#s2ep6 the tragedy fix it

[leiainhoth]

Summery: Luke and Din wake up on their first day in Mos Pelgo, but a disturbing vision forces the Marshal to make a decision … Luke woke with a start, his heart racing. The blankets were twisted about the bed, and he was startled, lost and confused. Where was he? He fell back against the headboard with his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The room he was in was strange to him, but as he blinked and settled, it came back to him in a wave. He was on Tatooine; his ship was still on Tython. Maker, he was stuck here. Stuck without a comm, without any way out. They had two more days until the caravan left for Mos Eisley. This wasn’t a sticky or even unpleasant situation to find himself in, comparatively, but still. It was Tatooine! He thought he’d never come back here again. He knew that they wouldn’t be for long; with any luck, he and the Mandalorian would be able to hire a transport of some kind when they returned to civilization and then they’d leave this dustbowl for good. Luke flushed suddenly, strangely, as his mind unhelpfully provided a possessive pronoun as he considered his companion. The Mandalorian was good company; after so long being recognized in the rebel alliance, being anonymous on his homeworld was… strangely welcome. Whatever the Mandalorian had done other than killing a krayt dragon to gain the respect of these people was unknown to him. Luke had surmised that the curious and unprecedented treaty between Mos Pelgo and the Sand People had been negotiated by both the Marshal and Mando. But it rested steadily, on firm ground. The day before, Luke had watched the town carefully, using both the force and his intuition to ascertain the mood of Mos Pelgo. He wasn’t surprised exactly to find it perfectly amicable, friendly, even. Luke had never seen the massiffs of the Sand People, but they were in town, sniffing at the feet of their masters as they moved through the street. Children petted their reptilian hides, and Luke watched carefully, nonetheless, aware of his personal experiences with the Sand People clouding his judgement. He had no qualms with them, not really. But he had been raised to see their kind as an enemy, and it was hard to move past his instinctual fear of the unknown to accept them as they were. The light from the slit beneath his door was dark; it must be very early. Luke had risen with the sunrise and slipped out the door to meditate before his companions woke. The horizon was indigo and azure, and the world was still. Luke was barefoot, and he walked slowly, mindful of the cool stone and sand, the sound his heels made as they struck the earth. It was early enough that even the miners of Mos Pelgo remained in their beds, and Luke took a deep breath, trying to stay mindful and calm in the early morning hour. Luke often meditated in the morning; even when he was living on Chandrila, he had risen with the sun, often losing track of time as he calmed his thoughts for the day ahead. There was much to consider, so many paths that he could take. The universe was open to him, now. So far as he knew, he was the last and indeed the only Jedi master left in the galaxy. What others had done in the past, their mistakes and triumphs were his alone to bear. Luke was their legacy; whatever it was to be a Jedi would be told through his eyes. Much of his time was spent looking for Jedi artifacts, scouring what little remained in the Coruscant archives, hunting rumour after rumour at the promise of surviving force-sensitives across the galaxy. What did it mean to be a Jedi? How did one come to be a master? How could Luke remain faithful to the Jedi legacy while addressing the bigotry and close-mindedness of the past? He often conferred with Obi-Wan and Yoda’s force ghosts, usually in the late evening or early morning. Their advice grew stale with time, both reminiscent of the Jedi order’s greatness when they were young. They warned Luke to not fall prey to his feelings, lest they lead him into the darkness. As he grew older, Luke found it harder and harder to justify absolutes. There could be no absolute darkness, no absolute light. There were always cracks in the glass, slivers of joy and peace and contentment, even if one’s heart had soured with the ways of the world. Could a Jedi truly have no attachments? Possessiveness, Luke could understand. A lover or a friend is not an object one can covet exclusively, hold in the air against one’s will. Love is reciprocated, love is open hands; love is the realization that another’s happiness is equal to your own. Love was not love when it was exclusive. Love is what Luke saw when he saw the child and his father. Luke couldn’t claim to know or understand what his companion thought or felt. He was stoic and silent, speaking only when necessary, and then most often to his child. Love flowed out of him like a flood, bursting forth without thought or restraint. He loved the child desperately, with a heartwarming affection that stemmed from loss. Luke knew better than to press; whatever he had witnessed on Tython was a desperate thing. His companion had been of the heart and mind that he would lose the child forever if Luke took him. It had shocked and deeply disturbed him. What had happened to make the Mandalorian think that Luke, a perfect stranger, take a child away from his father with no hope of return. It was devastating, and that was before Luke knew the child. Grogu’s love for his father was profound, deeper perhaps than any love Luke had ever known. Grogu loved unconditionally, desperately; his whole soul was wrapped around that of his father. And it was reciprocated. Din protected the child, and the child loved him; they were tied in the force; together. Even if he was able to, even if Luke wanted to, he’d never be able to breach it. What the Mandalorian and his child had, Din had never seen anything like it. They were family together or parted. Bound together in ways Luke could never understand. He had had his aunt and uncle, and later Leia and Han. But a mother, a father; Luke would never have what the child did. He might be a Jedi Master, a general, a grown man , but a part of him would always be an orphan on Tatooine, unsure of who he could be. Unaware that great things were awaiting him. But Grogu didn’t need greatness; he already possessed it. The child’s strength in the force was extraordinary; he would be a Jedi knight if he wanted to be. And he was so pure, so young, his force signature was bright , dancing on the edge of his consciousness like the light of the setting suns. Luke wanted to train him, wanted to see how they could learn from one another. Grogu had told Luke about his time in the Jedi temple on Coruscant, about the masters and padawans before Order 66. That part of the child’s consciousness was clouded, murky. It was clear to Luke that the child had been forced to hide his abilities; even now, he restrained himself. Meditating made it easier for Luke to feel the child and understand his past to progress into the future. And his father, holy Hoth, Luke didn’t know what to think of Grogu’s buir. He was intimidating, tall, bound in impenetrable armour. He rarely spoke, but the child had told Luke about him through their force bond, telling Luke about their ship, their time in the market, the frogs he had eaten playing with his friend Winta by the ponds. He told Luke about his bantha toy, his fish and his durasteel knob his buir had given him. Luke remembered the joy in the child’s eyes the night before when Grogu showed Luke his new tunic. It was made of red fabric, and even though Grogu hadn’t fully understood what ad meant (which was fair, considering Luke hadn’t either), he understood the significance. This meant something to his buir, and Grogu was honoured to have been trusted with it. The tunic was carefully sewn, its seams even and straight, and Luke thanked the child both verbally and mentally for telling him. Luke had begun constructing the first tenuous threads of their force-bond, connecting Grogu to him in the way that Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught him all those years ago. As he meditated on it, Luke couldn’t help the feeling something already established was a bond that he couldn’t explain. It felt… strong , reciprocated. The Mandalorian had told him that he wasn’t force-sensitive, but Luke was starting to think that it wasn’t true. There was a thread connecting father and son, a force bond that couldn’t exist without communication coming from both sides. Maybe the Mandalorian didn’t know; it was possible. Some force-sensitive beings had hidden their abilities, or more often still, had no way of comprehending that which they had. Luke suspected that Grogu’s father fell into the latter category. It was strange, but not unheard of, for Mandalorians to have the abilities of the Jedi. Luke wondered if his companion knew. But he had to, Luke reasoned with himself. He was smart enough to have realized that something strange was happening. There was something extraordinary in their bond between the boy and his father. Grogu was delighted, and Luke smiled, thinking about how much joy and happiness the child exuded when his father was nearby. Luke took a deep breath, sitting cross-legged in the sand beside the house. The Jedi meditated for any number of reasons, but as Luke closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, he could feel it. The force sang to him, whispered about him like an early morning breeze. It tangled itself in the sand below his body, in the wispy clouds far above him. The force dipped and swirled across every grain of sand, every house, every person. Luke let his hands fall to his knees and just breathed, becoming one with all that was around him. The early morning air was cool but warming with each passing second. Luke took a breath and imagined all his thoughts lining up in a row and dismissed them one by one. His missing X-wing, his lost droid. The worries of his sister and friends on Chandrila and his inability to contact them. He took another breath and continued down the list. Jedi do not covet; Jedi do not possess. Thoughts are vapour and memory, and Jedi are above them. Jedi are above the common and unbroken; Jedi are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. But what it meant to be a Jedi was up to him, now. This path was his to take alone. He thought of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter Han had tossed into the sarlaac pit by accident all those years ago. He thought of his ship, the strange gyroscopic interior, the worry of the Mandalorian hanging thick in the air. He thought of the rocks and the sand, the air and the binary suns of Tatooine, and slowly, he let them go. Feeling them fade to mist and vapour and float into the air. Luke felt warmth on his eyelids and blinked his weary eyes open. The suns were rising, the lesser first, but the latter was rosy on the sandy horizon. It had been months since Luke had allowed himself the luxury of watching the suns rise. There was something peaceful in their inevitability; time never stopped, it never stood still. Until the suns burst into supernovas and faded from the sky, they would rise, peak and set. Not even the Jedi could prevent the inevitable. Luke heard a disturbance behind him and lowered himself back to the ground, feeling his feet dip into the warming sand as he landed. The Mandalorian must be up, Luke thought with a small smile. The child must be wanting breakfast. The eager and soft force imprint of the child danced around the doorway, and Luke grinned fully at the sight of the child cooing in his father’s arms. The Mandalorian held the baby securely, not surprised to see Luke as he entered the house. “Good morning,” Luke said pleasantly, walking over to the caf machine. The Mandalorian acknowledged him and nodded, settling the child on a chair before rising. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes,” the Mandalorian said, walking over to the icebox. Luke never had been one for idle chatter; words lost their meaning when used in excess. He appreciated the direct nature of his companion, even if the silence could be confusing at times. Luke punched in the code for a singular cup of caf before turning to his companion, gesturing to the rumbling machine. “Would you care for a cup?” “No, thank you,” the Mandalorian said stiffly, retrieving the bowls of stew and vegetables and feeding them into the heating element. Luke nodded, not exactly perturbed, but dancing on a knife-edge of curiosity. He tried to tune out the child’s repetitious calls for sweets, one he wasn’t sure his companion had noticed if his stiff posture was anything to go by. Luke hesitated in calming the child with their fledgling force bond, mindful of how invasive an unexpected presence could be. The child cooed and babbled to himself, his thoughts fluttering quickly from one to another. The pendant Luke had noticed the day before was around the child’s neck, the cord taut on the back of his tunic as he gummed on the Mythosaur’s tusks. He was so small, so innocent. So deserving of attentive care, so worthy of a father who loved him. Grogu caught his father’s gaze, and his force signature was sunshine, bright golden beams that illuminated the world around him. Luke let himself be swept away in the flood of warmth the child offered his father, unsure if the man could feel it, wondering if his companion could sense how much the child loved him. “Here,” the Mandalorian said softly, a plate of warmed leftovers placed in front of Luke. He turned to look at his companion, a smile dancing on the edge of his lips. “Eat, I need to speak to Vanth,” “Vanth?” Luke inquired, watching the baby cuddle closer to his father. “Yes,” the Mandalorian said. “The Marshal. Can you take the little one?” “Yes,” Luke said, reaching up for the baby, smiling as the child relaxed into Luke’s arms. The Mandalorian ran a hand over the child’s head and left without a word. Luke adjusted the child in his arms, looking down at the meal the Mandalorian had prepared for him. It was the same meal as the day before, but Luke was touched, just the same. A bowl full to the brim of bantha milk pudding sat beside his plate, and Luke raised a spoon with a surge of happiness. It had been years since he’d had it; certainly, there were better things to eat, and not many in the core worlds enjoyed it. Bantha milk had been a staple of his childhood, a cheap and plentiful thing that had been at every breakfast of his younger years. It was plain but sweet and filling. Luke had struggled to contain his excitement the night prior when he noticed it, and his companion must have noticed. The last scrapings of the bowl were on the table, neatly divided into two bowls. He took a bite, letting the familiar taste warm him up. The baby giggled, one clawed hand dipping into his bowl and lifting it to his mouth. “Do you like it, Grogu?” The baby grinned a toothy grin, and Luke felt an influx of images. His father, the plush toy he had cuddled with the night before, a woman in armour he didn’t recognize. He felt joy, contentment. Without words, the child had communicated a clear message, whatever it was that Luke was to this family of two, he was becoming a part of it. The child shared his life with Luke, his joy, happiness, and the love he shared with his buir. Luke took another bite but dropped the spoon before it reached his mouth, his mind swimming with an abrupt influx of information. A man with a blaster and a masked face broke through a door, the sunlight harsh and jarring in the dark space. A woman was below him, also heavily armed, looking down at a pale blue Twi'lek woman, struggling against chains. The woman shot the bracers away and nodded as the Twi'lek fled, her torn manacles rushing against the stoned floor. Luke watched, askance, as the man turned his attention to the bulbous Twi'lek on the throne. He heard the man’s nervous welcome to the masked figure and watched with horror as he was shot where he sat, pushed away from the throne. It wasn’t until the man sat that Luke recognized him. The paint was new, but the armour was painfully familiar. Boba Fett had retaken the syndicate on Tatooine. Luke gasped, pulling himself from the vision with difficulty. His breath came hot and fast, and he scooped up the baby and ran towards the door. continued

[leiainhoth]

Work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

Chapter summary: Din, Luke, Cobb and the rest of the caravan begin their journey to Mos Espa

... 

The sun had set hours ago, and Din leant into the sways and dips of his bantha as they traversed the desert. It was late, and the sky was darkening, the deep blues and purples fading into a deeper blue Din hadn't a name for. The stars were blinding, hanging in clusters and constellations, so many of them Din had no need for light. The moons hung deep on the southern horizon, and Din turned his head as the light reflected on his companions, fixing his gaze on Luke as his golden hair glowed silver in the moonlight. Din quirked a smile, watching as Luke talked animately to Scoeeri Plebb, the woman whose bantha he had been following for the past few hours. The child was asleep, lulled by the constant movement and the lack of interesting things to eat. Din smiled, it was going to be a long journey, and the child would need his rest.

He pulled a strip of jerky out of his belt and lifted his helmet to take a bite. He hadn't hesitated to take the rear of the caravan when they set out, letting Vanth and a Tusken by the name of A'Vor lead. He had taught Vanth the basics of the Tusken language that afternoon and told A'Vor that he could translate if need be. They seemed to get along well; the caravan had been moving in a steady north/northwest path for two hours, en route to Mos Espa. If all went well, they'd arrive in ten days' time.

Din was tired for other reasons, ones he wasn't able to put into words. He had taken Luke's hand in a moment of weakness; in the cantina when he thought he would lose Luke to this panic, he held him. Din wished he could offer more, come closer, bring Luke into his arms and rub his back the way he did for the child when he was afraid. It would be too much, too much too fast, and what if Luke refused? The jarring split would be worse than the pain of seeing Luke that way.

He had led,  taken  Luke back to the house after he calmed down some. He hadn't let go of Luke's hand, but the  jetii  didn't seem to mind. The baby settled against Din's chest, and with both hands occupied, he let Luke open the door and shut it carefully, letting the kid crawl out of his arms.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked again, and Luke shut his eyes, his body tense and still. Din wanted so badly to pull the man close to him, to feel his smaller body close to his own. He wanted to pat down that fluffy hair that never quite lay flat, to rub his thumbs up and down his arms like his mother had when Din was frightened. He wanted this and more but balked, not for reasons of his own. He wanted Luke to feel comfortable with him,  safe  with him. He couldn't have that if Din let his feelings get in the way.

Whoever Luke imagined Fett to be, whatever history they had together, it didn't make sense. Fett had called Luke an  aruetti,  an outsider, foreigner. Someone dangerous, someone with ill intentions. But Din didn't see that in Luke. The man was golden, bright as the sun. He was untainted, unbroken, his spirit filled to the brim with joy and contentment. Din wanted that, wanted  him—  this strange man in his life, this  jetii  he had known for less than a day. Something different, something off, something  about  him that drew Din in like a moth to a flame. Luke was a mystery, a man with incredible gifts, a  jetii  who had left his family and his home for the cries of a child on the planet below. The man who had stayed, certainly longer than Din expected him to, to train the baby in the ways of his people. It was a debt Din could never repay. It meant more to him than he had words to explain.

But it wasn't just a debt, now. The man was the first rays of dawn, the feeling of dew in the sand. He was bright, the burning light of the sun, and Din couldn't help but be drawn to his light, to orbit around his brightness, unwilling to admit he was being turned. He had made breakfast for the man with only a twinge of guilt, heating the leftover meal Cobb Vanth had prepared for them with careful attention. He thought back to how Luke fancied the blue pudding, and abandoning his own need for sustenance (surely he'd eat later), he dished out equal portions for Luke and Grogu, wanting desperately to feel useful. If he wasn't, if he was brash and uncaring, Luke would leave. He couldn't bear even the thought of it. The memory of his  jetii  after the battle on Tython stirred panic into his heart. The head wound was serious, much more severe than he was willing to admit to himself at the time. Bacta could only do so much; the rest would come with time. But the blood, there was so  much  of it, pooling and collecting in the creases of the man's nose, in his lips, dripping down his neck. It was on Din, too, and both blood and guilt dipped and flowed over his consciousness as he sat vigil over this stranger he didn't even know the name of. And why?

He had saved the child, of course, he had. Din and Fennec wouldn't have been able to on their own. The child would've died had Luke not interfered. But it was more than that, something Din couldn't admit to on pain of death, knowing, of course, that death might've been kinder. Din had held his  jetii  at arm's length, watching carefully, observing him always. Noticing when he sat and when he stood, what he ate, how he looked for permission before touching his son. Din appreciated it; the care and attention Luke showed for his child stirred something in his heart he thought had long ago calcified. Something close and desperate and warm, something Din had only ever felt with his parents and, more recently, with his son. Something eerily reminiscent of—of—

No,  he told himself later that day, collecting the child's toys from the house.  No, it's off the table. Forbidden. To love is to be known; this vessel is not mine to bear.

And more presently, the child needed him. Or so the excuse to himself went.

So instead, he watched, smiling as Luke did, observing as he swayed back and forth on his bantha. Din turned about, as he did every few minutes, his hand on his pulse rifle, taking care to protect those around him. But the desert was quiet, the sand still over the dunes, the stars hanging like crystals in the sky.

The saddle beneath Din dug uncomfortably into his  shebs,  and he wondered when Cobb was going to stop and make camp for the night. Din understood the Marshal's desire to leave as soon as they were able, but Din's nerves prickled as he watched the empty desert. Any number of dangers could be hiding in caves, ducked behind the dunes. The light was dim, but the stars and the moons, as well as the infrared setting on his HUD made it easy to see danger as they presented themselves.  If  they presented themselves.

Din rode in silence for some time, his eyes finding Luke as he laughed at something his companion said, his voice light and airy.  Did the Jedi need to sleep?  Din thought with amusement, something warm prickling in Din's chest as Luke leant forward and rested a hand on his bantha's side, speaking quietly to the animal.

Din forced his eyes onto the desert, his ears listening carefully to his companions. But he couldn't focus; Din only caught some of Luke and Scoeeri's words to one another and less of what Luke said to his bantha.

"What are you doing?" Scoeeri asked softly, and Din's head shot up, watching Luke carefully as he laughed, patting the shoulder of his bantha with what Din could only describe as affection.

"I'm speaking to him," Luke said.

Huh.

Din looked down at the child. "Can you do that too, kid?" Grogu didn't respond, looking up at his father with wide eyes, his fingers tangled in bantha fur. Din watched as Grogu gummed at the edge of his blanket. "Guess not,"

Din watched carefully as their caravan continued, smiling to himself as Vanth and A'Vod shared a laugh, nervous though it may be. His other companions, two humans and two Tuskens whose names Din hadn't caught spoke rode quietly, one behind the other. Perhaps things could change, even in a backwater desert like Tatooine.

"We'll stop here for the night," Vanth said with a laugh, and Din sighed in relief, pulling the child out of the saddlebag with a careful hand so he could see, settling the baby in his arms. Before them, the path was a gentle decline, the open maw of a cave protecting a small valley filled with scrub grass. Din watched as the others dismounted, laughing to himself as they walked away from their mounts with a bowlegged stance. Maybe his  shebs  wouldn't be the only ones aching tonight.

The baby cooed at the sight, suddenly wide awake as Din swung off the back of his bantha, laying a gentle hand on the creature's nose before leading it to the grass to graze.

"Mando," Vanth said, and Din looked up, watching as the others began to set up camp. Luke came close, suddenly looking so much younger than twenty-eight in the moonlight. He gestured for the child, and Din let the baby spill into Luke's arms without a second thought, walking towards Vanth with a barely contained smile on his lips.

"Anything to report?" Vanth asked, looking past Din into the desert behind. Vanth had picked a good stop to rest; the cave buttressed an embankment too high to climb, with the mouth of the cave being the only discernable entrance. There were ten of them in total, with eight bantha's and a speeder bike loaded with supplies to guard. It shouldn't be too much trouble.

"Nothing," Din said, trying to focus on Vanth, but failing, his eyes catching Luke speaking quietly to A'Vod's  riduur,  a swaddled baby he hadn't noticed held in her arms. Luke ran a hand over the child's head, Grogu peering curiously at the child from Luke's arms. "It's quiet,"

"Yes," Vanth said, clapping a hand on Din's shoulder. "Let's get some grub started, I'm starving,"

Din helped Vanth unload the gear, watching carefully as A'Vod and his companion (Din believed his name to be Cor, but he'd ask later) made a fire, setting a three-legged tripod with a dangling chain over the flames. Scoeeri and her brother Laele were busy over a pot, adding dried pieces of krayt dragon and a prickly vegetable Din couldn't identify with gentle hands. A'Vod gestured for Din, and he stood, following the man as he led him to the mouth of the cave. Instantly, the temperature dropped, their camp conversation fading to silence as they entered the cave.

That was when they found the water.

It was plentiful, flowing gently over stones, looking to be both clear and cold. Din smiled to himself, thanking A'Vod for his discernment (for surely he communicated to Vanth the need for water when they picked a place to stop. Water was precious on Tatooine, and Din felt honoured to have been entrusted with the knowledge).

Din signed thank you to A'Vod, who nodded in recognition, and Din followed as they walked to retrieve the empty water skins.

The camp settled into a steady rhythm, with the water from the cave, Scoeeri and Laele set the pot over the flames to cook. The bantha's grazed, and the children played, Luke and Varre watching and speaking quietly to one another. Din helped Vanth and Cor lead the bantha's to water and then unloaded the tents, setting them up for use.

They ate merrily, Din taking their food and the child away to the edge of the camp under the guise of keeping guard to eat on their own. The child was content to sit on Din's lap, the warm stew disappearing quickly as Grogu ate. Din took the rare opportunity to eat his food without hurrying, revelling in the silence of the desert wind around them. He drained his water skin and put his helmet, gathering the child and their dishes when he stopped short.

Luke was there, standing quietly beneath the ridge, looking happy and calm in the moonlight. His  jetii'kad  hung on his belt, and Din wasn't sure what to say at his sudden appearance.

"I was wondering if you'd like some company," Luke said, taking the empty bowls from Din's hands. "Scoeeri and I are almost done the washing up,"

"Oh," Din said, shuffling the baby to his other arm just for something to do, watching as Luke smiled at him and walked back down the ridge.

"Are you coming?"

Din grinned, looking down at the child with a leap in his heart, following Luke as he led them back to camp.

A'Vod and Varre's  ad  was older than Din initially thought, old enough to walk with help, and Din let Grogu down to play at Varre's direction, turning his attention to Luke and Scoeeri. Luke took Din's dishes and washed them, up to his elbows in soapy water, talking animately to both of them as he passed the dish to Scoeeri to rinse and dry. Din took the bowl as it was offered, looking at the neat pile of bowls and spoons sitting on a towel beside him and stacked the bowl with others.

Once the washing up was complete, Luke helped Din organize the cooking things into a crate intended for their use and tossed away the dishwater.

His companions were sitting and laughing around the fire when Luke and Din returned, and Din grinned as Grogu turned from his new friend and ran into Din's arms. Din nodded at Varre and signed his thanks, which Varre returned. Apparently, Grogu was welcome company.

"There you are," Luke said with a grin, running a finger along the child's ear. Grogu cooed, snuggling close into Din's arms. "Did you have fun with your friend?"

Din let his mind open as he looked carefully down at his son, feeling the thoughts and contentment of the baby wash over him. He was thrilled to have another child to play with.

"Yeah?" Luke said, looking down at the baby with affection. "That's good, then,"

"What's he saying?" Din asked, looking up to meet Luke's eye.

"Oh, nothing," Luke said with a secret smile, looking down at the baby. "Aren't we allowed to have secrets from your  buir,  Grogu?"

The baby warbled something incomprehensible and giggled, and Din smiled, rocking the baby back and forth. He didn't mind secrets, not between Luke and the baby. He was glad that the child had someone to talk to, pleased that he could understand the child's basic thoughts and emotions, content that if the baby had something important to tell him, he could do so.

Din looked over the baby and the fire to where the tents were pitched. He hadn't thought about it when they assembled them in the first place, but there were six; one for the siblings, for the married couple, for Cor and Vanth and Din and…

Oh.

The last two tents were close together, nearly touching. Almost as if…almost if...

Din blushed, blushed harder than he'd blushed in a long time. They had assumed, they had thought…and Din had given Vanth no reason  not  to believe that he and Luke that they were of one body. He hadn't thought about it; Din didn't give a second thought to what others thought of him. But one could've concluded, could've  assumed  that he and Luke were…

What?  Together?

Close enough to sleep side by side?  Riduure?

Din breathed steadily, forcing himself to stay calm. There were still two tents, still enough space for Din to relax and remove his armour for sleep. But they'd be so  close,  nothing but thin fabric separating them from one another.

Something in Din's heart leapt at the thought, a thought he hadn't given any power to since he was an  ad  in Nevarro. His face was his soul, giving someone else the power to see him…see him like  that…

"Bedtime, I think," Cobb Vanth said from the other side of the fire, startling Din out of his thoughts. "A'Vor here volunteered for the first watch, Laele for the second. The rest of us better get some sleep before morning comes,"

Din retrieved his and the baby's supplies from their saddlebags and walked with unsteady feet towards his tent, very aware of Luke behind them, making similar preparations. But there was nothing else to do, nothing Din could do to delay this moment any further, so he turned, facing Luke with trepidation.

But his companion, if he noticed, didn't comment on Din's stiffness, taking a step forward with a smile.

"Goodnight, Grogu," Luke said softly, gripping the baby's hand in his own. "See you in the morning, little one,"

Din watched carefully, his breath catching as Luke's attention turned to him. The air turned, lifting into something sweet and anticipatory as Luke looked up, something in his eyes softening as they considered one another.

Luke took Din's hand and quickly squeezed it, the warmth of his hand almost too much for Din to bear. "Goodnight,"

"Goodnight, Luke,"

And Din watched with his heart in his throat as Luke entered his tent, unable to do the same. It was as if something had cracked and spilled open in Din's chest. Something warm and welcoming, a feeling of  home  he hadn't felt since his parents died.

Din smiled, looking down at Luke's tent before turning to his own and retiring for the night.

Continued