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Babbo, pietà

Summary:

Perhaps, if Jabba had left his Mos Eisley real estate portfolio to Din, perhaps that would be enough. He would finally be wealthy enough to propose to Luke.

Or technically, Din could be a completely creditless scoundrel and Luke would still accept his proposal. Luke had said that much himself, punctuated with a kiss that had taken Din’s breath away.

No, Luke did not care about Din’s fortune. It was Luke’s father who did.

-----
Where the death of Jabba the Hutt causes a dispute among his associates regarding the splitting of his inheritance - and may also cause certain star-crossed lovers to find their way together

Notes:

O mio babbino caro
Mi piace, è bello, bello
Vo’ andare in Porta Rossa
A comperar l’anello

'Oh my dear papa
I like him, he is so handsome
I want to go to Porta Rossa
To buy the ring'

- O Mio Babbino Caro, Giacomo Puccini


This is for @lovestruck007
Thank you for the very intriguing prompt!
Plenty of inspiration taken also from my favorite opera Gianni Schicchi

CW for gratuitous mentions of slime - not very graphic, though

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

He must have died in his sleep, probably peacefully, as no one in the Palace had heard anything. Not that it was a surprise for anyone, after they had watched their boss grow sicker and weaker throughout the past months. Now they were all gathered around the bed and the enormous body covered up to its neck by a bantha wool blanket. The slime usually covering the skin had already started to dry out, and the face was left wrinkled, expressionless and calm. After a lifetime of pulling the strings around the worst of all violence in the galaxy, Jabba the Hutt had finally found peace.

Din and Boba’s helmets hissed as they took them off and bowed their bare heads in respect. Cobb wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and Peli squeezed his shoulder with a soothing hand. Fennec looked as stone-faced as ever, but she was quiet and only stared at Jabba’s motionless face, which was a vague sign that part of her was grieving in her own way. They stayed like that, wordlessly comforting each other with their presence, until Din carefully broke the silence:

“What do we do now?”

“I’m sure we’ll have no problem”, Boba said. “We’ve been his most trusted associates. He must have split his fortune fairly between us.”

“Exactly”, Peli agreed. “I’ve made a whole career fixing his ships and litters. I’m sure he’s left me his fleet.”

“And I’ve killed each one of his worst enemies. At least his lands around Mos Espa belong rightfully to me”, Fennec said.

Boba nodded in agreement and went on: “And I’ve earned his factories in Mos Espa. I’ve brought in countless of bounties who’ve disturbed his business.”

“Then I think he must have left his farms around Mos Pelgo to me.” Cobb’s face lit up with a hopefull expression, tears forgotten. “I’ve compromised my integrity as a civil servant so many times when he’s asked for special favours.”

Din did not say it aloud, but he thought about all the real estate that Jabba owned in Mos Eisley. It was largely thanks to Din’s efforts that his boss had got such a grip over the city. He had brought in a fair number of bounties who Jabba had used in his creative ways for blackmailing his way into lucrative deals.

Perhaps, if Jabba had left his Mos Eisley properties to Din, perhaps that would be enough. He would finally be wealthy enough to propose to Luke.

Or technically, Din could be a completely creditless scoundrel and Luke would still accept his proposal. Luke had said that much himself, punctuated with a kiss that had taken Din’s breath away. Warmth bubbled in the pit of Din’s stomach when he just recalled that situation on the terrace of the Skywalker family estate in Naboo Lake Country.

No, Luke did not care about Din’s fortune. It was Luke’s father who did. Perhaps finally, inheriting Jabba the Hutt’s real estate in Mos Eisley would make Din worthy to marry Anakin Skywalker’s son.

Din noticed how others cast him side-eyed glances. They must guess from his expression that he must be thinking about Luke again. So Din put his helmet back on to hide his smile and possible blush and said aloud:

“How about Jabba’s most valuable possessions? This Palace, the Rancor, and the Mills of Nal Hutta?”

“They belong to me! I’m the one who…” Boba started, but Fennec cut her off:

“No, to me! I’m his most trusted…”

“It’s me!” Peli interrupted at the same time as Cobb shouted: “No, me!”

Din sighed as his friends went on arguing. They were wasting time. Jabba must have already made his decision while he was alive. “Shut up, everyone! Let’s look for Jabba’s last will. It must be here somewhere.”

Everyone quieted down and started a frantic search, first around Jabba’s bedroom, then expanding throughout the Palace. Finally, Fennec’s voice called everyone to the throne room. She had opened a drawer hidden under the throne and was holding a rolled up flimsiplast in her hands.

“Found it.” She rolled the flimsi open with shaky hands and read aloud:

I, Jabba the Hutt, being sound of mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, do hereby bequeath all my property to the Order of B’omarr Monks.

“What the…?”

“What the actual…?”

“How is it…?”

“That can’t be true.”

Boba, Cobb, Peli and Din gathered around Fennec to take a peak at the text, and there it was: Jabba’s signature and the slimeprint that the Hutt’s used for indisputable identification. There was no question about it: Jabba had personally made his last will crystal clear, leaving all his associates without any inheritance, even after dedicating years of work for his benefit.

Boba put on his helmet so that he could bang his head on the backrest of the throne. The throne that should be his. He fell to his knees and stared through the ornamental hatch down into the pit where the Rancor softly growled. The Rancor that should be his.

“What do we do now?”

“There has to be a way around it. Some way to...” Peli waved her hands in the air, signifying the manner in which she hoped the solution would present itself. “…to sort of, prove it illegal or whatever…”

“That’s out of the question”, Cobb said. “You can see it for yourself. It’s thoroughly signed and completed with Hutt slimeprint. There’s no way…”

“There’s always a way.” Fennec’s hand fidgeted around the pocket of her dagger, but nobody knew who she was thinking about killing and what she would expect to accomplish with that. There was nothing to be killed in B’omarr Monks who had transcended their bodies and continued living merely as brain matter contained in nutrition jars tended by droids. And well, if it was Jabba who Fennec itched to kill again, that would certainly bring her satisfaction but hardly any change to his last will.

Din eyed around the throne room and the carvings on the walls and furniture. He had nursed his own fair share of dreams of Jabba granting him the Palace, the Rancor, and the Mills of Nal Hutta. Then, he would for sure be rich enough in the eyes of Anakin Skywalker.

He would bring Luke to live here and meet Grogu. They would make a cosy room for the little one in the northern quarters – give him and his toys more space than he had in the small room he currently shared with Din. For themselves, Din and Luke would maybe take the round room on the top of the Palace, with balcony and view all over the dunes, both sunrise and sunset visible from opposing sides.

The Mills would grind them a steady income. Luke would never have to wear out his precious, beautiful hands with work. He would only do what he wanted to do. They would feed and train the Rancor, play with Grogu, make trips to the desert to watch the stars, kiss under the shade from the suns – anything they’d want. Din could provide that for his family – if he only would get a little help from his dead boss to get started. And to get that help, they all needed something. Or more precisely, they needed someone…

“We need Anakin Skywalker”, Din said aloud, and all heads snapped to him.

Fennec tsked and did not hide the disgust in her voice. “He’s a useless, elitist snob. A nobody who married a Queen and now he’s living in his castle on Naboo and pissing in the cereal of people like us. What do you think he’d do?”

“He’s a Jedi. He can always come up with something”, Din insisted.

“You just want him here with his son”, Cobb said, and Din was thankful for his helmet covering his blush. Because he could not deny how he was already imagining how Luke would surely come along with Master Skywalker, and after everything would be sorted out with Jabba’s inheritance, Din and Luke could find a beautiful spot in the Palace (hopefully their own Palace by then) for a moment of their own – possibly to finally pledge their engagement.

“Forget him!” Boba had said those words dozens of times, and now he repeated them once more. “Luke Skywalker is a rich brat. You’re above him, Din. Don’t waste your time on an elite loser.”

Din huffed in frustration. “Regardless of what I may feel about Luke, his father is still our only hope to get out of this mess.”

Peli crossed her arms and scanned Din with a scrutinising gaze. “Why should we trust him?”

“What choice do we have?”

Everyone took another look at the flimsiplast still in Fennec’s hands, and nobody stopped Din when he opened his comm, selected Luke’s frequency and explained that Luke should come and bring his father to Tatooine immediately.

 

- - - s - - -

 

“Dad! Dad! We need to go!”

“Where?” Anakin was braiding Leia’s hair, watching a holodrama with the other eye, looking very comfortable in the designer armchair of their western sitting room.

“Din Djarin is in trouble.”

“I don’t want to hear about Din Djarin”, Anakin snarled. “That man is low life, a bounty hunter, a scoundrel. He’s not worthy of your royal hand.”

“It’s not about that, Dad. He’s suffered great injustice. Jabba the Hutt died last night, and he left Din and all his associates without any inheritance, after they served him for years. Jabba bequeathed all his property to the B’omarr Order.”

“Then they should follow the last will of the deceased and give all his property to the B’omarr.”

“But Dad! The B’omarr Monks don’t even wear bodies! They’re supposed to live without any possessions. What would they even do with such a fortune? And at the same time, these people have sacrificed everything to work for Jabba for years, only to be betrayed by their boss like this.”

“Why should I care? I got out of Tatooine once. I'm not going back there again.” Anakin tied up the braid he had finished, fastened it in its place on top of Leia’s head and stroked the side of her face fondly.

“Ani, I think Luke is right. Jedi should be defenders of justice, in whatever form it may take, right?” Padmé looked up from a Senate motion she was reading on a datapad and made Anakin grunt.

“But this is about Din Djarin! If that man has his way, he’ll destroy our son’s future. Do you seriously want to see our baby married to a bounty hunter!?”

“This isn’t about Luke getting married. This is a question of helping people who have suffered injustice. And even if it was otherwise, I'd want to see our baby following his heart.” Her eyes met Luke’s, and she offered him a tender smile that lit up a new spark of hope in his heart.

“Dad, please, let’s go!” he tried again, but Anakin still frowned, looking unconvinced.

With a glint in her eyes, Leia twisted to look at him over her shoulder and ask: “Or is it too hard for you?”

She had pulled the right string. Anakin immediately straightened up and clenched his hands into fists. Then Luke sealed the deal by saying:

“I’m holding my breath until we go.”

With that, Luke stopped talking and breathing, and panic flashed in his father’s eyes. When Luke was a kid, it used to be difficult to use that strategy, because his parents knew that his body would force him to take a breath eventually. But when Luke came of age and began his Jedi training, he actually learned to hold his breath long enough to turn blue. He also learned to slow down his metabolism to protect his tissues from the temporary shortage of oxygen, so the stunt meant no actual danger. Regardless, Anakin could not stand watching his face go blue, so success was guaranteed with this strategy. Luke had barely held his breath for seconds when his father already said:

“No! We’re going.”

 

- - - s - - -

 

They had to wait just long enough for everyone to calm down. Din even had the time to feed Grogu and put him down for a nap, carefully shutting the door of their room in case the discussion about Jabba’s will would turn heated again. Soon enough, a lavishly shiny and sleek Nubian shuttle landed in front of the Palace. After it rolled out its long boarding ramp shrouded in hydraulic steam, a golden protocol droid shuffled out of it, followed by two men in outfits with far too many and too expensive layers for Tatooine heat.

The older man was clad in shades of burgundy red and night blue, with iridescent embroidery for accents. The younger one was in more simple, black clothing, though it was obvious that the cut was expertly tailored and the fabric luxurious. Fennec scrunched her face and fingered her rifle as they descended the stairs down to the throne room.

“May I present, Master Anakin and Luke Skywalker”, the protocol droid said.

Din’s visor met Luke’s eyes through the room, and Luke blew him a subtle air kiss. Din was sure that his feet left the ground and he floated somewhere to the level of the ceiling, maybe even through it, through the higher levels and up to the sky.

“I heard you’re in trouble with old Jabba’s last will”, Anakin said, chin high and a ridiculously arrogant grin on his face.

Boba straightened up, stood on the dais of the throne and took off his helmet so that he could look at Anakin down his nose and say with authority: “Yes. We need you to figure out a way to change his will. Jabba left all his possessions to the B’omarr Monks, even though his factories in Mos Espa belong rightfully to me.”

“And his farms around Mos Pelgo to me”, Cobb said.

“His fleet belongs to me”, Peli added.

Fennec let go of her hold of her rifle but still kept her stare boring into Anakin as she said: “And his lands around Mos Espa to me.”

Din cleared his throat and did his best to gather his most polite tone: “Sir, I’d also like to point out that I should rightfully have his real estate in Mos Eisley.”

Anakin listened to all their claims, nodding carefully.

“If I may…” Fennec stepped forward, down from the dais. “What comes to Jabba’s most valuable possessions - this Palace, the Rancor, and the Mills of Nal Hutta – I’d like to point out that I’m the rightful…”

“No, it’s me!” Cobb cut her off, then Boba:

“No! Palace, Rancor and the Mills are mine!”

“Mine!” Peli shouted over everyone. Din was glad he had closed the door of the room where Grogu was sleeping, because soon the argument was in full blow again.

“Oh dear! Honoured mercenaries, would you please refrain from arguing? Remember to respect the house of the deceased!” The golden droid tried in vain to wave its arms and calm people down with no effect.

When nothing else worked, Din used the only way he had ever learned to securely silence people. He lit up his flamethrower up towards the stone ceiling. He only kept it on for a short while, to make sure not to light anything or anyone on fire. But it was enough to make everyone pause and listen to his words:

“It’s obvious we can’t solve that matter by ourselves. I suggest we let Master Skywalker resolve it following his own judgement as a Jedi devoted to justice.”

Din’s heart thrummed. Maybe Skywalker would think about him when making his decision. Because whatever was Din’s would soon be Luke’s, too, if his father would only let them get married. But whatever Skywalker would decide, sure it would at least be fair and in accordance with his Jedi Code or whatever it was called. After a moment of consideration, everyone seemed to get Din’s point and nodded in agreement.

“So how are you gonna do it then? That will won’t be changing itself.” Peli had her arms crossed and was still eyeing at Anakin with suspicion.

The Jedi thought for a moment in silence before saying: “I need a notary, a vocabulator, a set of Jabba’s clothes and enough stuffing for me to fill them.”

“You’ll impersonate Jabba? But you’re of different species! Sure the notary will notice”, Cobb said.

“I just need to have approximately his shape, and a Jedi mind trick will do the rest”, Anakin assured.

“Our boss rarely wore any clothes”, Fennec pointed out.

“Let’s search his room”, Boba said. ”There must be something.”

“I’ll find the stuffing.” Cobb was already on his way towards the laundry rooms in the basements.

“And I’ll call the notary.” Peli picked up her comm and disappeared to the next room to speak.

Din saw his opportunity, sprung to Luke’s side and took his hand. “Luke, I’m happy to see you here. There’s someone I’d like you to meet. My…”

He was already dragging Luke towards the room where Grogu was napping, but something stopped them abruptly. Anakin had lifted his hand and locked them in place with the Force. Luke’s eyes squinted as he tried to push back against his father. But Luke was no fully trained Jedi yet. He could only move his fingers a little, not get his whole body free, let alone Din’s.

“You’re not going anywhere with this bounty hunter, young man”, Anakin said sternly.

“Please, Dad, it would only take a minute”, Luke protested.

Anakin kept his invisible grip and opened his mouth to argument further, but at that moment, Boba and Fennec were back, carrying a vocabulator and a huge, messy bundle of fabric. Under closer inspection, it turned out to be a Jabba-sized Zygerrian slaver outfit, made of the kind of cheap fabric as sold in adult toy shops. They all cringed when imagining what purpose Jabba had bought it for.

“Is there really nothing else?” Anakin asked, voice and expression deeply disgusted.

“Like I said, our boss rarely wore any clothes”, Fennec deadpanned.

In the next moment, Cobb was back with a cart full of towels and sheets. Gritting his teeth, Anakin let go of his hold of Luke and Din and concentrated on dressing up in Jabba’s clothing and letting the others stuff the excess space, until he looked like an oversized Zygerrian slaver with a curiously mismatching face.

“This will do fine. Now take the body away and let me get in his bed.”

Din and Luke glanced each other and sighed. No chance to escape, since they were all needed to carry Jabba’s body, and it still would be heavy. Luke winced when he touched his own spot by Jabba’s tail and noticed that it was still covered in a thin layer of Hutt slime.

Boba rolled his eyes and laughed. “Hey, Prince, you should’ve touched our boss while he was alive. You should’ve been here changing his sheets instead of chasing butterflies at your pretty castle on Naboo. Then you’d know slime.”

“And for the record, we’re not letting Din marry anyone who can’t handle his Hutt slime”, Cobb added.

Din could see how Luke’s face was still strained, like he was striving to hold back vomit, but he sucked it up valiantly and did his part with carrying the enormous body out to the backyard. Despite the very unpleasant feeling of his dead boss’s side weighing on his own shoulder and the slimy flesh squeezing into the crook under his helmet, Din’s heart made an exhilarated flip. Luke was doing this for him. Luke was doing this for him. Luke was ready to smudge his hair and expensive clothes so that he could marry Din one day!

 

When they returned from the backyard, Anakin Skywalker had tucked his stuffed body in Jabba’s bed, and some form of Jedi mind sorcery made even his face look like the Hutt. The blanket covered most of the Zygerrian slaver outfit, only curious glimpses of red and gold visible around the neck. The protocol droid had positioned itself reverently by the bedside, like it was grieving for its master’s approaching death.

Everything was ready, and not too soon, because steps already approached through the corridor. In the next moment, Peli appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, followed closely by a tall Twi’lek clad in long, green robes that looked very impractical for Tatooine elements.

Boba sighed when he recognised the Majordomo of the Mayor of Mos Espa. Boba had already had too many too bureaucratic dealings with him when handling Jabba’s local business. “Is there really no one else?”

“Sir, may I assure you that I have full notary authority and certifications.” The Twi’lek bowed respectfully and waved his hands like he was trying to swim through the air. “If you wish to personally review my qualifications, I have…”

“No need to, just get to it!” Peli cut him off and slapped his back so hard that he nearly lost his balance and had to sway in place for a moment before he produced a roll of flimsiplast and a calligraphy set from the pockets of his robes.

“Of course, of course. Let us begin. How are you feeling today, Lord Hutt?”

Anakin grunted something in Huttese through the vocabulator, and his droid said in Basic: “Sir, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations, and I will be assisting my honorable master with translation. First of all, I regret to tell you that Lord Hutt is feeling very weak. I am afraid his end is drawing near. Even his slime is running dry, and he won’t be able to produce a slimeprint any longer. He will need your competent assistance in recording his legally binding last will.”

The Majordomo’s chest swelled with the droid’s praise. “Very well, I’ll be happy to assist. Let me first record the bequethal of his credits. What shall be his decision about those?”

Anakin answered in Huttese, and C-3PO translated: “His credits are to be divided in equal parts between his most trusted associates: Boba Fett, Fennec Shand, Cobb Vanth, Peli Motto, and Din Djarin.”

The notary wrote down the division carefully in blue ink, then changed to a green one. “How about his other possessions?”

Anakin’s next answer was longer, and the protocol droid nodded in rhythm as much as its neck could bend, as it listened and processed every word before saying aloud: “Lord Hutt’s factories in Mos Espa are to be bequeathed to Boba Fett. His lands around Mos Espa to Fennec Shand. His farms around Mos Pelgo to Cobb Vanth. His fleet of ships and speeders to Peli Motto. And his portfolio of real estate in Mos Eisley to Din Djarin.”

After everything was noted down in green ink, the Twi’lek asked: “Any other posessions?”

Everyone in the room held their breath. Anakin was about to announce the bequethal of the most valuable assets: the Palace, the Rancor, and the Mills of Nal Hutta.

Anakin held a pause. Everyone’s jaws dropped when he eventually spoke and C-3PO translated: “Lord Jabba assigns this Palace to be bequeathed to his trusted friend: Anakin Skywalker.”

“How about the Rancor?” Boba asked, unable to completely keep the edge out of his voice.

After another pause, Anakin and C-3PO announced: “Lord Jabba’s Rancor is to be bequeathed to his trusted friend: Anakin Skywalker.”

“But how about the Mills?” Cobb pressed on.

“The Mills of Nal Hutta are to be bequeathed to Lord Jabba’s trusted friend: Anakin Skywalker”, C-3PO translated Anakin’s final decision. Then, he shuffled closer to the Majordomo to peak at the flimsi where he was writing the final notes in red ink. “Ah, Sir, may I ask if you got everything recorded?”

“Everything recorded, to the t. Lord Jabba’s last will is now legally binding, with eight witnesses present, including myself with notary authority. My most heartfelt thank you for all of your cooperation, especially for C-3PO’s expert assistance with translation.”

“Oh, me? Don’t mention it.” C-3PO’s face glowed even more golden.

But Peli crossed her arms and snarled: “But there must be a mistake! Why would Jabba leave his most valuable possessions to Anakin Skywalker of all people, when he has trusted associates like us?”

Anakin grunted a response, and C-3PO said: “I’d afraid Lord Jabba insists.”

“Then it’s you who’s translating wrong!” Cobb pointed an accusing finger at the droid who raised its arms in the air.

“Honoured Marshall, I’m afraid that’s not possible. My programming renders me incapable of committing a translation fraud.”

That was it. Boba, Fennec, Cobb, Peli and Din could do nothing but squeeze their hands into fists and mutter a bitter thank you to the notary. As soon as Peli had escorted him out, they all lunged at Jabba’s bed to punch Anakin.

"E chu ta!"

“So much for the Jedi Code!”

“You changed the deal!”

“Unacceptable!”

“You’re slimier than Jabba!”

But Anakin simply lifted his hands to push them back with the Force. “I simply did as you asked me to. Now get out of my Palace!”

With angry huffs, Boba, Fennec, Cobb and Peli scattered to gather their belongings and leave. All who were left in Jabba’s bedroom were Anakin, his son, their droid - and Din, who remained uninvited but who had finally seen his opportunity.

“Sir…” Din cleared his throat and took off his helmet. “I understand you may not see me as much, and maybe I myself haven't given you much of a reason to. But now I am an heir to Jabba the Hutt’s Mos Eisley real estate portfolio and a fifth of his credits. And even more importantly, I’m committed to doing everything in my power to make your son happy. Would it now be ok if I ask for Luke’s hand in marriage?”

Anakin crossed his arms and gave Din a scrutinizing once over. Luke already moved closer, took Din’s hand in his, and Din was nearly sure that he could hear both of their hearts beating loud and anxious. After a silence that felt like infinite, Anakin finally said:

“You’re a rich bounty hunter now. But you’re still a bounty hunter, and scum, and low life. I don’t want you anywhere near my son. Out of my Palace. Now.”

Din met Luke’s eyes and saw emerging tears that he also felt on his own cheeks. He squeezed Luke’s hand and tried his best to stay strong for him. “I’m sorry, Luke. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more. Maybe he’s right. A bounty hunter and a royal Jedi don’t belong together. But I’ll always remember you, always carry you in my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And I don’t want to lose you just because my Dad is an asshole.” Luke spoke louder towards the end, directing his last words to Anakin who responded with a tsk.

“He’s still your father”, Din said. “And it’s important for me to respect that. Luke, maybe in another life…”

“Don’t say that, Din! You’re breaking my heart.” Luke’s grip of Din’s hand tightened.

“We’ll both get over it. One day. I’ll always love you. Goodbye, Luke.”

Luke opened his mouth to say something more, but Din could no longer listen. Or else he may never have the heart to leave. So he gently removed his hand from Luke’s hold and turned away. Without looking back, he walked away. He opened the door to the room where Grogu was still peacefully napping, gathered his few possessions and Grogu's toys quietly, then gently shook the kid's hammock.

“Kid, time to wake up, we’re leaving.”

The way how Grogu smiled when opening his eyes and seeing him made Din feel slightly better despite his state of heartbreak. Grogu had a tendency to make him feel better – despite anything. Din put his helmet on so that he could free his hands to gather the kid in his arms and head out.

He had to walk through the throne room where Anakin (now freed from his stuffed outfit) and Luke had started to plan for redecorations. Din tried his best to walk past them fast, unable to bear another goodbye. But when he was almost by the stairs that would take him out of the Palace, Grogu chose that moment to look up from Din’s arms and coo in curiosity.

“What’s that? Stop right there!” Anakin’s eyes met Grogu’s through the room, and Din froze in place. He turned back just enough to say:

“This is my foundling, Grogu.”

Grogu giggled in delight, just like he usually did at the mention of his name, and Anakin and Luke’s faces lit up in a fond smile.

“Is this the one you wanted me to meet here?” Luke asked and stepped closer.

Din risked looking at Luke and meeting him halfway. He simply could not stay away when Luke had this mesmerised expression. Luke reached his hand up, and Grogu grabbed his little finger.

“Yeah”, Din said. “And I think he’s been wanting to meet you, too.”

Anakin moved closer now, too, eyes fixed on the tiny, green being in Din’s arms. “He’s… errr… hmh…”

“Dad, I think the word you’re looking for is cute”, Luke said.

“Yeah… Yeah, c-cute… Grogu?”

Grogu gave Anakin a similar kind of heartfelt giggle as he did to everyone mentioning his name, and Anakin reached a fingertip to stroke Grogu’s cheek. Then he looked up at Din. “So how does the math work? If, hypothetically, you and Luke would get married, would Grogu be my grand-foundling?”

“Absolutely so”, Din responded.

“In that case, how soon can you get married?”

Din and Luke glanced at each other. A wide grin spread on Luke’s face, and Din could feel the same happening inside his helmet.

“We can do it right now, with one condition”, Din said.

“What is it?” Anakin immediately asked.

“You’ll watch Grogu tonight”, Luke said, relieved laughter already in his voice.

Anakin’s eyes flicked between Din and Luke for a moment, then stopped at his upcoming grand-foundling. “Sure”, he said and held out his arms. Din handed Grogu to him and disappeared with Luke to the round room on the top of the Palace.

Notes:

.....And they lived happily ever after!

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