Chapter Text
Luke feels the storm-like pulse of danger simmering through the Force, like a shiver under his skin, when it’s already too late.
The thrumming sensation had been tightening around his throat ever since he got into the x-wing. Unable to pinpoint it, grasping at the edges of the vague warning from the Force, there was nothing to do but move forward.
Now, surrounded by ships pointing their weaponry at him, the threat seems obvious. The small chance of flying past them vanishes when he notices the controls of the x-wing are not working properly and Artoo’s not responding.
He's on his own.
All at once, blasts of hot-searing energy coming from different directions are fired at him, and in the center of the chaos he has little time to reach through the Force with all the energy he has left and hope, silently, sending an “I love you,” to his sister before he holds and pulls .
For a split second the frayed circuits of the x-wing are whole again and thrumming with the same energy that pulses within each living creature in the universe, and Luke fuels it all in one stroke of desperate need, pulling the edges of all he knows and sees and feels around him in a protective shield that will hopefully be enough.
As the x-wing lurches and jumps into hyperspace he bites back the bitter taste of fear, feeling the energy around him splintering at the edges. He’s faintly aware of the lights of warning, of the sounds and alarms blaring. There’s pain too, and he remembers some of the blasts hitting the wings of the ship right before the jump.
He knows he needs to breathe, to center himself, but it’s hard to do so with the pain on his side and the nausea rolling in his gut as he tries to get a grip of the reality around him. The power in him seeps out of his core like a current that pulls too strongly and the energy he used to get this far starts slipping quickly through his shaking hands. He holds onto the controls and pulls once more, forces himself to get rid of the doubts and the rising panic quickly, swiftly.
And he knows that the effort put into ridding yourself of fear must not be underestimated, but there’s not time, no choice.
He feels the planet before seeing it, and gives the last pull in that direction, willing his broken x-wing to move once more.
***
As he plummets from the sky, he sees a city.
And then, the moment right before losing consciousness, the Force quiets and stills around him as something warm blossoms in his chest. It lasts less than a second but, right then, he feels safe.
***
It’s not the first time Luke has awoken disoriented in an unfamiliar place, but it’s been a while since it last happened and he feels a rush of bitter panic rising in his throat.
He’s wearing a clean gray robe and he notices the pressure of bandages across his torso and around one of his arms.
A patch of golden sunlight filters through a high window. It falls partially on the white sheets of the bed he’s lying on, warming his feet. He sits up, slowly, and extends a hand towards the sun.
It’s then when he notices.
The synthetic skin from his prosthetic hand is gone, leaving the silvery material of its robotic design exposed. It looks normal at a simple glance, but upon closer inspection the signs of blunt trauma and damaged circuits are visible.
Slowly, he tries stretching his fingers. They twitch, uselessly, and a dull sensation of pain travels up his arm.
This is certainly not ideal.
With an exhale, he closes his eyes, pushes his worries away and carefully extends his senses beyond the space around him. There’s the the buzzing and vibrant life of a city. Different kinds of people with their joys and sorrows, no immediate sense of danger or malice in any of them.
A wave of wariness falls over him and his tentative hold on the Force shakes with it. He feels wrung out, as if all the energy had been squeezed from his body and recognizes it as the result of the overexertion he put himself through while, quite literally, forcing his x-wing to move.
But at least something in him knows, with absolute certainty, that wherever he is, he’s safe.
To his right, someone clears their throat.
Luke opens his eyes.
There’s a woman standing under the now open door of the room. It takes him a second, but he recognizes her with a start.
She was by the Mandalorian’s side when he picked Grogu from that imperial ship four months ago.
“Feeling better?” she asks, leaning against the door frame.
“Yes,” he says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out croaky and low.
“Ah, wait, I’ll bring you some water.” She turns and leaves before he can answer but comes back in less than a minute, holding a cup that she promptly hands over to him. “Here. Drink up.”
As he does, she sits on a chair next to his bed and crosses her arms.
“Thank you,” he says. “I, uh, don't think we were introduced before? I’m Luke—”
“Skywalker, yes, I know,” she interrupts with a tilted smile. “I’m Cara Dune, Marshal of Nevarro.”
“Oh. Oh, that’s… that’s good. Nevarro, uh? Never been before. Apologies for—” He waves a hand vaguely.
“Crashing a few miles away from the city and scaring the shit out of everyone who saw?”
Luke winces. “Well. Yes, that.”
Cara’s smile widens. “Well, I’m sure after saving the galaxy and all that you’re allowed to crash into a few planets without warning as long as you don’t hurt anyone in the process.”
He can’t help but laugh a little. “Good, I was planning on hitting four other planets in the nearby future.”
“Is Senator Organa gonna approve that, though?” Cara asks, eyebrows lifting.
In a flash, Luke remembers the minute before the crash and the message he sent to Leia through the Force.
“Shit.”
“She was pissed .”
“What do you—is she here?” he asks, his voice raising.
“No, no, she wanted to come but we managed to convince her you were safe and sound.”
Luke runs a hand through his hair.
On the good side, he made it out of that whole mess alive.
On the bad side, Leia is probably going to kill him.
“Thank you for, well, everything,” he says, turning to rest his back against the wall. It feels cool and pleasant through the fabric of the robes he wears. “Can you tell me… what happened, exactly? I don’t remember much past trying to head to the closest place to land.”
“And land you did. There’s not much to tell. Many saw the ship coming down the sky and when we went to check, we found you bloodied and unconscious in the middle of a crushed x-wing, brought you here, made sure you were patched up and not dying. That’s about it.”
“And my droid? Did you…”
“Found it. It’s power was off when we picked it, it’s with our techs now.”
“If it’s not much trouble, could you tell them not to—um, I’d like to fix him myself,” he says.
She gives him a puzzled look. “Sure, I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you. I’m still… disoriented. How long have I been here?”
“Two days.”
“And, Leia—”
“I tried to contact her right away but bureaucracy is a pain in the ass. I explained the situation clearly but I only got to talk to her directly yesterday,” she shrugs, “you know how it is.”
Luke sighs and offers a tired smile. “Yeah, I do.”
Cara’s coms beep loudly in the relative quiet of the room. “I gotta take this,” she says, standing, “just wait here for a minute.”
He nods, and watches her leave.
And he’s ready to lie face down on the bed and feel sorry for himself for just a few moments, when he hears Cara’s voice again right outside the room as a new set of footsteps approaches.
“Mando, good timing. He’s awake now—keep him company, will you? Catch up. I’ll be back soon.”
“Dune, what…? Wait— ”
He recognizes that voice.
The memories Grogu had shared with him flood into his mind like a wave of images and sensations and feelings that are overwhelming in their clarity. And it’s the last push needed to make him stumble into all the tiredness of the effort used before the crash, his grip on his connection with the Force slips unsteadily as his awareness makes everything grow too loud, too present —
He presses his left hand against his eyes. It is not the first time this has happened.
Then, the door opens.
For a few seconds, silence hangs heavily in the air.
And then—
“Are you alright?” he hears the Mandalorian’s voice coming from the entrance. His presence is a distinct glow of life and warmth in the Force and Luke’s already reaching far and beyond, his power ebbing back and forth as he tries to reign it in. The man’s feelings stand out sharply; worry, uncertainty, wariness—
“Yes, just…” Luke forces himself to say, waving his free hand in the direction of the Mandalorian’s voice and keeping the other pressed against his eyes. “Nausea. Give me a moment.”
“Is there anything—?”
“No,” he cuts in. “No, just. A moment. Please.”
He breathes in and out, hears the chair next to the bed being pulled close to the opposite wall. And silence again.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for him to will his power to go back to the steady, comforting flow he has grown accustomed to. Around him, the Force quiets with an enveloping sense of safety and Luke remembers feeling something similar right before the crash.
Slowly, he lets his hands drop to his lap.
“Sorry about that,” he says, finally looking up, eyes meeting the visor of the beskar helmet that covers the Mandalorian’s face. “This is not how I was expecting our next meeting to go.”
The man doesn’t miss a beat.
“Can’t say I disagree.”
Luke takes a breath. “I understand if you’re worried, or mad at me, even. I assure you he’s okay—Grogu, I mean. He’s in good hands, I left him in the care of the person I trust the most in the entire universe.”
The Mandalorian inclines his head, gloved fingers interlocking. “I know. I was on the call when Cara contacted Senator Organa. The kid was with her.”
“Oh,” Luke says, and then something warm and happy stirs in his chest. He can’t contain a smile. “Wait, did he see you then?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I could’ve been there. He has missed you greatly,” he explains, leaning back to rest his head on the wall and closing his eyes for a moment. He tries to imagine Grogu’s reaction, the excitement and the happiness shining through his connection with the Force, his little hands reaching forward from the hologram towards the man who cared for him for so long.
Across from him, the Mandalorian is silent. Luke feels the urge to speak more, to ease the worry and unease he felt from him mere seconds ago, but he bites his tongue and waits instead.
“He… he looked well. The kid,” the man mutters quietly, his gaze on his hands. “I wasn’t expecting to see him anytime soon.”
“I meant to find you,” Luke says, words tumbling out of his mouth with an unexpected weight that pulls and pushes in a rush of earnest determination. “I was planning to.”
He didn’t mean to explain it quite like that.
The Mandalorian looks up at him and Luke can feel the surprise and the confusion behind that featureless gaze.
“You were?”
“Yes. I… this is on me. When we meet, the situation was not—” he stops and considers. The tension, the fear, the will to fight and protect and demand , the anger and resentment, were all feelings permeating the air in the imperial cruiser where they had met. It had been hard to determine whose presence was projecting what and easy to decide that this was not a situation he should linger in. That, mixed with the fact that the kid who had called to him, the kid strongly connected to the Force, looked so much like his old master, hadn’t been much help to keep his head clear and level. “I should’ve explained better, back then. I was planning on finding a way to contact you and let you know where to find us.”
There’s another stretch of silence. The patch of sunlight from the window has moved, slowly, falling now on Luke’s knee, where his prosthetic hand rests. The Mandalorian’s gaze drops to it briefly before he speaks. “I thought—someone told me that wouldn’t be possible. That Jedi don’t allow themselves to have attachments.”
Luke follows the man’s gaze. He feels the urge to pull his hand close to his chest, unders his robes. He feels it, ignores it, and thinks of his father.
Attachments. Anakin’s downfall.
If only it were as simply as that.
“That was one of the teachings of the old Jedi Order,” he explains, looking up to find the visor directed at him. In his mind, he consciously makes an effort not to recall how the face behind the helmet looked like. Still, he remembers his eyes and the sorrow that filled them when he parted with the child. “I don’t particularly agree with it.”
“Why?”
“Because,” he pauses, holding back a sigh, “I don’t think traditions should be kept only for the sake of holding onto old history if they’re not serving us as intended anymore. Besides, it would be hypocritical of me, to preach detachment when I myself have people I love dearly and many connections I have no intention to sever.”
He can’t tell if he’s going to get an answer or not but, around him, something in the Force curls and tightens with anticipation.
Then there’s a knock and the door opens and Cara steps inside, “So, good news: no one has touched your droid yet,” she says as she walks up to lean against the wall next to where the Mandalorian is sitting. “I hope I’m not too late.”
“Late to what?” the man asks.
“To the retelling of whatever the hell happened before the crash, obviously,” she says, her eyes moving to Luke’s. “So?”
Luke’s gut reaction is to tell them. To describe what happened as he remembers it and spare them the less palatable details.
But he can almost feel her sister’s stare across the galaxy when he opens his mouth.
He closes it again.
“I’m… I’m sorry, but I think it’s best if I spoke with my sister first.”
Cara looks down at the Mandalorian for a second, but his gaze remains on him, helmet slightly tilted to the side.
“It is my duty to keep this city safe,” she says then, “so I need to know if you being here is a danger for us in any form.”
He keeps his face impassive, holding her gaze with a calm he doesn't feel.
“I understand, but I don’t think you have to worry about—”
“You don’t think —” Cara repeats, interrupting him. She rolls her eyes. “I need you to be certain of it. If you’re not, you have to tell us.”
And he’s about to say something. He doesn’t know what, not yet, but his lips part and the beginnings of a word make it past his throat.
The Mandalorian beats him to it.
“Cara,” he says, turning his helmet to look up at her. “He just woke up. Give him a minute.”
“What if we don’t have a minute—”
“You do,” Luke cuts in, loud enough to get them both to turn their heads towards him sharply. “But you’re right,” he adds, his eyes on Cara’s pinched expression. “I don’t want to cause unnecessary panic because I might be wrong about it, but if it’s only so you can keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary then…” he sighs, leaning more heavily against the wall behind him. “There isn’t much to tell. I was ambushed but luckily I managed to escape in time and made it here. And—I think they might have been imperial remnants. But I can’t say for certain.”
He doesn’t need to connect to the Force to notice the sudden wave of worry that fills the room. The air is heavy with it. From the Mandalorian’s direction, a surge of protectiveness lights up with such a sudden intensity Luke feels almost disoriented when is quickly tampered to near extinction a mere second later.
“How can you be sure they didn’t follow?” Cara asks.
“I don’t think they expected me to be able to make the jump,” he explains, allowing himself a small smile. “They used a blast that messed with my ship’s control system, I shouldn’t have been able to move it at all.”
“But you did,” the Mandalorian asserts.
Luke nods. “I probably should go back soon and inform my sister about this.” He lifts up his arm, motioning to his right hand. “And get this working again.”
“Sorry we can’t help more with that,” Cara offers.
“It's alright. It’s stable enough, at least, so it shouldn't be a problem to fly like this,” he pushes himself off the wall and to the edge of the bed, letting his legs hang and his feet touch the cold tiled floor. “Do you have a ship I could borrow? I promise I’ll get it back to you soon.”
“What?” the Mandalorian asks.
“What?” Luke repeats, confused.
“You shouldn’t fly if you’re injured.”
Luke looks down at his hand, the metallic workings of it exposed and cold. He tries flexing his fingers again. They twitch.
“It’s not that bad,” he says, because it really isn’t, and because he has piloted in worse conditions.
The Mandalorian turns to look at Cara but she only shrugs.
“To be honest, Mando, if there’s someone who could handle it, it would be him.”
Eager to ease the ambience, Luke hurries to add: “And if I can be given some tools to fix my droid then I can leave most of the piloting to him.”
The Mandalorian tenses minutely and Cara lets out of scoff.
“That’s not helping your case,” she says. “Why don’t you ask your sister to send someone to get you?”
Luke thinks of Leia, handling politicians left and right, of their trusted friends, spread thin on the places where they’re needed, of the two days he spent unconscious, unmoving. He shakes his head. “I’d rather not. Leia has enough on her plate as it is.”
The Mandalorian stands up. Momentarily, his tall figure gets in the way of the sunlight filtering through the window. With warm light behind him, shining on the outer lines of his armor, he cuts an imposing figure.
However, his voice is quiet when he speaks. “I’ll see about getting the tools you need. For your droid”
“Thank you,” Luke says, smiling up at him.
“Wait,” Cara interjects, pushing herself off the wall. “Why don’t you take him?”
The man turns to her, helmet tilted, and Luke brow furrows.
“What?” they say at the same time.
Cara crosses her arms, eyebrows raised. “You heard me. That way, you make sure he makes it back safe, maybe even get a reward for your trouble.”
“I don’t think—” Luke sputters, realization dawning on him.
“You have nothing going on at the moment, “ Cara pushes on bluntly, still talking as if Luke wasn’t right there in the room with them. “You could take him back to the Republic, make sure he gets there safe. Maybe even get a chance to see the kid again.”
There’s a warm, sudden spike of hope in the Force coming from the Mandalorian, shining through a tangle of doubts and hesitance.
Still, he’s not really expecting the man to nod, turn towards him and say: “I can do it. If you let me.”
And he knows then, that he doesn’t have much of a choice.
He thinks back to Grogu and his big saddened eyes when he reached out with tiny hands to touch Luke’s cheeks and show him his memories. He thinks of the man in front of him, his stoic exterior and weariness he carries within.
He would never deny them this, not if the possibility is in his hands.
“I… well—” he starts, trying to find the words. “That would be—I mean, of course.” He watches the man’s shoulders drop slightly with an exhale. Something in his chests twists and he hurries to add: “I think I would be good for the child. To see you again.”
The Mandalorian nods, stiffly, his gaze still on Luke’s. “I’ll go see if my ship’s repairs are done,” he says.
And then he leaves.
When he looks back at Cara, her eyes are still on the door and she looks overly pleased with herself. “It will be good for him too,” she says quietly.
Luke wants to ask, but he knows it’s not his place to pry. “Thank you,” he says instead.
Cara inclines her head slightly, fingers tapping distractedly where they rest on her hip. “I’ll bring you a change of clothes.”
“And… my saber?”
She fetches something from a back pocket and tosses him a small key. “There,” she says, pointing at the narrow cabinet next to the bed. “Bottom drawer. Stay here, I’ll be back soon.”
And as he is left alone in the room once more, he feels that same hope that blossomed in the Mandalorian’s core mere moments ago taking root in his chest.