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Chapter Text

Luke is no stranger to dealing with bounty hunters; he’s met more than his fair share of them. While many in the galaxy were joyous at the Empire’s downfall, many others weren’t—and frequently these are the ones with the deepest pockets and the means to put a hefty price on his head.

Generally, the hunters they send after him are solitary, unorganized, and ill-prepared for a fight with a fully trained Jedi. And even when they aren’t, they’re still no match for Luke. He might break a sweat trying to fend one off on occasion, but usually he swats them away like flies and continues on with business as usual. 

But this one is different. Luke can sense it even as the hunter stalks him, hiding in the shadows, never showing his face. He’d felt his presence on a few occasions since he’d arrived on Begamore, but it was always distant. Watching. Waiting.

For a while, Luke had ignored him, focused on his mission. The Force had pulled him here all the way from Chandrila, and it continues tugging on him, drawing him toward… something. The Force is rarely specific in its missives, though always insistent, and it pulls him onward with dogged persistence.

Luke had obediently followed its bidding through a rural village near the edge of town, to the sprawling city outskirts, and now into the city itself—and all the while the hunter had been biding his time. 

Now here, in the maze of alleyways in the city’s heart, the presence sharpens. It grows closer and hones in on Luke like a homing missile, as the hunter tracks him through the dark and narrow streets. 

It’s quiet out. Most of the residents have already returned to their homes or gone to the nightlife district a few klicks away. The buildings are so close together they nearly block out the view of the sky and most of the street lights flicker pathetically, if they haven’t burned out entirely. 

It’s the perfect spot for an ambush. Luke knows it, and the hunter knows it, too. 

On a normal day, Luke would probably have ended his search an hour ago and found a room somewhere, but he finds himself curious—or perhaps just bored. The hunter’s presence has been lingering over him like hot breath on the back of his neck for days, sending chills down his spine each time he gets close. 

There’s something fascinating, tantalizing, about the man’s presence, the likes of which Luke has never felt from others who’d hunted him. Or, in truth, from anyone else he’d met in quite some time. 

But still, the hunter waits, refusing to be lured out. He’s silent as a shadow as he follows Luke deeper into the warren of the city.

As if sensing Luke’s anticipation, R2D2 lets out a chirp and extends his periscope, shining a light into the dark alleyway in front of them. 

“It’s alright, Artoo,” Luke hums, and takes a deep breath to center himself.

Which, naturally, is the moment the hunter picks to descend upon him. Luke hears the sound of a jetpack firing before he turns to see a Mandalorian flying down from a rooftop. The hunter shoots a cable from his bracer toward Luke’s calf, but he slices it with his lightsaber before it can make contact.

The Mandalorian’s surprise punctures through the Force, but he quickly counters by firing a stun bolt, which Luke deflects, then another which he dodges. The hunter sends a burst of flame firing at him then, but Luke sidesteps that as well, a smile starting to spread across his face. 

This is turning out to be interesting. 

The man is calculating, he notices. He mirrors Luke’s movements almost perfectly, stepping in time with him as Luke maneuvers around his attacks. Each round the Mandalorian sends his way comes closer to hitting him than the one before, but Luke isn’t concerned yet. He’s so confident, in fact, that he takes a moment to breathe in deeply and center himself in the Force.

Now that they’re actually facing each other, he feels the Mandalorian’s presence crash down upon him. It’s warm and alive and inviting, like a hot cup of caf, but sharp in a way that crackles like electricity. It runs up his spine, energizing and enlivening him, and sets all his senses on fire. 

It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. And it’s distracting . 

When Luke snaps his attention back to the fight at hand, he has to bend over backwards to avoid another burst of flame, feeling the heat of it scorch past him as it nearly sears his head. 

But he refuses to be humbled. “Oh, I think you can do better than that,” he teases, grinning as he dances out of the way of another stun bolt. 

The Mandalorian lets out a growl and withdraws a vibroknife from a sheath on his thigh. He charges and lashes out with the blade, but Luke dodges out of the way of his first swing. The second he catches with his lightsaber, sparks flying as the two blades collide. 

Luke pushes back against him and grins as he stares straight into the man’s visor. He can’t see anything behind it, but he can feel the man’s presence in the Force surging through him, connecting the two of them with a magnetic pull. 

Still, Luke isn’t in the business of losing battles. 

“Is that the best you can do?” he taunts again. 

He pulls back for a moment, letting the Mandalorian’s vibroknife come close enough to scrape his face, and centers himself in the Force. Then he grins wider and pushes back with as much Force as he can muster. 

The hunter is thrown backwards, nearly regains his footing, then hits the ground hard.  

Luke advances on him as he struggles to catch his breath. He’s fast however, and rolls to his side to avoid a swing from Luke’s lightsaber. 

Not bad, Luke thinks, swinging and missing again as the Mandalorian sends a cable flying at him. It wraps around Luke’s calf and, with a yank, sends him falling to the ground. 

Not bad at all.

Still, that only buys the hunter enough time to sit up before Luke flips back up onto his feet and points his lightsaber at his throat, a triumphant grin on his face. The Mandalorian’s fists clench at his sides, but he says nothing, only tilts his helmet up to stare at him.

Luke feels sweat trickling down his brow, his chest heaving from the exertion of the fight as he considers what to do next.

Really, he ought to kill him. It’s the only smart thing to do. 

But it’s been so long since anyone has challenged him in battle, even if only a little. For the first time in a long time, he feels exhilarated. Alive. Besides, there’s something so unique about the hunter’s presence, it would seem a waste to kill him. 

Instead of cutting the Mandalorian’s throat, he finds himself asking, “Can I buy you a drink?”

Chapter Text

“Can I buy you a drink?” A funny thing to ask someone while pointing a laser sword at their neck.

Din looks from the Jedi’s face, to the saber, then back again, and sees that he’s serious. 

“…What did you say?” he asks.

The man’s smile widens. “I asked if I could buy you a drink.” 

Din blinks. He has no idea what he’s about to agree to, but, whatever it is, it probably beats getting killed by a wizard.

“Sure…?”

In a wink, the green saber retracts back into its hilt and the man is offering him a hand. 

Din considers it for a moment, then decides that if the Jedi were going to kill him, he probably would have done it already. He takes Skywalker’s hand and heaves himself up, confusion barring him from doing anything other than stand in stunned silence. The Jedi says nothing, only continues smiling faintly and nods for Din to follow him. 

Din does so, though he’s not entirely sure why. The Jedi’s back is turned to him; if he really wanted to, now would be the time to make a quick exit and try for this bounty again later. He’s willing to recognize when he’s been soundly beaten.

While that isn’t exactly the kind of reputation he wants to have for himself, making a quick getaway would probably be better for his image than whatever he’s about to do. Still… there’s some kind of curiosity nagging at him that keeps him following the Jedi—and that’s a bad thing. 

In Din’s experience, there are few things more dangerous to a man in his profession than curiosity. Although he’s hardly what you could call old, few hunters ever live to see his age—and the ones who do are the ones who keep their heads down, get the job done, and move on. 

Din knows this, even as he follows the Jedi through the deserted alleyway. He knows this and, for the first time in a long time, he ignores it. 

The beat up little astromech sticks to the Jedi’s side like it always seems to do. In Din’s observations of the man, he’s rarely seen him without the droid in tow, seeming to treat it more like a pet than a droid. Din can’t understand that, but the astromech is unobtrusive enough, so he elects to just ignore it. 

“So what’s your name?” Skywalker asks. 

Din hesitates then says, “Din Djarin. Why are you doing this?”

The Jedi ignores the question and turns his head to look at him, a pleased expression brightening his face. “Din Djarin? You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“I’ve heard of you.” Skywalker beams. “You’re famous.” 

“You’re the famous one,” Din deflects. He’s aware that he’s well known among bounty hunters—and those they hunt—but he doesn’t like to think of himself as famous. He’s just good at his job.

Skywalker gives half a shrug in response. “The Guild must respect you,” he remarks as they approach the door of what appears to be a run-down dive bar at the end of the alley. “They haven’t had the guts to send someone after me in almost a year, and when they do, well… let’s just say, it’s nice to have a challenge for a change.” 

Din knows he isn’t lying about that. He’s heard about the Jedi’s track record with hunters; there’s a reason his bounty is so high. 

Which again begs the question of why Skywalker had allowed him to live. He must want something. But what?

Trying to parse what that could be, Din watches him out of the corner of his eye as the doors to the bar slide open and the two of them step into the dim lighting. A prominent sign reads ‘NO DROIDS,’ so Skywalker instructs the astromech to wait outside and gives it a friendly pat on the head before it rolls outside, letting out a string of binary beeping. 

A quick look around the bar confirms that it isn’t an upscale place, to say the least, but that suits Din just fine. 

There’s a Twi’lek woman singing a peppy song on a small stage at the opposite end from the entrance. In front of her, a handful of people are dancing on a tiled floor which probably could have been called neon-lit at some point. Now, the muted lights flicker on and off while a few of the tiles have given up the ghost completely. 

As they step toward the slightly slanted bar, Skywalker gives a friendly smile to the Togruta bartender, who gives him a less-friendly nod in return. Luke hops onto a bar stool and Din takes the seat next to him, noting the blaster holes dotting the wall opposite them. 

This doesn’t seem like the sort of place the so-called savior of the galaxy would pick out, but Din is quickly learning he knows less than nothing about the man he’s dealing with. 

The Jedi is, frankly, a little terrifying in battle. He fights unlike anything Din has ever seen, fluid and intuitive in a way that doesn’t seem natural. Of course, Karga had tried to warn him when he’d taken the puck, but Din had just thought he was telling his old wives' tales again. And even if he had believed Karga, he never could have imagined a man who fights like Luke, like something from a legend, from another place and time. 

It’s hard to reconcile the man Din had confronted in the alley with the man that sits next to him now, relaxed in his posture and smiling pleasantly—as if he hadn’t thoroughly humiliated Din in combat not fifteen minutes ago.

The bartender walks over to the two of them, a dirty bar towel slung over his shoulder. “A Jedi and a Mandalorian walk into a bar… Sounds like the set-up to a bad joke.” He grunts. “Guess that makes me the punchline. What’ll you have?”

Skywalker smiles. “Surprise us.” 

The bartender doesn’t look excited at the prospect. “Oh, you’re one of those,” he says, and grunts again. “Yeah, whatever. Sit tight.” 

Skywalker looks down at the bar and shakes his head, letting out a sigh as the bartender wanders away. “I really need to get out more,” he mumbles, and runs a hand through his hair.

Again, Din watches him for a moment, perplexed. 

While he may not have had any idea what to expect when he’d taken this bounty, it surely would have been someone with more bravado, more grandiosity. Someone who was easier to dislike. 

“You didn’t answer my question earlier,” Din says. 

Luke looks over at him. “What’s that?”

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what?”

Din huffs and gestures at the bar. “This. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

Skywalker shrugs. “This is more fun.” 

“So do you buy a drink for everyone who attacks you?”

“Only if they seem interesting.” He shoots Din a smile. “Why? Are you jealous?”

Din frowns behind his helmet. “What do you mean, interesting? ”

Skywalker thinks for a moment. “I just go with my gut, really.”

Din huffs again. What kind of an answer is that?

“What about the way I attacked you seemed interesting to you?” he asks pointedly, in an attempt to pry out an answer that halfway makes sense.

“Like I said, I haven’t been challenged in a while.”

“That didn’t seem very challenging for you.” 

The Jedi chuckles. “It was harder than I let on.” He flicks a glance at him. “You’re an excellent fighter.”

“I know.” With his helmet on, it probably looks very cool, but the Jedi can’t see that his cheeks are warm and there’s an odd fluttering feeling in his stomach. 

As if he can read his mind, Skywalker gestures to Din’s helmet and asks, “Are you ever going to take that off?”  

Din lets a beat pass, then deadpans, “Are you asking me to take it off?”

Skywalker’s mouth twists up into a lopsided smile and he shrugs a shoulder

Din sighs again then obliges and removes his helmet, setting it on the bar next to him. 

The Jedi watches him as he does so and visibly swallows as their eyes meet. 

“Happy?” Din says flatly.

There’s a hint of redness in Luke’s cheeks as he replies, “Tremendously.” 

The bartender returns with two fizzy, brown drinks in his hands. 

He sets one down in front of Luke and one in front of Din then wanders away, clearly uninterested in whether or not they enjoy the drinks—which don’t look particularly appetizing. 

Luke calls out a thank you, while Din eyes his glass with distrust. The consistency looks thick, almost like yogurt, and it has a sharp, tangy odor. 

While Din frowns at his glass, the Jedi has no such hesitation and immediately takes a swig of the unsavory looking liquid. Then he nods and shrugs. 

“It’s decent,” he says. “You should try it.” 

Din gives in and takes a sip. The taste is slightly sour and a little sweet at the end, but he hardly registers it. He’s watching Luke who’s watching him back.

“It’s not bad,” Din admits, distracted. 

Luke tilts his head and furrows his brow, holding Din’s gaze. “What?” he asks. Then a cheeky smile appears. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” Din takes another swig which burns on the way down, then says, “I guess I’m just wondering why you’re not more concerned.” 

“About…?"

“This. Me. You’re not at all worried I’m going to attack you again?”

“Should I be?” The Jedi raises his glass to his lips.

“No,” Din answers honestly. “But why would you trust me? You don’t even know me.”

The Jedi turns to face the bar again. “Because you’d regret it if you tried,” he hums, a smug smile creeping onto his face as he sips his drink. 

Din swallows and snaps his head forward, a spike of arousal stabbing through him.

What? He gulps down a drink of the bizarre, brown cocktail. Not the time, Djarin. 

But he notices the Jedi is watching him out of his periphery, a smirk lingering on his lips. Din glances over at him again and that smirk slowly grows into a grin. Skywalker raises his glass to his lips once more, still watching Din who clears his throat and stares down into his own drink. 

He feels his cheeks burning as he tries to grasp why the Jedi invited him here. Surely it wasn’t just to make eyes at him in a dirty dive bar… 

Was it?

“I don’t have any information on the people who put the bounty out on you,” he blurts out, gripping his glass much harder than necessary. “If that’s what you’re after.”

Luke tilts his head and regards Din with a crooked smile, like he’s amused at a joke he hadn’t made. “Do you ever do anything that doesn’t involve work?” he asks. 

Din thinks for a moment, then says, “Not really.” Another beat passes. “What gave it away?”

Luke gives an easy shrug. “Call it my intuition.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

Skywalker laughs. “I’m not!” Then, he turns more serious. “I swear.”

Din can’t help but watch him for another moment. 

There’s a ripple of muscle visible underneath the tight, black shirt he wears, and his air of confidence suggests he knows how much it flatters him. There’s something magnetic about his stare, an intensity that shines out of his eyes and paralyzes. His smile is almost boyish and there’s something youthful about the way he watches the world around him, like it’s the first time he’s seen it. 

Then Skywalker meets his eye and flashes him a smile, and Din feels the intensity of that youthfulness directed at him. The Jedi looks at him with curiosity: a bright, fresh look that’s equal parts scrutinizing and energizing.

Din pulls his gaze away and takes another sip, deciding it’s probably better if he looks elsewhere. 

“So where are you from?” Skywalker asks. 

“Nowhere.” 

“Oh, how interesting,” he chirps. “I’m from north of nowhere. Do you know it? It’s just south of somewhere.” Luke sends him a cheeky smile; Din gives him a flat look. 

“You’re funny,” he deadpans. 

“You’re not. Anyone ever tell you to lighten up a bit?”

“No,” Din says, flatly. “No one’s ever told me that before.”

But Luke only smiles again. “Hey, that was almost a joke. I’m from Tatooine, by the way, since you didn’t ask.” 

“I already know where you’re from.” 

He knows how to do his research on a mark.

“Well, it’s polite to ask anyway,” Luke returns, a playful glint in his eye.

That manages to draw half a laugh out of Din, who stares at him with something like astonishment. 

He is funny—even if Din’s only willing to admit it inwardly. 

Din rolls his eyes and asks, “Well, what part of Tatooine are you from, then?” 

“The Great Chott salt flat.” 

“That’s not ‘north’ of nowhere,” Din says, grimacing. “That is nowhere.”

Luke laughs quietly, and looks down. “It wasn’t so bad.” 

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” Din replies, his voice losing its brusque edge. He knows how tricky the topic of homeworlds can be. 

The Jedi glances over at him, and there’s something open in his expression. Their eyes meet again with that same magnetic intensity, and Din swallows.

(And if he notices the way Luke wets his lips as his eyes graze over Din’s mouth… no, he doesn’t.)

Din clears his throat and downs another sizable swig of his drink. Luke does the same then makes a face into his glass and says, “Gods, what is this stuff?”

Din shrugs. “Isn’t that the point of the surprise?” Not much of a drinker, he can feel a slight buzz already from the liquor which is, apparently, rather strong. 

“Guess so,” Luke replies, the edges of his speech slurring just slightly. Evidently he’s not a heavyweight, either. 

“Listen”—Luke swings his legs around so he’s oriented toward Din completely—“let’s call a truce on killing me. Just until, say, tomorrow morning. Then you can try to kill me all you want.” 

Din nods and twists around to extend a gloved hand toward him. “Deal. But I’m not trying to kill you.”

Luke shakes his hand and holds onto it as he says, “Right. Why is that?”

Din shrugs again. “How should I know? They only told me you’re wanted alive. They were very clear about that.” Slowly, he pulls his hand away from Luke’s then finishes off the last of his drink. 

Luke snorts, picking up his own nearly-empty glass and swirling it around. “How flattering. So you’ll bring me to whoever issued the bounty, then they’ll torture me, probably, and then they’ll kill me— if you capture me.”

“When,” Din assures him, and shifts so he doesn’t have to turn so much to look at him. Their knees jostle together and it sends a jolt like electricity through him.

Luke cocks a brow. “You seem awfully confident.”

Din swallows, trying to hide the fact that his pulse is quickening and there’s warmth pooling in his stomach—but the knowing smirk Luke gives him suggests he’s already caught on.

“If you’ve heard of me,” Din says, working hard to keep his voice even, “then you know my track record.” 

“Oh, I’m aware.” Luke slowly drags his gaze down the length of Din’s armor then back up again, the smirk on his lips only growing. “But believe me: I can handle myself.”

Din’s throat is dry as he tries—and fails—to look anywhere but at the Jedi’s mouth. Luke shifts his weight and accidentally brushes his knee against Din’s inner thigh and, for a second, Din wants to do something crazy, like… like… 

But then he remembers where they are. 

He remembers what they are: a notorious bounty hunter and the galaxy’s hero, his target, sitting together in a bar. In full view of at least a dozen people. If Din was worried about tarnishing his reputation before, that doesn’t hold a candle to what he’s risking now. 

(Or what he would be risking if…)

He whips back around on the bar stool so he’s squarely facing the bar again. Fraternizing with a mark? Forget it. This has gone far enough. 

“I should get going,” he blurts out.

Luke nods, still watching him, then shakes himself out of his stupor. “Right.” He sets a handful of credits down on the bar. “I’ll walk with you.”

Din wishes he hadn’t said that. 

He grabs his helmet and tucks it under his arm as the two of them stand. Luke gives a two-fingered wave to the bartender, who offers a small nod of acknowledgement then turns away. 

Din follows Luke out of the bar and tries not to stare at the shape of him as he moves. Easier in theory than in practice. And it’s hard not to think that Luke is intentionally showing off. 

They step out into the brisk night air and Din takes a deep breath, trying to cool himself off, then says, “Well. Thanks for the drink.” 

He reaches to put his helmet on, but Luke catches his wrist before he can. He doesn’t say anything, only stares at Din with blown-out pupils and parted lips. Din watches him for a second, his heart slamming in his chest. He runs his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks around for any passersby. Seeing none, he decides: fuck it.

With his free hand, he grabs Luke around the waist and kisses him hard, pushing him up against the wall of the alleyway.

Luke lets out a noise of surprise, one hand coming up to tangle in Din’s curls.

“Yes?” Din breathes into Luke’s mouth, then catches his bottom lip with his teeth. 

“Yes,” Luke gasps out, snaking an arm to wrap around Din’s lower back and clutch at the fabric there.

Din vaguely registers the sound of his helmet clattering to the floor over the pounding of blood in his ears. His now empty hand wanders down to grab Luke’s ass so he can pull him closer, pressing his thigh in between his legs. That earns him another shaky gasp as Luke tightens his grip on his hair and pulls, dragging him deeper into the kiss. 

Luke rolls his hips against Din’s and nips at his bottom lip, very nearly driving all good sense from Din’s head. 

But he drags himself back to reality long enough to remember what a bad idea this is. He could get kicked out of the Guild for this. If anyone found out… it could destroy his career.

He breaks away from the kiss, chest heaving as he growls out, “We can't do this.” 

Luke catches him in another kiss and grinds against him again. “I know,” he breathes.

Din bites down on his lip to keep from groaning, then grabs Luke’s waist and gently pushes him away. “I’m serious,” he says, and swallows as he untangles himself, ignoring the ache of his arousal as he steps back. 

Luke looks at him from where he’s leaned up against the wall, flushed and panting. “Oh,” he says, as he catches his breath. Then he straightens up and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “Right.”

For a moment, it’s all Din can do to keep himself from shoving him against the wall and kissing him again. But, mustering every ounce of self control he possesses, he instead reaches down and grabs his helmet, aware of Luke’s gaze tracking him as he moves. 

He puts it on and the first thing he wants to say is ‘I’m sorry,’ but what he actually says is, “This doesn’t change anything.”

Skywalker smiles as he replies, “I know.”

Din shrugs off the shiver that runs down his spine, then pivots and heads back toward his ship. 

This really doesn’t change anything, he tells himself. 

It can’t.

Chapter Text

It’s a bright morning in Tellulos, an old and storied city on Sersen, a system away from Begamore. 

Luke had left the planet as soon as he and Din had parted ways. As much as he’d enjoyed his time with the bounty hunter the night before, he isn’t ready for round two just yet. Not with the way his body still aches from round one—and not even in the way he would like. 

But he’s sure he hasn’t seen the last of the hunter. He knows the way the Guild operates and he knows the reputation of Din Djarin. The hunter will chase him to the very edges of the galaxy until he collects the (no doubt sizable) bounty on his head. 

An odd thrill runs through him at the thought, but it’s dampened by another thought: he’ll have to kill Djarin eventually.

Luke hadn’t saved his life when he'd refrained from cutting his throat. He’d only delayed the inevitable.

A foolish decision, really, but he's having a hard time feeling regretful about it. 

In fact, he feels lighter than he has in a long time. There’s a bounce in his step as he walks through the city with Artoo at his side, feeling like he just barrel-rolled in his X-Wing or snorted a line of snuff. The Force seems to echo his emotions and buzzes in the air around him like static, enlivening him as he looks around for a place to grab a cup of caf and send a transmission. 

He settles on a small, hole-in-the-wall type of place, nestled in a side street behind a larger, swankier joint. He gives a bright smile to the Twi’lek woman behind the counter, who tilts her head at him and returns the smile with a confused, smaller one of her own. 

The cafe is quiet, with only a few other patrons scattered in a handful of tables near the front, none of whom pay him any mind as he waits for his caf. The place is run-down and somewhat dirty, with poorly-patched cracks running up the walls and a layer of dirt covering the floor. It’s clearly seen better days, which must make it difficult to compete with the newer, busier cafes Luke had spotted on his way through town.

Still, he can’t help but enjoy the smell of dust and faded cigar smoke as he grabs his mug and settles into a corner booth. 

Maybe it reminds him of home. 

Artoo parks himself next to the booth while Luke sets his holo-messenger on the table and punches in Leia’s personal code. It’s only a few moments before the image of his sister appears, sitting in front of her holoprojector at her home on Chandrila, giving him a smile. 

“Hey,” she says, “how’d it go? Did you find what you were looking for?” 

That’s a loaded question.

“Well”—Luke leans back in the booth and scratches his head—“not exactly.” 

“What happened?” 

“Someone sent a bounty hunter after me.” 

“Oh—” She huffs. “Really? Again?”

“It won’t be a problem,” he says, and even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie. “But it does change my plans a bit. I probably shouldn’t come back to Chandrila until it’s taken care of.” 

Leia nods, then clears her throat and says, “Actually, I was hoping to ask if you’d be willing to go to Coruscant for a little while.”

Luke groans. “What? Why?”

He hates Coruscant, always has. It’s too noisy, too crowded. Though the New Republic’s capital is now on Chandrila, Coruscant remains an important planet and he’s often sent there for business anyway. 

Leia sighs. “They’re opening that new museum, the one on the history of the Republic, and they’d like your opinion on their Jedi collection.”

His brow furrows. “Why? Don’t they have archivists for that?”

“I’m sure they do, but there aren’t a lot of actual Jedi for them to ask. At least, that’s the official reason Minister Kelso gave me. The unofficial reason is probably that they want your name attached to the project—you know how these kinds of things go—and they’d like you to be at the grand opening next week.”

Luke, unfortunately, knows how Kelso is and he knows exactly how these things go, but he doesn’t like throwing his name around. 

Still, as an ambassador for the Republic, the missions he’s assigned often feel a lot like doing just that. When he’d taken the job, he’d been told his duties would be to help mediate disputes toward and within the Republic, to soothe tensions and promote peace.

Maybe it had been that in the beginning but, these days, most of his missions involve mitigating land disputes and other petty matters to pacify the Republic’s wealthy sponsors. 

He pulls a face at the thought of being paraded around their new museum like some kind of mascot. “I don’t know, Leia…”

She holds her hands up. “I know, I know. But, listen. If you want to restart the Jedi Order someday… Well, all I’m saying is it can’t hurt to keep yourself in the Republic’s good graces. You know, show up to a few of these things, rub a few elbows… It can’t hurt.”

Luke’s look of distaste only increases.

“Well, it can’t physically hurt,” she clarifies.

Luke lets out a sigh and settles back into the booth. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Leia blinks at him. “You will? Oh. That’s great! To be honest, I was expecting this to be a much longer conversation.”

He shrugs and swipes a finger over the thin layer of dust accumulated on the wall next to him. “What can I say? I’m feeling generous today.”

“Uh-huh… Yes, you’re quite the magnanimous one.” She watches him for a few moments, then tilts her head. “What’s up with you? You seem different.” 

Luke examines the dust on his fingertips. Having a Force sensitive twin sister really sucks sometimes. 

“Different how?” 

Leia shakes her head and leans forward, now peering at him with intense scrutiny.

He really wishes she wouldn’t.

“I don’t know,” she says. “It just seems like there’s something… new about you, somehow.”

“Well, I’m trying something different with my hair. Maybe it’s that.” 

Leia rolls her eyes. “It’s not that. But it looks good, by the way.” 

“Thanks.” Luke squirms in his seat as Leia’s gaze continues to dissect him. 

Finally, she tilts her head the other way, furrows her brow, and Luke knows she’s found it. “Did you meet someone?” she asks, sitting up straight, her entire demeanor brightening. 

Luke can’t help the sheepish smile that spreads across his face. “Well, as a matter of fact, I did.” 

Leia beams. “Luke, that’s amazing! Well, tell me everything. What’s he like?”

“Well…” Luke traces a pattern in the dust now, looking anywhere but at the hologram. “He’s very handsome.”

“Of course.” 

“He’s… mysterious.”

“Naturally.”

“He’s…” Luke shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s interesting.”

Leia raises a brow. “That’s it?”

He shrugs again. 

“Well,” she says, clearly not satisfied with that answer. “What does he do?”

Luke sucks in a breath then exhales, finally looking at the hologram. “He’s a bounty hunter.”

Leia puts her head in her hand. “Luke…”

Luke’s sheepish smile only grows, but he has nothing to say for himself. 

“This wouldn’t happen to be the bounty hunter that’s currently hunting you. Would it?” she asks pointedly, now pinching the bridge of her nose.

He knows there’s no point in denying it. “Well…”

Leia sighs again, drops her hand, and leans forward. “You know what I want for you, Luke?”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to meet someone nice. I want you to meet someone who’s nice, and somewhat normal, and treats you well.”

“What, like you did? Han’s an asshole,” he shoots back, but only because he’s bitter. Because he knows Leia is right.

“Hey!” comes Han’s voice from somewhere in the background.

Leia waves him off. “Han wasn’t trying to kill me when we met.”

“Well, not actively.”

Leia frowns at him. “Stop being difficult. You know what I mean. I’m just saying, you have a history of falling for people who are terrible for you.”

Luke frowns back. “I don’t do that.”

Leia frowns even harder. “Really. ‘You don’t do that?’ What about that pilot guy? The one who left in the middle of the night and stole… what was it? Something like two thousand credits from you?”

Luke crosses his arms over his chest. “That only happened twice.”

“It happened twice?”

Luke raises his hands. “Joke. It was a joke.”

But Leia doesn’t seem to find it funny and she isn’t done. 

“Right, well, what about that other guy, the one who turned out to be working for an Imperial holdout?” 

That one stings. 

“Hey,” Luke covers. “We got some valuable intel out of that.”

“Yes, but you were heartbroken.” 

He huffs; that really stings. “Look, this isn’t going to be like that.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Because, this time I’m not looking for…” He waves a hand; the word he’s searching for is one he doesn’t want to say. “...whatever. I’m just having fun.”

Something sad passes across Leia’s face. He can feel it in their Force connection, sharp and twisting, but then it dissipates as she pushes it down. 

“That’s what concerns me,” she says, her voice losing its pinched tone. Then her face brightens. “You know what, I just had an idea.”

“Uh oh.”

“Don’t be like that. Listen. Senator Elgane is one of the chairmen for the Historical Preservation Committee. I’ll bet you anything he’ll be on Coruscant for the museum opening.” Leia beams at him, seeming to expect Luke will have some idea of what she’s getting at.

He doesn’t.

He wracks his brain for a Senator Elgane, but there’s so many goddamn Senators in the Republic that he quickly gives up and asks, “Who?”

She laughs as if he’d said something intentionally funny. “Osteon. The Senator from Breggaria. You know, the one you flirted with all night at my birthday party last year?”

And suddenly Luke remembers him: a handsome Zabrak man with golden skin, startling amber eyes, and a deep, velvety voice. Luke had flirted with him for most of the evening and spent the rest of it dancing with him. 

“Osteon,” he murmurs as the memory floods back in. “Yes, I remember him. He was… nice.” 

And what a pleasant memory it is, lit up by the glow of party lights and blurred by the haze of champagne. 

Still, it feels tame compared to his recollection of last night. The memory of his evening with Djarin ignites all his senses, every second burned into his minds’ eye in clear, vivid color.

Leia nods emphatically. “And he was an excellent dancer.” 

“Yes, he was.” 

“Well, why don’t I set the two of you up while you’re on Coruscant?” 

“What?”

“It’s perfect,” she chirps. “You’ll both be there already— I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you again. Come on, how long has it been since you went on a date?”

Luke passes a hand through his hair. “I suppose that depends on your definition…”

“Whatever that means. What do you say?” 

“Well…” 

Luke’s inclination is to say ‘no, thank you.’ The Senator is a lovely man and Luke had enjoyed spending time with him, but presently the only thing he can think of is a suit of shining beskar armor and a pair of deep brown eyes. 

And yet, Leia is beaming at him with such a hopeful look in her eye; he can feel it resonating through their connection and he knows she just wants to help.

Besides, it has been a while since he went on a date that wasn’t preceded by an ambush.

And he isn’t very good at saying no to his sister. 

“Alright,” he concedes. “But if it’s bad, I’m going to run out dramatically and say it’s important Jedi business.”

“No,” she says emphatically, “you’re not.” 

Luke laughs, then says, “Give Ben a kiss for me, alright?” 

She tells him she will and ends the transmission. 

As Luke sits in the dusty cafe, contemplating what he’d just agreed to, the Force rallies then rushes around him. It hits him with a brief feeling like he’s sprinting downhill as fast as he can, unable to stop his own momentum as he barrels toward Force knows what. 

He makes a face into his mug, then shrugs off the disconcerting sensation. 

That probably means nothing, he tries to tell himself.

Chapter Text

The restaurant is unbearably elegant. 

There’s a crystal chandelier on every square foot of the ceiling and flutes of pink champagne on every tray that’s whisked past their table by well-dressed servers. 

Luke, wearing his usual black robes, is skirting the dress code. But he’d at least chosen something that hasn’t yet been stained with dirt or blood, along with his only pair of boots that aren’t hopelessly scuffed. 

His date, on the other hand, is dressed to the nines—but such is the custom on Breggaria, or so he’s recently learned. 

Osteon wears a long, forest-green tunic (silk, of course), with gold inlaid buttons and intricately embroidered cuffs. He’s tall and slender, with strong features and full lips. There’s a cluster of tattoos centered around his foremost horn and a solid black tattoo that wraps around the back of his head. He looks every bit as regal as Luke remembers, but he isn’t half as funny now that they’re sober.

“So, Leia tells me you were on Begamore before this,” Osteon says, smiling over a glass of wine, revealing a pair of sharp, white Zabraki canines. “Jedi business?”

Luke shrugs a shoulder and flashes a charming smile right back. “What else?”

“I suppose that means it’s a secret then…?” 

“Yes, even from me.” 

Osteon laughs at that and tilts his head. 

Luke sighs and, for the thousandth time in his life, does his best to explain. 

“The Force is… mysterious,” he says. 

“So I’ve heard.” 

“Yes, well...” Luke sends him another forced smile. “Often, it tells me where I need to go, but not why. Or, the other way around. It tells me what I need to do, but not where or how.”

“Hmm.” Osteon leans back in his chair and thinks for a moment. “That sounds challenging.” 

“Like shooting womp rats,” Luke replies, giving a small laugh.

Osteon furrows his brow, clearly unfamiliar with the expression. 

Luke waves a hand, taking a sip of wine. “It’s a saying we have on Tatooine. It just means something that seems like it should be easy, but is surprisingly difficult.”

Kind of like this date.

Good gods, he wants to leave.

Not that he’s having a bad time, necessarily. The wine is good and Osteon is smart and well-mannered and polite—almost to a fault. 

What bothers him the most is the way Osteon looks at him, as if Luke were some kind of deity and he was about to prostrate himself before him at any moment.

Of course, everyone always says they want someone who looks at them like royalty but Luke sees enough of that already. Most people view him as someone larger than himself, some kind of untouchable, unknowable legend. Respectable people often walk on eggshells around him, curating every aspect of themselves to be as impressive yet inoffensive as possible.

And his friends wonder why he always ends up in bed with scumbags and criminals. 

It’s to avoid things like this: a stuffy date with someone who’s all too aware of Luke’s status and, perhaps, their own. 

Even now, Luke finds his thoughts drifting to a grimy dive bar and a pair of candid brown eyes. There was something refreshing about the way the hunter had treated him with total irreverence—entirely unimpressed, yet far from uninterested.

Warmth pools in his stomach just at the thought of it. He swallows another mouthful of wine and tries to push it from his mind.

“So, how are things going at the museum?” he asks, then cringes, his face burning hot. “I already asked you that, didn’t I?”

Osteon’s amicable smile remains immovable. “You did,” he answers, “but I’m happy to tell you again.”

Luke chuckles and shakes his head. “No, that’s alright.”

They sip their drinks in silence for a few seconds. Luke’s fingers tap a light rhythm on the table as he desperately looks around, in vain, for anything that could be a topic of conversation. 

Across from him, Osteon looks relaxed, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “We can go somewhere else if you like.”

Luke really wants to say, yes, please, as soon as possible. But instead he politely smiles, shakes his head, and says, “No, no, that’s alright.”

Osteon lowers his head, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “Luke,” he says. “It’s no trouble at all.” 

“Well…” Luke replies, breaking out into a sheepish smile. “Only if you don’t mind.” 

“Not at all.” He clinks a handful of credits on the table and Luke tries not to gawk at the amount. They’d only had two glasses of wine. 

Osteon stands and Luke follows him out of the restaurant, gulping down a deep breath of thick night air as soon as he’s out the doors. 

Force, it’s loud on Coruscant. There’s no restfulness in the night, no room for contemplation. The streets are as brightly lit and busy as they are during the day, full of people of every species milling around between the various bars, restaurants, and clubs.

Already, Luke feels stretched thin like a rubber band, pulled to its limit and near to snapping. 

The Force is all around him, as it always is, but it’s directionless. He can’t find any guidance or coherence in its ebbs and flows; it whisks past him like the speeders that rush through the city with no sign of ever slowing. 

Next to him, Osteon is still wearing his unshakeable smile, posture as upright and perfect as ever, as he starts strolling down the street. Luke can’t help but find his constant geniality a little annoying, but he feels bad for thinking it all the same.

Osteon leads him away from the crowd and down a quieter sidestreet. It's lined on one side by boutique shops and salons that have already closed for the evening, and flanked on the other by traffic, slower in this part of town. 

Still, Osteon glances at him from time to time and there’s that worshipful look in his eye again, cracking through his cool and relaxed veneer. 

Luke grits his teeth and cranes his neck to look over the edge of the walkway and down to the undercity, buzzing beneath them a few levels down. 

He vaguely considers jumping, just for a bit of fun, but then he hears Leia’s voice in his head telling him not to be so dramatic.

Besides, this is far from the worst date he's ever been on.

He takes a deep breath then exhales his irritation, intending to let it flow out of him into the Force—but it doesn’t work as well as it normally does. His emotions linger, getting caught up in the disorganized swirls around him.

He lets out a frustrated exhale and tries again, with the same result. 

“Are you alright?” Osteon asks. 

Luke nods. “Oh, yes,” he says, perhaps too emphatically. “Uh, where are we going?”

Osteon smiles brightly. “Wherever you like.”

Luke resists the urge to roll his eyes—but then something sharp twists in the Force, stabbing him right in the chest, ice cold and biting. 

Danger. 

He stops in his tracks, swiveling to look behind, then to his left, right, and up above. But he feels it before he sees it, this time a warmth that organizes the energy around him into a wave that sends goosebumps up his arms and chills down his spine.

Djarin.

Luke’s gaze flicks to Osteon; the last thing he wants is for someone else to get caught in whatever crossfire is about to happen. 

“You’re going to want to run,” Luke says, but it’s too late. 

A metallic clank echoes from behind them, followed by the sound of beeping. 

Shit.  

Luke throws out his hands and Force-shoves Osteon away from the grenade. He hits the ground in a roll as a deafening BANG fires out into the street, followed by a bright flash that illuminates the entire block in blinding light.  

Luke’s vision whites-out, his ears ringing and head spinning from the blast. 

He senses the hunter’s presence come down upon him from somewhere above, but his eyes and ears are useless. 

“Really?” he calls out, wincing as he tries to regain his balance. “A flash grenade?”

Then he remembers he’s a Jedi.

He slows his breathing and reaches out to the Force—and finds it united again, bolstering him like a stim pack. 

A tingling chill runs up his left side, telling him where the hunter’s next strike will come from. He draws his saber and blocks to his left, feeling the hilt vibrate as it collides with a stun bolt. 

He can almost taste the hunter’s surprise and frustration, sharp and bitter, as it resonates through the Force. 

“You didn’t think it was going to be that easy, did you?” Luke grins, his own voice sounding faint through the ringing in his ears. He searches the Force for a hint of the Mandalorian’s next attack and wonders if this is what old Ben had been preparing him for, all those years ago.

It comes as a tug on his side, pulling him two steps to the right. He feels a cable fly past him, catching and ripping the fabric of his robe. 

“Hey,” Luke says, “this is brand new.” 

His vision is starting to return and he hears the hunter’s growl over the subsiding ringing. The blurry shape of a Mandalorian rushes toward him, vibroknife drawn, but Luke side steps out of the way. 

He glances over and senses more than sees Osteon standing and watching the fight, likely also dazed from the blast. Luke gives him a nod and waves him away, as if to say: I’ve got this covered.

Osteon hesitates for a moment, then makes his exit, ushering a few other passersby away from the scene.

Luke’s vision continues to improve and he realizes he’s standing on the edge of the walkway, one step from plummeting over the edge. 

Now there’s a fun idea.

Din charges him again, but Luke throws him back with the Force, then closes his eyes and breathes into it. A smile flickers across his lips as he feels his pathway to the undercity reveal itself—then he jumps. 

His heart is in his throat as he falls, the chaos of Galactic City whirring past him, then suddenly he’s on the ground again, the Force breaking his fall as he lands in a crouch. A collective gasp rings out through the street, as several citizens backpedal away from the man who has just jumped down several levels and landed unharmed.

LEVEL 4999, reads the area sign. 

The first level of the undercity, and a much better locale for a scuffle with a bounty hunter. He wouldn’t want the Coruscant Security Force getting in the way of his fun.

He glances behind him and sees the Mandalorian with his jetpack ignited, making his way down through the air traffic. Luke grins and strolls down the street, ignoring the incredulous looks from passersby as he weaves through the crowd. Then he breaks into a run, swerving around a corner and into a deserted sidestreet. 

This feels familiar. 

Din isn’t far behind him and fires a stun bolt, which Luke deflects. 

“You know, I’ve thought a lot about you since our last meeting,” Luke says, now dodging a blast of flame from the Mandalorian’s bracer.

Din again rushes at him with his knife drawn, and Luke notices a pair of handcuffs strapped to the man’s belt. 

Luke sidesteps his first swing, then says, “Handcuffs?” and ducks under the second. “Feeling optimistic, are we? You know, I’ve got something better you could do with those.” 

“Would you shut up?” Din snarls, lashing out again. Luke can sense his frustration building, growing like a flame in his chest, and he manages to nick Luke’s shoulder with the tip of the blade. 

The sting of it, though minor, sends a thrill running through him, a spike of heat that only fuels his own rising frustration—though it’s rather a different kind of frustration.

Din fires another stun bolt, which Luke again deflects with ease, then takes a step backward, radiating irritation and re-evaluating his strategy. Luke could take advantage of his stalling momentum and cut him down—of course, he could have done that already—but he’s having too much fun to end this now. 

He shuts down his lightsaber and circles the Mandalorian with an easy smile on his face, watching him, curious to see what he’ll do next.

And then he senses a shift in Din’s presence, a sharp realization that only serves to fan the broiling anger inside of him. 

He knows now that Luke is going easy on him. Toying with him. 

Din lets out another growl and charges with renewed fervor, striking out in short, rapid swings. Luke dodges as long as he can, then raises his lightsaber to block a strike that otherwise would have plunged clean through his shoulder. 

Luke can’t help his grin. “Now, that’s more like it.” 

“Shut up.” 

Luke’s heart is slamming in his chest and a feeling like electricity courses through him as he backpedals away from another round of fevered attacks, one of which slices across his cheek. 

He lets out a laugh of surprise at the feeling of blood trickling down his face, but that only seems to add to Din’s irritation. 

He fires a cable which snakes around Luke’s calf, and yanks backwards, sending him to the ground—but not before he snags Din by the collar. 

His back slams hard into the ground and the breath is knocked out of him as Din falls on top of him. 

In an instant, Din’s blaster is pointed at his chin and Luke’s lightsaber hilt, unignited, is at Din’s throat. 

“Well, isn’t this interesting?” Luke chirps.

Chapter Text

There’s blood running down the Jedi’s cheek and a flushed, exhilarated look on his face.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?”

Luke grins up at him and, just once, Din wishes he could knock that stupid smile off his face. Yet it seems like the closer he gets to defeating him, the more thrilled Luke becomes. 

“Gods, you’re annoying,” Din snarls—a brave thing to say to a man who’d nearly killed him twice. There’s a dull ache in the back of his head from where he’d hit the ground after the Jedi had thrown him backwards with his stupid magic powers. 

But Luke is clearly distracted now.

“You like it,” he retorts, staring at Din with a hungry look in his eye. 

Din might be smug about it, except that he’s distracted also—all too aware of the ways Luke’s body is pressed against his. There’s a buzzing feeling in his head and a charged heat coiling in his stomach as the Jedi slowly reaches up toward his helmet. He hears the lock click, then feels pressure pushing at the base. 

His mind is full of all the things he should do. 

He should stop Luke from removing his helmet. 

He should take advantage of his obvious distraction and hit him with a stun bolt. 

He should stop this here and now.

But he doesn’t do any of those things. His grip on his blaster loosens as Luke removes the helmet and lets it fall to the ground, pupils wide as their eyes meet. 

Luke’s hand trails up the back of his neck and Din’s brain nearly short circuits, his breath hitching in his throat. 

Then Luke leans up toward him and Din meets him the rest of the way, their weapons falling to the ground as their mouths collide in a rough kiss, teeth knocking together gracelessly. 

This is insane, Din thinks—and it’s the last coherent thought he has as Luke pushes his tongue into his mouth and traces his teeth, his hand coming to tangle in his hair. 

The kiss tastes like sweat and blood, a fact which somehow only adds to the mounting heat in his core. He cups Luke’s face and swipes his thumb over the cut on his cheek to wipe away the blood. Luke lets out a breathy moan at that, pushing his hips up against him as one hand snakes around his waist and pulls him closer. 

“Let’s get a room somewhere,” he breathes out, breaking away from the kiss for a moment. 

Din knows he should say ‘no’ but he can’t bring himself to do it, so he moves his hand to the back of Luke’s head and pulls him into another kiss. 

He can feel Luke’s erection as he grinds into him, further dissolving his already weakened resolve. 

“Please?” Luke asks, then drags his lips across Din’s cheek to whisper in his ear, “Unless you wanna do this here?”

A stab of arousal jolts through him. He kisses him again and tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, then grunts out, “Fine.”

They find their way to the nearest motel, which is as grungy as you’d expect from Coruscant’s undercity, but neither Din nor Luke are of a mind to care. 

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Din shoves him up against the wall and resumes kissing him. Luke gasps into his mouth, his hands pulling hard at his hair.

“This still doesn’t change anything,” Din murmurs, nipping at the soft skin just underneath his jaw. “You know that, right?”

Breathless, Luke leans his head back, allowing him more room. “Shut up, I know.” 

Din trails biting kisses down his neck, growling low in his throat in response. He can’t remember ever feeling this out of his mind before, his every sense electrified and zeroed in on the feeling of Luke’s body against his, as if nothing else exists. 

Then he starts to feel… lighter. And he realizes his armor has come unclasped . Each piece of it drifts through the air before landing on the rickety motel table in an organized pile—as if by magic.

Din looks at Luke, agape, shocked by his audacity, but Luke only stares back with unbroken, ravenous focus, like this is something normal that happens during a hookup. 

(Then again, nothing about this is normal.)

A flash of desire runs up Din’s spine, but it’s overshadowed by the anger that turns over in his gut. 

“Why did you do that?” he growls and roughly shoves his knee in between Luke’s thighs, pressing against his groin.

Luke gasps out at the sudden pressure, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “I’m impatient,” he says, not looking at all sorry. “Let me make it up to you?” He runs his teeth over his bottom lip—then reaches down and grab’s Din’s cock.

Din chokes back a groan. For a second, he considers taking him up on the offer, but…

“No,” he grunts.

Luke slowly removes his hand, still wearing that annoyingly self satisfied expression, and Din again feels torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to fuck him. Wrestling between the two desires, he grabs Luke by the collar and shoves him toward the bed. 

Luke doesn’t protest. If anything, the look of exhilaration on his face only grows as Din pushes him back onto the mattress. He pulls off his boots and watches Din with an expectant expression.

Din stays where he stands and considers him for a moment while Luke props himself up on his elbows and stares at him, wetting his lips. 

There’s something wild in his face, flushed pink from arousal and painted red with smeared blood from his wounded cheek. His shoulder is bleeding too, creating a dark stain in the ripped fabric of his sleeve.

Din knows he ought to just leave it. If the Jedi didn’t want to get banged up, he should have fought better. Or been less obnoxious. 

(And yet…) 

Din pulls off his gloves and tosses them to the floor, then fishes around in one of his belt pouches for a tube of bacta. Finding it, he smears some of the gel onto his thumb, then wordlessly reaches out and swipes it across the cut on Luke’s cheek. 

An exhale escapes Luke’s parted lips, something soft and tender mingling with the dark look in his eye. 

Din watches for a moment as the cut starts to close up. “Take off your shirt,” he orders and Luke obeys. He tries to conceal a wince as he pulls his tunic over his head, the movement no-doubt aggravating his wounded shoulder, but Din clocks it. 

He tosses his robe and tunic to the floor while Din looks him over. There’s a mess of blood on the Jedi’s upper right arm, but that’s not what catches his attention. His gaze is drawn to Luke’s chest, where there’s an entire galaxy of old, faded scars that criss-cross his upper body like pale streaks of lightning.

Din frowns; he’s never seen anything like it before. “What did this to you?” he asks, spreading more bacta gel on his fingertips. 

Luke looks like he wants to answer, but stays silent as Din smears the gel on his shoulder wound. He turns his head and watches the injury start to seal, then looks back to Din and swallows. 

“Thank you,” he rasps out. 

Din shrugs, knowing better than to press on these kind of matters, and tosses the bacta tube on the bed. He runs his hands up Luke’s thighs, hungrily taking in the sight of him. 

He’s lithe and languid, almost cat-like in the way he moves, leaning back on his elbows to stare up at Din through long lashes. He’s breathtaking, like something out of a dream. Even the constellation of scars across his skin adds a sort of rugged, ethereal quality to his youthful form, accenting the ripple of muscle along his chest and biceps.

He looks every bit like the mythic hero he’s supposed to be, but there’s some feral thing that lurks within his eyes, something tantalizing and untamed, barely visible.

But Din sees it—and it thrills him. He wants to draw it out of him. 

Grabbing Luke by the hips, he yanks him closer to the edge of the bed. Luke gasps as Din reaches down to his crotch and cups him, palming him through the fabric of his pants. Luke utters a breathless moan, his head falling back.  

“Din…” he pleads.

“Yes?” Din asks with a smirk.

Maybe it’s because of the lingering adrenaline in his system but he feels emboldened now, like he knows exactly how to make Luke fall apart and that’s the only thing he wants to do.

Luke huffs out a small, disbelieving laugh. “Please,” he murmurs, pushing his hips against Din’s hand. 

Din doesn’t have the patience to make him wait. He strips off Luke’s pants and takes him into his hand, holding Luke’s gaze as he slowly, lightly strokes up his length. Luke’s hips buck up into him and, with his other hand, Din pushes down on his hips, holding him against the bed. 

“Din,” Luke whimpers, eyes locked with his, hands clutching the bedsheets. 

Truthfully, Din isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. He’s painfully hard, straining through his under armor; he wants him badly , yet he can’t seem to get enough of this, watching the Jedi pant and whine beneath his touch. There’s something about it that goes straight to his head.

“Tell me what you want,” he says, quietly, almost unsure of himself, and squeezes the base of Luke’s cock. 

Luke chokes on another moan, then replies, “Gods, Din, I want you to fuck me, for fuck sake.” 

Din can barely think for how much he wants that too. He starts unbuttoning his under armor and Luke sits up to help him, two sets of eager hands now fumbling for the clasps. It doesn’t escape Din’s attention the way Luke eyes his cock through the fabric with a hungry stare. As soon as Din’s clothes are on the floor, Luke reaches for him—but Din grabs his wrist on some instinct he can’t even name and pins it against the bed. 

“You won’t even let me touch you?”

“No.”

Luke lets out a little huff. “Din—”

“No.” He presses his weight against Luke’s wrist and savors the way his desire—and his frustration—spreads across his face in a rising flush.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Luke spits, halfheartedly pushing against Din’s restraint, which doesn’t give.

“You’re one to talk.” He fumbles for the bacta gel and generously coats his fingers once he finds it. 

Luke scowls at him, stammering out, “What’s that supposed to me— mmh!” 

Din silences him by reaching down to trace a slick finger over him. Luke bites down on his lip and gives him a nod, hips jerking against his hand. Again, Din makes him wait.

“Seriously?” Luke complains. “You’re such a—” Then he gasps out as Din obliges and pushes a finger inside him. 

It’s strange to think that, not an hour ago, Luke had been the fiercest adversary he’d ever encountered and, had things gone another way, could have easily ended him. He’s the most powerful warrior Din has ever known—one of the most powerful warriors the galaxy has ever known—and now Din gets to watch him come apart under his touch. 

The thought of it has him harder than he’s been in months, a thrill running through him as he pushes a second finger deeper inside and slowly curls. 

“Din— ah!” Luke gasps, moving against his hand with increased insistence. “More,” he pleads. “Please?” 

Gods. 

Din spreads his legs further and slides a third finger into him, watching indulgently as Luke’s head falls back. Luke lets out a quiet whine when Din draws his hand back, unable to ignore the insistence of his own arousal any longer. He grabs Luke by the hips and gracelessly flips him onto his stomach. 

Luke lets out a breathless laugh that turns into a strangled grunt as Din slicks himself up and pushes into him. He curses under his breath, already overwhelmed, his head dropping to Luke’s shoulder. 

He goes slow at first, giving Luke a chance to adjust, but Luke reaches behind him and impatiently grasps at his back, nails scraping across his skin. 

“Din, please,” he whimpers against the bedcovers, “please, I can take it.”

As much as Din enjoys hearing him beg, he’s more than happy to give him what he wants this time. He takes him faster and harder, digging his teeth into the crook of Luke’s neck, barely hanging onto any sense of coherence at all. 

Luke seems to have passed that point already. He gasps and moans out with every thrust, loud enough for everyone in the motel to hear. 

“Yes, right there,” he pants. “Please, it’s so good, gods, Din, you feel so good, please, I—” He continues on senselessly, words falling from his mouth in a babbled stream of consciousness. 

It does something obscene to Din’s head, driving him half out of his mind before he drags himself to the conclusion that making a massive scene is probably the last thing the two of them need. 

“Shhhh,” he hisses against Luke’s ear. But Luke’s too far gone to reel himself in and only continues on. 

“Fuck,” he cries out, “you’re so— mmh— you’re so fucking— I can’t—”

Finally, Din grabs his face, shoves his thumb into his mouth, and pushes down on his tongue. “Do you ever shut up?” he growls.

Luke answers by biting down. Din curses and grips his jaw even harder in retaliation, but if anything Luke seems even more turned on than before. He moans, high-pitched and helpless around Din’s finger and tilts his hips up to take him even deeper. 

Din can’t help but groan as he sinks into him to the hilt and knows he isn’t going to be able to take much more of this. Desperately holding on, he pulls his thumb from Luke’s mouth and reaches underneath him to find his cock. He wants to feel him fall apart in his hand, wants to fuck him as he unravels. Luke lets out another obscene moan as Din grasps his base and the sound of it sends him over the edge.

His hips snap forward as he finishes inside of him, vision whiting out as his orgasm rips through him, leaving him panting, laying over Luke’s back. After a few delirious moments, he comes back to himself and realizes Luke’s hips are moving against him, desperately grinding into his hand.

Din grips him tighter and lets Luke fuck his hand until he violently finds his release, crying out as he shakes and shutters underneath him, face pressed into the bed. 

Din, chest heaving and slick with sweat, gives them both a minute to catch their breath, but he falls back to reality with shocking speed. 

Once he can think clearly again, he can see just how much he’s lost control of himself and let good sense go to the wayside. A punch of shame hits him in the gut and stamps out the last flickerings of his euphoria, replacing it with a rock-solid feeling of dread. He rolls over and heaves himself up, then snatches two towels from the ‘fresher. When he returns, he haphazardly tosses one in Luke’s direction, then wipes himself off with little attention. 

Luke is the picture of nonchalance as he leisurely cleans himself up, watching Din with a satisfied smirk. He starts to speak. “So that was—”

“Don’t,” Din cuts him off, now reaching for his jumpsuit. Luke continues watching him as he hurriedly gets dressed then lets out a dramatic sigh and hops off the bed. 

“Fine,” he snarks, and grabs his pants from the heap of black clothes on the floor. “If that’s how it’s gonna be.”

Din reattaches his chestplate, hardly caring if it’s straight or if the straps are aligned. He just needs to leave this mistake behind him as quickly as possible. “How did you think it was gonna be?” he asks flatly. 

“Oh, I thought we’d have a long heart-to-heart about our feelings, talk about our trauma, our deepest secrets…” He flashes Din that signature shit-eating grin, but there’s something earnest hidden in his eyes. 

Din wonders about that. He wonders about Luke’s apparent interest in him, despite having encountered countless bounty hunters in the past, despite being Luke Skywalker. He could surely have anyone he wants. People must pursue him all the time—romantically and otherwise. Why would he choose to seek out Din’s attention, enough to bring him back to a dingy, lower-level motel, when he could have anyone else anywhere he wants? It seems to defy logic.

Except that, in a way, it makes perfect sense. He remembers how Luke had grinned when Din slashed his cheek and laughed out loud as the blood poured down his face, like a teenager laughing at a prank. 

It’s all a game to him. Everything. 

The amount of control Luke exerts over his reality is unfathomable—perhaps even to himself. It somehow makes sense then, that he throws himself at any opportunity to have that control taken away, to feel it bleed out of him. 

And while Din languishes in his shame, Luke seems to relish in it. There’s a small smile affixed to his youthful features and energy in his movements as he throws on his torn, bloody clothes. 

Din doesn’t even realize he’s staring, his hands having forgotten their task, until Luke glances over at him and the weight of that bright gaze hits him square in the chest. Luke grins more, but Din looks away, focused again on putting his armor back on as quickly as possible. 

Luke has finished slowly pulling his boots on by the time Din puts himself to rights and sets his helmet on his head. Now both fully dressed, they stand facing each other in silence. Luke fixes him with a relaxed smile, his head cocked to the side as if curious what he’ll do next. 

But Din has no idea what to do—he can barely think for the embarrassment that hits him wave after wave—so he says nothing, only gives the Jedi a stiff nod then heads for the exit. He pauses in the doorway and, against his better judgment, looks over his shoulder to see Luke still standing in the middle of the room watching him leave, a covert smile on his face. 

Din feels the urge to speak—but what can he say? What does he want to say? 

He can’t come up with an answer for that before he’s sure he’s lingered too long, so he steps out the door and this time he doesn’t look back.

Aboard the Razor Crest, Din reluctantly accepts a transmission from Greef Karga. 

“Mando,” Karga says through the hologram as soon as it connects, “have you captured Skywalker yet?”

Din, seated in the pilot’s seat, is punching in some coordinates in the cockpit controls and otherwise pretending to be busy.

“I’m working on it,” he grits out. “When I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Well, I should hope so. The client is growing impatient.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should remind them who their target is. He’s not an easy one to catch and he’s stronger than he looks,” Din answers evenly, but a sour feeling twists in his stomach. 

“You knew that going into it,” Karga replies, pointing a finger, “and you assured me you were the man for the job.”

“I was. I am. I just need more time.” He says it as much for himself as for Karga.

More time. That’s all he needs to shake off whatever this feeling is and get back to what he’s good at.

“Fine,” Karga says. “But keep me updated on your progress. You know how these old Imperials are; they don’t like waiting.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

Din ends the transmission and leans back in his seat, his eyes closing as he lets out a massive exhale.

“...Fuck.”

Chapter Text

The light—an annoyingly fancy crystal chandelier—flicks on as Luke enters, illuminating the upscale suite. All of the furniture is covered in silk and gilded wherever possible, every bit of it custom made to match the set. The decor on the walls, framed in gold, had all been hand painted by Coruscant’s finest artists. Even the floor is made of an expensive red wood imported from Kashyyyk. 

Every inch of it is obnoxious. 

They’d even put together a gift basket for him filled with all kinds of delicacies, like a bottle of 25-year-old Corellian rum and a box of Darruvian chocolates, all of which seem too expensive to consider eating. 

Minister Kelso always puts him up in this hotel whenever he stays on Coruscant for business and gifts like these are almost always waiting for him. Usually, he gives them to the staff. 

Despite the hospitality, staying in this place always makes him feel nauseous, but he can’t exactly say anything about it, since this is one of the nicest hotels in all of Galactic City. Anyone should be grateful to stay here, and yet it’s a wonder to him how anyone could ever feel comfortable in this much luxury. 

R2D2 beeps at him from his charging station and wobbles back and forth in greeting. 

“Hey, Artoo,” Luke greets, giving him a tired smile and wave.

He steps into the ‘fresher, which is as stuffy and chic as the rest of the suite, and takes off his robe and tunic, now shredded in multiple places. He runs his hands over the rips in the fabric, stained by his own blood, and remembers the thrill that had coursed through him when Din had actually managed to strike him. When was the last time that had happened?

He tosses the clothes to the floor and takes a look at himself in the mirror.

He looks like shit. 

His hair is mussed beyond belief, singed in a patch over his right ear and crusty from sweat. Though the cut has long since healed, there’s dried blood covering two thirds of his face and a bruise forming on his lower lip from Force-knows-what. 

Bloodied, bruised, and disheveled as he is, he realizes this is the first time in a long while that he’s looked in a mirror and seen himself staring back.

For the first time in a long time, he feels like himself. 

“Gods,” he mutters, ignoring the soreness in his thighs as he strips off his pants. “Something is seriously wrong with me.” 

He runs his fingers over the healed skin on his shoulder and remembers the feeling of Din’s hands brushing bacta gel over his wounds, the sound of his voice asking about his scars. 

Why had he done that? Had it been kindness? Pity? Mercy? 

It’s impossible to say. Even with Luke’s heightened perception, the man remains rather mysterious. His presence is an organized pulse of energy, but with more layers and nuances than Luke had previously estimated, impossible to sort through in a single evening. 

Luke showers and attempts to push the matter from his mind, then heads into the bedroom and switches off the lights, finding it easier to tolerate the place in the dark. He fumbles through the dresser until he finds some nightclothes, then sits in front of the holoprojector and checks for transmissions. 

Sure enough, there is one. 

He opens it and is greeted by a recorded message from Osteon, who smiles regally (does he ever do anything else?), and says, “I just wanted to see if you’re alright. I’m sure you are but, well—” He gives a small shrug. “I wanted to check. I’m a bit shaken up myself, I’ll admit, but at least no one can say we had a boring first date, right?” Osteon flashes another smile, weaker this time. 

Speak for yourself, Luke thinks. 

But, staring at Osteon’s hologram, he begins to recall what had attracted him to the man in the first place. He is handsome, for one thing, but he’s also kind. Reliable. 

Predictable. 

“I hope this isn’t too forward,” Osteon continues, “but I’d love to see you again. I hope you feel the same. If you don’t, I’ll understand, of course, but if you do—maybe don’t invite any bounty hunters next time.” He flashes a smile and Luke snorts out half a laugh. “Anyway, I do hope you’ll let me know you’re alright, when you can. Goodnight.” Osteon nods, then the transmission ends.

Luke lets out a long exhale and slumps back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. He wills himself to feel something for Osteon, something even nearing the curiosity he feels for the mercenary who’s literally hunting him for money. 

But, of course, that’s never the way of things, is it? 

He closes his eyes and tries to find direction in the Force, some sort of guidance as to where he should go from here, but once again finds the energy around him scattered and disorganized. He screws his eyes shut tighter and sits up, now focused on trying to make some sense out of it, but the feeling only grows louder and more disorderly until his eyes snap open. 

He huffs. “Thanks for the help.”

He records a transmission, assuring Osteon that he’s alright and tepidly saying he had a nice time and they should do it again—which is the standard response after a mediocre date, he’s learned. Osteon will probably get the hint.

He climbs into bed and checks in with the Force again, only to find it as erratic and unhelpful as before.

That probably doesn’t mean anything, he again tries to tell himself, but knows it’s a stupid thought as soon as it occurs to him. 

Of course it means something. But what the kriff is it?

“So, how was it?” Leia asks the next morning, watching him intently through the transmission, an anticipatory smile on her face. 

“Hmm? How was what?” he asks, distractedly.

Luke has no idea what she’s talking about. The only thing he can think of is a certain Mandalorian with rough hands and a surprisingly gentle touch—which he knows she can’t be asking about.

Leia rolls her eyes, clearly thinking he’s joking. “Don’t be like that. The date. How did it go?”

Right. That. 

Osteon. 

“Um—” Luke clears his throat. “It was good. Well, it was cut short. We were ambushed by that bounty hunter I was telling you about.”

“You were what?”

Luke shrugs a shoulder, trying to suppress the smile that threatens to spill out onto his face. “No one was hurt; it’s fine.” 

“And the hunter?”

“Got away.” 

“Hmm.” Leia watches him for a moment. “You let him get away, didn’t you?”

Luke frowns at her. “What’s so wrong with that?” He crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s not like I enjoy murdering people.” 

“Luke, he’s trying to kill you,” Leia emphasizes.

“I know that,” Luke snarks back, mimicking her tone of voice and not bothering to clarify that, technically, he’s wanted alive. 

“Do you still like him?” she presses. 

“No. Maybe. I don’t know.” Luke huffs and puts his face in his hand. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

He hates hiding things from her, but he’s not yet ready for the lecture he knows he’ll receive when he finally tells her the truth. Right now, he just wants to enjoy this peaceful, blissed-out feeling and deal with the repercussions of his iffy decisions later. 

“Well, what about Osteon?” Leia asks. “Did you guys have a nice time?” 

“Oh.” Luke clears his throat. “Oh, um, it was good,” he says, but his mind wanders to someone other than Osteon and a blush rises in his cheeks.

“Really?” Leia beams. “Oh, I’m so glad to hear that.” 

Luke shrugs and rests his chin in his hand. “Yeah, it was alright,” he says, because he can’t stand to disappoint her.

Leia tilts her head, watching him. “Oh Force, look at you. You can’t stop smiling.” 

“Hmm?” And then Luke realizes he is smiling, a dopey, lazy grin that had spread across his face without him noticing. 

Leia continues beaming. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this before,” she says. “I think you and Osteon could be really good for each other.” 

Yet another reason having a Force sensitive twin can be a real pain in the ass. She can no doubt sense the fluttering in his stomach, the buzzing in his head at the memory of last night—only, she has no way of knowing he’s thinking of Din, not Osteon.

Because that would be an insane assumption. Osteon is a lovely, kind, well-mannered man who admires him—and Din is the bounty hunter hired to capture him.  

He might feel worse about misleading her if he weren’t in such a good mood. He knows he should steer the conversation in a different direction or—and this is a crazy idea—tell her the truth, but there’s a stupid feeling rattling around in his head that chases away his good sense. 

“Well, I suppose we’ll see,” he hums, diplomatically, letting out a sigh. 

“Well, listen, Minister Kelso wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to tour the museum tomorrow and give them your thoughts. It’ll be horribly boring, but—”

“Sure,” Luke says distractedly, giving her a nod. 

Leia furrows her brow. “Really? No whining?”

He shrugs again. “Not today.”

And yet he knows exactly what this ‘tour’ will be: an excuse to parade him around the museum and get everyone talking about it, a week before it opens. 

He’s been to these sort of grandstanding promotional events on countless occasions and hated it every time. 

But today, he doesn’t care. 

“Alright, well.” Leia watches him for a moment, and Luke knows he needs to end this transmission before she looks too deep. “I’ll let him know you’ll be there. Tomorrow at seventeen hundred, okay?”

Luke nods. “Alright, I’ll be there.”

“And don’t forget— we have that meeting with Senator Chensen next week about the new embassy on Eldronia. I’ve sent you some notes to look over. Let me know what you think.” 

“Oh sure,” he replies absently. “I’ll take a look.” 

But, in truth, he forgets all about it the second their conversation ends.

Luke’s good mood is already starting to fade by the time he receives another transmission from Leia later that day. 

“Hey, listen,” she says, “I talked to Minister Kelso and he said Osteon could be your tour guide for tomorrow.” She smiles expectantly at him, like she’s sure she just made his day.

Luke blinks at her. “What?” 

She only continues beaming at him. “He’s going to give you the tour tomorrow. Look, I know how much you hate these kinds of things, so I figured this might make it more enjoyable for yout.” 

“Oh—” Luke nods and puts on a smile, doing his best not to look completely blindsided. He hadn’t expected to see Osteon again quite this quickly. “That— That’s great, Leia, thank you.” 

Her smile starts to fade. “Oh, are you not excited? I thought you’d be excited.”

“No, no, I am,” Luke assures her—another lie which he feels bad about, but she seems so excited and he knows she’s only trying to do him a favor. “I’m just… surprised. I mean, isn’t Osteon… busy?”

“I’m sure he is but—” She sends him a cheeky smile and waggles her eyebrows at him. “He made time for it. I’m sure he wanted to see you.” 

A feeling of guilt stirs in Luke’s stomach, but he breathes it away before Leia can notice it and maintains his forced smile. “Well, I’m looking forward to it,” he says, and Leia grins at him. 

“You’ll tell me how it goes, won’t you?”

“Of course.”

The transmission ends and Luke buries his face in his hands and groans, the last of his good mood finally evaporated. A feeling of impending doom hangs over him at the prospect of more stiff small talk with Osteon. However, the thought of letting Leia down is even worse than that, so he’ll just have to grin and bear it. 

“Oh gods,” he mutters to himself and shakes his head. 

At least when the budding romance with Osteon inevitably peters out, he can say he tried, if nothing else. 

Across the room R2D2 beeps and whistles in sympathy. 

“Thanks, buddy,” Luke tells him. “Guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior, huh?” 

That’s becoming more and more difficult for him lately. Not to mention, there’s the question of what he’ll even wear now that his best robes are shredded.

The Force is an omen around him, hissing and buzzing in chaos, but there’s no message he can make out from it, no suggestion as to how he should alter course. There’s only directionless insistence compounding his own feeling of dread.

Chapter Text

‘OPENING SOON! reads the neon sign above the museum, before it switches to another set of words. ‘CELEBRATE THE RICH HISTORY OF OUR GREAT REPUBLIC!’

Luke, now dressed in his second-nicest pair of robes, cranes his neck to stare up at the sign, his hands shoved into his pockets.

OPENING SOON! CELEBRATE THE RICH HISTORY OF OUR GREAT REPUBLIC!

He watches the messages switch back and forth and wonders why the words don’t sit right with him when a bright flash to his left catches his eye. He tenses, his hand moving toward his hip, but lets out a breath as he realizes it’s just a reporter with a camera. The Ithorian continues on brazenly taking pictures of him, while Luke watches them with a flat expression. A glance at the reporter’s badge reveals they’re from Galactic City Daily, one of Coruscant’s most prominent and controversial tabloids.

This will be great press for the museum, Luke thinks, with a scoff. Another part of him wonders if Minister Kelso would stoop so low as to set something like this up for publicity. 

But then a low, rich voice interrupts his thoughts. 

“Luke?” 

He looks over to see Osteon striding toward him, dressed in a long purple tunic as lavish as the one he’d worn on their date. 

“It’s good to see you,” he says, still wearing his immovable smile. He racks a surreptitious gaze up and down Luke’s form, no doubt trying to appraise his condition after brawling with a bounty hunter.

But Luke knows how to make himself presentable. With a little polish on his boots and no small amount of fussing in front of the mirror, he’d managed to clean himself up until the only evidence of his encounter with Din is a singed patch of hair and a bruised bottom lip.

“It’s good to see you too,” Luke replies, and hopes it doesn’t sound as noncommittal as it feels. There’s a moment of awkward silence, which Luke fills by saying, “Sorry again about the other night. I hope you’re alright.” 

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine.” Another gracious smile, then he gestures toward the museum entrance. “Shall we?”

Luke nods. Let’s get this over with, he thinks. 

“Sure,” he says. 

Osteon leads him in through the sliding glass doors and into the lobby of the massive building. He shows Luke a map of the museum, confirming that it is in fact massive, and details a generic overview of how long it’s been in construction, what the committee’s goals were in the creation of it, and a few other things that Luke should probably pay attention to, but doesn’t.

“Impressive,” he remarks, once Osteon’s finished regurgitating his spiel. 

“I’m glad you think so.” With the museum being closed to the public, there’s little ambient noise to fill another beat of awkward silence that stretches between them. “Well, is there anything you’re interested in seeing first?” 

“What do you have on the Clone Wars?” 

Amusement sparks in Osteon’s eyes. “What do we have? We have an entire wing dedicated to it.” He gestures to his left. “It’s this way; I’ll show you.”

Luke follows him through the lobby and into a long hallway where they breeze past a handful of exhibits. 

‘TECHNOLOGICAL WONDERS OF THE HIGH REPUBLIC,’ one reads.

‘FOUNDATIONS OF OUR DEMOCRACY,’ reads another .  

“I don’t know how much Minister Kelso told you,” Osteon says, “but this tour is mainly to give you a feel for the museum as a whole. We won’t be able to get through all of it today, of course, but I’ll try to give you an overview. Then, later, Kelso will want to get into more specifics with you.” 

“I see,” Luke replies, even though he doesn’t. All of this seems pointless. 

They finally reach a wide entryway which opens into a circular room. 

In its center is a large holographic map of the galaxy highlighting the planets where key battles had taken place during the Clone Wars. The room branches off into different exhibits, each on a different aspect of the war. 

Taking a look around, Luke sees there’s an exhibit on the cloning facilities on Kamino, another on influential senators, and even one about Republic tech from the era. The one that catches his interest has ‘JEDI GENERALS AND CLONE COMMANDERS’ spelled above the entrance. 

He feels an insistent tug from the Force and steps toward it without a second thought. The room is sparsely lit, illuminated by a row of pale blue holovideos. Upon closer look, Luke sees that each one depicts a Jedi, locked in an endless loop. 

He slowly walks down the line of holos and looks over each one with mournful curiosity, until one in particular catches his attention. It features a human man with a short-cropped beard and disheveled red hair that falls in his scraped and bruised face. He’s standing next to a clone commander wearing yellow painted armor and a wide smile on his face. 

But it’s the inscription below the holo that hits Luke like a punch:

Post battle debrief between Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, General of the 212th Attack Battalion, and CC-2224, known as Cody.

Luke’s heart twists as he watches his old mentor, nearly unrecognizable in his youth, throw his head back in a laugh—and Luke can’t remember ever seeing him laugh like that. He can barely remember ever seeing him smile. 

He’ll linger on that uncomfortable thought later. For now, he swallows back his grief and moves down the line of long-dead Jedi. Faced with the memories of his late predecessors, he feels the weight of the legacy he has inherited come crashing down on him. The Force eddies around him in thick waves that seem to suck all the air out of the room and makes the silence of the empty exhibit suffocating. 

But there’s one holo that stops him dead in his tracks as soon as he spots it.

It depicts a Jedi with shoulder-length brown hair, a cocky smile, and a scar over his eye. He’s deflecting blaster bolts with a familiar blue saber while yelling something to the young Togruta at his side. 

Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker with his Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, reads the inscription. 

Luke watches it, mesmerized.

His father looks so youthful in the holo, yet so assured and in command. There’s something strong and fierce in his stance, like he’s never doubted himself a moment in his life. 

A sick feeling starts to knot itself in Luke’s stomach.

“Are you alright?” Osteon asks. 

Luke nods and puts on a smile. “I guess I’m just surprised they, um.” He clears his throat and gestures to the holo. “I’m surprised they put this —him— in here.”

Osteon is quiet for a moment, as they both watch Anakin silently fight through the repeating loop of the holovideo. 

“We considered leaving him out, it’s true,” Osteon admits. “But we decided we wanted to show the whole truth of things, at least as much as we could. There were many secrets among the Republic before the Empire rose to power—and those secrets were the key to our downfall.” 

Luke stops watching the holo and turns to face Osteon then, his interest piqued. 

“I believe that, if we are to succeed where the Old Republic failed,” Osteon continues, “then we must be committed to the truth—to the whole truth—and to transparency.” 

Luke nods slowly. Watching him speak, the barest hint of warmth starts to build in his chest—but it’s quickly snuffed out by the unbearable weight of this room. 

“Whatever happened to him in the end,” Osteon goes on, “Anakin Skywalker was an invaluable addition to the Grand Army during the Clone Wars. He shaped the fate of the galaxy. It would not be a complete history without him.” 

Luke holds his gaze a moment then gives him a smile, which is readily returned. He moves on down the row of holos, leaving his father’s image and the sick feeling it brings behind him.

He can feel Osteon carefully watching him as they navigate the room, but he doesn’t say anything and Luke is grateful for that. 

After a few more minutes, the stifling heaviness of both the Force and Osteon’s concerned gaze becomes too much. Luke leaves the exhibit behind and steps back out into the rotunda. Immediately, some of the weight around him lifts, but it doesn’t abate entirely. 

This museum is to commemorate what was lost when the Old Republic fell; heaviness is endemic here. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Osteon asks, still watching Luke with knitted brows.

He forces another smile. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, perfectly fine. What’s next?”

Osteon takes him through another couple exhibits, one about prominent Chancellors throughout the ages, then another on Old Republic starships. Neither of those displays dredge up difficult emotions like the first, and Luke has a feeling Osteon chose them on purpose. Luke watches him out of the corner of his eye and feels another twinge of gratitude at that—and at the fact that he’s looking especially handsome today in the purple tunic that clings to his well-sculpted chest. If Osteon had dressed to impress him, he’s certainly succeeded, though Luke tries to refrain from staring at his ass too much as they walk. 

“Never a finer ship in the Republic than the CR90, if you ask me,” Osteon says, looking over a model of the ship in question. 

“Yeah, if you like getting caught and boarded,” Luke snorts. 

Osteon quirks a brow at him. “Struck a nerve, have I?”

Luke can’t help but grin and gestures to a model of a smaller frigate. “If we’re talking corvettes, I prefer the DP20.” 

“How controversial,” Osteon quips. “But typical for a flyboy like you, isn’t it?” 

Luke lets out a surprised laugh. “What do you mean?”

“You starfighter pilots will compromise anything for speed. Myself, I prefer a ship that will reliably take me into hyperspace.” 

Luke tilts his head and watches the smirk that hides in the senator’s regal expression. “Are you teasing me, Osteon?” 

He feigns shock. “Me? Never. I’m just simply expressing my surprise that you would prefer a ship with such a notoriously finicky hyperdrive.” 

Luke gapes at him, having never seen this side of him before. “Now, hang on . I think you’re forgetting the DP20 has a backup hyperdrive, whereas your sluggish CR90 only has one.”

“It has a backup because the main one always fails!” Osteon counters, laughing. “And in case you’re forgetting, the backup hyperdrive is only a Class Sixteen. But perhaps you like waiting 10 hours to get from Chandrila to Coruscant.” 

Luke laughs with him. “Fair point, there. I had no idea you were into starships, Osteon.” 

“Starships? Hardly. Racing speeders are more my interest, but I find engines of all kinds to be fascinating.” He leads them out of the starship exhibit and into a long, wide hallway that appears to be some sort of art gallery, lined on each side by various pieces of sculpture, paintings, and pottery. But Luke’s far too surprised by the topic of conversation to really pay attention.

“Racing speeders? I had no idea. You race?”

Osteon chuckles and shakes his head. “Not me, no. I’m not nearly brave enough. But I have a few friends who do and I like to help them build their speeders.” 

“Really?” Luke looks him over with renewed appreciation and wonders where the man from their last date had gone. This one is far more interesting. 

Osteon shrugs and gives him a sideways glance, smirking openly now. “Don’t look so surprised. There’s more to me than being a senator, you know.” 

“I’m beginning to see that. So what kind of speeders do you like to build?”

That conversation carries them through the art gallery and all the way through another display—something about the Mandalorian wars, maybe. Luke only vaguely pays attention to the artifacts as he listens to Osteon tell him all about the speeders he’s worked on and the races they were entered in. 

After a while, their tour (now mostly forgotten) brings them to another domed room with glass walls, offering an impressive view of Galactic City all around. It appears to be a cafe, dotted by delicate white tables and a handful of bored-looking servers. 

“Are you hungry?” Osteon asks. “I figured we could grab some lunch before continuing the tour.”

“I could eat. The cafe is… already open?”

“Just for staff and Republic officials until opening day.” Osteon pulls out a chair for Luke, who’s somewhat taken aback by the gesture. 

“Oh. Thanks,” he says, and tentatively lowers himself into the seat. 

Osteon seems to make nothing of it and sits down across from him. “Of course.”

A server dressed in a spiffy white shirt hands them a couple menus. 

They order, then talk about the difference between swoop bike and speeder engines and suddenly Luke realizes he’s enjoying himself. Which begs the question of why their last date had been such a bust. 

FInding a lull in the conversation, Luke takes the opportunity to say, “Can I ask you something?”

Osteon nods. “Go ahead.”

“It’s just… I can’t help but notice you seem more relaxed, or maybe less reserved, than the last time we saw each other…” He trails off, unable to find a delicate way to ask the question.

“You’re wondering how I suddenly developed a personality,” Osteon fills in for him.

“No,” Luke replies, choking out a laugh. Then he flashes him a cheeky grin. “But I may be implying that.” 

Osteon chuckles. “To be honest, I talked to my friend after our last date. She… scolded me, basically.”

“Scolded you? Why?”

“She said I should stop acting like a ‘damned politician’— her words—and have some personality. So…” He shrugs. “I’ve been giving that a try.” 

“Sounds like a wise friend. I like this side of you.”

Not to mention, it’s incredibly sweet that he had asked his friend for advice after their first date. But that’s what Osteon is. He’s sweet. 

And that’s a good thing. 

Osteon ducks his head, looking a little shy, but before he can respond, the sound of something knocking against the marble floor gets their attention. They glance over to see an older Togruta woman—whom Luke recognizes to be Senator Bess Trenna of a planet he can’t remember—approaching their table and leaning heavily on a cane as she walks. 

“Senator Trenna,” Osteon greets, a warm smile gracing his features. “Looking ravishing today, as always.” 

Her wizened face lights up in a bright smile. “Osteon,” she croons, squeezing one of his cheeks. “Always such a flatterer.” She turns her attention to Luke. “Master Jedi! And what do you think of our museum?” 

Luke blinks, finding himself unprepared for the question. “It’s, uh. It’s great.” 

He struggles to think of something insightful to say, since he and Osteon hadn’t been focused on the exhibits for the last twenty minutes at least. 

“It’s really, um. Comprehensive,” he manages. “The exhibit on the Clone Wars was thought provoking and the Republic starships display is… impressive.”

Bess gives him a kind, if somewhat condescending, smile. “Well. Your sister always was the eloquent one, wasn’t she?” 

Luke feels his cheeks grow hot, but he does his best to put on a gracious expression. “That’s certainly true.” 

“Now, Bess, you’re not being fair,” Osteon chimes in evenly. “You can’t very well expect him to have a well-formed answer to that question; we haven’t even finished our tour.” 

The senator’s mouth twitches as she regards him. “No, I suppose I can’t.” She turns her gaze back to Luke, who tries to dodge her scrutiny by taking a drink of water. “It’s nice to have a beau that sticks up for you, isn’t it? My first husband was like that, before he passed.” 

Luke chokes and Senator Trenna stares at him, unimpressed. 

“Are you alright?” Osteon asks.

That question again?

Luke nods, wiping his face with his napkin. 

“At any rate…” Bess says, “I’m glad to see the two of you spending time together. I think you’re well-matched.” 

Luke feels his entire face burning but Osteon is predictably much more collected and says, “Very kind of you to say so, Senator. Do enjoy your lunch.” He gives her a pleasant smile that somehow also says buzz off.

And buzz off she does, giving the two of them another sweet, slightly patronizing smile before hobbling to her own table, her cane rapping against the ground. 

Luke’s grimaces, his shoulders sagging as she leaves. “Be honest… how bad was that?”

Osteon lips quirk up into a smile as he lifts his glass to his lips. “It wasn’t that bad,” he says, in an obvious lie. “Besides, she’ll forget all about it in an hour.” 

Luke bursts out in a laugh that’s much too loud for their setting, then quickly clears his throat and takes a gulp of water to hide yet another wave of embarrassment. 

But Osteon only continues smiling amicably and, for once, it feels comforting instead of tiresome. 

The rest of the tour passes by with pleasant conversation. Osteon is knowledgeable about many aspects of Republic history and Luke listens with renewed interest. He learns a lot—or would, if he weren’t distracted staring at Osteon’s biceps when he isn’t looking.

They wrap up the tour after another couple of hours, having only managed to look at a small portion of the expansive museum, and again find themselves standing outside the entrance. 

Another moment of awkward silence creeps over them, but Osteon is smiling at him and Luke is smiling back—and this time it’s not even a forced smile, but a real one that spreads across his face with no effort at all. 

“Well, Luke… I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least ask if you’d like to do this again sometime?” Osteon chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Not the tour, I mean, but maybe we could… Well, Coruscant has an excellent speeder racing arena, I’m sure you’ve been to some, but we could go to a race sometime. If you like.” The hopeful, nervous look in his eye is more than a little endearing. 

“I’d love to,” Luke replies, and Osteon lets out a visible exhale. 

He leans forward then and Luke mirrors the movement until their lips brush together in a soft, chaste kiss. Again, something small and soft flickers in Luke’s chest.

When Osteon steps back, there’s that look again, the one of complete awe and reverence that shines out of his golden eyes with striking intensity. Though he doesn’t find it quite as insufferable as before, it still makes Luke’s stomach turn. 

“Well, I’ll, uh, be in touch, then,” Osteon stammers. 

Luke tells him that sounds great, but the feeling that washes over him as he watches Osteon head back to his speeder is one of… slight disappointment. 

He thinks back to the feeling of exhilaration that had rushed through him during his encounter with Din and wishes he could feel even a fraction of that now. 

Still… Osteon is kind and smart and surprisingly interesting. And, as everyone keeps reminding him, they’re well-matched. He’s exactly the kind of person Luke needs.

This is good.

It has to be.

Chapter Text

Luke stands in front of the mirror in his hotel room, holding up his usual set of black robes, and considers what Osteon had said to him in the museum. 

‘I should stop acting like a “damned politician” and have some personality.’

Luke is meeting him in a few minutes and it seems only fair that he should return the favor. He can’t exactly expect Osteon to stop looking at him like the savior of the galaxy when he always dresses like a Jedi—a very fashionable Jedi, but a Jedi all the same. 

He puts the robes aside and elects for a loose fitting white shirt with a low v-neck and a pair of high-waisted brown pants. He looks at himself in the mirror before leaving and frowns at his reflection. He feels somehow out of place in his own skin. Having no time to do anything about it, he only passes a hand through his hair, says a quick goodbye to Artoo, and meets Osteon outside the hotel.  

The senator has made no attempt to dress down for the occasion. He’s wearing a dark brown and gold robe in a cut fashionable with high society, but a bit ostentatious for where they’re going.  

Luke’s mouth quirks up into a smile when he sees him. “You know the arena is in the lower levels, right?” 

“I’m aware.” 

“And you’re wearing that? I mean, it looks great, don’t get me wrong, but…” He gives him a onceover to show his appreciation. 

Osteon looks slightly smug, clocking his stare. “What’s wrong with it?” 

“I mean…” Luke matches his smirk. “You’re kind of asking to get mugged.”

“Well, good thing I have a Jedi to protect me, then.” 

Luke laughs. “True. But we’ve got some time before the races start. Let’s make a quick stop, shall we?”

He starts walking toward Osteon’s speeder and Osteon follows him. 

“Alright. Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Luke hums.

A short speeder trip finds them in the lower levels at a streetwear shop. 

Osteon’s surprised stare as they enter, and everything else about him in general, suggests he’s never been in a place like this. 

One of the aging lights flickers above them as they enter and a hard rock song plays in the background. There’s dust on every rack and shelf where clothes are heaped together in unorganized piles. Little light filters in through the tinted windows, giving the whole place an appropriately dim, edgy look.

Despite the store’s lackluster appearance, Luke feels immediately at home. He remembers prowling around shops like this back in Anchorhead with his friends, looking at things none of them could hope to afford. 

A group of Duros, talking amongst themselves in the back, eyeing the two of them suspiciously as they walk in, but Luke ignores them and heads straight for a rack of shirts. Osteon stands behind his shoulder as he starts rifling through the garments, and it doesn’t take the Force to sense the tension in him. 

Still, he waits patiently while Luke searches and eventually tosses him a burgundy shirt, followed by a smart black jacket.

“Relax, will you?” he teases, handing him a pair of black wide-leg pants. “Here, try these on.” 

Osteon enters the dressing room looking skeptical and emerges looking like… Well, a regular person, for one thing, but a very attractive person, for another. 

Luke nods encouragingly and looks him up and down, somewhat impressed by his own taste. 

“I don’t know about this…” Osteon mumbles, adjusting the shirt which is, admittedly, a bit tight. 

“I think it’s working for you.” 

Osteon glances over at him, a shy look gracing his features. “Yeah?” 

Luke nods even more enthusiastically and takes a step to the side to appreciate him from another angle. There is something charming about seeing him dressed like any old person Luke might run into on the street. He seems more personable—and not to mention the way those pants cling to him in all the right places.

“Yeah,” Luke assures him. “Definitely.” 

Luke pays for the clothes, though Osteon tries to argue with him about it, then another short speeder trip and they’re jostling through the line of people pouring into the stadium. Osteon starts walking toward the stairs leading to the VIP boxes at the top of the arena, but Luke stops. 

“Where are you going?” he asks, smiling.

“Uh. There’s a box reserved for Senators.” 

“Right. But if we go up there… we might have to talk to Senators.”

Osteon blinks. Luke grins. “The view’s better from the lower seats.” Off Osteon’s reluctant look he adds, “I swear.”

“Well…” Osteon considers it for a moment, then shrugs and follows after Luke. “Alright.”

The lower seats are no doubt rougher than what Osteon is used to, full of people shouting, shoving, and not-so-covertly dealing death sticks, but he keeps his head high as he follows Luke, who navigates the chaos with a grin on his face. 

Despite Osteon’s cool outward demeanor, Luke senses a shallow current of anxiety running underneath his composure. He runs a hand down Osteon’s arm and feels his presence twinge at that, a fluttering feeling that spikes suddenly, then fades as they find two empty seats and sit down.

Below them, a horn cuts through the chatter and rings out through the stadium, signaling the start of the first race. The speeders start off in a swarm, jostling against each other as they fight for the lead. Osteon points out one of the racers that emerges from the group, a bright green speeder with a sleek, sharp design. 

“See that one?” he says. “Number seven?”

Luke nods. 

“I helped build that one. It’s a great craft, though I’m not sure the pilot has the skills to…” Osteon continues on, but the sound of his voice drifts off into the crowd as an intense feeling resonates through the Force. It hits Luke’s ears like the sound of glass breaking, drowning out everything else. It’s a scorching presence that turns his blood to molten metal, burning him up then freezing him in place.

Din.

Suddenly, Luke finds his breath coming short as he tries to focus on whatever Osteon is telling him—something about ion propulsion engines—but he can’t take in a word of it as Din’s presence nearly suffocates him.

He subtly glances around, looking for the Mandalorian, but he knows it’s a pointless effort even as he tries. In a stadium full of thousands of people, Din could be anywhere. Luke half worries for Osteon’s sake, remembering how things had gone the last time the hunter had dropped in on them, but he can sense his presence is distant. It stalls, lacking in momentum like he’s only watching for now. Waiting.

On the race track, a blue speeder careens into the arena wall as two Rodians throw themselves out of it at the last minute, their protective suits activating as they hit the ground. A collective shout of disappointment ripples through the crowd. 

Osteon leans in toward Luke. “How closely do you follow this sport?” 

“Not closely at all,” Luke answers, shaking his head.

Osteon points toward the Rodians exiting the arena to the sound of booing. “They won the Boonta Speeder Race a few years ago—one of the fastest recorded times in history, actually—but they’ve yet to even come close to racing that well again.” 

Luke nods and tries his hardest to find that interesting, but Din’s energy sits heavy over him and makes it hard to think of anything else. 

While Osteon is distracted watching the race, Luke lets his eyes flutter shut and breathes out into the Force, which is as discordant as the crowd surrounding them. He fights with it a moment and feels it work against him as he focuses all his energy on Osteon’s soft pulse of a presence, letting Din fade into the background with the rest of the noise. 

“So how are things going with your work?” Osteon speaks up, tearing his gaze away from the arena as the first match ends. “Any interesting diplomatic missions recently?”

“Well,” he replies, talking loudly over the cheering, “Minister Kelso sent me to Tarakine to aid in negotiations between striking workers and Czerka Arms.”

“I remember hearing something about that. The union got almost everything they asked for in the end, didn’t they?”

Luke nods. “It wasn’t easy, but yes.”

“A victory, then.” Osteon smiles at him. “That must have felt good.”

“It did,” Luke says, but that’s not entirely true. In reality, he knows that shorter work hours and better pay can offer only slim comfort to a planet where most of the Senators and Czerka officers are squarely in the pocket of the Pyke Syndicate. It’s a step forward, but in a larger sense, it’s all just window dressing, treating one symptom of a corrupt system that ought to be attacked at the root.  

“Senator Gierro was bragging about it as if he’d orchestrated the whole thing himself,” Osteon replies with a scoff. “Nevermind the fact he was nearly recalled last month for his inaction with that mining disaster. I assume you heard about that.”

Luke’s jaw clenches. “I heard about it.”

“Damn shame,” Osteon says, shaking his head. 

Below them, the second race starts and two speeders immediately make their way to the front of the pack, leaving the rest behind. Osteon watches them as he leans in closer to Luke, presumably to be heard over the crowd.

Suddenly, Din’s presence reemerges with a fierce intensity. It pushes its way back into Luke’s consciousness and takes on a sour note that he can almost taste. He does his best to ignore it and takes in deep breaths, fighting to focus on the conversation.

“But that’s politics for you, isn’t it?” Osteon is saying. “Most Senators are more concerned about which cut of nerf steak they get at dinner than they are about the welfare of their own constituents.” 

“Hmm.” Luke nods, his brow raising slightly. The statement seems far bolder than anything he’s heard from Osteon before. Testing the waters, he opts for a more diplomatic response. “Well, that’s certainly true for some,” he says, and carefully watches Osteon’s profile which is now only a few inches from his own.

Then Din’s presence twists yet again and the sour feeling (what feeling is it?) starts to shrink, as if the hunter tries to shove it down. Luke can sense the emotion resisting him, pushing back as it’s crushed and compacted until it finally gives in and dissipates. 

But Luke can still sense its acrid residue in the Force, distracting him.

Osteon quirks a brow, eyeing him with a smirk. “You’re either quite the optimist or you’re holding your tongue— and here I thought your sister was the politician, not you.” 

Luke lets out half a laugh—and is hit by Din’s presence as that same bitter feeling starts to rise again, despite Din’s efforts to keep it suppressed. 

“Well, she is. But I work for the Republic, don’t I?” 

“Yes, and I’d imagine you get sent on all kinds of missions to clean up messes we made, don’t you?” 

A smile creeps onto Luke’s face, showing his relief that someone else seems to understand the ludicrousness of his position. “Well…” 

“Oh, come on.” Osteon grins. “What are they going to do? Fire you?” 

“Fire me? No. But give me an earful about my ‘impropriety?’ Yes. And they have.” 

Osteon’s smile turns cheeky, his eyes locked with Luke’s. “Well, we wouldn’t want that. How would you survive it?” 

Luke chuckles and bites his lip, trying to think of a response over the intensity of Din’s presence and the closeness of his date. Osteon flicks his gaze down to Luke’s mouth, then slowly leans in to kiss him. Their lips brush together—and then another jolt in the Force stabs him, harsh and biting. 

He jerks backward, sucking in a breath as the feeling rips into him.

Osteon’s expression melts into one of mortified concern. “I’m sorry— I thought—”

“No, no,” Luke shakes his head, trying to push through the haze of Din’s violent emotion. “It’s not that, it’s um. Something in the Force.”

“Is everything okay?” 

Luke nods slowly, shifting in his seat as he again searches the sea of people for Din, to no avail. “I think so…”

Suddenly, he realizes what this sour feeling is, the one Din is trying so hard to get rid of, that sits over him without relenting.

It’s jealousy.

An electric feeling runs up his spine at that realization, energizing him like a cup of caf. 

“What?” Osteon asks, watching him. 

Luke shakes his head and tries not to look too self-satisfied. “No, it’s nothing. Don’t worry.” 

The crowd erupts in another round of cheering as an underdog speeder team comes in from the back of the group and wins the race. 

Luke feels inclined to cheer with them and leans back in his seat, resting a hand on Osteon’s knee as he watches the winners’ victory lap with a grin.

Osteon continues watching him, clearly confused by his behavior, but far from complaining. 

In the foreground of Luke’s thoughts, Din’s jealousy continues rising like bile, far beyond his control now, and the sensation of it goes straight to Luke’s head, manifesting in a jittery, manic feeling.

It’s tantalizing and exhilarating even though he knows it shouldn’t be. He should be big enough to ignore it and close himself off to it, but he can’t. 

He doesn’t want to.

Leaving the topic of galactic politics behind, Osteon starts chattering away about the speeders in the next race: which pilots he knows, the ones with the best builds, the ones with the shadiest history. It’s fascinating—or would be, if Din’s turbulent emotions didn’t keep interfering with his ability to absorb a single word he says.

Now that he knows jealousy is at the forefront of Din’s mind, he can sense a cacophony of emotions underscoring it. There’s desire, for one, but there’s something harsher beneath that. Frustration, maybe, or even anger—but Din’s own confusion about it muddies the whole thing into a mess, making it almost impossible to tease it all apart.

But, eventually, the feeling grows more distant, more resigned, until it fades so far away he can barely sense it. 

Din is leaving, he realizes. Walking off in an irritated huff. 

He knows he ought to be grateful for the mental space Din’s distance affords him, but he isn’t. The farther away he gets, the more Luke craves the stifling heat of his presence again, no matter how suffocating or distracting.

Luke and Osteon sit through another few races while Luke wills himself to have fun with him, like he had before the interruption. He laughs and smiles when warranted, as if on cue, and thanks the Force that Osteon seems content to carry the conversation, telling him everything he knows about speeder racing at Luke’s encouragement. 

Luke has no idea how much time passes before they leave. 

On the ride back, Osteon pilots and Luke swallows deep gulps of cool night air, trying to choke back the coursing energy that’s still running through him while he absently talks to Osteon about the evening. 

When they reach Luke’s hotel, Osteon walks with him up to the entrance and the end-of-the-date, will-they-won’t-they awkwardness starts to settle over them. 

“Well, I, um, I had a great time.” Luke’s heart is slamming in his chest, but it has nothing to do with the man standing in front of him. “I’m… sorry,” he finds himself saying, “if I seemed distracted. It’s not you—”

Osteon grimaces. “Don’t say ‘it’s not you, it’s me…’”

Luke laughs and rushes to assure him, “No, not at all. It’s… the Force. It can be insistent at times, when I’d rather focus on other things.” 

Osteon smiles at him and that overwhelming look of admiration shines out of his golden eyes again. “It doesn’t bother me. I enjoy spending time with you.” He shuffles forward a step, running his gaze over Luke’s face. “Can I… kiss you?” he asks. 

Luke nods and brings one hand to his nape to pull him into a kiss. It’s sweet and soft and slow, entirely pleasant yet insufficient to quell the intensity of Luke’s need. 

He deepens the kiss and wraps one arm around Osteon’s neck and another around his waist to tug him closer, desperately chasing a feeling to match the one Din had made him feel with his aura alone. Osteon reciprocates eagerly and cups Luke’s face in both hands. Encouraged and getting slightly carried away, Luke nips at his bottom lip—much harder than he means to. Osteon winces and draws back, sucking in a sharp breath. 

“Oh, Force, sorry, I’m sorry,” Luke stammers, his face flushing hot.

“It’s alright,” Osteon replies, chuckling, and ducks his head like he’s somehow embarrassed too. He leans in and gives Luke another quick kiss. “I should go,” he murmurs against his lips. “I have to be at the museum early tomorrow.” 

Luke nods and takes a step back, giving him a smile. “Sure, no problem. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

Osteon smiles back. “I would love that.” 

Luke watches him leave, then heads into the hotel. His foot taps erratically against the floor of the lift on the ride up to his floor, a long, hissing exhale falling from his lips as he watches the numbers count up slowly. Far too slowly. 

He walks back to his room at a quick pace and can still sense Din’s presence, far away but simmering. 

Once inside, he shuts the door much more forcefully than necessary and leans back against it, letting out another shaky sigh. He screws his eyes shut and wills himself not to do anything brash, but the feeling of mania only rises and builds in him like a fever until he still can’t shake the feeling of Din’s jealousy. 

The Force is entirely unhelpful, chaotic yet somehow static as it zips around him and offers no guidance, only more confusion and questions. No matter how he tries, he can’t make any order out of it—can’t will it to behave, for fuck's sake—so he gives in after another few moments of fighting and heads back out the door, not allowing himself to think about what he knows he’s looking for. 

Chapter Text

The people of Coruscant’s underworld take no interest in Luke Skywalker as he strides through their streets, receiving little more than a furtive glance from passersby. So much the better. Even as he searches out Din’s Force signature like a Kath hound following a scent trail, he knows he isn't behaving like someone of his reputation ought to. 

Afterall, he’s well aware of what his good name is worth. He’s spent the last five years trying tirelessly to shape his image into a force for good, crafting it like a weapon and wielding it as responsibly as he can. 

Luke Skywalker used to be the name of a farm boy, naive and unknown to anyone. Now it’s the name of the last Jedi, the one who defeated the Emperor and brought about the destruction of two Death Stars—that’s how the galaxy sees it, anyway. His name is no longer his own. It’s now an emblem for an ancient and nearly extinct order; it’s a symbol of hope against tyranny.

That’s a hard thing to complain about. All his life he wished to be more than just a farmer from a backwater planet; now he is that. All his life he wished to help the galaxy’s oppressed and downtrodden; now he can do that.

Yet, there are some days when he doesn’t want to do or be any of those things. There are days when he doesn’t want to be Luke Skywalker. He just wants to be human again. He wants to heed the desires of his flesh and sinew, unhindered by the weight of his name and all it should stand for.  

And there’s no better place for that than down in the underworld where his name is nothing. The only thing people care about here is how many credits you have and how many questions you ask. 

He finds the Force focused again and it guides him with a steady hand toward Din’s presence, until he can practically taste its acrid bitterness on his tongue. He’s so focused on the sensation that it takes him a moment to realize he’s back on the same block where he and Din had tangled before. There’s the flickering neon sign above the familiar motel and, next to it, a shady dive bar advertising “Booze, Girls, and Good Times” in crusty neon of its own. 

He senses Din before he spots him. He’s leaning against the wall of the bar next to a low table, with his helmet tucked under his arm, a drink in his hand, and a sour look on his face. 

Luke approaches and leans up against the wall next to him with as much nonchalance as the searing tension between them will allow. 

Din drags his gaze away from Luke and takes a sip of his drink, saying nothing. His lips close tightly shut as he swallows the liquor down with a tense, pained expression, his desire radiating out through the Force. Luke can sense him trying to rein it in, but it spills out of him and washes the entire street in blood-red heat.

Finally, Luke speaks. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Drinking.” 

“I can see that.” He tilts his head and offers his most coquettish smile. “Did you come here because you were hoping I’d find you?” 

Din continues staring forward and swallows another drink. “No.”

Luke leans in closer to whisper in his ear. “Did you enjoy watching me?” he asks, and relishes the way Din’s energy spikes and punctures him with a jab of arousal. 

Din finally turns his head and gives him a dark look. “You knew?” His voice comes out low and gravelly. “How?”

Luke tilts his head and smirks. “Jedi. Remember?”

“Right.” His face is fraught with tension as he stares out into the street again, his frustration singing along Luke’s skin. 

“So, did you enjoy yourself?” he asks again, moving ever so slightly closer. “You weren’t jealous, were you?”

Din swallows hard and watches him from his periphery for a long, slow moment, likely unaware that Luke can feel his last shred of self-control dissolving into nothing. 

He sets his glass on the table with a decisive thud and, surrendering, grabs Luke by the elbow and drags him around the corner, into the alley behind the bar. A few scavenger droids skitter away from a pile of garbage near their feet as Din grabs a fistful of his robes and slams him into the wall.

Luke’s heart races in a mad, dizzying cadence and a grin of exhilaration spreads across his face. “You know, we’ve really got to stop meeting like this,” he teases. 

Din shoves his knee between his legs and presses against his groin, pulling a small gasp from Luke’s lips and wiping the smile off his face. 

“Do you enjoy toying with me?” Din growls into his ear. 

“Obviously,” Luke breathes out. 

“Were you trying to make me jealous?” 

“No,” Luke answers, and that’s the honest truth. 

Din pulls back then and stares him hard in the face, a smoldering look in his eye. “I’m not a good person to toy with,” he warns.

Well, two can play at this game. 

Luke runs his hands down Din’s sides, watching as his angry facade breaks for a moment, his grip on Luke’s robes loosening as his face flushes with want. 

Then Luke grabs him by the waist and pushes with the Force, sending him backpedaling until he slams into the opposite wall. Luke strides forward and holds his forearm against his throat. 

“Neither am I,” he says, wetting his lips. He leans forward to catch him in a kiss, but Din pounces on his momentary distraction and snags his wrist then twists it sharply. 

Luke sucks in a breath and caves into the pressure as Din turns him around and shoves him face-first into the wall, holding his arm against the small of his back. 

“You like it,” he purrs, menacing.

Luke lets out a breathless laugh, giving himself away. Din releases his arm and flips him around so they’re face to face again. 

“Maybe so,” Luke concedes. “But I think you like having someone to toy with. Seems like a lonely life…”

“Stop,” Din growls, and Luke senses a current of anger rising beneath his desire. 

But Luke isn’t done riling him up yet. 

“What?” he teases, leaning in close. “I’m just saying, there’s nothing wrong with wanting a little compa—”

Din’s face hardens and his anger flares. In a flash, he draws his blade and presses it against Luke’s throat.

“I said stop,” he snarls. 

Luke grins, tilting his head back to avoid the edge of the vibroknife. “That’s very good, darling, but you did say I was wanted alive.” 

Din growls again, but withdraws the blade and watches Luke for a second, a dark and hungry look in his eye. 

“I can’t stand you,” he mutters, but Luke only smiles more and reaches up to run his hands through Din’s hair. 

“Don’t lie,” he hums. 

Din’s eyes flutter shut, then he snakes an arm around Luke’s waist and yanks him into a hot, needy kiss. 

Luke doesn’t even bother holding back the moan that escapes him, enjoying the way it increases Din’s hunger for him, reverberating out into the Force. 

“You’re so…” Din starts in a low voice, but he can’t seem to find the right words and catches Luke in another kiss, cutting himself off. He pushes him harder into the wall, his body crushing against Luke’s, and arm tightening around his waist. 

Luke huffs a little as Din pulls back once more to say, “You like riling me up. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” 

Din scans his face through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

Luke gives him another slow grin. “I’m hoping you’ll take it out on me.” 

“Fine,” he says, his breath burning hot on Luke’s cheek. “If that’s what you want, I will.” 

Once again, Luke finds himself being thrown gracelessly onto a creaky motel mattress. Impatient, he starts undoing the clasps of Din’s armor with the Force, but Din presses a hand to his chest. 

“Don’t.” 

“Fine,” Luke huffs. “But it would save time…”

Din grunts and removes the same tube of bacta from his belt pouch. “You can keep yourself busy,” he says, tossing it to him. 

Luke catches it; his request is clear enough. 

He strips and tosses his clothes to the floor, smirking as Din rakes a hungry gaze over him, hands fumbling distractedly at the straps of his chestplate. 

Luke indulges him, giving him a full view as he props himself up, spreads his legs and slowly pushes a slick finger into himself. Eyes locked with Din’s, he lets out an exaggerated moan, watching with pleasure as the dark look of arousal on Din’s face intensifies and the feeling of his own sharpens. 

Luke continues putting on his show, moaning and arching his back with every movement until he can feel Din’s need for him grow hot enough to burn. By the time he slides in a third finger, he’s succeeded in riling up not only Din, but himself as well. The little whimpers that escape his lips now are genuine, his lips parting as he holds Din’s stare with a hungry one of his own. 

He’s desperate for Din’s hands on him, but he doesn’t have to wait long. The very second that the last of Din’s under armor touches the floor, he kicks it out of the way and grabs Luke by the hips hard enough to bruise. He flips him over onto his stomach then drags him up onto his hands and knees in a rough motion that pulls another sharp gasp from Luke’s throat. Positioning himself on the bed behind Luke, he presses his cock against him but lingers, brushing against sensitive muscle without actually pushing in. 

“Din,” Luke whines, desperately moving back against him, “don’t tease me.”

Din wraps his hand around Luke’s neck but doesn’t press, only leans down to growl into his ear, “Like you don’t deserve it.” 

Luke lets out a breathless laugh and reaches back to grab at Din’s hip, but he bats him away. 

“You’re the one who’s a tease,” Din mutters, lips hot against his ear as he grinds into him again.

“Do you want me to beg?” Luke whimpers, desperate to entice him. “Do you want me to tell you how much I want you? How much I want to feel you inside m—“ He cries out as Din gives him what he wants and pushes into him, artless and irreverent. He grips the sheets and savors the slow burn, beads of sweat starting to form on his brow. 

Again, Din tortures him by hesitating, staying still where he is, halfway inside him and gripping his hips.

Luke lets out another bratty whine, but when he looks back he sees a look of concern on Din’s face, knitted between pensive brows. 

“It’s fine,” Luke assures him, impatient. “I can take it.”

That’s all the permission Din needs. He thrusts into him slow and shallow at first, but quickly loses himself to his own desire and takes him deeper and harder, ripping little sobs from Luke’s throat.

“Din— Din, you’re so good, you feel so good, I—”

He feels Din’s desire twinge again and looks over his shoulder to see a dark flush growing in his face, spreading down to his neck, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Oh.

Luke can’t help the grin that forms on his lips. “Do you like that?” he teases. “Do you like when I tell you you’re doing a good job—mmh—that you’re making me feel so go—”

And then Din’s fingers clamp down on the sides of his throat and his head is shoved into the mattress. 

“Gods, your fucking mouth,” Din growls, but his voice wavers. 

There’s an underpinning of embarrassment in his presence, but it’s overshadowed by the feeling of total, blown-out lust that swallows the air around them and fills Luke’s lungs as Din thrusts at a new angle that tears another strangled cry from him.

“Force,” he chokes out, “Din, yeah, right there, like that, that feels so fucking good, just like that…” Another long string of mumbled words escape him, exacerbated by the feeling of Din’s hands wandering over his back.

“Luke…” he murmurs. 

Luke whines in response. “Din— Gods, you’re so— I’m gonna—” He dissolves again into incoherent nonsense as Din reaches underneath him and takes him in hand. He starts pumping in rhythm with his own thrusts until he coaxes Luke over the edge.

He presses his face into the bed as he unravels, shaking and shuddering as Din rushes to follow him, letting out a curse as he finishes. 

The air around them seems to expand as the tension evaporates from the room, leaving only a tired, relaxed feeling that rests softly on Luke’s brow while he comes down. 

Din places a biting kiss on the side of his neck, then stands and goes to the ‘fresher. He throws Luke a towel, like he had last time, but this time he cleans himself off, then lies back on the bed next to him.

“You know,” Luke says, wiping himself off, “you’re not half bad at that.” He tosses the towel to the floor. 

Din snorts, his calf brushing up against Luke’s. “Thanks.” 

A few seconds of silence pass and Luke fully expects him to stand and start dressing himself like he did last time, but he stays where he is and stares up at the ceiling, one hand coming to rest underneath his head. 

“So who was that?” he asks. Nonchalantly.

“Who?” Luke hums, still waiting for his brain to catch back up with him. 

Din rolls onto his side, facing Luke. “Him. The one you were with.” 

Luke breaks out into a slow grin. “Why? Are you jealous?”  

“No,” Din answers, and it might be a convincing lie, except that Luke still remembers the feeling of his jealousy, hot and unmistakable. 

Din grabs his waist and pulls him closer, then positions himself over him, leaning on one arm. Luke stares up at him, his brow furrowing at the look of… Well, if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s softness in his eyes—or something near to it, anyway—but it vanishes almost as soon as it appears.

Din kisses him and, coming from the man who had immediately left after fucking him before, it takes Luke by surprise. But he closes his eyes and quickly relaxes into it, letting himself take a moment to savor the taste of him—then the feeling of teeth tugging at his bottom lip brings him back to reality. He lets out a sigh as Din drags his lips down his jawline, his teeth scraping against his skin. 

“So,” he murmurs into Luke’s ear, “who is he?” 

Luke lets out a soft laugh. “Osteon Elgane,” he responds. “A Senator from Bregarria.” 

“Mmh.” Din nips the soft patch of skin just beneath his ear. 

“My sister set us up on a date originally,” he continues. The words spill from him without any conscious thought, all inhibitions having long since left him. 

“Mmh,” Din says again. “Do you like him?” he asks, now brushing his lips over Luke’s collarbone.

“Yes,” Luke answers, after a pause. 

Din tilts his head up to look at him. “Tell the truth.” 

Luke scoffs at that, but his insides squirm. “I like him,” he insists, and it’s true. He does like Osteon. But somehow he can’t say it without it sounding hollow.  

Din shifts so more of his weight presses down on Luke’s chest and props himself up to stare him in the eye.

“No,” he says. “The truth.” 

There’s something unreadable in his face, matched by some unnamed emotion that swells around him, something so buried that Din himself might not be aware of it. 

Luke feels small under his weight and even smaller under the intensity of his stare. 

“I like him enough,” he answers quietly. 

“He bores you.” 

Luke scoffs again. “That’s just your jealousy talking.” 

Din chuckles. “Why would I be jealous?” He kisses the corner of his mouth, then back down his jaw. “You could be with him right now,” he says against Luke’s skin. “Yet here you are—” he presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat “—with me.” 

Luke can’t find it in himself to argue—and why should he? They both know what he says is true, so he only hums and brushes his fingers through Din’s hair, his eyes fluttering shut as Din sucks at the skin over his collarbone. 

“Well, what about you?” he asks absently, looking for any distraction from this topic. “Do you have anyone?”

“No.”

“Have you ever had anyone?” 

Din looks up at him again, and is still for a moment. 

“Yes.” He brushes another kiss over Luke’s collarbone, then rolls onto his back. “A long time ago.”

Luke turns onto his side and props himself onto his elbow, waiting for him to continue. 

Din flicks a glance at him, sees him watching, and groans. “No. No, we’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“This.”

Luke gives him a lopsided grin. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, you started it. What, you’re the only one who gets to ask invasive questions?”

“Yes,” Din says, then sighs and stares up at the ceiling. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I was young. Stupid.” 

“So not much has changed, then.” 

Din glances at him again and snorts out a laugh. “Just the young part.” 

“Shut up, you’re still young.”

“How old do you think I am?” 

Luke laughs. “Oh no, I’m not falling for that. Wait, how old do you think I am?”

“Twenty eight.”

“You knew that.”

“I knew that. I do my research.”  

“So how old are you?” Luke asks, after a beat.

Din watches him for a second. “Thirty six.”

“See? Young. In the prime of life,” Luke says, and another beat passes. “So, what was their name? This person you were with?”

Din considers him for a long moment. “Why do you wanna know?”

Luke shrugs, his cheeky grin still firmly in place. “I enjoy being a pest.” 

“I've noticed.” Din lets out a long sigh and drags his fingers through his bedraggled hair, a beat of silence passing. “Her name was Omera,” he says. 

Luke tries not to look too pleased with himself—he never thought Din might actually tell him—and bites back his smile. 

But his satisfaction is short-lived, as Din abruptly sits up and says, “I should really… I should go.” 

Disappointment sits heavy in Luke’s chest, though he tries to shrug it off. It’s not as if he hadn’t expected this. 

“Right,” he says. “You should get back to your job. And, uh, what was that again?”

Din gives him a flat look. “You’re not funny.” 

Luke grins. “Don’t lie.”

And if there’s a bright, tender feeling that resonates from Din at that moment and a small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth… Well, it’s better if he pretends he doesn’t notice it. 

The two of them dress in silence, then step out of the motel room and into the street. 

“Din,” Luke says, as cheeky as possible, and extends a hand out to him. “Always a pleasure.”

“Stop.” Din lingers a moment before saying, “I’ll see you around.”  

He turns and leaves then. Luke watches him for a second, then calls out, “Is that a promise?”

“It’s a guarantee,” Din replies, not looking back in his direction. 

Luke turns to walk in the opposite direction and, as he does, the one thing on his mind has nothing to do with sex or violence: it’s a secret smile and a feeling of fondness, coming from the man he’ll likely have to kill someday. 

That could be a problem. 

Chapter Text

The next evening, Luke gets back to his hotel room after a full day at the museum. He lets out a long sigh and collapses onto the couch, then stares down at the floor. 

Artoo comes over and bumps his knee, beeping quietly. 

“I’m okay,” Luke says, giving him a smile. “Long day, that’s all.” 

But that’s only the half of it. It wasn’t the length of the day that had left him exhausted so much as the amount of tedium and grandstanding he’d had to endure.

Minister Kelso had taken him through the museum and asked for his honest thoughts on their representation of the Jedi—and Luke had given them to him, uninhibited. 

He thought they’d placed a lot of emphasis on the Jedi Council’s failings during the war and perhaps that was fair. But what had really bothered him was that he'd seen nothing about the part members of the Senate had played in the fall of the Old Republic. 

When he’d said as much to Kelso, the man had stared at him like he’d grown an extra head. 

“Master Jedi,” he’d said, “we’re trying to create something here to bolster the Republic’s image—not tarnish it. We need the galaxy’s support.” 

And then it was Luke’s turn to stare at him in disbelief, but he’d swallowed back a scathing comment and let Kelso lead him through another gallery. It was more of the same, except that this one specifically highlighted Darth Sidious and Darth Vader and their involvement in tearing down the Republic. 

Luke felt he had no choice but to say something. “Sidious created Vader, sure. But the Senate created Sidious.”

Kelso had scoffed at that. “That’s hardly fair.” 

“Oh?” Some of Luke’s contempt had slipped into his voice then. “But they were the ones who granted him emergency powers, yes? Which he used to destroy the Jedi and create the Empire? They played right into his hand, just like the Jedi did. The only difference is, the Senate is still around to defend themselves.”

It took several moments of stammering for Kelso to come up with an answer that essentially amounted to “I’ll bring your concerns to the committee.” 

Their “meeting” had quickly ended after that—but not before he’d shoved Luke in front of a reporter for the Coruscant Sun, who’d asked him for a quote about the museum. 

“I’m still formulating my opinion,” he’d told her, and that certainly hadn’t pleased Kelso either. 

Sometimes, Kelso tried to be subtle about using Luke’s name to push his agenda. And at other times… 

At other times, Luke wonders what’s really stopping him from getting in his X-Wing and flying off to some Outer Rim planet where he’d live in a hut and survive on roots and sticks. 

Maybe Yoda had been onto something after all.

After he met with Kelso, the rest of his meetings had been equally infuriating and twice as tedious. There were a lot of people asking for his opinion but not many who seemed interested in actually hearing it. And even fewer who seemed interested in actually implementing any of his suggestions. 

The longer he stays here, the clearer it becomes that no one gives a damn what he really thinks about anything; they just want him to stand still and look pretty for the pictures. 

Of course, he’d expected as much when Leia had first asked him to do this, but their disregard for him—and even for the truth—is more blatant than he could have predicted.

He remembers what Osteon had said to him on their tour, about being committed to the truth and to transparency. Had that been a lie or did he honestly believe it? Was he really so blind as to not see the committee’s glaring manipulation of the facts?

Luke wonders about that—but not enough to reach out to him and ask. He’s had enough of speaking to Republic shills for one day and he isn’t sure where Osteon stands yet.

He wonders about his father, too. Had he felt like a political pawn the way Luke does now? Had he also struggled under the weight of his own name?

There’s another thought, in the very back of his mind, that he turns away from the second it occurs to him. It’s the thought that, maybe, these feelings had played a hand in his father’s fall. Maybe similar feelings had pushed him toward the Dark Side.

But he can’t think of that now, can’t stand to face it, so he thinks instead of his mother, as he often does. She’d been a queen in her youth and then a senator until her death. How had she fit into all of this? Everyone said she’d been a bastion of righteousness and democracy and all historical accounts agreed. They said she handled it all with grace, held her head high until the day she died. 

How had she done it? 

Luke’s heart aches. He’d give anything to ask her. He’d give anything to hear her advice.

Sitting and staring at the polished hardwood of his hotel room, his heartache is replaced by a blistering anger that rises within him, an acidic resentment that burns in the back of his throat. He stands to escape the feeling, but it follows him as he crosses to the table and finally cracks open the stupid, pretentious giftbasket, eyeing the bottle of Corellian rum and the tumblers next to it. 

He picks up one of the glasses and holds it up to the light, inspecting the intricate floral pattern etched across the opaque crystal. 

He wonders what the point is of even giving him something like this. He spends most of his time hopping from planet to planet in his X-Wing, following whatever mission Kelso gives him. He rarely has time to even visit his apartment on Chandrila. What use does he have for fine bottles of rum and crystal glasses? It’s all just more pointless posturing. 

Turning the glass in his hand, his anger grows to a fever pitch and he feels compelled to act, anything to dispel it. He wants to throw the stupid glass across the room, wants to hear it crash and shatter, yet he knows that won’t do anything to assuage what’s really bothering him. 

The Force, in a frenzy around him, offers no help in quelling his resentment—a phenomenon he still hasn’t made sense of yet. Lacking any other options, he shoves the feeling down into some dark, hidden part of himself and sets the glass back down on the table with a huff. 

He pours himself a finger of rum, takes a whiff of it, and winces. No matter what Han says, he swears it smells like paint thinner. 

He chokes down a swig of the stuff with a grimace, then looks around the room. The suite glints with gold trim under the light of the ornate chandeliers twinkling above. Even the hardwood gleams and glimmers, catching the light on its polished surface and throwing it around the room. 

Every inch of the suite is pristine and themed in whites and creams, only broken by the black of Luke’s torn robes, draped over the back of the silk couch from where he’d been mending them.

The place is perfect, except for that one black stain, and that makes it unbearable, suffocating in its splendor.  

A restlessness begins to build within him, fueled by the passive chaos of the Force whirling around him. He feels like he just chugged a few cups of strong caf, his palms sweating and heart slamming in his chest. 

He doesn’t know why, but he knows he needs to move, needs to get out of this smothering room and into the fresh air. 

So he does. On his way out the door, Artoo rolls over to him and chirps.

“I’m— I’m just going for a walk,” Luke tells him, and absently pats him on the head before leaving.

But he forgets where he is. The noise of Galactic City overwhelms him the moment he steps through the hotel doors. Even at this late hour, nighttime having long overtaken the city, the discord is still as prominent as it is during the day. Everywhere the sound of speeders whirring, people shouting, droids beeping, machinery buzzing. 

It only adds to the chaos that’s already inside him—as if in his very blood, relentless and inescapable. He screws his eyes shut and sets out at a quick pace with no destination in mind, only seeking peace and quiet, for a reprieve from the constant buzzing in his head. 

He follows his desperation through several city blocks, the harsh city air offering no comfort as he takes in deeper and deeper breaths, trying to quell the panic rising in him. 

Wherever he walks, the Force follows him. Once, it was his most loyal companion—save for Artoo, perhaps. Now, it’s a constant menace that tails him and hisses —screeches— in his ear like it’s urging him to do something, yet it offers no indication as to what that thing could be. 

It only drives him through the city, his steps quickening and breath shortening as he searches for anything, anything, to chase this feeling out of his head. 

He can’t understand the change. Since he was a snot nosed nineteen year old, first learning about the Force, it’s been the same. It has fluctuated, sure, and his understanding of it has shifted through the years, of course. But it’s never been like this.  

For the first time in a long time, Luke feels helpless. There’s no one left alive that can advise him on this problem and he can hardly think for the way his head buzzes and ears ring. 

He shoulders past a group of uppity elites, dressed in lace and furs, and breaks out in a run to escape the way their collective gaze follows him, until the sound of their whispering and sniggering fades away. 

Then, suddenly, he feels warm. He slows back down to a walk, registering this change as a bright energy that sparks in the air and flows over him. It moves in an organized wave that sets the Force back to rights and chases the buzzing from his head. It’s a familiar feeling—an intimately familiar feeling—that dampens the cacophony of Coruscant and allows him the space to breathe for the first time since… 

He rounds a corner and sees Din, walking in his direction at a leisurely pace. 

They both freeze at the sight of the other, but neither reach for their weapons. They just stand there, staring at each other, and the chaos of Galactic City fades into the background. Luke takes a hesitant step toward him, then another, and waits for Din to make some motion of attack, but he doesn’t. He only mirrors Luke’s tentative footsteps until they’re standing a few feet away from each other.

“What are you doing here?” Luke asks, noting the way Din’s presence swells, blooms with energy as he takes another step closer. 

“Walking.” 

Luke looks up at him through his lashes. “Were you looking for someone?” 

Din swallows, and a beat of silence passes.

“I don’t know,” he says, finally. 

“Yeah, well.” Luke shrugs. “I had a pretty shitty day and I don’t really feel like fighting.” 

“Neither do I.”

Luke considers him for a moment. “Come up for a drink, then?” 

He doesn’t answer, but Luke feels the ache of his presence intensify, sharpened by longing, then dulled by obligation. 

“Come on,” Luke encourages him. “Take the night off. You can get back to trying to kill me tomorrow.” 

“I already had a night off,” he protests. Weakly. “A few of them.” 

“What’s one more, then?”

Din hesitates. “Aren’t you worried people will… see… us?”

“We’ll sneak in through the back.” Luke shrugs. “Besides, it’s late. No one will know.”

Din shifts his weight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Luke senses the conflict roiling within him, loneliness clashing with responsibility, clashing with… something he can’t quite make out. 

“Luke, I… I shouldn’t,” he says, and it sounds forced but final.

Luke knows this is probably for the best, all things considered, but his disappointment is undeniable. He can hardly stomach the idea of going back to the dreaded hotel suite alone. He fears the awful insistence will return as soon as he leaves Din’s side.   

What is it about him? Why is he the only thing that makes Luke’s own head make any sense?

He’s desperate for answers but, searching Din’s aura, he realizes there’s nothing he can say that will change his mind tonight.

“I understand,” Luke tells him quietly, though in fact he understands nothing. Dread turns to stone in his gut. “Truce until tomorrow then?” 

Din nods and Luke turns back in the direction of his hotel with leaden footsteps. As he walks away, the Force is quiet. Waiting. He risks a glance over his shoulder before turning the corner and sees Din still standing there, fidgeting.  

Luke slowly comes to a stop, then turns around again, daring to hope. They stare at each other for another long moment, then Din’s shoulders slump slightly as he starts walking toward him. 

Luke breaks out into a slow grin.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” Din grumbles as he catches up with Luke, who tries to suppress his smile. 

“I’ll endeavor not to.” 

But he can hardly hide the fact that he is pleased and more relieved than he can say. His head is quieter on the walk back and his steps lighter, like the weight that had been sitting over him has somehow lifted.

Chapter Text

Din gives a low whistle as the two of them quietly slip into Luke’s hotel room and the crystal chandelier flicks on. 

“This is where you’re staying?” he asks, taking in all the opulence. 

Luke gives him a sheepish smile and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I… didn’t pick it out.” 

“Who did?” Din asks, running a hand over the back of the silk sofa. 

“My boss, I guess you could say.” 

Artoo rolls over toward them, letting out a high pitched whistle. 

Luke chuckles. “It’s alright, Artoo. He’s friendly.” He flashes a smirk. “For today at least.” 

Artoo chirps. 

“Don’t be rude,” Luke says, frowning at him, then crosses over to the table where the barely-touched gift basket sits. “You like rum?” he asks Din.

Din nods, then takes off his helmet and sets it on the table, eyeing Artoo like he might be a threat.

“He’s fine,” Luke assures him. “He just tends to be wary of Mandalorians.” 

“I tend to be wary of droids,” Din returns, then curses as Artoo rolls over his foot. 

Luke lets out an exasperated sigh. “Artoo…” 

He whistles innocently.  

“Why don’t you go charge up for a little while?” Luke suggests, pointedly.

Artoo chirps a retort, but does so, settling into his charging station at the opposite end of the room. 

“Interesting droid,” Din grumbles. 

“Yeah, he’s… seen a lot in his life.” A small smile graces Luke’s face as he says, “ He’s been my companion for a long time.”

Din only grunts at that, lost in staring around at the suite. 

Luke watches him and feels his mouth go dry. Din’s hair is tousled, though rather less sweaty than usual, and there are deep bags under his eyes. He looks tired, but there’s still something that tightens in Luke’s chest at the sight of him, disheveled as he is.  

Din’s gaze lands on Luke’s half-mended robes, next to the field sewing kit strewn across the tea table. 

“What’s this?” he asks, pulling off his gloves.

A half-smile crosses Luke’s face as he pours another glass of rum. 

“I was in the process of mending my robes,” he says. “Someone ripped them.” 

Din grunts and tosses his gloves onto the table. “I guess I just hadn’t pegged you as the type of person who...”

Luke quirks a brow and holds the glass out to him. “Knows how to do things?” he finishes for him.

“That’s not exactly what I was gonna say…” Din responds, taking it. 

“My aunt taught me how to sew.” Luke picks up the tumbler he’d poured for himself earlier. “Farm life, and all that. We were hard on clothes.”

“Hmm.” Din takes a sip and swallows it down with an impressively straight expression.

Luke follows suit—and can’t help but pull a face at the astringent taste. “Force,” he chokes out as the liquor burns his throat. “That’s awful.”

Din picks up the bottle and examines it. “This is 25 year Corellian rum,” he says. 

Luke smiles at him. “Those words mean nothing to me.” 

“It means it’s good liquor.”

“Good for stripping the paint off my X-Wing, maybe,” Luke grumbles, frowning into the glass. But he forces down another drink, then walks over to the couch and gracelessly slumps down onto it. 

Din follows him, but hesitates before sitting. 

Luke raises a brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re sore from last night, too.” 

The tips of Din’s ears flush adorably pink. “I— No, it’s just— It’s a nice couch and I…” He gestures to himself. “I mean, it might get dirty.” 

Luke bites back a laugh because he’s just so unexpected sometimes, so much more awkward and unsure than the stone-faced, closed-off Mandalorian he’d first met. 

It somehow only makes him even more attractive, and that’s a huge problem. Luke wants to jump his bones badly, but he also wants to talk to him and hear about his day and touch his face and run his hands through his hair—and that’s worse.

“Rich assholes have parties and trash these hotel rooms all the time,” Luke tells him. “It’s kind of what they’re for.” At Din’s continued lingering, he assures him, “It’s fine.” 

Din slowly lowers himself down onto the sofa and stares into his drink; Luke can sense the tension radiating off of him. He wants to reach out and touch him but, at this point, that seems to have a 50/50 chance of helping him relax or sending him running, so he only sits there silently and allows him the space to adjust. 

Finally, Din speaks. “So why was today… difficult…?” he asks, clearly unused to making small talk. 

That brings another small smile to Luke’s lips and sets his stupid heart fluttering. “Just…” He breathes out a sigh. “Bureaucracy, I guess. And bureaucrats. I… get tired of it, sometimes. I wish people would say what they mean—and mean what they say.” 

Din nods and takes another drink. “I get that,” he says, and Luke gets the feeling that he doesn’t really, but it’s sweet anyway. “Do you… like what you do?” he asks, still staring into his glass.

Luke chews on the inside of his lip. “I used to,” he answers, after a pause. “I used to feel like I was helping people. Now… Well, I still help people but, I’m just not sure…”

Din looks over at him. “What?”

“I’m just not sure I’m helping the right people.” Saying it out loud is freeing, but the realization that it’s true is nauseating. 

Din is quiet for a long moment, a pensive, strained look crossing his face as he takes another drink. Luke does the same, containing his hatred of the rum in a small, tense frown instead of a full-body wince. 

“I don’t know exactly what you mean,” Din says, “but…”

Luke waits. 

Din swallows another, larger swig, then lets out a long sigh. “When I started hunting, it was for my covert. My clan. I felt like I was doing something… Well, I felt like I had a purpose, anyway. Now, I hunt for myself. And for…” He trails off and, again, Luke waits, taking another sip of the hateful liquor. 

But this time Din doesn’t continue. “This was a bad idea,” he blurts out, setting his glass down hard on the table and abruptly standing. “I should go.” 

“Din, wait—” Luke reaches out and snags his wrist. “We don’t have to talk about that, we can—” And then he notices the way Din stands frozen in place, as if Luke’s touch had paralyzed him. For a second, Luke think he’s fucked up badly—then he notices the tips of Din’s ears are tinged pink and his entire face is flushed red.

Slowly, he eases back down onto the sofa, Luke’s hand still holding his wrist, and looks over at him with a wide-eyed, helpless expression. 

Luke doesn’t say anything, only strokes the inside of his wrist and watches as his lips part, the redness in his face growing more pronounced—and suddenly Luke is so taken with him he can hardly breathe. 

The sharp ache that lives within Din bleeds out into the Force like whatever dam has been holding it all in has finally broken. Luke feels the weight of his loneliness, his longing, wash over him like a rushing current. The sheer force of it is staggering. 

How many soft impulses must Din have stamped on in order to lead the life he does? Luke can sense them all falling out of him now and he fully realizes something he’s only thought of in the back of his mind: Din is not a hard man. There’s a roughness to him, sure, but he wears it like he wears his armor. It protects something gentle inside. Something fragile.

Like Luke, he too is playing a role. 

Luke runs his fingers over the palm of Din’s hand and savors the audible exhale that escapes his lips. Growing more daring—and more greedy—he sets down his glass and moves to straddle his lap, carefully watching his expression as he does. He feels Din’s hands come to rest on the small of his back, his head tilting back to stare up at him with a blown-out expression. 

Slowly, Luke reaches out and brushes the backs of his fingers over his cheek. Din’s eyes flutter shut and he swallows, his presence glowing warm and softening. Luke bites back another smile and cups his face with a gentle hand. Din leans into the touch like he can’t help himself, while Luke’s other hand trails across his forehead and down his cheek. 

He allows himself to just look at him for a moment and takes in his handsome features as if it’s the first time he’s seen them. And, in a way, it is. In a way, it feels like the first time he’s ever seen him, the first time he’s ever really touched him. 

It’s intoxicating —he is intoxicating—and more addicting than it has any right to be. 

Din opens his eyes and stares at him with a painfully open expression, his brow lowering. “What… what are you doing?” he asks, his voice choked and small. 

Luke doesn’t have a good answer to that. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, equally quiet. 

Din slowly shakes his head. 

“Okay,” Luke whispers, stroking both thumbs over his cheeks. “Okay.” He smiles at him and leans forward to place a kiss on his forehead, then his temple, his cheek, his jawline, one hand still cradling his face. 

Din’s head falls to the side, relaxed and pliant in Luke’s hand, allowing him more room to trail slow kisses down his neck. Din breathes out a soft exhale, his hands running up Luke’s back and sending shivers up his spine. 

Eventually, Luke’s fingers find their way to the straps on Din’s pauldron. He pulls back and watches Din’s face as he asks, “Din… can I?”

Din nods again and lets Luke undo the straps. He sets the pauldron aside, aware of Din watching him as he undoes the next one. His hands are slow and reverent as he removes it and sets it with the other. When he leans forward to work at the clasp on his breastplate, Din takes the opportunity to bury his face in the side of Luke’s neck, sucking kisses against the soft skin there. 

Luke closes his eyes for a second, heat pooling in his core, hands stilling at their task. 

“Din,” he breathes out, moving more quickly now to remove his breastplate and bandolier. 

As soon as he does, Din wraps his arms tightly around his waist, bringing them chest to chest, and catches him in a deep kiss. Luke throws one arm around his neck, his other hand carding through his hair, and lets out a contented sigh.

He rocks his hips gently against Din’s and even that slight friction is enough to set every one of his senses on fire, filling him with desire. He realizes, with a shock, that he’s never wanted anyone this badly in his entire life, never needed to be closer to another person so intensely before. 

And he knows Din feels the same. He can taste it on his lips, feel it in the air around them, alive and whispering, sending goosebumps up and down Luke’s arms. 

“Luke…” Din whispers as he works to remove Luke’s belt and push his robes off his shoulders. 

Luke shrugs the robe to the floor and kisses him hard enough to bruise. There’s a thought rattling around inside his head as he fumbles to remove Din’s under armor, desperate for the feeling of his skin against his. 

Oh Force, he finds himself thinking.

I’m ruined.

Luke takes Din to bed and the man that lies with him now is not the same one he slept with before. 

Din trails kisses down his throat, his chest, his thighs, tastes every inch of his skin like he’s starving for it. He’s patient in his ministrations, caring and kind in a way Luke has never experienced from him—and rarely from anyone else he’s been with—yet somehow it doesn’t seem at all uncharacteristic. Somehow, Din’s kindness feels like the most natural thing in the world and Din seems to come alive at the chance to express it, his presence brightening at every quiet moan he draws from him. 

Luke, for his part, takes full advantage of Din’s changed demeanor and touches him in the way he was never allowed before, letting his hands wander freely. Din seems to melt under every caress and sighs into every touch, offering no resistance to Luke’s exploring hands. 

By the time Din slowly eases a finger into him, Luke is already overwhelmed. His back arches off the bed, a small gasp hiding in the back of his throat as Din slowly works him open, then slips in a second finger.

“Din,” he breathes out, his head tilting back and eyes falling shut. His hands tangle in Din’s hair as he sucks kisses over his hip bone. “Din, you’re so good,” he croons, half beside himself already. “You’re so…”

He feels Din’s arousal swell at the praise—and remembers teasing him about that yesterday, only to have his face shoved into the mattress in response. 

But that all seems like something that happened to two other people a lifetime ago. Now, Din seems invigorated by the praise. He glances up and locks eyes with Luke as he pushes in a third finger and slowly curls. 

“Yes,” Luke pants out, gripping Din’s hair hard, “right there, like that, I—” He lets out a loud, keening moan as Din repeats the motion again. “Gods, you’re so fucking good,” he repeats, and enjoys the way Din’s desire spikes again, reflected in the flush growing in his face as he stares up at him with a hungry look.

Luke’s hand wanders downward to clutch at his shoulders. “Din,” he murmurs, “please?” 

This time, Din doesn’t make him wait. Luke senses that he likely couldn’t hold out on him even if he wanted to. More than that, Din’s need for him is written plainly across his face, in his wide eyes and parted lips. It’s evident in the reverent way he wraps an arm around Luke’s waist and slowly pushes into him.

Luke finally falls silent, a shiver running through him as Din rocks into him, groaning low in his chest.

“Luke,” Din murmurs, his breath hot against Luke’s cheek. “You don’t know what you do to me.” 

“I think I—mmh—have a pretty good idea,” Luke responds, then pulls him into another deep kiss. 

The most surprising thing is how much Luke enjoys Din’s gentleness; it turns him on as much as his roughness—more, even. 

He feels like an exposed nerve as Din takes his time with him. He gasps and moans at every touch, at every motion from him, leaving him incoherent after just a few strokes. 

Eventually, a stream of praise falls from his lips, encouraged by how much Din seems to enjoy it, his head dropping to Luke’s shoulder and arm tightening around him. 

“You feel so good,” Luke whimpers. “Force, you’re so—” He lets out a loud moan as Din angles his thrusts upward in a way that briefly shocks the words right out of him. 

When he recovers them, it’s to whisper against Din’s ear. “You’re so fucking amazing,” he manages, his voice shaking. He drags his fingers down Din’s spine and feels him shudder beneath his hands, hears him moan against the side of his neck, feels his teeth scrape against his skin.

“Luke,” Din grunts, his rhythm faltering. “Luke, I’m gonna—” 

Luke grips his lower back in encouragement and Din finishes deep inside him, biting down on his shoulder to muffle loud groans as his orgasm rocks through him. 

Luke holds on tightly to him and murmurs into his ear, only half aware of what he’s even saying, but it’s of little importance. 

Din kisses him with trembling lips, then drags his lips back down the length of his body to take him into his mouth. Luke almost comes the second Din swirls his tongue over his head, but he holds on, biting down on his lip and gripping Din’s hair hard. 

“Oh, gods,” he whines, as Din takes him in whole. “Your fucking mouth—“ Din drags his tongue up the length of Luke’s shaft and Luke’s head falls back, gasping, “Feels so good.”

Din moans around Luke’s cock, licking over his head again, and that’s what does Luke in. He comes suddenly, with a strangled yell, holding onto Din’s hair while he shakes and shudders, unaware of anything else as his orgasm hits him wave after wave. 

When he’s fully soft, Din pulls off him and moves to lie beside him, his gaze hitting Luke with an unusual open fondness that twinges in Luke’s chest. Luke gives him a weak smile and shifts a little closer.

Din returns the smile with a small one of his own and wraps an arm around him. Luke’s heart leaps in his throat as he settles in next to him, his front pressed against Din’s side, and lays his head against his chest.

He knows now that this is more than just a casual fling, more than just an itch he needs to scratch. This is something real and meaningful—for both of them, he suspects. Because of that, he knows nothing good can come from any of this. He knows the only thing that can result from this tryst is more hurt and heartbreak somewhere down the line. 

For now, he doesn’t care. 

For now, he just wants Din to stay with him, if only for one night. 

Chapter Text

Streaks of gentle blue light filter in through the blinded windows, illuminating the otherwise darkened room. Din checks the time; it’s late. 

He looks over at Luke who’s lying on his stomach next to him, still awake but with his eyes closed and a strand of hair falling into his sweat-dampened face. 

Reluctantly, Din starts, “I can go, if you…”

“No,” Luke says abruptly, opening his eyes. Then, quieter: “Stay. Please.”

A relaxed smile flickers across Din’s face and he slowly reaches out to brush the hair out of Luke’s eyes, unsure about the gesture as soon as he does it. Luke’s eyes light up in response and a shy sort of smile graces his lips. Din feels… 

He hardly knows what he feels. He knows he’s toeing a dangerous line, but he can’t bring himself to worry about that just yet. He focuses instead on the quiet sound of Luke’s breathing, on the feeling of firm muscle beneath his fingertips as he trails his fingers down his bicep. 

He clears his throat and decides to hedge a question. “Can I, um— Can I ask you something?”

Luke hums a quiet laugh. “Emperor Palpatine,” he murmurs, his eyes falling shut again.

Din breathes out a laugh of his own. “What?” 

“You were gonna ask about my scars, weren’t you?” 

A surprised smile flickers across Din’s face and he shakes his head. “No.” He rolls onto his side facing Luke and takes in the sight, the shape of him. “But, go on. If… you want to.” 

“Emperor Palpatine,” he repeats quietly. “He’s the one that gave me my scars. He could shoot… lightning… from his hands.” 

Din has no idea how to react to that. He can hardly even understand what that means. 

He blinks. “...What?” 

Another soft laugh. “It’s a Force thing. A Sith thing, specifically.” 

He still only has a vague idea of what he’s talking about. “Oh.” After a moment, he says, “That sounds painful.”  

“It… was. But it was a long time ago.” 

“Hmm.” Din is silent for another moment and reaches out to touch him again, this time tracing the outline of a scar across his back. “Can you do that?”

“What? Shoot lightning from my hands?” 

Din shrugs a shoulder, having no idea if it’s a ridiculous question or not. 

Luke thinks for a moment and rolls onto his side so they’re facing each other. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Seems like something that could come in handy,” Din muses. 

“Yes, well… It’s a bit more complicated than that. When you use the Force… the Dark Side is always trying to tempt you.”

“The Dark Side?”

Luke hums thoughtfully and tells him about the Force, about a lot of things Din only halfway understands. He tells him about the Light Side of the Force which he adheres to and the Dark Side which tries to seduce wayward Jedi. Din’s seen him do enough impossible things that he’s inclined to believe all of it, though it’s outside the realm of anything he can hope to grasp.

When Luke is finished, Din thinks for a moment. Finally, he says, “So this… Dark Side of the Force… It… works against you? Makes you want to do terrible things?”

Luke chuckles. “More or less. It seems to target Jedi who’ve lost their strength of will, who submit to fear or hate or anger. My masters always told me to keep those emotions under control, that they’re tools of the Dark Side. I… almost lost myself to it once, in anger…” He trails off and Din, not knowing what to say, waits for him to go on. 

“That’s the reason the Jedi banned personal attachments,” he tells him. “They thought it would make them more susceptible to fear, and then more vulnerable to become corrupted.” 

Din’s brow furrows. “They didn’t allow attachments of any kind? To anyone?”

He shakes his head. 

“What does that mean? How do you even live like that?”

“I… don’t know,” Luke admits, his eyes cast down. “Maybe if I’d been trained from birth I could do it, but…” He sighs. “I can’t. I don’t know how to get rid of my attachments—and I’ve tried. I’ve spent days at a time meditating, trying to let go, but it never takes. I think part of it is because, when it comes right down to it, I don’t want to. I’m just not sure I even believe that’s the right way to do things.”

“In refusing attachments?”

Luke nods and reaches out to rest a hand on Din’s waist. “I get the purpose of it. I get why they had the rule. But I also wonder…” 

Din shifts a little closer to him. “What?”

“Well, it’s just that… I don’t agree with a lot of things the Jedi did during the war. I think they strayed too far from what our purpose should be.”

“And what’s that?”

Luke considers his answer for a moment, his fingers absently running up Din’s side and sending shivers up his spine.

“Protecting the vulnerable,” he says. “And empowering them to protect themselves. I just wonder if the Jedi became so unattached from the galaxy, from themselves, from everything, that they forgot that.” 

There’s such passion in his eyes, such zeal, that Din can’t help but feel in awe of him as he goes on, his voice soft but ringing with righteousness.

“I don’t want to be like that,” he continues. “I want to love with my whole heart. I let the Force guide me away from possession and jealousy and resentment, but I don’t turn away from love of any kind. I think, to love without inhibition, without fear or restraint… it’s the only way to truly walk in the Light. It’s the only thing that saved me from falling into darkness and, ultimately, it saved my father too.” 

A thought occurs to Din and he’s forced to bite back a smile, for fear of seeming mocking—but, of course, Luke clocks it. 

“What?” he asks, laughing a little himself.

“Nothing,” Din replies, but his smile grows harder to suppress. 

“What?”

“It’s just—” He can’t help the grin that spills out onto his face. “Are you saying you fight the dark forces of the galaxy with the power of love?”  

Luke snorts out a laugh. “I guess I am saying that, yeah. Though”—he scoffs—“I suppose I don’t do so much of that anymore.”

“Um. What do you do, exactly? For the Republic. I guess I… don’t really understand.” 

“That makes two of us.” Luke sighs, his fingers brushing over an old scar on Din’s pec. “Honestly, I mostly just settle arguments for the Republic. I help them throw the smallest of bones to the little people, while the elite continue to get richer from the Republic’s successes.” As he speaks, a frown forms on his face and a hint of resentment creeps into his voice. “Then I write reports on it.”

“Seems like a waste of your talents,” Din remarks, unable to help himself. 

Luke is silent for a long moment, his eyes again cast downward, and for a second Din thinks he’s overstepped. But then Luke moves a little closer to him, their calves brushing against each other, and when he speaks his voice is quiet. “It does seem like that, doesn’t it?”

“So why do you do it?”

“Oh…” He lets out a sharp exhale which burns hot on Din’s cheek, their faces only a few inches from each other. “I hardly know anymore. People always tell me the best way to make change is from the inside, but…”

“Has that been your experience?”

“No… No, not really.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Din asks, “But what happens? If a Jedi falls to the Dark Side? You never said.” 

“Well. It’s a bit difficult to say. There’s a lot of conflicting accounts from what I’ve heard, what I’ve read, and there aren't many people alive with first hand experience. But they say it… changes you. Twists you into something else. You lose yourself to its power and, once you’ve gone down the path, it's hard to come back.”

Din nods, trying to wrap his head around all this. It seems so impossible that something as dark as what he describes could ever tempt someone like him. 

Because Luke is good. Righteous. He’s kind, even when he’s wild. Din doesn’t see a lot of that in his line of work; he hardly knows how he can even recognize it, but he can. He can see Luke’s goodness as clear as day because it shines out of him like a beacon, even when he’s behaving in a way his boss probably wouldn’t approve of.

But Din doesn’t know what to say to any of this. It all flies so far above his head. So he just hums low in his throat and settles onto his back, wrapping an arm around Luke, who lets out a contented sigh as he settles against his chest. He allows himself a moment just to savor the feeling of someone next to him, skin to skin, arms around each other and legs entangled. It’s a kind of intimacy he’s not had in…

Well, it’s been a long time.

“So what were you really going to ask?” Luke asks, his cheek resting on Din’s chest.

“Why?” Din says, his voice rasping. “Why didn’t you kill me when you had the chance?”

“I already told you.”

“Yeah, but now I want the truth. Not bullshit.” 

Luke bursts out in a startled laugh, tilting his head up to look at him. “Bullshit? I resent that.” 

Din frowns up at the ceiling and Luke concedes, letting out a sigh. “Fine. The truth, then. The truth is…” He thinks a second. “The truth is, I don’t know.”

Din can’t believe that and lets out a quiet scoff, but Luke’s expression is unfailingly honest as he props himself up on his elbow and meets Din’s eye.

“Really,” he insists. “I don’t know. I just felt like there was something different about you, something about you that… compelled me. I didn’t want to kill you. I wanted to get to know you.” 

The softness in Luke’s gaze is apparent even in the darkened room and that’s something else Din doesn’t see directed toward him often: vulnerability. It ties his stomach up in knots and sets his heart fluttering like he’s fifteen again. 

On an impulse he can’t quite crush, he brushes his fingers across Luke’s cheek. Luke swallows, his eyes falling shut, until Din draws his hand back with some reluctance and rests it on his stomach.

“Tell me something, then,” Luke says, still propped up on his elbow and pressed against Din’s side.

“Alright.”

“Who was she? The woman you told me about yesterday.”

Din breaks out into a slow grin. “Why?” he asks. “Are you jealous?”

Luke chuckles and playfully shoves his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Din watches him for a moment, considering whether or not to answer the question. 

Only his closest friend knows about this part of his life; he’s never told another soul. 

Still, Luke had shared some uncomfortable truths about himself earlier, so it only seems fair that Din should do the same. At least, that’s how he rationalizes it to himself as he says, “I met her when I was working a job. This was… a decade ago, maybe. She was a farmer in a backwater village on a backwater planet, but she was… amazing. I thought she was, anyway. We liked each other immediately…” He trails off, feeling out on a limb.

“But?” Luke prods. 

Din sighs and decides it’s too late to turn back now. “But, I was part of this… conservative group of Mandalorians, you could say. I was raised in it, actually, and swore an oath to follow their Creed when I was fourteen.”

“Fourteen?” 

Din shrugs. “They saved me. My parents were killed during the Clone Wars when I was a boy. I would have died with them, but the Watch rescued me. They took me in, raised me as one of their own. And for a long time, I was loyal to them.”

He pauses again, and Luke waits for him to continue.

“There were… a lot of rules we had to follow, you understand, but the big one was that it was forbidden for us to remove our helmets in front of another living being. And for almost 15 years, I didn’t. She was the first person that made me want to. Eventually, I left the Creed for her.” 

Din catches the surprise that flashes across Luke’s face and it only adds to the shame building in his core.

“Like I said, I was stupid,” he says, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” Luke tells him gently. 

“Well, it was. In this case… it was.” 

“What happened?”

Again, Din pauses. 

This is an old wound and one well-healed, but it still hurts when pressed. He’s lived through plenty of failures in his life—in fact, he’s probably living through one right now—but this is the one he’s most ashamed of. 

“We loved each other,” Din finally says, "but it wasn’t enough. I thought I was ready to settle down and live a quiet life as a farmer, but I just couldn’t…” He swallows hard and looks at Luke to avoid looking at the painful memory, tracing his features in his mind’s eye. “I don’t know, I couldn’t hack it. Being a bounty hunter and a Mandalorian was the only life I’d ever known and I— I got restless, I guess. I got… bored. I tried, though. For a year, I tried to make it work, tried to figure out how to be something —someone— else , for her, but I couldn’t do it. Eventually, we both gave up and parted ways as friends. I couldn’t go back to my Creed, of course, so I got in with the Guild and, well…” He gestures vaguely. 

Luke nods slowly, contemplating. “Well, trying to make it work with someone is hard.”

“Yeah. Like shooting womp rats.” He has a feeling Luke will know the saying, and he’s rewarded with a lopsided grin that collapses Luke’s thoughtful expression. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Like that. I’ve never been able to hack it, either— a relationship, that is. I’m great at shooting womp rats.”

Din snorts.

After a moment, Luke asks, “And what about her?”

“She married another farmer from her village, then lost him to the Empire. She has a daughter now. Good kid.” He doesn’t know why he’s still talking, when that’s rarely his way and when it would be wiser to stop, but he goes on. “I send them credits after I work a job, usually. Farming isn’t exactly the most lucrative profession.”

“No,” Luke says, and Din knows he speaks from experience. “No, it isn’t. That’s kind of you.” 

Din’s cheeks grow warm and he looks away, avoiding Luke’s gaze. Luke reaches out and cups his cheek, gently turning Din’s head to look at him. When their eyes meet, Luke smiles and leans forward to softly kiss him on the lips. 

The tenderness that surges in Din’s chest then is almost painful in its intensity. He wonders if Luke knows how hard his kindness is to bear. 

They don’t talk much after that, but Luke takes Din’s hand and holds it as he drifts off, his head resting on Din’s chest. 

Din stays awake for a long time, just staring up into the dark, and he has the oddest urge, like… Like he wants to… 

Like he wants to cry. 

He swallows hard and frantically blinks back tears while Luke sleeps on, the rhythm of his breathing steady against his skin.

Din’s been starved for intimacy for so long that to get this much of it in one evening, it’s almost more than he can handle. He doesn’t know what to do with the horrible, unbearable affection that burns in his chest, in his stomach, in the back of his throat.

If it weren’t for Luke, sleeping so peacefully pressed against him, he would get up and leave. Easier to say goodbye that way—or, rather, easier not to have to say it at all. But the same affection that keeps him awake also prevents him from disturbing Luke’s rest, so he stays right where he is until he eventually drifts off into a dreamless sleep. 

Chapter Text

When Luke drifts off to sleep, it’s to the sound of Din’s even breathing and the feeling of his chest rising and falling beneath his cheek. 

As he sleeps, he dreams that he’s standing on a cliff overlooking a barren, dusty wasteland. In the distance, a ridge of mountains stretches across the brightening horizon, as night loosens its grip on the unfamiliar planet.

A sharp wind tousles Luke’s hair, cuts through his robes, and in its breath the Force whispers to him. 

‘Arvala Seven,’ it says. ‘Arvala Seven.’

The name of the planet, Luke knows somehow. 

A brilliant red sunrise builds at the tips of the mountains then spills into the sky like blood gushing from a wound, giving way to a sun unlike anything he’s ever seen. It’s black as pitch and seems to cast no light as it crests over the rocky ridges and rises into the crimson sky. 

He looks to his right and sees Din standing at his shoulder, helmetless yet impassive, his cape billowing behind him. Din turns toward him and starts speaking, but Luke can’t make out a word of it over the howling gale. 

The Force pulls at him with insistence. 

‘Arvala Seven,’ the wind hisses in his ear, then he jolts awake. 

It’s morning already and, though the two of them have drifted apart in their sleep, Din’s hand still rests on his thigh. Luke bites back a smile and screws his eyes shut, trying desperately to claw back the feeling of total adoration that begins to sweep over him at the sight of Din next to him. 

It’s only a few moments before Din rouses too. He removes his hand from Luke’s leg to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

“What time is it?” he asks. 

Luke doesn’t bother glancing at the clock. He’s not sure he even wants to know. 

“No idea.” 

Din grunts and settles a little closer to him, throwing an arm over Luke’s waist and pressing his face into his shoulder. 

They lie like that for a few moments, soaking in each other’s presence before reality starts to seep into the hotel room and settles over them with a singular heaviness. Wordlessly, they untangle themselves from each other and start dressing.

“Have you ever heard of a planet called Arvala Seven?” Luke asks as he throws on a shirt.

“No. Where is that?”

“I have no idea…” he muses. “We should go there.” 

Din pauses in putting on his bracers. “Why?”

“Could be fun.”

“Luke…” 

“I know, I know. No strings attached, and all that, but”—he shrugs on his robe, then looks around for his belt—“I just have this feeling like we should go there. I… had a dream.”

“A dream?”

Luke nods. “You were there. We were on a planet I’ve never seen before and the Force just kept repeating the name of it, over and over: Arvala Seven.”

“And you think this is… what? Some kind of sign?” 

There’s a coldness in Din’s voice that wasn’t there before, like all the walls that had been torn down between them yesterday had been rebuilt overnight. Luke can sense his resolve to leave solidifying, and yet he can’t stop himself from trying to convince him to stay with him anyway.

“It could be.” His fingers tremble as he fastens his belt. “It’s worth checking out. Don’t you think?”

He looks over to Din, daring to hope that he might say yes, but the expression he sees on his face dashes that hope on sight.

“Luke, I can’t,” Din says, looking back down to his bracers. “You know how this has to be.”

And the feeling that echoes off of him is unlike anything Luke has sensed from him before. It  rolls over him in slow waves, murky and clouded where he’s usually quick and decisive. It feels… sad, in a word, though it’s difficult to pull out any one emotion from the muddled mess. 

And, for another second, Luke dares to hope.

“Why?” he asks, his voice rising. “Why does it have to be like that? Are you really just gonna keep pretending you don’t have feelings for me? That you can just turn me in?”

“I can,” Din says, through gritted teeth. “I have to.” 

“But why?” Luke takes a step closer to him. 

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, you do.” Luke can hear his own desperation bleeding out into his voice, but he doesn’t care. “Din, come with me. We could— we could go anywhere.” 

“And do what, exactly?” Din’s voice is low and hostile. There’s conflict swirling all around him, soft threads of longing that pull at him, then are quickly severed by something sharper. “What, you’d just leave your job with the Republic, I’d leave the Guild, and we’d fly off into the sunset together? With a bounty on my head and one on yours? What would we do? Where would we go? Luke, be realistic.”

“I don’t know!” Luke wants to stamp his feet, wants to grab Din by his shoulders and shake him, wants to do something, anything, to change his mind. “All I know is that the only time anything makes sense is when I’m with you. I don’t know why, but I know that I don’t want to— I can’t—” He swallows hard and shuts his mouth in a tight line, then collects himself and tries again.

“I don’t want to have to kill you, Din, please; this is stupid. You know you can’t defeat me—and I don’t think you even want to.”

Din says nothing, only reaches for his helmet and sets it on his head. Despite his denial, his heartbreak is in the air all around them and it shatters like glass, raining down crystal shards that land on Luke’s skin like pin pricks. 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” is all he says, his voice now altered by the modulator. “I should go.” 

Luke turns away from him and swallows back the swell of tears. The feeling of Din’s sadness is nearly intolerable when compounded by his own that tears so sharply into him. 

He hears the sound of the door opening and then—

The sound of his sister’s voice and a lightsaber igniting.

“Who the kriff are you?” he hears Leia demand, and Luke wastes no time running toward the door. 

“Leia, no, wait, wait, wait—” he calls, rushing to step between her and Din, who wisely stands stock still, hands held away from his sides. 

“Luke?” she says, a look of total confusion crossing her face. “What…?” 

Then she takes in his disheveled appearance, complete with bed head and a line of hickeys down his throat. “Oh for the love of…” She withdraws her lightsaber and turns her back to him, collecting herself as a frenzy of emotions rush through her: disbelief, outrage, sadness, irritation. 

Din takes his chance to leave and slips through the door, giving Luke one last look before he disappears around the corner. Luke watches his retreating figure and does his best to quell the hollow ache that opens up in his chest, stuffing it away as Leia turns back to face him.

“You know, I came here to figure out why you missed our meeting with Senator Chensen this morning—thanks for that, by the way—and I find you here with— with him,” she stammers, her anger boiling over and spilling out into the Force. “Luke, please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.” 

“Um. It isn’t what it looks like…?” 

“Luke, what can you be thinking?” 

“I… I don’t…”

She holds up a hand, cutting him off. “You know what, we don’t have time for this. We’re meeting Minister Kelso next. Go get dressed.” 

“Um.” Luke gestures toward the hotel room, “do you want to… come in…?”

“No. I’ll wait out here. I can give you ten minutes.”

Luke nods, closes the door, then lets out a shaky breath. He realizes the Force is a mess again, disorganized and flickering pathetically, completely useless as he tries to exhale the misery growing within him. 

It doesn’t work. It never works anymore. Why doesn’t it work anymore? And now he has to go to a meeting with his boss and talk about Force-knows-what and pretend like everything is fine and not like it’s all falling through his fingers. 

He paces, trying to displace the feeling of suffocation that hovers above him, and finds himself next to the tea table, where two empty tumblers sit. 

Why couldn’t he just listen? Why couldn’t he just stay? he finds himself asking, even if he knows the answer.

Still, that does nothing to quiet his rising irritation. He picks up one of the tumblers and examines it, his chest heaving as he tries to keep his breathing under control. He grits his teeth and grips the glass so tightly he feels it crack beneath his cybernetic hand—then he hurls it across the room. It shatters, sending shards of glass flying across the luxurious wood floor. 

R2D2 whistles in alarm and rolls over to him from his station. 

“Oh, Force,” Luke hisses frantically, his voice wavering as he comes back to himself, having forgotten Artoo was there at all. “Oh, shit. Artoo, I’m sorry. It’s fine. I’ll— I’ll pick it up later. I have to go.”

He takes another shaky breath and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, burning with tears, his hair falling into this face as guilt and fear replace his anger.

When was the last time he’d given into his anger like that? He doesn’t have time to remember. 

He straightens himself up with a sniff, then scrambles to make himself halfway presentable.

For once, he’s grateful for the unending noise and chaos of Coruscanti traffic. It masks their stifling silence as Leia pilots the speeder toward the old senate building, still the center of Republic business on Coruscant. Her indignation radiates off of her and sits heavy over the two of them, following them like a shadow. 

She says nothing, only stares straight ahead and white knuckles the speeder controls, her jaw clenched and lips pressed into a tight line. 

Luke considers speaking up a few times, but thinks better of it.

Once their meeting with Minister Kelso starts, however, all of Leia’s tension melts away and slips into the Force. She makes it seem easy, yet Luke knows it’s anything but. 

It’s at times like these that he’s reminded what a powerful Jedi his sister is.

Kelso only sees bright, smiling Senator Organa, who never once stumbles or stammers, her emotions kept away in a tidy box somewhere in her psyche. 

Luke is smart enough to stay out of her way. That’s his habit anyway, but it goes double when she’s angry at him. He offers his opinion when asked for it, but otherwise keeps silent and tries not to look too sullen as he listens to Kelso drone on about ambassador assignments for the next quarter.

Han had once described Kelso as having an ‘extremely punchable face’ and Luke finds that the more he gets to know the man, the more he agrees with Han. Kelso’s face, though human, is sharp and bird-like, his eyes like two polished stones set inside pale porcelain features, wrinkled from age and a near-constant scowl. Since he was promoted from senator to Minister of Planetary Protection a year ago, Luke’s not sure he’s ever seen the man smile in a way that wasn’t either forced or mocking.

As they near what Luke can only hope is the end of the meeting, Kelso turns his avian gaze on him and says, “You’re awfully quiet today, Master Jedi. Have you no more wisdom you’d care to impart on me?”

Luke forces a smile. “None today. Leia and I are in agreement on this.”

Not just that, but Luke only has a vague idea of what they’re even talking about, since he’d forgotten about the meeting and thus forgotten to read the notes Leia had sent him. Another thing he’ll be hearing about later, no doubt.

After another agonizing hour, the meeting ends and another tense speeder trip finds Luke and Leia in a corner booth in their favorite diner on Level 5115. 

Leia is leaned back in her seat with her arms over her chest, glowering at Luke. Senator Organa has long since vanished—and really, if people find her scary they ought to meet Jedi Master Leia, who sits across from him now, her emotions carefully concealed and gaze piercing.

Luke’s fingers tap the mug of caf he clutches in both hands like a lifeline. He stares into the deep brown liquid, as if it might turn into a portal and suck him away from the consequences of his actions. 

But it doesn’t and Leia’s impatience only grows. 

“Well?” she asks. When Luke doesn’t answer, she stammers on. “What— What— I mean, Luke, what…” She huffs and starts again. “Were you drunk?”

“Does it help if I say yes?” 

“Not really. I mean, what the hell is going on with you two? Is there still a bounty on your head?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s still trying to collect it?”

“Yes…”

“And you two slept together.”

“…Yes.”

“How many times?” She asks it like she dreads hearing the answer.

Luke swallows. “…Three.” 

“Three times? Oh, Force.” She shakes her head and covers her face with her hands, resting her elbows on the table with a full body exhale. “Gods, this is so fucked up,” she says through her fingers. “I mean, you can see that right?”

“Of course I can see it,” he grumbles, scowling down at the table. 

She lifts her head to look at him. “So…?”

It’s Luke’s turn to cross his arms as he huffs and leans back in the booth. “So nothing. So… I don’t know, okay? It’s complicated. I didn’t mean for this to…” But he stops himself. 

Because that isn’t quite true, is it? He’d initiated everything that had happened between him and Din. He’d orchestrated the entire thing and now it’s time to face the music. 

So he starts again. 

“I don’t know, Leia—and that’s the truth. I don’t have anything to say for myself, I guess. I…” He casts his gaze downward. “I really don’t know what to say.”

She watches him for a long moment and ducks her head to search his face.

“Where are you, Luke?” she asks softly. “This isn’t like you. None of this seems like you.” 

Anger surges in him again. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” he snaps. 

Leia draws back, the concern in her face only growing more pronounced. 

Luke deflates immediately and puts his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to— It’s just been a long week.”

“Luke, look at me.”

He does, and finds compassion in her face. 

“I’m not judging you; I’m worried about you. You’ve never missed a meeting before, and certainly not for a guy. This just doesn’t seem like you.”

Luke bites the inside of his lip, silent for a few seconds. When he speaks, his voice comes out quiet. “I mean… Doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said it yourself: this is what I do, I make bad decisions. I choose people who are bad for me, I know I do, but I do it because… because…”

“Because why, Luke?” Leia leans in over the table. “Why do you do it? You deserve so much better.”

Another beat passes. 

“I do it because I’m tired.” 

“Tired of what?”

“Of being me.” 

She blinks at him, clearly trying to understand. 

“I just feel like…” His chest tightens as he tries to speak what he’s hardly even allowed himself to think. “Sometimes, I just want to be someone else. You know? Sometimes I just have this impulse, like I want to— I want to… Like I want to ruin everything and just start over.”

The soft sounds of chatter in the cafe fill the heavy silence that settles over them for several long seconds.

Finally, Leia says, “I get it. I do.” 

There’s a small frown on her face and a feeling of fear that seeps in through the curtain she’s drawn over her emotions. And yet, Luke can sense her compassion reaching out to him and covering him like a blanket. He senses that she does understand, as much as she can, and he feels some of his own tension start to drift away.

“But, I mean, what’s your plan here? Surely you must know how this is going to end.” 

“I know,” he says, still looking down. “I know. But I’m not in my right mind about him, Leia. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

He feels small sitting in front of her. Pathetic. Especially when considering the impressive streak of heartbreak and questionable ex-lovers that stretches into his past. 

Now here he is again and here Leia is, again, helping him, talking him through it, trying to understand as she always does. But how can she understand it? He can’t understand it himself. He’s never felt anything like this before, never felt so high then so subsequently low.

He can’t explain it to her; he wouldn’t know where to begin. So all she sees is her brother sitting in front of her, again scorned and forlorn, just like every other time. 

He wants to change. He wants to do better, for her if for no one else.

“Are you gonna see him again?” she asks, and her voice is free of judgement. 

Luke’s hand traces an absent pattern over the tabletop. He shakes his head no. “But if I do see him again, then…” I may have to kill him, are the words he can’t bring himself to say.

“Oh, Luke,” Leia says, reaching out to take his hand. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think to say. “And I’m sorry I missed the meeting.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Just… be careful. I don’t wanna see you get hurt again.” 

“I’m fine,” he says, and it’s the least convincing lie he’s told in ages—and he’s not a very good liar, even on a good day. Leia doesn’t comment on it though, and only watches him with that crease in her brow that always appears when she’s concerned. 

“Well, what’s the deal with you and Osteon? I know you’ve been seeing each other. Were you just doing that to make me happy? Because if you were, I never—”

“No,” Luke assures her. Then, in the interest of honesty, he adds, “Well, maybe it was like that at first, but I changed my mind about him. I like him. I do. But it’s… different. Tamer. When I’m with Din, I feel… I feel electric, alive, like I could take on the whole galaxy. With Osteon, it’s… pleasant. I enjoy him. It’s nice, but that’s all.”

Leia gives him a sad sort of smile. “Maybe that’s what you need, Luke.” She gives his hand a squeeze. “Don’t you think? I mean, these passionate love affairs haven’t exactly ended well for you in the past. Maybe you need something more stable. Maybe you should give it more time. What do you think?”

“I think…” He doesn’t know what to think, and lets out a sigh. “I think I need to get a grip, I’ve been… careless, recently. I don’t know.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I have a lot to think about.” 

Leia gives him another sad smile, and there’s a deeper current of sorrow that resonates from the Force, until she sweeps it away. 

They drink their caf in silence for a while, but it isn’t uncomfortable. There’s an understanding between them now that wasn’t there before, a link that’s opened up between them. 

Halfway into their second cups of caf, they start talking again. Leia tells him about Ben’s latest obsession with some holoshow that drives Han crazy. They order food and Luke tells her about his arena date with Osteon. She gripes about her frustrations with Senator Berenno, who opposes every measure she tries to pass. He complains about Ambassador Kelso, who touts every miniscule achievement by the Republic as a never-been-done-before moment in history. 

Eventually Leia’s senatorial duties demand her attention. 

Outside, they approach Leia’s rental speeder. “Give you a ride back?” she offers.

Luke considers it. “I think I’ll walk.”

“Walk? It’s a long way.”

“I… just need to clear my head.”

Her skeptical look remains. 

“I’ll call a speeder if I get tired,” he assures her. 

She shrugs. “Alright.” 

She takes a step toward the speeder, then pauses like a thought has just crossed her mind. Luke waits for her to say it. 

“Do you remember General Syndulla?” she asks, shoving her hand in her pocket. 

Luke’s brow furrows; that’s not what he’d expected her to say. 

“Of course.” 

Luke had only met her a few times, but she’s not the sort of person you forget. She’d been one of the finest Generals in the Rebel Alliance and eventually a respected member of the New Republic High Command.

“You know she left the Republic?” Leia says.

“I heard.” 

Leia nods slowly, staring out into the traffic. “She contacted me recently. Said she’s starting a coalition with some old Rebel leaders, to provide aid for planets suffering under the syndicates. She asked me if I wanted to join.”

Luke watches her for a moment. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her no—I’m not ready to leave the Republic yet—but… I considered it.” 

Luke stays silent, unsure how to react to that. The way she stares out at the city, avoiding his gaze, her voice low and confidential—it makes it seem like a confession. 

“Have you ever considered that?” she asks, glancing over at him. “Leaving the Republic, I mean?”

It’s a heavy question and one that he doesn’t immediately answer. He can sense how difficult it is for her to ask but, more than that, he can see it in the obvious way she tries to look relaxed, though the tension in her face gives her away. 

“I’ve considered it.” 

Now that the words have left his mouth, the admission does feel somehow confessional. 

He thinks about the dream he had, about adventures on far-off planets he’s never heard of. Maybe he’s meant to go to that place, Arvala Seven, and leave the rest of this behind, even if Din won’t go with him. He searches the Force for answers —is that what you want from me?— and finds only oppressive silence. 

Leia nods and casts her eyes to the ground. 

While Luke’s given most of his adult life to this cause, to end the Empire and restore the Republic, she’s given even more of her life than that. And the things they’ve sacrificed… Leia lost her entire planet, her family, along with nearly everyone she’d ever met. Luke lost his family too, and Biggs, and more friends than he can count. 

It seems unthinkable to walk away from what they had all sacrificed so much to build. But when the Republic flounders and fails to uphold the principles those people had died for, it would almost seem a disservice to their memory to stay. 

If Luke and Leia were bolder, or if they weren’t in a busy part of the city with other duties calling them away, they might ask each other: how much do we owe the dead?

But instead the weight of the question hangs over them and syphons all the air out of the atmosphere, leaving them at an understanding they can’t yet voice. 

“I’ll see you later, Luke,” Leia says. “Be careful.” 

He bows his head, then watches her program her navigation and fly off, her speeder disappearing into the swarm. 

Luke walks back toward his hotel and the Force stays silent, but the question lingers in his mind.

How much do we owe the dead?

Chapter Text

The cockpit of the Razor Crest is quiet, save for the soft whirring of the control panel and the sound of Greef Karga’s recorded voice, demanding an update and reminding him of the urgency of his mission. 

Din shuts off the transmission before it finishes and scrubs a hand over his face, then leans back in the pilot’s seat and stares up at the ceiling.

The memory of Luke’s touch lingers on his skin. The sound of his voice, his laugh, echoes in his ears. This is not something new, necessarily. He’s been battling to keep his own headspace under control since first encountering Luke on Begamore, but it’s nearly impossible now. He thinks of him almost nonstop and the thought always brings with it a cavernous ache that swallows the pit of his stomach. 

He thinks about what Luke had said to him earlier that morning, about his offer to go somewhere together. He wonders idly what had really prevented him from saying yes—then he stamps on that ember of an idea and grinds it into dust. 

Luke’s suggestion had been foolish. Naive. Two people of their reputations, their occupations, can’t just disappear. 

(No matter how much they might want to.)

Before he even fully knows what he plans to do, he’s punching a personal code that he knows by heart into his ship’s comm system. It’s only a few minutes before the transmission goes through and he’s greeted by the image of an old friend, leaning back in a chair with her legs kicked up on a table.

“Hey Mando,” Cara says, and Din takes an inordinate amount of comfort in her familiar wry smile. “Long time no see. You know, we actually have a lot of catching up to do.”

“You’re telling me.”

She quirks a brow. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“It’s… kind of a long story. What’s new with you?”

“Also a long story. You go first.”

Din shifts in his seat. He can’t do that. “I was actually, um—” He clears his throat. “I was actually hoping to ask you for a favor.”

“Hit me.” 

“I was hoping you could help me track down the… identity… of one of my… clients.” 

“Doesn’t that go against the Guild code?”

Din squirms in his seat again. He doesn’t respond, but his silence says enough.

“Alright,” Cara replies evenly, “but I’m not sure how you think I can help. That goes a little outside my area of expertise.” 

“Maybe. But Karga let it slip that this client is an Imperial, probably someone important; that’s right up your alley.”

“Now, hang on. I may know a lot of those dusty old Warlords, but I wouldn’t have the first idea how to find your client,” she says. “There are a lot more Imperial bastards out there than you think.” 

 Din’s heart sinks; he’d been afraid she would say that. 

“But,” she continues, “lucky for you, I bet I know someone who can do it.”

“Who?”

“Have you ever heard of a bounty hunter named Fennec Shand?” 

“Shand? How do you know Fennec Shand?”

He’d only met the infamous hunter a few times in passing and, while the two of them had always been cordial, they were hardly what you could call friends. Or even associates, really.

That aside, it’s common knowledge that Shand has been missing for quite some time, having evidently found herself crosswise with the Guild. No one knows the details, but an exorbitant bounty had been posted for her head, though it has yet to be collected. A few ambitious hunters had tried, but none had returned.

“She lives with me,” Cara tells him, and it’s clear she knows the magnitude of this admission by the way her lips curl into a smirk. 

“I— She—” Din’s brain short circuits. “What?”

Cara laughs. “Like I said, we have a lot of catching up to do. But we can do that when you bring us the puck on Cardonia.” 

Din blinks, still trying to process this information. “What makes you think Shand will help me?”

“I won’t,” comes a deadpan voice from somewhere in the background. 

Cara’s smirk grows. “She’ll do it if I ask nicely.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he hears Shand reply.

“She’ll do it,” Cara assures him. 

It seems less than likely, but Cara’s never given him a reason to doubt her. 

“If you say so,” he says. 

“I’m sending you the coordinates now. And hey”—she gives him a smile—”It’s good to hear from you.”

Din’s heart warms. “You… you too,” he replies. 

The transmission ends and Din leans back in his chair, a long exhale falling from his lips. 

What am I doing? he asks himself. He knows the answer but he doesn’t dare dwell on it, so he programs Cara’s coordinates into his hyperdrive and prepares to depart.

Cardonia is a remote, backwater planet in the Mid Rim, populated mostly by forests and swamps, with no spaceports or any major cities. 

When Din arrives at Cara’s coordinates, he finds himself at the base of an enormous tree with thick, sprawling branches. A wooden staircase wraps around its massive trunk, leading up to a small cottage nestled far up in its canopy.

Din cranes his neck to look at it and puts his hands on his hips. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Shouldering his pack, he huffs and starts up the stairs. 

When he finally reaches the door, after a considerable climb, it swings open before he even has a chance to knock. 

Cara gives him a wide grin and grips his extended forearm, then punches his shoulder with her other hand. 

“What the hell, man?” she says. “It’s been too long.” 

A small smile crosses Din’s face under his helmet. “It has. I like your place,” he says, stepping into the cottage.

“Don’t be sarcastic,” she replies, leading him through the entryway and into a round room with a low ceiling and wood-paneled walls. There’s a small table in the center, and there sits the notorious Fennec Shand, legs kicked up on the tabletop, and a knife in her hand which she twirls with deft fingers.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” he insists.

“Well, it’s hard to tell with that bucket on.”

“Fair enough.” He removes his helmet and sets it on the table. “Shand,” he says, giving the hunter a nod. 

“Djarin.”

The cottage is distinctly cozy, if a bit sparsely decorated, and filled with pleasant aromas that drift in from a small kitchen, set apart from the main room by an open doorway.

Din pulls a bottle of liquor from his pack and hands it to Cara, who examines it. 

“‘Spiced Ardees,’” she reads. “What’s that?”

“It— I don’t know. Everyone’s crazy about it on Coruscant.” 

She smiles and sets it on the table. “Cheers, thanks. Let’s open it after dinner.” She walks toward the kitchen and says over her shoulder, “Come in here and tell me what you’ve been up to.”

Din follows her and leans in the doorframe, watching as she stirs a large pot of something on a nanowave stove that looks to be at least fifty years old.

“Uh, same old, really. You know. Hunting.” 

Technically not a lie. 

Cara hums in response, then tastes what’s in the pot—some sort of stew from the looks of it—then frowns and adds in more seasoning.

Din can’t help feeling surprised at his friend’s apparent domesticity. It’s far from a bad shade on her, but it’s not what he would have predicted. Even more unexpected is the fact that the person she’s built all this with is Fennec Shand, a woman known the galaxy over for her ruthlessness. 

And yet, the kitchen is full of evidence of a domestic life. It’s well-stocked, for one thing, and a little cluttered. There’s a full set of pans, utensils, and kitchen knives—as well a few knives strewn about that clearly aren’t for cooking—all of which are worn from use. There’s a blaster rifle parked in the corner of the room, almost like a reminder of who the people that live here are: an ex-soldier and a sharpshooter. But if it weren’t for those few details, it would be easy to think this is the home of two common villagers, unmarred by galactic warfare or a bloodied past.

Cara glances at him and, noting his expression, says, “Oh, don’t give me that. Have you talked to Omera recently?”

Din nods. “A couple weeks ago.”

“How is she? And Winta?”

“They seem good,” he muses. “Sounds like it was a good harvest this year.” 

She smiles. “Good. Here—” She gestures toward an old rusted kettle with three stacked wooden cups next to it. “Can you carry those to the table?”

Din nods and grabs them. When he turns back toward the main room, he sees Shand is setting the table, placing cutlery next to a set of wooden plates laid neatly on the table.

It’s a sight so surprising to him that he stops in his tracks and stares. Every hunter in the Guild has heard countless tales of Fennec Shand and her precision with a blaster. Now, here she is, arranging forks and knives in the home she shares with his friend. 

He does his best to wipe the surprise from his face as she looks over to him.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she deadpans, then gestures to his helmet sitting on the table. “Can I move this?”

“Uh. Sure.”

Shaking himself from his stupor, he sets the kettle on the table. Cara follows behind him, carrying the pot of stew. 

“This should be more edible than the last time I cooked for you,” she says. “I’ve been getting a lot more practice these days.” 

They sit down to eat and the stew is far more than edible. It’s savory and aromatic, the rich broth complimented by an assortment of tender vegetables and more spices than he can name, all of which is complimented by a meat he doesn't recognise. They wash the food down with the dark tea which is earthy and a little bitter, but it mixes well with the other flavors.

The meal is homely in the best of ways and nothing like the barely-warm, dehydrated meal they’d shared last time they saw each other. He tells Cara as much and she tells him the meat is from an animal called a benko, native to Cardonia and now frequently hunted by Fennec. 

During a lull in the conversation, Din clears his throat and asks, “So… how did you guys meet?” 

Shand glances at Cara, who leans back in her chair and grins at her. 

“You tell it,” Cara says. 

“Fine,” Shand replies, then looks to Din. “She gets a kick out of it when I tell the story. Because I’m known for being so talkative.” Another pointed glance at Cara, which lacks any real fire.  “Anyway. Have you ever heard of a planet called Myrkr?”

Din shakes his head. 

“Good. Don’t ever go there. They have these animals there—big, giant beasts with huge teeth and massive claws—called vornkyr. They’re Force sensitive.”

“They’re what?”

Fennec shrugs a shoulder. “The story is that they can sense the Force and they use it to hunt their prey. I didn’t much believe that—still don’t know if I do—but I was hired to capture one and bring it to Serenno alive. And, well. Those sons of bitches are fast, fierce, and smart as hell. They work together, too, like they can communicate with each other. I would’ve been toast, if it hadn’t been for Cara.” She spares another fond glance at Cara, whose own expression mirrors it. “She saved my life. Then, we made a deal: she’d help me capture a vornkyr for half the bounty.”

Din’s eyebrows raise. “And you agreed to that?” he says to Shand, who shrugs.

She’s not exactly known as someone who likes to share, and she knows it. 

“What can I say? I liked her. And I’ve never seen anything like those creatures. I’m smart enough to know when I need help.”

“Fair enough.” 

“Anyway, we caught the vornkyr, spent a little time together… Then it was time for me to leave. What I didn’t know, was that Cara was hiding out from another Guild hunter. When I got to the spaceport and saw Vorrance Krenz’ ship there… Well, I had my suspicions.”  

And now Din has an idea where this story is going. Vorrance Krenz had been one of the best hunters in the Guild when he’d disappeared during a hunt. No one ever knew the details of his presumed death—not an uncommon thing in their profession—but, come to think of it, Shand’s own bounty had been posted only a few days after he’d gone missing.

“I followed him,” Shand continues, “and when I saw he was tracking Cara, I… Well, I did what I do best.” 

“You did that for her?”

“She saved my life; I owed her a debt. But… I also didn’t want to see her die.”

Din takes a drink of the bitter tea, now mostly cold, and mulls that over. 

“Well,” he says, “I’m glad for that.” And he is. If Krenz had succeeded… He doesn’t know what he would have done, but he might have killed the man himself. 

Cara takes over telling the rest of the story as they finish eating, then the three of them move back into the kitchen to clean up. Cara sits on the counter and tells him how they ended up on Cardonia, while Din and Fennec make quick work of the dishes. 

“We mostly get work hunting Imperials these days,” Cara tells him. 

“Who pays you for that? The Republic?”

Fennec scoffs. 

“Nah,” Cara says. “Just regular people with a score to settle, mainly.”

“Or people who want the Imps to leave them the hell alone,” Fennec adds. 

Cara nods. “Usually in the Mid and Outer Rim, where the Republic doesn’t do shit.” 

They move back to the main room and crack open the bottle of Spiced Ardees, while Fennec gets out a long card box. 

“You ever played pazaak?” she asks Din. 

“Not in a long time.” 

They all sit around the table and sip the spiced liquor, with only a minimal amount of choking, while they play a few rounds. When Fennec is finished soundly beating them, she starts putting the cards away and asks, “Shall we get down to business? Let’s see this puck.”

Shand sets a datapad and a handful of tools on the table, while Din fishes the puck out of his pack. He sets it in front of her and Luke’s holoimage appears over the disc as he flicks it on. It’s funny—when he first saw the image, he’d thought little of it. A face to a name. Now, the cocky smirk that’s hidden in Luke’s otherwise neutral expression feels more familiar to him than… 

Well, more familiar than he would like to admit. 

Looking at the image now, he can almost imagine the thought that lurks behind that covert smile: Come and get me.

And Din had been stupid enough to fall for it. 

A beat of silence passes over the room as they all stare at the puck. Shand’s expression is unreadable, but Cara’s jaw slacks. 

“Is that Luke fucking Skywalker?”   

“Gods, Djarin,” Shand says, letting out a small, sardonic laugh. “Does the Guild want you dead, too?”

“Yeah, how are you still alive?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Din drawls. 

“I’m just saying, Skywalker is the real deal,” Cara says.

Din sighs. “I know.”

Shand leans back in her chair and scrutinizes him. “Is that why you’re trying to find the client? Looking to get out of it?”

“No,” Din replies, stubbornly. Stupidly.

“Why then?” she asks, and Din could kick himself.

She’d just given him a perfectly plausible, possibly less-scandalous explanation for his code-breaking behavior; the smarter thing would have been to go along with it.

Unable to think of a better reason, since telling the truth is out of the question, he says, “Do you think you can do it?”  

“Well”—she pulls the puck closer to get a better look—“the good news is, there aren’t a lot of Imperials out there that have the balls—or the credits—to make a move like this, so that narrows down our options substantially.” She picks up the magnaspanner and starts prying at the puck’s base. “I’d say there’s a good chance.” 

“Right. Well, that’s… good, then. Thank you.” 

Fennec nods and tears the base off, then attaches a cord between the puck and her datapad. “It’ll take a little for the data to transfer,” she says, drumming her fingers on the table. “I wanna know one thing, though.” 

“Alright,” Din replies, gripping the forgotten cup of liquor in his hand, already wary of where this line of questioning will take them. 

“What are you gonna do once you know who it is?”

Din takes a swig—anything to buy more time—but barely registers the taste as he swallows it down. 

“I’m not gonna do anything,” he answers. “I just wanna know.” 

Shand and Cara share a glance. 

“...Why?” Cara presses, and there’s a knowing smile growing on her face, which she attempts to hide behind her cup.

Din lets out a small huff. “Does it matter?”

Her smile, now approaching shit-eating, only grows. “Maybe.”

Din tries to keep a neutral expression, despite the heat that rises in his cheeks at the near-interrogation, and looks down at the table. 

Fennec ducks her head to scan his face. “Did you sleep with a mark, Djarin?” she asks, a slow grin appearing.

“Did you sleep with Luke fucking Skywalker?”

“Wh— What?” he stammers, doing his best to seem shocked and offended at the question. “No. Why would you— How could you— I mean, he’s way out of my league…” he attempts, weakly, and gestures to the puck, his face burning hotter as it becomes clear neither of them are buying it. 

“Well, that’s true,” Fennec says, smirking, “but there aren’t a lot of other reasons a hunter of your reputation would be asking for something like this.”

Din’s embarrassment is nearly intolerable, tasting sharper than the spiced liquor and twice as strong. There’s a feeling near to panic that grows and spirals within him, his palms starting to sweat.

Cara watches him carefully. “Din, are you… okay?” 

“Yes,” he snaps, then feels bad for it and pinches the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh. “Yes,” he repeats, more evenly this time. “This is all just… a little embarrassing.” 

“Why would you be embarrassed?” Cara gestures around the table. “This is a judgment-free zone.”

Shand raises a hand. “That doesn’t extend to me.” 

Cara frowns at her. 

“I’m just saying I reserve the right to judge whoever I want. But”—Fennec looks at Din—“I don’t really get why you’re embarrassed. Anyone else in your position would be bragging.”  

“Bragging?” Din’s brow furrows. “Why?”

“Uh—” Cara barks out a laugh. “Because Skywalker is, like, the most eligible bachelor in the whole galaxy? Hello? Where have you been?”

“It’s not a big deal, it was just— I mean, it’s not— It’s not like we’re getting married or— or something.”

Cara smiles at him. “But you want to,” she teases, seemingly because she knows it will push every single one of his buttons—and it does. 

His face burns miserably hot. “I— I didn’t say that,” he stammers. 

“Take it easy on him, Cara,” Fennec chimes in. “I think he’s short circuiting.” 

Din breathes out a long exhale through his nose. 

“Alright, you’re right,” Cara concedes. “Well, you at least have to tell us what he’s like.”

“No.” 

“Please?”

Din lets out another long sigh. “I don’t know. I guess, in some ways, he’s exactly like you’d expect. He’s the strongest warrior I’ve ever gone up against. He’s noble. Heroic. He’s…” Din breathes out a laugh. “...talkative. Funny. But he’s… wild. He almost never does anything you expect.” He shuts his mouth, noting the way Cara is grinning at him. “Don’t give me that,” he tells her. 

“Give you what? I didn’t say anything.” She rests her chin in her hand. “Keep going.” 

“I— That’s it, I guess, I don’t know.” 

“Well.” Cara thinks for a second. “How did you two, um, connect?”  

Din glances from Cara to Fennec and sees that she’s also waiting on his answer, leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest. 

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Cara says. 

“Hey.” Fennec gestures toward her datapad, still transferring data from the puck. “Fair’s fair.” 

Din sinks lower in his chair and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“Fine. I— He— I ambushed him. We fought. He defeated me. Handily. Then he asked if he could buy me a drink.”

The two of them stare at him for a moment then, seeming to realize he’s done talking, Shand says flatly, “Your powers of storytelling astonish me, Djarin.” 

Din frowns. 

“Just like that?” Cara says.

He shrugs. “Just like that.”

“So is that when you two… you know…” Cara quirks an eyebrow at him.

“No.” He huffs, his face burning hotter. “That was later. Look, I don’t really want to talk about this.” 

“Fine,” Cara says, “forget Skywalker. Did you meet his sister? Leia? She was like a celebrity on Alderaan.”

“She… threatened me with a lightsaber.”

“Shut up!” She beams. “You’re so lucky.”

Din snorts. “Yeah, lucky that she didn’t kill me.”

“Why didn’t she kill you?” Shand asks, finishing off her glass. 

“Uh.” Din drums his fingers on the table. “Luke stepped in.”

Cara smiles. “Cute.”

“Stop.” 

A few seconds of silence settle over the table, before Shand speaks up. 

“See, Djarin, I guess we’re not so different, you and I.” 

“How’s that?”

“Well”—a slow smile appears on her face—“I’m already wanted by the Guild and you will be soon.”

Din scoffs, defensive again. “No. This isn’t like that.” 

“Oh really?” Fennec looks smug. “What’s it like, then?” 

Din opens his mouth to speak but fails to come up with a good answer, and that sense of panic starts to rise again. 

Cara shoots Shand an unamused look, then stands and says, “Alright, I think that’s enough talking to Fennec. Din, come with me outside?” 

Din shrugs and finishes his glass, then stands and follows Cara into the entryway, where she grabs a pipe and a pouch from the windowsill by the door. 

Outside, the sun has set and the air is warm and humid. It’s quiet out, save for the sound of branches rustling in the wind above them and animals croaking in the swamp below. 

They sit down at the top of the staircase and Cara starts filling the pipe with some kind of leafy, dried herb. 

“Can I tempt you?” she asks. 

“What is that?”

“Essel weed.”

“Is it hallucinogenic?”

“Nah. It’ll just make you relax.” 

Din narrows his eyes at her as she lights the bowl and takes a puff. 

“You’ve told me that before…”

Cara laughs and crosses her heart. “I mean it this time. I swear. And you seriously need to relax.” 

She passes the pipe to him and Din considers it for a moment before taking it. The herbs glow red as he takes a long pull—then coughs out a big cloud of smoke, the back of his throat burning.

“Ah, shit.” Cara thumps his back. “Sorry. It’s sharp. Should’ve warned you.” 

He shrugs and passes it back to her, waving smoke out of his face. 

They sit in silence for a few long moments while Cara takes a long draft, both staring out into the canopy where slivers of moonlight crack through the dense branches. 

“So…” Cara says, handing the pipe back to Din. 

“So…” he repeats, taking another, shorter pull that doesn’t sting as much. When he hands it back to her, he watches her for a second and she laughs. 

“What?”

He shrugs and looks down at the steps, a small smile hiding in the corner of his mouth. “Nothing. I don’t know. I’m just happy for you. You guys seem… happy.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, not a bad thing. It’s just rare. For people like us.”

She passes the pipe back to him. “I know what you mean.”

Din takes another drag, then exhales and says, “You guys got lucky.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “Not lucky. I mean, yes, we’ve been lucky in a lot of ways, but it’s also been a lot of work. It hasn’t all been easy.” 

Din nods and passes the pipe back to her. She takes a draft and the sound of herbs crackling in the bowl fills the silence that falls over them. 

“You know,” Cara speaks up, coughing slightly. “You could have something like that”—she nods to the cottage behind them—“someday. If you wanted.”

Din swallows, his chest constricting, but keeps his gaze fixed downward and says nothing. 

Cara’s voice is quiet the next time she speaks, like she’s on shaky ground and knows it. 

“I mean, you must care about him, to be here, doing this…”

And that sparks another flutter of anxiety in Din’s stomach, his mouth forming into a thin, tight line. “It’s not like that,” he insists again. “It’s… It’s more…”

She grimaces. “Don’t say ‘it’s just physical…’”

“Well…” 

She scoffs. “Says the guy who slept with a woman once then decided to move in with her. But, sure. It’s just physical.”

Din side-eyes her. “That’s right. And it was twice.”

She gives him a flat look. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Fine, it wasn’t.” 

“All I’m saying is, here you are again… breaking the code you religiously subscribe to… I mean, you could do worse.”

Din gives her a pointed look. “Stop.”

“Fine.”

They smoke in silence for several long moments before Cara speaks up again. “You know, I’m only saying this because I’m your friend.”

“I know.” He lets out a long sigh. “But I can’t just throw away my entire life, my reputation, my career, for someone I barely know.” 

“You did it before.” 

“Yeah, and look how that ended.” 

“But do you regret it?”

Din avoids her eyes. 

“No, really, at the end of the day, do you regret it? Do you really want to be a bounty hunter for the rest of your life? On your own?”

Din’s head spins at the sheer amount of life-altering questions she’s forcing him to face. “Cara, I don’t know,” he huffs, his voice strained. Then, more gently, says again, “I don’t know.”

“I’m just saying, if Fennec and I can make it work… I’m pretty sure anyone can. Maybe even you and Luke.”

Din can’t help but let out a bitter laugh at that. 

“What?” she says. “I’m serious!”

“Yeah, but it’s different than you and Fennec, isn’t it? You guys have similar… career paths, so to speak. But Luke is a peacekeeper, a diplomat. He has a reputation to uphold. Associating with someone like me… it would only make things harder for him. And it’s not like I could become some— some Republic shill. Plus the Guild will put a price on my head higher than Fennec’s if I don’t complete this mission. Or die trying.”

“But you came here for a reason.”

Din sighs. “I came here because… I guess because I’m still hoping there’s another option here, but… Well, I don’t know. We’ll see what Fennec finds out, I guess.”

Cara nods and taps the ashes out of the pipe. “I guess we will.” 

She stands, dusts herself off, and extends a hand out to him, but Din stays where he is. 

“I think I’ll stay out here for a little bit, if that’s alright.” 

“Sure. Take your time.” 

He sits on the step for a long time, listening to the sound of animals skittering in the branches around him and taking in deep breaths of the clean air. Maybe it’s the herbs or maybe it’s just having the space to think, away from the chaos of Galactic City, but he does feel more relaxed. The tension he didn’t even realize he’d been carrying melts away into the night air, leaving him feeling lighter than he has in a long while.    

He feels stupid for wishing Luke were with him, but he does. Even as he knows it’s better for them to go their separate ways, even as he knows the smartest course of action is to continue with his mission… he still wonders what Luke would say if he were here. He wonders what unexpected insights he’d have or what witty quips he would have fired off.

But it’s pointless to wonder about it. Luke isn’t here. 

While Din can’t begin to predict what the next several days will look like, it’s good to be reminded that he has friends, that he isn’t alone in the galaxy like he sometimes traps himself into thinking. 

Tomorrow he’ll head back to Galactic City and figure out what comes next. 

But, at least for tonight, life is alright.

Chapter Text

Luke sits in the Clone Wars exhibit in front of a holovideo archive that he’d only skimmed past the last time he was here.

One of the videos had been recovered from the personal archives of one Senator Amidala. It depicts Luke’s mother and father, their hands entwined as they chatter to each other, delirious joy written on both of their faces that’s plain to see even in the old holo. 

The two of them remain locked in this moment in time, just a few seconds that repeat over and over again as Luke sits on a bench in front of the display, transfixed. 

It’s quiet in the museum, as it has yet to open to the public, but the Force is loud here and frantic in its disorganization, although that’s starting to become a fact of life for Luke anyway. It whips around him like a whirlwind as he leans in closer and rests his forearms on his knees, watching the way his father beams down at his mother, laughing as he says something that causes her to laugh in return. And then it repeats. 

Luke looks down at his hands, one gloved and one not, and wonders if the way he feels now is anything like what his father had felt for Padme. He wonders if he had felt the same rush of uncontrollable giddiness when he’d held her, the same hollow ache at her absence. 

With the museum’s opening day fast approaching, Luke has had no shortage of things to keep him busy, but his mind still drifts to Din during every moment of stillness. The way Din had melted into his touch, the sound of his laugh, the softness of his gaze… He relives the moments of their last encounter over and over again in his head, repeating on a loop like the holovideo in front of him. 

It isn’t the memories themselves that are concerning, but the feeling that accompanies them, that resonates in his very blood, rattles his ribs and knocks the breath out of him with the strength of it. It’s the total, heart-wrenching dejection at Din’s refusal of him, his decision to continue with his fool’s errand.

Considering everything Anakin had done for his love of Padmé, surely he would have understood the horrible, twisting ache in Luke’s gut, the unbearable longing that consumes his every thought. 

Luke stares down at his right hand and reminds himself of why he wears a black glove every day: it’s so he doesn’t forget who he is, so he doesn’t forget the lineage he comes from. So he doesn’t grow complacent toward the things that will try to tempt him, twist him… 

He runs his hands down his thighs and lets out a shaky exhale.

Din was right. He can see it now. Nothing good can come of whatever this is between them, this thing which is so unruly, so impossible to resist. It’s better that it’s over before it can do any real damage—before it can drive him to do something he’ll regret.

He hears the sound of footsteps and looks over his shoulder to see Osteon approaching him with his token nonchalance. 

“Telly said you were here,” he says, then notices which display Luke is sitting in front of. “But I can come back later, if…”

“It’s alright,” Luke assures him, giving him a smile. “You were looking for me?”

“Um… no. Well, yes. Kind of.” He gestures to the bench. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.”

Luke slides over and Osteon sits next to him, then watches the holo in silence for a few seconds.

“It’s a sweet moment, isn’t it?” he remarks. “The archivists were lucky to find it.”

“Yes… They were.” 

Osteon looks over at him. “I was wondering…”

“Yes?” 

“Well, you know, the museum’s opening gala is in a few days.”

Luke smiles. “I’m aware.”

“Yes, well, I was wondering—and I know it’s a bit last minute, so you don’t have to say yes—but I was wondering if you’d like to go with me. You know... Together.” Osteon’s golden stare is direct, but sweet and shy. 

Something gentle blooms in Luke’s chest and quietly breathes a sense of calm into him, despite the Force’s frenzied mania around him, because this feeling is safe.

Leia had been right too, Luke decides, though that’s a conclusion he comes to frequently. These passionate love affairs he keeps falling in and out of will bring him nothing but heartbreak and ruin in the end; his father’s downfall is evidence of that. 

But something like what he and Osteon have… Maybe it is what he needs. What he feels for Osteon is pleasant, it’s manageable, and most importantly, it’s something he can hold onto without fear of losing control. 

And Luke likes Osteon. He’s kind and smart and charming; maybe all the two of them need is a little more time. It’s worth giving it a chance, at the very least. 

Luke flicks another glance toward the holo of his parents, then says simply, “I’d like that.” 

A relieved smile splits Osteon’s face. “You would?”

Luke lets out a gentle laugh. “I’d love to.” 

“That’s great. Well, I should get back to work, but I’ll comm you tonight?”

He nods. “I’ll look forward to it.” 

Osteon puts a gentle hand on Luke’s knee, then stands and takes his leave. 

Luke stays where he is for a while longer, watching the old holovideo, and feels nothing save for a sneaking feeling of dread that curdles in the pit of his stomach. The buzzing of the Force seems to amplify with every minute he lingers, hissing and screaming until he can hardly take it anymore. 

He screws his eyes shut and covers his ears, as if that could possibly block it out, then gives up and stands, exiting the exhibit and then the museum at a quick pace. Even after he’s left the building far behind, the buzzing chaos lingers around him, relentless. 

Behind him, the marquee above the museum still reads: OPENING SOON! CELEBRATE THE RICH HISTORY OF OUR GREAT REPUBLIC!

The gala is somewhat less stuffy than Luke had expected, though not by much. 

It’s outdoors at least, so the air is somewhat fresh and it’s a warm, pleasant evening as it always is in Galactic City. 

The event sprawls throughout the museum’s garden, blocked off by a row of tall hedges and lit by an impressive array of floating party lights, one for each planet in the Republic. Velvet tablecloths adorn every table in deep blue, glittering beneath ornate golden centerpieces and surrounded by gilded chairs. Every Senator is present, or so it seems, along with all of Coruscant’s wealthy elite, dressed in their richest finery. 

And none finer than Osteon himself, though little else could be expected from the man who outdoes the galaxy’s most fashionable on an average day. 

Tonight, however, he looks like a vision, dressed in a fitting black shirt (he stole Luke’s style, the bastard) with a v-neck that wanders all the way down to his navel, revealing the intricate patterning of the tattoos across his torso. In the dim lighting, it’s difficult to tell where the shirt ends and the tattoos begin. The whole ensemble is illuminated by a royal blue sash, luxuriously draped over one shoulder and fastened by a leather belt, embellished with metal beads in geometrical patterns.

Attending the event with him looking as good as he does is nice for two reasons: one, Luke gets to admire him as much as he wants (and he does) and two, Osteon draws so many eyes toward himself that people almost forget Luke Skywalker is his date. Almost.

Though Luke isn’t as ornately dressed as his counterpart, he’s made an effort for the occasion. He’s wearing a new set of robes, though not ones he’d ever wear on any practical mission. The sleeves are far too long and the pants much too tight. His cloak, also new, is equally impractical, made of black velvet that falls down to his ankles. The underside of it is white silk, painted with gold. Leia had talked him into ordering it for the occasion and he has to admit it was a good call. 

Arm in arm, Luke and Osteon draw many eyes as they weave through the crowd, though no one is more insistent on engaging them than Minister Kelso. He approaches Luke every few minutes to introduce him to some important so-and-so, making sure to ask Luke, ‘So what do you think of our museum?’ to which Luke is sure to respond with some half-hearted, placating response about how nice and well-researched it is. 

More than once, Luke overhears Kelso loudly boasting about how much Luke Skywalker himself—yes, the Luke Skywalker—loves their new museum. And each time, Luke hides a scowl behind a glass of punch and chokes back the rotten feeling that rises in his throat like bile. 

It’s exhausting. And Kelso isn’t the only one intent on bending his ear. Despite his attempts at hiding behind his flashy date, he suffers through an unending stream of wealthy somebodys who wander up to him and try to impress him or ask his thoughts on the museum or what he’s been up to since the end of the war, and so on and so forth. Osteon is quite adept at shooing them away with equal amounts of charm and insistence, but even he has his limits. 

After somewhere around an hour of this, Osteon asks Luke to dance and he accepts, grateful for the distraction. The two of them make their way to the dancefloor, and if many eyes follow them as they do, well, they’re both mature enough to pretend they don’t notice. 

Any grace they have while dancing is due to Osteon, who’s an excellent lead, whisking Luke across the dancefloor with a steady, guiding touch, their bodies pressed close together. Osteon covertly whispers into his ear all the salacious gossip about the other senators on the floor and Luke finds himself grinning. 

“Do you see that Twi’lek over there?” Osteon murmurs, nodding to Luke’s left. “In the green dress?”

Luke subtly glances in the direction of his nod and spots her, twirling in a glittering gown a few yards from them. “Mmhmm. Senator… Elessa?”

“Elussa,” Osteon corrects, “but you were close.”

“I’m getting better. There are a lot of senators to remember.”

“And not many worth remembering.”

Luke snorts a laugh and Osteon grins.

“Anyway,” he goes on, his breath warm against Luke’s cheek, his voice low and melodic, “Senator Elussa.” 

“Yes, tell me.”

“Well, there was a horrible, slanderous editorial published about her in the… Hanna City Report, I believe it was. She had every right to sue, but never did.”

“Why?” 

“Good question. Rumor has it that the author of the piece was a scorned, former lover of hers and published the article in retaliation.”

“Any chance it’s true?”

“There’s no telling, but it would explain why she refused to ever do anything about the article. Maybe she was worried what else would come to light.” 

Luke lets out a gentle laugh. “Yeah, maybe. That’s not terribly scandalous though, is it?”

“Not to you maybe. It might seem scandalous to her wife, however.”

“Ah.” Luke laughs again. “Right.”

“There were even rumors that her lover wasn’t the reporter, but another member of the Senate who paid for the article to be printed.”

Luke lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Now, who would do such a thing?”

“I can think of a few people,” Osteon replies, chuckling.

He guides Luke through a simple turn and Luke grins up at him.

“I had no idea you were such a gossip, Osteon,” he teases. 

“Well. I am. But if you had my colleagues, you would be too.”

Luke shakes his head in mock disapproval. “You’ve been spending too much time with Senator Trenna.” 

“Yes, against my will. But she’s taught me a number of valuable skills.”

“Such as…?”

“Being petty, for one.”

Luke laughs again, gripping Osteon’s shoulder, and for a moment he forgets the gnawing ache in his gut that hasn’t abated since… 

Well, he tries not to think of it. 

This is better. 

They finish out the song, then Osteon guides him off the dancefloor with a gentle hand on his lower back. Osteon gives him a soft smile, which Luke returns, while repeating to himself like a mantra: This is better. This is better. This is better. 

Osteon leans in to murmur in his ear again, but this time Luke misses every word of what he says. 

He’s suddenly overwhelmed by a scalding presence and a feeling of sour jealousy that hits him in an intoxicating rush. Despite himself, his heart leaps into his throat, while another part of him thinks: not again.

But Din’s presence is everywhere now, unignorable even against the backdrop of so much glitz and glamor. He can sense it pulsating from somewhere nearby… He closes his eyes and feels it to his left… then several stories up. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at a modestly sized building, for Galactic City anyway, that neighbors the museum and towers over the gala. 

Din is somewhere there and Luke has an idea of where—but then there’s Osteon, glued to his side and staring down at him with warmth. He knows he should ignore Din and his stupid jealously and focus on the man that actually wants to be with him. Still… as a Jedi, he feels it’s his duty to investigate any potential threats toward civilians and, well, Din could be a threat. If he chooses to be. 

“Osteon,” Luke says, “would you excuse me for a minute?” 

“Everything alright?” 

“Yes, perfectly fine,” he assures him—then thinks better of it. If he truly wants to make things work with Osteon, then it would probably be best to start with some honesty.

He clears his throat. “Um, actually, Osteon…”

“Yes?”

Luke leans in a little closer to him and murmurs, “I assume you remember the bounty hunter that ambushed us on our first date.”

Concern passes over Osteon’s face. “Yes…”

“You should know something. He was… present at our last date, too. I didn’t say anything because I could sense that he wasn’t a danger and I didn’t want to worry you.”

Osteon gives a measured nod that hides the flickering anxiety Luke senses within him. 

“Alright. Why are you telling me this now?”

Luke draws in a deep breath. “He’s here. Well, not here here, but nearby. I don’t think he’s a threat, but I should probably look into it.”

Osteon’s anxiety grows, but his expression stays relatively straight. 

“Alright,” he says again. “Are you sure?”

Luke nods, smiles, and pats him on the arm. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. Can you cover for me? Just for a few minutes?”

“Sure. I can do that.”

Luke watches him for a second, considers… then presses a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I won’t be long,” Luke assures him, then turns and makes his way back toward the museum. As soon as he’s out of sight behind the hedges, he changes direction and heads toward the building where he can sense Din’s beating pulse. 

He locates him on a balcony several stories up, then closes his eyes and jumps, using the Force to propel himself upwards until he lands on the terrace with a quietness that impresses even himself. 

Din hasn't noticed him yet, his gaze focused on the gala through the sight of his rifle.

“What are you doing?” Luke asks. 

Din starts and swivels the rifle in Luke’s direction, then relaxes when he recognizes him. A complex rush of emotions resonate from him, difficult to pick just one feeling from the rest, though the distinctive bitterness of his jealousy still lingers. 

“I think the better question is, what are you doing?” 

“Well, I’m trying to attend a party without having to worry about someone trying to assassinate me. You’re not planning anything stupid, are you?” 

“Of course not. I’m not an idiot.” 

Sensing no lie, Luke says, “Well. Good.” 

“So what are you doing?” Din growls out, and now his most predominant emotion seems to be anger, as if that makes any sense. “You hate this.”

The statement takes Luke by surprise, hitting him right between the ribs. “I don’t… hate it…” 

“Yes, you do.” Din takes a step closer to him. “I know you do; you told me as much. Why do you let them do this to you? Parade you around like some— like some prized nexu or something.”

Some part of Luke wants to jump back down off the balcony, wants to retreat from Din’s scrutiny, but he stays rooted to the spot. 

“It’s just a party, Din,” he says, but he senses his dismissal only adds to Din’s building irritation. 

“No it isn’t. You know it isn’t. And what are you doing with him?” Din hisses. “You don’t even like him.” 

A flare of anger rises in Luke’s chest at that. 

“You have no idea what I like,” he spits, stepping toward him. 

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Din shoots back, taking another step into his space until the two of them are only inches from each other. “Doesn’t it bother you? Misleading all these people? Misleading him? Letting them all think you’re something you’re not?”

“How dare you,” Luke snarls, staring hard into his visor. “Din, you said you couldn’t be with me. That you weren’t gonna stop hunting me. Is that still true?”

A pause. 

“Yes.” 

It’s old news, but Luke’s stomach still twists and his mouth sets into a firm line, nevermind the fact that his heart is racing. 

“Then you don’t get to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Din scoffs. 

“Then why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Even though Luke knows he’s lying, an ache still rips through him at that, but he hides it behind a sneer. 

“Well, good. Because you were right. Whatever this is”—he gestures between the two of them—“it needs to be over. I need something… healthier.”

“Healthier,” Din repeats.

Luke senses a melancholic pang of something reverberating in the Force—and it’s confusing. Din is so confusing. What goddamn right does he have to be hurt, to be jealous, to tell Luke what he should or shouldn’t do?

It makes him furious.

“Mmh.” He nods, and he feels like he’s out of his mind, like something outside his control propels him to speak. “Someone stable. Someone kind. Preferably someone who isn’t hunting me for money.” 

“Luke, I told you. I don’t have a choice.” 

Another bitter ache rips through the Force—Din’s or Luke’s, it hardly matters—but it’s overshadowed by something else, something dark that seems to loom over them and crackles like electricity. 

“Then you have no right to tell me what to do,” Luke hisses. He knows nothing but his own anger as the words are drawn from somewhere deep inside him. “You’re doing your job, same as me. I’m doing what I have to do, same as you.”

A chill ripples through the Force as Luke turns to leave—but Din catches him by the elbow. 

“Fine,” he says, “but let’s get one thing straight: you’re Luke Skywalker. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Those words cut right to the quick.

Luke wrenches his arm out of Din’s grasp as a fresh wave of rage roils through him, crushing all other emotions under its swell. 

He stares hard into Dins’ helmet and wants to rip it off so he can see his face, so he can try and find some sense there. 

He wants to punch him. 

He wants to kiss him.

He wants to scream and cry and tear his own hair out. He wants to do something crazy and desperate and insane to claw his way out of the corner he feels himself being backed into.

Before he has any idea what he’s doing, he presses a hand against Din’s breastplate and pushes backward, sending him flying through the air and into the wall. Din grunts hard at the impact, the wall denting as he slams into it, but the sound doesn’t register with Luke, whose rage is like a burning pulse beneath his skin. His arm remains outstretched, his hand flexed and pinning Din beneath an invisible weight that grinds him into the wall until chunks of it fall to the ground.

Then Luke feels something new resonating from Din, something he’s never felt from him before. It’s ice cold in the Force and clings to Luke’s skin like sweat.

It’s fear, he realizes. 

Luke snaps back to his senses with sickening speed as a tidal wave of guilt and shame washes away the last of his anger. He lowers his hand and Din falls to his knees, his shock leaving a metallic taste in the back of Luke’s throat.

“Din, I— ” he stammers, a lump rising in his throat. “I’m so—” He rushes to help him up but Din raises his blaster pistol with a wavering hand, stopping him. 

“Don’t,” he says, his voice rasping. 

“I’m so sorry,” Luke chokes out, blinking back tears. “I— I didn’t mean—” 

But he knows there’s nothing he can say to make this right, so he turns and leaps back down from the balcony, aware of nothing as he falls save for the panic that constricts his chest. 

He lands with little grace and stumbles backward, his breaths coming out short and tears spilling down his cheeks. His hands shake as he presses them against his eyes and loses himself to a few wracked sobs, his heart throwing itself against his ribs in a wild, uneven rhythm like it’s trying to claw its way out of his throat.

He can hardly make sense of what just happened. One moment he’d been so angry and the next…

He knows he’s been making a lot of questionable decisions recently, but he’d chosen to do all those things—against his better judgment, maybe, but he’d been in control of himself. None of it had been like this, this complete loss of any judgment at all, the total rage that had consumed all other thoughts.

The sounds of the party drift back to his awareness and he knows he needs to return before he’s missed, but he can’t stomach the thought of it now so he stays where he is, eyes screwed shut and gulping down breaths of the night air.

Chapter Text

The garden is filled with the sounds of music, laughter, and glasses clinking together as Luke straightens out his velvet cloak with trembling hands and re-enters the gala. The wine has clearly been flowing in his absence; he spots more than a few red faces on the dance floor which is far more crowded than when he’d left.

“Luke!” a familiar voice calls. 

He scans the throng of well-dressed party-goers until he spots his sister, dressed in a marvelous deep purple gown, pushing through the sea of elites. 

Luke draws in a shaky breath and puts on what he hopes is a bright smile, though it feels more like a constipated grimace. Based on the way Leia’s face falls as she approaches him, she must think the same. 

“Is everything alright?” she asks.

“Leia—” His voice comes out shrill and pinched; he clears his throat and starts again. “I didn’t know you were here. You look amazing.” 

“Of course I’m here. You’ve been working hard on this damned museum, I wouldn’t miss the opening. I would have gotten here sooner, but Ben decided it was time for a tantrum just as I was trying to get out the door. Anyway, what’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Luke swallows. “I’m fine,” he says, despite knowing she can undoubtedly feel the turmoil within him.

Predictably, she doesn’t seem to believe him and sweeps an analytical eye over him. Her voice is quiet as she asks, “Him?”

Luke avoids her gaze, clenching his jaw.

“Is he here?” 

“It’s fine,” he tries to assure her, but his voice wavers. “He’s not a threat. He’s just… watching.” 

Her eyes narrow and there’s the barest hint of a scowl on her face, though nothing that any of the respectable passersby would recognize as such. 

“What did he say to you?”

“He— He was just being an asshole.” 

“What did you say?”

“I told him to fuck off.” 

“Good for you.” Leia squeezes his shoulder and gives him a sympathetic smile. “Need a drink?”

Luke breathes out a laugh, relieved that she seems to have accepted his deflection. “Do you even need to ask?”

Something behind him catches Leia’s eye. 

“Don’t look now,” she murmurs, ducking her head, “but the Chancellor is headed this way.” 

“Oh, gods,” Luke groans under his breath. 

It’s hard to imagine being in a worse headspace for a conversation with his boss. And not just his boss, but a galactic leader at that. 

“Master Skywalker,” Mon Mothma greets, and Luke turns to give her a measured bow of his head. She’s dressed in an elegant and understated white dress—that’s not all that different from what she normally wears—and walks with a cohort of senators at her elbow. “It’s good to see you. Minister Kelso told me your critiques of the museum were most... enlightening. We’re lucky to have your expertise.”

He gives her a tense smile. “Yes, he’s been saying quite a lot this evening, hasn’t he? To basically anyone who'll listen.”  

A look of surprise momentarily disturbs Mon Mothma’s tranquil expression, and one of the senators, a young-looking Pantoran, titters behind her hand. Luke senses concern radiating from Leia, and looks over to see an equally tense smile on her face.

“Hmm.” The Chancellor considers him for a moment. “Senator Kelso did say you’ve been quite outspoken recently,” she remarks, her face clear of any indication as to whether that’s a good thing or not. 

“Yes, well, that’s the reason I was asked to come here, isn't it? But it seems everyone just expects me to stay quiet and look pretty for the press. Believe me, I’d much prefer being where I was, out on the Outer Rim. Where I was actually making a difference.” 

The Pantoran senator wears her astonishment plainly on her face, while the others hide theirs behind well-seasoned neutral expressions, but Luke senses surprise in all of them and feels glad for it. 

The Chancellor keeps her own surprise well hidden. “I apologize, Master Jedi; I’m sure it was no one’s intention to insult you. Your opinion is highly regarded, I assure you.”

“I don’t want to be highly regarded. I want to be useful.”

Her passive expression stays fixed as she stares at him for a few seconds then says, “I understand.” She gestures to his robes and changes the subject. “This is striking,” she comments. “I heard a rumor that you and Senator Elgane are here together.” 

“Osteon is my date, yes.” 

“Hmm,” she says again. “I’m glad to hear that. The Senator is a fine man.” She nods to Leia. “Senator Organa.” 

Leia nods back. “Chancellor.” 

Luke looks back and forth between them. 

Since when has there been tension between his sister and the Chancellor? The two had been in conflict in the past, but Luke thought they’d long since reconciled any issues. Clearly, he’s out of the loop. 

“A good evening to you both,” the Chancellor says before breezing past them with her entourage in tow. 

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Luke turns to his sister. “What was all that about?”

Leia sighs and shakes her head. “A story for another time. Drink?”

“Sure. Have you seen Osteon?” He scans over the party but, as more and more people trickle in, it’s hard to single anyone out. The Force is no use, in its constant frenzied state, and the sheer amount of signatures surrounding him does nothing to help the chaos.

“Mmh, we should go rescue him. Last I saw him, he was talking to Senator Trenna and the rest of those old crones she hangs around with.” She links her arm with Luke’s and guides him back into the fray.

Luke senses the bitterness radiating from her and gives her a questioning look. 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she tells him, weaving through the crowd with purpose. “It’s just been a long day. Well, a long week, really.” She frowns. “A long month, maybe.” 

Luke realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s been so distracted recently that he doesn’t even know what’s been plaguing his own sister. Something is obviously on her mind and seemingly something big enough to drive a wedge between her and Mon Mothma.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Leia takes in a deep breath and shakes her head. “Not here. But we’ll talk when this is all over, yeah?” 

Luke nods and gives her a smile.

They eventually spot Osteon, trapped in a circle of giggling, elderly senators, whose conversation abruptly dies as Luke and Leia approach. 

“Luke,” Osteon says, his voice like warm honey, “there you are!” 

His relief is palpable. 

Senator Trenna hobbles over to Luke and passes a hand over the fabric of his cloak. “This is lovely,” she tells him. “We were just telling Osteon how glad we are to see you two here together. Such a handsome pair.” 

Luke forces a smile. “I’m quite lucky,” he says, and hopes it doesn’t sound as noncommittal as it feels. But he is lucky—and it frustrates him to no end that he can’t say so without it sounding forced. No one else seems to have noticed, however, so he pushes the thought to the back of his mind and reaches out to rest a hand on Osteon’s lower back. 

“Do you mind if I steal him from you, Senators?” 

“Of course we mind!” a Rodian whom Luke doesn’t recognize, answers. 

But Osteon only gives them an even smile and begins stepping away. “It was lovely to see you all,” he declares, and a collective sigh ripples through the group. “Do enjoy your evening.” He loops his arm around Luke’s and leans close to murmur a thank you into his ear.

Luke grins. “Leia and I were just going to get a drink. Care to join us?” 

“An excellent idea.”  

But their mission is again interrupted by a shrill voice calling out, “Senator Organa!”

Leia sighs but turns and gives a smile to the young Twi-lek that runs up to her. 

“Are you busy, Senator?” the Twi’lek asks. 

Luke doesn’t recognize her, but Leia clearly does. 

“That depends, Mandri,” she replies, a crease forming in her brow. “Who’s making you run their errands now?” 

The girl’s lekku quiver and she bounces on her heels. “Senator Biern was hoping you’d come talk to him about his trade proposal.”

Leia lets out another sigh and looks over to Luke and Osteon. “Excuse me for a moment,” she says, then turns back toward the Twi’lek. “Mandri, you really need to learn to tell people to do things for themselves,” Luke hears her saying as she follows after her. “It’s not fair for…” And then the two of them disappear into the throng of people. 

“I have a feeling she’ll be gone longer than a moment,” Osteon remarks. 

Luke chuckles. “You’re probably right.” 

He slides his hand down Osteon’s forearm and grips his hand as they make their way to the back of the garden where there’s an open bar, glittering underneath a row of party lights. There’s something grounding in Osteon’s presence as he laces their fingers together, though it does nothing to quiet the eddies of the Force that rush around him. He finds some comfort in having someone at his side who can navigate these bureaucratic waters with unwavering ease. Not to mention that Luke genuinely enjoys his company and, now that Din’s scalding presence has faded to a faint blip in the distance, he can do so without distractions. 

Well, almost. There’s still the fact that he feels like he’s hanging by a thread, one quick snip away from falling into oblivion.   

Luke orders a strong Alterrian spice and his hand shakes as he raises the glass to his lips and takes a grateful swig. He leans on the bar and focuses on the sting of the liquor as it burns down his throat. 

He’s aware of Osteon carefully watching him as he sips a glass of wine, looking rather more composed than Luke, hunched over the bar and gripping his glass. 

“Are you alright?” Osteon asks, though it seems clear from his tone of voice that he knows the answer. “Luke, what happened?”

Luke doesn’t get a chance to answer.

“Master Skywalker?” a lofty voice asks from behind him. 

If he has to hear those two words, said in that tone of voice one more time… 

But there’s nothing for it. He turns around and finds himself facing a tall Togruta woman. She’s dressed in an ostentatious silk dress with a large, red jewel hanging from a string of pearls around her neck and a set of earrings to match. She clearly comes from money and, judging from the way she holds her nose up in the air, feels it’s her right and privilege to pester Master Skywalker.  

Luke gives another forced smile and, by the way Osteon is watching him with a carefully guarded expression, he knows it must look as unhinged as he feels. Yet the woman seems not to notice and carries on. 

“My name is Duchess Elrennia Van Hess.” She says with a bow of her head. “My father is the regent of Itaika, a mining colony in the Bestine System.” 

“I’ve heard of it.”

More than that, he’s heard recent rumors of crime syndicate activity expanding into the mining operations in that system, though nothing concrete enough for the Republic to look into it.

“We mine allrex ore,” she tells him. “My family’s been in this business for generations. But nearly our entire workforce has gone on strike.” 

Luke unclenches his jaw to take another sip of the sharp booze, already dreading what she’s going to ask of him. 

“Our whole operation is shut down—I’m sure you can imagine how much that’s costing us. We heard about what you did for Czerka Arms on Tarakine and we were hoping you might be able to help us similarly.” 

Luke’s stomach sours again; he hadn’t done anything for Czerka Arms at all, and he resents the suggestion that he had. His negotiations had been on behalf of their workers. Anything Czerka gained from the agreement was purely peripheral.

“Well”—Luke takes another swig—”have you tried giving them what they’re asking for?” 

He feels a ripple of surprise radiate from Osteon and a stab of indignance from the duchess, who scoffs. 

“Our workers are well taken care of, Master Jedi, I assure you. Their claims are baseless; we provide them with everything they could possibly want.” 

Luke finishes off his drink and fixes her with his most direct stare. “Workers who are well taken care of don’t usually risk their livelihoods to go on strike.” 

The duchess’ jaw slackens and her eyes scan rapidly over Luke’s features, as if trying to assess whether or not he’s joking—but he’s deadly serious and continues staring at her without relenting. 

Osteon lets out a forced chuckle and steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Luke’s elbow. 

“Please forgive us, duchess, we’ve had quite a long week trying to get the museum ready for the grand opening. This is a lovely necklace, by the way,” he says, gesturing to it. “A Burcana ruby, if I’m not mistaken?” 

The woman seems somewhat mollified, or at least no longer actively bristling, and brushes a hand over the jewel. 

“Cono, actually,” she says slowly, watching the two of them, “but you have a good eye.” 

Hot resentment burns Luke up from the inside out. 

Osteon isn’t his handler. What right does he have to step in, to treat Luke like he can’t take care of his own affairs? Must Luke always pander to these people? Can’t he speak his mind even once?

He grits his teeth and scowls down at his empty glass.

Next to him, Osteon gives the duchess a smile that looks genuinely warm, though Luke can sense his anxiety beneath the surface. 

“As for your concerns,” Osteon tells her, “might I suggest you speak to Minister Kelso about this matter? He oversees Luke's work and the rest of the ambassadors for the Republic. And, as a matter of fact, you’re in luck. He’s standing just over there.” He points to where the Minister is mingling with a group of people a few yards away, laughing and gesturing wildly. “I’m sure he’d love to hear your complaints. He’ll be the best one to help you.” 

Luke can’t help but snort aloud at the poetic justice of sending her to Kelso, which earns him a disgruntled glance from both Osteon and Duchess Van Hess. He feels an inkling of shame within him, knowing that Osteon is only trying to help him, but it’s buried beneath the still-burning desire to give the uppity duchess a piece of his mind. At the very least, he can appreciate Osteon’s efforts to give Kelso a taste of his own medicine. 

The duchess rubs the pearls around her neck as she looks back to Osteon and considers what he’d said. 

“Is he indeed? I see.” She thinks for another moment, her lips pursed and frowning. “Alright, I’ll go speak with him.” 

She gives Osteon a bow of her head and passes Luke one more unsavory look before flitting away with her nose still held high, off to go inflict herself upon the unsuspecting minister. Luke might get more satisfaction out of it if he didn’t feel so raw and wrung out.

As soon as the duchess turns her back on them, Osteon rakes a concerned gaze over Luke’s face. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks again. 

Luke considers his response. The truthful answer of course is ‘no,’ but it’s not the socially proper answer. And anyway, Osteon can surely see for himself what the truth is; Luke hasn’t exactly been subtle. 

“I’m alright,” he says, and that vicious, angry part of himself starts to deflate. He’s too exhausted to be angry and, when all else fails, deflection is as good as anything. He quirks a brow and lets a smile show. “So you’re a gossip expert and a gems expert now?” he teases.

Osteon chuckles. “I come from a family of collectors, so I know a little bit about a lot of things. Comes in handy for small talk.”

“Mmhmm. I see that.” 

“It’s… something of a skill in my line of work.”

“Small talk?”

Osteon nods. 

Luke is silent for a couple seconds and examines his features—so solid, so earnest, as if cut from marble—and finds himself quietly asking, “How do you bear it?” 

For the first time maybe ever, Osteon doesn’t seem to have an answer. He only shrugs—a movement which looks foreign to him—and gives a smile.

Luke lets the silence settle, then says, “I think I need another drink.” He turns to head back toward the bar, but Osteon snags him by the elbow. 

His voice is low as he says, “Luke… I think you’ve done all that’s expected of you here.” 

Luke’s shame rises to the surface now. He used to feel this way when he was a kid, after he’d thrown a fit over something he later realized was silly: exposed and vulnerable. He stares at the ground. 

"We can leave whenever you’re ready,” Osteon murmurs, leaning in closer. 

Luke worries his lip with his teeth and his shame turns to an anxious fluttering that gnaws at the pit of his stomach.

This is good, he tells himself. This is good.

He takes a step closer to Osteon so they’re nearly chest to chest, and stares up at him. 

“Take me home?” he whispers, tilting his head to give him a slightly suggestive look.

Osteon swallows visibly, still scanning Luke’s face with a furrowed brow.

“To my apartment, you mean?”

Luke shrugs. “If you want.” 

“Alright.” Osteon nods slowly. “Let’s start saying our goodbyes.” His presence is… clouded, like he isn’t quite sure what to feel and Luke can’t blame him for that. There’s something like excitement in the mix, closely tied to anticipation, and a shroud of concern cast over his entire demeanor, but there’s no resistance to Luke’s suggestion. None at all. 

It’s nice, Luke realizes, that he knows exactly where he stands with Osteon. He never has to wonder. 

He resigns himself to the obnoxious task of disentangling himself from the event and all the while reminds himself that he’s doing the right thing in choosing Osteon. Whatever he still feels for Din, rattling around somewhere in the back of his mind, is irrelevant now. It will pass. 

Chapter Text

Luke disappears over the edge of the terrace as swiftly and silently as he’d appeared, but Din stays where he is, on his knees and gripping his blaster—as if it could possibly defend him against the Jedi. He’s seen already how much good it does against Luke, but he’s never experienced anything like this. 

He can still see him in his mind’s eye, dressed in black and highlighted in brilliant white, standing against the Coruscant skyline, his hand outstretched and a dark look in his eye. 

It was unlike anything Din had ever seen from him, a terrifying taste of his true, raw power, fueled by some kind of primal anger that seemed so unlike him. Luke has always been a formidable adversary—Din never had any doubts about that—but he hadn’t realized the extent to which the Jedi had been holding back on him.

He closes his eyes, his heart still pounding in his chest, blood still rushing in his ears, and flexes his fingers. He clenches his hand into a fist and looks back at the wall, dented where he’d been thrown into it with more force than Luke had ever used on him before. 

He can’t remember ever feeling so powerless, unable to lift even a finger against his opponent. It seems impossible that someone could exert so much control over someone else with just a flick of their wrist, and yet Luke had done it without a thought, as easy as anything. It just goes to show how much Din still doesn’t understand about the Jedi—and how much of a fool’s errand this mission is. 

For the first time, he finds himself truly regretting picking up Luke’s puck when other hunters had been wise enough to leave it alone. 

When the adrenaline rush starts to wear off and his heart slows its hammering, he picks up his disruptor rifle and stands on the balcony for several long moments. He knows it would be smartest to leave. It’s not as if there’s any new intel he can glean from watching Luke. He already knows everything he needs to about this mark—which is to say, he knows there’s no way he can defeat him.

Still, a dangerous curiosity grips him and keeps him where he is. 

He remembers Luke telling him about the Force and the darker side of it that tries to tempt wayward Jedi. At the time, Din had thought it unfathomable that something like that could ever hold sway over someone like Luke. The man is feral at times, sure, but Din has never once doubted that he’s good. A good, kind man with a soft heart. A better man than him, certainly.

Now he wonders if this so-called Dark Side of the Force has sunk its hooks into Luke afterall. He knows almost nothing about the matter, but he knows that Luke hadn’t been himself. He’d seen it from the moment he first appeared behind him, dressed in the finery he wore like a funeral suit. There’d been something distant in his eyes, something hard and angry lurking beneath the surface, nearly hidden but not quite. 

He remembers, too, Luke explaining that the old Jedi had banned personal attachments for fear it would lead to the Dark Side. While Din still doesn’t entirely understand that logic, he can’t help but wonder if it isn’t Luke’s feelings for him that had caused this change in him. Afterall, Luke had jumped into this little tryst of theirs with both feet, head first, and with no obvious concern for where it would lead. Was that what he’d meant about the dangers of attachment? Could that have been what led to this?

Din shakes the notion from his head. 

Luke himself had said he rejects the idea, and he knows more about it than Din. Besides, he and Luke barely know each other—even if sometimes it doesn’t feel that way—so surely it can’t be that.

He knows there’s no good reason for him to be curious about what goes on in the Jedi’s head. There’s no reason for him to want to understand it—if he even can—and yet he finds he can’t just resign himself to walk away and leave it alone like he knows he should. 

Scowling at himself, he props the rifle back up on the railing and stares through its scope. 

He sees Luke talking with his sister, then with a tall woman in white, then with the Zabrak senator that Din’s come to recognize. He tries to ignore the traitorous jealousy that turns over in his gut and focuses instead on the way everyone’s gaze follows Luke wherever he goes. As far away as he is, the scope only picks up distorted bits of chatter here and there, but it’s clear that everyone worships him—though clearly not enough to notice that he’s falling apart, that he’s about as stable as a ticking grenade. 

But how could they see it? Luke has them all fooled, walking around like he’s some kind of stately dignitary instead of a wild thing, sharp like a switchblade and too smart by half. Are all of these people really so blind they can’t see the parts he keeps barely contained beneath the surface? 

Din watches him order a strong drink, his shoulders tense and hunched, and he knows it must take an immense amount of effort to hold all of that in. He can see it in the pained expression on his face, in the way he grips his glass with a shaking arm. But maybe he can only see Luke’s struggle because he knows it’s there, because Luke already told him how much he hates all this. Maybe no one else can see it because Luke doesn’t want them to. 

And then Din remembers something else Luke had told him: that hate and resentment are tools of the Dark Side, that giving into them led to… What was it? Corruption? Something like that. He’d said that he chooses not to shun attachments but to embrace love as the opposite of hate, the antithesis of the Dark Side. 

That may be true, but that’s not what Din sees now. He sees a man filled to the brim with resentment and holding it back with every ounce of willpower he can muster. He sees a man who’s funneled so much of his energy into putting on airs that he’s left nothing for himself. 

He can’t help but wonder if it’s Luke’s own hatred of his role, of the expectations placed on him, even of the Republic itself, that’s fed this new darkness within him, allowed it to take hold of him.

It seems an obvious suggestion to him, but Luke apparently refuses to see it—or just doesn’t want to—and neither can anyone else. All these politicians with their pomp and supposed admiration for him… They all seem content to put him on a pedestal as he slowly wrecks himself. Then when he falls, they’ll surely say it came from nowhere. 

Din finds himself angry at the thought of it—and that’s when he straightens up, grabs his rifle, and scoffs at himself.

There’s no reason for him to be angry about this. This is Luke’s problem. It has nothing to do with him. That’s what he tells himself as he ignites his jetpack and heads back toward his ship.

Yet the feeling simmers under his skin regardless. 

He knows it can’t be his responsibility to care about Luke and he's clearly not interested in hearing it from him anyway. Luke will have to figure out his own problems and Din will have to figure out how to stop caring about what happens to him. 

Those are the cold facts of the matter, but the reality isn’t nearly as simple. 

Even as he leaves the gala behind him, the image of Luke, darkened and ferocious, follows him. There’s some part of him that just can’t stomach the idea of it. It has little to do with fear but everything to do with… something else. Something that’s much harder to come to terms with.

Din hasn’t seen a lot of real good in the galaxy. In his lowest moments, he’s even let himself believe that it doesn’t exist at all. 

Luke disproves that idea with his very existence. He’s not perfect—far from it—but he is good, right down to his very center. If he falls the way he’d described, loses himself to violence, what hope is there for anyone else? For the galaxy?

Din’s not much of a romantic, but he’s grown accustomed in recent weeks to the thought of meeting his end at the hands of someone like that: a righteous, virtuous man. It seems as good a death as any. 

The idea that he might be killed by that Luke, the angry, hateful Luke from the balcony… that thought is harder to sit with. It doesn’t seem like it should be, but it is. He’s invested, somehow, in Luke’s legacy, in the idea that there should be some shred of goodness in this galaxy, even if Din doesn’t know how to embody it himself.

When he gets back to the Crest, he tears his helmet off and runs his hands through his hair, letting out a wracked exhale. 

None of this is right. Not just Luke’s fall but the fact that it concerns him any farther than how it affects his own well-being.

He tries to shrug off the thoughts that nag at him and climbs into the cockpit where he toggles a few switches and lets the familiar sound of the ship humming to life offer him some comfort.

The only thing that should matter now is finishing the job he’d set out to do. It isn’t in his blood to give up, even when he knows he has almost no chance of success. He’s never run from death and he doesn’t plan on starting now.

He checks his comms and finds a holomessage from Cara. He plays it and sees Fennec, standing with her arms crossed. 

“I found your client,” she says. “It wasn’t easy, but—” 

Din shuts off the transmission with a quick, forceful hand, guilt crushing down on him at the realization of just how far he’s strayed from his mission. If he never hears the client’s name, maybe that can somehow erase the fact that he’d asked for it when he never should have. 

Slim comforts in times like these, but he’ll take what he can get.

Swallowing back his shame with some struggle, he checks the rest of his comms and finds Karga has left him a message as well, again demanding updates on the hunt. Din knows he’s put off responding to him for long enough, so he slides into the pilot’s seat and punches in Karga’s code. 

“Djarin,” he says as the transmission connects. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to make me mad.”

“I’ve been busy.” 

“So I’ve heard.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The look on Karga’s face is far from comforting. “Allow me to refresh your memory.” 

The hologram switches over to a holovideo, depicting an all too familiar scene: two men, one in Mandalorian armor and the other with a lightsaber strapped to his hip, lip-locked against the wall of an alley. 

Din’s heart plummets to his feet, unable to help the flush that rises in his cheeks, fueled by a sour feeling of embarrassment. He does his best to keep a straight face as the video cuts off and he’s faced with Karga again, staring at him with his hands on his hips.

“How did you get this?” Din demands. “Did you hire someone to tail me?”

“I keep track of all my hunters, Din. I’ve never had a reason to keep an eye on you before, but you haven’t been yourself recently. Now, you know I’ve always liked you, so I’m happy to keep this our secret—but you know how quickly things like this can spread in the Guild. You know how hunters like to talk.” 

Din glowers at the hologram. “Blackmail, Karga? Really? That seems low—even for you.” 

“Nothing is beneath me, Mando.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “But don’t mistake me: I’m concerned for you. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that a scandal like this could destroy your reputation.”

Din breathes out through his nose. “What do you want?” 

“I’m a simple man: I want you to stop wasting time and bring me my bounty. Unless you don’t think you’ll be able to do it…”

“I can do it.” 

“Fine. But I’m assigning another hunter to work with you. Since you obviously need help thinking clearly.” 

Din grits his teeth but says nothing, knowing he has no right to protest. 

“You’ve heard of Derron Kest, I assume?”

“Kest?” Din can’t help but scoff. “You can’t be serious. He’s a kid.” 

“He’s my highest earner right now—which used to be you, Djarin”—Karga points a finger at him—”if you remember. Maybe you can learn something from him, remember who you used to be.”

Din can’t deny the way that rankles. He remembers when Kest had been new to the Guild, fumbling his way through his first hunt and barely managing to bring in a soft, slow bail jumper. He’d been the laughingstock of the Guild for months after that and it seems that had only fueled him to do better.

“Fine,” Din agrees, bitterly. “Where am I meeting him?”

“He’ll meet you on Coruscant. I’ll send you the rendezvous coordinates. Oh, and one more thing: the client no longer cares if Skywalker is brought in alive. They’ll accept proof of termination—for a lower fee.” 

Din swallows hard, a stab of dread puncturing him.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you,” Karga continues. “Will it?” 

“No.” 

“Good. And I’m warning you, Djarin. This is your last chance. Finish. The. Job.”

Din gives him a stiff nod, then ends the transmission. He knows he has no right to be angry—he hasn’t been doing his job well recently—but he’s still insulted by the idea that he doesn’t know how to do what he’s best at. He knows how to do it. He’s just been choosing not to do it recently. There’s a difference. 

But it’s not like it matters. Even with backup, he’s no match for Luke Skywalker. No one is. But if Karga wants to send another one of his hunters—his highest earner, apparently—on a suicide mission, then so be it. It won’t make a difference, anyway.

Chapter Text

Luke feels like an exposed nerve as he undoes the clasp of his cloak and hangs it on the hook next to the door. 

Osteon’s apartment is chic and elegant, and Luke is hyper-aware of every detail: the hum of the lights which flick on as they enter, the glare off the sleek hardwood floors, the speeders that rush past the balcony beyond the tall glass windows. Although it’s slightly more bearable than Luke’s stuffy suite, the place looks more like a designer showroom than it does an apartment. The bright woven rugs that cover large swaths of the hardwood are free of any dust or debris and every surface is barren, no clutter nor trinkets in sight. 

It’s a nice place, welcoming and pleasing to the eye, but it doesn’t feel lived in. 

Luke looks over the living room, as meticulously curated as the museum he’d just come from, and feels an ache open up inside himself. He’s filled with a sudden and unbearable longing to go home— but he has no idea where that is. It certainly isn’t his apartment on Chandrila or anywhere else that comes to mind, but that doesn’t stop him from craving the comforts of home with an ache so sharp it hurts.

He feels raw and ragged, adrift among the tides of the Force that mercilessly berate him, hissing in his ears and tugging at his clothes with no clear direction. Now, in the calm of Osteon’s apartment, he can feel the chill of Din’s fear still lingering on his skin, reminding him of how he’d nearly lost himself. 

But now here he is, in a nice apartment with a kind, respectable man—the sort of thing he should be doing. The sort of thing that ought to keep him on the straight-and-narrow. 

For his part, Osteon seems less self-assured than he’d been earlier; there’s a hint of tension along his shoulders and a fluttering of nerves emanating from his presence. 

“It’s just a temporary apartment, but I’ve grown rather fond of it,” he says, leading him toward a dark auburn couch that looks like it was designed by someone famous Luke should probably recognize. He notices the embroidery on the carefully arranged throw pillows matches the weave of the rugs.

“Breggarian style,” Osteon says in answer to Luke’s inquisitive look, “from the Kieress province, where I’m from. I always ask for them.” He gestures to the couch. “Please, sit.” 

Luke lowers himself onto the expensive upholstery and half worries it will break from being used. Osteon sits next to him, their knees just brushing against each other, and watches Luke with that same full expression, like in one moment he’s overwhelmed just to be sitting next to him and in the next he’s scrambling to understand exactly who he is . He rakes his gaze over Luke’s tired features, like he’s searching for answers, and Luke wonders if he’ll find any there. 

If he does, he’d be interested in hearing them, since he’s grappling with that same question himself. 

“Luke.” Osteon rests a hand on his knee. “What’s wrong? What happened while you were gone? You don’t have to tell me, of course, but I can’t help but notice you seem…"

Luke opens his mouth to tell him about the encounter with Din, but his throat tightens just at the thought of it and he knows he can’t talk about that. 

He swallows, runs a hand through his hair, and opts for something safer. 

"I know I’ve been… in rough shape recently. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you at the gala."

Osteon chuckles. “You didn’t embarrass me, Luke. You’re so free with your words; I admire that about you. Not many people are that brave.” 

“Not many can afford to be,” Luke mutters, staring down at the intricate weave of the rug beneath the coffee table, tracing the pattern with his eyes. 

A few moments pass in silence, then Osteon reaches out and cups his face, gently turning his head to look at him. 

Luke does so and begs himself to feel anything when he meets Osteon’s golden eyes—but he still just feels wrecked, stretched thin and aching for something he can’t put his finger on. He leans into the touch regardless and lets his eyes fall shut as Osteon brushes his thumb over his cheek.

When he opens his eyes again, Osteon is leaning just a little closer to him and there’s a question lingering in his eyes. Whatever that question is, Luke knows he won’t have an answer for it, so he closes the distance between them and kisses him, tasting the lingering hints of wine on his lips. Osteon sighs into it, like he’s been waiting for this moment for ages, and continues stroking Luke’s cheek.  

Taking that as encouragement, Luke climbs into his lap and kisses him harder. That draws a husky moan from Osteon which at least makes Luke feel something: a hot flash of arousal that spikes in his core. 

I can work with this, Luke thinks, and slides his hands under Osteon’s shirt to wander over the soft skin there. I know how to do this.

“Should we take this to my room?” Osteon breathes out between kisses.

Luke smirks and nips at his bottom lip. “I think that’s an excellent idea,” he murmurs, and gets a clinical sort of enjoyment from the way Osteon shivers at that, his pupils blowing wide. 

They leave a trail of fine garments leading to the bedroom, where Osteon lays him back onto the bed. He brushes a hand across Luke’s chest, eyes wandering over the white scars which streak across his torso. Luke curls his fingers around the back of Osteon’s neck and pulls him in for another deep kiss, again to stop him from asking any questions. Osteon seems happy enough to comply and wraps an arm around Luke’s waist, bringing them chest to chest. 

Osteon fucks him deep and slow, his face buried in Luke’s neck and occasionally sucking kisses against the skin at the base of his throat. Luke shuts his eyes and rocks his hips into his thrusts, trying to focus only on the rhythm of their bodies moving against each other, on the sound of Osteon’s breathing growing ragged in his ear. But in his mind’s eye he can still see himself on that terrace, outlined in black against the Coruscant skyline, with his hand outstretched and Din pinned against the wall. He can still smell Din’s fear of him, now mingled with the scent of sweat and sex, even as waves of pleasure roll through him.

Then Osteon takes him into his hand and he does forget for a moment, all other thoughts pushed aside by the feeling of Osteon stroking up and down his shaft with a firm, steady pace. Osteon holds his gaze as Luke shakes and shudders beneath his touch, then finally spills into his hand. He moans out, his back arching off the bed and hands gripping Osteon’s back as he finishes. 

Osteon kisses him sweetly, still buried inside him, as Luke comes back to himself. He runs his fingers down Osteon's back and squeezes his ass. 

“Come on,” he whispers against his cheek and that’s all the permission Osteon needs to keep going. A few quick thrusts and Osteon’s hips snap forward as he finishes deep inside, groaning Luke’s name into the crook of his neck. 

Luke stares up at the ceiling, feeling the rise and fall of Osteon’s rib cage underneath his hands. They eventually separate and get themselves cleaned up. When they climb back into bed, Luke rolls over onto his side, moving back against Osteon who wraps his arms around him and holds him against his chest. 

Usually at this point in the evening Luke would be talking at hyperspeed, verbalizing any thought that comes to his head—but what is there to say now? That was great? 

It was, but it would seem beside the point to say it when he’s consumed by a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach and the mental image of Din staring at him with fear in his heart.

That’s not the only thought in his head, as he settles into Osteon’s embrace: he misses Din, he realizes, but not the closed-off and angry Din from the balcony. He misses the gentle, soft-spoken man who’d spent the night in his hotel room, who’d laughed with him, who’d melted into his touch. He misses that Din with a pang that resonates more acutely than it has any right to. 

It’s beyond comprehension. How can he lie here, in the arms of someone who’s clearly a better choice for him, and still be thinking of someone else? He feels sick from longing, from confusion, even from exhaustion. 

In a few minutes, Osteon dozes off, his breathing growing even and warm against the back of Luke’s neck, but Luke stays awake for a long time. He stares out into the darkness, unable to tune out the sounds of speeder traffic that can still be heard, albeit faintly, even through the walls of the highrise. 

When he finally drifts off, it’s into a light, troubled sleep.

He dreams again of a cliff overlooking a rocky, red wasteland. He’s standing on its precipice as the wind rushes all around him, tousling his hair and stinging his skin. The sunrise bleeds a bright, dripping red just like it had before, and brings with it a black sun that casts no light over the barren desert.

Arvala Seven, the wind whispers. Arvala Seven.

Then suddenly, as with last time, he isn’t alone. Din is standing next to him, his bright silver armor shining out against the bleak landscape like a beacon. Luke can’t hear the wind anymore, nor feel it biting at his cheeks. The only thing he can feel is a warm, subtle tenderness that builds within him and spreads through him as naturally as if it were his very blood. 

It’s a feeling of home. A feeling he’s long forgotten.

The last time he remembers anything like it, he was nineteen and sitting on the counter in the kitchen of his home on Tatooine, watching Aunt Beru show him how to chop banthaweed. 

He looks over at Din, who looks back, and feels his gaze radiate through his bones—then he jolts awake.

Osteon is still fast asleep, so he disentangles himself and slips out of bed. He throws on his tunic and pants and pads into the living room, standing for a moment in the silence before stepping out onto the balcony. 

Not for the first time, he remembers there’s no rest on Coruscant, no respite from the constant hustle and bustle even in the wee hours of the night. He’s overwhelmed by sounds as soon as the door slides open and he takes in a deep breath of the thick, night air, finding little relief in it.

He rests his forearms on the railing and stares out into the restless city. The Force vibrates beneath his skin, as if it were impatient with him, and urges him to action, but even when he closes his eyes and focuses on its insistence, he still can’t discern what it wants from him. 

Maybe the answer is on Arvala Seven. He’s been so busy with the museum opening that he’s only had time to do some quick research on the place, discovering that it is in fact an empty desert planet in the Outer Rim and not much else. It would be at least a three day trip from Coruscant, if not longer, and Kelso already has him booked out with meetings and missions for the next several weeks. 

Luke lets out a frustrated exhale and scrubs a hand over his face. 

When he opens his eyes, he leans farther over the railing and surveys the drop down to the walkway. It’s a significant distance, considering Osteon’s apartment is on floor 105, but for a moment he’s consumed by the compulsion to leap, if only to feel something other than the Force’s nagging for just a few seconds. He remembers the rush he’d felt when he’d jumped to the lower levels when Din was chasing him and he craves that kind of thrill again. But he’d been running from something real then, something that could be run from. This is different; it can’t be outrun or drowned out. It lives within him.

He shakes off the impulse and grips the railing so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

He wonders if his father had ever felt this way. 

They say he was a reckless, impulsive man, that he often acted without thinking, that he was always on the move. Maybe, Luke dares to think, his father had been running from the same feeling that chases him now. Maybe it had driven him to do all those terrible things. 

Did he ever stop running from it? Had it followed him until the very end?

Luke chokes on the thought, suddenly chilled to his very center. 

He could never be like his father. He has to believe in that. And yet… 

How much longer can he live with this constant pressure, this neverending insistence? What wouldn’t he do to get rid of it? How long until it drives him out of his mind and he loses himself completely? 

His head spins, his nails dig into the cold metal of the railing, and his stomach churns. For a second, he fears he’ll be sick, nauseated by the thought of a lifetime like this, chained to a cursed lineage with no one left to guide him through it. 

Then another line of questioning takes over, but this time the voice in his head isn’t his own. It’s Din’s.

‘Do you like what you do?’ 

‘What are you doing? You hate this. Why do you let them do this to you?’ 

‘You’re Luke Skywalker. You don’t have to do anything.’

Din, as inscrutable as he can be, has a funny way of seeing right to the crux of things. Perhaps he’d seen something Luke hadn’t allowed himself to face. 

He finds himself wishing he could talk to him, ask what he’d meant by all that, ask what he thinks he should do… 

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the door sliding open. He turns to see Osteon, shirtless and rubbing sleep out of his eyes as he steps out onto the balcony. 

“Luke?” He yawns. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” Luke says, his voice coming out cracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’alright. What are you doing out here?” 

“Just trying to clear my head, I guess.” Luke looks down at his hands and lets a long moment slip by, then glances over at him. “Osteon, do you enjoy what you do?”

Osteon blinks, his eyes bleary. “What?”

“I mean, being a senator. Do you enjoy it? Do you believe in it?”

Osteon’s brow furrows and he yawns again. “Of course I do.” 

Luke nods and stares out at the city, finding he’s disappointed to hear that. He feels out on a limb, alone in his doubts. 

“Luke.” Osteon reaches out and takes his hand. “Why are you asking me about this?”

“I mean, don’t you ever question it? What we do? Who we work for?” 

Osteon watches him for another long moment, the sobering line of questioning starting to wake him up. 

“Sometimes I do, I suppose. But it’s my responsibility to look out for my constituents, my planet, to protect their interests. I do it for them. And, at the end of the day, I believe in the Republic. I believe in what we’re trying to do for the galaxy.”

A searing hot flash of anger rips through Luke suddenly, rising out of nowhere and taking control in mere moments. 

“So the ends justify the means?” he snaps, rounding on him and ripping his hand away.

Osteon gapes at him. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then shuts it again. 

“So we should be able to do whatever we want because we say we have good intentions?” The perimeter of Luke’s vision is tinged in red, as if the skyline were catching fire. The heat of it scorches him and seems to intensify the awful nagging under his skin. 

“I— I didn’t say that,” Osteon stammers, eyes wide and scanning rapidly over Luke’s face. 

“So whatever we do is permissible because we claim to be better than the Empire?” Luke’s breath is hot and fast, his chest heaving as if from exertion. He feels capable of anything. 

“We are better than the Empire.” Osteon takes a small step back, tension creasing his forehead. 

“And that’s enough?” Luke barks out a bitter laugh. “Is the bar really that low?”

“Wh— Where is this coming from? The Republic may not be perfect, but we’re trying to make the galaxy a better place.” 

“And are we succeeding?” He gestures wildly, his voice rising, clawing its way out of his throat. “I look around the galaxy and all I see is people suffering, struggling under the boot of people more powerful than them. And I—” His voice cracks. “I enable it! I enable it every day that I go to work and so do you.” Luke takes a step closer to him, ignoring the space Osteon had created between them. 

Osteon visibly swallows and grips the railing next to him, completely bewildered as he again stammers to get a sentence out. “Luke, wh— I— What’s gotten into you? We can talk about this, but let’s be reasonable. This doesn’t seem like you, Luke. This seems like… someone else.” There’s fear written plainly in his features, but Luke doesn’t draw back from it this time. It only fuels his anger further. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke snarls. 

Osteon’s voice trembles. “You’re not yourself, Luke, I know that. Why don’t we go inside and sit down?” 

Luke can hardly hear him over the blood rushing in his ears.

“Maybe I am myself. Maybe I’m finally seeing things clearly—”

“Luke, please—”

“Maybe I can finally see the Republic for what it is—”

“You can’t honestly believe the Republic is evil—” 

“But do you honestly believe we’re doing the right thing for the galaxy?” His voice rises nearly to a shout. “That the average person is better off because of it? You can’t honestly be that naive.” 

And, Force, the air is stifling. He can feel sweat dripping down his back, yet he’s cold somehow, simultaneously burning with heat yet chilled to the bone.

“Luke.” Osteon braves a step toward him. “Lower your voice and let’s talk about this like rational adults.” 

Luke’s anger boils over.

“I am being rational,” he hisses through gritted teeth, then in a flash, his hand raises and his fingers curl into a fist. 

In front of him, Osteon makes a harsh choking sound and reaches for his throat, his heels lifting from the ground as he’s dragged upward. He tries to gasp out a word but only manages a sharp rasp and claws at the invisible hand around his neck, his face contorted with panic.

And then the entire world seems to turn on itself and comes falling down around Luke, pulling him out of his stupor and clearing the red from his vision.

He releases his fist, horror flooding him as Osteon stumbles backward and gasps for air, staring at Luke with terror written all over his face and in his shaking form. 

Luke can hardly comprehend the depths of his guilt and the world continues turning around him with dizzying speed, his heart slamming in his chest. 

He reaches out toward Osteon with trembling hands. “Osteon, I—”

Osteon recoils—and Luke knows there’s no fixing this. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. 

“I’m so sorry,” Luke manages, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

Osteon says nothing, only stares at him in shock. 

Luke turns and leaves, aware of nothing as he bolts back through Osteon’s apartment, then out into the long hallway and into the elevator. 

The ride down is agony. He taps his foot against the floor in an erratic rhythm, blinking away the tears that threaten to fall, and tries to even his frantic breathing.

He’s not entirely sure how he ends up back at his hotel room. The next thing he knows, he’s bursting through the door and immediately stumbles into the ‘fresher where he collapses to his knees and retches into the toilet. 

After a few moments, he crawls backward and sits with his back to the wall and his head in his hands. 

And he cries. 

He weeps hard into the crook of his elbow for Force knows how long, then leans his head against the wall and stares up at the ceiling, gasping for breath. 

He knows he should reach out to Leia—but it would only scare her. Besides, what could she do to help him? What could anyone do? It’s not like there’s a blueprint for navigating away from the Dark Side. Not that he knows of, anyway, but anyone he could have asked is dead now. 

Abruptly, he stands and realizes something: now that the gala is over, there’s nothing keeping him on this planet anymore. 

That, at least, is freeing. 

He opens the door to the fresher, and Artoo is waiting for him on the other side. 

He gives a low whistle. 

“I’m alright, Artoo,” Luke tells him, and it sounds flimsy even to himself. “I bet you’ve been pretty bored cooped up in here, huh?” 

Artoo beeps a few shrill notes. 

“We’re going back to Chandrila, I guess.” Luke frowns at the idea and crosses to the bedroom where he starts pulling his robes out of the dresser and tossing them into his bag. “I’ve got some meetings at the senate building coming up and not much time to go anywhere else in between.” 

Another series of beeps. 

Luke sighs. “I know. But hopefully we’ll be assigned something more exciting soon…”

Though, in truth, it’s been a long time since he was sent on any mission that truly excited him. 

Before he leaves, he looks at the gift basket, opened but mostly untouched, still sitting on the table. There’s a note on it from Kelso (or his assistant, anyway), with a generic message thanking Luke for his help and so on and so forth. He’d never bothered reading it. He flips the note over, scribbles out a quick ‘take whatever you like’ and leaves it with the basket for the staff. 

Luke and Artoo leave the room behind them without so much as a second glance.

The trip to Chandrila feels excruciatingly long and the events of the evening play through Luke’s mind in a tortuous, never-ending loop. When he gets to his apartment in Hanna City, there’s no comfort there either. Even though he’s been gone for weeks, staying on a planet he hates, there’s no sense of relief as he walks through the door.

The place is bare and quiet, with nothing on the walls and only a few things on the shelves. There’s still a handful of boxes scattered around that he’s never bothered to unpack. It’s not as if he spends much time here, anyway. He’s usually out on a mission or, when he is on Chandrila, at Han and Leia’s house. The Republic gave him this apartment as part of his employment contract, but he’s never made it his own, only ever haunted the place, stopping by for a few nights before going on to his next mission. 

He’s missed several comms from Leia on the trip over, so he finally pulls out his holomessenger and plays one of her messages. 

‘Luke,’ she says to him through the hologram, ‘I just talked to Osteon. He’s worried about you. I’m worried about you, too. Please get back to me. Let me know you’re okay. Please.’

Luke tosses the holomessenger on the table, then collapses in a chair next to it and lays his head down, burying his face in his arms. He knows it isn’t right to leave her waiting, wondering, but he can’t reach out to her. Not yet. He can’t face her, not now that she knows what he’s done. 

What must she think of him? 

Artoo lets out a quiet whistle. 

“It’s alright, Artoo,” Luke mumbles, as much for his own benefit as for the droid. “I’m alright.” 

He stays like that for a long time, slumped over the table, and lets the silence of the apartment settle over him. 

Chapter Text

When Din walks down the boarding ramp, Kest is already waiting for him at the rendez-vous point, leaning up against the side of his ship. 

“Djarin,” Kest says, standing up straight and shouldering the pack he has slung over his shoulder. “You’re late.” 

“I’ll make a note of it.”

The Zygerrian certainly looks older than Din remembers; it must have been years since he last saw him. He’s taller and broader than he used to be and seems to have finally grown into his ears, but his smug expression is the same as always. His feline eyes glint in the low lighting and his mouth wears a constant smirk, like he’s just done something quite impressive and is awaiting applause. 

“I mean, I heard that you’ve been off your game recently, but this is just downright unprofessional.” 

Din grits his teeth and lets out a slow exhale through his nose. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Fine by me. Skywalker’s on the move. His fob is pinging from the Chandrila system.”

“I know.”

“It looks like he’s in Hanna City.” 

“Think that’s because he lives there?” 

Kest takes a step forward to peer into his visor. “Is that an attitude I’m detecting?”

“Nothing gets past you,” Din deadpans. “Let’s just get going. We’re taking my ship.” He turns and heads back up the boarding ramp, but Kest stays where he is. 

“Karga said I’m in charge of this mission,” he calls out toward Din’s retreating figure, “so we’ll take my ship.”

“We’re taking my ship,” Din calls back, already climbing the ladder to the cockpit. 

He hears footsteps walking up the ramp, accompanied by the sound of grumbling and cursing. “Damned Mandalorians,” being the only phrase he can make out.

The trip to Chandrila is tense, to say the least. Once the hyperdrive is programmed, Din leaves Kest in the cockpit with a warning of, “Touch anything and you’ll regret it,” then spends the rest of the trip prepping his armor.

He makes sure he’s loaded down with nearly all the bacta and stims he has on board—not that he thinks it will make a difference, but at least no one can say he didn’t come prepared. When that’s done, he works on cleaning weapons that don’t need to be cleaned. Focusing on the minutiae of the task, he polishes each blade and blaster until it shines and doesn’t allow himself to dwell on where they’re going and what they’ll have to do when they get there. 

Near the end of the trip, Kest comes leaping down the hatch with an annoying amount of energy.

“Hey, Mando,” he calls, and Din allows himself an eye roll behind his helmet, “shouldn’t we discuss our plan?” 

“Fine.” He racks the blaster he’d just finished cleaning, shuts the weapons locker, then turns and leans against it. “You have an idea?” 

Kest opens his pack and pulls out what appears to be an electronet grenade—not an easy thing to come by. It had probably cost as much or more than any one of the blasters in Din’s armory.

“Is that an RGL-80?” Din asks, trying not to sound impressed.

Kest scoffs. “RGL -80? You are old. No, this”—he lifts the grenade—“this is the RGL-120, a newer model. Don’t even need a launcher for it. And I can activate the shock field with this.” He holds up a small, palm sized remote. 

Another hidden scowl. “Fine. But what, exactly, do you plan to do with it? Lu—” He catches himself. “Skywalker is quick. Perceptive. We’ll never be able to catch him with that.” 

The Zygerrian’s cocky grin remains. “That’s why we’re gonna use you as bait.” 

Din’s blood runs cold. There’s no way he could have heard… Right? 

“What do you mean bait?”

“Well, I figure the Jedi will be expecting you to be alone, so you can engage him first. I’ll wait until he’s distracted, then hit him with the grenade. That should be more than enough to incapacitate him.”

This time, Din holds back his sigh. 

He knows Kest’s plan will never work; it’s hardly even a plan. Zygerrians may be renowned for their stealth, but Luke is still too perceptive to ever fall for something like this.  

But Din doesn’t care and it’s not as if he has a better suggestion, anyway. He has no idea what could possibly work against Luke and he’s tired. He just wants this to be over. 

He picks up his IB-94 pistol and examines it, though he knows damn well it’s been cleaned more than it could possibly need. 

“Well?” Kest prods. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“You seem confident enough. Plus, you’ve made it clear you’re leading this mission. Does it even matter what I think?”

“Guess not.” Kest puts the grenade back in his pack. “But I have to say I don’t appreciate your attitude. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you don’t even want to capture Skywalker.” 

Din’s stomach flips, but his eyes stay firmly glued to the pistol. “Watch your tone, kid. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.” 

“Yeah.” Kest scoffs. “Which is why it’s surprising it’s taken you this long to bring this guy in.”

Din doesn’t answer, instead deciding his right bracer needs another tune up. He sets down his pistol, removes the bracer, and grabs the servodriver, then opens the back panel and starts fiddling with the mechanisms. 

Kest watches him for a few moments and Din hopes he’ll get bored and leave, but of course he doesn’t. 

“You’re meticulous, I’ll give you that,” he says.

Din grunts in response.

“So what’s so tricky about this Skywalker guy, anyway?”

“You… haven’t heard?”

“Well I mean, yeah I heard but I assumed it was all bantha shit.” 

Din snorts. “Hardly.” 

“So you’re saying it’s all true?”

“Most of it, anyway. The important parts.” 

“Which are?”

Din takes a breath. “He can do things that are… impossible. He can move things with his mind, just by thinking about it.”

Kest barks a laugh and crosses his arms over his chest. “Bullshit. You’re pulling my leg.”

“I’m not. He can also sense what you’re feeling. Half the time, he knows what you’ll do before you know it yourself.”

“So… he’s good in a fight?”

“Yeah.” Din gives a dry laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I guarantee you he’s more skilled in combat than anyone you’ve ever met, and that’s on top of having magic powers. ‘Good’ doesn’t begin to cover it.” 

He doesn’t want to talk about Luke anymore—he doesn’t even want to think of him—but it doesn’t seem like Kest is giving this up anytime soon. 

“Right…” There’s still skepticism in Kest’s voice. “What else do you know about him?”

Din’s chest tightens, sparks flying from the bracer as he accidentally prods the wrong wire. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Not much.”

“Anything we could use against him?” Kest asks.

“If I knew that, don’t you think I’d have done it already?” Din snaps, then lets out a curse as he accidentally shorts out another wire. At this point, he’s probably doing more harm than good. 

Kest sneers at him and rolls his eyes. “Okay. Geez. You know, it’s not my fault your career is failing so you don’t need to take your insecurities out on me.” 

Din jerks his head to look at him. “I’m not—” he bursts out in anger, then forces his mouth shut and lets out another frustrated exhale. “Look, Skywalker can be… cocky. He likes to show off.”

“That’s as good a weakness to exploit as any.”

“Hasn’t stopped you,” Din grumbles under his breath. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing. All I’m saying is, don’t underestimate him. You’ll regret it.”

“I don’t know…” Kest scratches the fur on his cheek. “I’m not sure I believe in all this Jedi crap.”

“You think that matters? Skywalker will kick your ass whether you ‘believe’ in him or not.”

“I think you mean he’ll kick your ass. I haven’t had my chance yet.” 

Din rolls his eyes and focuses on realigning the wires he’d screwed up. 

“You know something, Djarin?” 

He tries not to clench his jaw. “What’s that?”

Kest looks at him with a surprisingly thoughtful expression. “I think maybe you’ve gone soft in your old age.” It hardly even seems like a jab or judgment. Just an observation, and not one Din finds he can easily object to.

He’s silent for a long moment, then lets out a long sigh. “Maybe you’re right, kid. You should start gearing up. We’ll be dropping out of hyperspace soon.”

It’s nighttime in Hanna City when they arrive.

Din grips the Crest’s controls with much more force than necessary as he brings them in for a rocky landing at one of the city’s shadier spaceports.

“Fucking hell, Djarin,” Kest curses, gripping the arms of his chair as the ship careens to a stop.  “Are you trying to kill us?”

“We survived, didn’t we? Stop whining.” Din powers down the engines and bolts from his seat as soon as that’s done, descending from the cockpit with Kest hot on his tail. 

“I don’t get you Mandalorians,” Kest grumbles as he follows him down the ladder. “Always so stoic. I mean, I’m trying to be a team player here—”

Din rounds on him and prods a finger into his chest. “Shut up. Just shut up. You have the fob?”

Kest takes a step into his space. “Of course I have it.”

“Good.” It isn’t, but there’s nothing for it now. “We both know the mission, so let’s just find Luke and stop talking.”

Kest glares into Din’s visor, his yellow eyes narrowed and ears flicking back. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone, Djarin.”

“I’m sure you don’t. Can we get going?” 

He watches Kest’s eyes flit back and forth and knows he’s deciding if he wants to start something with him over this or not. 

Din almost wishes he’d try it, but he doesn’t.

“Fine,” Kest spits, taking a step back. “Let’s get this over and done with. I’m sick of you already.” 

“That makes two of us.” 

They grab their gear in silence, pay the docking attendant’s exorbitant fee in silence, then follow the fob’s obnoxious pinging through the streets of Hanna City. It leads them to a run-down dockyard near the edge of the lower district, littered with old storage crates and ship parts. It hardly seems like the sort of place where Luke would live, but then again, this wouldn’t be the first time Din’s found him in the seedier part of a city. 

When Din spots Luke, stalking through the shipyard with his hood raised, his heart leaps into his throat and dread turns his guts to ice. 

He grabs Kest’s arm and gestures toward Luke. 

“That’s him. Turn that thing off,” he says, gesturing to the fob, “and make yourself scarce.”

Kest’s smirk remains immovable, likely because he has yet to realize what they’re really up against. 

“Sure you can handle this, Djarin?” 

“Get out of here,” Din growls through gritted teeth.

Kest grins and disappears down a sidestreet with silent footsteps. 

Luke continues walking away from him, seeming not to have noticed his presence yet. Din unholsters his pistol and creeps toward him as quietly as he can, every muscle in his body tensed, his breath bated. 

If this were any other mark, he’d likely hit them with a stun bolt as soon as he reached firing range, then slap them in cuffs and be done with it. 

As it is, he’s already tried that approach and he knows it won’t work. He knows there’s probably no amount of trickery or technology they could throw at Luke that could compete with the kind of power he has. 

(And even deeper down, Din knows he wouldn’t want it to work.) 

He raises his blaster with a steady hand—but then he hesitates. 

When it comes right down to it, he doesn’t want to fight Luke. He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want to capture him, either. There’s no desirable outcome here and the gravity of that finally hits him, right along with the rush of adrenaline that sets all his senses on alert.

His mind races as quickly as his heart, frantically searching for a lifeline out of this mess but there's none to be found. With Kest involved and Karga watching his every move, there’s no way he lives to see tomorrow if he quits now. Every hunter in the Guild would be looking for him as soon as Kest spread the word—which would be immediately. And even if he somehow survived that, he’d be hard pressed to ever get hired again once Karga published his video. 

For the first time, Din wishes with his whole being that he’d said yes when Luke had asked him to come with him. It might have been an insane decision, but it would have been better than this predicament, where one or both of them will end up dead or miserable no matter what. 

But there’s no taking it back now. Din had made his choice just as Luke had made his. 

Before he can change his mind, he aims his blaster at Luke’s back and fires a stun bolt—and this time he isn’t surprised when Luke wheels around and immediately deflects it. 

But he’s different now, somehow. Din can see it instantly. There’s something menacing in the way Luke stalks toward him with his lightsaber held low, face devoid of any emotion save for the barest hints of a scowl.  

“Din,” he says, his voice flat and monotone. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

It doesn’t sound like a question, like he’s offering him a way out. 

It sounds like a threat. 

Now that Din can see his face, he can see that Luke looks even less like himself than the last time he’d seen him. There are dark bags under his eyes, emphasized by the shadow of his hood, and a dead, haunted expression in his gaze. 

This isn’t right, Din thinks. 

But maybe this is better. Maybe this Luke, whoever he is, won’t feel so much guilt about having to kill him.

That thought doesn’t offer much comfort, however, when Din still feels like he set off the whole chain of events that led to this.

He wants to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but he knows Kest is likely listening, so he only says, “You know I don’t have a choice.” 

Luke lets out a short sigh and there’s an uncharacteristic gleam that flashes across his eyes, a hungry, sickly yellow. “Fine.”

He raises his lightsaber and charges toward Din in earnest. It’s the first time Luke has ever engaged him without any toying or teasing, without that smirk on his face like the two of them are playing a game and he’s winning. 

There’s no humor in Luke’s face now, as Din ignites his jetpack to get out of the way of his saber. There’s only that dead-eyed look of resigned exhaustion that hardens his soft features. 

It chills Din to the core. He’s terrifying—inhuman—and worst of all, he isn’t Luke.

Even more chilling is the realization that he’s being pulled from the air. Luke outstretches his hand in a grabbing motion and Din’s jetpack falters as he’s dragged lower and lower until his boots are back on the ground. Luke’s saber cuts across his pauldron just before Din dodges a second swing which probably would have taken his head clean off. 

Luke fights like a man possessed, sloppy but brutal. Not a second after Din side-steps his near decapitation, Luke grabs him with the Force and throws him into a pile of storage crates, the clatter of beskar hitting durasteel echoing out through the docking bay. 

Din grunts, a sharp stab of pain in his ribs reprimanding him for hauling himself back to his feet. He raises his blaster and fires a shot which he knows is pointless before he even pulls the trigger. He knows this isn’t a fight he can win, even with Kest’s help—where is that kid, anyway?—but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go down without a fight. 

Luke stalks toward him slowly with that eerie, malevolent expression, like he’s savoring the moment, capitalizing on the fear that claws at Din’s heart despite himself. 

This is the Dark Side, he thinks, diving out of lightsaber reach and trying to catch Luke with a burst of flame. This is what it looks like. 

He thought he’d seen a glimpse of it during the gala, but this is something else entirely, like the righteous man he’d come to know has been replaced with someone —something— else, a hollow copy of himself. There’s hate, even enjoyment, in the way he grabs Din with the Force and throws him into the wall, then again into the ground. 

He can barely think for the splintering pain that radiates through his ribcage, his skull, his limbs—but he knows this isn’t right.The grieving ache that rips through him at the sight of Luke advancing on him, as he lies on the ground and struggles to get up, is more potent than the complaints of his battered body. 

This isn’t right. 

Luke grabs him by his collar and hauls him up with ease, then pushes him into the wall. There’s a snarl on his pale lips and a distant look in his eyes, like he’s never even seen Din before.

Even despite his injuries, Din could fight back if he wanted to. It wouldn’t do any good, but he could do it. Normally, he would. He’s never been one to approach death quietly.

But he doesn’t resist. Instead, he grabs Luke’s forearm, the one which holds him against the wall, and squeezes tightly. 

“Luke,” he rasps out, blood dripping down his face and into his mouth, thick and slow. 

Luke grabs Din’s helmet with his other hand and pulls it off, letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously. For the briefest of moments, something familiar flashes across his face as their eyes meet, but it’s quickly replaced by that hauntingly blank expression. He raises his saber hilt, unignited, and holds it against Din’s throat. While this isn’t the first time he’s done such a thing, it’s the first time it feels like a real threat.

“Luke,” Din says again, his voice hoarse, blood coating his tongue. “What are you doing? You don’t want to be this. And I— I don’t want to see you this way. Kill me, if you have to, but don’t… don’t do it like this. Please.” 

He doesn’t want this specter to be the last thing he ever sees. He feels compelled to fix this somehow, or at least to try.

His hand travels down Luke’s forearm where he finds the skin of his wrist and brushes his thumb over his pulse. 

Luke’s expression shifts, his pupils widening then constricting again, his face contorting into a look of consternation. Din lets his blaster clatter to the ground and reaches out with his other hand to firmly cup his cheek. Luke freezes at that, his gaze fixed on Din’s face, and then, after a moment, his features soften. His eyes scan rapidly over Din’s features, as if he suddenly remembers him, and his grip loosens on his collar. 

“Din, I—” he starts, stepping back with that same horrified expression as when he’d thrown Din into the wall back at the gala—but it’s at that moment that Din notices Kest, creeping up behind him and he can’t get a sentence out quickly enough to say anything. 

Kest tosses the electro-net grenade and it lands at Luke’s feet. In less then a second, the grenade detonates and the net fibers explode from the canister, sticking to Luke’s clothes and skin. 

“What—” He wheels around to face Kest, then falls to his knees as Kest presses the remote and the electricity field activates. 

He lets out a strangled cry and bends over at the waist, strands of blue energy coursing through his body. He reaches out a hand to push away the net, but Kest twists the dial on the control remote, increasing the charge. Luke lets out another cry of pain, falling now to the ground, his muscles spasming under the unrelenting barrage of the electrofield.

Watching him, Din’s chest constricts and a horrible dread churns in his stomach and lurches in his throat. His own pain is forgotten as he picks up his blaster and takes a shaky step forward, eyes now turning to Kest. The man looks awfully satisfied with himself, a smirk on his lips and a glimmer in his eye as he watches Luke writhe on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Din bursts out, stepping on the urge to snatch the control from his hands. “We need him alive.” 

“No, we don’t.” 

“Bounty’s higher if he’s alive,” Din grits out. 

“Sure, but they didn’t say what condition he had to be in, did they? Do you really wanna deal with him at full power?”

Din takes another stiff step toward him, his hands twitching at his sides as Luke’s choked cries echo out through the empty dockyard. 

“I would assume they want him in good condition,” he snaps. 

Blood pounds in his ears and his pulse rises, along with a hot, impetuous feeling that urges him to action. He looks over at Luke again, who holds his waist as wave after wave of electricity rocks through him, ripping screams out of his gritted teeth. 

Over the sound of Luke’s cries and the blood rushing in his ears, he barely registers Kest saying, “Never assume things in this job, Djarin. I'd think you know—”

Before Din realizes what he’s doing, his blaster is raised and pointed at Kest. “Enough. Turn it off.”

Kest’s brow lowers and his ears flick back. “Fuck’s gotten into you, Djarin? Point that somewhere else.” 

“Turn it off,” Din repeats. “Now. Don’t think I won’t shoot.” 

Kest eyes him for a moment and a dark look passes across his face. Din clocks the miniscule hand movement to reach for his blaster and shoots him in the chest before he can finish the motion. 

The stun bolt incapacitates him in an instant, sending him to the ground in a heap. As soon as  he hits the floor, Din rushes forward and snags the remote from his hand. Luke’s screams peter out and his body relaxes as the charge deactivates, leaving him limp on the ground. 

Chapter Text

At such a late hour, this section of Hanna City is free of any passersby and there are no witnesses to what must look like a grisly scene. Luke is in a heap on the ground, his eyes shut and fingers twitching slightly. A few feet away from him, Kest is lying unconscious and Din can’t help but feel a little bad for the kid. He’d only been trying to do his job. 

Still, Kest’s welfare is far from his biggest concern. 

Din drops to his knees and throws the deactivated electronet off of Luke. 

“Luke,” he murmurs, guilt clawing at his throat as he puts a hand under his head. 

Luke groans. There’s blood dripping from his mouth and on the side of his scraped face where the beginnings of a bruise is already forming, his hair dampened from sweat and falling into his eyes. 

Din brushes it out of his eyes. “Luke, can you hear me?”

“M’alright,” Luke mumbles and reaches out to grasp at Din’s knee. “Help me sit up?”

Din scoops an arm underneath his shoulders and gently lifts him into a sitting position. Luke grunts again as Din helps him lean against the stack of storage crates, his head falling back. He clutches Din’s arm with insistence. 

“Din,” he says, his voice weak. “I’m so sorry.”

Din stares at him in astonishment. “You’re apologizing to me?”

A lazy grin spreads across Luke’s bloodied face and he shrugs a shoulder. 

He looks like himself again and that realization brings an inordinate amount of relief with it. Gone is the hardness of his features and the anger that had been etched there, replaced now by weariness and that familiar devil-may-care smile that would seem to contradict it. 

“I’m sorry, too,” Din tells him. “I’m sorry for—” But he doesn’t have the words to finish the sentence. There are a great many things he’s sorry for. “I’m sorry,” he says again and it feels horribly insufficient. 

But Luke’s smile remains. “Well, I threw you into a wall. I think we can call it even.” He nods toward Kest. “Who’s that?”

“Derron Kest, another Guild hunter. We were… working together. The Guild leader didn’t think I was, uh, doing a very good job on this mission.” 

Luke gives a sardonic laugh, then groans in pain. “Yeah, well, you weren’t. You got a stim?”

“Yeah.” He digs through one of his belt pouches and draws out two stim packs, grateful he’d had the foresight to stock up. “Ready?”

Luke nods and Din injects the stim into his thigh. He lowers his head, his brow furrowing as the drug cocktail works its way through his system. In a few seconds, he looks back up and, though he still looks weak and weary, there’s more energy in his expression and an intense affection that shines out of his eyes. It hits Din like a beam and he struggles under the weight of it. Under the feeling he’s undeserving of it. 

He injects the second stim into the side of his own thigh and feels a swell of energy almost immediately, his pain reduced to a numb buzzing that’s more easily shoved into the back of his mind. 

Next to them, Kest stirs but doesn’t wake.

Luke looks over at him, then back to Din. “What are you gonna do about him?”

Din sighs and unhooks the cuffs he’s kept attached to his belt in case of unexpected success, then rolls Kest onto his side and cuffs him. 

“You gonna leave him there?” Luke asks. 

“Well, I’m not gonna drag him.” 

Kest stirs again and lets out a groan. “Ass…hole…” he grumbles, eyes still shut. 

“That must be some stun bolt, Din,” Luke says.

“Guild grade.” He crosses over to the wall where Luke had thrown him and collects his helmet. ”Works twice as well as a regular stun bolt.”

“Also means it’s illegal.”

“You gonna arrest me?”

Luke snorts a laugh. “Not if you help me up.” 

Din sets his helmet on his head, then holds out a hand and heaves him up. Luke stumbles as he stands, his hand gripping Din’s elbow for support as he wobbles on his feet. 

“You alright?” Din asks, his brow lowering in concern. “I’ll take you to a hospital.”

“Nah. I’m fine. Leia’s house is close to here.”

“I’ll help you there.” 

“Din, I—” He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I’m somewhat… unpredictable lately.”

“Yeah, well. You’re in no condition to go by yourself, so I’ll go with you.” 

Luke watches him for a moment, that soft expression crossing his face again, and gently squeezes his elbow. “Alright.” 

Din nods and puts an arm around his waist, supporting him as Luke slings an arm over his shoulders. 

“Which way are we going?”

Luke points. “That way. Couple blocks. I was on my way there.” 

“And you ended up at the seedy dockyard?” 

Din casts one last glance over his shoulder at Kest, still lying prone, before the two of them start taking slow steps in the direction Luke had indicated. The reality of his situation, the fact that his career with the Guild is over and his reputation will soon be in shreds, settles in his stomach with a suffocating heaviness. He has no idea what he’ll do now, but he puts aside his concerns in favor of focusing on Luke, who wavers slightly with each step. 

“I was looking for something,” Luke tells him.

“Looking for what?” 

They leave the dockyard and step back out into the street. With no one about and very few sounds of traffic to be heard in the distance, the city seems eerily quiet, almost like it’s holding its breath.  

“I don’t know. I wasn’t… myself.” 

“I saw that.”

Luke ducks his head. “I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he admits in a quiet voice. 

“Is it the Dark Side?” 

Luke nods. “I don’t know how to fight it. It’s stronger than me.”

“It can’t be stronger than you.” He isn’t just saying it for Luke’s benefit either; he’s sure of it. 

“I wish I had your confidence,” Luke murmurs.

They trudge past another warehouse and Din thinks for a moment. 

“Do you remember, back in your hotel, when you told me about the Dark Side?”

Luke nods. 

“You said you didn’t believe in shunning attachments. You said you thought embracing them was how you’d avoid the Dark Side. Do you… still believe that?” 

Luke sighs and looks down at the ground. “I don’t know what to believe.” He gestures down a side street. “Left here.”

They round the corner and their footsteps echo out into the empty streets, which quickly turn from grimy to opulent as they evidently make their way toward the nicer part of the Republic’s capital city. It’s shocking how quickly it turns from rundown, abandoned factories to nice homes and manicured gardens.

“What I do know is I’ve spent the last five years of my life trying to love everyone and everything as much as I can and, for a long time, the Dark Side didn’t really trouble me. I thought I had it all figured out. I don’t know, maybe I got too cocky. Maybe… I don’t know. I guess that’s the bottom line. I don’t know how to stop this and I’m… afraid.” He swallows hard and grips Din’s shoulder as he stumbles a step. “I’m afraid of what I’ll do if I can’t get it under control. And then that fear just makes the Dark Side stronger and that makes me more afraid and it— it’s all a mess, Din. I don’t know what to do.”

His breathing grows more labored and Din sees the pain that’s creased in the lines of tension across his face. He tightens his hold on Luke’s waist under the pretense of supporting him better, but that isn’t the real reason. He knows it and Luke probably knows it too.

“Do you think it’ll…come…back…?” Din asks, still uncertain of how all this stuff works. 

“Seems likely. If I can’t figure out why it’s happening.” Luke’s eyes are screwed shut now and he leans more into Din’s side, his steps wavering more than before. “I don’t have much experience with this. And there’s no one…” He takes in a shaky breath. “There’s no one I can ask. I looked through some old… Jedi texts last night. Nothing that could help.”

Din nods slowly. That, he can relate to, at least. Being isolated, alienated, from your kind, unsure of the way and with no one to guide you. 

“I know how you feel, in a way,” Din says distractedly, watching Luke, who grimaces as he limps along. 

“You… do?”

Din nods, spotting a bench nearby between a couple shade trees. “Let’s sit down for a second.”

“I’m fine,” Luke insists. 

“You’re not fooling anyone.” 

Luke gives a sheepish smile, ducking his head.

They hobble over to the bench and Luke slumps down onto it immediately, letting out a long sigh. Din lowers himself a little slower, careful of his sore rib cage. 

“Were you talking about your Mandalorian… covert, you called it? Your clan?”

“Yes.”

“You miss them.”

“Yes.” 

“I’m sorry.” Luke looks down at his hands. “It isn’t easy.”

“No, It isn’t.” He pulls off his right glove and digs through one of his belt pouches for a tube of bacta. “But Mandalorians, we don’t have to deal with all this.”

Luke watches as he smears a strip of gel across his fingertips. “What are you doing?” 

“Your face. Let me see it.” 

Luke turns the scraped side of his face toward him and Din starts gingerly dabbing the gel onto the wound. 

“Can I ask you something?” he asks. 

Luke nods. 

“Did you struggle with any of this before we met?”

Luke thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “Not in a long time, anyway.”

“Do you think what happened between us… Do you think it started all this?” 

Luke is silent for another few seconds as Din finishes applying the bacta, then he looks down at his hands again. 

“I’ve wondered that myself,” he admits. “It’s just that, I’ve been going through the motions for such a long time, you know? I don’t even think I really realized it until I met you. You made me feel… different. Alive, for the first time in a long time. I guess some part of me thought that meant it was a good thing, but I think part of me just didn’t care.” 

That feeling of unbearable tenderness grips Din’s heart again and throws it into an off-kilter rhythm. He watches Luke’s profile, thankful for the obscurity his helmet affords him. Otherwise, he’d worry his face would give away how completely lost on Luke he is. 

He wishes he would have realized it sooner, the lengths he’d go to see him unharmed. The mess that’s sprawled between them now… he doesn’t know how to fix it.

Yet, on the other hand, it all seems so inevitable. Like no matter what choices they made, they still would’ve ended up here, somehow.

“When I started losing my grip,” Luke continues, “I thought it was because of— Well, not because of you, necessarily, but because I was just giving into every urge, doing whatever I wanted even if it wasn’t necessarily the right choice…” He closes his eyes and swallows. “I thought I could get my head right if I just distanced myself from you, but then you— you pulled me out of it.” He finally turns his head to look at him and Din resists the urge to turn away from the intensity of emotion in his expression. The fear, the sadness… the fondness. 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t brought me back to myself, Din, so now I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”

Din doesn’t know what to say. He’s had his ideas about Luke’s struggles, however half-baked, but it doesn’t seem like his place to voice them. He hardly has any idea what he’s talking about. Still, Luke seems desperate enough for answers that he's considering saying something before Luke speaks up. 

“Wait, you were bleeding earlier.”

“I’m fine.”

“Din.” Luke tilts his head and gives him a stern look, then reaches up to touch the base of his helmet. “Let me see.” 

Din hesitates, then gives him a nod. 

Luke reverently removes his helmet, seeming now to have some idea of its significance, and sets it on the bench between them. He scans Din’s face, appraising the damage, then holds out his hand for the bacta.

Din gives it to him. “Will I live?”

Luke lets out a warm, quiet laugh. “Prognosis seems good.” 

He spreads some of the gel on his fingers and brushes them over Din’s temple. In a few seconds, the dull ache across his forehead—which he’d hardly even been aware of—begins to lessen.

“Luke, I don’t know very much about all of this, but do you think… Well, I don’t know.”

Luke looks over at him. “What is it?”

“It’s just— I wonder— Do you think this could have anything to do with… what you do? For the Republic?”

Luke’s brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, don’t you think your job could be contributing to your… anger?”

Luke chews on his lip, thoughtful. “It could be…” He studies Din’s face again, then says, “Turn your head.”

Din does so, and Luke parts his hair to smear some gel on the side of his head. 

“I have been… frustrated with my work recently,” Luke admits. 

“Seems like more than just frustration to me,” Din mutters. 

Luke’s hand lingers in Din’s hair for just a moment longer than necessary before he pulls it away and sets it in his lap again. 

“You’re right,” he says, sighing. “I’ve been… angry. Resentful of the things they’ve asked me to do. The ways they’ve used me. The things they’ve made me… complicit in. I always thought that was just the cost of working for something as big as the Republic, but maybe for me, the cost is higher. Maybe you’re onto something.” He shuts his eyes again and, for a moment, he looks like he might cry. 

Din’s heart aches for him. “Luke…” 

“I’m alright,” he says, though he grips his knees and his mouth is set in a hard, quivering line. “It’s just… For so long, I’ve been holding onto hope that the Republic could become something to be proud of, to believe in. You know? But I don’t believe in it, not anymore. That’s the truth. And I can’t keep trying to force it.” 

Not knowing what else to say, Din places a hand on his shoulder. Luke swallows hard and says, “We should get going. I’m going to be toast when this stim wears off.” He gives a watery smile, and Din nods, knowing he won’t fare much better. 

He puts his helmet back on, then helps him up and puts his arm around him again. They limp down the street in silence for a few moments before Luke breaks it and says, “You know, I really doubt you get proper credit for how astute you are sometimes.”

Din snorts, a giddy smile working its way onto his face in spite of himself. “I don’t.”

They walk for a while longer before Luke gestures toward a picturesque house to their right, a soft glow coming from the curtained windows. 

“That’s Leia’s place,” he says, and there’s a hint of something sorrowful in his tone. 

The sidewalk up to the house is long and lined on each side by a well-maintained garden which Din hardly notices. There’s a terrible feeling crawling in his gut as he and Luke walk with leaden steps up to the porch. He doesn’t know if this is goodbye or not.  

Once there, Luke lets him go then turns to face him. “Din, I don’t know how to thank you.” 

Din swallows. “You don’t need to thank me.”

“Yes, I do. You brought me back to myself. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Well, I—” Din’s hands fidget at his sides. “I was just— I don’t—”

Luke lurches forward and throws his arms around him. 

Din stumbles backward a step but reciprocates the hug without hesitation, ignoring the way his aching muscles protest at the touch. He wraps his arms around Luke’s back and holds him tightly, his eyes falling shut as he swallows against the lump forming in the back of his throat.  

He’d said goodbye to Luke once already, when he’d left him in his hotel room that morning. It had seemed impossibly hard even then, but he’d had his mission to complete and that had been everything. 

Now, he has no mission and the thought of saying goodbye is even harder to wrestle with. 

Luke lets him go and steps back, but Din holds onto his arms, gripping them a mite harder than he needs to. 

“Luke.” He doesn’t know what he’s about to say, but he goes on. “There’s something I need to tell you.” 

Luke’s eyes are wide and full of hope as he stares into his visor, the bruises on his face already growing more prominent. “Yes?” he breathes out. 

“I…” 

Then Din realizes he doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t know how to say what he wants to say. He doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to say it. 

His life is in total upheaval and so is Luke’s. Their lives are in upheaval because of each other. They’ve hurt each other, fought each other, nearly killed each other. They’ve learned from each other, too, and grown from it. But is that enough to make up for the ways each has nearly ruined the other? 

Not such an easy question to answer, but Din looks at Luke’s sorry state, bruised and battered from Kest’s torture, and he can’t escape the guilt that threatens to suffocate him.

And so the confession he wants to make is not the one he ends up uttering. 

“There’s, um.” He clears his throat and drops his arms back to his sides. “There’s a, um, compromising video of us. When we were, um. Back in the alley on Coruscant.” 

A look of understanding dawns on Luke’s face.

“Greef Karga, the head of the Guild… He got his hands on it. I don’t know how. But he said he’d release it if I didn’t… if I didn’t complete my assignment.”

Luke nods and casts his eyes down to the ground. “I see.” 

“Luke, I’m sorry.” 

Luke looks up abruptly. “Don’t ever apologize to me. I mean it.” He pauses, then moves just so slightly forward. “Din, I—”

Then the front door slides open and Leia is standing there, backlit and squinting into the dark.

“Luke? Is that you? Are you—” Her eyes fall on Din. 

Not wanting to cause a problem, he steps backward. “I was just leaving.”

Luke looks like he’s going to say something, but Din doesn’t give him a chance. 

“Goodnight, Luke,” he says, then turns on his heel and walks down the steps and back toward the street as quickly as his creaking bones will allow. 

“Night,” Luke murmurs from behind him and Din throws a glance at him over his shoulder. 

“Luke, gods, what happened to you?” he hears Leia saying, and it’s the last thing he can make out before she shepherds him inside and Din makes his way back toward the Crest.  

It feels like a death march. His head spins, both from the pain that slowly starts to return, and from the state of everything else in his life. 

He can see no clear way forward; that’s a problem he hasn’t had in a long time. It’s always been just one job then the next one after that, stretching as far into the future as he’d ever dared to imagine. 

Now, he no longer has the luxury of that simplicity. Now, everything is in pieces up in the air and he’s far, far too tired to make any sense of it.

Chapter Text

Luke limps through the entryway while Leia stares at him, agog. 

“Luke—” she starts, then moves to support him as he wavers and leans against the wall for support, his muscles burning as the effects of the stim start to wear off and all the energy drains from him.  

Leia throws an arm around him and helps him limp down the hallway toward the guest room, a grim, tight look on her face.

Han and Leia’s spare room is chic, like the rest of the house, but quaint in a way that’s undeniably homey. The patchwork quilt matches the sheer, peach-colored curtains that frame arched windows, offering a view of their well-manicured backyard. 

It’s a sight as familiar to Luke as anywhere in the galaxy. He probably spends more time here than he does at his own apartment. Just stepping into the room, he feels a warm relaxation wash over him. The weight of everything that’s happened, which had felt too heavy to even bear moments ago, seems to lessen.

Leia helps him over to the four poster bed and his muscles groan in protest as he lays back against the quilt, letting his legs hang off the side. 

“Luke, what do you need?” Leia asks softly. “What happened?” 

What happened? Not such an easy question to answer; a good many things have happened since he last spoke to her and hardly any of them pleasant. 

“I don’t need anything,” he says automatically—and knows that can’t possibly be true. He needs something, but his head reels wildly and makes it impossible to parse out what exactly it could be. 

“Where are you hurt?”

Luke grunts. 

Leia lets out a sigh that’s halfway exasperated. “Luke, work with me here. I’ve been worried sick about you for almost a full rotation.” 

“I…” He brushes a hand over his eyes. “I got caught in an electronet. Got shocked a bunch. Not much to do for that.” 

“Where does it hurt?” 

He struggles to answer. There’s a headache building in his temples and his skin feels like it’s stretched thin and on fire. 

“Everywhere?” she suggests.

He nods. 

“Alright, I’ll be back. Just hang tight.” 

Luke does as he’s told and stays where he is, staring up at the ceiling. 

A suffocating sadness settles over him and threatens to snuff out what little energy he’d regained. Of all the things to be dejected about—his descent toward the Dark Side, his faltering career, his aching body—the one thing that keeps coming to mind is Din. 

Luke wishes he would have stayed, but he seems determined to keep leaving and Luke isn’t quite sure why. He knows Din’s past and the hesitance he carries in his heart, but he also knows the affection Din feels for him. He knows he’d wanted to say it to him back on the porch. Luke had felt it. He’d felt all the things Din wanted to say and didn’t; the weight of them had filled the space between them. 

The stupid, embarrassing fact is that Luke misses him already. There’s something about Din’s steady presence that centers him. It draws him in with a gravitational pull and in his orbit he’s forced to confront the wilder parts of himself that he tries so hard to ignore. 

He’s always theorized that the key to avoiding the Dark Side is not in repression, and yet he’s repressed a great many parts of himself in order to fit into the role he needed to play, for the Republic, for the future of the Jedi, for the galaxy. He’s kept those untamed parts shunned, hidden deep within him—but Din has dragged them all out and exposed them. 

Luke knows now that they can’t be shoved back into their hiding places, that even trying to do so is to weaken himself and make him susceptible to corruption. He knows now that the only way to be strong, to resist the pull of the Dark, is to be whole. To make peace with all his pieces, even the ones that aren’t pretty or marketable. 

And what a difficult thing that is to come to terms with. And even more difficult, the thought that Din might be gone for good. A lot of lovers have walked out of Luke’s life through the years, but he’s never felt so sickened at the thought of one never coming back.

Unable to lie with that uncomfortable idea anymore, he sits up—slowly, painfully—and strips off his boots. Leia walks in carrying a medpac. She sets it on the nightstand and pulls up a chair next to the bed. 

“You should take your shirt off,” she says, all business, but there’s a crease of worry in her brow. 

Luke does as he’s told. “Leia, I’m sorry about all this,” he tells her, setting his tunic on the end of the bed.

“It’s alright,” she says. “Just lay back.” 

Luke leans back against the pillows and she sets to work, getting out bandages and smearing them with bacta. 

“Did he do this to you?” she asks evenly, focused on her task. 

“His… colleague.” 

Luke notices the small frown that forms on her lips, but she doesn’t say anything. 

“He saved me,” he tells her, feeling the need to defend Din. 

She lays a bandage strip across his chest and the warmth of the gel seeps into his skin. “How did he save you?”

“He… It was… I don’t even know. I don’t know how to describe it.”

Leia gives him a kind but imploring look and her worry makes itself plain. “Just… try?”

Luke takes a breath and nods, fighting for a coherent thought. He owes Leia an explanation. He owes her a great deal more than that too, but it’s a start. 

“When… When I started fighting him, Leia, it was like… I wasn’t myself. I was so far gone, into…” He can barely force out the words. “...into hate, into anger, that I just… I don’t even know. I’ve never fought like that before. I threw him around like he was nothing—and I felt nothing. Force—” His voice breaks as, for the first time, the weight of what he’d done fully registers with him. “I could have killed him.” He closes his eyes and takes in a long breath, willing himself not to cry. “But Din stopped me. He stopped me from losing myself.” 

She’s quiet for a second, a look of consternation passing over her face. “How?”

“He… stopped fighting.” 

Leia’s hands pause in their task. 

“He talked to me,” Luke continues. “I don’t remember what he said, but then he touched me and I came back to myself. It was like… I hardly know what it was like. It was like waking up from a dream. A nightmare. It was like learning to breathe again.”

Leia’s slowly returns to bandaging as Luke recounts the rest of the story. He tells her about the other hunter, about being electrocuted and how, yes, it had reminded him of Palpatine. He tells her how Din had saved him, then half carried him here. 

“I’m not sure that makes up for everything else,” Leia says, and to her credit she sounds genuinely unsure, like she hasn’t made her mind up about it yet, and Luke appreciates that. By now, his arms and chest are fully covered in bacta-coated bandages and he begins to feel relief soaking into his very bones.

“I don’t know either,” he admits, “but I haven’t been perfect either recently.”

“Because of him,” Leia points out quietly. A little bitterly.

“Because of how he makes me feel.”

“And how is that?”

“All I can tell you is that the only time anything makes sense is when I’m with him. I don’t know how to explain it. All the time I just feel so… wrung out, so empty, like I’m losing control of everything. Even the Force doesn’t make sense anymore.” 

The words feel raw, too raw to speak out loud, but Leia is always the one who helps him clean up his messes, who comforts him when he needs it, and she deserves to know the truth—even if he doesn’t entirely understand it himself. So he continues forcing out the words that don’t want to be said.

“When I’m with him, I don’t feel like that. It’s like all this noise in my head just… quiets. I don’t have to be Luke Skywalker around him. I don’t have to be anything. I can just be… me. I can be wild. I can be whatever I want. It’s the only time I don’t feel like I’m about to spin out of control.” 

Leia watches him, her hands folded in her lap and her emotions carefully shielded. Luke knows his own are spilling from him like a rushing current but he doesn’t have the energy to hold them back. 

“I’ve never felt anything like it before. Not for anyone.” Another pang of heartbreak twists in his chest. 

Leia leans forward , catching his eyes . “What exactly happened between you two? I know you didn’t tell me everything. I just... I want to understand. I’m trying to understand.” 

He looks over at her and sees a pained expression on her face, no doubt from the force of Luke’s emotions hitting her, no holds barred. He nods and lets out a slow exhale. “Alright,” he breathes out. “Alright. You deserve to know.” 

And so, sparing the more embarrassing details, he tells her everything. He tells her about meeting Din on Begamore, about asking him out for a drink and meeting up with him after his first date with Osteon. And their second date. He tells her about Din healing his wounds, about the two of them talking with each other, confiding in each other late into the night. He tells her about fighting with him at the gala and what that had driven him to do. 

He tells her about that night at Osteon’s place. About what he’d done to him. He tells her about the sheer panic of it, that putrid fear that had followed him like a shadow and kept him from answering her calls. And he tells her the scariest part: that going Dark, really going there, is easy. As easy as anything, like falling asleep. One second you’re awake and the next you’re gone, and you don’t even know where you’ve been until you wake up. 

The weight of these confessions hangs in the air around them, making the atmosphere thick with fear and discomfort, but Leia only listens quietly with a stoic, solemn look on her face. 

“Luke…” she says, once he’s done. “I had no idea. About any of this. Why didn't you tell me?” An emotion pierces through the veil drawn over her psyche: sorrow, clean and sharp. “You didn’t have to deal with all of this alone.” 

“I know.” Luke’s voice breaks again. “But I just… I didn’t want to bother you with it. I’m always falling apart and you're always helping me. I didn’t want to do that to you again. I thought maybe this was just something I needed to get out of my system, you know?”

A breath of silence.

“And now?” she asks.

“Now… I don’t know. Now that I’m saying it all out loud, I think there might really be something wrong with me. I mean, who acts like this?” 

He feels a peel of laughter building in his chest and it bursts out of him, unimpeded by any inhibitions; he doesn’t seem to have those anymore. He laughs deliriously, uncontrollably, while Leia watches on in grim silence. 

Then tears burn at the backs of his eyes and spill down his cheeks and he lets out a wracked, shuttering sob—and then he’s crying. He covers his eyes with his hand, his shoulders shaking as he lets his grief, his fear of the future, run through him. He feels Leia take his hand and hold onto it tightly while her other hand reaches up to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry,” Luke says through his sobs, taking in a shaky breath as he tries to reel his emotions back in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” 

Leia shakes her head. “You don’t need to apologize. Luke, look at me.” 

He turns his head, sniffling, and she leans forward to give him an earnest look, her fingers brushing across his forehead. “You saved the galaxy,” she tells him. 

“So did you.”

“I know, but this isn’t about me. Listen. You saved the entire galaxy. You defeated Palpatine—”

“Technically, Vader did that,” Luke murmurs. 

Leia removes her hand from his forehead to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Luke, gods, will you please just listen? Sometimes humility is annoying, you know what I’m saying?” 

“Alright, alright,” Luke concedes, grateful for the smile that puts on his face. 

“What I mean is, you’ve been trying to save the galaxy since the day I met you. We brought down the Empire, but I don’t think you ever rested. You jumped right into the next thing, the next mission. You’ve spent the last five years doing everything you can to try to help and you’ve done it all as Luke Skywalker, someone people idolize. I don’t think I realized the toll that was taking on you.” 

She hesitates for a second and Luke waits for her to continue. 

“I’ll admit, there were times when I… wondered… if you were pushing yourself too hard, trying to meet everyone’s expectations, but you always made it look so easy, Luke, I don’t know how you do it. And, sure, sometimes you’d bring home a bad boyfriend and have a horrible breakup and fall apart for a few weeks and yeah, I worried about you sometimes, but I thought— I just thought— I don’t know what I thought. I should have been paying closer attention, Luke, I’m sorry.” 

Luke shakes his head. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s not your job to take care of me.” 

She squeezes his hand. “We take care of each other. And, no, it’s not my job, but I do it anyway because you’re my brother—my friend— and I love you.” 

Luke nods and shuts his eyes against the swell of tears that threaten to fall again. “I love you too,” he chokes out.

There’s another beat of silence as Leia goes back to gently brushing her fingers over his forehead. “So what are you going to do?” she asks, just above a whisper. 

Luke lets out a long sigh, his eyes still shut. “I think I need to quit my job.” 

Another quiet moment fills the room and Luke cracks open an eye to look at Leia. There’s no surprise in her face, just thoughtfulness. Something solid reveals itself in her presence, something Luke has felt before: the acceptance of the inevitable.

“Alright,” she replies. 

“I think it’s the source of my anger. Pushing the Republic’s agenda, trying to believe in it… It takes a lot of energy.”

She casts her eyes down at her lap. Her voice is barely above a murmur. “It does.”

“I think it’s corrupting me. Turning me into something I don’t wanna be.”

She nods slowly, her eyes now focused on the wall or perhaps out the window as she thinks for a few seconds. When she speaks, her voice is quieter than before. “I think I know what you mean.”

Luke blinks, surprised. “You do?”

She nods again, still staring vacantly. “I’ll finish my term. But I don’t know if I’ll run for re-election. I’m afraid… I’m afraid the Republic isn’t what I hoped it would be. I feel so frustrated. All the time. Like nothing I do makes any real difference. I feel like I spend all day saying the same things over and over again but nothing ever substantially changes.”

“Does this have anything to do with you and Mon Mothma?” Luke asks, remembering the cold tension between the two of them. “I noticed you didn’t seem too happy to see her at the gala.”

“I know she means well,” Leia says, frowning down at her hands. “Or at least… I hope she does. But she’s a bureaucrat, like the rest of them.” She pauses, then murmurs, “Like me. When we were running the Rebellion, doing the right thing seemed so simple. We saw what needed to be done and we did it. But now… Now every decision we make comes after weeks and weeks of arguing and allocating and writing policy—if a decision ever comes at all. These days I feel like Mon is more interested in talking about change than actually enacting it.” 

Luke nods slowly; he knows exactly how Leia feels.

“I know she’s in a tough spot,” she continues, “but I just wonder how she bears it. I wonder how she can sleep at night.” She swallows. “I can’t anymore.”

Luke’s heart twists for her. “Leia…”

She takes a deep breath and meets his gaze. “I just keep thinking about Hera’s offer to work with her. To be on the ground level again, offering real help where it’s really needed, pushing back against the Syndicates… It’s tempting.”

“You should do it.” He doesn’t even have to think about it. He knows Leia will be great at it. And surely, if she feels at all like Luke does, it will make her feel better.  

She smiles. “That’s what Han said, too. But what about you? What would you do?”

Luke’s thoughts are blurred from exhaustion. He yawns and blinks hard. “I have a meeting at the senate building tomorrow... with Kelso and that awful Duchess from Itaika. Her miners are striking or something and she thinks I can do something about it.” He yawns again. “Once I get through that I’ll… figure out my resignation.”

“That sounds like a plan. How do you feel?”

Luke smiles at her. “Better. Tired.” 

“Good.” She smiles back and starts putting the medpac supplies away. “I’ll leave you to sleep then.” She squeezes his hand one last time, before leaving the room. 

He stares up at the ceiling for a while, but sleep creeps up on him and pulls him under before he even realizes he’s drifting off.   

He dreams again of a red dawn and a darkened sun rising over a rocky wasteland. He dreams of a man in beskar standing next to him and a feeling of home all around him. 

Arvala Seven, the biting wind screeches at him. Arvala Seven. 

Chapter Text

Luke wakes up the next morning to stiff muscles and a residual burning across his skin. He groans and manages to drag himself out of bed, stretching his aching back before padding down the hallway. He follows the smell of caf and the sound of Leia and Han talking in hushed voices, which go quiet when he steps into the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Leia says brightly. “How’d you sleep?”

Luke leans his hip against the counter and taps his fingers on its granite top, letting out a yawn. “Good, I think.” He rubs bleary eyes. “Hey, have either of you ever heard of a planet called Arvala Seven?”

Leia shakes her head but Han speaks up after swallowing a mouthful of caf. 

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. The Black Sun syndicate used to store smuggled goods there, not sure if they still do. Not much else on that rock, from what I’ve heard. Why do you ask?”

Luke passes a hand over the cool granite countertop. “Black Sun, huh?” In his mind’s eye, he sees the wasteland from his dream and the eerie darkened sun that had burst out of the blood-red sunrise.

“Yeah, but like I said, it’s been years since I heard anything about that planet, and it was only ever a smuggler’s hideout, as far as I know.”

Luke closes his eyes and shakes his head. The Black Sun. Of course. How had it taken him so long to make the connection?

“What is it, Luke?” Leia asks, passing him a cup of caf, which he gratefully accepts and takes a long drink. 

“I keep having dreams about it.” 

“Dreams?” Leia moves to sit at the table and Luke follows her, while Han stays standing, leaning against the counter—getting an early start on his usual devil-may-care nonchalance. “What kind of dreams?” 

“It’s the same every time: I’m standing on a cliff face, looking out at this rocky, barren desert, and I hear the words ‘Arvala Seven’ over and over again. And, uh...” He looks down into his mug. “Din is there.” 

Leia raises a brow, her mug halfway raised to her lips, but says nothing.

“But the strangest part is that every time I have the dream, the sun is pitch black.” 

“Huh,” Han and Leia say in unison. 

“Think it has something to do with the syndicate, then?” Leia asks.

Luke taps his fingers on the table. “I hadn’t thought of it until Han mentioned it, but yeah, I’m starting to think that. I can’t believe it never occurred to me before.” He frowns down at his mug. “But I intend to look into it after my meeting today.”

Han clears his throat. Leia glances over at him, then looks back to Luke and clears her throat as well. “Have you, um, checked the holonet today?” 

Luke looks between the two of them. “No…?”

Leia reaches for the datapad at the edge of the table. She taps it a few times, then slides it over to Luke. The screen displays a trashy celebrity gossip site. He opens his mouth to tease her about it, but shuts it when he sees that the celebrity being gossiped about is him . And Din. In a video. Making out in the alleyway behind the motel.

The caption reads: LUKE CAUGHT LOCKING LIPS AFTER BACKALLEY BOUNTY BRAWL: Has the Last Jedi lost his mind?

With everything going on, he had forgotten about Din’s warning and his stomach plummets to the floor. He gulps, his face burning hot, and avoids looking at Han or Leia.

“Classy move, Luke,” Han drawls. 

Luke puts his head in his hands. “Shut up,” he groans into his palms. 

Han tsks. “Normally I’d be proud, but a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian, of all things? You wound me.”

Leia sends him a stern frown. “Not now.” 

He raises a hand in concession. 

“How many people have seen this?” Luke mumbles, turning off the datapad screen and pushing it away from him.

Han snorts. “Probably half the galaxy by now.” 

Leia glares at him. “Han.”

“Fine, I’ll stop. It’s not that bad, Luke,” he says, then takes a drink from his caf. “Honestly, I respect you even more. Your golden boy reputation was starting to get old, anyway. You were due for a public meltdown. It gives you a cool edge. Makes you seem more approachable.” 

Leia joins Luke in putting her face in her hands. “Han…”

“What? I’m trying to help.” 

“Trying being the operative word.” 

“Thanks, Han,” Luke grumbles. “I appreciate you for trying.”

“I mean, what’s the big deal, anyway?” Han goes on, his voice rising. “Can’t these vultures just get off your back, for kriff sake?” 

“Lower your voice, please,” Leia cuts in. “Ben’s still sleeping.” 

“I’m just saying,” Han continues, more softly, “what you do in your own time should be your business. I mean, personally I’d prefer it if you didn’t go for the kind of person that used to hunt me for a living, but I’m not gonna judge you.”

Both Luke and Leia give him a look. 

He frowns. “Fine, I’m judging you a little. But, so what? I’m your friend. I get to judge you a little bit. Everyone else needs to butt out.” 

“Well”—Leia tilts her head and shrugs a shoulder—“he does have a point there. I'm sorry about all this, Luke. I know this is the last thing you need on top of… well, everything.”

“No, it’s…” He stares at the wall across from the table and finds, now that the initial surprise and embarrassment has subsided, that he feels… nothing. He feels numb. “It’s fine, honestly. I’m a little embarrassed, I guess, but…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It is what it is. I made my bed, and all that.” Force knows he’d done plenty of other things in it.

She watches him for a long moment. “You’re really okay?”

Luke nods. “Yeah,” he tells her honestly. “Yeah, I’m alright. But I’ll need to leave for the Senate soon. I should start getting ready. I’m sure Kelso will want to talk about this.” Realizing that, he frowns and pushes back from the table. “Maybe he’ll fire me. That would be convenient.” But he doesn’t dare hope.

“You want to get fired?” Han asks. 

“Yeah.” 

He nods, unaffected. “Cool.” 

Luke steps toward the doorway, then lingers there for a second. “Hey, Han,” he says, turning back around. 

“Yeah?”

“Speaking of planets, do you know anything about one called Itaika?” 

“Uh. Not a lot. They mine allrex ore, if I’m thinking of the right place.”

“I mean, do any of the syndicates have operations there?”

“You’re… kidding, right? Do you have any idea how expensive that ore is? Of course the syndicates are there. Crimson Dawn claimed that planet, I think. I’d be surprised if you could find a single senator or mine operator who isn’t in their pocket—but you should ask Lando. He might know more about it.”

Luke nods; he can’t believe he hadn’t thought of that before. Lando owns his own mining colony and few people know the syndicates better than he does. As much as Luke is ready to be done with the Republic and its tedious bureaucracy, it can’t hurt to go into this meeting with some idea of what’s going on—what’s really going on.

“I should comm him. Mind if I use your holoprojector?”

Han nods and Luke walks into the living room where he punches Lando’s code into the projector. He answers almost immediately and his surprise at seeing Luke on the other end of the transmission is evident.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Luke Skywalker himself.” Lando grins. “How’s the fall from grace treating you?” 

“Oh—” Luke lets out a soft laugh; for some reason, he almost likes the idea of a fall from grace. It seems fitting. “You saw that, huh?”

“My friend, I hate to tell you this, but I think just about everyone has seen it. It’s not every day you hear about the Luke Skywalker shacking up with one of the galaxy’s most famous bounty hunters. I have to say, I’m impressed. Is it real?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Luke’s face burns hot. “It’s real.” 

“Huh. Well, hey, nice pull and, you know, I’m proud of you; who knew you had it in you? Honestly, I’m a little jealous.”

Luke chuckles nervously, sure his face is bright red by now. “Thanks. But, um, that’s not really what I called to talk about…”

“Really? I assumed you were calling me for advice, since you know I’m your sexiest, most scandalous friend. I’ve lived through dozens of scandals and I’ll tell you: it’s no good to deny these things. You just have to own it. Act like there’s nothing wrong with it. People will still think what they’re gonna think about you, but they’ll respect you more if you just take responsibility for it and move on. Nobody likes a coward.” 

Luke blinks. “Uh, thanks, Lando. That’s… actually good advice. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

“Don’t seem so surprised. You might hurt my feelings. Now what can I do for you?”

“Have you heard of a mining colony called Itaika?”

“Pah,” Lando scoffs. “That shithole? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Why do you ask?”

“Do you know if Crimson Dawn is still operating there?”

Lando barks out another laugh. “Still operating there? Buddy, Crimson Dawn owns that planet. They own every shipping lane down to the spaceport clerks—and they own most of the politicians, too.”

“Hmm.” Luke frowns and lets out an exhale. It’s not surprising news, necessarily, but it’s still disheartening. “Well, I’m meeting with their Duchess later. She says the miners are striking—”

Another snort. “I’ll bet they are.”

“You know something about it?”

“No, but I know how Crimson Dawn operates. They put a choke hold on trade on these smaller planets, so they can gouge up prices. Then once all the poor people are desperate enough, they’ll agree to work in their shit mines for shit pay—up to a point. Crimson Dawn runs this scam on a handful of planets on the Outer Rim and a few in the Mid Rim.”

“I don’t understand. I thought Crimson Dawn wasn’t active anymore?”

“Oh, they’re still around, make no mistake. Q’ira, their leader, is a smart one; she adapts. Under the Empire, Crimson Dawn’s greatest strength was their brutality. Now it’s bribery. They pay off the politicians they can and chase off the ones they can’t. But they keep it all covert, you know, so everyone has plausible deniability. And they stay away from the Core Worlds, so the Republic seems content to turn a blind eye.” He tsks and shakes his head.

“Not if I have something to say about it,” Luke grumbles. 

“Well, give ‘em hell, Luke. I have to say”—he smirks and gives Luke a once-over that’s apparent even through the hologram—”I like this new you. So what’s the deal with you and Djarin? Is it serious, or…?”

Luke laughs and rolls his eyes. Par for the course when talking with Lando. “Thanks for your help, Lando. I’ll talk to you later.”

He laughs too. “You break my heart, Luke. But, sure, I’ll see you later, kid. And give that bastard Han some sharp words for me, will you?”

“You know I will.” 

Back in the guest room, Luke checks his comms on his personal holomessenger and isn’t surprised to find he has three missed transmissions from Minister Kelso. He sighs and, deciding there’s no point in putting it off, sends a transmission through. The call connects in a matter of seconds and Kelso’s disapproving figure pops up. 

“Ah, Luke,” he says, and already that tone of derision is slipping into his voice. “So you decided to return my comms.”

“Hi,” is all Luke has the energy to reply with.

“I see your extracurricular activities have been keeping you busy,” Kelso chides. “I suppose this might have something to do with your behavior of late?”

Luke’s jaw clenches, his mouth forming a thin, tight line. “It might.” 

“Well, no matter,” Kelso says, waving a hand, and it’s a wonder he manages to say anything with that stiff upper lip of his. “We’ll take care of this, not to worry. There’s nothing to prove that video is even real. If anyone asks you about it, just deny you had anything to do with it, alright?”

Luke doesn’t answer. The idea of denying it doesn’t sit right with him. 

“We’ll deal with whatever the fallout is after our meeting with the Duchess. You will be at the meeting later, right? It’ll be best if you show up in person, so it doesn’t look like you’re hiding. We’ll see you there? And on your best behavior?”

Luke suppresses a sigh. “Yeah.” 

“Good. I’ll see you later then.” 

“See you,” Luke mumbles as the transmission cuts out. 

He showers, and takes his time doing it, then dresses in the spare set of robes he always keeps at Leia’s place. He takes a glance at himself in the mirror and gods he looks tired, but there’s some look in his eye, something he can see in the lines of his face that’s familiar in a way, yet also new and foreign to him. He squints at his reflection, tilts his head, tries to put his finger on this ineffable quality that’s staring back at him, but then his eyes go dry and the edges of his vision blur. When he blinks, he can’t find in his reflection again what had been so apparent before. 

He yawns, shakes his head, and walks back to the kitchen where he gratefully scarfs down some bocha cakes that Leia offers him and washes them down with another cup of caf. 

“How do you feel?” Leia asks him gently. 

“I’m alright,” he replies, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Really. I’m fine.” 

And when he searches his feelings, he finds that it’s true. He’s not the best he’s ever been certainly, but he feels for the first time in a long time that he has both feet planted firmly on the ground.

Leia nods, watching him with just a hint of skepticism in her eye, but doesn’t push the matter. 

Luke clears his throat. “Hey, can I check in on Ben before I leave? I’ll be quiet.” 

She tells him he can, so he tiptoes to Ben’s room and slips through the door. Ben, always a heavy sleeper, doesn’t wake as he steps up to his bed and lowers himself into the chair next to it, his muscles aching in protest.

He watches the kid sleep for a little while, entranced by the total relaxation in his features, endeared by the soft smile he wears even in sleep. Ben’s quiet breathing fills the room with a sort of tranquility. 

Luke realizes he’s smiling—a real, honest smile—for the first time in a long time. 

Chapter Text

If nothing else can be said about the man, Greef Karga keeps his word. 

By the time Din lands on Sorgan, the video of him and Luke is already all over the holonet, so he isn’t surprised when he receives a transmission from Cara, but he doesn’t answer. He isn’t ready to talk about it yet.

Luckily, news travels slowly on Sorgan and no one is likely to hear about this for months. Here, it’s as if none of this ever happened, as if the last few weeks were nothing but a fever dream, belonging to another man from another time.

He isn’t sure if he finds that comforting or not. 

He puts his helmet under his arm and takes in deep, welcome breaths of the clean air as he walks down the boarding ramp. He knows when he leaves the planet he’ll have an inexhaustible list of things to worry about, but all those problems seem far away now, unimportant and irrelevant to anyone here. 

It’s quiet out—though not for long. Soon he hears the sound of children laughing and hollering as a group of them come running up to him from the village. Din recognizes all but one of them.

He grins and bends his knees slightly just before Winta barrels into him and throws her arms around his waist. 

“Hey, kid,” he says, hugging her back. 

She squeezes him as tightly as she can—something of a ritual between the two of them. “See how strong I am?” she asks, beaming. 

Din chuckles. “Yeah, you’re getting pretty strong.” 

He gives a wave to a group of villagers weaving baskets as he passes, swarmed by a horde of children attempting to hang off his every limb. The villagers are well used to his presence by now but not all of them look pleased at the disruption. 

He spends another few minutes outside with the kids, while they show him the fort they’ve been building out of sticks and he compliments their craftsmanship. Once they’re somewhat mollified, he manages to tear himself away, with no small amount of complaining from the youngsters, and slips into Omera’s hut with Winta at his heels. 

“Mom!” she yells. “Din’s here!” 

Omera steps out from around the corner, wearing an apron, and her face brightens as she sees him. “Winta, sweetie, you don’t need to yell quite so loud,” she says, but there’s no bite to it as she crosses over to them. 

“Sorry,” Winta mumbles. 

“It’s alright.” Omera pats her hair. “I know you’re excited.” She looks to Din, her eyes crinkling in a kind smile. “Din, how are you? I wasn’t expecting you. Is everything alright?”

He nods. “Everything’s fine.” It sounds weak even to his ears. “Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. This was a little, uh... Spontaneous.” 

“It’s no problem. You know you’re always welcome.” She nods to the small sitting area just inside the entryway. “Let’s sit down.” 

Winta crawls into Din’s lap as soon as he seats himself on one of the wicker chairs. She tells him about her friends and what she’s learning in school and how her uncle is teaching her to weave baskets. Din listens with interest until she talks herself out. Then Omera updates him on everything else—the state of the harvest, the leak they had in their roof last week, the unusual rains they’ve been having—but assures him they’re all happy and healthy. 

Winta quickly gets bored of this talk and hops off Din’s lap. With permission from her mom, she scampers off to rejoin her friends. Once she’s out the door, Omera leans forward and gives him a long look. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Din?” 

He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. He’s unsure what the honest answer is. Because he is alright, in most respects. He’s healthy, if a little sore from the fight with Luke, and he knows he has the skills and resources to survive whatever comes next. But there’s a hollow, unrelenting ache in the center of his chest where some forgotten part of himself has come alive and begs to be fed. The last time he felt anything like it, he’d ended up leaving his Creed and coming here—which had ultimately led to him losing everything and becoming lonelier than he’d ever been before. 

He’s afraid of what will happen if he gives in to the ache again, but he can hardly bear the thought of it sitting under his skin forever, should he ignore it. He’s stalled by fear—a feeling he’s not sure he’s ever experienced so acutely before. 

But these aren’t easy truths to speak, so he tells her again that he’s fine. It’s clear from her frown that she doesn’t believe him, but she knows him well enough to let it alone for the time being. 

“Will you stay for dinner, at least?”

“If it’s alright with you.” 

“We’d love to have you.” A subdued smile. “And I’ll even let you help me.” 

They move to the kitchen and she sets him to the task of cutting vegetables, a job he’s happy to accept. There’s comfort in the simple, straightforward task and catharsis in the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. 

“So what have you been up to?” Omera asks, over the sound of spices sizzling and a pot of broth simmering on the stovetop. 

“Just hunting, mainly.” 

“Any interesting quarries?” 

“Uh...” He swallows, slicing down on a bega root with decisive force. “Not really. I wanted to tell you that I might not be able to send any credits for a while, I’m… not with the Guild anymore. I’m not sure yet where I’m going to get work.”

“Oh?” She pauses and looks over at him. “Well, don’t worry about us; we’ll be fine. It was a good harvest this year. But what about you? You left the Guild?”

Shame washes over him; he doesn’t answer. Instead, he focuses on chopping the last of the vegetables, his hands twitching in their idleness once he’s finished. Omera tosses them in with the stew and finishes it off with some kind of seasoning Din doesn’t recognize.

She dusts off her hands, removes her apron, then crosses to the kitchen table where she pulls out two chairs and turns them so they’re facing each other. 

“Alright,” she says, sitting in one and gesturing to the other. “Sit down.” 

Din obeys. 

“Talk to me.”

He rests his hands on his knees and lets out a long exhale. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

She watches him for another second. Din ducks her gaze. 

“Is it about a… romantic interest?”

He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “...Maybe. Sort of.” He shuts his eyes. “Yes.” The weight of that admission settles in his stomach with a singular heaviness. 

“Did it end badly?” she asks carefully. 

He continues avoiding her eyes. “It’s… complicated.” 

She waits for him to go on. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits, gripping his knees. “I feel out of my depth.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

He swallows. “...Yes.”

She leans forward and gives him her most encouraging smile. “Just start at the beginning then.” 

“Um. Well.” He takes in a deep breath. “Have you heard of Luke Skywalker?”  

Once he’s told her the full story, Omera is silent for several long seconds, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling. 

“That’s… quite a story.” 

Din snorts. “That’s an understatement.” 

“I guess I don’t really understand the problem?” 

He blinks at her. “You mean… besides the fact that we almost killed each other?” 

“You and Cara almost killed each other when you met, and now look at you.”

Din frowns and scratches at the stubble along his jaw. “I guess that’s true. But this is different.” 

“Maybe so. But you don’t think he cares for you?” 

“That’s…” He hesitates. “That’s not the issue.” 

“What’s the issue?”

He leans his forearms on his knees and stares down at his hands, quiet for a few seconds. “What if… what if I can’t do it? What if I’ve spent so much time alone that I… don’t know how to be anything else? Luke is so… He’s so…” He can’t put it into words. “It just doesn’t seem fair to ask someone like him to take a chance on someone like me. Hunting is the only thing I know.”

She gives him a gentle smile. “It’s not the only thing you know. Don’t be silly.” 

“Well. It’s the only thing I’m good at.”

Omera smacks him lightly on the knee. “That’s not true either. Din, I’m worried about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m worried that you think what happened between us was some sort of failure on your part. That it was your fault things didn’t work out between us.”

His gaze stays fixed on his hands and his voice comes out tight and small. “Wasn’t it?”

“No,” she says firmly. “Sometimes, things just don’t work out. We were both unhappy by the time things ended. It doesn’t mean either of us did anything wrong, it just wasn’t a good fit. That happens sometimes; it’s okay. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you, or that you’ll never be able to make it work with anyone ever again. I’m worried you think that and I want you to know it isn’t true.”

Still unable to look at her, he closes his eyes and nods to show her he’s listening, but he can’t speak for fear his voice will break. 

“You have a good heart, Din,” she tells him, “beneath it all.”

He goes to argue with her, but she holds up a hand. “I mean it. I know what you’ve done and I still mean it. You take such good care of us. I want you to find someone who will take care of you. I don’t want to see you alone for the rest of your life—and I don’t think you want that, either.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he confesses quietly, after a beat.

“See, I think you do. Deep down, you know. But you think it’s something you can’t have.”

Her words ring true even as he tries to tell himself she’s wrong. He can’t deny the way an image forms in his mind as he considers what he wants. An image of joy, of peace, even of romance, but one he couldn’t bring himself to name if there were a blaster to his head.

 “Din.” Omera lowers her head to catch his eye. He manages to look back at her.

“You don’t have to know what you want,” she says. “You only have to decide what to do next.” 

“I’d like to stay for a little while. If I could.”

She gives him a look like there’s something else she wants to say, but she doesn’t. 

“Of course you can. As long as you like. But I can’t promise I won’t put you to work.” There’s that familiar glimmer of humor in her eyes and Din can’t help a small smile.

Winta rejoins them for dinner, her face flushed from play. Din laughs as she dramatically retells the story of something that happened in the schoolyard a few weeks ago. Omera laughs too, and occasionally chimes in to tell him that, no, that’s not exactly how it went. 

Winta’s joy is contagious and Din finds himself smiling as the knot that’s been wound up in his stomach for weeks starts to loosen. 

He helps clean up after dinner and says goodnight to Winta, who reluctantly heads off to bed.

While Omera tucks her in, Din walks to the porch and sits in the old rocking chair. It creaks under his weight, but he knows it’ll hold him. When he and Omera were married, he used to sit in this chair every morning, enjoying a cup of caf before the day’s work started, and he’d ended every day here, too. 

He feels so divorced from the memory of his life here, sometimes he swears he made it all up. Not that it was a bad chapter of his life—far from it—but it sits apart from the rest. It was the only time when his life wasn’t defined by single minded loyalty to a code, to a life he never really chose. 

The truth is, he’d fallen apart without the structure of dogma to hold him together. The truth is, he never really knew how to call his life his own. 

The truth is, he’s afraid it’s too late to learn.

If he couldn’t swing it when he was young and rebellious and bursting with energy, how can he expect to do it now that he’s none of those things?

Still, these last few weeks have shown him parts of himself he’d long thought extinct, if he’d known they existed at all. For the first time in many years, he’s surprised himself. 

The last time that happened was when he’d left his Creed and married Omera. At the time, it had been the most monumental event of his life and now it’s only a memory, one that’s almost impossible to recall through the haze of time and experience that’s eclipsed it.

He thinks of what Omera had said.

You don’t have to know what you want. You just have to decide what to do next.

He has no idea what that is. 

I can’t promise I won’t put you to work.

She’d been joking but… it’s a possibility. He could earn his keep in the village and have another go at making a simple life here. He could let these past weeks simply fade away into another hazy memory he’ll struggle to even believe ten years from now. 

He doesn’t want that. The thought comes to him immediately and he doesn’t resist it.

He doesn’t want to forget anything that’s happened, he realizes. He doesn’t want to leave this new version of himself in the past. 

He doesn’t know what that means for his future, but he knows he wants to keep surprising himself. 

He leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath of the fresh, crisp air.

It’s a warm night, illuminated by a bright full moon and a plethora of stars that shine out with an intensity unlike anything in Galactic City. The people here might not have easy access to the holonet or food from every corner of the galaxy or expensive starships and fancy speeders, but they have something many people of Coruscant can hardly imagine: a night sky full of marvels. 

More than that, they understand something here that many people, especially in the Core worlds, seem to have forgotten: that life is good. That life is good and it's best enjoyed with friends and loved ones, delicious food and simple pleasures. 

Din had understood that once but, in his constant mad rush from one mission to the next, it seems he’d forgotten it. For a long time, he’s spent nearly every waking moment on a hunt or thinking about his next one. For a long time, he’s hardly allowed himself to think of anything else. 

His dogged determination had made him successful and his success had made him notorious, but it was only ever a state of survival, maintained by a refusal to contemplate the sheer loneliness of his existence. 

Now, he doesn’t want to just survive. He wants to drink deeply from life. He wants to leave the warpath to wander instead, to let the softer parts of himself, which have been silenced for so long, have their say. 

Leaning back in the rocking chair, his face turned up toward the moon and eyes gently closed, the sounds of the night—frogs singing in the trees, a breeze rustling the grass—fill him with awe. For the first time in a long time, he feels not just alive but also clear headed. 

He hopes to see Luke again. He hopes to tell him all the things he should have told him already. He hopes to hear him say he feels the same but even if he doesn’t, Din knows his life can never go back to the way it was.  

In just a few moments, a plan begins to form in his mind and, although the way is still far from clear, he knows what his next step is. He knows how he can begin to atone for his mistakes, for realizing these things too late.

He tells Omera he needs to send a transmission and heads back to the Crest.

“Hey, loverboy,” Cara says when it connects. “I have a feeling I know why you’re calling.” 

Din sighs. “I need your help.” 

Chapter Text

“You’re late,” Kelso chastises, as Luke strides into the Senate Building.

“No, I’m not.”

“Well, you might as well be. We’re meeting Duchess Van Hess in five minutes. It would’ve been wise for us to strategize before starting so we could make sure we’re all on the same page, but it’s a little late for that now.”

“Pity.” Luke starts walking in the direction of the meeting rooms at a brisk pace.

“A little remorse would go a long way, Master Skywalker,” Kelso says, following after him and struggling to keep up. “Especially after I spent all morning handling press and putting out fires after your little mishap, shall we say . We’re now up to four planets that have requested a new ambassador and I highly doubt it will stop there.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Don’t you care about your career at all? I don’t think I need to tell you how much you’ve been skirting the line recently.”

Luke stops and turns to face him. “No, I don’t think you do.”

Kelso crosses his arms over his chest, his sharp nose held high. “Even you, Master Jedi, can’t afford to rest on your laurels like this. We simply can’t allow this carelessness to go on.”  

Luke lets out a quiet scoff and continues walking. “I don’t intend to rest on my laurels.” 

“Then what do you intend?” 

Luke feels a little bubble of panic from Kelso’s presence. 

“Skywalker?” He tsks. “You see, this is why we should’ve had a briefing beforehand, but since you couldn’t be bothered to show up on time, let’s make one thing clear: you are only here on ceremony and to show that you are not in hiding because you have nothing to hide because that holovideo was fake. So you will sit there and nod sagely and say nothing. Understood?”

Luke shrugs. “Sure.”

Kelso’s voice lowers to an insistent whisper. “And let’s get another thing clear: we may or may not be able to fool the galaxy into believing that video was faked, but I know it was real. Trust that I can make life a lot more difficult for you if you try to complicate things here.”

Luke scoffs, stopping outside conference room 12C. “This is where we’re meeting the Duchess, yes?”

“Oh, I see. You don’t believe me. You think you hold all the cards here. You know, I hold a lot of sway in the Republic. And I know you have ambitions of restarting the Jedi Order someday. Would be pretty difficult to do so without the financial support of the Republic behind you.”

Luke can’t help the sly smirk that sneaks across his face. “I think the only person in the galaxy that believes you have that kind of power is you. Shall we go in?”

A look of impotent fury hides in Kelso’s gaze, but he schools his expression into one of Senatorial neutrality. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. You’d best behave yourself.”

Luke gives him a sweet smile. “Don’t I always?”

“Oh, don’t test me,” Kelso grumbles, shouldering past him and into the conference room.

Don’t I always? Luke thinks, but bites his tongue. 

Duchess Van Hess is already seated at the conference table. She’s dressed as luxuriously as she’d been at the gala, with a fur coat draped over her narrow shoulders and a dazzling array of jewelry adorning her neck and wrists. Her hands, gloved in white, are daintily folded on top of the table and her mouth is drawn into a tight line. 

“Duchess Van Hess, how lovely to see you,” Kelso says, oozing charm as if he hadn’t been spitting venom—or trying to—moments ago.

Luke slouches into the seat farthest from the Duchess. Kelso gives him one last warning glare as he lowers himself into the chair next to him.

“No time for pleasantries, I know,” Kelso goes on. “Your situation on Itaika sounds quite dire. Why don’t you begin by telling us more about these… labor difficulties?”

The Duchess sniffs and clutches at one of her necklaces, already looking put out. “You make it sound so trivial.”

“That was not my intent at all.” Kelso gives her an encouraging smile. “We just want to get an idea of what we’re dealing with. So we can help.”

“Oh, well, it’s been an absolute nightmare,” she laments. “It’s been one catastrophe after another for weeks on end. I’ve barely slept at all, hardly eaten. Our entire mining workforce is on strike and, with Allrex Ore being our main export, I’m sure you can imagine the disastrous effect this is having on our economy. Everything is at a standstill. For six weeks! And no signs of stopping. Because it’s not just the miners, of course, but the laborers who feed them, give them transport, they’re all out of work now too. Such a mess!”

Kelso nods, his brow furrowed, his expression the perfect mixture of concern and competence. “Sounds like quite the mess, indeed. I feel for you and your planet, Duchess. What a harrowing time this must be for you. And what are their demands, these workers?”

“Positively ludicrous, is what they are, and ungrateful on top of it all. You understand, many of these workers were nothing —nothing— before they came to work for us, living in absolute destitution without a single credit to their names and no roof over their heads.”

“Yes, but the demands—”

“A number of them were slaves from the Hutt Cartel before we took them in, gave them a job, housing, and this is how they repay—”

“And how did you come by them?” Luke cuts in. “The slaves?”

The Duchess stiffens. “I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a simple question. The Hutts don’t just go around giving away their ‘property’ for free. So how did they come to Itaika?”

She holds her head high and fidgets with her necklace, avoiding Luke’s gaze. “I’m sure I don’t know. This was before I was Duchess; my mother was on the throne. You’d have to ask her.”

“Ah, yes. Your mother. She dealt with another strike like this, didn’t she? When she was in power?”

Kelso pointedly clears his throat. “Why don’t we stick to the issue at hand?”

“And now you say many of your workers are former slaves,” Luke goes on, ignoring him, “so perhaps it was cheaper at that time to just buy a new workforce to fix your labor shortage.”

The Duchess gasps. “What a hideous accusation!”

“But the question is: why haven’t you resorted to the same strategy now? Unless—”

Kelso raises his voice. “That’s quite enough, Skywalker. We’ve strayed far from the purpose of this meeting. This isn’t a history lesson. Duchess Van Hess, the union’s demands, if you please.” 

The Duchess adjusts her cloak, collecting herself, but Luke can feel he’s disturbed her. So much the better. 

“Well… they want higher wages for one thing, nearly double what they’re being paid now, if you can believe it. Honestly, it’s the furthest from reasonable—”

Even Kelso’s patience with her seems to run thin, although he masks it well. “And the other demands?”

“Healthcare, shorter work days, paid time off, hazard pay…” She huffs. “Really, it would be easier to list what they aren’t asking for.”

Kelso marks something down on the datapad in front of him. “I see... Well, I understand mining Allrex Ore is rather dangerous.”

“Nonsense. Well, yes, there are risks as with anything else, but it hardly warrants—”

“Wasn’t there a cave-in last month?” Luke interrupts again. “In one of your mines? 

The Duchess seems taken aback. “What of it?”

“You know, I’ve been an ambassador for the Republic these last nine years and I’ve helped with negotiations for a multitude of labor battles on more planets than I could even count.”

She frowns at him, tapping her gloved fingers on the tabletop. “I’m aware, Master Jedi. That’s why I approached you about the issue in the first place.” 

Feeling a speech rising in him, Luke stands. “Yes, but what you—and so many others—seem unaware of is that these struggles are always caused by something. You high-and-mighty types want to act like the people beneath you don’t exist, like they aren’t real human beings with real wants and needs until the day they rise up and force you to remember. And you all never like that very much, do you? You always want to pretend it happened without reason, out of nowhere. I’ve seen it over and over again. After all, people will usually mind the status quo until they can’t take it anymore. Until their loved ones die in, say, a mine collapse. As a random example.”

“Sit down, Skywalker,” Kelso hisses. “The Duchess didn’t come here to be lectured to.” 

“Did you know about it, Minister Kelso?” Luke asks. “The cave-in?

“I heard about it, yes.”

“And it never occurred to either of you that it could be relevant here?”

Kelso lets out a huff and pinches the bridge of his nose. “For mercy’s sake, Luke, I’ve only just started listing the union’s demands.” 

“Speaking of the union,” Luke says, “I don’t see a representative here. Seems like a pretty significant oversight, don’t you think?

“Moments ago you were bragging about your experience and now you’re acting as if you’ve never participated in labor negotiations before,” Kelso sneers. “This is how these preliminary discussions always go. We’ll meet with the union at a later date.”

“Oh, well, don’t let me get in the way of this important work then.” Luke sits back down, arms still crossed, returning to his irreverent slouch. “I’ll just sit here and watch the show until you’re ready to talk about what’s actually going on here. 

“Oh?” The Duchess scowls. “And what do you imagine that to be?”

“Ignore him,” Kelso tells her.

“No, no, if the all-knowing Master Jedi thinks he knows more about my own planet than I do, then I’d like to hear his sage wisdom.”

Luke can’t help but smirk again. “I don’t think you want to know what I know, Duchess. You see, the Minister accused me of resting on my laurels—and maybe I have in the past—but this time, I’ve done my homework. So I want to know when we’re finally going to talk about Crimson Dawn.”

“I— I beg your pardon?” The Duchess squawks, her voice going high-pitched.  

Kelso huffs again. “Oh, what are you on about now?”

“Well, I bet it’s the reason the Duchess hasn’t once again resorted to shipping in slave labor from the Hutts to fix her problem. She’s being funded by Crimson Dawn; it’s not like she can go to their competition to bail her out.”

Kelso stammers to get a sentence out but, clearly blindsided, comes up short. 

The Duchess’ eyes are wide with shock, her cheeks flushed red. “You— How dare you— You have no right to make such baseless accusations!”

Luke lets out a humorless laugh. “Oh, now you want to talk about rights? According to the New Republic Charter, your workers have the indisputable right to strike, but you’ve been perfectly happy to undermine that any way you can. I know what it’s like to live under the boot of one of the syndicates. I know what that desperation feels like. I promise you, there’s nothing that will fix this problem except to attack it at the root.” 

“When I came to the Republic for help, I never imagined I’d have to suffer such indignity!” the Duchess screeches. “To be forced to listen to the ravings of a madman! Clearly, he’s lost his mind. Or are we all going to pretend we didn’t see his tasteless behavior in that holovideo?”

“The same way we’re all going to pretend you aren’t being bought off by Crimson Dawn? You know, three years ago, your mining operation was completely bankrupt—but now it’s prosperous. You see, I spent some time going through your public records and, by all indications, Itaika is flush with cash—and yet every year less and less ore is reported as leaving the planet. That’s a funny thing, isn’t it? Makes a person wonder what’s going on off the record.” 

The Duchess gives a laugh that’s too choked and high-pitched to be considered nonchalant. “Look at you! You have no real evidence at all! Just some… some circumstantial hearsay that could be explained a thousand other ways.”

Kelso puts in, “I have to agree with the Duchess—”

“How do you explain it, then? And how do you explain Senator Jexxen? Last year he was vocally sponsoring an anti-corruption bill that would’ve had every Itaikan official examined. Now, suddenly, he’s changed his tune and dropped the bill.”

The Duchess scoffs. “Senators change their minds. This is hardly news.”

“Yes, and what an interesting coincidence that Senator Bresden, who was co-sponsoring the bill, suddenly and inexplicably left office last month.”

“A coincidence, yes, but I would expect such vile accusations to be backed up by more than coincidence. This is all rather embarrassing for you.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“You ought to be.” The Duchess smiles, as if she really has him in a corner now, her hand again grazing absently over her jewels. “Maybe you see criminality everywhere because you spend your time in bed with criminals.” 

“Maybe that means I know what to look for.”

“Alright, enough,” Kelso cuts in. “The Duchess is right: this is embarrassing. Duchess Van Hess, I understand you’re upset and I understand that Master Skywalker has behaved poorly, but there’s no evidence to suggest that video is even real, so I would appreciate—”

“It’s real,” Luke says.

“I— What?” Kelso’s gaze snaps in Luke’s direction, startled but steely. “You don’t mean that,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“It was real. But you know what isn’t real?” He stands again and gestures around the room. “All of this. We all know what the real problem is here. And you—” he points a finger at the Duchess “—need to do something about it already. You need to oust every politician and every mine operator that’s in Crimson Dawn’s pocket—unless, of course, they’re paying you off too. In which case, you should resign immediately.”

“L—Ludicrous!” she stammers out. 

“And you—” Luke points at Kelso “—need to stop ignoring the problem and do something already. Something more substantial than just… licking boots and dreaming about holding the Republic’s purse strings.”

“I said enough!” Kelso booms, slamming a hand down on the table as he stands, sending his chair flying backward. “If you want to be done, then be done! We have no use for these dramatics. You have fallen so far, Skywalker. You’ve lost every shred of dignity, of rationality, that you ever had!”

Luke looks at him for a second—then bursts out into a bright laugh. “Do you mean it? Tell me you do.” 

Kelso shakes his head. “You’re out of your mind, Skywalker. It’s a sad shame.”

“I can live with that. But I can’t live with any of this anymore.” He turns to the Duchess. “Tell Crimson Dawn I’m coming for them.”

Chapter Text

Luke returns to his apartment in Hanna City, where he receives a transmission from Mon Mothma herself. 

“So, Kelso tells me you intend to resign,” she says, always straight to the point. 

“That’s right. Figured I’d spare you the trouble of firing me.” He gives a wry smile which she doesn’t return. 

“Very considerate of you. I only wished you’d chosen a less public way to voice your displeasure—then again, your family always did have a flair for the dramatic.”

Luke chuckles, looking down. “Yeah…”

“Kelso told me about the nature of your outburst this morning and I want you to know, I intend to personally look into this situation on Itaika. If Crimson Dawn is indeed involved as you say, we will treat the matter with the utmost urgency.” 

Oh, well, that puts my mind at ease, is what Luke wants to say. Instead he only bows his head. 

There’s a pause before she asks, “Are you doing alright, Luke? I suppose it might not be my place to ask, but the two of us have known each other for some time now, and I can’t help but notice you seem… changed recently.” 

The question—and her concern—takes him by surprise. 

“Yes,” he answers, after thinking for a moment. “I… lost my way for a while. But I think I’ve found it now. Actually, I’m better than I’ve been in a long time.” The realization that that statement is true hits him hard between the ribs. 

“Well. I’m glad to hear that.” She gives the smallest of smiles, barely noticeable. “Despite everything, I’m sad to see you go.” 

Luke doesn’t necessarily feel the same, so he steps on the impulse to say ‘me too,’ and opts instead for, “Thank you. I appreciate you for reaching out.”

She nods to him, then the transmission ends. 

Sitting in the eerie, endless quiet of his apartment, Luke knows there’s something else he needs to do, something he should have done already.

He records a holomessage to Osteon—or tries to. 

It takes him nearly an hour and probably a dozen deleted attempts before he comes up with anything that sounds at all appropriate to send to the man he’d fucked then nearly killed.

“Osteon,” Luke says in the recording as he watches it back. “Truthfully, I don’t know how to begin to apologize to you. I don’t know what I can possibly say that could make up for what I did to you—but I’d like to try. I owe you an explanation. A few of them. If you’re open to it, let me know where we can meet and I’ll explain everything.”

Deciding that’s as good as it’s likely going to get, Luke sends the message and tries not to be anxious, but nearly jumps out of his skin when Osteon’s reply comes a short while later.

He agrees to meet up, saying that he’s already in Hanna City for work, and sends Luke the coordinates to a diner. Relief isn’t exactly what Luke feels, as he still has to figure out what to say to him when he sees him, but he’s glad Osteon is willing to meet him at all. 

When Luke arrives at the small, hole-in-the-wall diner, he finds himself surprised. It isn’t at all what he would have expected Osteon to pick—which is to say, there are options on the menu that cost less than a dozen credits and the servers aren’t wearing ties. It never occurred to him that Osteon would ever set foot in a place like this, as quaint as it is.

Luke’s heart sinks as he realizes that maybe he’d never gotten to know Osteon much past what he’d assumed about him. 

He seats himself at a corner booth and orders two cups of caf from the server, then gazes out the window. He’s used to getting stares wherever he goes, but the general public’s interest in him is amplified tenfold now. He feels the weight of at least a dozen people watching him, whispering about him, and does his best to ignore it, breathing his irritation into the Force.

It’s comforting, at least, that he seems able to rely on the Force again. 

When Osteon arrives, he slides into the booth across from Luke and gives him a smile that is no less kind than usual but much more guarded. In his tailored black velvet tunic, he couldn’t look more out of place in the casual diner, but Luke assumes he must be used to that. 

“It’s good to see you,” Luke tells him, finding himself immediately off balance. “How…” He clears his throat. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Osteon replies, and the warmth Luke is used to receiving from him is gone. “And you, Luke?”

“I’m alright,” Luke tells him and feels like a coward for avoiding his gaze and instead looking down at the table. In the back of his mind, he can still see the terror on Osteon’s face after Luke had… 

He swallows hard and tries to put it out of his mind. 

“I’m better,” he says, meeting Osteon’s eye. “I’m… myself again. And I know there’s no way I can ever express how sorry I am for what happened, no way I can ever make it up to you, but I am sorry, Osteon. For what it’s worth. I don’t... I don’t really even know how to explain it.”

“Don’t say the Force is mysterious,” Osteon responds, flatly. 

“Well…” Luke lets out half a dry laugh but strangles it on the end, realizing now is not the time for humor. “No, I won’t say that. But I’ve been struggling recently. Trying to figure out my place in the Republic. In the galaxy. I worked so hard, sacrificed so much, to end the Empire—we all did. And when I realized the Republic wasn’t what I’d hoped it could be… I don’t know. I became disillusioned. I became careless. Something… broke in me. Something broke and allowed the Dark Side to take over.”

“The Dark Side…” Osteon muses, his gaze unfocused, hand absently trailing over the tabletop.

Luke takes a sip of his caf and gives him time to process that. 

Eventually Osteon speaks up. “I’ve heard of the Dark Side, of course, but I never thought… I mean, you’re Luke Skywalker. I never would have thought…”

Luke thinks a moment, then asks rhetorically, “Do you know why I always wear black? Why I wear this glove?” He holds it up. “It’s to remind me of my father. So I never forget what happened to him. So I never forget what could happen to me. And for a long time, it was always on my mind. A constant fear. But I guess, after a while, I got comfortable. I thought I was safe. I thought I had it figured out.”

“You became reckless,” Osteon sums up for him and, again, it’s not unkind but far more brusque than Luke is used to. Not that he doesn’t deserve it.

“Yes,” Luke admits. “I just wanted to feel… something new. Something different. I wanted to be different—but I didn’t know it would lead to this.” He fixes Osteon with the frankest stare he can muster, desperate to convince him of his honesty. “I never wanted this. I never meant to hurt you. Or anyone.”

“I know that,” Osteon replies, quietly. 

“But that doesn’t make it any easier. I know.”

Osteon nods slowly. A beat passes before he says, “Apart from the abject terror I felt that night, this is all a little embarrassing for me, you understand. And with the video, on top of it all…”

Luke looks down into his mug. 

“So it’s real then?”  

Luke nods. 

“Right.” Osteon tries to hide it, but his hurt is written all over his face and ricochets in the Force, scattered and disorganized where he’s usually steady and collected. “I mean, it’s not as if I had any expectations of exclusivity from you, Luke, but I thought— Well, I thought— I don’t know what I thought, to be truthful, but this is all just a little…”

“Embarrassing,” Luke fills in for him. “I do understand. And I never meant to embarrass you, Osteon. I really do care for you.”

A hint of bitterness slips into Osteon’s voice. “And him?” 

Luke resists the urge to look away again and chews on the inside of his lip, unsure how to answer honestly. The message is clear enough.

“I see.” Osteon’s dejection rankles in the Force. “Well, I suppose I can’t blame you. It looked like one hell of a kiss.” 

“It was,” Luke answers softly, since he’s committed to honesty, but he can hardly stand the feeling of Osteon’s heartache pricking at his skin.

“That was him. Wasn’t it? The hunter that ambushed us on our date?”

“Yes.”

For the first time Luke can remember, Osteon’s expression verges on sour. “So that was all just… what? Foreplay?” 

“No!” Luke says emphatically, then remembers he’d decided to be truthful. “Well…” 

“I thought we were in genuine danger that day!” Another first: Osteon’s voice rises. “I was afraid. For me, for you, for the bystanders.” He leans in, his amber eyes piercing in their shrewdness. “But it was all just a game to you. All of it. The whole thing.” 

“No,” Luke insists again.

“You were just bored and acting out! You didn’t care who got caught in the crossfire.” 

Luke almost says ‘that’s not true,’ but he refrains, because he isn’t sure that would be honest, either. He can’t pretend there isn’t some truth in Osteon’s words.

"And what about the gala?" Osteon presses. "You agreed to be my date, but then you left to go be with him. I was worried for you! I thought you were dealing with a credible threat! But no, you were just, what, flirting? And then you asked me to take you home and you nearly killed me. And you never did tell me what happened between you and him that night, so I'm forced to wonder—"

"Nothing happened," Luke cuts in, his voice wavering. He knew it would be difficult to face the consequences of his questionable decisions, but he still couldn't have prepared himself for the overwhelming guilt that washes over him. "We fought, okay? Din and I. We were over at that point, and we fought. And then I..." 

Luke swallows, struggling to relive that evening all over again. "I hurt him. I didn't mean to, but he just made me so angry, and then... Well, that was why I was such a wreck that night. And you were just so centering, so comforting, I thought... It doesn’t matter what I thought. I wasn't in my right mind, but it's no excuse. I should have been more honest with you."

Osteon nods at that, looking somewhat mollified, and takes a few seconds to stare down at his hand, still tracing patterns over the tabletop. "And what about now?" He looks at Luke. "Are the two of you still over?"

Luke tries not to appear too heartbroken when he says, "I think so." He takes a deep breath. "Look, I want you to know that it wasn't all a game to me. You were not a game to me."

"But I was a distraction."

They both know that what he says is true.

"I'm sorry," Luke says again, unable to deny his words. “But I did—I do—genuinely care for you. But Din was… He was something I never saw coming, something I didn’t know how to handle. But I shouldn’t have brought you into it. That was selfish of me.”

“It was,” Osteon agrees, then his expression softens. “But I… I don’t regret it, Luke. Not entirely. I’m glad to have gotten to know you, however briefly. There’s no one else in the galaxy like you. I wish things had ended differently between us, but I… Well, I hope you can be happy.”

Luke gives him a gentle smile, afraid to break the delicate understanding they seem to have come to, and says, “I want that for you, too.” 

Osteon stares down at the cup of caf he has yet to touch. “You know, I heard a rumor that you’re resigning from your ambassadorship. Considering what you said on the balcony that night, I figured it could be credible. Is it true?”

“I resigned this morning.”

“I see.” He thinks for a moment. “So you’re really just giving up? On the Republic?”

“It was killing me, Osteon. Working for the Republic. It was turning me into something I don’t want to become. I have to find a different way, a better way, to serve the people of the galaxy. I don’t know exactly what that is yet, but I know I can’t keep doing what I was doing. It was killing me,” Luke repeats, emphatically. 

Osteon finally takes a long sip of his caf. After a beat of silence, he says, “Well, I still don’t agree with your stance on the New Republic—I maintain that the galaxy is better off with the Republic than without it. I still believe I best serve my people through my work as a Senator—but I will always respect you, Luke, for speaking your mind and holding to your own principles. And I’m sorry that the Republic couldn’t be what you had envisioned for it.”

“Please.” Luke shakes his head. “Please don’t apologize. For anything. If everyone in the Republic were like you, I doubt I would be resigning.”

Osteon gives a sad sort of smile. “And therein lies the issue, I suppose. It’s not that I’m unaware of the Republic’s shortcomings, Luke. It’s just that I’m not ready to give up on my life’s work. Not yet, anyway.”

Luke returns his smile. “I know.” 

They sit in silence for a few short seconds, before Osteon reaches out, takes Luke’s hand, and gives it a brief squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger, alright?” he says, letting go. 

“I won’t.” Luke smiles again, but it’s sadder this time. 

Osteon stands, gives him a final nod, then leaves. It hurts more than Luke thought it would, his guilt and sadness combining to make an awful mixture that sits in his stomach like stone. 

He puts his head in his hands and lets out a long exhale. 

Perhaps the saddest fact of all is that the person he really wants to talk to about this is Din. He wonders what he’d think of it, what he’d say.

Taking one last gulp of cold caf, he leaves his payment and a generous tip on the table, then makes his own exit, gawked at by strangers as he goes. 

He collapses onto his bed almost as soon as he arrives at his apartment. He lies awake for a long while, overwhelmed by the suffocating silence of the place. The Force is quiet now, gentler than it’s been to him in a long time. He closes his eyes and feels into its ebbs and flows, letting it wash over him like a warm breeze until it eventually lulls him to sleep. 

He dreams once more of a cliff overlooking the landscape of Arvala Seven, its red sands and ridges now familiar to him. 

Din is standing next to him, as before, and Luke feels the comfort of his presence embrace him. He watches the skyline shift from gray to red. He watches the dead, blackened sun rear its head as it has each time before—except this time, as the lightless sun rises into the red sky, the horizon starts to bleed. Bright red ichor drips from the sky and floods the land until the bloody waves lap at the base of the cliff. 

Luke glances over at Din, who’s already looking at him, then looks back out over the blood soaked sands and up into the ruddy sky.

A crimson dawn, he realizes. 

A Crimson Dawn. And a Black Sun. 

He can’t believe it took him this long to make the connection.

Then something else happens in the dream that’s never happened before: a voice, faint and childlike, whispers ‘Help me.’

‘Help me,’ the voice repeats.

Luke looks around him but there’s no one except for Din, who seems oblivious to the voice. Luke can sense the youth of the asker and such fear, like he hasn’t felt in a long time. 

‘Help me,’ the child implores. ‘Arvala Seven.’ 

‘Help me. Help me. Help me.’ 

Luke wakes up in a start and begins packing his things.  

Chapter Text

“Alright, just hold still,” Din says, over the loud clicking of the field cauterizer in his hand.

“I am holding still,” Cara replies through gritted teeth. She tenses as he guides the cauterizer over the deep gash on her arm but otherwise shows no sign of pain, though Din knows from experience that it hurts like hell.

They’re sitting on a durasteel crate in the dingy, dusty office of Imperial Warlord Vern Hanzog, who’s slumped backward in his chair, a scorched hole in the center of his forehead. The floor is littered with Stormtrooper bodies, whose armor was scratched and stained even before Din, Fennec, and Cara had charged in and made quick work of them. 

Across the room, Fennec is hunched over the Imperial’s computer terminal, trying to hack in.

“How’s it looking, Fennec?” Din calls over, now smearing a generous amount of bacta on a bandage. He can feel sweat dripping down his neck from beneath his helmet—at least, he’s pretty sure it’s sweat and not blood, but he should look into that later.

“These security systems are ancient,” she says, fingers moving rapidly across the keypad. “Shouldn’t be an issue.” She shakes her head. “Imperials are a pathetic bunch these days. I don’t know why they keep trying.”

“Cause they’re assholes,” Cara grunts, as Din gingerly presses the bandage against her wound. 

Fennec glances over at the two of them. “What’s the prognosis, doc?” 

“She’ll live,” Din answers, tying off the bandage. “Alright, Cara?”

She nods, looking over Din’s handiwork. “I’ll live.” 

“Aha,” Fennec says, triumphantly, yet somehow still in her usual deadpan. “Here we go. I found Skywalker’s bounty posting.” 

Din swallows. “Can you delete it?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” 

He glances over at Cara, who shrugs a shoulder. 

A few seconds later, Fennec mutters, “Damn.”  

Din doesn’t like the sound of that. “What is it?”

“Bad news. It looks like jackass over here”—she jabs a thumb at the deceased Warlord—”made Luke’s bounty public already. And, with a reward that large…”

“Every hunter in the galaxy’s gonna be looking for him,” Din fills in for her, a chill running through him.

“Well, not all of them will be that stupid,” Cara puts in. 

Din gives her a dirty look from behind his helmet.

“Maybe,” Fennec says, sounding skeptical. “I’ll delete it anyway, but… most of them have probably seen it already.” 

Din tries to exhale the horrible, twisting feeling winding its way through his insides, but he can’t help but feel at least partially responsible for this. “I should warn Luke,” he murmurs. 

But Fennec doesn’t seem to be listening; she’s still fixed on the computer with a look of consternation on her face. 

“What is it?” Cara asks.

“Huh,” is all Fennec says. 

“What?” Din and Cara ask in unison, exchanging a glance. 

“Hanzog had another bounty posted,” she says. “Just the one. Reward is as high as Luke’s.” 

Din’s brow furrows. “Who is it?”

“Not a clue. There’s no name attached. No species, either. Just an age. 50 years old.” She presses another few buttons on the keypad. “Shit, there must be at least 50 fobs tracking this thing—maybe more. It looks like every hunter in the Guild has one.” 

“What?” Din stands and crosses to the terminal. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.” But sure enough, the amount of active pings listed for the bounty is higher than he’s ever ever seen before. “What’s the bounty’s location now? Can you see that?”

She types in another code and pulls up a different screen. “Some planet called… Arvala Seven.” 

“Arvala Seven?” He frowns. “Arvala Seven… Where have I heard that before?” 

Fennec shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it. Doesn’t look like there’s much there.” 

Din freezes. 

‘Have you ever been to a planet called Arvala Seven?’ he remembers Luke saying. ‘We should go there.’

His head spins, vaguely aware that Cara has wandered over to stand behind Fennec’s shoulder. They’re both watching him now.

Fennec quirks a brow at him. “You know something about it?” 

“Luke mentioned it to me once. He didn’t say anything about it, just that we should go there.” 

“Well, you better hope he didn’t go without you,” Cara says. “That place is gonna be crawling with hunters.” 

“And most of them will be after his head,” Fennec adds, as if that wasn't the first thought in Din's head. 

Luke can more than hold his own, he reminds himself. He’s the fiercest warrior in the entire galaxy—so there’s no reason for Din’s heart to be pounding in his chest like it is, no reason for his palms to be sweaty and his mouth dry.

But Din knows by now that he’s lost all objectivity, all rationality, when it comes to Luke. The thought of him being in danger, even a danger he’s well-matched against, is not one he can easily set aside. Besides, even Luke has his limits, probably, and there are a lot of bounty hunters in the galaxy.

“You alright?” Cara asks.

“I’m fine,” he forces out. “Let’s finish up here. There’s… something I need to do.” 

Fennec snorts. “As if we need you.” But there’s no venom in her words. He even dares to think there’s some fondness hidden in her sardonic smile as she shares a knowing look with Cara, who claps him on the arm.

“Yeah, we’ve got this handled,” she tells him. “Go rescue your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my—” Din huffs, deciding there’s hardly any reason to argue that point. “Alright, I’m going.” A glance at each of them. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here, loverboy,” Cara teases, as Din turns to leave. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” he grumbles. 

Fennec wolf whistles at him on his way out. He lets out an exasperated sigh, but there’s small smile on his face in spite of it all.

A few hours later, Din is back in Hanna City, standing on the same porch where he’d left Luke last time. 

He highly doubts Organa is any fan of his, but he has no other way to contact Luke and no other leads to find him. 

He hesitates on the porch for a second then takes off his helmet, hoping that will make him seem less threatening. He hits the buzzer and takes a few steps back from the door—outside of lightsaber range. 

When it slides open, there stands Leia who, as predicted, looks none too excited to see him. She crosses her arms with a scowl. “You again. What do you want?”

“I’m… looking for your brother. Do you know where he is?”

She narrows her eyes. “Haven’t you done enough to Luke already?”

“I know. I have. But I’m trying to make things right.” Din’s hands clench and unclench at his sides.  “I think he might be in danger.” 

She continues watching him with skepticism. “What makes you say that?” 

He racks his brain for a concise way to explain the situation and comes up short. “I just… have… a bad… f—feeling…” he stammers out, then grimaces at himself.  She moves to shut the door. “Wait!” He throws his arm out and presses it against the doorframe, stopping it from closing. “Wait. Please. I can explain.” 

She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes, but lets the door open again. 

“Did Luke ever tell you about a planet called Arvala Seven?” he asks.

That gets her attention. 

“Why?” she answers slowly. “What do you know about it?”

“Nothing. All I know is that Luke told me we should go there, back when we were on Coruscant. He said he had… a feeling we should go there.”

“And?” 

“And, today I found the Imperial that put the bounty on Luke. He’s dead. We deleted the posting, but he’d already made it public.”

Leia frowns at that.

“But the strange part," Din continues, "is he only had one other bounty posted, same reward as Luke’s, pinging from Arvala Seven.” 

He waits for that revelation to hit Leia, but she only continues staring at him with that same flat expression. “So?”

Din huffs. “So, don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

She considers it. “A little. But maybe you just want to think it’s odd.” 

It’s Din’s turn to frown at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, maybe you want an excuse to go looking for Luke.” 

He shifts his weight, unable to admit to that and equally unable to deny it. 

“Why can’t you just use your tracking fob to find him?”

“It was deactivated when I left the Guild.”

“That’s too bad,” she says flatly.

“Look, can you at least tell me how I can contact him? I just think someone should warn him. It would… put my mind at ease.” Off her hesitation, he adds, “I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“It is a lot to ask.” Her expression is as firm as ever and Din can tell he’ll make no headway here. 

“Alright,” he says, his heart sinking. “Alright. You’re right. I’ll go.” He turns and makes it halfway down the steps before he hears a sigh.

“Wait,” Leia calls out. Din pauses and looks back in her direction. Another sigh. “Luke… did say he was going to Arvala Seven. He said he’d been having dreams about it. He said… Look, you better come inside.” 

Din stares at her, bewildered. But she seems to have made up her mind and steps back into the house, gesturing for him to follow. He steps into the entryway carefully, as if any false move might result in a lightsaber at his throat again. 

“Luke sent me his coordinates when he landed on Arvala Seven,” she tells him, leading him down the hall. “I can give them to you, but I don’t know how much good it will do you; he tends to move pretty quick.” 

There’s a door at the end of the hall and the faint sound of voices, in animated discussion, drift in from the other side of it. Leia pauses before opening it. 

“Han might freak out when he sees you, but he’ll be fine. Just… no sudden movements. Okay?”

Din nods. 

The door slides open and there sits Han Solo, a face known to almost any bounty hunter in the galaxy. He’s next to a young, dark-haired boy, who’s scribbling away on some kind of coloring pad. Solo leaps up in front of the kid as soon as he clocks Din’s armor. 

“Relax, Han,” Leia says, crossing to a holoprojector in the corner of the room. “This is Luke’s friend. Don’t you recognize him?”

Solo squints at him. “Oh, right. Him.” He looks over at Leia. “I thought we didn’t like him…? I can’t keep up.”

The boy watches all of this with wide eyes, then blurts out, “Are you a Mandalorian?”

Din’s mouth twitches into a smile. “I am.”

“Cool!” Then the boy frowns. “My dad told me if I ever see a Mandalorian, I should run away.” 

“Well,” Din replies, “for someone like your dad, that’s probably a good idea.” 

Solo glares at him. “Watch it, pal. You’re in my house.” 

Din notices Leia suppress a smile as she transfers the information to a datastick. 

“Leia, what’s this guy doing here?” Solo asks, still throwing dirty looks at Din. 

“He’s looking for Luke.”

“And we’re helping him?” 

“He might be in trouble,” she says, then launches into the explanation. 

The boy continues staring up at Din, now uninterested both in his coloring and his parents' conversation. “Can I see your helmet?”

“Sure.” Din holds it out to him. 

Solo watches out of the corner of his eye as the kid hops off the couch and takes hiss helmet with eager hands, nearly dropping it.

“Easy,” Din chuckles. “Heavier than it looks, isn’t it?” 

Both Han and Leia have stopped talking and now watch their son as he turns the helmet over in his hands, staring at each detail.

 “Woah…” he murmurs, then looks back up at Din. “Can I be a Mandalorian someday?” 

“Absolutely not,” Solo cuts in.

Leia rolls her eyes. “Oh, stop it, Han.”

“Anyone can be a Mandalorian if they want to be,” Din replies, kneeling down to the kid’s level. “If they’re strong and brave and take care of their own.” 

The boy nods, slowly. “Just like my mom and dad.”

Han splutters, his face growing red. “Now that is just— Leia, if Luke needs help, I’ll go find him. We don’t need this guy.”

Leia pulls the datastick from the holoprojector. “No, I need you to stay here and watch Ben. My bill is being heard in the Senate tomorrow. I want to get that passed before I resign.” 

Han eyes Din, who stands. “Fine. But what makes you think we can trust him?”

She crosses back over to Din and, for the first time, there’s something other than ire in her eyes when she looks at him. “Because,” she responds, holding the datastick out to him, “he has a lot to prove.” 

Din takes it from her, then slips it in one of his belt pouches. “Thank you.”

“Are you leaving already?” the kid whines. “Mom, can’t he stay?”

“Not right now, Ben.” She strokes a hand over his hair. “But who knows”—she gives Din a significant look—”maybe he’ll come back someday. Now let’s give him back his helmet so he can get going.”

The boy holds it out to him, looking dejected. “Alright…” 

Din gives him a smile as he takes the helmet back. “Maybe I’ll see you around, kid.” 

Leia walks him out. Once they’re back on the stoop, he pauses and says, “Thank you again. I’ll find him.” 

She watches him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she says, “I know.” 

He figures that’s as close to a blessing as he’s likely to get from her, so he decides to call it a victory and take his leave before she can change her mind.

He does have a lot to prove.

Back on the Crest, he plugs Luke’s coordinates into the hyperdrive, his hands trembling with something like excitement. It’s a long trip to Arvala Seven and there’s no amount of armor polishing or weapons maintenance that can keep him distracted from the apprehension that hammers against his chest in an unsteady rhythm. 

What if Luke doesn’t want him anymore? Or worse, what if he never did? Even worse than that, what if something’s happened to him?

He’s simultaneously filled with anxiety, yet also a certain sense of calm. 

Whatever happens, he realizes this is the first time in a long time that he’s running toward something, instead of just running for the sake of it. 

And that’s a good feeling.

Chapter Text

“Things weren’t so bad when it was just Black Sun,” the Ugnaught, Kuill, tells Luke. “They mostly kept to themselves in their compound. But this valley hasn’t known peace since Crimson Dawn took an interest in whatever they have in there. I don’t know what it is they’re fighting over, but they’ve been at it for weeks.” He passes a cup of hot tea to Luke, who accepts it with gratitude. “Then the bounty hunters started showing up. I don’t know what they’re after, either, but you can’t walk through the canyon without hearing their obnoxious pinging.” The man shakes his head. 

Luke, seated on a stool in front of the fire, takes a sip of tea and gazes into the flames. 

The evening sun throws shadows around the humble cabin and the Force sits heavy over the space, like it's holding its breath. After so many weeks of chaos, Luke relishes in the stillness, inhales it and lets it fill his lungs. When he exhales, he feels as if the planet itself is breathing with him and he knows he’s right where he’s meant to be—although there had been some rocky moments to get here.

Luke had found himself crosswise with Kuill after killing an animal called a blurg when it had attacked him in the canyon. 

‘You don’t need to kill them,’ Kuill had chastised him, as if it should be obvious to anyone. ‘You need to make friends with them.’

But little did he know, Luke is great at making friends; he’d quickly gotten in the Ugnaught’s good graces, first with his knowledge of moisture farming and second with his interest in ending the syndicate conflict on the planet. 

Alone out here in his hut, distributing wisdom to hapless strangers, Kuill reminds Luke of Yoda in some strange yet comforting way.

“You said there are bounty hunters here?” Luke asks, still staring absently into the fire. 

“Dozens.”

“Seen any Mandalorians?” 

“Mandalorians?” Kuill shakes his head. “No. Never.”

“Hmm.” Luke takes a sip from his mug and can’t help the way his pleasant mood deflates a little at that.

“Rest well,” Kuill tells him, “and tomorrow I will take you to Black Sun’s compound. I have spoken.” He steps into the other room. 

But Luke isn’t ready to rest yet. He leaves his tea on the stool and steps out of the hut. 

Outside, the air is crisp and dry. Luke breathes it in deep then lets out a sigh. After so long on industrial planets, the clean air seems a delicacy and the empty, dusty landscape a delight. He treasures being able to look out across the desert and see no speeders or skyscrapers, just red dirt and a slowly darkening skyline.

The terrain is rocky and barren, exactly as it had been in his dream, except the sky isn’t bleeding and the sun is as bright as it is anywhere else. And Din isn’t there. 

The planet reminds him of Tatooine. Of home. Luke’s story had started there and now, with his boots in the sand of another desert planet, he feels a page turning. 

In a few moments, he feels something else: a warm presence that takes hold of him like a steady pair of hands. It seeps into his very bones and brings all his senses to life as it moves through him, grounding him into the moment so that the passage of time seems to slow. 

Luke closes his eyes and bites down on a smile, his heartbeat faltering as he bathes in the familiarity of the presence, feels it draw closer to him… 

Then the distant sound of a speeder reaches his ears. His eyes flutter open and he sees a dust cloud approaching, barely visible but growing larger by the second. The last light of the setting sun catches on shining silver, flashing out across the desolate land like a beacon. 

There’s no stopping the dopey grin that spreads across Luke’s face, no preventing his heart from rising in his throat as he watches the speeder grow closer, until it eventually comes to a stop in front of him. 

Din hops down from the bike and walks toward him with stiff, awkward steps. Luke closes the distance with much more confidence and stops to stare up into his visor with a smile. 

“Hi, Luke,” Din says softly, uncertainly, his presence aflutter with nerves.

“Hi,” Luke hums, bouncing on his heels. “I wasn’t sure you would come—but I was hoping you would.” 

A pause. “You… were expecting me?” 

“Like I told you, I dreamed we were here together. I’d hoped it was a prediction.” He bites his lip, itching to remove Din’s helmet so he can see his face, but he restrains himself. “How’d you find me?”

“I asked your sister where you were.” 

Luke bursts out in a laugh. “And she told you?”

He shrugs a shoulder. “I can be charming when I want to be.” 

Luke raises a brow. 

“I’m not sure what changed her mind,” Din admits. “Luke, I came here to warn you.” 

“To warn me?”

“The Imperial that posted your bounty… he had one other posted, pinging from this planet. I don’t know who or what it is, but there must be fifty fobs tracking this thing, at least.”

Luke nods slowly. “So that’s why there’s so many hunters here…”

“But that’s not all.” Luke feels a wave of guilt from Din’s presence as he says, “I went after the Imp but, by the time I got there, he’d already made your bounty public. Luke… I’m sorry.”

Luke’s brow furrows. “Why are you sorry?”

“Luke”—Din’s voice is urgent—”every bounty hunter on this rock is gonna be looking for you.”

“That’s not your fault.”

The rankling shame emanating from Din suggests he disagrees. “If I’d just gotten there sooner—”

“Stop.” Luke places a hand on his chest plate. “Don’t do that to yourself.” He takes another half step closer to him so he has to crane his neck to stare up into his helmet. “I want to see your face,” he murmurs, giving him his most coquettish look. 

But Din stays as he is, stiff as a statue, hands at his sides. “Aren’t you at all concerned about this?” 

“No,” Luke huffs, impatient. He moves even closer to him, so his chest is pressed against Din’s beskar. “Take your helmet off. Please?”

After a moment, Din pulls his helmet off and lets it fall to the ground, his expression raw and vulnerable. Luke reaches up and cups his cheek, looking over his face as if it’s the first time he’s seen it, hungry for every detail. 

“Is that really the only thing you came for?” Luke asks, looking up at him through his eyelashes. 

Din swallows and shakes his head. “I also came to… Well, I was hoping…” He clears his throat. “I mean, I wanted to ask you…”

Since he seems unable to find the words, Luke saves him from himself and shatters the tension between the two of them by leaning up and brushing his lips over Din’s. He lets the kiss linger for a moment then pulls back and stares up at him, coy, waiting to see what he’ll do.

Din’s pupils are blown wide, his lips parted in a soundless gasp. He grabs Luke by the waist and kisses him hard. 

Luke’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t care that it’s sloppy, that their teeth knock together, that Din’s armor pokes and prods in awkward places; he’s starving, desperate for something rough and real. 

When they finally break for air, eyes closed and foreheads pressed together, Din rasps out, “Luke, what are you doing here?”

“I think I’m meant to save someone,” he answers, chest heaving. “I think it may be a child. Black Sun and Crimson Dawn are fighting over a compound to the west and I think that’s where the child is. I’m going there in the morning.” 

When Luke opens his eyes, Din meets his gaze with a tenderness that almost hurts to witness. “I’ll go with you.” 

Luke smiles. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“Mmh.” Din’s gaze wanders over Luke’s face, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. “I like dangerous.”

Luke laughs and Din kisses the last traces of it off his lips. 

“Din,” Luke mumbles between kisses.

“Mmh?”

Luke bites his lip, then says, “I’m glad you’re here.” The adoration that sings out of his voice makes it seem more like a confession than he’d intended, but it’s true. He can’t imagine what tomorrow will look like, but he knows there’s no one he’d rather have beside him when he walks into whatever comes next.

Din pulls back then and takes Luke’s face in both gloved hands, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. He clearly has no words to answer that with, but Luke doesn’t need them. He can feel the warmth that pools from Din’s presence and wraps around them like a blanket. He can sense Din’s affection undercutting every aspect of his aura like a pulse. 

“So what did you want to ask me?” Luke teases.

Din’s answer is achingly sincere, his voice raw. “Let me come with you. That’s what I came here to ask. Wherever you’re going… I want to go with you.”

Luke’s insides melt at that, turning to liquid that warms every inch of him. “Okay,” he whispers, giddy, grinning like a lovestruck fool. He presses a kiss to Din’s lips. “Okay.” He kisses the side of his mouth, his cheek, his jaw. “Okay. Okay. Okay.”

The sun finally disappears behind the horizon and the stars begin to show their faces in the growing dark, the cloudless night and lightless landscape allowing them to shine out without competition. 

There’s great violence, great turmoil on this planet; Luke can sense it always at the back of his awareness, a constant, faint reminder of the nature of his mission. But tonight, in this valley, it’s quiet. Even the child who had called out to him before is silent, though still present, as if asleep. There’s no whirring of machinery to be heard, only the sound of the wind whipping in their cloaks and the occasional, distant bellow from the blurgs. 

Din and Luke walk together for a while, hand in hand, each recounting what had happened since they last saw each other. 

“So you left the Republic?” Din says.

Luke nods.

“What will you do now?”

“For now, I’m going to rescue this child. After that…” He shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“Me neither.”

Luke grips Din’s hand and looks over at him with a wild grin. “How exciting.”

Din’s tilts his head, his face crinkling in a gentle laugh. “I guess it is.”

For the first time in a long time, Luke is excited. For the first time in a long time, he can see real, meaningful work on the horizon instead of just drudgery and bureaucracy. 

Tomorrow will be a hard day, that much is certain, but for tonight at least, they have this. 

And this is good.