Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s supposed to be a medal ceremony in a few days, but the base is already bustling with the effort to pack up and move out before the Empire comes calling again. Luke isn’t quite sure what he should be doing. Han and Chewie are fussing over the Falcon and even though Luke longs to get his hands on that mess of tech and lose himself to the gentle rhythm of fix fix fix, he doesn’t want to overstep his bounds. Leia’s off…doing something political. Probably speaking with the Generals planning their next move. While Luke would like nothing more than to drag her away and find a quiet corner to commiserate in, about Ben, his aunt and uncle, Biggs, her parents- Suns- her planet— but he doesn’t think Leia would appreciate it very much right now. Maybe later, when there’s less to do.

Except. Luke doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what he’s allowed to do. He thinks there must be some official way to join the Rebellion other than blowing up a massive planet-killing weapon, but everyone he comes across seems too distracted for him to really ask about any paperwork. If there is paperwork.

What would that even be like? Yes, I think the Empire’s evil. No, I won’t sell the Rebellion out. No, I’m not an officially licensed pilot but you let me into an X-Wing and I destroyed something you wanted blown up so please let me fly again?

Luke is feeling particularly lost (both mentally and directionally because where are even the refreshers in this place?), so he wanders for a bit. Artoo isn’t even with him. He’s still busted from the battle. Luke worked on him all night, carefully replacing fried circuits and salvaging what he could as Threepio fretted over his shoulder. But one of the mechanics had taken in Luke’s red-rimmed eyes, sallow skin and minutely shaking hands and gently but firmly insisted he get himself to bed.

Luke managed to get a few hours sleep in a cramped, somewhat secluded corner of the docking bay (because where else was he supposed to go?), and by the time the hustle and bustle of activity woke him up from half-remembered nightmares, the mechanic had apparently taken over the job of fixing Artoo. Seeing the Duros and Threepio mutter suggestions to each other as they fussed over Artoo made Luke feel like he couldn’t intrude.

So here he is. Standing off to the side of the hallway as people scramble in and out of the base’s medbay, watching their faces slide from frantic to determined to hopeful.

Maybe I can help here, he thinks. There must be something I can do.

So he walks into the medbay.

There’s a Bith doctor barking orders, splattered with red and blue and green blood up to his gloved elbows. Luke thinks he probably shouldn’t interrupt him, so he turns to the nearest orderly.

“Is- is there anything I can help with?”

The Mon Calamari eyes him, taking in his grease-mussed hair, the bags under his eyes, his sweaty flight uniform— and huffs. She points to the cupboards along the wall, then the occupied beds in the farthest corner. “Wash your hands, put on some scrubs, then go back there. You know how to change bandages?”

Luke nods. Aunt Beru thought that he should know how to treat his own injuries if he was going to be reckless with a skyhopper.

The Mon Cals purses her lips in approval. “Good. We’re dealing with the most critical patients right now so it’d be good to have someone tend to the stable ones. If they need anything, do it. If they’re’ hungry, the rations in the cupboards are okay. But don’t give them medication or do anything more complicated than change out bandages, you got that? I don’t need your inexperience jeopardizing our patients.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luke says.

“I’ll check on you in a while.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luke repeats, then heads over to the cupboards to sanitize his hands and pull scrubs on over his pilot oranges. His lightsaber tucks awkwardly against his waist beneath the blue fabric.

When he gets to the back of the room, he finds about fifteen occupied beds. A few of the patients are still asleep even with the noise of activity, but most are awake, quietly murmuring to each other, staring blankly up at the ceiling or flicking through datapads.

The sight makes him a bit uneasy, but Luke steals himself and heads to the nearest patient, a rutian Twi’lek with half a lekku missing. The Twi’lek allows him to inspect the bandaging around the montral’s stump, only flinching as he pulls away the soaked cloth, cleans out the wound then covers it up again with new dressings. He gets the Twi’lek some more water, then moves on to the next person.

It takes a long time, longer than he thought it would. Most of the patients aren’t really up for talking, but nonetheless they crave company, asking short-phrased questions about the battle, about what the Rebellion is planning on doing now, and can they please get some soup or water?

Luke does the best he can, but the only question he can really answer is what happened during the battle and the most he can do to ease their pain is to change dressings, switch out cool cloths for fevered foreheads and fetch rations from the cupboards.

The last three beds, though. Seeing them makes him huff a little sigh of relief. In one bed a man and woman curl about one another, deep in slumber, the bed beside them rumpled and empty. The woman seems to only have a few scrapes and bruises so Luke only has to carefully lift the blanket to peer at the rest of the bandages swathed about the man’s torso. It seems okay for now and he’d rather not wake them up so he leaves them be. The other bed next to them is also occupied. This time by an unconscious, battered looking man. A hulking man sits by his bedside in a rickety chair. He’s slumped over the mattress, head pillowed on the bedridden man’s thigh, clutching one of the hurt man’s hands in his own. A mass of tangled hair obscures his face. Luke thinks he might be sleeping, too.

A quick look over the two has Luke judging that there’s nothing more he can do for them. All that’s left is one bed.

The man in it is wide awake.

He’s sitting up, back resting against the wall as he fiddles with the droid head in his lap. It’s not a model Luke recognizes. The head looks at battered as the man who holds it, but at least the man doesn’t have an obvious blaster shot straight through his own skull. It rests on a pillow, parts and tools splayed across the now greasy cloth. Peaking just over the edge of the mattress, Luke can see the rest of a scavenged droid body settled on the floor, partially hidden between the bed and the wall.

A rush of guilty relief flushes through him. At least Artoo isn’t as damaged as this droid.

The man himself looks even more exhausted than Luke feels. Shadows smudge beneath his red-rimmed eyes, scrapes and puckered wounds fan across his tanned jaw and cheekbone, speckling up into his hairline. His hair is just as stringy as Luke’s, but it’s black and curly, pulled into a nerf-tail that dangles loose over his shoulder.

The shaky but determined movements of the man’s hands draw Luke’s eye. They’re speckled with shrapnel wounds, too. Even so, they’re spindly and strong looking, never faltering as he fiddles with the inside casing of the droid skull.

The man shifts, still focused on the droid, but the movement brings Luke’s attention to the patient’s legs. Or rather, the emptiness beneath the man’s right knee where the rest of his leg should be.

Luke stares for a moment more, then flushes hot, embarrassment roiling in his belly. He shouldn’t be staring. It’s rude. Aunt Beru taught him better.

He forces himself to look back up at the man’s face, then clears his throat awkwardly.

Dark, dark eyes lock onto his. Luke fights a shiver. Then the man’s blank face breaks into a weary smile, soft at the edges.

“Sorry,” the patient murmurs, voice soft and accented. “I didn’t notice you.”

“Th-that’s all right,” Luke stutters. He takes an abortive step forward, then halts. “Is- uh. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The man’s smile saddens and takes on a self-deprecating air. He glances back down at the head in his hands. “Not unless you know how to fix droids.”

“Oh!” Luke steps forward again, this time more sure of himself. “I do actually!”

The man’s head snaps back up. “You do?” Bleak hope glimmers in his eyes.

Luke nods. “Yeah. Been doing it all my life. I’m good with machines. My uh—” he glances at the pile of lanky metal limbs and dented torso on the floor. “My astromech actually got busted and, uhm, I mostly fixed him up. Someone else is working on him right now, though, so…” Trailing off, he fights the urge to fidget.

The man’s eyes trail down his scrubs, brow furrowed in confusion.

Another little “Oh!” bursts past Luke’s lips, and this time he does fidget, fingers picking at his sleeve. “I’m uh- I’m just volunteering right now. In the medbay, I mean. I’m a pilot.” And a moisture farmer, he manages to bite back.

The man’s eyes widen, mouth going a little slack. The smile that curves his lips moments later is possibly the kindest, most genuine thing Luke has ever seen in his life.

“I’m a pilot, too.”

The next few hours are spent mostly by the man’s beside. Luke learns the man’s name is Bodhi. Bodhi doesn’t volunteer much more information about himself, but he does say the four sleeping people on the beds next to him are his team. The droid is, too. Bodhi hopes to make some headway on the droid, K-2SO, before they wake up. He worries they won’t be able to save all of Kaytoo’s memory banks, but he’s doing his best.

Bodhi lets Luke peer into the droid’s damaged head and poke at the circuits, offering suggestions here and there, silently slipping a tool from Bodhi’s hand when it shakes too much, making the repair himself before offering Bodhi the tool back. Bodhi always gives him a grateful smile.

Luke doesn’t say much about himself, either. Working with Bodhi on Kaytoo gives him something to do other than make a nuisance of himself by hovering over a bunch of patients who only need help every so often.

He does leave Bodhi’s side occasionally, though— to help sit someone up, or bring them water, or change their bandages or to call over an orderly when the pain becomes too much. But otherwise, Luke spends the late morning and early afternoon sitting on the edge of Bodhi’s bed, switching between comfortable silence and idle chatter about ships and flying.

There’s something about the humble way Bodhi speaks that makes Luke hang onto his every word. Something about the way rolls his r’s or- or how his eyes sharpen when he thinks of a way to bypass the damaged memory circuits in the left hemisphere of Kaytoo’s head before Luke does. Or maybe it’s the way he bites his lip and mumbles to himself when he’s deep in thought. Or the way he sighs in relief and his hands steady when they realize more of Kaytoo’s memory banks are intact than they believed. Or how his lashes flutter across his cheeks when he laughs. Or how his eyes brighten when he talks about flying, like the sky is embracing you and how the stars dance across your vision. Or- or—

He drags his eyes away from Bodhi’s weary but content face more often than he should, lest he be caught staring.

Luke doesn’t ask about Bodhi’s leg.

Bodhi doesn’t bring it up, either.

When late afternoon rolls by, Bodhi clearly fights off exhaustion. After maybe the fifth time his jaw cracks in the effort to silence a gaping yawn, Luke reaches over and puts his hand on Bodhi’s forearm. Bodhi blinks at him tiredly.

“Maybe you should sleep a bit,” Luke says gently, voice low. Bodhi’s companions are still asleep themselves.

Bodhi stares at him blearily, uncomprehending for a long moment, then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I- I can’t.”

Luke’s brows furrow. “You might hurt yourself trying to fix up Kaytoo if you stay up any longer.”

Bodhi shakes his head again, the tremor more pronounced in his hands. “I- I don’t sleep well.” He makes an abortive gesture to rub at his temple, then jerks, eyes widening briefly, then lowers his hand, flinching.

Concern spikes through Luke and he fights the urge to hug Bodhi. He seems like a man who needs a good long hug. But somehow Luke knows Bodhi won’t be able to handle that right now.

“Maybe I can get someone to give you something to sleep through the night,” Luke suggests, already looking around for the nearest orderly.

“No!” Bodhi blurts out.

Luke turns, wide-eyed and startled, to see Bodhi curling in on himself, eyes darting to look anywhere but at Luke.

“It’s- it’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother,” Bodhi stutters out, fiddling with the tool in his hand, fingers smoothing over Kaytoo’s dented head.

Luke frowns. “You aren’t a bother. You’re here to be taken care of. You can’t heal unless you rest.”

Still tense, Bodhi’s eyes flicker to the stump of his leg, conflicted. Then he slumps. “Okay,” he relents, voice barely a whisper. “My team won’t be happy if I don’t.”

Satisfaction curls in Luke’s gut. He eyes Bodhi’s sleeping companions, wondering if they’re as much a family to the man as Luke feels Han and Chewie and Leia will be one day.

“Good,” is all he says, then gets up to badger the nearest orderly until she can help Bodhi.

Luke leaves soon after that. The Mon Cals who assigned him to the patients in the back comes over to tell him he’s not needed any longer. The critical patients have been attended to and they’re now free to care for everyone else.

Bodhi’s already dropping off to sleep, so Luke doesn’t take any offense to her brisk tone.

But before he leaves, Luke sneaks over to the cupboards to take out a clean pillow and tuck it beneath Bodhi’s head, leaving the grease-stained one by the man’s side, Kaytoo’s head still resting upon it.

“Will—” Bodhi starts to murmur, voice breaking in a yawn. “Will you be back…?”

Bodhi looks so young and vulnerable, eyes wide and shiny in a way that makes Luke’s stomach flip-flop. There’s no way Luke could say no, even if he wanted to. And he really, really doesn’t.

“Yeah,” he whispers, leaning close to brush a hand over Bodhi’s shoulder. “Yeah, I will. Medbay doesn’t need me anymore, so I’ll have to find out some other way to help around here, but yeah. Yeah, I’ll visit. Can’t leave you to fix Kaytoo on your own,” he teases.

But Bodhi takes it sincerely, expression open and grateful. “Thank you,” he murmurs, eyes already slipping closed with exhaustion and the drug the orderly gave him.

Luke gazes at him for a minute more. Watches Bodhi’s mouth go slack, the way his curls tucks against his jaw, the little furrow between his brows that never seems to go away.

“You’re welcome,” Luke says belatedly, and finds he must force himself to leave.

-:-

Artoo is near new by the time he gets back to him.

“Oh, Master Luke! I am so glad you’re back! It took some time, but we’ve got him back in order!” Threepio enthusiastically waves his arms. Artoo wobbles back and forth, emitting several high-pitched, happy whines.

Threepio bops the droid on the head. “R2-D2, honestly!” He turns to face Luke again, voice regretful when he says, “Unfortunately we could not wipe out some of his rather alarming and foul language. I am sorry, Master Luke. We did try.”

Artoo whistles, head spinning, then backs up into Threepio’s leg.

While the two squabble, Luke turns to the mechanic who took over finishing Artoo.

“Thank you,” he says, sincere.

The Duros smiles at him, the green of her cheeks darkening. “It was no trouble, you did most of the work. You needed a break, anyhow. I could see how worked up you were getting over this little droid.”

Luke scratches the back of his head, self-conscious. “Ah, maybe…” He glances at the droids. “They’re the reason I’m here in the first place. I owe them a lot.” He pauses, eyeing the way Artoo’s dome and lights shine more than he’s ever seen. “Wow, you really did do a good job, though. Thanks.”

The Duros laughs. “Ah, well, that wasn’t actually me.”

Luke shoots her a puzzled look.

She shrugs. “I took a little break and when I came back someone was already working on him.” She catches Luke’s expression and rushes on. “Oh, don’t worry! They were very good! One of the best I’ve seen, actually. They stopped by because their own little droid got a bit curious. I think R2-D2 made a new friend.” She quirks a crooked grin. “Maybe not Threepio, though. He was complaining about how foul the other droid’s language was. Said Artoo didn’t need any more encouragement.”

Luke’s gaze wanders back to the bickering droids. He really should work on binary. Only picking up the gist of the conversation isn’t exactly going to help him with Artoo, he figures. Especially since he has a feeling the little droid is going to be sticking around.

“Master Luke, we are going to go find Princess Leia and see if she has any tasks for us.” Threepio’s voice cuts into Luke’s thoughts.

“Ah, sure.” He smiles at the mechanic. “Thanks again.”

She smiles back. “Anytime.”

-:-

When Han finds out that Luke spent the night tucked behind storage bins in the docking bay, Luke worries the older man might have an aneurysm.

“Are you serious, kid?” Han exclaims when he finishes croaking and flapping his lips uselessly. “Are you an idiot? You coulda bunked with me an’ Chewie! We have an extra cot!”

Chewie growls low over his dinner plate, shaking his head in.

“Well- I mean. You were busy, and I figured, you know, everyone’s busy so I probably shouldn’t bother them. They’ve got enough on their plate without trying to figure out where I should sleep for a couple days before we move out.” He juts his jaw, stubborn, refusing to acknowledge the embarrassment burning his cheeks.

Han barks a laugh, startling the surrounding people in the commissary. “Like I said: idiot. You don’t think getting a good night’s sleep is important?”

Unbidden, Luke thinks of Bodhi’s exhausted but open face, then shakes his head to clear away the image. “It wasn’t that bad,” Luke scowls. He shoves a spoonful of mash into his mouth, chewing mulishly in the face of Han’s incredulous look.

“I’ve slept in cargo bays before, kid,” Han drawls, “I know it’s utter shavit.”

Luke continues to shovel food into his mouth as mutinously as he can, not willing to say anything else.

Han eyes him, clearly part amused, part annoyed. “You’re sleeping in the Falcon from now on, kid. No arguments about it.” He shoves a thumb in Chewie’s direction. “You’re gonna have to put up with this one’s snoring, but it’s a far cry better than the kriffing docking bay.”

Chewie elbows Han, snarling out a few words.

Han lets out a little “Oof,” then scowls at his co-pilot. “I do not snore like a bantha with a cold!”

“I bet you do,” Luke can’t help but bite out.

Han shoots him a foul look. “Do you want someplace comfortable to sleep tonight?”

Luke grins, swallowing his food before saying, “Can’t take it back. You already offered.”

Chewie nods, laughing a bit as he says something else.

Han’s scowl only deepens. “You didn’t even say yes—”

“Well, I’m saying yes now.” Luke flashes his teeth, then takes a big gulp of water. He swirls it in his mouth, relishing in the luxurious feel, then swallows. “And you didn’t really give me a choice about it, anyway, so…”

Chewie laughs again.

Letting out an aggravated sigh, Han drags a hand over his face. “This was a mistake, wasn’t it? I’m going to regret this so much. I already have to deal with one smartass, I don’t need another one on top of that.”

Luke hums contentedly, sipping his water, then shoves another forkful of vegetables in his mouth. He sighs in bliss, toes curling in his boots, then takes another gulp from his cup. He suspects he might drink himself sick but how can he not when there’s so much water here?

“Probably,” he sings out after he swallows. “I’ve been told I’m quite a handful.”

Han groans as Chewie pats him on the back with one massive paw.

“At least the princess won’t be bunking with us.”

-:-

It turns out Leia needs to bunk with them.

Han gapes at her, spluttering, as Luke puts a supporting hand on Chewie’s arm because he’s laughing so hard. Water sloshes in Luke’s stomach and he thinks he might be sick but he doesn’t care one bit.

Leia raises a brow and crosses her arms. “I wasn’t originally supposed to arrive at Yavin so soon. Anyways, I’d rather those who need the sleeping quarters more than me use it instead.”

Han works his mouth silently for a few seconds, then croaks. “Do you not sleep?”

Leia huffs and rolls her eyes. “Well of course I do. That’s why I’m asking you if you have room in that trashheap of yours.”

“Trash— Well, where’d you sleep last night?”

If possible, Leia’s brow rises even further and her expression becomes even less impressed. “I was working.”

In other words, she probably didn’t sleep a wink at all. That or dozed in the nearest available chair for an hour or two. Luke marvels that there aren’t even bags beneath her eyes. Then again, he’s heard that people wear make-up. Aunt Beru kept some for special occasions.

Luke’s stomach roils. Maybe- maybe she didn’t sleep because then she’d dream of her parents. Just like he tossed and turned through half-waking memories of his aunt and uncle last night.

Han tosses his hands into the air in exasperation. “Honestly, you two! No common sense between the both of you!” He spins on his heel to head up the ramp into the Falcon.

“And you’re not taking my bunk!”

“Ah, thank you, Mr. Solo! We are grateful for your generosity!” Threepio pipes up from where he’s been standing off to the side.

Han freezes, then tosses a slightly crazed, overwhelmed look over his shoulder. His voice is unnaturally high when he says, “Oh, sure, why not the kriffing droids, too, while we’re at it!”

“I rather think that kind of language is unnecessary!” Threepio scolds, scandalized. Artoo beeps jovially beside him. “Oh, not you, too!”

Han stalks into the ship, muttering incoherently as Chewie just shrugs.

-:-

Threepio and Artoo settle in the lounge to charge and Luke manages to convince Leia to take his borrowed cot. Chewie sheepishly offers his own bed, but they take one look at the fur coating it and politely decline. The Wookie scrounges up a couple more blankets for Luke to curl up with on the floor.

But then Han pokes his head in to see how they’re settling, takes one look at Luke tucked against the bulkhead and says:

“No. No way. I will not let you be that pathetic, kid. We can share a bunk. Like men.”

Han marches over, grabs Luke’s arm and hauls him out the door. Luke can only exchange a wide-eyed look with Leia before they’re out in the hall. When they reach Han’s room only a few feet away, Luke doesn’t even get a chance to look around before Han shoves him into the bunk, throwing the extra blankets at his face.

“You know I wouldn’t let you sleep here if you hadn’t showered and changed out of that stinking jumpsuit, right? Because if we gotta share a bed you’ve gotta shower every night. No exceptions. I don’t need engine grease on my sheets.”

“But you didn’t—”

“No exceptions.”

“…Okay.”

The smuggler putters around the room for a few minutes. Then he shucks his shirt off, turns the light off and clambers into bed beside Luke who’s doing his best to make himself as small of possible. Luke presses close against the wall. He thinks Han might be on the edge of the bed. Their backs barely brush.

Luke blinks in the dark, hesitates, then, “Hey, Han…?”

“What.”

“…Thanks.”

Grumbling, Han shifts beneath the blankets. “Listen, this isn’t some little kid’s sleepover. No mushy feelings.”

Luke huffs a laugh. “’kay, then. No mushy stuff.”

“Damn right,” Han mumbles.

They drift off in remarkably comfortable silence.

-:-

The next day it turns out Leia has only to take one look at Luke before she has him figured out, too.

“Oh, Luke,” she says, eyes as soft as he’s seen them the past two days. “We can set you up with the rest of the pilots, if you want. They’ve got a lot to do and I’m sure you can help.” She quirks a sly grin at him. “It’d be a good idea, especially since you’re one of them.”

Luke’s heart leaps into his throat. “Really?”

Leia laughs, light and airy. “Oh, yes, Luke! How could you ever doubt it?”

So Luke spends most of the day with the rest of the pilots, going over the X-Wings, flight patterns and patrols, plans for scouting potential locations for other bases— He gets to know the other pilots, really gets to know them instead of just hear their chatter over the comms. They trade a few laughing, teary-eyed stories about Biggs. It feels good. He feels good. Better than he has in what feels like ages.

Except…except for when he was with Bodhi.

At the half-day break he grabs some food from the commissary, begs off lunch with his newfound friends, and finds his way back to the medbay.

Luke falters only a little bit when he sees that Bodhi’s companions are awake. The man and woman are still in the same bed, but sitting up, the man leaning against the woman’s shoulder while her arm curls about him. The other two men are still holding hands. The massive one with the wild mess of hair has scooted his chair so it’s up against the wall and he can see the entire group. The other man on the bed still looks rather pale, but he’s sitting up, too, and now that his eyes are open Luke can see that they’re like twin pools of bantha milk. Bodhi is laughing, hands once again filled with Kaytoo’s battered head.

Luke swallows back the fluttering in his stomach and marches right on over, tray of fruits and vegetables and two very full cups of water clutched in his hands.

“Hey,” he says into a break of their conversation. He tries not to fidget when five people immediately focus upon him. It’s made easier when Bodhi’s brief, wide-eyed stare transforms into a broad, disbelieving smile as brilliant as two suns’ worth of light.

“You came back!” Bodhi exclaims, a little breathless.

Huffing an embarrassed laugh in return, Luke scuffs a foot. “Well, yeah. I said I would.”

Bodhi’s smile turns just as shy as it is brilliant.

“You are very strong in the Force.”

Luke startles, jerking his gaze away from Bodhi’s soft brown eyes. He stares wide-eyed at the blind man who’s smiling at him knowingly. “Oh, uh- yeah, I guess. I’ve been told that.”

The man’s milky eyes don’t quite meet his, they stare off somewhere over his shoulder. Yet it still seems like he’s looking right inside him. “And you carry a lightsaber.”

Luke startles again, hand going to his belt before he can register what he’s doing. He spends the next few seconds trying to juggle his tray and not spill any of his precious water. The man sitting next to the blind guy snorts loudly. Luke’s cheeks burn.

“Uhm, yeah,” he mumbles, biting his lip. “It was my father’s.”

“A Jedi, he was.”

Luke ducks his head, something strange pounding against his ribs, like- like pride, or regret. He isn’t quite sure. Maybe wistfulness. “Yeah,” he manages, but doesn’t say anything else.

There’s a few moments of silence, then:

“Who’s this?”

The woman eyes him with warily, glancing at Bodhi who’s still somehow smiling, but looks a little more awed now, eyes caught on the lightsaber at Luke’s belt.

“This is Luke,” Bodhi says, motioning Luke closer.

Luke looks down at his tray, then steps over to sit on the edge of Bodhi’s bed, balancing the food on his knees. He slides the plate closer to Bodhi, silently offering the food. Bodhi gives him a startled smile, then picks up a slice of fruit Luke doesn’t even have a name for.

“Oh?” The woman’s voice is demanding.

“He volunteered with the patients yesterday. While you were sleeping. He knows a lot about mechanics so he helped me with Kaytoo.” Bodhi bites into the fruit. Luke does his best not to stare when a dribble of juice rolls over the man’s lip and Bodhi’s tongue darts out to catch it.

Someone drawls, “Oh, really?” and Luke clears his throat, gaze skittering away.

The man curled up next to the woman smirks, eyes sparkling.

“Yeah.” Bodhi smiles, chewing and swallowing the fruit. Luke’s flushes again when Bodhi reaches out to take a glass of water. Ears burning, he doesn’t watch when Bodhi drinks. He- he hadn’t mean to—

Well, he thinks, ducking his head, Bodhi’s brilliant smile searing into the backs of his lids, maybe I did.

“This is my team,” Bodhi continues, oblivious to Luke’s train of embarrassing thought. “Chirrut.” The blind man nods, still smiling his odd, knowing grin. “Baze.” The burly man nods, too, hair slipping over his shoulder, serene. “Cassian.” The smirking man gives a little wave. “And Jyn.” The woman merely purses her lips and narrows her eyes at him.

Luke suddenly feels like fidgeting again. “Nice- nice to meet you.” A carefree smile stretches across his lips. He hopes it hides his nervousness.

The way Cassian’s smirk widens assures him that he’s failed on that account.

Lunch is quick because Luke still has work to do with the other pilots. He shares his plate with Bodhi, Chirrut leaning over to steal a slice of fruit before Baze has the chance to slap his hand away. They mostly discuss Kaytoo and how to fix him, which Luke figures is the safest topic in the room.

Luke parts with a hesitant wave, a warm smile and a promise to visit again tomorrow. Exiting the medbay he narrowly dodges a green Twi’lek woman, but manages to keep ahold of his tray as he skirts around the tall man following close behind her.

He doesn’t manage to get away from the rest of the pilots until later in the evening. By then he’s almost as exhausted as yesterday, but feels much more fulfilled than before. Purposeful. Like he can actually make a difference instead of wait around for something to happen like he did back on Tatooine.

He’s jittery with joy when Han finds him in the commissary.

Sighing, the smuggler shakes his head. “I’m not letting you back on my ship until you work that off. Don’t want you breaking anything.”

Luke only manages a pout, he’s so content.

“Why don’t you play around with that…light sword. Thing. You haven’t used it since…well...” Han gestures at said lightsaber awkwardly. “You should- you should do that. Don’t want it going to waste.” He pauses, frowning, then adopts a sterner look. “Just don’t cut off anything important, for kriff’s sake.”

Luke grins into his plateful of vegetables. “Yes, sir,” he says cheekily.

Han scowls, muttering, “This is my own damn fault…”

-:-

So Luke finds a quiet corner in an abandoned storage room. Or at least he thinks it’s abandoned. There are only a few storage crates inside and when he peeks in the musty smell makes him sneeze seven times in a row.

By now he’s wearing a new pilot jumpsuit, the old one off being cleaned…somewhere. But he doesn’t want anything to happen to this one, so he shrugs out of the top half and ties the sleeves tight around his waist. Hopefully it’ll stay out of the lightsaber’s way. Hopefully he won’t actually cut anything important off. Well, not cut anything off period. Luke is optimistic. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s swung it around. In fact…

Luke unhooks the lightsaber from his belt, flicks it on with a snap hiss, then fiddles with the knobs a bit. He thinks he remembers Ben saying there were different settings…

After a few seconds of fiddling, the low hum of the lightsaber noticeably slows. When Luke cautiously waves his hand next to the blade, he thinks it feels cooler, less like his skin will blister off if he were to touch it. He grins and plays with the controls a few minutes more to make sure he knows what he’s doing.

Once he’s satisfied, he clicks the lightsaber off. Breathes in, out. Then flicks it on again. The snap hiss reminds him of a blaster shot hitting the sands of Tatooine on the rare occasion he missed a womp rat. He closes his eyes, a wave of nostalgia flooding him, making it hard to breathe for a second. Then he opens his eyes, sets the lightsaber on low and spreads his feet apart in a more centered stance.

Luke pulls the lightsaber down and to the side like Ben showed him. Then up, and down to the other side. Keeping his arms steady and hands tight about the hilt so the weapon won’t go flying, he clumsily makes his way through some very basic steps Ben had led him through. Once he’s circled the room a few times, he takes a deep breath, then tries swinging the lightsaber around with more speed and force. It feels unbearably awkward, and more often than not his eyes catch reverently on the bright glow of the blade and he can’t help but think of his father. His father who he’ll never know. Wielding this blade with more grace and precision than Luke can ever hope to accomplish. Cutting down enemies. Saving lives. Holding this lightsaber, he feels more connected to his father than he ever has.

He wishes he could have asked Ben more about his father. His mother, even. Because surely Ben knew who she was. Wishes he could have had time to get to know Ben himself. Wishes his uncle would have let him.

Fingers tightening around vibrating metal, he swallows back the bitterness on his tongue. He can’t let himself go there. He can’t. What’s done is done. There is no fixing it.

Frustrated, he slashes through the air, fighting to keep his breath even.

Sharp laughter cuts through the air.

Luke startles, fumbling. The lightsaber snaps off. He whirls around to face the doorway.

A boy, more man really, stands there leaning against the doorframe. He looks about Luke’s age, wearing an orange jacket with a high yellow collar and modified armour. Dark hair crops short against his skull, olive skin, a long wide nose but high cheekbones, two scars slashed across the left one. His laughter is high and loud, eyes closed in delight. When he opens them, Luke is caught off guard by their colour. A rich, deep blue. Like the last moments of twilight before night sets in completely.

“Oh stars,” the man cackles, fighting to catch his breath. “You’re terrible!”

Bristling, Luke scowls. “Excuse me?” he bites out.

The man snickers for a few moments more, wiping at his eyes, then tilts his head against the frame, a disarmingly charming smirk crooked across his cheeks. “That lightsaber. You fight like you’re swinging around a broken branch. How long have you even had that thing?”

The skin tightens around Luke’s eyes and he doesn’t even want to know how twisted his expression is. “Well excuse me for not doing it correctly. I’ve only had it a few days.” His words are brittle. Eyes cutting to the side he continues, “It’s not like I really had much of a chance to learn before- before Ben—” Voice cracking, he chokes off. Fights back the hot tears. Knuckles whiten around the hilt in his hand.

There’s a moment of silence.

“Hey—” The intruder’s voice is hesitant, softer. “I- I didn’t mean…Karabast.”

Luke doesn’t look up. Only tries to fight back the misery and humiliation roiling in his gut.

There’s an aggrieved sigh. “Listen. I’m sorry. That’s- It wasn’t meant to be cruel. I was just as terrible when I started out.”

When he started out?

“What?” Luke’s head shoots up to stare at the man’s embarrassed expression.

“Uh- yeah.” With one hand, the man reaches behind him to unclip something from his belt. With a now familiar snap hiss, a rush of green falls from the man’s loose and easy grip. Luke stares at the man’s lightsaber.

“I—” Luke croaks. “Ben- Ben told me there weren’t any more Jedi…”

The man idly taps at the air with the blade, scratching the back of his head with his free hand. “Ah, well. I guess there are a few. Kind of. My master was a padawan who survived the massacre. I’ve been with him for a few years now.” The man flashes him a sheepish grin. “I’ve been called a Jedi, but if this was still the Republic I’d be nowhere near Knighted…” Trailing off, he eyes the green of his lightsaber. It extinguishes with a hiss.

“I guess I’m more a Force-user than anything else.”

Luke gulps, bewildered awe trembling his throat. “Could- could you teach me?”

The man shoots him a wide-eyed look. “Me?!”

“Please,” Luke says, suddenly desperate. He thought Ben was the only one left who could teach him. But- but if this person can—

“I can’t.”

The disappointment is so utterly overwhelming it threatens to crush him. “You—” He gulps. “You can’t...?” He can’t help how his voice breaks.

The man’s face twists in sympathy and guilt. “I’m sorry. I mean- I could teach you a few things, but—I’m still a padawan. I can’t properly teach you when I’m still learning myself…” He frowns, brings up a hand to scratch at his chin. “I don’t think my master would really be willing to take anyone else on, either.”

“Why not?” Luke is a bit ashamed about how desperate he sounds.

The man winces. “Ah, well…I’m. I’m kind of a handful. I really don’t think he could take anyone else long term. And we do a lot of missions.”

Luke wilts, shoulders slumping as his face crumples. “Oh. Okay.”

“But- uh. I do know someone who- who might be able to help?”

Hope trembles in his breast. “Really…?”

The man looks a bit awkward and unsure. “Yeah. She- she’s not here at the moment. She’ll probably meet up with us at the new base, and she’s been a little- uh- different recently. But she’s absolutely amazing!” That’s definitely awe in his voice. “She’s not a Jedi, either, but she’s a really powerful Force-user!”

“And- and you think she could teach me?”

The man smiles. “Yeah, I think she could help you out.”

Relief slumps Luke’s shoulders and he pours all the gratitude he can muster into his smile when he says, “Thank you so much. Really. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

The man’s mouth goes a little slack, eyes widening as he stares at him. When he doesn’t look like he’s going to let up anytime soon Luke fidgets, lips tucking into a frown.

“What is it?”

The man blinks, then shakes his head slightly, clearing his throat. “Uh- nothing. Nothing. Uhm. I didn’t get your name.”

Luke’s smile widens again. “Luke.”

The man’s grin is just as charming as before. “Hi Luke, I’m—”

“—bzzt! Ezra! Ezra, come in! Where are you? You’re late!”

They both startle. The man- Ezra?- jerks up his arm , automatically pressing the button on the comm strapped to his wrist. “Y-Yes?”

“Ezra! There you are! We’ve got a meeting, where have you been?”

“Oh- uh—” Frazzled, Ezra glances at Luke. “I just- Sorry. I’ll be right there.”

“You better be.”

The comm clicks off and Ezra chuckles nervously. “Ah, I should, uh- you know. Go. Things to do. Places to be.”

Amusement curls in Luke’s breast. “It’s good to meet you, Ezra.”

Ezra smiles, teeth glinting in the artificial light. “You, too.” His gaze drops down to the lightsaber in Luke’s hand. “Maybe you could tell me about how you got that ‘sabre sometime?”

Grief spikes up Luke’s throat, but he manages to smile in return. “Yeah, sure.”

Thankfully, Ezra’s grin is bright enough for them both. “Great. I’ll see you around!” He’s out the door before Luke can say anything else.

-:-

Leia hasn’t returned to the Falcon by the time Luke is yawning hard enough that his jaw aches. He gives up waiting for her to get back so he can ask her about the Rebellion’s Force-users. Exhausted, he crawls into Han’s bunk when the smuggler gives him a pointed look. He’s just fading off to sleep when Han joins him. Grumbling near incoherently, the smuggler yanks the blankets over his shoulder away from Luke.

“Stole all the kriffing covers last night, kid. If you keep doing it, I’m gonna hafta shove you onto the floor…”

Luke huffs a laugh. “I’ll try not to do it again,” he murmurs, words slurring.

“Good.”

Yawning again, barely aware of what he’s saying and tongue loosened by sleep, Luke whispers, “I met someone else today…”

Han shifts, grunting. “What, did you met someone yesterday?”

Nuzzling into the threadbare pillow Luke nods muzzily. “Yeah, real nice guy…Sweet. Smiles pretty.”

A huff of incredulous, quiet laughter. “Oh, really?”

Humming, Luke smiles. “And…”

Han waits. After a good minute he sighs, an odd sort of fondness slipping into his breath. The kid probably fell asleep. Closing his eyes, he curls further into the blankets, but then—

“…there are other…Force-users here, ya know…?”

Startling, Han peers over his shoulder. Messy blond locks peak out just above the edge of the blankets, barely visible in the dim light. “Yeah…?” he asks warily.

“Met…met one of them…today…..he was nice, too…”

Han can’t help the grin that crooks across his face. “That’s good, kid. I’m happy for you.”

Luke doesn’t answer. His breaths have steadied deep and slow, side brushing Han’s every so often. Eventually it’s clear the kid is fast asleep and not waking up anytime soon. Fighting the stupid urge to ruffle the kid’s hair, Han settles back in to sleep. He wonders if he’ll have to give him a few pointers on flirting. Thinking of the wastes of Tatooine and the way the kid was so awkward and painfully out of place in that cantina…yeah. He definitely will.

Han heaves a sigh. Tries to think of happy thoughts that definitely do not involve that high-and-mighty princess at all, and eventually drifts off to sleep.

-:-

Luke doesn’t catch Leia the next morning either. It doesn’t even look like she’s slept in her cot even though she asked them if they had room. Worry gnaws at his ribs, unrelenting, and Luke resolves to have a quiet word with Han and Chewie about it later.

The morning passes much the same as the day before. The pilots really are a great bunch. The mechanics, too. Turns out the mechanics usually heckle the pilots about the state of their starfighters after missions, so the pilots tend to act pretty sheepish around them. The mechanics love Luke, though. Not that the other pilots can’t fix up their starfighters- they wouldn’t be pilots if they couldn’t. But Luke spent most of his life building things from scratch and fixing tech up and zipping through canyons on rides that only held together by the skill of his own hand. He knew how to tear apart a speeder and put it back together before he ever knew how to pilot one.

So when Luke watches a mechanic work around a particularly tricky circuit and quietly suggests a quicker way to bypass then fix the problem— Well, the mechanics end up fighting over him a bit, if he’s honest. They all try to convince him to be a mechanic instead, but then the pilots start getting into it and then the Duros from yesterday shows up and suggests that maybe Luke could put some sense into these fool-brain pilots’ heads and it just—

It goes on from there.

Luke very consciously doesn’t admit that he can be, in fact, a very reckless person. He very much doubts that he’ll be able to influence the other pilots as much as the mechanics seem to think.

Needless to say, it’s an eventful morning. Perfect for shoving thoughts that involve his aunt and uncle and Ben and mysterious Force-users to the back of his head.

Lunch comes and Luke once again waves to his newfound friends before heading off to the medbay. Anticipating that Bodhi’s companions will like something other than the patient rations (and that Chirrut will steal some of his food anyway), the tray is loaded with several glasses of water and more food than yesterday. He’s sure to add some meat and bread, thinking of the sharp jut of Bodhi’s cheekbones with some concern. But once again he takes care to load a plate with fruits and vegetables with a high-water content.

Looking down at the fat fruits and terribly (amazingly) green vegetables, a blush burns hot in his cheeks. He doesn’t even know if other planets revere water dense foods like the people of Tatooine, but he suspects that many don’t considering the careless regard he’s seen in the commissary (and the weird looks Han shot his heaping plate and cup and cup of water).

Maybe Bodhi won’t understand the significance of offering someone water and foods rich with it— and not just from a host’s perspective. If someone you like and respect enters your home, you offer water and fruit to let someone know they’re an honoured guest, even if your stores are more emaciated than anything. But if you specifically bring water and water-rich food to someone…Well, it could mean a fair number of things. But Luke remembers quite vividly whenever one of his friends fancied someone else, spending hard earned wages on precious water and fruits so they could court their sweethearts. Luke never did it himself, but…

He pauses in front of the medbay doors, swallowing down the lump in his throat, furiously trying to convince himself he’s not doing what he thinks he might be.

He’s only known Bodhi for a couple of days for Suns’ sake. He just wants to get to know the man better. Ezra’s charming smile flashes in his mind’s eye, startling him. Luke frowns, fingers tightening on the tray. No. No, he’s just, just—

A young woman with odd, brightly coloured hair and armour exits the medbay and lightly steps around him, giving Luke a quizzical, minutely irritated look.

The flush comes back full force as Luke mumbles an apology and hurries through the door.

But Bodhi isn’t there. Luke makes it all the way to the back of the room, very staunchly not fretting thank you very much, before he even notices. He stands there by Bodhi’s empty bed, staring at the rumpled covers and Kaytoo’s scattered limbs and the two pillows- one grease-stained, the other worn white.

“What,” he says dumbly.

“I thought you might come again. He’s in surgery.”

Luke turns his bewildered stare to Chirrut who’s leaning back against his pillows with small smile. Chirrut doesn’t turn to look at him, but then again Luke doesn’t really expect him to. Chirrut is a blind man, after all. Why should he adopt the same practices as a sightless person?

Surprisingly, Baze isn’t beside the older man. Luke rather got the impression that they never left the other’s side.

Then Luke realizes what Chirrut just said.

“Surgery?!” Luke can’t help the alarm in his voice.

Chirrut’s expression shutters, then creases with sorrow. “They want to fit him with a cybernetic before the move. The doctors believe it will be easier on his body.”

“Oh.” Concern, sharp and unexpectedly heavy, clogs his throat. “Uh, is he going to be okay?”

Chirrut doesn’t answer for a long moment, eyes milky and distant, surely seeing things Luke could never even dream of. His words are soft and knowing when he does eventually speak. “He will be, in time.” Lips pulling into a teasing smile, he continues, “I rather think you’ve begun to help with that already.”

“Oh!” Fingers tighten around his tray, ears burning. “That’s- that’s good.”

When Chirrut only continues to smile, Luke fidgets, eyes flickering to the next bed. Jyn is missing, too. But Cassian is still there. The scruffy man pays them no mind, speaking in hushed tones with a broad-shouldered man sitting by his bedside. The visitor has the largest sideburns Luke has ever seen on a person, and he can’t but stare for a moment.

Then Luke realizes he’s still holding a heavy tray full of food and the lunch break is steadily ticking to a close. “Uh, do you want to share some food with me?” Luke asks Chirrut.

Chirrut’s smile transforms into a bright thing. Soft and weathered like the leather-wrapped handle of his old Tatooine rifle, comforting and reliable. “You are very kind, young Luke,” Chirrut says, voice just as warm as his expression. “I would love to share a meal with you.”

-:-

Luke leaves with a promise to drop by later that night to check on Bodhi.

“I’ll let him know,” Chirrut assures. “I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you again.” He laughs at the blush on Luke’s face, something he cannot possibly know about but somehow still does.

Luke spends the afternoon distracted. Worrying about Bodhi. Worrying about the other Force-users. Worrying about Leia. Wondering if he’ll actually see Ezra again.

Leia actually briefly stops by in the late afternoon, Threepio and Artoo right on her heels. “I thought you’d like some more company,” she says with a tight smile. Then she leans in close and hisses, “I have several more meetings to get through today and I can’t do it with Threepio’s incessant chatter and Artoo’s cheeky remarks. Any other day it’d be fine but I cannot deal with it right now. Please take them.”

Biting back his amusement, Luke replies very loudly and obviously. “That’s great!” Peering over Leia’s shoulder, he grins. “I haven’t seen you guys much the past couple days!”

Threepio huffs with some regret, “We had some important Rebellion business to take care of, Master Luke. Not that you are not important, of course! But some other matters required our attention.”

Artoo warbles, then wheels over to Luke’s side. He can’t help but run his fingers over the droid’s smooth dome. Artoo trills and beeps somewhat sadly.

“It’s okay. Did you want to help me with some diagnostics?” Luke gestures at the X-Wing he’s standing next to. His X-Wing. Still a bit scuffed up, but his. He can hardly believe it. Can still hardly believe any of this is happening but it is.

Artoo’s excited response is most certainly a resounding yes. Luke grins and looks back at Threepio. “Do you want to help me learn droid? I want to be able to actually understand Artoo when he says something instead of just guess.”

“Oh!” Threepio waves his arms. “It would be my pleasure, Master Luke!”

Luke frowns. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Master,’ you know. Luke is just fine.”

“Oh, I could not possibly—! It would be quite rude of me!”

Luke sighs as Artoo beeps something that sounds rather scathing. He doubts he’ll be able to change Threepio’s mind. He’s quite a stubborn droid. The both of them are.

As Threepio and Artoo start squabbling once again Leia turns back to him, expression as relieved as Luke thinks she can allow it to be right now.

“I really do appreciate this, Luke. Thank you.”

He smiles. “It’s really no problem. I do enjoy them, and I could use more company.” He glances towards the other pilots and mechanics scattered around the docking bay, some chatting and joking but all diligently at work. Frowning again, he gives Leia a cautious look.

Brows furrowing, Leia automatically frowns in response. “What is it?”

“Are you going to actually sleep at some point?” This close he can see the telltale smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes. Wisps of stray hair escape her buns, mussy, creating the illusion that she’s smudged along her edges, as well.

Leia’s eyes widen a fraction, then she huffs a sharp sigh. “There’s a lot of work to be done. We cannot afford to waste a single second, especially since we have to evacuate before the Empire returns.”

Upset and concerned, Luke can’t let it go. “You specifically asked Han if there was room in the Falcon for you.” Frown pulling deeper, he thinks, then forges on. “And I’m sharing a bed with Han. If you aren’t taking care of yourself like you should,” Stars, he’s channeling Aunt Beru right now, “then there’s no use for me to be cramped up in that bed with him! He snores, you know. It’s terrible. Like a faulty engine or a- a bantha with a cold.”

Irritation and guilt pinches Leia’s face. “Then just take the bed, you idiot.”

“No.” Luke crosses his arms. “It’s not mine. It’s yours, and you’re going to sleep in it.”

“I have work—”

“And you will need to sleep in order to do that work properly.”

They glower at each other for a solid minute, their lips pinched in displeasure, brows contorted in sharp furrows.

“No matter what you say I’m never sleeping in that cot. Not ever. Han will just have to put up with me for the rest of his life and I may strangle him eventually if he doesn’t stop snoring right in my ear. Do you want that on your conscious, Leia? Do you really?”

Her expression twists into some sort of fond amusement. “It would certainly get him out of my hair.” Snorting, her face softens. “And by that logic, no matter what I do you’re going to end up strangling him.”

Luke opens his mouth. Thinks. Manages to let out a few garbled, incoherent words. Then settles on simply pressing his lips into a thin line and channeling all the stubbornness he can into his unflinching glare.

Leia snorts out an incredulous laugh. “You’re ridiculous.” Eyes straying towards where the Falcon nestles into a distant corner, she sighs, slumping just the slightest. “Fine. Fine. Do I have a bedtime, too, Mister Skywalker?” Her lips quirk, wry, exasperated.

“Well now that you mention it…” Luke drawls, mouth spreading into an easy grin, stance relaxing now that he knows he’s won.

Leia rolls her eyes. “You’re getting off easy, Luke. Normally I put up much more of a fight, but…” She trails off, weariness seeping into her posture. “You’re right. I do need some sleep. I’ll be no use to the Rebellion if I don’t take care of myself.”

Worry wells in his gut. “Are you eating enough?”

When Leia adopts a somewhat distant expression, clearly trying to remember the last time she ate, Luke reaches out to touch her shoulder. “Have dinner with us. I always meet Han and Chewie in the commissary an hour after dinner begins. I’m sure they’d be happy to see you, too!”

One corner of her lips pulls up higher than the other. “Well I don’t know about ‘happy’ when it comes to Han, but yes. I’d love to.”

“Good.” Luke grips her shoulder, then turns to the droids who are somehow still bickering. Luke wonders if it’s always been like this for them. This back and forth exasperated banter that in the end comes across as more fond and teasing than anything else.

“I’ll see you later then, Luke.”

Luke offers her a cheery wave before stepping forward to interrupt the two droids. “Guys…”

-:-

Unfortunately, even though Threepio is programmed with over six million languages, he’s pretty terrible at teaching them. Possibly because he was programmed with them instead of learned them from scratch himself. Luke has trouble distinguishing specific sounds and Threepio doesn’t understand how he can’t tell the difference between a half second bleep and a three-quarters second bleep a fraction of a tone higher.

By the time dinner rolls around, Luke vibrates with frustration and tension. Threepio assures Luke that his struggle is only natural, after all, considering Luke is human and has only been learning for a few hours. Artoo trills encouragingly at Luke’s heels as they trek down the base’s halls towards dinner.

On the way, Luke bumps into Ezra.

Or more accurately, there’s a Suns’ awful screeching at the end of the hall and then a clunky, orange droid whizzes past Luke and careens straight into Artoo. Luke stares, bewildered, as the orange droid noisily bumps into Artoo’s side a few more times, babbling faster than Luke could even hope to vaguely understand. Artoo trills back, beeping excitedly as the other droid waves tiny arms and pokes at his side.

“Chopper! What are you doing?!”

The orange droid swivels its head to beep rather harshly down the hall, Artoo delightedly joining in a few moments later. Threepio splutters about language please, we are not heathens!

Baffled, Luke stares down the hallway only to see Ezra trotting towards them, weaving between passersby. Exasperated resignation pulls tight about the man’s eyes. But when Ezra catches sight of Luke, his face breaks into— into utter delight? Luke stares as Ezra’s lips stretch wide to reveal bright teeth, a sharp contrast to his tan skin.

“Luke! Hey!”

“Uh- hi!” Luke swallows, trying to wet his suddenly parched throat. He latches on Ezra’s brilliant smile in an attempt to distract himself from the sudden twisting in his gut, but it only makes it worse.

Ezra slows to a stop a step away, just inside Luke’s personal space. Luke is suddenly intensely aware that he stands a couple inches shorter than the other man. To meet Ezra’s gaze, he must lift his chin just the slightest. He’s never seen a blue so deep. This close, he even notices that the dark of the man’s hair has a similar blue sheen, almost oily in the artificial light. It looks soft, like Bodhi’s.

“How are you doing? Long day?”

“Uh—” Tongue slow, Luke fumbles over his words. “Y-yeah. Uhm, worked on my X-Wing today and- and some plans with the other, uh, pilots.”

Ezra hums, eyes bright. “Oh, so you’re a pilot? That’s awesome!” He considers Luke for a moment, eyes searching. Then his lips quirk. “You look like you would be,” he says with a wink. “I bet you’re an excellent behind the yoke.”

Luke cannot possibly explain the way his ears burn and how his stomach twists and flutters. Like cramps. He wants to drown himself in a glass of water and soothe the parched, scratchy feeling in his throat. Anything to quell his nerves.

“Uhm, I- uh. Guess I am.” Luke gulps passed his anxiety.

Something bumps into his leg, plucking at his pant leg and burbling inquiringly. Startled, Luke glances down to see the orange droid- Chopper was it?- peering up at him, little arms crooked.

“Yeah, Chopper, this is Luke!” Ezra nudges the droid with his toe good-naturedly. Chopper flails an arm at the man, beeping peeved. Ezra scowls, a curious flush splotching across his high cheekbones. “No, Chopper!” A panicked glance at Luke, then a more determined kick at Chopper’s side. Chopper brandishes a sparking arm and stabs at Ezra threateningly.

“You can understand him?” Envy crawls up Luke’s throat, dislodging the words before he can help it.

Ezra’s eyes flicker to Luke, wide, a flush still high on his cheeks. “You- you can’t speak droid?”

At the shake of his head, Ezra’s expression softens into relief, which only confuses Luke even more. “Oh!” Ezra laughs. “Well, probably good you can’t. This one has quite the mouth.”

Chopper lets out a string of whistles and bleeps which Ezra only laughs at.

Luke grins, grasping at something he does understand. “I know what you mean! Well, I’ve been told that Artoo is pretty bad with that, too.”

Ezra startles. “Artoo? You mean R2-D2?” His eyes catch on Artoo who whistles a greeting, then Threepio. “Artoo! Threepio! I didn’t, uh, see you there!” The flush comes back full force, and this time the tips of Ezra’s ears burn red, too. Luke can’t help but stare at them with an odd sort of fascination, then grins.

“You didn’t notice the bright gold droid?” he laughs.

The pink spreads across the bridge of Ezra’s nose as he avoids Luke’s gaze and mumbles, “Uh, no, uhm.” He glances at Artoo again. “I’m really glad you’re doing okay though, Artoo. How are those repairs holding up?”

Artoo whistles high, then spins his head enthusiastically.

Luke watches the exchange for a moment, then: “Wait. Are you the one who helped fix Artoo?”

Ezra glances at him. “Uh, yes? There wasn’t much left to do with him. Plus I couldn’t just leave him like that.” A faint frown. “Wait, how do you know Artoo?”

“It’s, uhm, kind of a long story. But they’re the reason why I’m here. With the Rebellion. The Empire was after them and I kinda just…got dragged along. How do you know Artoo?”

“I met him and Threepio a few years back on a mission. There was a bit of a mixup…”

Luke and Ezra exchange a laugh, a wry understanding in their eyes. Luke looks down at Artoo who’s watching them uncharacteristically quietly.

“I’m amazed, you did a really great job fixing him up. I was just so tired, one of the mechanics told me to stop and get some rest. So thank you. I was really worried about him.”

When Ezra burns red again Luke can’t help but grin. The man must be really self-conscious about praise since he’s been blushing so much the last few minutes. It’s rather endearing.

“Well, you did a pretty good job yourself. I was impressed with the work I saw.” A shy grin eases across Ezra’s face.

“Thanks.” Luke smiles, his own bashful blush warming his cheeks. “Just, you know. Been fixing things up my whole life, so…”

“Me, too.”

Ezra and Luke stare at each other for a long moment, both smiling and flushed pink. Giddiness bubbles in Luke’s stomach. He’s not quite sure why. Maybe it’s because Ezra’s so nice. Because Ezra seems so similar to him and yet so different. It’s kind of scary, but exciting. Just like leaving Tatooine.

An aggrieved bleeping interrupts their strange stare-off, and Chopper bumps into Ezra’s leg, making the man stumble and break his gaze.

“What?!” Ezra snarls, a little breathless.

Chopper frantically waves his arms, then jabs one back towards the end of the hall.

Scowling, Ezra plants his knuckles on his hips. “Well you’re the one who decided to take off! We’re going to be late because of you!”

Chopper’s head spins and he rocks violently back and forth, then runs over Ezra’s foot.

Ezra yelps and splutters, grabbing at his boot. “Well- just- Chopper! Karabast! Shut up!”

Threepio lets out a little, “Oh, my,” arm jerking up in surprise. Artoo titters at his feet.

“You okay?” Luke makes an abortive move to touch Ezra’s shoulder, gnawing on his lip. Ezra said they were late. Were they never going to get the chance to properly talk?

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Ezra groans, still nursing his foot and shooting dark looks at the orange droid who has now started rolling away, careening between people and making them stumble in surprise. “We’ve really got to get going.” He straightens, shaking out his foot with in irritation. “One of my crewmates asked me to keep an eye on his partner during this meeting. We rescued some people a few days back and I can’t in good conscious leave them with someone as grumpy as him.”

Suns, Ezra really is a kind guy. “It’s okay.” Luke smiles. “We’ll catch up some other time?” Hope and uncertainty lilt his words.

Ezra’s expression softens, reaching out to grip Luke’s shoulder. Distantly, Luke wishes he could actually feel the rasp of the man’s skin against his own, instead of simply just Ezra’s remarkably gentle strength.

“I’ll see you around, Luke.” Lips pursing in an inexplicably sudden nervousness, Ezra’s eyes flicker across Luke’s face. “Uhm, maybe after the- the Ceremony tomorrow? We could talk?” There’s a curious apprehension in his voice.

Luke’s stomach plummets. He’s already heard some gossip: The great Jedi General’s long-lost son found and returned. Anakin Skywalker’s son helped rescue the princess. He made the shot that destroyed the Death Star. A few people have been side-eyeing him in the halls, sometimes blatantly staring as he works with the other pilots. Luckily not too many know him by sight yet. But that will change after tomorrow’s Ceremony.

It makes him uncomfortable. Proud and giddy, yes. But- more uncomfortable than anything. He’s just a farm boy. He didn’t even know his father was a revered Jedi until a few days ago, and he’s only been in this fight for even shorter than that. It’s with a sharp and heady guilt that he remembers wanting to go to the Imperial Academy. If Uncle Owen had actually let him, then it probably would be him the Rebellion is fighting against. Or if he’d tried to defect like Biggs, he might have been killed.

Biggs…

Luke may have lost a lot over the last few whirlwind days, but he’s not the only one. People like Biggs have lost their lives, people like Bodhi have even lost their limbs. Luke’s just some guy who was lucky enough to get caught up in the right side of the war and actually survive.

So he hopes Ezra doesn’t know who he is. At least not yet. Because- because he really doesn’t want his friendship with the man to sputter out before it’s even started.

But, he thinks desperately, he never told Ezra his last name. So- so maybe it’s not that Ezra is nervous about.

He can only hope.

Though, after tomorrow…Ezra will know. Maybe. Luke knows that there will be more people receiving medals at the Ceremony. Like the survivors of the team that stole the plans for the Death Star, and the crew who rescued that team before they were killed. So maybe Luke will get lost in the crowd.

Luke swallows back the dread and trepidation and nods. Forces himself to smile and say, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

There’s a touch of concern in Ezra’s eyes, but he doesn’t comment on whatever he notices in Luke’s voice. “Good. Then- see you.” He trots after Chopper, navigating between the irritated people Chopper has left in his wake.

Luke watches him go.

-:-

Leia, Han and Chewie are already eating by the time Luke gets to dinner. Threepio and Artoo excuse themselves to converse with a few other droids congregating in a corner.

Han rolls his eyes at Luke’s pile of green-rich food and three glasses of water. Leia eyes it in confusion, then breathes out a little, “Oh,” before nodding to herself and tucking back into her food with no other comment.

“Hey, Leia. How were the rest of your meetings?”

Leia heaves a sigh. “Long. Tiring. But necessary. I finally met some people I’ve been wanting to meet, so that was a nice end to the day.” Her expression twists in irritation. “Though I still have a few more things to do tonight.”

“Princess, even droids need to recharge,” Han says through a mouthful of bread, pointedly jabbing his fork in her direction. Chewie rumbles in agreement, though Luke is sure the Wookiee is far more tactful about it than Han.

Leia’s nose scrunches. “Well, the Ceremony is tomorrow. I’m the one organizing it and presenting the medals. So, if you want your big glory moment then let me do my work.”

“Promise you’ll be back at a reasonable time tonight, though,” Luke pleads. “It will be no good if you don’t get any rest again.”

“You’ll definitely need your beauty sleep. A pretty face like yours is no good for morale if you’ve got bags under your eyes,” Han interjects mildly, chomping down on another bite of food.

Chewie cuffs Han over the back of the head as Luke kicks the smuggler under the table.

“Excuse me?” Leia’s expression is deadly, terrifying enough that Luke is sure she could scare away even Krayt dragons.

“Well—” Han splutters as he chokes on his food. Luke dutifully nudges over Han’s glass of juice. Han grabs at it, gulps and spends the next minute coughing. He scrubs his hand over his mouth. “I- it’s true! Don’t tell me people don’t look up to you! If they see you’re looking haggard, especially during an important celebration, they might lose a little heart!”

Luke wants to laugh. He may not have known the smuggler for very long, but it’s easy to tell the man cares, even if he expresses it poorly.

Leia purses her lips. “How do you even make a living swindling people when you’re so terrible with words,” she deadpans.

Han scowls as Chewie chuckles. “I’ll have you know I have a silver tongue.” Chewie laughs again. “Usually.”

Leia hums, unconvinced, then takes another bite of food.

They eat in silence for another minute before Luke remembers what he wanted to ask Leia last night. “Leia, you didn’t tell me there are other Force-users in the Rebellion!”

Leia glances up at him in surprise. “Oh, yes there are. I’m sorry, it slipped my mind.”

Luke chews on his lip. “Can- can you tell me about them?”

Nodding, Leia takes a sip of water to clear her mouth. “Well, I’ve worked with them a few times. I didn’t know they were even in the Rebellion until a couple years ago. We have different cells, see. So if one gets captured they can’t spill information on the rest of the Rebellion.” Tapping her fork against her plate, she thinks.

“I don’t want to tell you too much. There’s a lot that I have no right to talk about, and some of what I know I’ve only heard through word of mouth.” She smiles, fond. “There are three that I know of. All kind, dedicated and very skilled. Two are former Jedi apprentices who survived the Purge. They don’t…necessarily consider themselves Jedi. A lot has happened. Too much. But they are risking their safety to help us fight.”

“Because of the Purges?”

Leia’s lips purse in sorrow. “The Empire hunts down and exploits any Force-users they can find. It’s different on the Outer Rim, which is why I suspect you weren’t found. The Empire isn’t as much of a presence there.” She sighs, skin about her eyes tight. “There are Dark Forcer-users in the employ of the Empire. Besides Vader, I mean.” The shudder is minute, but still there.

“They’re called Inquisitors. We’ve fought against them many times, our Forcer-users in particular. It’s…” Her knuckles go white around her fork. “I’ve only met Vader. But the other ones, the Inquisitors, are just as brutal.”

Chewie whines low in his throat.

“I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” Luke stutters out.

“It’s all right,” Leia pats his hand. “I can only hope that you won’t have to face the Inquisitors. Although…” She frowns. “You probably will if you want to learn how to wield a lightsaber. I could introduce you tomorrow, if you want.”

“Oh, uh. I’ve already met someone. One of them. I mean- I think? Ezra?” For some reason, Luke’s cheeks burn. Han snorts and Luke shoots him an irritated, confused look.

Leia lights up. “Oh, Ezra! He’s such a sweetheart! A bit reckless, but very good at what he does. He’s actually the same age me. Probably you, too, now that I think about it.” She laughs. “We even have the same Naming day, as unfortunate as it is. Empire Day.”

Luke chokes. “What?” He sputters for a few moments, then manages to say, “That’s my Birthday! How- how old are you?”

Leia regards him with some shocked disbelief. “Nineteen years…?”

“Same as me!” Luke reaches out to grab her shoulder and he can’t help but shake it a bit, incredulous laughter bursting from his lungs. “That’s- wow. What are the chances of that, huh? That’s so weird!” I’ve never met someone with the same Naming day as me! And now, suddenly two at once!”

Han quietly chokes in the background, muttering about kriffing children and stars does he feel old this isn’t fair.

Leia gapes. “That’s- certainly. Huh. What are the chances,” she echoes. There’s a skeptical gleam in her eye, but Luke hardly notices.

-:-

Luke heads straight to the medbay after dinner, snagging a plate of vegetables, a couple sweets and a glass of water along the way. Much to Han’s amusement, Luke sends Threepio and Artoo off with Leia to make sure she gets back to the Falcon to sleep.

Thankfully, Bodhi’s surgery is done and he’s awake. The others of his team are back, too. Chirrut still sits in his bed, but Baze has moved his chair to rest in between Chirrut’s and Bodhi’s beds. Cassian slouches in another chair pulled up between the two cots with Jyn perched on Chirrut’s covers. They’re all peering at the metal skeletal leg attached to Bodhi’s stump. Chirrut loudly demands for someone to describe the leg to him while Baze quietly murmurs that there isn’t really much else to describe, Chirrut, honestly.

Just as Chirrut starts to declare that in that case he’ll just have to come over there and feel it up for himself, Luke steps forward.

“Wow, that’s not too bad!” he can’t help but exclaim. Because it really isn’t that bad. Only the rich on Tatooine have anything as intricate as this. Everyone else must either rely on hoverchairs or crude caricatures like the peg leg their neighbor’s husband has.

As one, they turn to look up at him. Bodhi’s eyes go wide and his fingers clench at his pant leg.

“My, my! Aren’t you a popular man today, Bodhi!” Chirrut sings, a smug grin crooked across his lips. “Did you bring some more food, Luke? I’m famished.”

Baze scowls and pinches the blind man’s arm. Chirrut only laughs.

“Uh, yeah. I did? Uhm. I have some more vegetables and a few sweets?” Luke helplessly offers the plate even though Chirrut cannot possibly see.

“Ooh, I’ll take a sweet, thank you. I’ll leave the vegetables to Bodhi. You’re so kind, Luke.” Jyn reaches out to snag a sweetcake and pass it on to Chirrut who immediately bites into it happily.

“Hi, Luke.” Bodhi’s voice is so soft, his face open and vulnerable. Luke sorely wishes he could smooth the tense creases in the man’s brow away, along with all his worries.

“Hi, Bodhi.” Luke smiles warmly. “How are you feeling?”

Bodhi glances down at his leg, brow furrowing even more. “Okay, I think. They’ve been prepping me for the, uh, surgery the last couple days. So it’s not as bad as it could be. I’ve- I’ve already walked on it.” Exhaustion smudges the skin beneath his eyes, though. Even if the surgery went fairly quickly and successfully, it must have taken a lot out of him.

“And he already has plans for tweaking it,” Jyn drawls, pride obvious in her voice. “This one isn’t the best on the market, but by the time Bodhi’s done with it it’ll be even better than the ones that are sensitized to touch.”

Luke gapes. “You mean- there are cybernetics that let you feel stuff? Like- like sand in your boots or- or pain?”

Miraculously, it’s Bodhi who laughs. “Which is why I don’t want one like that. This will do for now, but…” His grin twists into something more self-deprecating. “I think I can manage.”

“I can help you with this, too, if you want,” Luke blurts before he can help himself.

“Oh.” Bodhi flushes. “That- I mean. If you have time, I would…I would like that.”

Pleased relief floods through him, and Luke takes this chance to sit on the other side of Bodhi’s bed. “I’ll always have time for you.” His eyes widen when he realizes what he just said, and he bites his lip as his ears burn. “Uh, uhm. Here.” He shoves the plate of food at Bodhi, hoping to distract him.

Chirrut snickers in the background.

Bodhi stares at Luke, then the plate, eyes flickering to the glass of water Luke gently puts in his hand. The older man ducks his head, cheeks flushing even redder.

Luke coughs, a bit strangled. “So, uh, how’s Kaytoo coming along?”

They spend the rest of Luke’s visit discussing the plans to restore Kaytoo’s databanks completely and how they’re going to finish fixing up the rest of him. Cassian says it will at least take another couple of weeks, but it will get done. Without a doubt.

Luke leaves when it’s clear Bodhi is struggling too hard to stay awake.

“We’ll see you tomorrow at the Ceremony, Luke,” Chirrut chirps from his bed. “It’ll be a nice change from these dreary walls.”

-:-

That night when Luke curls close to the wall, tucking the blankets under his chin, he finds it very difficult to fall asleep. Tomorrow is the Ceremony. The day after that they’re all officially moving out, though the Rebellion has already begun the process. Besides helping fight the Empire, Luke doesn’t really know what the plans are after tomorrow. Doesn’t know what Bodhi will be doing. Doesn’t know what Ezra will be doing. Let alone Leia and Han and Chewie.

And tomorrow. He shudders in trepidation. He doesn’t want either Bodhi or Ezra to look at him differently. Doesn’t want them to think he’s just a stupid farmboy who got lucky or that he’s- he’s someone people should look up to. Because he knows some people already do. It’s unnerving and more than a little terrifying. He just wants to get to know them. Wants to be friends. They just- he’s drawn to them. He can’t explain it. It’s different than with Leia or Han or Chewie.

“Kid, I can hear you thinking from here.”

Jerking guiltily, Luke huddles under the covers. “Sorry, Han.”

Han sighs loudly from his side of the bed. The force of it trembles along the blankets and brushes Luke’s side. “Well, you better spit it out, otherwise neither of us are going to get any sleep.”

“Sorry,” Luke repeats. At least Leia’s already back on the Falcon and getting some rest. She passed out over an hour ago. When Luke peered into her room to check up on her he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest, her tiny, breathy snores echoing in the room.

“Kid…”

“Sor- uhm.” Luke shifts nervously, toes curling against the chilly wall. “Just…the Ceremony tomorrow.” He falls silent.

“…And?”

“And—! I don’t know. It’s- it’s scary, I guess? There’s going to be a lot of people there and they’re all going to be looking at us and- and why do we even need medals? It’s not like we’re the only ones who did anything! We just- we were lucky! I mean, I was lucky, you were- you were good. Fine. That’s fine if you get a medal, you should get a medal—”

“Luke.”

Han kicks him in the shin.

“Stop blabbering. You’re just working yourself up more.”

Luke nods, though Han can’t see it in the dark and because they’re still facing away from one another.

Another loud sigh. “Listen. You may feel like you don’t need a medal, but plenty of other people do. You did blow up the Death Star— do not think about interrupting me— which was, I gotta admit, pretty amazing. Other pilots tried taking the shots before you and didn’t make it. What you did…that really takes skill. It was nearly impossible.” Han shifts, heels nudging Luke’s shin briefly before he moves away.

“It’s also good for morale, kid. These people need something to celebrate. They need to praise the living shavit out of you and Leia and yeah, maybe even me and Chewie, because we just proved that everything they’re doing isn’t going to waste. We’ve given them hope in the face of all this hardship.”

“Okay,” Luke whispers, anxiety still churning in his gut. “Okay.” It’s still terrifying, though.

“…There something else you’re worried about?”

Luke nods again, a tiny thing in the dark. “I just— Only a few people have recognized me so far and after this they’ll all know what I look like. Han, I wasn’t anything before this. I’m just- I’m me. Not, not whoever they think I am. And I don’t—” He bites his lip. “I don’t want Bodhi or Ezra to see me any differently.”

“The guy with the pretty smile and the Force-user?”

“What?” Luke jerks to stare over his shoulder. “What- what are you talking about?”

Laughter cuts through the darkness. “You were pretty out of it last night, kid. You may have said some things.”

Luke splutters, then presses his face into the pillow, moaning in humiliated despair. “Noooo…”

“It’s all right. Your secret crushes are safe with me. Though I hate to break it to you, kid, they’re probably not all that secret. You wear your heart on your sleeve, Luke. It won’t be that hard to notice if your eyes sparkle every time you talk to them.”

“Wha- I don’t- How could you—”

Han stills, then flops over to face Luke. He reaches out to grab his shoulder and turn him around to get a good look at his face (or as best as he can in the dark). “You’re kidding me. It’s so obvious. Last night I could tell even though you were half delirious with exhaustion. And I really doubt Leia didn’t notice how you kriffing blushed at the mere mention of that Force-user. You’ve got it bad, kid.”

Luke buries his face in his hands. “But…” he mumbles, desperate.

“Hey, I’m not judging.” Han pats Luke’s shoulder awkwardly. “I know plenty of people who are polyamorous. I’ve even indulged a few times myself…”

“But I barely know them,” Luke wails.

“Sometimes things just happen. We can’t really help what we feel.” Han pulls back. “I could give you some pointers.”

“Nngghhh,” Luke says, then proceeds to try to smother himself with his pillow.

-:-

“Stop fiddling with your jacket, you look fine.”

Luke peers up at Han, dismayed, as they walk towards the grand hall. “But I’ve never worn it before…” His hand goes down to fiddle with the cuff of his sleeve instead of the collar.

Han rolls his eyes, amusement curling in his chest. “All pilots get them. And don’t worry, you look pretty even without the jacket.” He tries for a leer, but Luke only blinks up at him, completely oblivious and overly anxious. The kid starts smoothing at the wrinkles in his shirt instead.

The Ceremony begins soon. Luke was furious when they realized they were in danger of being late. But Han isn’t one to be rushed. Not when he has the luxury of choice, that is.

Chewie huffs a laugh behind him at Luke’s antics.

“I know,” Han murmurs, leaning into his best friend to flash him a smirk. “It’s kind of adorable.”

“What’s adorable?” Luke asks distractedly as they turn the corner.

“Luke?”

The three of them glance ahead to the group of people gathered around the entrance to the grand hall. At the front of it is—

“Bodhi? Ezra?”

Luke gapes, steps stuttering to a halt. Han has to push him forward to get them going again. When they reach the group Luke halts in front of his two new friends.

“You- are you getting medals, too?” Anxious, his eyes flicker to the grand entrance. He can just hear the murmur of hundreds of people inside.

“Yeah,” Ezra says, wide-eyed. “And you…” He eyes Luke’s obviously new pilot’s jacket, then slaps his forehead. “Of course! I’m an idiot! You’re the one who took the shot! You’re the one who blew up the Death Star!”

Luke wishes the ground could swallow him up, like loose sand. “Yeah,” he says a bit dumbly.

“Luke Skywalker!” Ezra continues. Someone makes a muffled noise behind him. “Wow! I’ve heard so much about—” He falters when he sees the expression on Luke’s face. Ezra’s incredulous excitement quivers, then softens into understanding. “But, well, we can talk about that later.” He glances at Bodhi who’s standing next to him, wide-eyed and speechless. “You know Bodhi?”

Luke nods. “Uh, yes.”

“Luke’s been helping me with Kaytoo,” Bodhi says faintly. He looks a little unsteady on his new leg, but seems to be holding up well.

“Ohhh.” Ezra glances at Cassian who stands a few feet away. The man holds Kaytoo’s head in his hands. It looks as if they’ve painstakingly polished it since the metal gleams in the light of the hall. There’s still a gruesome, tattered hole busting through the droid’s head. Luke thinks Bodhi’s team is too attached to Kaytoo to leave the droid behind, especially if…

“Bodhi’s team are the ones who stole the plans for the Death Star.” Ezra’s grin is broad and overwhelming as he gestures to the rest of the people Luke already knows and a handful more scattered behind. “My crew got them out.” He jerks a thumb behind them, grin crooking in affection.

Chopper garbles in delight. A slight, green Twi’lek woman pats his head with a smile. The man beside her is tall and wears a decorated mask that covers the top half of his face. A young woman with streaked bright red, orange and black hair raises an eyebrow at Luke, canting her hip as his eyes catch on her spectacularly coloured armour. There’s someone standing at her shoulder. Luke isn’t sure what species the- male?- is. But they’re nearly as tall as Chewbacca and almost as furry, too. Except they’re purple striped and- and their ears are flicking in- amusement?

Luke ducks his head, flushing. Then freezes. “Wait.” He looks up to meet Ezra’s gaze, then Bodhi’s. “You- you’re the ones who did that?”

“Uh, yes?” Ezra’s crooked grin tilts unsure and he scratches the back of his head. Bodhi only gives a tight nod, eyes still wide as he wrings his hands.

“Wow,” Luke breathes. “That’s- that’s amazing!” And then he’s laughing because he was so worried about being treated differently when his new friends were the ones who made this all possible all along.

“See? You worried for nothing, kid,” Han says because he cannot keep his mouth shut ever and Luke wants to kind of punch him in the jaw a bit. But he doesn’t. Because he’s too busy fighting the urge to hide behind Chewie and avoid these curious gazes.

A horn sounds long and high from inside the grand hall, and the murmuring abruptly cuts off.

“Well, I guess that’s our cue.” Ezra winks. “Still wanna talk after the Ceremony?” He doesn’t only include Luke is his query, glancing at Bodhi as he speaks, too.

Luke grips the edges of his sleeves, but does not worry them between his fingertips. He looks from Ezra’s hopeful, gleaming grin to Bodhi’s shy and still bewildered smile. Warmth curls between his ribs, calming the jittery feeling in his bones.

“Yes.” Luke smiles. “Yes, I would really like to.”

He squares his shoulders, then glances back at Han and Chewie. “Come on, let’s not keep Leia waiting.”