Chapter Text
“I need you to go to a fub’tall game for me” is the first thing Luke hears when he opens the door to his sister’s apartment.
He freezes.
Takes in Leia’s slightly manic eyes and the way Han is curled up on the couch with a terribly amused grin on his face.
Frowns.
Asks, “What the kriff is fub’tall?”
Han bursts into laughter.
Leia falls down onto the couch next to her husband, her figure crumpling up dejectedly.
Luke takes a hesitant step into the room and closes the door behind him.
Leia sighs.
“It’s a popular mid-rim sport. The finale of the first intergalactic tournament since the fall of the Empire is tomorrow and I need you to be there.”
“Me?” Luke exclaims. “I don’t even know what –”
“Don’t.” Leia stops him mid-sentence. She has begun rubbing her temples. Han is still giggling at her side. “The Prince of the Ghalavtian Nation will be in attendance under the condition that the republic send our Jedi and we need to keep them appeased until our trade treaty is signed.”
“Why would they be interested in a Jedi?”
Han chortles.
“They seem to have…” Leia clears her throat. “They seem to have based their religion around the Jedi.”
“The Jedi?” Luke can’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.
“Lots of naked rituals in that religion, is all I’m saying,” Han interjects.
Leia visibly cringes.
“Just… Please go? For me?”
Hidden under the plea is a silent threat in case Luke even so much as thinks about refusing. He doesn’t know what the threat contains, exactly, but he doesn’t have a death wish, so he nods.
Then he turns to Han to ask him if he will accompany him.
Han laughs in his face.
“Chewie and I have front row seats. No way we’re gonna sit up there with you fancy folks.”
Luke sighs.
“And make sure you don’t look him directly in the eyes, he might think it’s a come-on,” Leia shouts after him.
Luke groans where he’s pulling on his boots – the nice black ones to compliment the rest of his all-black outfit. He wants to look his best if he’s going to be broadcasted throughout the Galaxy. “I know! I read the information package you gave me!”
He stands up, throws a last glance into the mirror to make sure his hair is somewhat presentable, then shouts “bye!” and exits Leia’s apartment.
The trip through the city on his ‘speeder to the newly renovated fub’tall stadion doesn’t take long enough for his taste and before he knows it, he’s being ushered to his seat in the VIP section at the very top of the ginormous building.
The seats are big and comfortable, have ample leg space and provide a great view of the three circular pitches that are arranged in a line. Both of the seats directly adjacent to Luke’s are empty, still, and he enjoys the temporary reprieve before he’ll have to put on his diplomatic mask.
He squints at the scoreboard, trying to make out the system with which points are distributed until a rumble of noise erupts at his side. He turns and sees a broad-shouldered man with a helmet making his way towards him down the aisle of seats. If the man notices the heads turning after him, he doesn’t show it, just keeps walking until he finally ends up at Luke’s side.
“Hi!” Luke says, taking in the tall figure, the glinting pauldrons, the dozens of visible weapons
The man just nods at him and sits down.
Luke is reminded of the small section towards the end of Leia’s information package about the new king of the Mandalorians showing himself in public for the first time, something about negotiations with the Republic about possible trade deals in the future with his people. According to the package, hardly anything is known about the man. On the margins, Leia had scribbled, ‘just leave him alone & DON’T MAKE HIM MAD!!’
Unfortunately for Leia, Luke has never been too good at following instructions.
He folds his hands in his lap in an approximation of a solemn Jedi master and turns to the Mandalorian.
“I’m Luke Skywalker. You’re the Mandalorian king, aren’t you?”
“Mand’alor,” the man says.
His voice makes a shiver run down Luke’s spine, even through the voice modulator of the helmet.
He tilts his head in question.
“The Mandalorian ruler is called Mand’alor,” the man explains.
Luke nods. The man doesn’t offer a name, or any other shred of conversation, stoically looking out onto the field – that’s what Luke assumes, at least, seeing as the helmet’s visor is pointed forward.
Hm.
Luke isn’t going to let an awkward silence deter him.
“So, do you have any idea about the rules of this game?”
The Mandalorian’s head swivels around to look at him. Before Luke can figure out whether the guy is just confused about Luke’s question or he’s about to kill Luke, another voice appears behind him.
“Master Skywalker! It’s a pleasure to meet you, allow me to explain to you the beautiful game of fub’tall!”
Luke turns to find a young, humanoid person sitting down on the chair at his right side.
Right. The Ghalavtian Prince.
“Your highness,” he says, nodding his head in his patented sage Jedi master way. Then, he remembers Leia’s words and averts his eyes, keeping them focused slightly to the left of the prince’s head.
“Oh, none of that!” The prince shakes his long, blue hair down his back, letting it ripple over his silver tunic. “Call me Gh’ant. I have so longed to meet you for ages.” He draws out the ‘longed’ in a way that makes it clear that he hasn’t wanted to discuss his nation’s metal trade with Luke for years.
Luke hums.
Not for the first time, he’s glad that the Jedi title allows him to just not answer and seem wise and thoughtful instead of rude.
Luckily for him, the awkward moment is broken by the game of fub’tall beginning.
And boy, does it begin.
Luke isn’t quite sure about what’s going on down on the fields – there are at least four balls on the three circular pitches at all times. Sometimes, one of the thirty players seems to score, which Luke only knows because the crowd erupts in cheers or boos and the fact that the players always do a handstand afterwards for some reason yet unknown to Luke. There is a bright yellow bird involved, somehow.
About five minutes in, the Ghalavtian Prince leans in closer to Luke and begins chewing his ear off with explanations that don’t make anything clearer – if anything, he understands less.
Gh’ant keeps leaning in closer, and Luke keeps leaning away farther and farther, his back ram-rod straight as he in turn moves closer and closer to the Mand’alor. A few times during the game Luke throws a glance him, but the man remains stoic, helmet directed towards the fields below.
After what feels like hours but is probably a reasonable amount of time, the game reaches its half point and with that, its intermission.
Gh’ant stands up next to Luke. “I’m going to the restroom,” he announces.
Luke is heeding Leia’s advice and not looking him in the eyes, but he’s sure that the prince just winked at him.
He doesn’t react.
The prince leaves.
Luke sighs with relief, allows himself to slouch a bit in his seat. He drops his head against the backrest and rolls it to the side to look at the Mand’alor with a small smile, only to find the man already looking at him.
There’s a trace of amusement swirling in the force.
Don’t make him mad, Leia’s words echo in his head. He elects to ignore them.
“I still don’t understand the game,” he confesses.
The Mandalorian’s huff of laughter is quiet enough that the voice modulator almost doesn’t pick it up.
“You probably don’t know Bast’bal?”
Luke sits up straight, both because of the deep voice and slight indignation at the question. “Of course I do! Tatooine represent, we invented that game!”
“Tatooine?”
Luke shrugs and lets his old outer-rim lilt seep into his voice as he says, “you can take the farm boy out of Tatooine…”
The Mandalorian tilts his head and Luke can practically feel the other man assessing him.
Then, “It’s basically Bast’bal, just with another field and five extra points for every complete round. The rest is just fancy mid-rim add-ons.”
“Huh,” Luke says and lets it sink in. Explained like this, fub’tal is starting to make sense.
He opens his mouth to ask another question when a now all-too-familiar voice appears at his side.
“Master Skywalker. I can see that you are no longer raptured by the game, I was going to ask you about your plans for after the game.”
“After the game?” Luke asks, making his voice sound as uninterested as humanly possible. His gaze flicks around the arena trying to find something, anything to occupy his eyes with for the rest of the intermission that won’t be interpreted as a come-on by the prince.
He lands on one of the big holoscreens that broadcasted closeups during the game. Now, it seems as though its occupation is something labelled ‘Kiss Cam’. The cameras come to stay on random couples in the audience and they kiss, if Luke understands the concept correctly.
“I’ve got this afterparty planned…” Gh’ant launches into a detailed description of his plans, once again leaning closer and closer into his personal space. Luke lets himself be distracted by the cuteness of the couples on the screen.
It’s cute until it’s Luke’s own face staring back at him on the screen, framed in a big heart with none other than Gh’ant.
Luke freezes.
He is still staring up at the screen and he can see Gh’ant leaning in even closer, and he really, really doesn’t want to kiss the prince because he knows it’s definitely going to be more than just a chaste peck, but he also doesn’t know how to get out of this situation without displeasing the Ghalavtians and –
A hand lands on his knee from the other side.
His head swivels around to see the Mandalorian looking at him, tilting his head.
“Bring your hand up so my face is hidden from the cameras.”
Luke follows the murmured command instantly without quite realizing what is happening, and then his brain has caught up, and the Mandalorian is reaching up with one hand to rest it on the back of Luke’s neck and his other hand reaches up to push the edge of his helmet upwards in a way that leaves Luke’s hand splayed over his cheek, hiding the Mandalorian’s lips from the cameras –
And the Mandalorian hesitates for a moment –
And Luke takes the lead and tilts forward to press their lips together for a quick peck and the brush of a moustache –
And then he leans back again, and the Mandalorian drops his helmet back over his chin, and he can feel the stadium brimming over with cheers and laughter and lewd whistles, and behind him Gh’ant is scoffing –
And Luke can’t help but stare at the opaque visor of the Mandalorian’s helmet. He knows he is blushing, and he knows his stoic Jedi mask is lost, entirely, and he can’t help but stare.
“Thanks,” he murmurs.
The Mandalorian just shrugs, tilts his head in acknowledgement. Then, he looks over Luke’s shoulder at the Ghalavtian prince who is still complaining about Luke’s display of disrespect.
“Forgive us for the rudeness,” he says with audible amusement in his voice. “Master Skywalker and I have… previous entanglements.”
Luke suppresses a snort, then smoothes over the expressions on his face and turns to face Gh’ant with his usual serene Jedi countenance, if only with flushed cheeks.
He clears his throat and says, “yes, please forgive me, I did not mean to embarrass you.”
If he pushes some calm energy through the force, that is no one’s business but his own.
Gh’ant visibly relaxes. “Of course, Master Skywalker. I have the utmost respect for you, I apologize for saying anything out of turn.”
Thankfully, they are saved from lingering in the awkwardness by a loud horn announcing the start of the second half of the game.
Now that Luke understands the basics of the game, it’s actually surprisingly easy to follow and figure out the point system for the unfamiliar bonus actions – including the handstands the players keep doing after scoring.
He keeps looking straight ahead, tuning out the commentary that Gh’ant starts back up again almost immediately after the game continues. He nods periodically to make the prince think he’s paying attention, but mostly he tries to keep himself from turning in his seat and staring at the Mandalorian next to him.
Okay, so maybe he does sneak a glance or two at him.
Sue him.
Between ignoring Gh’ant’s annotations, focusing on the game’s rules and trying not to stare too much, the second half of the game is over quicker than he expects.
When the loud horn announcing the end is blown, the stadium erupts with cheer and groans. Luke applauds like he knows is expected of him if a camera picks him up in the crowd, thanks Gh’ant for his most agreeable company and bids him farewell after another ten anguishing minutes of small talk.
By the time he extracts himself, the Mandalorian is long gone and Luke can’t help feeling a little disappointed. Nevertheless, he weaves his way through the crowd that has gathered around the exit of the VIP seats, making himself as inconspicuous as possible. It works insofar as he only has to have brief conversations with two Senators of the New Republic and one queen from the outer rim – a personal record.
By the time he reaches his ‘speeder, he is thoroughly out of both breath and patience and all he really wants to do is find a quiet spot and meditate for a few hours.
He is just about to mount the ‘speeder when he notices something stuck to the underside of the seat. It’s a piece of paper with a com code scrawled on it. Written below the code is a message:
I usually don’t kiss on the first date. I also usually don’t give my com code to random strangers. Seems like you’re an exception to both rules - call me?
With a grin, Luke tucks the note into the safety of his jacket and drives back to Leia’s apartment.
Trying to meditate turns out to be hopeless.
Two minutes after he’s settled onto the floor of Leia’s guest room in his usual cross-legged position, a datapad is chucked at him, hitting him square in the chest.
“Hey!” he exclaims, opening his eyes.
“Front page!” is all Leia has to offer in return, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
Luke grabs the datapad from where it landed in his lap and looks at what Leia’s talking about. It’s a holonet article from one of the Galaxy’s biggest gossip news sites and, right there on the first page, is a picture of Luke kissing the Mand’alor, accompanied by the headline, The Galaxy’s New Power Couple?
For a brief moment, Luke is filled with relief at the visual confirmation that his hand hid the Mandalorian’s face from the cameras entirely. Then, he feels a cold shiver run down his spine just a millisecond before Leia smacks him over the back of his head.
“Care to explain yourself?”
He shrinks away from her a bit, hesitates, then tilts his head back upwards with a grin.
“At least I didn’t make him mad?”
Leia’s squinted eyes are the last thing he sees before he is tackled to the floor.