“Grogu likes you,” the Mand’alor says. Not an opinion, just a fact. “I told him about you. And he’s a pretty good judge of character.”
Luke blinks. “You told him about me?”
“Yes, well. You are a Jedi. And he is…”
“Incredibly bright in the Force?”
“If that’s the right way to say it, then yes. We met someone like you, a long time ago. But she didn’t call herself a Jedi, and refused to train him.”
“And you want me to…” Luke’s feeling incredibly lightheaded, all of a sudden.
“I’m not asking anything of you,” the Mand’alor lifts a gloved hand and touches Luke’s wrist, “I’m just making conversation. Luke, sit back down. Please. I wouldn’t have introduced you this way if I knew it would cause you distress.”
Luke sits, finds that he can't make eye contact — can’t look into the reflective surface of the Mand’alor’s helmet. “I’m not distressed, I’m…” Grateful, he wants to say, so grateful. “May I… hold him? Is that okay?”
Wordlessly, the Mand’alor passes Grogu into Luke’s arms. He doesn’t let go until he’s made sure the child is settled comfortably, then rearranges Grogu’s tunic again, perfecting it.
Luke hasn’t held a baby since Ben was small. And Grogu is so tiny, so real, Luke nearly starts crying.
Grogu looks up at him, the wide disks of his eyes impossibly clever and shrewd. He chews on one of the frog’s quilted legs.
Then suddenly, a vision of brightness appears in the front of Luke’s mind. An impression of the sand dunes at sunset. It’s Grogu’s childlike memory of them, he realizes all at once — the endless expanse, the peaks and valleys, the wind on Grogu’s face in the back of a speeder, his big ears and tufts hair flying back, his buir beside him driving, and heat, so much heat, and the gold gold gold sand that makes up the whole big world.
It’s Grogu sending him a memory of the desert outside the city walls. The same desert Luke had dismissed just hours ago through the window of his guest suite. The desert that reminded him so much of Tatooine.
But Grogu loves the desert best, and so he’s sharing it with Luke. Simply because he wants to, simply because they've just met and it makes him happy.
Luke feels his face crumble. Wet heat presses behind his eyes again, threatening to overflow.
“Envoy—” the Mand’alor starts, “Luke, are you alright?”
Luke laughs from how split open he feels. He laughs and laughs with Grogu still in his arms, “Yes, I just… I’ve felt so alone.”
“You’re not,” the Mand’alor says. He touches Luke’s wrist again. “You are not alone.”
this is an excerpt from ch 2 of my dinluke pen pal fic, "futile devices" | read from the beginning on ao3
