Chapter Text
The hovel-- small and pale, with a perfectly domed top-- is far from the closest town. By the time Din stops his speeder and takes in his surroundings, he hasn’t passed another soul for hours, and the sky has faded from its midday blazing blue to something softer, gentler. It’s for the best , he tries to convince himself as he looks around, taking in the dry desert air, the solitude of the spot. He didn’t want any distractions.
Jedha. The wellspring of the force. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but as Din observes what will be his home for the time being, he can’t help but feel a wave of apprehension fall over him. This part of being a Jedi-- the meditation, the reflection, connecting to the force-- had always been hard for him. He was much more inclined towards acting on his feelings, not thinking about them. But still. He was here for that exact reason.
He knows the council had been relieved when he was the one who brought up the idea of this retreat, of returning to the Jedi’s roots. They wouldn’t have made him come. But he was sure at some point they would pressure him to. It was better for him to get it out of the way and come on his own accord, sparing some awkwardness between them. And I could use time to reflect , he admits to himself as he steps off his speeder.
He hasn’t brought much-- a spare change of clothes, basic foodstuffs, his lightsaber. Din was used to living with little. His temple was known for its rather austere manner of life, and the lessons Din learned as a youngling have stuck with him over the years. When Din had traveled to Coruscant to speak with the council, the grandness of it-- the high, vaulted ceilings, the looming statues, the rich fabric of the Masters’ robes-- had unnerved him.
“Us Jedi live through the Force in different ways,” a thin Togruta, perhaps sensing his unease, had told him. “You are from the temple on Nevarro, correct? It must be beautiful there, to be so close to nature.”
Din understood her point-- appearances were not everything, and it was unbecoming of a Jedi to be judgmental of his peers. Yes, Coruscant was gilded in luxury and power, but the Jedi here could not feel the warmth of the earth beneath them when they stepped outside, or reflect in the silence that came with the remoteness of Din’s temple. Din had always felt more comfortable out in nature away from others, and for this he was thankful that he was stationed where he was. He was not sure if his desire to be alone would be as accommodated in a place like this. Even where he was, it was viewed as strange, but his Master understood and allowed him to go out on missions mostly on his own, never imposing a Padawan onto him as he had one day feared she would.
No , he scolded himself, not fear . He viewed the idea of such a relationship with more reluctance than anything-- he could never see himself taking on the role of a Master of a caregiver. But if the day ever came, he would manage it, the way he managed all tasks thrown his way. Din was not one to express his displeasure, least of all to his Master, who took him in when he was a youngling and taught him in the ways of the Force.
Despite his current apprehension, he is pleased with the location of his retreat. It is not like Navarro, but Din doesn’t mind this. He has traveled to many planets on his missions and managed to find the beauty in all of them. This one was no different. He could still appreciate the nature of the planet, the solitude of his shelter. The absence of other life forms was peaceful, necessary. Din had a hard enough time connecting with the Force on his own. When he was in the temple on Navarro, it was nearly impossible-- he was always distracted by the emotions of others, by the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, by the training of Younglings in the courtyard out front.
Here, though, it should be different. It has to be different.
He brings his speeder to the side of the structure, where there is no path, just a cleared space around the border of it and then sand and rocks and a sharp drop off that rises again into another canyon not too far in the distance. Din unloads his pack from it, a rough and handmade thing that has been passed through many hands before falling into his own.
The inside of the hovel is as plain as the outside. There are three rooms, if you could call them that, all connected through sloped doorways without actual doors, save for what Din assumes is the fresher. A kitchen and eating area is the first thing Din sees when he steps in, and if he turns his head to the right he can see the bedroom, with its low bed with cream colored sheets and past that, to the cleared off area in the back of the property that goes all the way to the sharp edge of the canyon. The meditation space, Din thinks warily. If this goes right, if he does what he is supposed to, that is where he will spend most of his time. That is where he should get his answers.
Later , he thinks, focusing instead on what is in front of him. The kitchen has a small counter and sink and an area for baking and cooking with fire as opposed to the electric heat that Din has seen on other planets. Indeed, it seemed as though the house was void of most modern tech-- aside from the soft lights above him and the running water, Din could not see much else. Again, that was fine with him. Droids made him jumpy at times.
He walks through the kitchen-- five steps long-- towards the bedroom. Aside from the bed there is an old metal chest and some carved out shelves along the wall by the small rectangular window, all of which could be used for storage. Din places his back down, removing the food first and bringing it to the kitchen, where it all together takes up less than one shelf of the wall near the oven. Hopefully I won’t need much more than this , Din thinks, frowning at how out of place the shiny, dried provision packs looked compared to the soft naturalness of the building.
He then folds his clothes and tucks them into a carved out ledge, not bothering with the chest, which would be too big for what he brought anyways. He is about to look to see if there is a broom hidden somewhere when he hears a knock on the front door, three sharp, loud raps.
Din stops. He reaches out with the Force on instinct, his breath caught in his chest. He didn’t like to be caught off guard, and he had been preparing himself for solitude-- so soon of an interruption was not at all expected. Who was out there? And how did they find this place?
He closes his eyes and focuses. He doesn’t feel any malice from the life form on the other side of the door, which helps him relax. He steps closer to it, wishing he could see who was on the other side. Maybe it was a townsperson? Unlikely , he thinks, remembering the long and windy path he had taken to get here. It would be difficult for many to manage the twists and turns laid that led here. It had taken Din’s connection with the Force to navigate his way here. Besides, Din was fairly certain few townspeople knew about it.
A Jedi, then? Din’s heart kicks in his chest, hopeful. Maybe they were calling him to come back. Perhaps there was a problem, a conflict, something that they needed his help for. Din knows he should not feel this way, but he also knows he would put off his retreat to help in a heartbeat. Action, helping others, solving physical problems-- raiders and pirates and beasts-- those were what Din excelled in. He liked being able to help. He liked being useful.
The knock comes again and Din blinks, realizing he was lost in thought. Unusual for him. Maybe this planet is already working on me , he thinks dryly as he finishes crossing the kitchen to open the door swiftly, squinting at the sudden onslaught of sunlight that poured into the dim house, outlining the figure of a man.
“Well hey there,” the man drawls, and without an ounce of hesitation he strolls past Din, a leather pack slung across his sharp shoulders brushing Din as he does so. Din steps aside on instinct, startled. The man is already standing in the middle of the kitchen, his head swiveling. Din can only see the back of him now-- tall, lanky, a too thin brown robe, the knot of a red scarf peeking over the collar of it, a lightsaber hanging low on his hip. He is not familiar, and Din feels tense again with what this implies. But a Jedi, Din tells himself. He shuts the door, then, casting them back into the comforting dimness of the lights strung up across the ceiling.
“Well, it ain’t exactly a castle,” the man is saying, as though they had been in the middle of a conversation, “but it’ll do. I think we can make it work. I mean, who knows how long we’ll be here?” The man is moving now, through the kitchen and into the bedroom, and Din trails behind him, a knot growing in his throat. The man drops his bag onto the bed, and a circle of dust surrounds it. “I may be in and out, y’know? You probably won’t even notice I’m here. Although some folks may disagree with that statement--”
“I’m sorry,” Din manages to get out, looking between the bag and the back of this man who he does not know. “I’m-- I thought I would be alone here,” he says slowly.
The man turns around, finally, and they lock eyes. Din feels, suddenly, as though the breath is knocked out of him, like something inside him, deep inside him, has finally locked into place, something that he didn’t even realize was not right. It’s fleeting, this feeling, and Din takes a step back without thinking, as if to protect himself from the intensity of it. Handsome , is the first thing Din manages to think coherently, and he is immediately annoyed with himself for thinking that. But it’s true. The man is handsome, with styled silver hair, bright eyes, a well trimmed beard. Older, Din notes, but not by too much. If they had grown up in the same temple, it was likely they would have been in some of the same classes.
The man is looking back at Din and smiling a little, in a twisted way, like he’s just been in on some sort of joke that has been bothering him for years, and the punchline isn’t as funny as he thought it would be. Din wonders if he felt what he just felt, but the man suddenly turns again, breaking eye contact, his movements jerky, as he starts to open his bag, scattering more dust onto the once spotless sheets. “Yeah,” he’s saying, lowly and half to himself as opposed to Din, who’s still trying to parse out what just happened between the two of them. Something did happen, right? He thinks, trying to gather his thoughts. That wasn’t-- that wasn’t nothing . But the man continues, his voice picking up speed and volume, smoothing out, like a pond recovering from a rock being thrown into its depths. “I was kind of a-- a last minute addition, let’s say. ‘Scuse me for barging in here like that, it was just… it was a long day of travel. Anyways, point being, it looks like we’re roommates for the time being.”
He’s unpacking , Din realizes, yanking out crumpled up clothes and piling them onto the bed. He’s telling the truth . The man had no reason to lie. Din blinks, a bit dazed. This-- this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be here alone. He wanted to be here alone, and the arrival of this man left him feeling agitated, off kilter. This was the kind of Jedi that Din would have avoided otherwise-- loud, brash, too sure in themselves and their positions.
The man pulls out the last of his clothes, adding them to the small pile on the bed. Unless he has more to unpack on whatever he took to get here, it looks as though he hasn’t packed much, either. He turns around again, running a hand through his hair, his face falling automatically into a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, one brow quirked upwards as if to silently convey how did we get into this mess, huh? He has a mole under his left eye, Din notes, and he isn’t sure why he files that away for later. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
“I’m Cobb, by the way,” the man says, and he reaches out a hand for Din to shake. “Cobb Vanth.” Again, almost by instinct, it seems, he flashes Din a grin along with his name, a grin that splits open his face and makes his eyes sparkle, just for a moment. Din has seen looks like that before on other Jedis, Jedis who let their charisma dominate the situation, Jedi who think that batting their eyes to the right people can diffuse any situation, Jedi who got their way more often than not. Din hesitantly reaches out, and Cobb grasps his hand and shakes it once then lets their grip linger a bit, until Din finally pulls his hand back, suddenly self conscious.
Din was not like those Jedis. When he was a youngling, he always had trouble pushing past his shyness to connect with others. Now that he was older, he was more confident in himself, but no less wary of others-- years of being the one to stand in the corner while others his age managed to converse and joke and laugh with ease has left him defensive around strangers, especially those who were like the younglings Din could never be like growing up. At his temple, he had been safe, among those who he knew and trusted and could be around. Now, suddenly, he is on edge again, feeling like between the two of them he is the defected Jedi, the one who never should have made it this far. What Jedi does not seek company? What Jedi skirts away from others like a Tooka to water?
Din can already tell that when people picture Jedi, it is Cobb’s face that they imagine. Someone who can stand up straight and look you in the eye and smile like they mean it, someone who glows with the Force, who draws you in without you noticing. Next to him, Din feels insignificant, small.
It doesn’t matter, though , Din tells himself. A Jedi should not compare oneself to others-- we are all different.
Din ties to clear his mind, closing his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When he opens them Cobb is looking at him, one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth curled up in amusement. Din knows that Jedi cannot read one another’s thoughts, but he suddenly feels as though Cobb had opened up his mind and looked inside and found it not to be the least bit impressive.
This isn’t what I wanted , Din thinks, feeling strangely at a loss. He wanted no distractions. That was the goal, the whole point of coming all the way out here. How was he supposed to connect with the Force while this man was here with him? Or perhaps this a test sent by the Force, something made to challenge him, to test his conviction?
Either way , Din thinks sternly, there was nothing to be done about it . Don’t complain-- how many times had that been drilled into his head by his Master as he trained? Him and Cobb were both here for the same thing. Meditation and reflection. That was what this sanctuary was for, and Din had no right to claim it any more than Cobb did.
“You got a name, partner?” Cobb asks after a moment, as if sensing Din had managed to calm himself. Din bristles, realizing that Cobb likely had sensed Din calming down.
Din is tempted, out of uncharacteristic pettiness, not to say it. Reason quickly rules out.
“Din,” he replies shortly, starting to turn away from the other. His thoughts are finally coming back to himself-- there are two of us now. The house would have to be set up for two. It didn’t look like Cobb had brought his own food-- would Din’s last the two of them for their time here? Din starts to make a mental tally in his head of what he has brought, starts to re-plan the next few days, when he is interrupted by Cobb’s voice, far too close to his ear.
“Just Din?”
Din flinches, turning his head to frown at Cobb, who blinks back at him innocently. Din can feel how pleased the man is to get this reaction out of him, and Din tries not to let his annoyance flair up again. There are two of us now. We must get along. Still, Din needs to swallow down the bitter taste in his mouth before he replies. “Din Djarin.”
“Din Djarin,” Cobb repeats, drawing out the name, twisting the name like taffy in his mouth. Din huffs and moves on, back into the kitchen, where he eyes the rations he brought. He’s trying to focus on them, but his mind is replaying Cobb’s voice in his head, saying his name over and over again, Din Djarin, Din Djarin, Din Djarin . Din can’t quite place his accent, but the way he speaks makes it sound like honey is coating each of his words, making them sweet. Alluring.
Perhaps some trick of the Force, Din thinks. He has seen other Jedi do incredible things with it, who’s to say that one can’t infuse their speech with it? If it was meant to be comforting, it had the opposite effect. Din draws his shoulders tight as he counts the packs with his hands, although he already knows how many he brought. Still, it’s something he can do to occupy himself and face away from Cobb, who has followed him into the room, so close that Din feels claustrophobic. Din can sense him, perched on the counter right behind him, his long legs brushing the back of Din’s knees. He’s trying to annoy yo u, Din reminds himself, and he’s thrown back to the days when he was the plaything of younglings like Cobb who thought it was funny to poke fun at the only one of them who had trouble speaking for the longest time.
Don’t let him get to you , Din thinks, counting up the packages again. At least we’re both human, so they should eat the same amount. At twenty packs, two packs a day…
“What’re you doing there, partner?” Cobb asks after Din goes through the packs at least three times, and Din frowns, half turning to look at him.
“Counting our food. It doesn’t look like you brought any?” It’s said like a question, but Din can already see the answer in Cobb’s face.
Cobb’s eyes go past Din, taking in what he was counting. He wrinkles his nose. “That’s what you brought to eat?” He asks, and Din rolls his eyes, turning back to place the packs back on the shelf.
“They provide sufficient nutrients.”
“This is a travesty,” Cobb says flatly, sliding off the counter and snatching one of the packs, squinting at it. Din sucks in his cheeks and resists the urge to roll his eyes again. He shouldn’t be talking if he didn’t bother to bring anything , he thinks to himself, quickly straightening the pack once Cobb tossed it back with the others. “Tomorrow we’ll go into town and get some real food.”
Din turns, and Cobb has slid into a seat at the carved out table in the center of the room. “We’re supposed to stay here.” Seclusion, isolation-- being apart from others was why they built this so far from others. To force Jedi to reflect and turn inwards instead of distracting themselves with material matters. The food should last us a few days at least, anyways. Enough time to make a list, and then we could perhaps send someone early, to go to the Market before there are too many customers. There was no reason to go now, when they had food, when they still had a lot to do-- the floors and bed needed cleaning, as did the space outside, which had accumulated a layer of sand and dust that Din was sure would cling to their robes for weeks. Din hadn’t seen a way to wash their clothes before, or to place their waste, so they would have to look for those, and if they couldn’t find them they would need to pick those up from the market, too-- a bucket, perhaps, for washing, and a small incinerator for trash? Or would it be better--
“Aw, c’mon now,” Cobb snorts, interrupting Din’s trail of thought. Din can once again feel the other’s amusement through the force. “We ain’t Padawans anymore. We can come and go as we please.”
Din cheeks flush a bit, something he never had control over. Din knows that they aren’t Padawans anymore. He does . But he also knows that he’s right, that they’re not supposed to leave, especially for frivolous reasons like being picky about food.
The sun is setting outside, casting long shadows through the room.
“Fine, then,” Cobb says after a moment, annoyance lacing his tone. “I guess I’ll go alone.”
Fine , then, Din thinks in his own head. If Cobb hoped to find a distraction in Din, he would be sorely disappointed. Din wasn’t leaving until he had his answers, and he wasn’t about to let a last minute change throw him off, no matter how tempting it was. He had a duty, and he would stick to it.
They share the bread and some heated up protein packs for dinner. Cobb makes a big show of wrinkling his nose as he takes a bite, something Din finds to be rude and childish. The packs got the job done, and that was what mattered. Afterwards they clean up together, and Din swears that Cobb stays half a step too close on purpose, his elbow rubbing up against Din’s everytime he moves to wash a dish and wipe down the serving area, his toes under Din’s whenever he takes a step to the side. It’s annoying, and again Din is sure that’s what Cobb is aiming for.
It could be in my head, though , Din admits to himself. The space is small, clearly meant for one Jedi at a time. But he’s sure that two have managed here before, and they would too.
By then the sun had set and darkness had washed over the house. Din is tired from the journey, tired from over-thinking, tired of worrying, and already tired of Cobb, who is humming under his breath as he paws through his bags, eventually tugging out a pair of sleep clothes. Din watches as Cobb throws a glance at the bed, sizing it up. “Hope you don’t mind sharing, partner.”
“Should I?” Din had bunked with many other Jedi before from the time he was a youngling. He pulls out his own pair of sleep clothes, long pants and long sleeves in comparison to Cobb’s light cropped pair. Yes, the bed was small for two, but they would have to make do. Din wonders if this is Cobb's way of asking him to sleep outside, and he tries not to bristle at the thought.
Cobb tosses him a grin and a sharp, though, halfway between pulling off his shirt. Din’s eyes drop, almost against his will, to take in the stretch of skin now showing above Cobb’s waistband. He can see a silver trail leading downwards, and suddenly his mouth turns dry. He quickly turns away, changing while facing the bare wall instead. Why did he do that? He wasn’t a youngling anymore. The days of lust, of awkward fumbling and guilty whispers were over. Din hasn’t even thought of such things in years. Strange. Strange and unwelcome.
If Cobb notices Din’s change in demeanor, he says nothing as he pads over to the bed. “I gotta warn you, I run cold.” He slips in easily, already taking up more than half the bed. Din frowns, quickly finishing changing into his own clothes. It could be his imagination, but it feels as though Cobb’s eyes are on him the whole time, his gaze so heavy it felt nearly physical. But when Din turns back around, Cobb is facing the wall, his thin shoulders poking out of the blankets. “Turn off the lights, will ya?”
Din sighs and does so before walking over and crawling into bed beside him. Cobb courteously shuffles over a bit before stopping and reversing his movements. “Holy shit. You’re hot.”
Din freezes, his cheeks warming. He thanks the Force for the fact that Cobb can’t see his no doubt ridiculous expression in the darkness. “I’m what?”
“Hot,” Cobb repeats, and it isn’t until Din feels Cobb shoving his freezing toes against his legs does he understand what he means. “Like a kriffing furnace. Must be nice.” Cobb sounds wistful. He doesn’t move his feet, which are sending bolts of electricity through Din’s legs, even through the layer of clothing between them.
Din stays as still as he can, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Yes, he had shared beds with others before, but those in his temple always understood the need for space. Cobb clearly did not. Still, exhaustion ebbs at him, and Din had always been good at sleeping in uncomfortable environments. “A gift,” Paz had sarcastically called it before. Soon enough Din feels himself drifting, cold feet ignored, Cobb already asleep beside him, and when he opens his eyes again, it’s morning.
The first thing he realizes is that Cobb is not in the bed anymore. This surprises him-- Din is usually the first one up among those he knows, and even if he’s not, he’s a light enough sleeper that someone else waking up, especially if they’re right beside him, should have woken him too. The second thing he realizes is that he can smell caff. He sits up and turns to look at the kitchen, where he can see Cobb moving around, his slim figure disappearing and reappearing in the round door frame as he bustles about. Where did he get caff from? Din had certainly not brought any. In his temple, it was seen as a luxury, not a necessity. And Din was not a man for luxury. Still, the smell intoxicates him and pushes him out of the empty bed.
Din gets up and gets dressed, pulling on his gray robes and attaching his saber to his belt. He walks into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sunlight is already pouring in, casting a red haze over the house. Cobb half turns from where he’s standing over the counter, flashing him a grin. “Mornin’ gorgeous.”
Din runs a head through his tangled hair, self conscious. He chooses to peer over at what Cobb’s working on instead of responding. He sees that he was in the middle of cutting what looked like a sort of root. When he swivels his head, Din can also see that the kitchen is now full of food that was not there last night. “You already went to the market?”
Cobb turns back around, lifting up one shoulder in a half shrug. “I was already up. Besides, I didn’t want to waste any of my time here with you.” He raises an eyebrow suggestively, and Din leans back, suddenly realizing how close he’s gotten to the other. Cobb lets out a snort and turns back around to his work.
Din wonders how many people fell for Cobb’s teasing. He bites back a response in favor of looking over at the pot of caff on the counter. It would go to waste if I didn't drink some , he reasons. And perhaps it would help wake him up and allow him to focus more on his questions. Din reaches out, then stops.
“Can I--?”
Cobb waves a dismissive hand. “Help yourself.” Din does, feeling strange. For years now he was the one in charge of things like this. Of providing food, of helping to prepare it, of ensuring that others ate first. When it was just him, he never bothered with things like this-- he would eat energy bars when needed and eat mostly pre-packaged food. He couldn’t even remember the last time someone had gotten up before him to prepare something for him, even if it was just caff.
Well, not for me , he scolds himself. Cobb likely would have done the same if he was alone. Din just happened to be here too. Din wondered if Cobb knew that another person would be here when he came. He had said it was a last minute change. What did that mean? Where was he from? And why was he here?
Din sips his caff, closing his eyes and savoring it. There was no use dwelling on such questions. Cobb said that he may not be here long, anyways. Perhaps his problem was not as perplexing as Din’s. Perhaps he was better at meditating and connecting to the force and would find his answer sooner. Then Din could be alone, like he was hoping to be.
Cobb sits down across from him a few minutes later, two bowls in his hands. “Enjoy,” he says, pushing one over to Din. Din pulls it closer, savoring the warmth of the bowl in his hands.
“Thank you.” The food looks good-- it’s a mixture of the diced roots and eggs and a thick piece of round bread that Din did not recognize. He spoons the food onto the bread and takes a bite, looking up in the middle to see Cobb staring at him.
“What?” He asks.
“Just tryin’ to see if you like it.” Cobb’s smile is disarming, but Din can’t help but feel on edge, as if he’s being made fun of. He fiddles with his hands, reaching for a cloth to wipe them off on before responding.
“It’s fine.”
“Just fine?”
Definitely being made fun o f, Din thinks, and he feels as though he’s been caught in some sort of trap. “It’s-- good.”
He waits for Cobb to say something else-- a jab or a sly comment or anything that was crafted in order to make Din feel stupid. But instead Cobb looks pleased with himself and goes back to eating himself, wolfing down the food with vigor.
Din hesitates, then begins to eat his own food again, not as fast as Cobb but as efficiently as possible. He didn’t want to waste daylight on food. He wanted his answers.
When they’ve both finished and Din begins to gather the plates used in order for them to be cleaned, Cobb leans against the counter next to him, watching as he rubs the soaped cloth over the dishes. Again, Din has the feeling that his gaze is so strong it covers him like a blanket, something that covers him in a manner that’s nearly suffocating. Din focuses on the movement of his hands, trying to clear his mind. You’re overthinking again , he scolds himself. Cobb is just watching me-- nothing else. After a few minutes in silence Cobb edges closer. His shirt has ridden up slightly against the counter, and Din can see the edge of his hip poking out. He concentrates more on not turning to look at it than he does on the dishes, his cheeks warming up.
Why am I thinking like this? About him of all people? Yes, Cobb was attractive. Din couldn’t deny that. But so were many other people Din has worked with over the years, and he never blushed at seeing a peek of their skin before. It’s because I’m stressed, he reasoned. I’m stressed and looking for ways to relieve that stress. And since I can’t fight, my mind is resorting to this . Yes, that had to be it.
“So,” Cobb drawls once Din finished the last plate. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Din rinses his hands of the suds and dries them, neatly folding the towel after. He casts a critical eye around the hovel- they hadn’t cleaned last night, and in the morning light the dust and sand are even more obvious. “We should clean, before anything.” He tries to tell himself that he’s not buying himself time. Cobb looks disheartened at this but agrees, and lets Din dictate where to start. Soon they’re both surrounded by clouds of dust, and the familiar act of cleaning, of making things look the way they’re supposed to.
By the time they’re finished Cobb announces it’s time for lunch, and Din leaves him in the kitchen to step outside. He usually doesn’t partake in lunch- or any regular mealtimes. He ate when he was hungry and that was it. But he complies when Cobb calls him in, and he admits, again, that the food is good after Cobb prompts him too, and he’s left, again, feeling like a joke has been made that he wasn’t let in on. He cleans up, again, after lunch, and Cobb announces he’s going to explore the area, leaving it open ended. Din avoids his eyes and stares out the back, to the mediation spot. There was no point in putting it off any longer. Cobb follows his gaze and snorts, causing Din to feel rankled, defensive.
“I’m here to meditate. To connect with the force.” Not explore , he adds silently.
“Suit yourself,” Cobb says dismissively. He, unlike Din, does not seem concerned with reflection. Din wonders why the other was here. Was he sent here? Encouraged to come? Did he come on his own volition- did he view this as a kind of Jedi approved vacation? Din isn’t sure and doesn’t feel comfortable enough to ask. He can’t see, on the surface at least, why a Jedi like Cobb would need to be here.
In the end Cobb leaves, and Din stays, sitting on the hard ground and trying to enjoy the feeling of being alone. Cobb had left on foot, his steps slowly fading away, and Din tries- he really does- to use the solitude to his advantage. He closes his eyes and he can feel the force around him- in the earth beneath him, in the sound of the wind, the distant call of creatures he could not name. It’s right there. A fountain, a spring, bubbling up and flowing around him. But he can’t connect. He can’t lose himself in it, let himself wade in and be taken under. His mind is distracted, being pulled in different directions. He thinks of his Master, his temple- what is happening now? Was his Master thinking of him, was someone in the local town in need, did anyone wish he was there to help, even if it was just to help move training mats back inside or to sweep down the kitchen after their evening meal? His mind then goes to Coruscant, to the temple there. What were the younglings doing now? Were they going through drills, or sleeping, or being shown maps of the galaxy? Din could picture them all sitting there, the stars reflected in their wide innocent eyes. His mind turns back to Jedha- what was Cobb doing now? Climbing a canyon, exploring the wildlife, talking to locals-- Din’s eyes snap open in frustration. He just couldn’t focus.
And he couldn’t focus the next day. Or the next. He and Cobb fall into an unsteady routine. It is quickly discovered that Cobb is much better in the kitchen, and as Cobb refuses to eat the ration bars he volunteers to cook for them. Din is too awkward to say no, and the food is good, so Din instead takes over cleaning, which suits him better anyways. He always liked this chore back at his home temple, even when he outgrew the requirement to stay back and clean. It usually bought him precious time alone, time where he didn’t have to be on his guard, where he didn’t constantly feel on edge and wary.
Yet every day, Cobb stays behind and watches Din, as if he’s expecting him to do a trick. And every day Din tells Cobb that he’s meditating, and Cobb gives the same reaction, a kind of contemptuous tilt of the head, a look that says really?
And Din is frustrated. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn’t want to sit on the ground for hours, trying desperately to do something that comes so naturally to others. And he still doesn’t know why Cobb is here. Cobb has given no indication of it- in fact he seems content to do trivial things day in and day out. He frequents the nearby town, and takes long, leisurely strolls, he experiments in the kitchen and takes naps and, above all, watches. Whenever Cobb is there, Din can feel it. He’s not sure why, and whenever he looks Cobb’s eyes are averted, looking somewhere else, and there’s no indication on his face that he was ever doing anything different. Din’s not sure why Cobb is doing it, and it unnerves him, so there’s a constant tension between the two of them that charges every interaction, a pile of kindle growing, just waiting for a spark.
Again and again and again. Breakfast, clean, meditate. Lunch, clean, mediate. Dinner, clean, sleep. And above it all, Cobb, watching, waiting, always slightly amused, always slightly frustrated, like day in and day out Din is repeatedly disappointing him. As if Din wasn’t already disappointed enough in himself.
Breakfast, again. Flat bread and fresh, jewel colored vegetables. Din thanks Cobb flatly, already dreading the long hours ahead. The hard ground, the endless flow of questions, the neverending frustration. Would Cobb stay today, or would he go?
Cobb asks the same question, to be expected now: “What’s the plan today, partner?”
Din is holding the last plate, inspecting it for lingering food or wayward dust. He lowers his head towards it so Cobb can’t see the tenseness in his jaw. “Meditating.”
Cobb frowns, pushing off the counter to follow Din as he heads towards the back of the house. This is new. There’s something in Cobb’s gait that betrays a sense of restlessness, impatience. Towards what, Din thinks. Him? Their routine? The planet? “C’mon, partner. Don’t get me wrong, but you don’t really seem like the meditating type.”
“That’s why I’m here. To meditate and seek answers from the force,” Din reminds him flatly. The morning sun has cast dramatic shadows across the canyon in front of them, and Din takes a moment to appreciate the beauty of it, to try and focus on that instead of his blind frustration. He can feel the force here, more than he’s been able to anywhere else. It’s like the planet is alive, humming underneath them, brimming with knowledge and answers. Din picks a spot and sits down.
“But--”
“Do what you want,” Din snaps, annoyed. He presses his lips together to keep from saying anything else. Why was Cobb trying to distract him? Why was Cobb here if he wasn’t going to take this seriously? It wasn’t like Din wanted to do this. To be here. He wanted-- Well. What he wanted was dangerous. It was why he was here in the first place. It was his way of trying to redeem himself under his Master’s eyes. “I’m going to meditate.”
Cobb lets out a huff then turns on his heel and goes back inside. Din feels the same sinking feeling of failing a test he didn’t know about, but he turns and ignores both the feeling and Cobb both. Din can hear him moving around the house, then the sound of one of the speedbikes starting up. Soon after, he can feel more than see Cobb leaving, his form deftly moving around the sharp twists and turns to head back to town. Din sighs, relieved. Just think of it as another test from the force. A test to show how dedicated you are , Din tells himself as he gets himself into position, crossing his legs and placing his hands on his knees.
Every Jedi connects to the Force in a different way. Every Jedi visualizes the Force in a different way, too. When Din connects to the Force, he feels like he’s floating in space. There are stars and planets and asteroids around him, each one representing a life force. His fellow Jedi glow the brightest, twinkling in the distance, forming constellations around him, connecting himself to them. It’s beautiful.
When the Force is responsive to him, he’s guided along. It’s like he’s in a ship, safe, protected, heading towards a destination. When he has trouble hearing what the Force has to say, it feels as though he’s been untethered and left behind, floating, lost.
He can never control it. The Force is what guides him, and he can’t summon it or bend it to his will. But he can do some things to help. He can clear his mind, settle his emotions, try to focus-- but none of that came easily to him. Being on Jedha didn’t change this as easily as he was hoping.
Din furrows his brow, closes his eyes, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he’s surrounded by stars. Focus , he tells himself, over and over, afraid of letting his connection slip, but he can’t quiet his mind, he can’t grasp the solid connection that others claim to have. Did I do the right thing? Should I even be here? Why am I here?
These questions surround him, making him feel untethered, disoriented. He watches as the galaxy floats past him, but he feels powerless to reach it. Please tell me I’m doing the right thing. Tell me I made the right decision. I know I did. I must have. Please--
Din feels as though he’s caught by something, and he’s abruptly pulled forward, the stars rushing past him, blurring around the edges. But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like it does when he’s suddenly given a direction, a destination. When he can finally take in his surroundings, his heart drops. It looks as though he’s been pulled even further. The stars that had been his backdrop are suddenly so distant they look like pinpricks. Around him is darkness, overwhelming, crushing. Din is suddenly cold, too cold. Panic begins to build. He’s never-- he’s never felt this far before.
“Please,” he says out, unsure if he’s speaking in his head or out loud, desperation lacing his words. “I don’t understand, what do you want me to--”
There’s something on his shoulder, so hot it feels like it’s burning him, and he feels as though he’s free falling, being engulfed, surrounded, and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t--
And then he blinks and he’s staring up at Cobb, who’s bending over him, his hand on his shoulder, his fingers tense. “You alright partner?”
He looks worried, Din thinks distantly. He feels strange and wrought out. His thoughts fly, trying to make sense of where he was, how he got here. What was that? That-- that had never happened before. He had never felt that way connecting to the Force, ever. He’s shaken in a way that reaches his core, in a way that deeply unsettles him. Had that been the answer to his dilemma? Or a warning?
“Din?” How long has Cobb been waiting for a response? Din isn’t sure. He’s glad, suddenly, for the familiarity of the other, although they had just met. “Din.” Less of a question this time. Din knows he should respond.
Cobb ushers him up, holding onto his arms to steady him. Din thinks, in the back of his head, how natural that feels. In their tight living space it felt as though Cobb was always brushing up against him, and at night Cobb had no qualms against using Din as a heat source. Din normally hated the feeling of someone touching him, but with Cobb it had become routine, almost expected.
Din is shivering, and he realizes that the sun has already gone down. Have I been meditating for that long? He feels no better now that he’s managed to succeed.
Without him realizing it, Cobb had herded him into the hovel and into the bedroom. Cobb pushes him down onto the bed and leaves into the kitchen. Din wraps his arms around himself and takes deep breaths, gathering himself. What was the Force trying to tell him? He didn’t understand. He had thought that being here would have made things clearer, but now he was more confused. Why did he feel so distant when he was at one place that should be giving him answers?
Cobb comes back in with a mug of something hot and sweet smelling and sits down next to Din. “Drink.” Din complies, the warmth of it grounding him. He savors the taste of it, unfamiliar yet comforting.
“What time did you get back?” He asks finally, his voice hoarse. He winces and takes another sip.
Cobb squints at him then sits next to him on the bed, so close that their knees brush. Instead of being annoyed, Din focuses on the feeling, the contact with another Force sensitive being soothing his nerves. The Force didn’t abandon me , he tells himself. He knows this. He can still feel it in him, running through his veins, connecting him to the world around him. But he can’t help but feel as though he’s done something wrong as though he’s taken a step in the wrong direction.
“I got back a while ago,” Cobb says finally. “I left because-- well, I grabbed those.” He gestures towards what looks like two cushions that are stacked against the wall next to the bed, both dusty shades of red. “I thought they might make it more comfortable for us to meditate. Then I came back and you seemed like you were really concentratin’, so I went back in here and then I heard you shouting so…” Cobb trails off with a shrug. Din waits for him to press Din for details, but he doesn’t. Instead he begins humming a tune under his breath, something calming and no doubt meant for children, but it was comforting.
If Din was more himself, he probably would have been embarrassed, defensive. As it was, he could recognize that Cobb seemed to be genuinely concerned. It was-- it was nice. Din takes another sip of his drink, closing his eyes, mulling over what happened.
Was it because I was too emotional? Din had tried to calm his emotions beforehand, but the whole reason that he was here was because of a rash decision he had made going off of emotions. He couldn’t help the wave of feelings that came over him when he thought of his dilemma-- anxiety, yearning, and, perhaps the most frightening one, love. He had hoped that being here would provide him with a clear path to escape these feelings, but now he felt farther than ever from the answer. He pictures the blackness of the galaxy again and feels cold.
There’s nothing to do but to try again, he decides reluctantly. But the thought of being back there again, being swallowed by the darkness-- well, Din didn’t want to try again any time soon. This is what you’re here fo r, he reminded himself sternly. But there was no time frame for him being here. He could afford to take his time, if he wanted to. But I don’t want to , he thinks restlessly. He wanted to be in and out as fast as possible. He had already been here longer than planned.
He finishes the drink and, without asking, Cobb scoops the mug from his hand and brings it to the sink. Din can hear him humming as he washes it, the sound of the running water mixing well with his low voice. When he comes back, Din looks up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re feeling better now?” It was said as a question, but Din could see that even Cobb was more relaxed now, the sharp line of his shoulders smoothed out as he leans against the rounded doorway, his arms crossed. Din briefly wonders what he did all day if he was back so soon, but he can now see that parts of the house have been rearranged-- blankets that weren’t out before are now messily folded on the shelves near the bed, some bottles Din was certain contained something much stronger than water decorated the window, and the bed itself had gained two more pillows that Din knew were not there last night.
He’s procrastinating, Din thought, but he couldn’t help but feel amused. He understood that feeling. And besides, the hovel was certainly much more homey now. Does he plan on staying that long here? Or is he always like this? Cobb certainly had a distinct personality-- sly, brash, confident. Yet kind. Din could feel it. He feels suddenly embarrassed at his shortness the past few days, and he lowers his eyes to study the earthen floor.
“Yes. Thank you.”
Cobb smiles, and it’s not sharp or empty or entertained, it’s just warm and tinged with relief. “What do you say we turn in early.” And it’s that use of we again that brings Din’s mind back to what Cobb said earlier-- the pillows he had bought for us to meditate . Us, not Din. Din tries to parse out what that means and decides, quickly, that he’s not up to that tonight. Instead he hands Cobb his mug and changes while the other washes up. He would normally feel guilty for letting Cobb do all this. For letting him see Din at his weakest, for letting him lift him up, for letting him take care of him. Din never let anyone do any of those things. He could take care of himself, and he was proud of that, too. Yet-- he wasn’t sure what it was. Perhaps the fact that Cobb genuinely didn’t seem to mind, or that he was just so exhausted that he couldn’t put up a fight. But he couldn’t bring himself to mind. Instead he rolled over, and was asleep before Cobb came back to the room.
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In the morning, Din wakes to the now familiar and welcome scent of caff. For a moment he lets himself lay there, pushing off the feelings he knows he’ll have to deal with today. The dread of trying to parse out what the Force was trying to tell him, the frustration of another day here and not there, and….. And yet he felt no embarrassment. No age old defenses rising to protect himself from the vulnerability he felt last night. He decides not to question it.
In the kitchen, Cobb is finishing up breakfast. He serves it and says nothing about the night before. As Din eats, he can feel his gaze as he has before but-- something feels different. There’s less tension now between them, instead the feeling in the air is more cautious, more appraising than before. Din sips his caff and wonders what had changed, but doesn’t worry too much about it. After they eat he cleans, and Cobb takes his usual spot by Din, as always leaning just a bit too close. When Din is finished, he expects Cobb’s usual question, but instead Cobb tilts his head at him, his eyes assessing. “I don’t know about you, but I could go for a good old fashioned spar today. I feel like I’m fallin’ out of practice.”
It’s said with faux casualness, but Din can see it for what it is-- an excuse for Din to take a break, but also perhaps an excuse to spend time together outside of meals and chores. Din agrees, and Cobb gives Din another one of those smiles-- achingly real, genuinely pleased. Din lowers his head so that Cobb can’t see how his lips curl in response.
Din had always enjoyed sparring. He enjoyed being active, and when he wasn't on a mission, being useful, he always told himself he could at least practice to become better when he was called upon. His temple, like most now, was a station on a planet that was placed there with the express purpose of building a relationship with the citizens of the planet, of being a force of peace outside the law while showing citizens that Jedi were there for them, that they could be trusted, that they weren’t just tales from another side of the galaxy. Since Din was a youngling, he had been sent on missions to help those around him, and he thrived on these. There was something in him, something he couldn’t control, that desperately sought other’s approval as a means to fit in. He had been brought in as a foundling later than others, and since then he had always felt like he was on the outside of his group of foundlings, like if he made one wrong move he would be sent back.
He had discovered from a young age that he was good with his saber. It made sense- his saber was, in a way, how he came to be a Jedi in the first place. Sparring was how Din found his place among the others. It was the first inkling of talent he showed. He could easily hold his own against other younglings twice his size, and he looked forward to their lessons, to the opportunity to prove himself over and over and over again.
Cobb leads the way outside, rolling his shoulders. The sun is still soft in the sky, and the heat is manageable. Cobb takes his saber from his belt, spinning it casually. Din’s eyes can’t help but trace the way Cobb’s fingers, long and thin, wrap around the hilt before he ignites it.
He has to avert his eyes, his cheeks warming, and he busies himself with taking off his own saber from his belt. When he turns back, Cobb is grinning at him with an amused air, amused but-- but perhaps not as mocking as Din had thought.
Cobb’s saber is blue, bright and clear, like the sky at midday. It suits him, Din thinks. There’s something about Cobb that is reminiscent of a bright, hot day, like Cobb is the sun and everything around him-- the shade of his lightsaber, his sun faded robes, the warmth of his shirt-- reflected that.
Din takes his lightsaber out and ignites it with much less fanfare. Cobb raises a brow at the color but says nothing.
They begin.
They both go slow at first, feeling the other out. Although Cobb is taller and leaner, Din is, or at least he has been told this, surprisingly quick, although he prefers to attack his combatants head on, a habit he adopted from his Master, who would wield her double yellow sabers with deadly accuracy directly at her opponent. It’s clear that Cobb favors a different school of combat-- he twirls his saber between hits, moving it fluidly between blocking and striking.
Once they have determined each other’s fighting styles, they pick up speed. Din allows himself to get lost in the familiar rhythm of it. Even though Cobb is a new combatant, Din can identify patterns in fighting styles easily, and he rises to meet Cobb’s blade with a naturalness that feels familiar, almost comforting.
The sun inches across the sky, and sweat begins to build on both of them. Eventually Din catches Cobb off balance, and a strategic hit of his own causes Cobb’s lightsaber to clatter, mid swing, to the ground, the blade extinguishing as it does so. Cobb, to Din’s surprise, let’s out a laugh.
“That was…” He’s panting. Din is too, he realizes, and it feels good. Cobb bends down to pick up his saber, and looks at Din with that assessing look again, still wearing an adrenaline fueled grin. “That was something, partner. Why do I have a feeling you were going easy on me?”
Din flushes as he tucks his saber away, running a hand self consciously through his hair, knowing that the damp curls were probably sticking up. Maybe he had held back a bit, to prolong the fight. Cobb perhaps reads this on his face and laughs again, a mixture of disbelief and delight. This time, Din doesn’t hide his own smile in return.
It feels good to make Cobb look so happy.
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They go inside to recover in the shade of the house. Cobb laments the fact that there's nothing cold to drink, but in the end they both settle happily for the water available, kept cool enough by the protection of the hovel. It isn’t until Din leans back, finished, that he realizes that he hasn’t thought about his experience with the force since that morning. It was early afternoon now, and when he looked out at the canyons the whole view waves like a mirage. On the other side of the table, Cobb kicks his feet up on the wall, tilting his head back, looking, Din thinks in surprise, more relaxed than he has been since he arrived.
Din considers going to meditate, but eventually rules against it. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever feeling has descended over them-- a kind of tentative peace. Eventually Cobb opens his eyes to squint at Din. “I have a proposition.”
Din looks at him to show that he’s listening, and Cobb’s eyes linger on him for so long that he has to avert his own, instead focusing on Cobb’s collarbone, which is visible now that he shed his robes and opened his collar a bit to cool off. Cobb clears his throat then continues. “The last few times I’ve been in town, I’ve had a few people come up to me. Happens all the time, you know, people coming to Jedi to solve problems. If I have time I stop to help, but I haven’t been getting myself into anything too messy.” Cobb drops his feet and turns back to face the table, to face Din. “Except I’ve been having a few people come up to me recently saying the same thing. I guess there’s a town a bit out there, a bit isolated, and some creature or other’s been terrorizing it. Coming at random times, destroying buildings. Snatched a kid.”
Din takes in a sharp breath, and Cobb pauses again, just a moment, before continuing. “I think it would be the right thing, of course, to go out there and help. But I don’t know if I can do it alone. So I was thinking…”
“When do we leave?”
Cobb pauses, and again, there’s that grin, the one that makes Din feel like maybe, for once in his life, he is doing something right.
“Well, no time like the present, huh?”
Din looks at Cobb in the eyes again, and feels that weight, almost familiar by now, still unsure but… but changing. Shifting into something new. Din nods, and Cobb holds out his hand to help him up.
Din takes it.