His fingers twitch at his side before he even registers that he's awake.
Cobb's eyes blink open, because the lack of pain feels different- even wrong, in a sense- from what he last remembers. His memory is a bit foggy, but he otherwise feels refreshed, wide awake and ready to start the day. He's submerged in a cool balm-like substance, a mouthpiece sticking out from between his closed lips. He almost loses hold on it when his lips curve into a frown. Bacta? He must've really gotten worse if they've put him in a bacta pod.
He lifts his head the best he can, squints against the fading dual sunset streaming through the open window on his right- Sunset? The last he remembers, it had been after the last traces of light had faded. The sun- as far as he knows- isn't in the same spot here as it is at the beginning of the day, so it isn't sunrise. How long have I been out for?
He quickly decides not to think about that part, and flicks his gaze over to his shoulder, which he last remembers to be absolutely tearing apart in pain. The worst of the wound has healed. The surrounding skin that's rid itself of the black residue is scarred, but he doesn't mind. It matches the rest of him- he's not sure if that's a good thought or not, considering he can see nearly every scar on his body given that he's wearing only a pair of fluid-resistant boxers. Well, what can you do?
He has bigger priorities anyway. They do not have bacta pods in Freetown. That, he knows for a fact. A stream of bubbles rises from the respirator between his teeth as he recalls it. He needs to figure out where he is, if he's in danger or not, and then needs to arrange himself transport- whether that be by ride or his own two legs- back home. He distinctly remembers trying not to leave them to fend for themselves. He must've taken too long to take that next stim that he had been looking forward to. Not surprising, really, given the nature of the most recent events going on back in town. Luck is running drier than the sands he protects.
Cobb feels out the inner control panel. He knows where it is, this isn't his first time in a bacta pod. The pads of his fingers brush over it, and he locates the button to drain it. He doesn't let his mind wander in the few seconds it takes for the tank to empty. He can't afford to let his thoughts distract him, not when he doesn't quite know where he is. His body is cold now that it's no longer submerged. The extra rush of air that rushes in when the pod opens up toward the window really doesn't help to solve that problem. Oh well, he'll live. It's Tatooine, he'll warm up fast.
After prying the mouthpiece out and setting it aside, he's careful to watch his head as he sits himself up and turns toward the open side of the tank, trying not to shiver between the temperature change and the remnant trails of bacta working their way down his body.
Upright, he can finally get a feel for his surroundings. The bacta pod resides in a room far larger than necessary, lined with expensive-looking furniture and functioning more off of the vibrant natural light outside than the few lamps scattered about. The floor is undoubtedly metal, as sandblasted as it is, and he winces at the mere thought of stepping out onto it. The step that he's resting his bare feet on now is more than cool enough for him. He can hear light curtains fluttering in the evening breeze behind him, a breeze that would feel nice under any other circumstance. He wonders about the view through the open window and turns to look-
Something whirs on his right and he jolts in surprise, nearly falls back into the pod. He stabilizes himself and scowls as his eyes come to rest upon a medical droid attempting to protest his actions. Droids.
"Please remain in the bacta pod." It advises. "You are not yet fully healed."
He bites back a snappy response as he wipes at the bacta-leaking hair sticking to his forehead and rises to his feet, his voice coming strongly. "Leave me be. I'm good enough."
"I'll be the judge of that." The woman from before- Fennec Shand, his mind supplies- is striding through the doorway, sans helmet, an air of authority about her. Fett must've had her grab him and bring him back to this base of theirs. She draws to a stop a respectful distance away, surveying him, waving the droid away. And the quicksand grows deeper.
"You gonna tell me where I am?" He asks, just a tad defensive, though he knows that he really shouldn't be using his marshal voice on her in her own territory- especially not as underdressed and defenseless as he is. But he needs answers.
"We're in Jabba's Palace. Boba and I claimed it after we cleared it out." There's a hint of amusement playing across her face, and he realizes that he probably looks a bit appalled. He swallows the feeling and the scowl returns. She gestures to the corner the droid's gone back into, at a cart sitting at the far end of the bacta pod. "Get dressed. He wants you to join us for dinner."
"Good thing I'm hungry." He says.
Cobb has to say that he's impressed. He knows that Jabba had been wealthy, Bib Fortuna after him, but the amount of food the droids have- and are still attempting- to serve up is more than he's ever seen outside of the routine pickups for Freetown. It's a feast in every way.
Boba Fett, he quickly learns, is not fond of it. The droids, so used to having worked to Jabba and Fortuna's tastes, are struggling to adapt to Fett's own. He can send them away time after time, but they always return with something else. Fennec seems terribly amused by his grumbling, and Cobb can tell that this has been going on since the beginning. That's a thought that makes his own lips quirk for a little while. But he doesn't let himself get too up in the feeling, for he's more than aware that he's sharing a meal with two strangers who want him to aid them in a planetary war.
"This,"Fett says, waving away an astromech for the fourth time,"Is why Bib Fortuna put on so much weight after Jabba died."
"Turnin' down food…" Cobb mutters, shaking his head between bites. "You know what? I see a big difference between the two of you already." He means it, beneath the teasing. The new Daimyo is far more civil than his predecessors- and more hospitable, clearly. Though, he is still suspicious that the man is merely trying to win his favor. It really is hard to read a man with a face as solid as his helmet. With an exception to Djarin, of course.
Fennec's smile is sly as she gestures to him with a half-consumed drumstick. "I like this one."
"You would." Fett shakes his own head, the faintest trace of pleasure shining in his eyes. He then gives Cobb an appreciative nod that tells him that he understands the double meaning. His tone shifts into something of respect. "You have done well for yourself, Marshal."
…What? He tries not to look too concerned when he frowns, aiming to deflect whatever this is turning into with his next words. "I think you've got the wrong old sand bat, partner. I only just met you- what was it, last night?"
"I saw you with my armor, and I've seen the purpose you used it for. You've grown far past that star on your back." The man strategically pauses, letting the words sink in.
Cobb can't help how he stiffens, how his jaw locks into place, how his fingers curl and dig into his palms. The star-shaped scar on his back, it's something he's kept pushed into the bottommost depths of his mind. He hasn't thought about it- not deeply- in years. Many in Freetown have the same mark on their own backs, identification tags etched into their skin for life, forever reminding them of the rot they have seen. No one talks about it, no one treats anyone else any different for having one. It's an unspoken law. To say that Fett has caught him off-guard here is a bit of an understatement. He's not sure what Djarin sees in the guy.
Even Fennec's eyebrows are raised in a sort of concerned uncertainty, as if she is surprised by the Daimyo's choice to bring up such a thing. She has completely stopped grazing on her drumstick, now, her keen eyes watchfully scanning them in anticipation.
"I understand that this may feel like blackmail to you, but I mean it when I say that you and your people would be valuable in ridding Tatooine of the Pykes." Fett sounds genuine, but his words feel like a low blow.
Cobb's jaw finally eases up its desire to shatter his teeth. He raises his trembling right hand and angles a finger at him in warning, feeling only the slightest twinge of pain in his shoulder. His voice comes out slow, only the slightest hint of anger slipping into the first words. "Be careful. I was just startin' to like you."
"I understand that I have to earn your respect, but things are progressing quickly here on Tatooine. It will not be long before the worst of it begins. A divided house cannot- will not- succeed. Choose wisely, Marshal Vanth. I mean the people no harm."
Freetown is quiet enough during the day. With the sun down, it's a ghost town. The streets are dark and silent, the wind whistles louder through the gaps in Din's armor. As he travels down the route Jo said Vanth had made for himself, he finds himself uncomfortable, more on edge than he knows he ought to be. He's always felt exposed out on Tatooine, far too out in the open than he'd like. Ironic how he always ends up back here. But, this time, it's for a good cause.
Vanth trusts him- or, well, enough to let him volunteer his town to fight a whole krayt dragon those months ago. But the Marshal he had seen last night had been unstable, to put it the most kindly. That Vanth had nearly taken off at the sight of him. That Vanth had been ready to turn them away. Din can't blame him, considering the man was shot just as soon as he had left those some hours before. He'd be uncomfortable too.
When Vanth collapsed after his outburst, Din had been ready to offer up to take over for him before Fett even requested it. These people know him, a little. They trust him, enough. That, and, well, perhaps he feels just a little guilty that Cad Bane had shown up as soon as he had left the first time. Part of him is afraid that something like that might happen again. He's seen what just the one time has done to Vanth. He refuses to let it happen again. His profession is lonely, and he would never quite forgive himself if he drove off a friend like this.
He wonders how well Vanth is getting on with Fennec and Boba. He imagines that he's having no issues with Fennec. The assassin isn't too difficult to get close to if one doesn't press the wrong buttons. But Fett…Din only sees a thin line where he and Vanth would get along. Their personalities would clash too much, as well as Fett's tendency toward bluntness. And with the state of mind that he'd last seen Vanth in, he's almost certain that they're not reaching that thin line of tolerance for one another. Or, at least, Vanth is struggling to trust Fett. Again, he knows it's perfectly valid. Being asked to join one side of a war and then being shot by a hired hand of the other immediately after does that to people.
The tension here, and the tension he knows between Fett and Vanth- he knows he can't mess this up, knows he can't fail Vanth or his people. He's that bridge between them and Fett, keeping together that fragile trust. He doesn't often fail the jobs he's tasked with, but he has before. He doesn't intend on adding this one to that list. He keeps his senses sharp, keeps a hand near the blaster on his hip. Because of that, he hears the footsteps behind him before the person announces themselves.
"Mind if I join you?" It's Jo, the woman from before. He relaxes.
"Go ahead. I'm not going to stop you." He says.
She falls into step with him, giving her casual thanks, to which he returns a nod. Her presence is welcome, filling the empty void beside him. He doesn't think he would feel this displaced with Grogu alongside him. But Grogu is gone- safe, in more capable hands. And Freetown is in his. He hopes he can live up to the needs of its people, to ward off any potential threats, in the time that Vanth is gone. It's been a full day already, and nothing has yet happened. And, hopefully, nothing will happen.
He thinks he feels a touch more optimistic about that than Vanth had, and pushes away the dreadful notion that his thin confidence is incorrectly placed. He can't let paranoia consume him, not like Vanth had let it chew at himself, not like how Vanth had let it drive him far past the point of exhaustion. That is an example he will not follow.
"The Marshal- will he be alright?" Din finally asks, as they stroll past the front of the Weequay's cantina. The voices and sounds from within carry outside, making the ghost town feel just a bit more lively. He's a little more at ease speaking, now.
"He's scared, like the rest of us. But it's nothing we haven't seen before. He's too stubborn to let it drag him down for long. He'll get back and it'll be like he never left."
"Are you sure? He looked like he was struggling." He points out.
"If you knew him half as well as we do…" Jo shakes her head sadly. "You don't know where most of us came from, Mando. Cobb is the strongest of us all. He'd die a million times over to protect Freetown. After all he's done for us, he's allowed to have his moments."
"Tell me about him." Din says, seeking reason to respect the man more.
There's a small, regretful smile on her face. "You'd never look at him the same. He hates being looked at as anything less than the marshal he is."
"I won't." He vows. "You have my word."
They continue down the road, and the sounds of the cantina fades away. Just as he's concluded she's not going to tell him, she draws to a halt, and he stops right along with her. "We were slaves. Nearly all of us. Some of us even had explosive chips in our skulls set to explode if we ever tried to get away. You know that long scar on the side of the Marshal's head? He cut his out himself, with nothing but a knife, and then helped do the same for others. After the Emperor died and the Empire began to pull out, there was a revolution, and he led those of us who survived it away to safety, out into the Dune Sea. We built Freetown way out here to stay away from all of that, as a sanctuary for those like us. That's why we're not on any of the maps. Few know we're here."
A chill runs up Din's spine, a product of both the story and the cool breeze, and he looks out at the town through new eyes. "Thank you for telling me this." He says. "I understand why he never mentioned it."
"No one talks about it." Jo explains. "It's almost an unwritten law. We never ask each other about what it was like where we came from, and no one asks in return."
He nods. "I understand. I won't tell anyone."
"Good. Now, come on, we've got places to be."
She starts off again, and he's quick to follow, that respect he sought to feel burning brightly in his chest.
The breeze feels cooler than normal tonight. Maybe it's the height, being on a balcony high above the ground rather than down on it. Perhaps his new tunic is lighter than his old one. Or, perhaps, the planet itself knows of the tension brewing on her surface and is reflecting its distaste for it right back at her inhabitants. Cobb has the sneaking suspicion that it's a combination of all three.
From here, he cannot see the triplet moons. They are rising in the same place as the sun, on the other side of the night sky, off behind him somewhere. It makes the palace cast a shadow down across the sand and rocks leading up to it. Even further down below, he can see the lights from Mos Espa at the bottom of the path up, an expansive stretch of yellow lighting up the otherwise indigo sea above. There's something grounding about seeing the city, even if he's never been fond of the capital, even if he knows the Pykes are down there, plotting, waiting. It must be because of the tension up here that part of him yearns to be down there.
But out here, exposed to the night breeze, away from Fett, he can finally allow himself the time to think.
He thinks first of Freetown, of the people under his charge there.
He thinks of how they built the town up themselves, with nothing, of how they poured all of their strength into something of their own choosing for the first time. He remembers how he had made sure to help everyone, of how they tried to return the favor. He remembers the Red Key Raiders and the Mining Guild, of gaining the set of armor that allowed him to reclaim his town and free his people yet again. He remembers the day Djarin strolled into town and demanded the armor be turned over to him, of how they made a deal of mutual benefit. He remembers convincing the people to fight the krayt dragon, remembers succeeding. He thinks of the four Pykes he found, of the one he let go with that warning, of the naïve mistake he had allowed himself to make. He remembers the standoff with Cad Bane, of how he and Scott had lost, of how Scott had died.
He thinks of how his people need him, of how he's stuck staring over the sands and eating feasts. He thinks of how his people are in danger, of how he's unable to help them, a mastiff chained to a wall. He wants to go back. He needs to go back.
He wonders if Fett will let him go back.
That thought sends a shiver down his spine, an anxious hand ripping through his soft hair. His people could be in immediate danger- they could be in danger, and he's not there.
He lets his fingers play with the badge on his blaster holster, fiddling with it as he stares off into the endless expanse of shaded sands. He knows he should try not to worry, but it's not his fault that he cares so damn much for his own people. Who wouldn't care for their folk? Fett cares for his. Cobb knows that. He gets that- he's glad for that. It's the man's persuasion tactics that he doesn't get on with.
He hates the way Fett had dared to bring up the brand on his back, to bring past experiences into all of this. This is different from then. These people have fought for their lives countless times over, and they're tired. He's tired. But can he seriously deny aid in fighting off a planetary invasion? He wants to deny it. He wants to lock his people in their houses and storm the Pykes himself. But it doesn't work like that. The Pykes would come anyway, eventually. On the other hand, what Fett's asking…
Cobb has seen too much blood, seen too many of his people die. They're not soldiers. They're just people, people who only want to be left alone, to live on their own accord. Haven't they earned that by now? The Pyke Syndicate threatens that- their lives, their pride and joy, everything they have worked for.
Oh, this is going to drive him into insanity.
He sighs, scuffs his familiar old boots against the platform beneath him, his head angled downward as he does. The wind hasn't changed. He still feels cold, still feels alone, even as a second pair of boots joins his.
"...Homesick?" Fennec asks him.
"No." He says, lifting his head up, keeping his eyes on the horizon. His shoulder aches dully. "Just worried for 'em."
"Djarin knows what he's doing." She tells him. "They're in good hands."
He nods, flicks his eyes over to her in silent thanks for her support. "Oh, I know they are. I trust him to look after 'em for me." He's done it before.
"That's an awful lot of trust to have in someone." She remarks.
Cobb shrugs. "There's water in every desert. He's a reliable source. He's proved himself. You an' Fett, though- you get on well."
"You and Djarin get on well." Fennec counters. Her voice takes up a teasing lilt. "Has he asked you to go offworld with him yet?"
"What?" He finally turns to look at her, lost for a moment, before the meaning of her words dawns on him. He laughs. "Oh. No. This old womp rat rides solo. But I'm happy to call him a friend. He's proved himself worthy of that."
"Shame." She decides.
Cobb spends the night in the bacta pod again, lets his wound finish its healing. When he emerges, left pain-free and scarred, the suns are directly above and Fett is patiently waiting for him.
"Come. I have something that I would like to give you before we return you to Freetown."
Cobb dresses and follows.
Their walk takes them deep into the palace, down to where the rooms are carved from the mountain's stone and there are no windows. These rooms are pitch black, evidently not common places of interest, and Boba has to light a lantern to carry along with them. Each footstep echoes off of the walls and bounces back to them. He's not used to being in places that echo the sounds around as strongly as this. The closest he gets is the canyons and ravines scattered about the planet's surface. He wonders if this is what it might sound like down in the silicax mines out on the Mos Pelgo territories. Shuddering, he's suddenly very glad that he didn't choose to be a miner.
They really are deep in the fortress when Fett finally signals for him to stop at an old, disabled door. The Daimyo hands the lantern off to him and pries the door open himself, throwing out a mention that he's kept it close in case of pirates and raiders. The numbers of those under his immediate command are low, and they can't cover the entire palace. No surprise, really, given how recently his rule began. Recently and ambitiously.
Behind the old door is a stale, dust-covered storage closet, going a good few meters deep into the stone. As they enter, Fett takes the lantern back and places it on a rusting metal crate just inside. A saddening number of soiled outfits that had once looked nice are draped over hangers that are hooked around grooves higher up on the walls. Fett ignores them, weaving between the various crates and containers scattered across the sandy flooring. Someone evidently hadn't cared enough to install proper flooring when this was built.
Fett stops at one particular box shoved off to the side and hefts it up into his arms, bringing it back toward the entrance, where Cobb is waiting. It doesn't look very light. The Daimyo pushes the lantern back further on the crate and sets the box down beside it.
"What's inside there?" Cobb asks.
"Something that you can put to better use than I will ever be able to." Fett grabs the lantern again as he opens up the crate, head dipping in apparent satisfaction. He steps back, nods him forward. "Consider it a gift."
He raises a brow at that, the slightest bit skeptical, and steps up to the open box. He might as well humor the man. He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's not what he finds. Both eyebrows shoot up now, and he lets out a low whistle.
It's a set of armor.
The gray matte material is lightweight, he can tell that much, but it looks durable enough, while at the same time perhaps even a bit flexible. There's no helmet, but helmets really are only stifling in the Tatooine heat anyway, even if they do protect the wearer from sandstorms. The style of the suit is unlike anything he's ever seen- and over the course of his life, he's seen all sorts of folk in Mos Espa and Mos Eisley. It looks to be in decent enough condition.
"It's frontier armor. Capable of withstanding a shot from a blaster." Fett tells him. "They came out with this generation maybe five years before Alderaan blew."
"Capable of withstandin' a blaster shot, you said?"
"Yes."
He hums thoughtfully, taking the chestplate in his hands. "Looks like it might fit."
"Try it on." Fett encourages.
"You sure?"
"I have no need for it here."
"Right."
Cobb pulls the backplate out from the crate, connects it up to the chestplate. He slides the complete cuirass down over his shoulders and readjusts it appropriately before he fastens it around his sides.
It's just loose enough to allow air to filter through, and is far lighter than Fett's beskar chestplate. In the dim light, it doesn't even look half bad against the soft brown of his new tunic. He twists, testingly, finds himself pleased with the maneuverability that it allows him to retain.
"It looks good on you." Fett appraises.
"Yeah, I guess it does." He agrees, checking the gap between his shoulders and that of the armor. Just in case.
He reaches back into the crate and pulls out a pair of half-fingered gauntlets, to which he removes his own open-fingered gloves to try on. He has to do a little adjusting at the wrists, but he eventually pinpoints an acceptable compromise between comfortability and mobility. He finishes up by fishing a couple of knee plates and rearranging them accordingly.
He has to admit that he feels a bit more comfortable now, with the extra bodily protection- especially considering Fett's claims that this armor can withstand blaster bolts. It's a reassurance that he's happy to have after Bane's visit to Freetown. It's a relief to know that the chances of him going down to a blaster shot again have significantly lessened, that his body isn't quite as vulnerable with this extra, much-needed reinforcement.
Part of him, still, wants to question Fett's motives behind giving this to him- because it belonging to no one else isn't quite good enough for him. But then he remembers what else he already knows about the Daimyo, of how he's fighting to rid Tatooine of the Pykes, and forces the thought aside. Mayhap it is well-meant, truly as a gift and not some form of bribery. Fett doesn't seem like the type of man who would beg for followers.
Fett is aware of the thoughtful gaze upon him. "Is something wrong?"
"No." Cobb says. "I'm just tryin' to figure you out."
"Perhaps the reason you can't find any hidden rationale is because there isn't any." Did this man mutate and gain Force abilities in his growing tube? Because he's seeing right through to Cobb's complex thoughts.
"Maybe." He draws the word out considerately, lets the appreciation tug his lips up a little. He wonders if this is what Djarin saw in him.
Maybe he should mull over the standing offer to join forces a bit more seriously.
The entire ship shudders as the engines roar to life. Cobb shifts uneasily in his seat.
"Haven't you been on a ship before?" Fennec asks.
He chuckles around the nausea brewing in his stomach. "No. I'm as local as they get."
But she knows that.
As happy as Cobb is to have his feet back on solid ground- well, as solid as sand goes- he is much more relieved to hold Freetown in his sight again, to see that his people are well.
All appears to be calm. People are going about their business like normal, getting by even with the threat of the Pyke Syndicate upon their shoulders. He lets out a breath that he feels he's held since he first woke up at Fett's Palace. There's nothing like coming home and seeing everything good and fine as it is. Well, there's nothing like home, period.
It's good to be back.
"Got anywhere to be?" He asks Fett.
"Not yet."
"Stick around the night. Clear your head a bit from everything goin' on back up there." He suggests. He lifts a finger. "I still owe you an answer."
"I don't see why not." Fennec shrugs, striding past and straight into town.
Fett rolls his eyes, watching her go. "Very well. We'll stay until dawn."
They part ways there, the Daimyo heading off to after his partner, Cobb to survey the streets himself. The people greet him jovially, welcoming him back and commenting on his new set of armor. Seeing him seems to lighten their spirits, and his own in turn.
He finds Djarin struggling with an agitated bantha just outside the other end of town, to which Cobb lets out a shrill whistle to make it fall into submission. When the silver helmet turns in his direction, the shoulders below it sag in relief.
"You're back." Djarin says, when he reaches him, long shadows melting together behind them.
"Just in time to save you from gettin' dragged 'round by that there bantha." He points out, unable to withhold the playful remark. He nods, pleased gaze flitting across the endless expanse of sand ahead, squinting against the afternoon suns. "All quiet here?"
"Not a sound." The Mandalorian assures him.
"Good." Cobb murmurs, crossing his arms. "Thanks for holdin' the fort for me, partner."
"Anytime."
Jo finds him before he finds her. The suns have set by now, and the light is slowly bleeding out of the star-filled sky. Most everyone is finishing up putting their gear away, either getting ready to retire for the night or to head down to join Fennec at Taanti's. Djarin and Fett are back up in the gunship, finishing up matters that his own getting shot had interrupted.
Cobb isn't as surprised as he should be when Jo's first instinct is to throw a punch into his upper arm and scold him for worrying her- for worrying the town as a whole.
He ropes her into joining him on a lap around the town's perimeter.
"The people want blood, Cobb. The Pykes did us wrong."
"The people want blood." He sighs as he repeats her words, pretending to ponder them. "Well, I guess we're in this anyway, whether we want to be or not. Might as well give 'em Pykes hell."
"Oh, they'll get it." She promises.
He grins, shaking his head. "Have you spoken to the folks that might be interested?"
"They're all already on board." It takes him a moment to realize that she means the entire town.
He jolts to a stop. "Wait- everyone? We're really doin' this?"
"No one shoots our Marshal and gets away with it."
At first light, Cobb's heading out to see Fett and Fennec off. It's still a tad chilly out, but his cuirass keeps out the worst of it. Djarin's nearby, though a little ways off, and Cobb realizes that he's leaving too.
"Care to stick around for awhile?" He asks, already knowing the answer. "You're handy. We could use your expertise around these here parts."
But the Mandalorian shakes his head. "I have some business of my own to attend to after I finish helping Fett here on Tatooine."
"The kid?" He guesses.
Djarin nods. "Among other things."
Cobb offers him a smile, soft but genuine. "I owe you one. Next time you come by, don't let me forget that. Anything you need me for, I'll do it."
"Marshal." The Mandalorian is holding a hand out. "A pleasure seeing you again."
"Always, Mando." He clasps that hand back and gives it a firm shake. "You take care of yourself out there."
"I will."
They don't rush as they make their way over to Fett's ship, basking in this golden moment of tranquility together. They don't say anything, either. All that's needed to be said has been, and Cobb is thankful for that. This silence, it's a thing that even the most decent men would kill for, if only it worked that way. Such a rarity, to find a moment of peace in a galaxy that's been war-torn for as long as he can remember.
He stops at the bottom of the ship's ramp, gives Djarin one last nod of parting. Fett climbs down a ladder at the same time that the Mandalorian enters, and they exchange silent greetings themselves. The silver-armored figure vanishes up that same ladder.
Fett stops before Cobb, something clasped in one of his hands, but still lets him speak first.
"Can't leave anyone behind to help me with my patrolling?"
The Daimyo shakes his head, the slightest hint of genuine regret crossing his features for a moment. "There are other settlements here on Tatooine that require our assistance." He holds out the hand with the object, palm up, hand open. "Take this." Cobb does. It's a comlink. "Let me know if Bane or the Pykes show their faces here again. I'll gladly put a bullet through his skull if that's what it takes to keep him out."
"If they do come back, you'll hear from me." He promises. Then he pauses, gathers his thoughts, finally says what he should have after he woke up in the bacta tank the first time. "When the time comes an' you need more hands, give the word. We'll be ready to help you out where we're needed, get the message across. Tatooine ain't for sale, an' it's time we show 'em that."
