#force bonding

Luke could sense the lesser strand, Luke's training bond with the child hum quietly as the baby slept. His dreams were golden and viscous, sliding gently from one thought to another. Luke sighed happily, his whole self content and grounded. His breath fogged up against the Mandalorian's helmet, and Luke grinned, wiping away the condensation with his thumb. His breath came full but shortened quickly as Luke traced the hexagonal indent in his companion's cuirass. He wondered fretfully if such things were allowed. Surely, his companion's experience with casual intimacy was nil to none, echoing and reflecting Luke's own relative inexperience in such matters.

Luke turned his head, resting against the soft interior of the Mandalorian's forearm. He wondered how long they had laid there. Wondered if others were waiting for them. Luke didn't know how long they had slept, certainly more than a rotation, but Luke's injury and subsequent rehabilitation had made it difficult to know for sure. Beside him, his companion was restless, his hands flexing and relaxing before settling carefully on Luke's hip. Luke closed his eyes, luxuriating in the warmth, in the companionship. How long had it been since he had laid in bed with another? How long had it been since a lover of his had stayed until the morning came?

He could feel the warmth, the firmness of his lover's grip as they held one another in the dark. His companion's armour was weighty, rigid and unyielding. Luke could feel the discomfort, the soreness where beskar plates had pressed into his skin for hours on end. Would he remove it? Would he dare to, where Luke could see?

The light was dim, but he was hesitant to rise. Certainly, he could eat, and even with the medical attention given to his shoulder, the wound was deep and would take time to heal. Even if Luke had the time (or frankly the ability, his knowledge of force healing was rudimentary and entirely theoretical), it was draining. He was exhausted, but questions littered his mind. He wanted to know, he needed to understand.

He wanted so desperately to ask. He had no right, but he wanted to know. His lover's adherence to the resol'nare wasn't unlike Luke's vow to the Jedi code. He believed in it; of course he did; in many ways, it formed the bedrock of Luke's morality. Being the last and only Jedi in existence, he was able to analyze and meditate on certain practices he disagreed with, spending many hours in conference with Ben and Yoda's force ghosts. Indeed, there was no one left (in the land of the living, at least) to stop him. What it meant to be a Jedi now would be told through Luke's eyes, through his decisions. And even then, he could disregard and openly discard practices antiqued and aged as he pleased. Who could stop him?

But the Way was different. His companion had explained it, carefully and with broad melancholy for those he had lost. Luke had sensed his partners' guilt long before he ever spoke of it; it was written on his stance, in his sighs and uncertain temperament. He had endured loss, and his adherence to the Creed was in part to thank those who had rescued him by following their Way.

Luke wasn't a patient man by nature, but he understood from the first night they lay together in the desert that this was something new for him. His companion rarely spoke about his past, choosing to listen quietly when Luke shared stories of his. But if the light was right and the night was silent, sometimes... sometimes he would. His companion's younger years were wrought with war and ruin, loss on loss on loss. He often buttressed his stories with warnings, with harried breaths tripping over apologies. Luke wanted so badly to kiss his trepidations away, to let him forget his worries, if only for the night. How much loss could one bear alone?

Luke remembered nodding carefully, guarding his expression, until he spoke of the baby. His expression had split, and Luke grinned with abandon as his companion spoke of Grogu, the child in question sleeping as he always did on his father's chest. He told Luke about the day he found him, the guilt he had felt handing him over in exchange for his beskar'gam. He told Luke more than once that it was his biggest regret, his chiefest sin. He had abandoned his son to fulfill a job, and he'd regret the transaction for the rest of his days.

Luke had nodded, then. Reassured his companion through the force of his forgiveness, of his, Luke's now, admiration for all that he had done. In his mind, the sin was amended; the child had been retrieved without injury.

"I hadn't adopted him," he had said quietly, his gaze fixed on the stars. "But it's inexcusable. The kid was young; I pray he didn't notice,"

Luke had reached out, then. His mind fixed on the child, on his dots of memory and confirmed without question that of which he had already known. "The baby sees you as his father, his only family," Luke said softly, wishing he had the courage to take the Mandalorian's hand, even just in comfort. "You are always and completely forgiven."

At the time, Luke hadn't known if his words had struck home. Their connection had yet to be forged, and words were words, only. Did he know that Grogu loved him? Did he understand his childish giggles and exclamations? It was pure and complete love, unlike nothing Luke himself had ever known.

Luke held the silence, biting his tongue and fixing his eyes on the stars instead of asking the millions of questions that littered his mind. He couldn't even imagine the level of guilt his lover held if he had given any power to the notion that the child resented him. It must be carnivorous to think that way. And the child,  force,  Luke had never met a being with more pure intentions, more overflowing love that Grogu did. He had felt it, even that very first time that they had met. But Grogu loved him, and more often than not, his thoughts through the force were that of his father, a gentle burbling buir buir buir echoing and reverberating through his little mind.

His companion had taken his hand that night. Brushed it against the t of his helmet and whispered his thanks over and over again until it became sound, only. That moment would stay with Luke forever.

Even now, even tucked beneath soft blankets and resting in dim light, Luke could feel it. He could understand the deep-seated emotions his companion felt without having to voice them. He could feel the exhaustion, bone-deep, sinking deeper into his companion's psyche. Luke couldn't even begin to imagine the strain of Din's actions; the first time he had used the force purposefully, Luke had been exhausted for a week. His love hid it well, but Luke could feel it. He was sore, and rightfully so. His own injuries were mental as well as physical. Had his lover been attended to as well? Luke wasn't sure, his armour was intact, and the little groans at movement Luke heard through the modulator made him think otherwise.

He wished he was a braver man, a stronger man. One who could ask, just like that, and solve the problems that came his way. His lover was injured, his body weakened and beaten and sore from saving his life. From saving Luke's life, the child's life. He could think of no greater act of bravery than to act on instinct, only, to protect that of which they loved.

Luke hesitated but he couldn't help it. Touch with the Mandalorian was intoxicating. He dipped his hand into the folds of his companion's cowl, his fingers dipping and creasing the fabric absentmindedly. Through the helmet's modulator, Luke could hear the harried breaths of his companion as they mirrored and were amplified through their bond. The duality lifted him; Luke could feel their breath, their heartbeats, the very pulse of blood in their veins moving together as one. As Luke's breath caught, he could feel the chuckle (and carefully restrained groan) of his companion in response. It was electrifying.

Luke heard the gentle slap of leather hitting the floor beside their bed, and his eyes fluttered shut as the Mandalorian tangled his bare hands in Luke's hair, pressing his forehead to Luke's.

"I like this," the Mandalorian whispered, resting his hand on Luke's shoulder. Luke's breath stuttered in his throat as his companion pulled Luke closer to his armoured chest. "Laying with you like this,"

"I like it too," Luke said, his eyes teary and voice thick. It seemed so small to confirm his words, but wasn't it the truth? Luke had never known true companionship, a true partnership. Luke felt matched, equal in every way, content beyond his wildest dreams to lay with his lover, soft and gentle in their bed.

Thoughts dipped and swirled between them, and Luke let them float, not concerned at their flightiness. They had time, time to rest in this together.

"You must have questions," his companion asked aloud, his voice hesitant and soft. Luke turned to look, cupping the sharp crease of his lover's helmet in his hand.

"I do," Luke admitted, unsure on how to even begin. What he saw in the courtyard was raw, untamed power. It was a connection to the force that Luke had never seen before. He might've been afraid, but something in his heart felt otherwise: the Mandalorian could never frighten him, could never scare him. It was the truest exclamation of self; to use the force was something new, sure. But it had always been there, simmering gently at the back of his mind. Waiting for the right push to be unleashed.

"I didn't mean…" the Mandalorian sighed, clenching and unclenching his hand on Luke's hip. Luke could feel the swirling thoughts through their bond, his anxiety radiating off of him. "If I frightened you—"

Luke smiled softly, bumping his forehead against his loves. "No, that's not it. I'm not afraid; I could never be afraid of you."

"I worried you,"

"You worried me? I worried you! I took a shot I should've blocked, and you had to defend me. Ugh, if I had been paying closer  attention —"

" Cyar'ika,"  the Mandalorian said, and it sounded like an exhalation.

" Cyar'ika,"  Luke echoed, a smile on his lips. "I'll be okay. You saved me,"

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, resuming his gentle touches. Luke's heart sang as his long fingers pressed Luke closer to his side, and the force swept between them, peace now.

"This can't be comfortable," Luke said quietly, tracing the hexagon in the middle of his companion's cuirass. His mind and thoughts were elsewhere, settled on the feeling of the Mandalorian's legs tangled with his own, the sensation of warmth Luke felt, the pressure of his companion's body resting in his arms. It was all-encompassing. Luke hated to pry, but he could feel how much this meant to him. He understood that the one time he had seen his companion out of his armour was perhaps a singularity. Luke couldn't help but remember the sight, the heady and somewhat arousing sight of the Mandalorian dressed in a loose tunic and leggings, the ties of his tunic loose and undone against his sternum. Luke remembered the strength of his lover's form, broad shoulders, large hands and very tactile fingers.

The Mandalorian brushed his fingertips over Luke's jaw, his touch light, careful. Luke felt himself stiffen. A pleasurable pulse flowed through their bond, and Luke struggled to catch his breath.

"Luke," the Mandalorian said, and the force surged between them, thick with restrained anticipation.

"Yeah?"

"There's something else, my name," the Mandalorian said softly, his hands catching Luke's. "You never asked,"

"I wanted to respect your boundaries," Luke said, but his thoughts flittered rapidly from one to another. He felt a broad pulse of affection from his companion through their bond, and Luke lowered his head, unaware of how blatantly he was projecting.

"Hey," he said, his hand cupping Luke's chin. "Don't feel like you have to hide, not from me,"

Luke swallowed, gathering up his courage. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. There was so much about the Mandalorian that Luke didn't know. He had spent many of the nights camped out in the desert trying to imagine what he looked like. He had grinned wildly, his face flushing and heart beating rapidly as he considered dangerous thoughts with his face tucked into the sheets. Was his hair long or short? Did it curl at the ends? What did his face look like when he smiled, when he laughed? What colour were his eyes? Did he force, did he have facial hair? A beard, or maybe just a moustache, hidden beneath his helmet? Luke knew that he removed his helmet for Grogu and when he was alone, and when they first met, Luke wanted to respect his boundaries. But as they grew closer, Luke's curiosity only grew. He didn't want to pry or be insensitive to his lover's creed, but a selfish part of him wanted it. He wanted to know.

And moreover, he wanted to be the singular, the only. Other than the baby, of course, to know the Mandalorian's face.

" Cyar'ika,"  the Mandalorian breathed, bumping his helmed forehead into Luke's like a confession. His eyes fluttered shut, and a smile lit his lips as their bond swelled between them. Luke could feel the intention behind his companion's words, his movements. This meant something to him, something deep and purposeful but still, carefully contained. Luke breathed deeply, his mind dipping deep into the feelings he so desperately wanted to share. How much Luke cared for him, even in the short time they'd known one another, how desperate he was to grow closer and closer until they were one together.

"Din," he had whispered after a moment like it was a secret, a treasure. "My name is Din Djarin."

For so rich a man, his name was so simple.

"Skywalker," Luke said with a gentle laugh, leaning back against the pillows and offering his flesh hand for Din (Din!)  to shake. Din laughed, his voice low and husky through the modulator and took Luke's hand, exultant to meet him skin to skin. "Nice to meet you,"

Din chuckled, his helmet dipping as their hands dipped in the small space between them. "And you,  cyar'ika,"

Luke woke with the suns.

Bright light filtered through the canvas of his tent, bringing awareness to the lateness of the hour. He was consistent, an early riser, often waking before the light had breached the horizon, more out of habit than anything else. It felt nice to sleep in, to wake feeling rested and calm and safe.

Luke grinned, stretching overhead, letting his fingertips and socked toes brush the walls of his tent, settling back into his sheets with satisfaction.

His second sensation was warmth; Luke couldn't remember ever feeling waking up quite this comfortable. Surely more blankets than what he had brought from Mos Pelgo were draped over him, under him, behind his head and around his feet. He was so  cozy,  so comfortable and soft. Luke tucked his cool nose under the sheets, his other senses waking slowly in the abundance of warmth.

Luke shut his eyes as the blissful memories of the night before came back with a whirlwind of colour. The Mandalorian hovering over him, beside him, his helmet silver and beautiful in the moonlight, the press of his head against Luke's. Their feet tangled together, helping as his companion kicked off his boots and grinning unabashedly as he came back to Luke's arms. The feeling of his heartbeat against Luke's hand, the shudder of his breath when Luke pulled away, smiling at him under the stars.

It had been a risk, reaching out to his companion in this way, using the  force,  as if it was a tool to be abused and manipulated. As if it was a way to gain a closer connection, a further understanding. He wasn't sure if the Mandalorian would hear him, if he would understand. It was one thing to hear the baby  maker;  Grogu was his son. Luke was…was…

And then…and then…

He was there, all of him, all at once and all throughout Luke's mind. He was bright and stoic and  beautiful  in the force. The Mandalorian was able to use it, he  could,  and Luke shuddered as his companion's mind opened to him like a sail biting the wind.

He was warm, his consciousness like a sky full of stars, luminescent and hanging gently above them. Luke reached through the force, his fingers anxious to touch, to  understand,  to grasp and hold tight to that he had been denied for so long. Someone else in his head, in his thoughts, dancing here and there across the singular golden thread connecting them.

Luke was stunned, shocked; there was so much light, reflecting and shining through his mind. He knocked, gently entreating, and his companion's mind spilled forth; warmth and softness and…and  love,  love for all that was around him. Luke let his eyes flutter shut, let himself sink into his arms, into his mind. Let himself not be a Jedi, a brother, a rebellion hero, but just Luke. Just Luke, who he was on the inside. His companion stuttered a laugh, and brightness pulsed between them. Luke could  hear  him; they could understand one another. Feelings and thoughts and emotions filtered and flowed through their minds. He wasn't alone, not anymore. He had two others, a boy and his father, and between the three of them… the force sang .

The Mandalorian pressed his forehead to Luke's, the beskar cool and formidable against him, and let himself breathe. Let himself sink into his arms, knowing that he wasn't too much to love, too big a bother. That he was more than a Jedi with the Skywalker name following his like a phantom.  But to the Mandalorian, to  him…

Luke had felt it, felt the strength behind the Mandalorian's intentions. Behind his words and actions, the swelling cloud of yellow light, blonde hair and blue eyes…a green lightsaber slicing through the night…

Trayc, the Mandalorian had thought, his mind swirling with light and life, the bonds between them lengthening, tightening. Growing like vines from strings to cords…

The Mando'a settled over Luke's consciousness like a balm, the words were thick and unfamiliar, but they were said with such purpose, such intention. Whatever they meant, whatever  Luke  was, and whatever they were together, it was the safest feeling Luke had ever known.

A jolt of pain struck him, the vulnerability of his admittance in and amongst the comfort they had established unmoored him.

He thought that Luke was leaving?

Luke's mind stuttered, unsure how to respond. He felt the hurt, the anxiety, the pain, even, just from looking at his posture. How could he leave now? How could he even think that?

You look at the horizon,  his companion whispered, his voice soft.  Like everything you want is beyond it. I had thought… your sister…

No, he couldn't help it. He leant forward, shutting his eyes tightly with love in his heart and softer than soft leant down and kissed his forehead, his lips leaving a smudge on the  beskar.  Luke could feel the stuttering gasp, the warmth of his palms, the  love  across their bond. This was precious; this was softness and light and everything Luke had ever wanted. He couldn't bear it, the thought of leaving him now.

Luke blushed at the memory, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The moment had felt important, pinnacle, as if they together had overcome some obstacle on the road to…to…

What? Greater intimacy? Continued proximity? Surely, the Mandalorian was a private man, but Luke had watched him, unable to look away, as their journey had continued. Watched as he spoke carefully to Vanth when the caravan slowed to a stop, watched as he conversed with A'Vod, Cor and Varre both verbally and with his hands, using the physical language of the Tusken Raiders.

Luke himself had asked Vanth for lessons just the night before, but the man had scoffed, told him to ask Mando for help. Which didn't help, incidentally, considering that his companion had all but refused (in a stuttering and uncomfortable sort of way) to teach him. Luke didn't understand why; it was convenient, helpful. To be able to speak a common tongue was vital to a closer understanding. Luke wanted to know; he  wanted  to understand. He had spent nineteen years of his life ignorant and afraid of the Sand People, and he didn't want to be ignorant. He wanted to be better, to learn new things and move past who he used to be. He was a Jedi, dammit— Jedi were the peacekeepers of the galaxy; if he wanted to understand, he had to learn. Simple as that.

Vanth turned away, a grin hidden behind laughing eyes. Luke tossed his hands in the air, defeated.

In the end, the few gestures and words he had picked up on from the others gave him a big enough vocabulary to speak cordially to the Tuskens. Sure, his pronunciation may have been off and his gestures clumsy, but Varre and the others seemed to appreciate the effort, speaking slowly and with care so Luke could better understand. The baby had been with him, sitting between his feet, and Luke grinned at the child's question of Luke's inadequacy when his father seemed to understand without effort. Luke ran a hand over the child's ear, a grin on the edge of his lips.

Why had the Mandalorian turned Luke away?

It wasn't much of an inconvenience, was it? He didn't expect to be fluent; surely passing was enough to get by. Was it the time? The energy? What about Luke's inquiry was uncomfortable for him?

Maybe Luke was too forward, asking to spend more time with him. It was no secret to Luke or any of the others that the Marshal looked to the Mandalorian for answers; they were leaders together. Every time the caravan slowed, Luke watched with something tight in his chest as the Mandalorian dismounted his bantha, tossing his cape behind him and taking the baby in his arms. His words with Vanth were brisk, to the point, discussing the route, any potential dangers along the way. Luke knew better than most that a confrontation with the Sand People was unlikely with some of their own included in the caravan. Bandits and thieves hid in the caves and open plains of Tatooine, but more than one pair of sharp eyes watched the dunes at all times. A'Vod rode behind Vanth, and Luke listened as he spoke, catching words and phrases as he gesticulated to the Marshal. Watched as the Marshal nodded, steering his bantha away from some hidden danger, making camp someplace else for the night.

Other than a Jawa Sandcrawler's appearance a few days before, the dunes were quiet, still. Even the familiar buzz of land speeders and speeder bikes was nil, and more than once, Luke wondered what had happened to make Tatooine this way. Something to do with the syndicate? A big pod race in Mos Espa?

Luke shook his head, amused. He had asked Owen and Beru more than once in his youth to allow him to build a podracer, and as an adult, Luke understood their hesitation (abject horror, more like it). But criminals didn't stop being criminals because of a race, so where was everybody?

The Mandalorian seemed perturbed, but Luke knew that Vanth was relishing their good fortunes. The less danger, the better; they had infants to protect and credits to guard. The relative ease of their journey was just that, a coincidence—one to be both grateful for and slightly wary of.

When the night came and the camp disbanded, Luke signed up for a watch without delay. He wanted to be useful and find time to himself in the business of the day. The schedule was consistent, easy to remember. It was nothing to Luke to stand guard over their little camp while the others slept; it reminded him fondly of the night watches on Hoth during the war. There were three a night, and Luke relished the stillness his watch brought, sitting calmly by the fire with a mug of caf and all the stars to keep him company.

He was vigilant but often let his mind wander as he watched. He thought about the day, the intermixed moments of happiness and boredom on the back of his bantha. He thought about the morning prior and how the Mandalorian had offered a hand to Luke when his foot caught on his bantha's lead. Not laughing (as Vanth and Scoeeri did) but moving gently, untangling his feet and helping him up with a kind hand. His gaze had been lingering, and Luke blushed at the weight of his observation. What was Luke to him?

It became difficult to focus after that. The rest of the morning, Luke tried to meditate, to fix his attention on the lolling thoughts of his bantha and the excitable chatter of the baby. It was difficult, impossible. His mind strayed, his thoughts desperate to tangle with those of his companions.

And now that Luke knew what it felt like, now that they were connected, strong  in the force… even the reminder that the gentle familiarity was waiting for him roused him quickly.

He pulled off the blankets with a shiver, dressing for the day with a lightness in his heart. He clipped his lightsaber to his belt and brushed the hair from his eyes, ready and excited to begin his morning meditation with Grogu. Ready and excited to see him again.

Luke opened the flap of his tent and stumbled in the light, something bright and silver and large standing at the entrance to his tent. Luke felt a hand taking hold of his wrist, and Luke's hand caught the Mandalorian's vambrace with shaky steps. The baby cooed a welcome, an abbreviated explanation of his father's behaviour communicated through their force bond, and Luke looked up, meeting his eyes.

His companion's thoughts were relaxed, not as easy to discern without direct skin-to-skin contact. But the Mandalorian was happy, content. Two bowls rested gently in his hands, and Luke looked down and then back up, a question on his lips.

"Breakfast," the Mandalorian said softly, placing the meal into Luke's hands. "I know you usually eat later, but try and eat something. We're leaving soon,"

"Thank you," Luke said, his voice dotted with disbelief. He looked down at the second bowl and then to the child, who gurgled unhelpfully. "I'll go and, uh, I'll go and eat with the others,"

"I thought…" the Mandalorian began, his grip on Luke's wrist soft, measured. "I thought we could eat together,"

Luke froze, unsure. He didn't understand his companion's creed, but he respected it. He never removed his helmet, not in front of anyone or for any reason. He ate alone, often on the edge of camp with the baby in his arms. Luke had often wondered if it was lonely if he felt isolated. Eating was a time of laughter, of companionship, and even with the conversation around the fire, Luke's eyes strayed to where he knew his companion was with something close to yearning in his heart.

"Are you sure?" Luke asked, his eyes searching.

"Yes," the Mandalorian said, looking and meeting Luke's eye before reaching down, his hand reaching for Luke's, strong fingers wrapping gently around his. "Come with me?"

"Yes," Luke said.

The Mandalorian led him to the embankment below their tents, putting the bowl on the grass before lowering the baby to his lap. Luke did the same, careful to maintain his distance, but anxious, just the same, to not let go of his companion's hand. His mind swam; he couldn't be trusted with this. His armour was part of the Mandalorian creed; Luke couldn't ask him to remove it, not for Luke. If it was that important to him, he should remove it for someone he cared about, someone he loved —

"You're thinking too loud,"

"So you've said," Luke said, smiling despite his nerves. The bowl of oatmeal sat on his lap, and Luke took a bite just for something to do.

"If you watch…I can take it off. So long as you don't turn and no one sees…"

"Are you sure?" Luke said, and then, softer, resting a hand on his companion's wrist. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable on my behalf,"

"I couldn't…" the Mandalorian said, turning his wrist and taking Luke's hand in return, squeezing it gently. "Not with you,"

Luke grinned, turning his back and settling in. He was facing the camp, but the others were occupied, eating breakfast, making preparations for their trip to Mos Espa. Luke sat very still as the Mandalorian shifted behind him, letting the baby down. He was attentive to every sound, every shift against the sand, knowing that his companion could have already removed his helmet, that he could be there, so close, so  exposed,  right behind him.

"Can you see the others?" the Mandalorian asks softly. "Can they see us here?"

"No, I don't— the ridge, they shouldn't be able to see behind it," Luke said, stuttering out a breath. Varre, Scoeeri and Laele were doing the washing, Vanth and A'Vod carting water back to the camp for the others to use when they were gone. They were alone, up here on the rise with the wide-open sky before them. Luke looked down, suddenly bashful. Never in his life had someone made him breakfast to seek out his company. A smile tugged at the edges of his lips, and Luke watched with a surge of happiness as the baby toddled out of his father's lap and crawled into Luke's arms.

Behind him, a  hiss  sounded, and something heavy was set on the ground between them. Luke's heart beat a staccato, clutching both the baby and his breakfast as the realization of his companion's bareness hit him. The Mandalorian trusted him, wanted to spend time with him…after last night, Luke wasn't sure; he couldn't be  positive.  But something had changed, something extraordinary and cataclysmic shifting into place.

Luke kept his eyes fixed on his bowl, on the child vying for his attention, struggling beyond hope to think past the feeling of beskar against his shoulder, the comfortable weight of his companion's hand in his. Could it be this simple? Could  they just be, without words, without explanations…could Luke allow himself to settle into this for his own sake?

The whole of his life had been spent in the service of others, other people's wishes, dreams, hopes. It wasn't until the war was over that Luke took time to think about himself, what  he  wanted now that his service to them was done. He became a Jedi to save the galaxy and stop the Emperor; he became a pilot, a rebel to win the war. But attachments…Luke had spent so many years meditating, studying, searching  desperately  for the rationale behind the Jedi's quest for intentional loneliness. Who would choose that life? Because what was life without love, without deepening the trust and affections one felt for those they cared about? The order had forbidden them, but how could you love without becoming attached? How could he become one with another without letting them see all of him?

Luke had only known the Mandalorian for a week, standard. Less than ten days, surely not long enough to feel as deeply as he did. But he  did  feel them, and now that they were connected, bound together in the force, it was easy to forget. Easier still to focus on the present, on the wind and the sand and the feeling of another in his mind. All the time remembering that he was the last of a once-great order, a Jedi master without a temple, without a home. Without a padawan or a creed he fully understood.

But for now,  Luke thought, something close to an ache in his heart.  But for now, just for today…could this be enough?

The night before, when they sat on this very hill and spoke to one another in the force, it was the same. It was that sensation of oneness, the warmth, the  care …and it was still there, even now.  Was this what he had been searching for? Was this  who  he had been searching for?

A word, a series of rough consonants and gentle vowels came to mind, said in the quiet moments before sleep. It was in Mando'a, of that Luke had no doubt. His companion had murmured it, his voice deep and low through the modulator in his helmet…maybe he hadn't meant for Luke to hear it, but he wanted to know. He wanted to know what the Mandalorian had said.

"The word you said yesterday," Luke said, taking a bite of oatmeal. Behind him, his companion stiffened, his body taut and tight. Luke didn't have to use the force to know that he had done something wrong. But what? Luke dropped his spoon and lowered his bowl, reaching blindly behind him for the Mandalorian's wrist, wishing he hadn't spoken at all.

There was a pause, and Luke struggled not to fill it. He wanted his companion to come to his own conclusion, to complete his own thought process. He didn't want to interrupt, not again. It was important to him that he didn't; Luke wanted this to be at his pace, too.

" Tranyc,"  The Mandalorian said after a minute, leaning back against Luke and taking his hand, rubbing his thumb over Luke's. His voice was deep, smooth. Luke's breath caught,  so this is what he sounded like without his helmet?  "It means light of the sun in Mando'a…when I saw you last night, when our minds met… that was what I felt. Sunshine— your mind is bright, like the sun,"

Luke leant into his companion's armour, resting against him as his heart leapt. The baby was all over Luke's oatmeal, but he didn't mind. It was as if he'd been given a gift, something precious and full of intention.  In the force, Luke was like the sun.

"I don't fully understand," his companion continued, his voice low and raspy, and something in Luke's belly surged at the sound. "In my head, it used to just be the baby, but now…" the Mandalorian hesitated, searching for the words. "I felt you, pressing as if knocking on a door. I let you in, and you were so  warm,  so bright. I like it, Luke. Connecting with you, can we…maybe when we're alone... we could try again?

"Yes," Luke said, wanting nothing more than to touch him, pull him near, press his forehead to his companion's in the hopes to feel that closeness again. "Yes, I'd like that too,"

"Did I overstep?" the Mandalorian said, and Luke inhaled too quickly, a shaky breath on his lips. He took Luke's hand, his fingers soft against the inside of his wrist. "You're shaking."

"Your voice…" Luke began, overwhelmed by this but so much more, a tidal wave of happiness. "It's beautiful. I never would've…I thought about it, what you would sound like without your helmet…but  maker—"

"Is this okay?"

"Yes,"

"Are you sure —"

"Yes," Luke repeated, sounding out the word, his lips stumbling over the pronunciation. He wanted to say it right, to show him that he could. This  mattered  to him, his language, Mando'a was the tongue of his people, and he shared it so freely with Luke, with open hands and love in his words. "Thank you, you've no idea…"

"It's a gift," his companion said, his voice soft. "I can't often share it…but when I can, I want to with you."