain. Above him Luke lets out a deep sigh of relief, tension draining from his shoulders. He lowers his cloak, folds it back up, and kneels beside Din.

“Are you ok?” he asks quietly. Din’s heart is still pounding, so he closes his eyes and takes a deep, long breath, before he nods. Once he finally opens his eyes again, he sees Luke’s hands hovering, not daring to complete the gesture even though Din desperately needs it right now. Din gently takes them and presses them to his face, sighing into the touch.

“I’m ok now,” he murmurs. Grogu trundles over, wrapping his arms around Din’s thigh and pressing his head to it, burbling softly. The touches allow Din to centre himself, to calm down, to breathe in deep and let it out again until he doesn’t feel like he’s about to tip off the edge of a cliff anymore. He strokes Grogu’s back comfortingly, smiling down at him, before looking up at Luke again.

Luke seems to be back with him now, no longer out of reach, so Din leans in and presses their foreheads together. Luke sighs happily, a contented smile lighting up his handsome face.

Grogu babbles, punctuating with those odd little frog-like sounds he makes, and the two of them pull apart.

“You’re right, kiddo,” Luke says. “We do need to eat.”

Din watches Luke for a moment longer, but there’s no betrayal of what might be bothering him – though Din suspects he knows what it is. He merely divvies up the foods between them and eats, carrying on an inane conversation with Grogu. It’s familiar, calming and steadying, and so Din allows himself to relax again.

Din steps outside into the quiet night, needing to stretch his legs.

He sees Omera standing by the edge of the village, gazing up at the night sky. The stars are so clear here on Sorgan, crisp and bright. He walks over to her, stands next to her, and there’s a distance there wouldn’t have been the last time he was here.

Luke needs to see these stars, he thinks. He needs to find a spot where it’s quiet, out of the way, and they can both just stare up at them, no helmet in the way.

“He seems nice,” Omera says, and she sounds like she means it. She lowers her gaze from the heavens and gives him a sincere smile.

Din hides his own smile inside the helmet. “He is,” he answers, as if “nice” could encompass all that Luke Skywalker is. Kind, powerful, compassionate, skilled, utterly infuriating, and so full of love the galaxy trembles with it. Din’s no poet, though. He could never do him justice.

“I take it a lot’s happened since I last saw you,” Omera continues.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Din mutters, making her chuckle.

They’re quiet for a moment, the silence companionable, before she clears her throat gently.

“So… he can see your face?” she asks.

“Be weird if he couldn’t,” Din says drily.

“Yes, I imagine that could be awkward in certain situations,” she replies, her voice carrying a hint of mischief that makes him stare at her. Her lips are twitching, and he can feel the back of his neck burning. He looks away again, embarrassed, while she titters like a schoolgirl.

“Grogu likes him too,” she says eventually. “It’s good that he has the two of you protecting him.”

“Well, it’s not just us,” Din muses. He’s got a whole planet to defend him. Never mind that the planet is barely populated for now, its inhabitants filling a tiny, hastily-reconstructed corner of a once-prosperous capital city that used to be the home for millions of people. Omera looks at him, frowning in confusion.

“Oh, my covert. Other Mandalorians.” He shrugs. “We’ve been… regrouping.” He can tell her that much, although telling her about the Darksaber would be… perhaps a little too much. He still doesn’t like talking about it, and when he shifts his weight from one leg to another he can feel it, heavy at his hip, reminding him of its presence.

She smiles slightly. “That’s good,” she says. “It’s good that you’re not alone.”

Din nods. It is good. He might have accepted the duty with reluctance, but the idea that his people – all of them – might be able to live serenely, perhaps even thrive again… There is something to it.

He lapses into a thoughtful silence, his thoughts cloying.

“I’m sorry I didn’t… wait,” he says. The words stick to his tongue, hard to get out, but they need to be said. Omera shakes her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “You’d have gotten bored here, probably.”

She’s not wrong. Din likes his peace and quiet, likes the stretches of time where he, Luke and Grogu can just exist in a blissful succession of days full of nothing, just them, together. But he also knows that without the contrast of adventure, of combat, traversing the galaxy for artifacts and scattered Mandalorians that didn’t hear the summons, those days would drag. He could never be unhappy, not with Luke and Grogu, but he also knows that knowing only Mandalore would drive him mad, set him pacing like a Corellian sand panther in a cage.

“It was all kind of… sudden,” he admits. Looking back, it took barely any time at all, but he’d also never been surer of anything in his life – except Grogu’s place in it, of course.

“A whirlwind romance, hm?” Omera asks, smirking. He chuckles.

“Something like that.”

It’s not long after that that she bids him goodnight with a fond smile. There is a little hesitance, but she lifts her hand and gently squeezes his arm, before turning and heading back to her hut, leaving him in the starlight.

It’s the easiest thing in the galaxy to turn away from her, nothing dragging his gaze after her.

He returns to the guest hut to find Luke curled up like a tooka, cocooned in his cloak with Grogu tucked up beside him, also wrapped in the frankly ridiculous amount of material Luke chooses to drag around on his shoulders. Din lays himself down beside them, on his back, hands folded on his stomach, and falls asleep watching them.

Might-have-beens are no use to anyone, especially when he already has everything he could ever need, could ever want, right here with him.

Din finds Luke outside the next morning, meditating, as he always does. He sits cross-legged in the grass, his cloak protection against the morning dew, and Grogu sits in front of him doing the same. They appear to have collected quite the audience, but then again, it is quite the spectacle.

Around them spin two orbs of water, pulled directly from the krill pools, one larger, one smaller, each orbiting in the opposite direction to the other. Slowly, Luke draws more water from another pool, adding it to the dance and forcing Grogu to compensate for the new object.

“That’s it,” Luke murmurs encouragingly. “Slow and steady.”

Din’s chest swells with pride. His boy is so skilled already, so poised and focused. And Luke… well, Luke always looks so powerful like this. It never fails to give Din a little thrill.

The orbs continue to drift around each other in harmony, until finally they send them back to where they came from. Luke’s float, merging back with the pools, but Grogu’s splashes, and he gulps, opening his eyes. Luke pokes his nose.

“You did great!” he says, and Grogu beams.

There’s the sound of scattered applause, and Luke looks around, suddenly embarrassed.

“That was incredible!” exclaims Stoke, as Coben whoops.

“It’s nothing special,” Luke says humbly, getting to his feet and shaking out his cloak. “Just the Force.”

“Looked like magic to me,” says Coben, and Stoke nods in agreement. “Wouldn’t have thought the kid could do it, though.”

Luke picks Grogu up, smiling proudly. “His species tends to be strong with the Force, or so I’ve heard,” he says. “He’s a prodigy.”

His tone can’t really be mistaken for anything but that of a glowingly proud father, which brings Din a whole other level of joy. Grogu positively shines with the praise, cooing merrily and squeezing Luke’s finger.

Din hears a loud scoff from somewhere not too far from him. He turns to see Winta, who is pouting something fierce. She lifts her gaze to Din’s helmet, scowls at him, and then runs off again, behind the back of the hut.

Grogu spends most of the day playing with the village kids – much like with the foundlings on Mandalore, he has a knack for making friends, and they already know him well here. However, for his fathers, it’s a completely different story: there’s nothing to do at all. Luke can farm, certainly, but his expertise definitely doesn’t cover anything except moisture, and Din, well… if there’s no fighting or sorting out fights to be done he sometimes finds himself at a loss.

It is peaceful, though. Luke will give it that. There’s a serenity, a tranquillity to the place that sets Luke at ease despite… Well. The krayt dragon in the room. Omera goes about her daily business, occasionally gives them both a wave – which Luke knows is for the both of them, because she waves to him even when Din has wandered off – and is generally a perfectly charming woman. That doesn’t actually help Luke feel any better about it.

He can feel Din looking at him, his gaze an almost tangible thing.

“Credit for your thoughts?” he asks.

Luke kicks his legs. “I can see why you’d want to stay here,” he murmurs. “It’s peaceful.”

“Maybe I don’t want peaceful,” Din says. Luke turns to him with the most sceptical look he’s ever worn. “Let me rephrase that: I don’t just want peaceful. It wasn’t an option with Grogu, it was never going to be. And with you… It’s not a battle, it’s not survival, it’s… adventure. You make things exciting.”

Luke looks down when Din’s hands find his, cradle them tenderly, far bolder than usual. Din is still reserved, still navigating all the ways in which he can express and ask for affection, so unused to it, so Luke can’t help but feel a thrum of joy about it. He lifts his gaze again, knowing Din’s eyes behind the visor.

“I would never want anything other than what we have,” Din says, and the certainty in his voice echoes that moment, in the ruins of Sundari, in the red of the setting sun, when Din had offered him the pauldron with the matching signet that Luke now wears so proudly. “I know you, I love you.”

Luke feels his worries melt away with such ease it’s almost funny. He smiles. Every time he thinks he can’t fall even deeper in love with this man, he does.

“I know you, I love you,” he says in return, and he knows Din is smiling back, he can feel the joy and relief in the Force. They lean forward at the same time, easy and familiar. Luke pulls back, though, when he hears the sound of giggling.

Luke twists around to see the village children, one with Grogu in his arms, peering at them owlishly around the side of the building. Once they realise they’re caught, the children scatter, still laughing.

“Grogu, your parents are sappy!” one crows, and the laughter grows distant.

“Also, there’s absolutely no privacy here,” says Din, completely deadpan, and Luke snorts.

That is, of course, when Din’s commlink alert chooses to go off, and Luke recognises that code with a deep sense of dread.

“Here we go,” Din grumbles, and answers.

“Mand’alor, where are you?!” Bo-Katan demands. She sounds absolutely furious – even more than usual – and Luke knows exactly what she’ll look like, teeth bared, golden eyes flashing dangerously. Din sighs.

“There was… a setback,” he says.

“A setback?” She sounds like she doesn’t believe a single word Din is saying and never has.

“A little problem with the hyperdrive,” Din says, trying for casual. It sounds fake as hell, because Luke knows exactly how miserable he is, even through the helmet. “You know how these old ships are.”

“Then let us give you a new one!” Bo-Katan snaps. Luke feels Din bristle beside him.

“No,” Din says curtly, and Luke quickly smothers his laughter with his hand. He might not like the Wayfinder much, or, indeed, at all, but Bo-Katan’s hatred of it is absolutely hilarious, which automatically makes it the best ship in the entire galaxy.

Bo-Katan’s livid silence speaks volumes.

“How long,” she says, through gritted teeth as if every word causes her pain, “will we have to wait for you?”

“About a week,” Din says nonchalantly. She’s insulted his ship, which means he’s not going to take anymore crap from her today. Luke doubles up with silent laughter now, doing his best to keep quiet. Bo-Katan makes a noise like an angry dewback.

“I’m sending someone to get you!” she says hotly. “Where are you? Give me your coordinates!”

“We’ll get there when we get there,” Luke wheezes, because Din’s shoulders are shaking too hard for him to actually get any words out.

“I thought Jedi were supposed to be responsible,” she splutters, a vain attempt to make Luke feel even the slightest bit guilty. It doesn’t work. “You’re as bad as he is!”

“Well, he married me for a reason,” Luke says, smirking, and Din gently bumps his shoulder with his helmet. “See you soon!”

He ends the call, and there is a brief moment of wound tension before the two of them burst out laughing, Luke wiping away tears, Din wheezing into his vocoder.

“She’s so easy to antagonise,” Luke says once he recovers, almost fond.

Din takes a deep breath, chuckling. “She’s going to be so mad when we get back,” he says, but he doesn’t sound the slightest bit worried.

Luke scoffs. “What’s she going to do, challenge you for the Darksaber?”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” Din mutters, leaning against Luke comfortably and folding his arms.

“You’re stuck with it for now, Your Majesty,” Luke says. “Like you’re stuck with me.”

Din tilts his head to look at him, and Luke melts into the contentment blooming in the Force.

It gets close to what Luke suspects is dinnertime, so Din decides to go look for Grogu. That leaves Luke alone to people-watch as the workday begins to wind down, people gathering up their tools and strolling back to their homes. There isn’t much need for time in this place to be measured by anything but the rising and setting of the sun, which reminds Luke of Tatooine – nothing much happened after dark unless you lived right in the middle of a town, or were big enough and ugly enough to defend yourself.

He blinks, feeling a twitch of something in the Force – something hostile – and he raises his hand, stopping whatever it is in mid-air. He turns to look at it.

There’s a rock floating just beside his head, not very big, barely more than a pebble. He plucks it out of the air and looks out into the taller grass, in the direction it came from. The grass rustles and a small dark figure scuttles away, keeping low.

Luke frowns slightly, watching the figure go, turning the pebble over in his fingers. “That’s not great,” he murmurs.

“What isn’t?” Din asks. Luke turns to him, smiles at Grogu in his arms. Din sits, settling Grogu between them, and Luke tosses up the pebble and catches it again.

“I’m being targeted,” he says, holding it up. Grogu reaches up for it with a demanding croak.

“Winta?” Din asks, bewildered. Luke nods.

“I am persona non grata, it seems,” he says with a slightly twisted smile.

“Explains why I haven’t seen her playing with Grogu at all,” Din muses. “She was your best friend, huh, kid?” He strokes Grogu’s ear before looking up at Luke. “Do you want me to talk to Omera?”

Luke shakes his head. “No, she’s just a child. She’ll get bored of it.”

A poor excuse for a Jedi he’d be if a child worried him.

Din turns in early, Grogu curled up on his chest – which can’t be comfortable, but Grogu makes beskar seem like the cosiest mattress on any planet in the galaxy – and Luke wanders outside to sit on the edge of the deck, legs stretched out in front of him as he contemplates meditating, or even going through some katas.

He doesn’t get to decide. A throat is cleared beside him, and when he turns to look, Omera is there, holding a bottle of spotchka and two glasses: a peace offering. Well, not quite peace – they’re not exactly at war – maybe more a token of friendship.

“I don’t usually drink,” Luke says, accepting the glass. Omera sits beside him on the edge of the deck, smiling slightly.

“Well, you can make an exception,” she says with a slight air of mischief, uncorking the bottle and pouring Luke a generous shot. He huffs in amusement and accepts it. Why not?

They clink glasses. Luke takes a sip. It goes down sweet, sweeter than most spotchka, and he gives a pleased hum.

“The good stuff, huh?” he says, quirking his eyebrows.

Omera chuckles. “For guests,” she says with a gracious incline of her head. “I’ve been saving it.”

“For a special occasion?” Luke asks. She gives him a regretful smile.

“One that didn’t happen,” she replies, and Luke winces, looking away. “Which is precisely why I’m sharing it with you.”

“I’m…” Luke doesn’t want to say he’s sorry, because he isn’t. He’s not sorry for being married to Din, for making this strange little family with him. It would be a barefaced lie and an insult to everything they’ve made together, everything they’ve become together.

Omera simply waves off whatever he wanted to say. “There were no promises, Master Skywalker. Was I waiting? No, not really. But it would have been nice, if he had come back.” She shrugs. “I have Winta. I could never be missing anything.”

Luke smiles at that, nods, and takes another sip. They drink in silence for a moment, giving Luke a moment to figure out what to even say. What do you say to your husband’s sort-of ex? The Jedi don’t generally teach that.

“Would it be strange if I asked how?” Omera asks suddenly. “It seems to me like quite a story.”

Luke laughs, grateful for the opening. “Well, I suppose it is.”

The archivists have already demanded the tale for their songs of lore, preserving it in Mandalorian history, which Din found not a little invasive. He’s a private man at the best of times.

“We met on an Imperial cruiser…” Luke says, and he knows he sounds ridiculously wistful, but it was a pivotal moment, after all. “And the first thing he said to me, after seeing me actually use the Force and wield a lightsaber, was ‘are you a Jedi?’”

He shakes his head, laughing at the memory, and Omera laughs too, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

“So, you were only meant to be Grogu’s master?” she asks, giggling.

The bottle is mostly empty now, and Luke feels pleasantly buzzed, because this stuff is strong. He’s annoyed Din isn’t there to be clung on to, because he makes a very good support, being so solid and steady and, most importantly, sober all the time.

He nods. “Yep! Though, between you and me, I think this result was pretty good, actually.”

Omera, it turns out, is a giggly drunk, because she can’t stop, it seems. She gives him a gentle nudge. “You got so lucky, you know!”

“I know!” Luke exclaims excitedly, jumping at the chance to wax lyrical about his husband. “He’s incredible! I’ve not met an animal or a child that didn’t fall in love with him like that!” He snaps his fingers. “He gets a whole room of arguing Mandalorians to shut up just by clearing his throat. And he’s so funny, people don’t get how funny he is, and have you seen him fight? And his eyes…” He sighs dreamily. “He has the loveliest eyes.”

He wants to be gazing into those eyes right now, getting lost in them.

He pours himself the last of the spotchka and tips it back in one go, the taste long since meaningless.

“I have had too much,” he says, feeling decidedly warm.

Omera eyes her own glass, nodding. “Me too,” she admits, still tittering to herself. “I should definitely go, I’m too old to be drinking like this.”

“You live on a krill farm.” Luke waves his hand dismissively, “I bet you could drink a Wookiee under the table.”

Omera giggles even more at that, and gets to her feet, swaying. Luke grabs her arm to steady her, and she smiles at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“You have a good thing,” she says. “I’m glad for the both of you.”

Luke smiles back at her. “Thank you.”

She straightens up, taking a long, deep breath, managing to look determined for a moment before giggling again.

“Need me to walk you home?” Luke asks with a grin.

“Now now, what would the neighbours think?” Omera waggles her finger at him. “Goodnight, Master Skywalker – Luke,” she corrects. She walks home steadily, but Luke doesn’t head inside until she’s disappeared inside her own hut, just in case.

Once the curtain’s shut behind him, Luke crawls onto the folding mattress and snuggles into Din’s side. He’s removed his pauldrons, which is a good thing for Luke, because Din has comfy shoulders. He falls asleep to the sound of Din’s breathing and Grogu’s soft, snuffling snores.

Din wakes up first, along with a hungry – as usual – Grogu. Luke, on the other hand, is still asleep, wrapped in his cloak. He looks adorable, everything from his eyes down hidden by black fabric.

“Patoo?” Grogu asks, resting a hand on Luke’s knee and looking up at Din. Din shakes his head.

“Let him rest, kid,” he says quietly. “I think he had a little too much fun last night.”

There are leftovers from the night before, which are useful because Din has the amusing suspicion that Omera won’t be up that early either. It was… interesting to hear them talk about him, perhaps even enlightening, but it’s nothing he hasn’t already heard from Luke anyway.

There’s a soft whimper, and the cloak gets tugged up, over Luke’s head. Din huffs in amusement.

“Good morning,” he says, keeping his voice low. Luke whimpers again.

“Turn off the sun,” he groans.

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid.”

Grogu waddles over to Luke and sits beside him, reaching out a tiny hand to pat at him, possibly his chin. “Abah?” he enquires.

“No meditation, Grogu,” Luke slurs, half-muffled by the cloak. “Daddy’s head hurts.”

Din snorts at that.

There’s a knock on the wood outside, and Din can see the outline of a person there, likely Omera. He slips his helmet on quickly.

“Come in.”

It is Omera, with a tray of breakfast. She peeks in, sees the black lump that is currently a miserable Luke Skywalker, and winces.

“This might help,” she says, and hands Din a bottle of something tinted green with various herbs floating in it. “It’s good for headaches.” She reaches up and massages her own head. “Doesn’t make it go away entirely though.”

Din chuckles. “He’ll get over it.”

Luke’s hand snakes out from under the cloak, and first he gives Din a shove with the Force, and then floats the bottle, shakily, into his hand. Omera hides a titter with her hand.

“I’ll see you later,” she tells them, and leaves with a smile.

Luke emerges a couple of minutes later with a deep groan. His hair is a mess, and Din can’t resist reaching out to smooth it down. Luke’s face relaxes at that, and he presses into the touch with a pleased sound.

“Am I forgiven?” Din asks.

“Absolutely not,” Luke replies, grabbing the food before Grogu has a chance to snatch it from him, because their son is a bottomless pit. “Forgiveness comes with kisses.”

“I’m not kissing you until you’ve brushed your teeth,” Din says. Luke pouts.

Days, Din knows, pass mostly the same in the village, little changing except the seasons. That’s how farming works, he’s learnt more about that since they turned a whole wedge of Sundari into something cultivable, and farming krill is much the same as farming anything else. But there’s something different going on today. The village square seems to be the new centre of attention, specifically a steadily growing pile of wood.

He wanders over to ask about it.

“Oh, it’s Founding Day!” says one woman cheerfully, having just deposited some more firewood on the pile. “We celebrate when our ancestors decided to settle here.”

“With a bonfire?”

She nods. “And food, and drink, and singing and dancing. We have a good time!” She smiles at him. “You better join in, Mando, you and Master Skywalker!”

Din shifts nervously – one thing he’s been learning for a while now is just how bad he is with parties – but he gives her a brief nod, which seems to satisfy her, because she bustles away to continue her business.

“A party, huh?”

Din turns, returning Luke’s smile through the helmet. “Seems so,” he says.

“Getting drunk two nights in a row is probably a spectacularly terrible idea,” Luke muses, stroking his chin. Din gives him his best unimpressed helmet tilt, and Luke holds his hands up in surrender.

“I won’t!” he says with a laugh.

They’re interrupted by a loud bang from across the other side of the village, the unmistakable sound of mechanical failure. Someone yells, someone else curses, and the two of them head over to see what happened.

A generator, so old it looks decidedly pre-Empire, sits hissing under a large awning. There’s a general air of woe going around the gathering crowd. One farmer steps forward, pries off the maintenance hatch, and a billow of smoke puffs out, making those gathered too close start coughing. The first farmer waves it off as best he can, and another brings over a glowlamp, peering inside.

“Can you fix it?” someone asks.

“I’m not sure,” the woman with the glowlamp says hesitantly.

“Um, I could take a look?” Luke says. They all turn to him.

“Can’t hurt,” says the first farmer, and both he and the woman step aside to allow Luke to stick his head, and then his shoulders, inside.

He pokes around for a moment, muttering to himself, before pulling his head out again. “Yeah, I think I can fix it!” he says. “Might take a minute, but I’ll try.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Master Skywalker!” the first man says, reaching over to grab Luke’s hand with both of his own and shake it vigorously.

“Thank me when it’s fixed,” Luke says. He unpins his cloak, folding it up and placing it to the side, and then sticks the entire top half of his body inside the machine.

It seems Din won’t be seeing him for a while.

Din returns about two hours later with some scrounged caf – sweetened as much as he can, because he knows Luke and his sweet tooth – and finds him still within the bowels of the generator. All he can see is a butt and a pair of legs, and he tries very, very hard to not think something decidedly inappropriate.

“Knock knock,” he says, rapping lightly on the side of the generator. Luke wriggles out and Din finds that he’s discarded his shirt. He’s only wearing his undershirt now, no sleeves, and he has grease smeared over his feather-scarred arms and across one cheek, his hair slightly damp from sweat. There’s a miniature glowlamp between his teeth. The sight shoots straight to Din’s groin.

“Caf,” he says, unable to keep his voice from rumbling low, so he clears his throat. Luke spits out the glowlamp and accepts the cup with a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” he replies, blowing on it and taking a sip.

“How’s it going?” Din asks, easing himself down to the ground beside him. Luke shrugs.

“It’ll get done,” he says. “There’s more than one fault, so I’m fixing things as I find them. I don’t think it’s been maintained that well.” He suddenly gives Din a shrewd, mischievous look. “This look doing it for you, huh?” he asks, pitching his voice low.

“You have no idea,” Din mutters, one of his fists clenching.

“Adding grease monkey to your list of kinks,” Luke murmurs, leaning in closer and giving him a quick Keldabe kiss before going back to his caf.

“Menace,” Din grumbles, but it’s fond. It couldn’t ever not be. Luke sticks his tongue out, childish, but cute.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, Luke sitting cross-legged with his caf, and they watch the children play. Winta has rejoined the group, which is good, but apparently she notices their attention, because she looks their way. She glares at Luke and runs off after the rest of the pack, and Luke sighs.

“Back to work,” he says, draining his cup and hanging it back to Din. He grabs his glowlamp and a hydrospanner and hoists himself back in, leaving Din alone to stew in the temptation of his pretty ass within reach but also oh so far away. He sighs heavily.

Luke finally finishes around mid-afternoon, and he hopes what he’s done is enough. He’s replaced what he could from the village’s meagre selection of spare parts, cannibalised some other broken machines they had lying around, and even poked around with the Force, which isn’t a great idea for a generator in a village of non-Force users but those wires were really hard to get to.

“Start her up!” Luke asks the generator’s owner, Forran. Forran nods, does so, and, with a couple of angry rattles and a few moments of hesitance, the thing whirrs back into life. Forran cheers.

“Thank you!” he exclaims, grabbing Luke’s hand again. “Thank you so much, Master Skywalker! How will I ever repay you?”

Luke waves off any offer of repayment with a smile as he replaces the maintenance hatch.

“Glad to help!” is all he says. He collects the tools and puts them back in their box, gathers his clothing and heaves himself off the ground with a groan. His back aches from being bent inside that thing all day, so he places his hands on the small of his back and stretches, and if he maybe uses the Force to help a little, well, who else is to know?

He heads back to the guest hut, where he finds Din shelling some sort of vegetable from a basket into a bowl.

“Got roped into prep, huh?” Luke says with a chuckle, one hand on his hip. Din looks up and immediately stops what he’s doing, going completely still. Luke can tell he’s staring through the visor, intently, and it makes him a little nervous.

“What?” he asks. Din just keeps staring and Luke can feel, in the Force, hot ripples of desire that make his breath hitch. Oh. He walks straight past Din and into the hut, and he doesn’t need the Force to know that Din is right behind him.

The helmet’s off as soon as they’re in, tossed onto the folding mattress they’ve been sleeping on. Din crowds him against one of the walls, and Luke drags him in by the folds of his cloak, into a kiss that’s sinfully deep as soon as their lips touch. Luke hums in pleasure, Din’s thigh slipping between his own as they continue with tongues and teeth. He loves how raw Din’s need can get, his hunger and urgency, loves how his hands find his ass and squeeze, hoisting him further up, against his cuisse.

They part for air, both panting. Wild thoughts chase themselves through Luke’s head: he could drop to his knees, or simply take them both in hand… but it’s a terrible idea, no matter how much they both want it. And Din knows it too, because he sighs. He goes in for a few more kisses, slower, less intense, but in the end he pulls back.

“Dank farrik,” he growls. “I want you so bad.”

Luke laughs, breathless. “I know, me too,” he says. He presses a kiss to Din’s nose, earning himself a smile.

Din hums at that, leaning in to nuzzle at Luke’s neck. He gets an idea, obviously, because he bites down, alternates teeth and lips in a way that has Luke gasping.

“There we go,” he purrs, and Luke huffs in amusement.

“Who’s the menace now?” he asks.

“Still you,” Din replies, pecking him on the lips before stepping away.

Luke cleans up, ridding himself of the grease and sweat of the repair job, and his hair is still slightly damp as they set foot outside into the sunset. The whole village, it seems, is already gathered there, though the bonfire isn’t yet lit.

“Wish I’d brought something fancier,” he complains, smoothing down his shirt.

“You always look good to me,” Din says, and it’s so astoundingly sincere that Luke blushes.

Grogu meets them there, scampering across to them from where the other children are splitting up to sit with their families. Luke lifts him up with the Force, giving him a smile.

“Have you been good?” he asks.

“Bah!”

“Of course you are, I wouldn’t dream of saying otherwise,” Luke replies sincerely, making Din chuckle.

Everyone seems to be sitting in a great circle around the soon-to-be bonfire, and Omera waves them over, patting the grass next to her. Grogu hops over into Din’s lap instead, floating a pickle over to himself and munching on it happily. As the sun slips below the horizon, a man stands up with a lit torch and casts it into the pile of wood, which ignites immediately in a rush of flames. He then tells, over the crackling of the fire, the story of the krill pools and the weary farmers who settled there after crossing the galaxy centuries ago.

“…And since then, we have given refuge to those who need it!” he recites. “As Sorgan gave refuge to us!”

There is clapping and cheering, alcohol is passed round – which Luke politely declines, for now – and music starts. Some people dance, others eat and talk and laugh, and it’s good. It’s simple, joyous merrymaking which reminds Luke of Endor. The memory is bittersweet, of course, and when the spotchka is passed around again, this time he accepts it.

“Do you dance, Mando?” Omera asks with a mischievous smile. Luke can immediately sense Din’s tension: he hates dancing. Oh, he’s learnt how, strongarmed into it by Leia and Korkie, but it was under extreme duress.

“No,” he says stiffly. Luke throws back his spotchka, unclasps his cloak and stands.

“I do,” he says. He hears Din huff through the helmet, feels a little flicker of innocent jealousy, and Luke flashes him a grin. Omera laughs, accepts his offered hand, and he leads her into a simple two-step in time with the music. She dances well, keeping up easily, and it has the same feeling as dancing with Leia, just a moment of easy energy and delight.

When the music stops, they do too. He bows, she curtsies, and they both return to their spot, laughing.

“Having fun?” Din asks him, and Luke thinks he can hear the hint of a pout there.

“You could always dance with me, you know,” he teases, taking a bite out of something that looks like a kavasa fruit. Din gives him a pained head tilt, and Luke pats his legs soothingly. “I know, I know, I’m joking.”

The evening continues, and the children are handed sparklers, shrieking and painting images in the air with them. Even Grogu gets one, which he immediately pretends to use as a lightsaber. It’s so carefree and pleasant, and distracting, that Luke almost thinks it’s his imagination when he smells something burning, feels a sudden heat at his back.

He turns, and springs back from his cloak that he discarded behind him. It’s on fire.

“Dank farrik!” Din exclaims, and he grabs the first non-alcoholic liquid he can put his hands on, pouring it over the cloak. It hisses forlornly, the fire now out, and the scent of burnt fruit juice and burnt chaughaine hangs heavy in the air.

“What happened?!” Omera asks worriedly, kneeling up.

Luke lifts up the remains of his cloak and peers sadly through a large, burnt hole. He’d liked this one, Chewie had gotten it for him.

While Luke mourns, Din fiddles with his vambrace, peering into the night.

“See anything?” Luke asks.

“Small footsteps…” Din reaches out and picks up some spent matchsticks. He stands and begins following the footprints, followed by Luke and Omera, and they lead behind the guest hut.

Winta is crouched in the shadows, stifling sniggers behind her hands, until she notices them. She scrambles to her feet, looking somehow guilty and defiant at the same time.

Omera marches over to her and kneels, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Winta, how could you?!” she demands. “That was dangerous!”

Winta struggles, slips out of her grasp, backing away. “I hate him!” she yells, pointing right at Luke. “He ruined everything! I HATE HIM!”

“That’s it, young lady, you’re grounded!”

Winta wriggles some more, but Omera steers her along by the shoulders, frogmarching her back to their own hut. Plenty of people are staring, but this is such a close-knit community that discipline seems to be something people see often, a communal effort, much like on Mandalore. Luke and Din hang back, away from the fire circle, both feeling awkward.

“That wasn’t great,” Luke says eventually, scratching his nose.

“No, it wasn’t,” Din agrees, arms folded. “I wouldn’t even know how to deal with this.”

Luke huffs, folding his arms. They got lucky with Grogu, all he wanted was attention, but there was no deep-set jealousy to overcome, perhaps because of the Force. Luke’s not going to hold it against her – Winta is a child, children do stupid things – but he’s also concerned. This makes discussion of Winta’s own nature even more complicated than it already was.

Omera finally reappears, face still clouded, and she heads over to them.

“I’m so sorry, Luke,” she says, wringing her hands. “I’ll absolutely replace it somehow!”

Luke shakes his head. “No, it’s fine!” he says quickly. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her it was a gift, and not a cheap one, either.

“Still…”

“No, really. It’s fine.” He smiles. “I have way too many, ask Din.”

“We’re drowning in them,” Din says with a long-suffering sigh, which earns him an elbow in the ribs from Luke, who knows exactly where to aim to not hit beskar. Omera huffs in reluctant amusement.

“Is she ok?” Luke asks. Omera’s face falls again, and her lips tighten bitterly.

“She’s still very mad,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to tell her.”

Din shifts his weight, helmet tilting thoughtfully. “Do… you want me to talk to her?”

Omera looks away pensively. “I don’t know… it might help. Tomorrow, though.”

“Oh, of course.”

The mood of the evening is decidedly soured, now. Luke and Din bid everyone a goodnight and take Grogu back to the guest hut. It’s a shame, but probably for the best. The cloak still works well enough as a blanket, at least.

“Did you bring a spare?” Din asks the next morning. Luke sighs.

“It’s on the ship,” he says dejectedly. He likes wearing his cloaks, likes the comfort and weight, and general air of mystery they give him. Not that he’s ever going to admit that to anybody, not even Din. Grogu pats the singed material with a pout, and Luke feels exactly the same.

They’re interrupted by frantic knocking outside that has Din shoving on his helmet immediately. Luke opens the curtain to see a terrified Omera.

“I can’t find Winta anywhere!” she says, grabbing his arms desperately. “She’s gone!”

“Do you know when she disappeared?” Luke asks. Omera shakes her head.

“She wasn’t there when I woke up! I’ve looked everywhere, she’s nowhere in the village!”

Din is checking all of his trappings, securing his vambraces, and Luke summons his lightsaber, clipping it to his belt. This is a crisis, and crises are easy things for both of them. They’ve been through enough of them, alone and together.

The morning air is crisp, chilly, like a slap to the cheeks, and Luke doesn’t want to think about Winta out alone in this. He thinks of the same thing happening to Grogu, him being lost and afraid and cold, and feels almost physically, violently sick.

Omera is rubbing her arms, trembling, tears in the corners of her eyes. Luke knows how she feels, the deep pit of dread inside her, the cold fear. Din places a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll find her,” he promises, with that unwavering, steady voice that has all of Mandalore following him, that makes Luke’s chest swell with pride. “Stay here in case she comes back on her own.”

Omera hesitates, and Luke knows exactly how horrific it is to be told that, but then she nods. It's the wisest choice.

Din charts an initial course with his helmet HUD, but the tracks are alarmingly faint, any heat devoured by the morning cold and dew. They manage to follow them into the thick, towering pine forests that surround the village, which are gloomy, but thick with birdsong this early. Normally they’d organise search parties to cover more ground, but in all honesty, they don’t need them – an expert bounty hunter and a Jedi can track down one child easily enough. Or so Luke hopes.

“I’ll go this way,” Din says, jerking his thumb west, and Luke nods.

“Comm me if you find her!” he calls after Din, turning east.

Luke follows trails in the underbrush, but the ferns grow haphazard and thick, not revealing much, and they run the risk of having him turning in circles. So instead he simply stands still, closing his eyes, and reaches out, extending his perception to everything in the forest. He can feel the deep underground nervous system of the fungi connecting the trees, the twinkling lights of non-sentient birds, insects and other creatures, and on the edge of his consciousness, the bright, burning lights of the village.

And finally, flickering with pain and cold, the solitary, familiar signature of a young girl.

He takes off in that direction, eyes still closed, allowing the Force to guide him past trees and over brooks and boulders. Winta leads him deeper into the forest, and he wonders how long she’s been out here, scared and lost. He hears, tiny and afraid, an actual press of emotion in the Force, an active projection.

Help

And that confirms the suspicion he’s had since he met her. Force-nulls don’t do that, they have no control over what parts of them drift in and out of the Force. But Winta does.

Luke finally reaches her, opening his eyes.

“Winta?” he calls, looking around, until his gaze falls on a deep gully that cuts its way through the woods, thick with tree roots and vegetation, trickles of cold water pouring from the sides. He looks down, and can’t help the rush of mingled relief and horror.

Winta is curled up against the wall of the gully, wrapped tightly around herself. She’s shivering, and her leg is twisted at an angle that makes him grimace.

He doesn’t even think before leaping down into the gully, landing in the stream that flows through it, and he hurries over to her.

“Hey, Winta…” he murmurs, keeping his voice low and soothing. She stirs, peeks at him, and jerks away. “No, hey, it’s ok! I’m here to get you out of here!”

And he summons all the safety and comfort he can, pushing them gently into the Force towards her, like a blanket. It only takes a moment before Winta throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest.

“I want Mama!” she cries, sounding so much younger than she actually is in her fear. “I want my Mama!”

Luke cradles her, making gentle hushing noises.

“I’ll get you back to her, don’t worry,” he says, and he looks down at the twist of her leg. It’s not pretty, and her foot is trapped beneath a boulder she could never have hoped to move on her own. The gully slopes, and the boulder is caught on two thick, but ultimately breakable tree roots, stopped by sheer luck from crushing the girl. He takes a deep breath.

“Ok, Winta, I’m going to need you to be very brave for me, ok?”

She looks up at him, wide-eyed with fear.

“It’s going to hurt, but it’s the only way to get you out of here.” He rubs her back soothingly. “Can you do that? Can you be brave?”

Winta nods slowly, and Luke gives her an encouraging smile, sending another soothing wave through the Force.

He doesn’t like leaving her side, but he has to stand and take a few steps back, wondering what exactly he’s going to do with this boulder once he’s moved it. Getting her out of there and back to the village as fast as he can is the imperative right now. He stretches out his hands, feeling the Force ripple around him with easy familiarity, and he directs it towards the hunk of rock.

It doesn’t take much to lift it, but Winta’s screams of pain grind against his concentration, twisting his gut.

“I’m sorry, Winta, I’m so sorry…” he babbles, heaving the boulder out of the gully and tossing it away. It lands with a mighty crash, but Luke couldn’t care less about that right then. Winta’s leg is a complete mess, and her pain is a jagged, red, serrated thing in the Force that makes him feel it too. He slips his arms around her, as delicate as he can and leaps with her out of the gully and back into the woods.

He fires up his commlink.

“Din, I’ve got her!” he says, and Din gives a sigh of relief.

“Meet you back at the village,” he says.

All Din and Omera can do is wait, on the edge of the forest, a small crowd gathered now, other villagers trying to comfort her. Din stands, still as a statue, staring at the treeline with his heat-sensor HUD on, Grogu clinging to his breastplate, ears drooping. Finally, they appear, in the distance, flickers of heat in the cool forest. It takes another moment for them to be visible, but as soon as they are, Omera breaks into a sprint, Din following.

“Winta!”

“Mama!” Winta cries, reaching out for her, the filth on her face streaked clean by tear tracks.

“Let me set her down inside,” Luke says. “I’m holding her leg up with the Force.”

Omera looks at it and her eyes go round in horror. Winta’s leg and ankle are twisted in two different directions, and Din winces inside the helmet.

They hurry her back to Omera’s hut, the village healer rushing along after them, and Din can see Luke is thinking very hard about something. Omera’s hands haven’t left Winta since she was set down, and Winta is sobbing into her mother’s chest as the healer cuts away her tattered trouser leg and observes the carnage.

“This is very bad,” she says, making Omera look at her in alarm. “We don’t have a bacta tank for this…”

Luke bites his lip, then turns to Din. Or to Grogu, rather, reaching out, taking their son’s hand.

There is a long silence, the only thing changing is Luke’s expression, and Din knows they are conversing in that way they have that he is simply not privy to. Grogu reaches out and Luke takes him, settles cross-legged on the floor by Winta’s leg, Grogu in his lap.

The healer glares at him. “What do you think–”

Din raises a hand. “Let them work,” he says. He knows exactly what Luke is going to try to do. He can only hope it works.

“Omera,” Luke says, taking her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze, “Grogu and I are going to try and fix this.”

“The Force?” Omera asks. Luke nods.

“It might hurt her, it won’t be on purpose. Could you hold her down?”

Omera looks down, runs her hand through Winta’s matted hair, and kisses her head. Then she nods.

“Please try,” she says. The healer holds down Winta’s other leg, eyeing Luke and Grogu nervously.

Grogu’s little hands press gently on Winta’s leg, and Luke’s follow. They both close their eyes, their breathing going deep and even, slipping onto a plane Din could never hope to visit even in his wildest dreams. The air in the room seems to prickle, not electric but certainly… changed in some way, and this is the first time that the Force has affected Din this way when it’s not been aimed directly at him.

Luke’s eyebrows knit, Grogu frowns as well, and with a wrench that has Winta shrieking, part of her leg twists back into something resembling normality. Grogu’s eyes fly open and he whimpers, ears going down.

“Shh,” Luke says, “keep going, Grogu, you’re doing amazing.”

He guides Grogu’s hands back to Winta’s leg. Grogu closes his eyes again, and they get back to their slow, invisible work. Din wonders what it must be like, to be able to do this, to be able to feel something as great and powerful and incomprehensible within his very soul. Not for the first time, Din is grateful they found Luke, have Luke, that Grogu can share this strange but fundamental part of himself with someone else who understands, can help him do these wondrous things. He kneels beside them, places a hand on Luke’s back, and Luke smiles slightly even as Din can see the weariness beginning to show on his face, in the tension of his muscles beneath his palm.

Winta lets out another scream as her ankle contorts back into place. Grogu tips back into Luke’s arms, drained, and Luke slumps as well, falling against Din with an exhausted sigh. He manages to crack open his eyes.

“It’s not perfect,” Luke says, voice slurring. Omera tears her eyes away from Winta’s straightened leg to stare at him. “The breaks are still there, but it’s not… not permanent…”

And he’s out cold, like Grogu.

Din settles them against the wall, finding them a blanket, and lets them rest. The healer is dealing with Winta’s leg now, putting it in a splint from toe to thigh.

“How long for?” Omera asks, her voice raspy from tension. The healer gives her an apologetic look.

“Six weeks, but possibly longer,” she says. “Master Skywalker and the child helped a lot, though.”

Din can hear the things she isn’t saying, and he knows they came very, very close to Winta losing her leg. Over something so stupid, as well.

Winta drifts off to sleep, Luke and Grogu are still dead to the world, which leaves both Din and Omera as a loss for something to do with themselves. So he makes them both caf in Omera’s tidy little kitchen. There are dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, a vase of wildflowers on the little table, and a holograph of a man with a brown beard, a broad smile and twinkling eyes, sitting on a shelf next to a candle and a Rebel Alliance medal of valour. Din studies it for a moment, reads the Aurebesh on the medal that gives his name as Callix Shaw, and Din thinks he seems like he was a good man.

He finds Omera outside on the porch. He hands her her caf – one sugar, a good deal of blue milk – which she takes with a weary, grateful smile, and she politely looks away when Din tilts his helmet up to take a sip of his own (black as pitch, as usual, Luke hates it).

“Thank you,” she says. Din shakes his head.

“There’s no need,” he says. “It’s the least we could do.”

“You keep helping us, and don’t want anything in return.” She sounds a little accusatory, but the sting is lessened by the fond amusement. Din shrugs.

“It’s what we do,” he replies. “Luke would say it’s the Jedi way.”

Omera stares down into her mug. “I’m glad you brought him,” she says. “If he hadn’t been here…”

Din nods. “I get it.” He’s grateful for Luke as well, every single day. He’s grateful when there’s an extra pair of hands to keep Grogu out of mischief, and he’s grateful he can just exist around another adult without having to hide himself behind layers of beskar and emotional distance. He’s grateful for a supportive voice in the Mandalorian Council, and he’s grateful to have such a powerful warrior at his back in battle. He’s grateful for the kisses and sweet words, and he’s grateful for the squabbles and stubbornness. He’s grateful for everything Luke has brought with him, brought into them.

When they head back inside with empty mugs, Luke is awake – though he still looks exhausted – and so is Winta. And they’re talking in quiet voices, which makes a huge change from the day before when she couldn’t even set eyes on him without glaring.

Luke looks up, offers Din a smile, but then looks at Omera. “There’s something we need to talk about,” he says, heaving himself to his feet. Omera gives him a worried look, eyes darting from him to Winta.

“It’s ok, Mama,” Winta says. Omera’s face crumples at that, and she rubs feverishly at her eyes.

“Ok,” she mumbles.

They sit in the kitchen, at the little table with the vase, opposite each other. Luke runs a hand through his hair, something he only does when he’s truly running on empty, and he looks like he’s struggling to find where to begin. Din remains standing by the doorway, feeling like he’s eavesdropping in some way, even though he knows neither Omera nor Luke mind him being there.

“Is there something wrong with Winta?” Omera asks. Luke shakes his head quickly.

“Nothing wrong at all,” he says. “She’s doing fine. But… you need to know that she’s Force-sensitive.”

Din winces in the silence following that statement. Ripping off the bacta patch, just like that. Omera stares down at her hands, swallows.

“H-how do you know?” she asks. Luke rubs a hand down his face.

“I can’t be one hundred percent sure without a blood test,” Luke says. “But she can do things that Force-nulls like yourself, and Din, simply can’t. She can project her emotions actively into the Force, for example, and she told me just now about making things move with her mind, sticks and rocks. She can sense where you are, as well. It’s little things like that.”

“And what should we do about it?”

Luke is quiet for a moment, hands clasped on the table in front of him. “She will need some training to control it,” he says. “I won’t know without testing her Midichlorian count, but I’m certain she has substantial raw talent. And if she wants, at some point in the future, she could train to become a Jedi.”

Omera grips the table, fingers turning white. “You’d take her–?”

Luke looks at her in alarm. “No! Never!” He shakes his head vehemently, hair bouncing with the movement. “It would be her choice. And you could come visit whenever you wanted, or even stay.”

Her relief is palpable. “That’s good to know. Where would this be?”

“Mandalore,” Din says. “We’re going to build a temple there.”

“She will need to learn,” Luke says, “but she doesn’t have to commit to anything more than the absolute basics needed to control the Force. My sister didn’t. My nephew might not. It’s down to choice. She’s still young.”

Omera nods, the movement jerky. She’s still taking it all in, and Din knows it’s an immense thing to learn. The Force, however it touches you and those you love, shifts everything you knew about the universe.

Luke breaks the tension with a positively huge yawn. “Sorry,” he mumbles, struggling to form words now. “I am very tired.”

“Come on then, bedtime,” Din orders. Luke pouts, which makes Omera giggle softly.

Din fetches Grogu, still fast asleep, gives Winta a small wave which she returns, and guides Luke towards the door with a hand at the small of his back. Omera follows them to the door, and Din can feel her gaze follow them back to the guest hut.

Luke falls face-first onto the mattress and is back out cold within probably a minute. Din settles Grogu beside him, and the kid curls into Luke with a small, soft sound, reaching out and holding on tight to the fabric of Luke’s sleeve. Din tucks the borrowed blanket around them, smiling indulgently, his heart swelling. He’s so proud of them both, he doesn’t think he could ever find the words to describe it.

He slips off his helmet and settles beside them, one arm behind his head. He won’t sleep, but he’ll read whatever Luke has on his datapad and listen to the gentle sounds of his family’s slumber.

Din knocks gently on the doorway, poking his helmet in.

Winta sits in bed, leg propped up, with a battered datapad in her lap to keep her occupied. Her friends have brought her a bunch of things which now lie scattered across the bedspread: fruit, books, toys, anything to keep her busy while she heals.

“Hey,” he says. “Can I come in?”

She seems surprised to see him, but she shifts the few things she can reach to make space on the low bed beside her.

“Sure.”

Din is good with children, generally speaking, but talking to them is never easy. Sometimes it’s even harder than talking to other adults, and that’s a skill Din has never truly excelled at. He sits, hands between his knees, and tries to find the words to start.

Winta does it for him.

“I apologised to Master Luke,” she says, fiddling with the hem of her bedspread. It’s a charming patchwork thing, made with obvious love. “I was stupid.”

“You weren’t stupid, Winta,” Din says. “You just did some silly things. We all do silly things sometimes, when we’re scared or angry. He doesn’t blame you for them.”

She looks sheepish. “That’s what he said.”

Of course, Din thinks. Sometimes they end up eerily on the same wavelength.

“I just… miss my dad,” Winta mumbles, drawing the bedspread up higher, to her chin. “You liked Mom, and Mom liked you, and I thought… I thought I’d have a dad again. And Grogu could be my baby brother. And I thought if I was mean enough to Master Luke, he’d just… go away. Leave you here.”

“That would have made Grogu sad,” Din says. “And me.”

She nods miserably. Din sighs.

“Sometimes grown-up things are complicated. Things don’t always work out how we think they will, and we can’t always change that. I still care a lot for your mother, and for you. But Grogu and Luke are my clan, my family. That’s just how it is.”

She nods again. “Sometimes I… can sort of sense what Grogu is feeling? And he loves you both a lot.”

“Luke told me you can use the Force,” Din says. “Want to show me?”

Winta perks up at that. She holds her hand out, screws her face up tight, and a tangerette levitates slightly off the bed for a couple of seconds before falling back down. Din applauds.

“That was incredible! Well done!”

Winta snorts. “Master Luke and Grogu can do way better than that,” she says, but she’s flushed pink with pride nonetheless. Din chuckles.

“They’ve had a lot more years of practice than you have,” he says. “You’ll be as good as them, someday.”

She smiles at that, and allows him to give her a hug. She makes a face.

“Your armour’s really uncomfortable,” she whines, giggling.

“Sorry about that,” he says, ruffling her hair.

They get a call two days later: Han is on his way, he’ll be there in the morning. It’s time to return to the ship, and Luke hopes Artoo hasn’t been feeling too lonely there on his own.

Coben and Stoke offer to give them a lift back, even though there’s no reason for them to head to the tavern, and the entire village turns out to say goodbye. Grogu gets a lot of hugs from the village children, as usual, Forran the generator man gives Luke another enthusiastic handshake. Omera gives them all a tight embrace.

“Take care of them,” she whispers in Luke’s ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Winta, doddery on makeshift crutches, looks at the ground nervously. It’s too soon for her to be up, honestly – the healer hovers nearby – but she’d wanted to, and Omera’s nerves are still ragged enough that it seems she won’t deny her daughter much for a while.

“Thank you,” she mumbles at Luke, abandoning her crutches to both hug him and use him for support. He smiles.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. He hopes she makes the choice to train fully. He knows she has the potential to be an incredible Jedi, and he would truly love to teach her.

They settle in the back of the cart, Grogu in Din’s lap, and soon the village and its waving villagers disappear behind the Sorgan pines. Despite everything, Luke feels like he’s going to miss this place.

Artoo greets them with a whistle, dome spinning, and Grogu babbles eagerly. Din sits him on top, because Grogu likes that, even though Din still has his misgivings about it.

Din can finally strip off all his armour and collapse on their bunk with a sigh, making Luke laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired,” he teases, tugging off his boots and tossing them in a corner before settling in beside him. Grogu is being thoroughly entertained by Artoo somewhere else, which means Din is free to drag Luke closer and into a slow, deep kiss. Luke winds his arms around Din’s shoulders, humming into the kiss and tangling their legs together. Din’s missed this, the simple intimacy of just being able to touch and kiss Luke whenever he wants, and he’s hungry for it. Luke pulls back, just to pepper kisses across his nose and cheeks, before diving back in, all languid tongues, no rush at all.

There’s a crash from the upper deck, and they both sigh in unison.

“Back to normal,” Din grumbles. He gives Luke one last peck on the lips before clambering over him to see what the hell Grogu’s done this time.

How many grown men does it take to replace a hyperdrive?

Apparently, three. And a Wookiee.

“You’re not using the Force!” Han barks, brandishing a hydrospanner in Luke’s general direction. Luke rolls his eyes so hard they almost go into the back of his head.

“It’s easier!” he snaps back. Din and Chewie exchange a look, and together they take the hyperdrive and simply carry it to where it needs to be.

“Were they always like this?” Din asks, shoving himself in the crawlspace beside the hyperdrive to get the wiring ready. His Shyriiwook has been getting better and better, because he understands most of what Chewie says nowadays.

“SOMETIMES EVEN WORSE,” Chewie says long-sufferingly. He heaves the hyperdrive into place and Din begins the meticulous work of soldering the wiring together, connecting the capacitors and the leadings. Finally, he slithers out, giving Chewie a thumbs-up.

Han and Luke are still arguing.

“We’ve finished,” Din says, which finally shuts them up enough to make them look slightly ashamed of themselves. Artoo barrels past them to where the hyperdrive is, and Din bristles.

“What, don’t trust my work?” he demands. Artoo merely trills something that’s probably derogatory and Din throws his hands up in defeat.

They will be home soon, Din thinks once they are finally in blessed hyperspace again. Back on Mandalore, in Sundari, their little corner of existence within something so much bigger than they are. Din isn’t exactly looking forward to council meetings and reports, but it gives him something to do, and Luke and Grogu are always there, close by, a balm for a weary soul.

He turns, watching them watch some downloaded children’s holovid on Luke’s datapad. Luke senses him, turns as well, and smiles. He reaches out a hand, and Din takes it.

His life could have gone very differently, he muses. They could never have met, ships that pass in the black. Luke could have given Grogu some terrible choice to make, they might have never spoken. But that didn’t happen, did it? No, despite everything, all the improbabilities of the galaxy, they’ve found each other. That’s all they really need, after all.