Archive of Our Own

Despite the low hum of insect life, the whistling of wind through the foliage and the clanking of ant droids, Ossus is quiet.

Not in the same way that Tatooine could be, it was fairly hard to replicate the complete and utter stillness that would wash over the Dune Sea. But still, life on Ossus is quieter than Luke had experienced in a long time.

He hadn’t minded at first, the planet was calm in a way that the rebellion hadn’t been. Maybe it was just Luke finally slowing down, finally being able to catch a breath and not worry about the looming threat of war and total annihilation. But Luke also couldn’t deny that the force did play a small part, too. There is a connection here, not as deep as he’d felt on Dagoba, but something calmer. More stable. Almost as if the force meanders around the planet in lazy ebbs and flows.

At least, that’s how it had originally felt.

In the beginning, when Luke regularly left the planet to track his ‘force feelings’ across the galaxy, Ossus didn’t feel so cut off from everything else. It also helped that Ahsoka dropped in from time to time, checking out whatever artefact he had found and staying for a couple of days to study it. She’s not always entirely receptive to all Luke’s questions about the force and how the old Order functioned, but she does humour him occasionally, and Luke finds that just having a sounding board for his ideas is almost enough.

Han makes the occasional stop-off, too, mostly to drop off supplies. But Luke is also pretty sure he uses his half-built house as some sort of refuge from whatever scrape he manages to get himself into. That or avoiding Leia’s wrath about said scrapes.

Speaking of Leia, she was the only one who’d never made it out to his new place, but he can’t hold it against her. He knows she’s swamped, holding together the already convoluted New Republic. And she always makes time to call, and that’s more than Luke could ask for.

However, as time goes on, Luke settles into his new life and increasingly foregoes his treks across the galaxy for rumoured artefacts in favour of wrangling droids and designing some sort of curriculum. His visitors dwindle off as well. Ahsoka has her own mission, and Luke doesn’t need supplies from Han as frequently anymore. Leia’s holocalls dip off as well, and he knows she feels guilty about postponing their calls, especially when they drop from three times a week to twice a week, then to once a fortnight. But Luke also understands, and he tries to tell her as much. He knows more than anyone about the turmoil twisting around in her head and about how hard it is to rebuild in the aftermath of complete destruction.

Luke doesn’t know why he’s complaining. The planet is practically perfect for his school. And soon enough, he’ll be too busy thinking about his students running around to contemplate everyone else’s lives moving on while he lies stagnant.

To prepare for his school, Luke develops a routine. During one of their late-night holocalls, Leia had told him all about how important habits and routines were, especially once the structure of military life disappeared. Even now, Luke can’t help but get the impression that she was, like always, hinting at something deeper, but regardless, it is good advice. Although he does find it funny that she could even imply that the rebellion had any sort of real structure at all.

His current routine is fairly loose; he would definitely have to refine and tailor it more when his school started up properly. But he designs his current routine as a sort of all-around approach to training and strengthening himself within the Jedi framework. Every day, before dawn, he stretches: to strengthen his body. After a breakfast of rations bars, he studies the numerous Jedi texts and artefacts he’d collected: to strengthen his mind. Then in the afternoons, he mediates in the various groves around his school: to recentre himself. And in the evenings, he makes a point of trying to cook, even though he knows he will never be as good as Aunt Beru. But he still feels his efforts are good enough to nourish and reward his body for all the hard work it put in throughout the day.

But some days are different. Some days, he just doesn’t see the point. What’s the point of following a routine if no one is around to see if you actually follow it? If you are the only one keeping score? What’s the point of trying to revive a dead order when no one really seems to want it back?

So, some days, he just doesn’t bother getting up. Especially on the days when the clicking of ant droids sounds a little bit too much like walkers, when the shouts of his friends still echo around his head even once he’s opened his eyes, and when phantom shocks still spark under his skin.

It’s why he didn’t particularly like staying on Chandrilla anymore. Hiding anything from Leia is a struggle, even without their force bond tattling on him. Leia had once sat him down for one of her very awkward and serious conversations (lectures) after his dreams had woken her three nights in a row. She’d told him all about how there were these steps that people follow, and all these people to talk to and things to take, but Luke doesn’t really see the point. He’s fine. It doesn’t happen all the time. He can manage it.

He’s fine.

On those weird days, instead of following his carefully planned-out routine, he spends the day lying on his stomach and tracing the patterns on the stone walls with his flesh fingers, feeling the rough stone grate against his skin as he releases his thoughts back into the force. He always tries to empty his mind, he really does, but sometimes the memories settle in like a thick miasma around his bones and seeps deep into his very being.

Luke knows he should get up, he knows he puts Artoo on edge. The first time it happened, Artoo’s beeping reminders of his routine got more and more frantic until the old droid began to whistle like a tea kettle. It had almost made him consider turning him off.

Almost.

The same thing happened the second time, and the third. But by the fourth time, Artoo seemed to learn that no amount of beeping out insults alternated with genuine concern would raise the Jedi from his bed. So now, the droid just leaves ration bars on the side table, followed by a series of beeps reminding Luke about the day’s tasks. Sometimes he attempts to make an effort on Artoo’s offering, leaving bars half-eaten on his side table. Most of the time, Luke returns them to their shelf in the kitchen the following morning.

But Luke is fine. It doesn’t happen all the time, and he can manage it when it does. He’s just taking a rest day. It’s normal.

Regardless of whether Luke is following his routine or not, he still has obligations he can’t ignore. Luckily, he’s managed to cut down his gala appearances to one or two a year. However, he still argues with Leia about that. She’d rather he did more, show his face to help the cause and all that, but Luke doesn’t really think he helps that much. More often than not, Luke thinks he just distracts from everything important as the other guests seem to trip over themselves to get a moment with the Jedi Master.

However, most of his meetings and consultations can be carried out over holocall. When the resistance forces evolved into the New Republic defence corps, Luke hadn’t followed, but he hadn’t exactly cut himself off from the branch either. Now he just fielded the occasional call about the odd situation that fell outside of the typical ex-imperial warlord and more into his particular jurisdiction.

It was during one of these calls that he’d first heard about Mando and his dealings with the New Republic. It was a particularly rare occasion where he’d been called up by Colonel Ward from the Adelphi base about some high-level imperials. Luke likes Colonel Ward. He’d never encountered her during the rebellion, but she is the sort of no-nonsense commander that he respected. That and he can tell that her calls are a last resort, unlike some of the other commanders.

Colonel Ward had mentioned offhandedly that one of their independent employees had a son like Luke. Once she’d divulged that he was a former bounty hunter, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. He still doesn’t know why he brought it up, it wasn’t like she had really cared anyway, but Luke found he couldn’t help but spill about that particular connection. Maybe he had just been feeling slightly nostalgic, it had been a couple of years since he’d seen his first and only padawan.

Apparently, Luke had given off the impression that he was more interested in his former padawan than he was, or maybe Colonel Ward had just felt sorry for him. Immediately after that holocall, Luke had received a comm code accompanied by coordinates labelled ‘Mando Home – Nevarro’, and he saved them both for later. It wasn’t a bad idea to have the codes on file, who knows when Luke might find use for them? Although he ultimately decides that he should save his first contact for when he has more time and a slightly clearer head.

Luke never calls.

--- .°˖✧*---

Luke doesn’t know how it happened, there’s no way some washed-up imp could land a hit on him.

He’d been asked by the New Republic to check out some backwater planet on the Outer Rim, something about some weird comm chatter and how the New Republic’s resources were already spread too thin. Really, it was more of a favour to Wedge than to the New Republic, given that he was the one who’d called him up and asked. However, as luck would have it, it had turned out there were a couple more imperial remnants hiding out in the ruins of the planet than anyone had previously thought.

A couple of imps should have been no problem for Luke, but he’s been off his game recently, both within the force and his own mind. Usually that wouldn’t matter, but Luke guesses that today it suddenly does.

He’d been deflecting blaster shots when one of the imps in worn plastoid armour had managed to sneak up on his blind spot and taken a swipe at his abdomen. It was just a quick slash, and Luke had turned his lightsaber on the man in the blink of an eye. But still, the imp shouldn’t have been able to get that close.

How hadn’t he sensed him approaching?

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, his mind unhelpfully prompts. Those dreams haunted him more often than not these days, those ones where sparks danced across his skin and that cold, dark voice echoed around his skull. And as Leia liked to constantly remind him, meditation is never a proper replacement for real sleep. Although staring blankly at the ceiling is hardly real meditation either.

Luckily, it is just a shallow gash. However, Luke still hisses as he pulls away the torn fabric to spray the area with some slightly expired bacta spray he’d dug out of the X-wing’s storage compartment. After climbing back into the cockpit with only a couple of pained grunts, Luke pulls up his saved coordinates. He is really starting to regret leaving Artoo behind, but the droid has a busted sensor that Luke hasn’t gotten around to scrounging up the parts to fix yet. Without the droid’s help, Luke is stuck flying manually, which he usually prefers anyway, but the throbbing pain in his stomach makes him second-guess plugging in the coordinates for Ossus. Especially if his senses are as dull as they apparently are. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t quite trust himself to make the flight back unscathed.

But he needs to get off this planet. Fast. He doesn’t particularly want to hang around to discover whatever backup those imps can scrounge up. Especially once someone catches wind of a Jedi sniffing around. So, he continues to flick through his directory.

Luke rules out Chandrilla almost immediately. It is just as far as Ossus, if not further, and he really does not want to even imagine the earful he’d receive from Leia. If she is even home. Maybe she is on that diplomatic trip to Mon Cala this week? Or was that last week? Luke can barely keep track of the days at the moment, let alone his sister’s ever-changing schedule.

There’s a New Republic base nearby, but Luke rules that out too. Landing at a base means getting checked out through their proper medical facility and all the official paperwork that involves, and he’d rather not have it on record that he got stabbed by an imp.

Luke hovers over the most recent set of saved coordinates. The planet is nearby, not as close as the base but closer than home. The only problem is that Luke has a feeling he won’t be particularly welcome. He probably shouldn’t even have these coordinates; he wasn’t even given them by the home’s owner.

Maybe Mando isn’t even home. Colonel Ward had mentioned he’d been rounding up imps for them, so it is completely likely that he’s off hunting them across the galaxy. Or maybe he is home, and he’ll try to shoot Luke on sight. It wouldn't surprise him. Luke showing up unannounced would surely only be interpreted as trouble in Mando’s eyes.

With how today is going, he’ll probably land a direct hit too.

Sighing, Luke admits that he doesn’t have many options either way. He’s never been to Nevarro before, but Mando must live in some sort of settlement. If he gets turned out, then surely there’s some sort of medics’ office nearby where Luke could get some fresh bacta and maybe a stim shot.

The trip is bearable, and the pain in his stomach settles into a dull ache that Luke decides he can live with. Really, a shallow gash is nothing on the scale of things. It’s definitely a lot easier to live with than, say, losing a hand. He has to admit that entering atmo is a little tricky, the turbulence jostles the wound, sending shooting pain across his abdomen that reverberates down his arms and legs. But he can’t focus on that, so he ignores the pain the best he can as he attempts to steady his ship before he nose-dives.

Eventually, the turbulence subsides and with it the worst of his pain. Releasing the breath he’d been holding, Luke soars over the volcanic fields as he follows the nav computer to where it displays Mando’s supposed home.

At least he was right about there being a settlement nearby, Luke thinks as he shoots by what looks like a small town. Maybe he should leave his ship there and walk up to Mando’s, just in case he is turned out. But a twinge of pain in his stomach makes up his mind for him. The nav computer indicates that Mando’s is still a way out of town, and the prospect of walking that far and aggravating the wound further is starting to sound less and less appealing.

Luckily, Luke spots what he assumes is Mando’s home, not far off in the distance. It’s nothing fancy that’s for sure, just a small prefab cabin with an old gunship docked beside it, but Luke’s not surprised. Mando does seem like the kind of man to value function above everything else.

The home is quiet when Luke lands. He makes sure to land a little further away from the home in an attempt to make the X-wing as visible as possible. Luke may not know many Mandalorians, but he knows enough to know that he doesn’t particularly want to sneak up on a fully armed man in his own home. Besides the braying of a pair of creatures out front, the area remains entirely still as Luke opens the cockpit.

It’s only once Luke pulls his helmet off and strains to pull himself up into a standing position that he finally notices the silver glint of armour appear from around the side of the cabin. Mando is alone when he rounds the corner, and judging by the way he bites out a strained “Master Skywalker” and the blaster pointed directly at Luke, he’s not happy to see the Jedi.

Guessing that Mando seems likely to shoot first and ask questions later, Luke pulls back the hand he’d had pressed over his stomach and raises them above his head in a weak attempt at a surrender motion. Strangely, his left hand feels weirdly sticky, and a quick glance to the side informs him that it’s covered in a little more blood than he’d originally anticipated.

Huh.

Maybe that bacta spray had been a little more expired than he’d thought.

Still, Luke keeps his hands raised, hoping Mando gets the message that he doesn’t mean the man any harm, just a bacta patch and maybe a chat and then he’ll be on his way. Vaguely, he notices the way Mando’s helmet snaps to his hand, then down to his stomach, but frankly, Luke is suddenly a little preoccupied. His entire attention snaps to the sudden rush of blood to his head, the overwhelming lightheaded feeling that follows, and the way the force sort of blinks out for a second. Mando and his blaster be dammed, Luke quickly plants his hands on the console in an attempt to steady his swaying body as he wills the ground to stop spinning.

Luke blinks, and suddenly the world twists upside down. There’s a weird pressure around his back, and looking down (up?) tells him that while his legs are still inside his cockpit, his body isn’t. He also notices that the weird pressure is a pair of arms pulling him out of said cockpit, but how the hell had Mando covered that much ground so fast?

Was someone else here?

Tilting his head to the side reveals that no, it is Mando pulling him from the cockpit. Had Luke blacked out for a second? Surely not, the gash wasn’t that bad.

Finally freeing Luke’s legs, Mando slowly lowers Luke until his feet hit solid ground, but he refuses to let go of Luke, keeping him trapped up against his chest.

“Do you think you can walk?” Mando asks, voice slightly less strained than his original greeting.

Luke only nods in response and tries to take a couple of steps away from the other man, but the whole endeavour proves entirely futile as Luke immediately pitches to the left. It’s only the hand gripped around his bicep that stops him from hitting the ground as the hand tightens almost painfully.

“So, no then,” Mando responds and lifts Luke’s arm as he ducks underneath it. To be honest, Luke is quite proud of the way he manages to bite back a scream as his skin pulls around the wound at the motion, but he also can’t deny that it’s really kriffing painful. “Come on, it’s not far.”

The pair shuffle the short distance from Luke’s ship, but by the time they reach the cabin, Luke is practically dragged across the threshold. Lucky the cabin is fairly small as it’s not much further to a small ‘fresher where Luke is unceremoniously dumped on the sonic floor.

Groaning, Luke watches as Mando rifles through a utilitarian cabinet and pulls out a reasonably sized med pack.

“You still with me, Master Skywalker?” Mando asks as he kneels beside him, opening the med pack and pulling out items Luke can’t seem to categorise.

While attempting to blink away some of the dizziness, Luke slides his gaze up to meet Mando’s T-visor. He gives him a slight nod before slowly realising that the man is probably waiting for verbal confirmation too. “Uh yep, yeah, mhmm. And it’s Luke, just Luke.”

“Okay, Luke, are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Kriffing imp,” Luke curses as he tips his head back against the sonic wall and then gestures vaguely at his abdomen. “Slashed me with a vibroknife.”

Without another word, Mando pulls a small blade from his stache of supplies and begins hacking away at Luke’s tunic. Luke can’t help but hiss as Mando carefully pulls the blood-matted fabric away from where it had stuck to his skin. Once the injury site is cleared, Mando pulls out a cloth and begins dabbing away at the blood staining his skin.

“It’s a pretty shallow cut,” Luke informs Mando, trying to be at least a little helpful while the other man does all the work. “Just slap a bacta patch on it, and I’ll be good to go.”

“Luke,” Mando pauses as he continues to prod at the wound, and Luke hears the hesitancy in his tone. “This isn’t a small gash.”

Luke peers down at his bare chest and at tacky blood slowly oozing from the clean slice slightly north-east of his belly button. His shirt lies in tatters around him, but still attached to his arms, and he can’t help but laugh at the weird fashion statement he’s making. Which he immediately regrets as the shaking of his chest further aggravates his wound.

“It’s fine, it’s not that bad.” Luke placates as he waves off Mando’s grip on his upper arm, which he’d grabbed during Luke’s impromptu laughing fit.

It's apparent that Mando is now ignoring Luke as he wordlessly continues to clean and disinfect the site. He’s never been particularly squeamish, you can’t really afford to be growing up on a planet like Tatooine, where most medical care is only slightly more advanced than a home remedy. But Luke still has to admit the growing pile of blood-soaked cloths, and the way his vision blurs slightly is starting to get a little concerning.

At least Mando is here to take care of him, an unsolicited thought points out.

He’s probably ruined Mando’s gloves, and he feels a little guilty at enjoying the way the soft leather brushes against his skin. He shouldn’t have come here. If only his own pride hadn’t stopped him from flying to that New Republic base.

“That should hold,” Mando’s voice breaks Luke out of his thoughts, and he peers down to watch stained gloves smooth a bacta patch over his abdomen. “Don’t have any of those fancy medic-grade patches, so you’ll need a fresh one in the morning.”

Absentmindedly, Luke nods along with Mando’s instructions and plants his hands and begins to push himself up off the floor. That is, until a large hand presses itself against his sternum with barely any pressure at all and causes Luke to collapse back against the sonic wall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Luke doesn’t know how an emotionless helmet manages to look so unimpressed, but somehow Mando makes it work.

“To my ship?”

“No.”

Even in his slightly altered mental state, Luke still manages to raise an eyebrow at him. The pain was subsiding now, and a little meditation in the hyperspace lanes would make Luke more than capable of flying back to Ossus.

“I’m sorry for dropping by unannounced, and thank you for cleaning up my injury,” Luke tries to adopt his best Jedi Master tone, the one he specifically uses for particularly difficult senators. “But I’ve imposed for too long, and I need to get back to my work.”

“Imposed for too long,” Mando scoffs under his breath. “Look, Master Skywalker-”

“Luke.”

“Okay, Luke, you almost bled out on my ‘fresher floor 10 minutes ago, and I don’t think you were completely conscious either.”

“I can still fly,” he protests. Really, he’s fine, it’s not as bad as Mando is making out. “Do you have a stim shot in there?”

“No, I don’t, and no, you can’t.” Without asking, Mando grips Luke under his arms and begins hauling him up off the floor. “You’re going to sleep here, and in the morning, I’ll change your bacta patch. And then we can decide whether you can fly or not.”

Brain still reeling from the change in position, Luke just nods in response to his instructions, but the motion only makes his sudden dizziness worse.

“Think you can walk?” Mando asks, still gripping him under both arms, and Luke nods again. Slowly, Mando repositions them both until Luke has one arm slung over his shoulder and Mando’s arm wrapped around his waist. And with heavy breathing and pained grunts on Luke’s end, the pair begin their slow trek out of the ‘fresher.

With his stab wound no longer a pressing emergency, Luke gets a chance to peer around at Mando’s home. It’s fairly small and utilitarian, with almost no decorations scattered around and the same beige colour scheme as his home back on Tatooine. But that doesn’t mean the home doesn’t look lived in. There's a basic kitchen across from the ‘fresher with dishes stacked next to the sink and a small dining table with two chairs, one of which is stacked with small storage crates and cushions. Maybe that chair is Grogu’s, Luke idly wonders.

“I put on some painkiller gel around the wound,” Mando informs him as they stumble across the floor and he subtly adjusts his hold on Luke. “But if you want to take some more, you’re going to need to eat something.”

Luke blanches at the thought of eating right now, his stomach feels all turned upside down, and he doesn’t know if he could get his hand to his mouth with how tired this short walk is making him. “No, I think I just need to sleep.”

Seeming to agree, Mando manoeuvres them both around to face the back of the small cabin. The whole cabin is completely open plan, and Luke notices the hastily made bed pushed up against the far wall. Bed as in singular.

“I can’t take your bed,” Luke complains and attempts to wriggle out of Mando’s hold, even on his unsteady feet. If Luke thought he was overstepping before, this was worse.

Ignoring him, Mando only grips Luke tighter and strongarms him over to the bed, where he places Luke down. He then turns and begins pulling out what Luke assumes is a change of clothes from one of the wall’s storage compartments.

“Stop moving, you're worse than Grogu,” instructs Mando as he attempts to get a shirt onto him and Luke futilely fights back. This is embarrassing. He doesn’t need help getting dressed.

Snatching the shirt off Mando, Luke slowly pulls it on. Yes, he does need a little help pulling it over his head, but other than that, he’s perfectly capable of putting it on on his own. “Where is Grogu?”

“He’s out playing with some of the kids from the school in town.” In front of him, Mando drops to his knees and begins unzipping and pulling off Luke’s boots with a sort of tender slowness that Luke definitely would’ve misinterpreted if it wasn’t for the stab wound. “I’ll go pick him up after you’ve gone to sleep and I’ve cleaned the ‘fresher.”

“It’s nice that he has friends.”

“Yeah,” Still kneeling on the floor, Mando then picks up the discarded pair of sleep pants and holds them out towards Luke. “Now, can you put these on yourself, or do I need to wrestle you into these too?”

Against his will, Luke feels his face heat up. “I don’t need to change-”

“Luke, you’re covered in blood.” Mando cuts him off.

Mortified, he snatches up the offered pants and begins to wiggle out of his blood-soaked trousers. He’s going to have to swear Mando to some sort of silence pact as he inevitably has to help Luke pull off his old pair and struggle into the clean pair.

Finally, in clean clothes, Luke collapses back against the bed, and Mando picks up his feet and manhandles him until he’s properly lying along the thin mattress.

“Wait, where will you sleep?” The question had avoided Luke earlier, but with his pain subsiding, it suddenly became a pressing issue. He’s really overstepping now, just dropping in unannounced, making a mess, and then stealing the man’s bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Mando replies, and Luke starts to sit up, but the hand on his shoulder presses him down into the mattress. “I’ve done it on bounties before, it’s not a big deal.”

“I can’t take your bed, put me on the floor.”

“No way.”

This is going nowhere. There is no way Mando would let him take the floor, but Luke also knows the guilt will eat him alive if he kicks Mando out of his own bed in his own home. Still, Luke doesn’t know why he suggests it, maybe it’s the diminished levels of blood circling around his brain. “We could share?”

The T-visor above him seems to consider Luke for a moment before Mando shakes his head. “No, I don’t want to risk knocking your wound in the night.”

“Seriously, there’s enough room,” apparently, Luke really was doubling down on the whole sharing a bed thing. “Plus, if something does happen in the night, you’ll be close enough to check on me.”

Probably sensing that Luke would keep arguing and maybe just trying to get Luke to go to bed, Mando finally sighs in defeat. “Fine. But I still need to clean up, then pick up and feed Grogu. I’ll join you after dinner.”

“I’ll take Grogu back to my school with me if I find out you slept on the floor anyway.”

Mando’s hands still, blanket pulled halfway up Luke’s chest. “That’s not funny.”

No, it wasn’t. Why had he said that?

“Mando, I’m sorry, it was a joke,” he hastily stammers out. His brain must well and truly be offline. “I don’t know why- I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine.”

Was it? It doesn’t feel fine to Luke. Suddenly, Mando feels completely closed off, bristling around his unannounced and unwelcome houseguest.

He doesn’t know why he’s so adamant about Mando staying. Maybe it had something to do with years of sharing a bunk room in the rebellion, and then the sudden, stark silence that came with living on Ossus, which seemed to shock his system. Regardless, all Luke knew was that he really didn’t want to spend tonight alone.

“Please stay,” is all Luke manages to whisper as he grasps Mando’s retreating hand.

“Okay,” Mando gives his hand a quick squeeze before dropping it, and Luke fully expects that to be it. However, Mando pulls back the blanket once more and lies down next to him, still fully dressed in armour and his boots hanging off the side of the bed.

Shoulder to shoulder and with the blankets pulled back over them, Mando turns his helmet to face him, and Luke can’t help but mirror the other man. To be honest, he’s a little confused. They hardly knew each other. Sure, he’d taught his son a couple of years ago, but that wasn’t enough to explain why Mando was doing all this for him.

“Go to sleep, Luke,” Mando tells him across the gap between them, and he reaches over the blanket to once again wrap his hand around Luke's, giving it another gentle squeeze for good measure.

Logically, he knows Mando will get up as soon as he falls asleep, there was still Luke’s mess to clean and a son to collect. But just having another body next to him, a calming presence watching over him, is enough to cause Luke to drift off faster than he had in years.

--- .°˖✧*---

He stays on Nevarro for two standard months.

Luke spends the first couple of days sleeping and letting Mando assist him around the small cabin. Slowly, the wound across his stomach heals, and Luke begins to make the short trek from the bed to the dining table to the ‘fresher on his own two feet. He doesn’t make it across the room particularly fast, but just making it without Mando hovering at his elbow seems victory enough.

Mando still watches him like a hawk-bat regardless. And so does his tiny little apprentice. While Luke recovers, his former padawan barely leaves his side, unless his father calls him away. It had been almost unnerving at first, especially when he’d woken that first morning to Grogu’s huge eyes peering down at him and asking if he could heal his former master. But Luke had waved him off, he didn’t need healing, and Grogu should save his energy for more important activities. Plus, healing properly on his own is a good lesson in resilience and perseverance.

At least that’s what Luke tells himself.

Eventually, Luke recovers and picks up more and more responsibilities around the cabin. During those two months, Luke notices that each day begins to run together as the three of them settle into a routine, much like it had been before the day his uncle brought a pair of droids from the Jawas. But Luke finds the normalcy doesn’t make his skin crawl like it used to. Days on Nevarro were different to Tatooine; they never made him feel aimless and dried out, like sand stuck under your robes.

Every morning, Luke wakes before dawn, leaving a sleeping Mando and Grogu behind to head outside and work on a simplified version of his stretches, followed by a brief meditation as the sun lazily rises above the planet. Then, after Mando wakes and a quick breakfast and caff are scarfed down, the three of them check on the blurrgs. Luke and Mando spend the morning working in tandem to clean out the pen, while Mando keeps a keen eye on Grogu as he feeds them, just to make sure more food ends up in the pen than in his son’s mouth.

Like breakfast, lunch is a standard affair, usually consisting of leftover rations or something basic from the town centre. But Mando never sticks around. Instead, Luke is left sitting in his vacated seat across from Grogu atop his stack of storage crates. Luke likes lunch with Grogu. Well, he doesn’t particularly enjoy defending his own lunch half the time, but he likes how their relationship has evolved during his stay. As Luke heals, Grogu’s worry seems to taper off and it feels less like he’s trying to be on his best behaviour for his teacher and more like he sees Luke as a sort of friend. He doesn’t listen and hang off Luke’s every word anymore and instead fills Luke’s consciousness with streams of endless chatter. And Luke finds he prefers it this way. Yes, he does miss having a padawan of his own, but Grogu made his choice, and Luke is glad that he’s happy.

In the afternoons, Luke and Mando team up again to tackle the Razor Crest together. Luke likes how straightforward it is, he likes knowing exactly what he’s doing and being good at it, too. He’s worked on hundreds of ships from the barely flying speeders that would show up at Miss Motto’s when he helped out during the off-season, to the Falcon and other ships that always needed patching up during the rebellion. On Mando’s ship, Luke tries to do most of the work with his own two hands, ignoring the force for once. He doesn’t want to admit it, and he knows the force is just an extension of himself, but he likes the feeling of being good at something and knowing it’s entirely him.

The modifications Mando is making to the Crest are like some hairbrained scheme Han would concoct and then secretly carry out after Leia had told him no. Each afternoon is something different, with the pair stripping back extra weight and removing safety controls and limiters. Luke can’t help but wonder if he could make some of them work on his X-wing. However, he also knows the exact tone Leia will use when she asks him if he’d lost half his brain if she ever found out he’d attempted even half of them.

He still hopes that Mando will let him fly the thing once they’re done.

In the evening, it’s Luke’s turn to make himself scarce for dinner. His aunt had always drilled into him that meals were a time for families to get together and reconnect. He doesn’t want to take that opportunity from Mando, especially after he’d already monopolised lunch. Instead of settling down at the little table, Luke usually takes whatever Mando has prepared up to the roof, hoping to soak up the last few rays of sunlight and enjoy a moment of peace.

After dinner, the pair typically gravitate to one another again, either for some light sparing as Grogu cheers on (after Mando had cleared him of course) or just to sit in each other’s presence and talk. Given Mando’s whole demeanour, Luke never would’ve guessed he’d be so easy to talk to, but Luke finds they have no issue slipping into easy conversations, debating anything from the merits of different fighting styles to speeder models.

Then, once the night finally settles over the volcanic fields, they get ready for bed. They’ve never talked about the sleeping arrangement since that first night, and Luke is still borrowing Mando’s sleep clothes. But there’s nothing to talk about. There’s still nowhere else for either of them to sleep, and Luke still doesn’t have much else to wear. However, three weeks into Luke’s stay, Mando begins taking off his armour to sleep. The helmet remains firmly in place, but each night plates of beskar are stripped away, followed by the flight suit, revealing plain underclothes, which are then exchanged for worn sleep clothes. He doesn’t want to examine it too closely, but Luke is glad Mando feels comfortable enough to sleep unguarded next to him. Especially since Luke knows full well from the rebellion that sleeping in any sort of gear is never fun.

However, some days are different, but not necessarily in a bad way. Sometimes Mando heads into the town centre to do odd jobs for Karga or pick up supplies and parts for the Crest. Luke never joins him. He doesn’t want to intrude. He knows Mando likes the privacy of the cabin and the way the citizens of Nevarro tend to leave him alone. And Luke also knows the kind of reactions his face gets; he knows he’ll just end up disturbing Mando’s peace and quiet.

On those days, Mando often leaves Grogu with Luke, citing something about not wanting to have to watch out for stolen street food. Luke knows it’s a weak excuse, he knows Mando prefers not to let his son leave his line of sight for extended periods of time. How the man had even managed to hand Grogu over to him back then still baffles Luke now. Regardless, Luke takes the excuse as permission to resume Grogu’s training in a sort of informal capacity, more of a collaborative exercise than a master-padawan bond. He knows Grogu will never be a Jedi, he’s already chosen Mando over Luke-

No. Grogu chose his father and being a Mandalorian over being a Jedi. Luke doesn’t even factor into the equation.

Luke’s feelings on the matter aside, he spends those rare afternoons guiding Grogu through meditations and basic force exercises. Just enough to help the kid practice, but not so much that Luke feels like he is overstepping.

But it’s one of those regular afternoons, one where Luke is perched atop the Crest’s roof, tediously trying to rewire a connector that keeps shorting, that Mando finally breaks the spell of normalcy that had settled over them.

“Luke,” Mando ventures, his body casting a shadow over him. “What are you doing here?”

The question stumps Luke for a second. Isn’t it obvious? He gestures vaguely at the soldering tools and exposed wires laid out in front of him. “I’m fixing the connector?” Didn’t you see that it’s sending the control panel on the fritz?”

Mando lets out a quiet sigh, then lowers himself down and grabs the wire stripper. Luke can’t help but feel he answered the question wrong, like Mando was hinting at something else entirely. He always seems to be on the back foot around Mando in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a teen. Maybe it is something to do with not being able to see his expression and the way the beskar interferes with the force and leaving Luke feeling slightly uncertain about where he stands.

“That’s not what I meant,” Mando finally answers, but refuses to elaborate further. Just leaves Luke blinking at the side of his helmet, waiting for clarification.

But work moves on like always. They sit like that for a while, knees brushing as Mando strips back the wires and cuts out the damaged parts, while Luke replaces them with new coils. If only it were that easy, Luke idly wonders, if only Mando could strip back the damaged parts of Luke and replace them with something new, like he had on the sonic floor. A something new that understands Mando the first time around. A something new that wasn’t too much or not enough. A something new that didn’t have phantom pains or intermittent tremors or a heart that stuttered during a thunderstorm.

Eventually, Mando breaks the silence again, “How’s the stab wound?”

Mando knows the answer to that question, and Luke can’t help but feel like he’s asking just to force Luke to admit that he’s healed. Hell, the man even insisted on changing the bacta patches himself and forced Luke into giving him a detailed rundown of his pain every time they sparred. The wound had been fully healed for several weeks now, and they both knew it.

“I mean, I haven’t gotten any new ones,” Luke tries to joke. “So pretty good, I guess?”

Mando nods slightly in response, “So you’re okay to fly now?”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t tested it, but I’d assume so.” He had known this was coming, Luke just wishes it hadn’t been so soon. “Sorry, I just got caught up in all the repairs, but I totally get it. I can head out tomorrow morning if that works?”

“Luke, that’s not what I’m asking,” Mando replies, taking the soldering tool from where it lay forgotten in Luke’s hand and begins to reattach the wires himself. “I just wanted to know what your plans were. I need to give the Anzellans a heads up if I need the extra hands because you need to shoot off somewhere.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead?”

Mando nods again, and Luke can’t help but watch him, work completely abandoned as he is transfixed by the reflection of sparks dancing across mirror-polished armour. But nothing lasts forever, and eventually Mando clicks off the soldering tool and turns his attention back to Luke, “What’s happening with your school?”

Yes, what was happening with his school? He’s been thinking about that for weeks now, and he still hasn’t managed to come up with an answer.

He wants to go back, of course. There’s still so much work to do.

He doesn’t. Does he?

He wants to rebuild the Order.

Does he?

Instead of burdening Mando, Luke just shrugs and works on freeing some tangled wires that they need to inspect next. “I don’t have any students. It’s not much of a school.”

“But you will one day? Have students that is.”

“Probably.”

Mando pauses again, obviously sensing that asking about Luke’s school is like trying to draw blood from a droid. So he changes tack, “What about your family? You have a sister, don’t you? On Chandrilla?”

Luke just hums in confirmations.

“Isn’t she wondering where you are?” Probably. Luke hadn’t exactly told her where he was or what he was up to, just that he was busy. “Doesn’t she need you around?”

“She has a husband and a son for that,” Luke lets out a laugh, but it sounds flat even to his own ears, “She doesn’t need a brother.”

“Of course she needs you,” Mando stops his work but doesn’t turn to face him, instead, he focuses his gaze firmly on the horizon. “My vod and I didn’t even get along half the time, pretty sure he tried to beat me to death a couple times, but I still needed him.”

“What if I don’t want to be needed?” whispers Luke, releasing the admission out into the atmosphere as he ignores the guilt settling in his stomach and the way his voice cracks at the end.

He can feel the tears now, beginning to race down his cheeks. Maybe if he doesn’t acknowledge them, they’ll go away. Mando doesn’t acknowledge them either.

What a waste of water.

“Luke,” Mando pauses, seeming to consider his words for a second. “What do you want to do?”

It doesn’t feel condescending like it did when others had asked. When they asked, they always had preconceived plans they wanted Luke to agree with. They wanted to figure out whether Luke wanted to assist the Senate or the New Republic patrols on the Outer Rim, or if he was focusing on rebuilding the Jedi Order and how that could play into their plans for the galaxy. But when Mando asks, it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at Master Skywalker or Commander Skywalker, or whatever other title he’d gone by. Instead, Mando asks Luke and only Luke.

“I don’t know anymore,” he confesses just to Mando and hopes the galaxy doesn’t overhear.

Mando finally turns from the horizon to look at him, really look at him, and Luke can’t help but duck his head away from the sudden focus. He seems to study Luke for a moment, at least that’s what Luke assumes he’s doing. He could be wearing a kind of ‘what in the Sith’s hell is wrong with this guy’ expression under the helmet, and Luke would be none the wiser.

“I’m just really tired,” Luke mumbles, still avoiding the other man’s gaze. “But that doesn’t matter, they all need me.”

He chokes out another flat, half-laugh.

“I just don’t know if I can do it.”

“Are you hungry?” Mando finally asks, and Luke snaps his eyes up to the T-visor and shoots him a quizzical look. What did that have to do with anything?

Luke just responds with an inelegant “I guess?”

Across from him, Mando closes up the access hatch they’d been working out of before standing and offering Luke a hand up. “Come on, you’ve been up here for hours, and it’s starting to get dark.”

Bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, he follows in a sort of confused haze as Mando leads him down the ladder and then back up the path towards the cabin. Luke can’t help but pause for a second when Mando stops to let Luke go ahead of him into his own home instead of forging ahead and waiting for Luke to trail behind. He can barely wrap his head around what’s going on. First, Mando cuts Luke right down to his very core, flaying him open for the entire galaxy to observe. Then he sinks right back into their normal routine like he hadn’t just caused Luke to admit things he hadn’t even been willing to admit to himself?

“Go get in the sonic, you’re covered in grease,” Mando says with a nod towards the ‘fresher and a hand settled against Luke’s lower back as he gives him a gentle push forward. “I’ll get dinner reheated and wrangle the kid.”

Mando says it all like it’s so normal, like this is just their life. Luke guesses it has been their normal for the past two months, but how could the other man not see what it was doing to him? How the barest touch on his back and talk about normal life sent Luke’s head into a tailspin?

It’s almost reminiscent of those long days out on the farm, Luke notes once locked behind the ‘fresher door. In all these years, the way he mindlessly strips off coveralls and cleans off grime with his forehead pressed against the sonic wall hadn’t changed at all.

He slowly pulls on the change of clothes he’d grabbed on his way, stalling for time before he has to go out there and face Mando again. Maybe he could pretend that his moment of weakness was just that, a moment. Pretend that he feels better now, and he really does have to get back to Ossus. Standing there, staring at his reflection, Luke notes the dark circles and his mismatched clothes consisting of his own spare trousers and one of Mando’s undershirts, slightly too big and too small in all the wrong places. Frankly, he looks like a complete mess, and there’s no way Mando would believe him even if he did claim some sort of emergency.

Luke slinks out of the ‘fresher, hoping maybe he could collect his dinner and slip out to the roof. It’s unlikely Mando would want to continue their conversation anyway, he wasn’t exactly the type for those sorts of heart-to-hearts. But Luke’s hopes are dashed, and the galaxy must have it out for him because there Mando stands, two adult-sized bowls of soup in hand and a helmet nodding towards the small table.

The second chair has been cleared of Grogu’s make-shift booster seat, and it was pretty hard to ignore that it must have been cleared just for Luke. One of the larger storage crates had also been hauled over, with Grogu now perched atop his stacked throne of mismatched crates and cushions.

Grogu’s out-of-place happiness is also palpable in the force, completely contrasting Luke’s own thoughts, as his former padawan sends his joy across their almost threadbare training bond. He babbles excitedly in the back of Luke’s mind, something about their aliit finally eating together. Luke has absolutely zero clue what an aliit is, but he guesses it must make Grogu happy. Maybe it’s something to do with friends? Allies?

Watching Mando place both bowls down and unable to deny his former padawan anything, Luke sinks into the second chair as Mando takes the one opposite.

How in the sith’s hell is this going to work? Surely Mando wasn’t going to just go and forsake his helmet just because Luke was feeling a little sorry for himself? Or is he just going to sit and watch, let his soup grow cold just for Luke?

Grogu digs into his own little bowl with reckless abandon and little thought for the inner turmoil of his former master.

It would be polite for Luke to excuse himself now, leave the little family to their own dinner and stop burdening them with his presence.

He really needs to leave Nevarro.

But Luke gets his answer soon enough. Across from him, Mando disengages the seal of his helmet and brings the small bowl up to his mouth, lifting his helmet only far enough to reveal a small slither of jawline and the stubble that decorates it. Less than Luke had seen before, but more than he deserves.

Luke supposes that works.

With little else to hold him back, Luke digs into his own soup. It’s nothing special, just reheated leftovers from the soup Mando had brought back from the town centre the day before. But something about it feels a little different from the night before. Maybe it is just Grogu’s nonsense chatter in the back of his mind or the steady presence across from him, but something about the soup tastes a little different, too. A little warmer, a little richer.

As always, Grogu finishes up before all of them, but instead of crawling down and running off to explore like he usually does during their lunches, Grogu jumps the short distance from his own seat and into Luke’s lap. Denied any sort of forewarning in the force, Grogu’s anticks knock Luke a little off kilter, and he spills his soup slightly as he reaches his arms up to catch the child.

He’s not the only one, as Mando also hastily sets down his bowl and drops his helmet to shout an alarmed “Grogu!”

Grogu ignores them both and instead curls into Luke’s lap and slowly blinks up at his former master. Gently, Luke raises a hand to run his fingers softly against the shell of his too-big ear. He has to admit, it feels a little unnerving to have Grogu settled in his lap like this. It doesn’t feel like its his place to be holding the child as he snuggles further into his chest. Luke knows he should hand him off to his father, and he also recognises the very un-Jedi-like thoughts in the back of his mind that really doesn’t want to do that.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him recently,” Mando lets out an exasperated sigh as he sets to work wiping up the spilt soup. He then pulls Luke’s own bowl over and portions out some of his own, making up for the soup lost. “Just put him down if he’s too much.”

Luke looks down at the child drifting off in his arms, and he finds he can’t. Hoping not to jostle him too much, Luke readjusts Grogu slightly as he accepts the bowl Mando slides back across the table. “He’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I am.” And Luke means it. Really, actually means it.

They finish off their dinner in silence, but Luke welcomes it. A little selfish part of him, a part he knows he should stamp out, wishes that maybe every night could be like this. Every night, he could sit down across from the steady presence of the Mandalorian with his child curled up in his lap.

He wants this. He wants all of this.

Soon enough, they finish up, and Mando collects the bowls once again. Maybe Luke should stand and help clean up, but he can’t. He’s too busy being utterly transfixed by the child dozing within his arms.

Luke startles slightly at the sudden pressure of a hand on his shoulder and snaps his gaze up to the helmet peering down at him. Wordlessly, Mando takes Grogu from him and carries him over to the small dresser to pull out his sleep clothes. It’s not until Grogu is changed, placed on the bed, and Mando begins taking off his own armour that Luke’s brain finally gets with the programme.

“What? You’re too lazy to spar tonight?” Luke teases, but he’s already manoeuvring a half-asleep Grogu to the edge of the bed so he can crawl underneath the covers.

Mando turns to Luke, breastplate half undone, and Luke has to imagine he’s being fixed with a raised eyebrow under the helmet. “I think we’ve all had a long enough day as it is.”

Staring at the ceiling, eyes tracking the hastily patched up cracks, Luke absentmindedly hums in agreement. Eventually, Mando tucks away the last of his armour and joins the rest of them. He scoffs when Grogu grumbles at him, annoyed at being moved around yet again, and Luke can’t help but giggle at the pair.

He wants this. He wants this so bad. He wants every morning, every afternoon, every evening.

Instead of sleeping on his back like he usually does, Luke turns to face Mando as the man lies down and mirrors him. They don’t dare to break the silence that hangs over the dimly lit room. They don’t need to speak, they just lie there, Luke’s arms stretched out between them as calloused fingers trace the forked scars snaking around them.

Grogu, ever the little womp rat, eagerly takes full advantage of their new position, claiming the extra space behind his father to spread out like a star. It suits him, Luke decides, the brightest little star in the whole galaxy.

Call him avoidant, but Luke is glad Mando doesn’t remove the helmet. He remembers that face underneath, he’d even thought it was handsome at the time, still does, but he also doesn’t think he can handle it right now. He’s glad he can’t see whatever stricken or judgmental expression Mando must be wearing at the sight of his scars. He can already tell Mando feels sorry for him, and he doesn’t need visual confirmation too.

He’s probably spiralling now, he really shouldn’t be ascribing feelings to other people. So instead, Luke shifts his focus entirely to the feeling of fingers slowly making their way up his arm, his slow, controlled breathing, and the soft snores of their son, hidden behind broad shoulders but still so, so bright in the force.

No. Mando’s son. When had he stated thinking of Grogu as theirs?

With Mando’s uncanny ability to interrupt Luke’s thoughts, Luke wonders if the man has some sort of connection to the force, or at least a latent ability to read Luke’s mind. Or maybe he just knows you, a hopeful part of Luke’s mind supplies as Mando breaks the hypnotic silence that had fallen over them with a low, whispered “Cyar’ika.”

Luke doesn’t know what that means, or if it’s even directed at him, so he responds only with a noncommittal hum. A hum that could easily be misinterpreted as a sound he made in his sleep if he’s wrong.

“Luke,” Mando tries again, fingers pausing their pilgrimage right where synthskin meets flesh. “I know you have your obligations to your school and the New Republic, but I just want you to know that you’re welcome here whenever you want. No strings attached, no obligations. You can stay, or go and come back, whatever you like.”

Mando must be talking nonsense, Luke decides, babbling like his son does in the back of Luke’s mind when he gets too excited thinking up a new adventure or game.

“You can even do nothing, spend the whole time sunbathing on the roof, and I won’t kick you out,” he continues.

“I’d like to stay,” Luke cuts him off, putting the other man out of his misery. “Maybe not for forever, but at least for now.”

“Good.” Mando entwines his fingers with Luke’s flesh hand. “I want you to stay.”

“What about when you do your New Republic missions? Can I stay then? I think I’d make a pretty good house sitter.” Luke jokes, trying to ease Mando’s intense focus. But he knows it won’t work because he already knows the answer is yes. “I think the blurrgs even like me now.”

“Of course,” laughs Mando, feigning annoyance, but he grips Luke’s hand a little tighter anyway. “And I’ll come back if you ask me to. Even if I’m on the other side of the galaxy, I’ll find a way.”

“Mando-”

“Din,” he interrupts, voice rough under the voicecoder as he trips over the single syllable. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din Djarin,” Luke whispers between them, testing out the name. It suits him, Luke decides.

“Cyar’ika,” There was that word again. Maybe he’ll ask Din what it means when he’s a little more awake, when his brain is a little less hazy. “Come here.”

Din’s hand tightens around Luke’s and tugs him closer. Pressing his face into the soft, worn fabric of Din’s sleep shirt, Luke tucks himself into the firm chest now under him as arms wrap around him and Din’s chin and helmet rest against the crown of his head. They’d never done this before, always slept two feet apart with Grogu spread out between them. Luke wonders if maybe they could do this for the rest of his life.

Letting out a shaky breath, Luke’s body turns to jelly in Din’s arms as the lines between where he ends and Din begins start to blur.

After everything, maybe the galaxy owes him this.

His texts would probably disagree.

“You shouldn’t have to do this for me,” Luke mumbles into Din’s chest, hoping his words are quiet enough not to wake him.

“I don’t have to, no one’s making me,” Din responds, obviously still awake, and his arms tighten around Luke’s body. “I want to do it anyway.”

“But I can’t,” Luke pulls back, just enough to be able to look Din head-on, but he keeps his body pressed close and his weight pressed against the chest under him. “I can’t have this, the texts have all these teachings from the old order, and they say I can’t have this.”

“I thought you wanted to build something new?”

“I do, but they warn about the kind of problems that happen because of attachments, and I don’t know what is worth keeping and what needs throwing away,” almost out of breath, Luke hangs his head between them. He’s so tired. How much longer can he keep this up? Always pushing back against the things he wants. “And I’m so confused, I don’t know what to do.”

“Then just take tonight, cyar’ika,” The hand around Luke’s lower back slides up to his hair, and light pressure against the back of his head forces his forehead to press against the helmet under him. “Be selfish just for tonight.”

Guiltily, Luke wishes Din had taken off his helmet, just so he could feel the whispered words ghost over his skin.

“Then tomorrow we can decide whether or not you’ll be selfish again.”

Unable to argue, Luke just nods, forehead rubbing against the cool beskar. He can’t bring back the Order right this second, so maybe he can be selfish just this once. He vaguely registers Din mumble something about it being late, and the pair reposition themselves with Luke tucking himself back against Din’s chest and under his chin.

Luke has a list of things he needs to do: he needs to rebuild the Order, he needs to help guide the next generation of Jedi, and he needs to help his sister and the New Republic.

But he wants this. He wants warm arms around him and legs tangled under scratchy, standard-issue blankets. He wants shared meals and conversations about nothing and everything. He wants someone by his side as he does everything he needs to do.

Most of all, he wants Din and his bright little son.

In the morning, Luke doesn’t think he’ll wake up before dawn. Maybe he’ll choose to stay wrapped up with Din, warm and content, until Grogu decides it’s time for breakfast. Maybe they’ll follow their normal routine, but Luke would also be content to just spend the day with Din, attached at the hip and lazing in each other’s presence.

And when Din asks if Luke wants to be selfish again, he’s certain he’ll say yes. Maybe he will say yes every day for the rest of his life.