Summary: Sequel to When Twilight Checks In, The Collars Pull Tight. Pressured by his aging body and his tired mind, Cobb Vanth ponders stepping down from his role as the Marshal of Freetown. Other, more personal, matters take him offworld for the first time in his extensive life. The fire in his eyes hasn't quite been stomped out yet.

When The Heart Outruns The Body, The Suns Clear The Fog

The distant horizon is a wall of dusty brown. Combine that with the unusually strong wind, and any man who can see it knows that there's a sandstorm on the way. But Cobb Vanth has known about this one for days, has felt it rattling his bones long before he first spotted the dark shape creeping up on the town. It's been a little while since the last one passed through, but the season isn't over quite yet. There's still time until it hits Freetown, though, and he still needs to get out there to check one of the faulty vaporators at the edge of town before it does.

But right now, he's busy tethering the tabletops to their stands in Miyo's diner, because one had come off completely while she'd been cleaning up last night and she's no longer young enough to duck under the tables to tighten the bolts herself. Of course, he's not too young himself these days, but she's still got a good twenty years on him and it's only polite for a man to help his elders- just as it's a marshal's duty to serve his townspeople.

He really should have been done a good quarter of an hour ago, though. And six months ago, maybe he would've been. Cad Bane, the modifications, Bray Ealdel...the year's not been kind to him. But he's on the last table, now, and it won't be long before he's beneath the twin suns once again.

"You're goin' to want to board up the door an' windows b'fore the storm hits, alright?" He tells her from beneath the table. "Keep the sand from gettin' in."

"I think I already put up the shutters." She assures him from somewhere across the room, where she's resting her legs. "Don't you worry your pretty little head. You just get done what you need to get done and scurry home yourself. Stars know we don't need you gettin' caught out in that mess."

"Oh, I think I could handle it." Cobb says, and grits his teeth as a particularly painful tremor runs from his chest out to his fingertips. His nerves haven't gotten any better since Bray's EMP fried him out those few months ago. "I ain't as old as you, yet. Still got some fight left in me."

Miyo hums her disagreement, and he's almost glad he can't see her face. "You've been all stiff for days, boy. If you ain't careful, that girl of yours will be buryin' you before you can say 'Mandalorian'."

"Ah, it's a long word, I've got time." He decides, and laughs when Miyo curses his stubborn streak. "I've made it this far, you don't gotta worry 'bout me, Miyo."

He doesn't tell her how he could hardly drag himself out of bed when the suns crept over the horizon that morning, nor how difficult it had been to get his food down before he'd left the solitude of his home to accompany the miners out to the ravine. He's only a few years past fifty, it shouldn't hurt this damn much to do the things he's been doing every day for the last two decades.

His body shouldn't be this broken until he's on his deathbed.

But the truth is that the muscles in his arm and chest are slowly giving up, and it hurts like hell to do even the simplest of things seven days out of ten. He's lost weight, and he's lighter than he's been in years.

Knowing he's crashing, that his body can't properly support itself the way it used to no matter how hard he tries, it's a scary thing. The people can worry all they want, but this isn't something that he knows how to fight on his own. If anyone can help him, it'll be the man whose technology saved him last. Tuk, the modifier- Cobb's going to have to swing by the city and see him, isn't he? Stop by the palace while he's up there, blow off the gotra's own concern over his declining health…

Blast it.

It doesn't take him long to finish up his work in the diner and bid Miyo a good rest of her day, and his boots are in the sand once again. The wind's gotten stronger, the wall of dust closer. Phantom pain makes his shoulder throb when he looks at it. He understands that he's going to get caught up in the storm in his duties, but he retrieves his toolkit from his home and heads out toward the vaporator anyway; they'll need it once the storm's over.

It probably would be more sensible to wait until after the weather's passed to figure the thing out, but Cobb has got enough energy to get on it now, and he's not letting that go to waste. So, he starts by checking and replacing the filter, despite knowing he'll have to check all of them once the sand's settled.

When he pries open the panel to the mechanical parts, he finds that the power core is surrounded in corrosion, the familiar chalk-white substance coating a good portion of the vaporator's inner workings. Cobb reckons that the corrosion just might be the problem with it, and sets to scraping it off. He pulls out the power cell, too, and makes note of grabbing another one before he closes the vaporator back up.

The townsfolk make their final preparations for the sandstorm. He catches a glimpse of Taanti hurrying across the street once the cantina's boarded up, and another of Zana's mother ushering her inside. He checks the progress of the storm, pulls on eye protection, and resumes his work. The sand swirls around his ankles.

A short while later, the wall of grit swallows him up.

He pulls into Mos Espa two days later, his jumpspeeder in better condition than himself. Skad greets him at Tuk's doorstep, his modified eye looking just a little different than how Cobb remembers it. They shake hands- and if his grip's a little weaker than usual, the kid doesn't go out of his way to mention it.

"I'm surprised to see you up here, Marsh'. The Daimyo didn't say anything about you coming this week." Skad comments, arms folded respectfully behind him. "Guess that means it's not a social call?"

"Got some business of my own to attend to." Cobb admits, with a nod to the parlor. "But I'll stop by the palace b'fore I leave town, you have my word. He busy in there?"

The Mod shakes his head. "Empty. The boss has us out helping a few of the nearby areas clean up from that storm the other day. It hit some places pretty bad." He pauses. "Did it hit you?"

"Yeah, but we've had worse. Cleanup's already underway, should be near to done by the time I get back there tomorrow evenin'." He answers. "A bit unusual, getting hit by a sandstorm this late in the season. Reckon all the fodder with the Pykes stirred up the sand."

Skad nods in silent agreement, and opens the door to the mod-parlor, stepping aside to allow Cobb through. "I'll let the big man know you're in town, make sure he's home to greet you when you swing by."

"Appreciate it." Cobb says, and bids him an uneventful day. The other man returns the favor and heads on his way, ducking between the buildings and reappearing shortly after on a chrome-red speeder bike. It's not long before he's out of sight, and Cobb turns back to the room he's just entered; he has got some business to attend to.

He never has been directly to the mod-parlor, has only interacted with Tuk up in the palace. Of course, the mod artist himself had given him the directions when they last parted- Cobb never actually thought he'd take him up on it, though.

Yet, here he is.

Cobb isn't sure what he expected of it, not really. It's a bit smaller than he thought it would be- but, then again, Mos Espa is a rather compact city; the biggest place in it has got to be the sanctuary that'd been bombed the night he was shot.

He lets his eyes roam for a moment, taking it in- the way that the corners are bathed in shadows, that the only lighting within comes from four overhead bulbs and a few pieces of equipment off to the side- and then lets his gaze come to a halt on the familiar figure hunched over a cart covered in various tools and arm attachments. He clears his throat.

"Marshal Vanth." The man doesn't even turn around. Cobb's eyebrows raise before he can stop them. "What can I do for you?"

"Now ain't a bad time for me to ask you to take a look at my arm, is it?"

And that's how he ends up in the chair on the left side of the room, shoulder open, his body subject to being poked and prodded with a collection of various instruments and needles.

At Tuk's questioning, Cobb tells him how he was attacked by a thug with an EMP. He doesn't tell the full story, doesn't think he could bring himself to if he had absolutely no choice. The details don't matter- all that does is that an EMP short-circuited his shoulder, and his body hasn't been the same since. He accidentally lets the time frame of it slip, and the mod artist's frown is nothing if not disgruntled.

"You should've come in months ago." The man says, and Cobb is too tired to argue with him over it. It seems that the damage is something that Tuk himself fears he cannot repair- and he'd bragged about replacing the heart of a Twi'lek when they'd first met.

Cobb can feel his own heart sink in his chest. Part of him knows the verdict even before he hears the words leave Tuk's mouth:

His arm, the only way to fix it- the only way to stop the deterioration…

Tuk's offering to replace it.

Entirely.

He's shaking his head before he realizes it. Furiously. The weight of the world closes in around him and presses on his lungs so hard that they forget how to hold air for the longest of moments. No. There has to be another way. Another option. Something just as effective, something that'll feel like a new arm yet isn't one-

The room spins briefly, and Cobb's hands fist themselves around the fabric of his trousers. Bile rises in his throat, a trail of fire coming with it. He feels so horribly ill. His face must show it, too, because Tuk's hands are quickly upon his shoulders, trying to steady him despite the tools in his grasp. But the gesture doesn't help; nothing does. How does one console a man they've just told must lose his arm? How do they make light of an amputation?

It's probably a might easier when you do that kind of stuff for a damn living, Cobb thinks bitterly. He wants to punch right through Tuk's perfect teeth, give him some on-the-spot grief of his own to cope with.

And Tuk seems to know it, dimming his already-muted vanity down yet another level when he reaches to recapture his attention. "Your arm's shot, Marshal. I might be able to make a few adjustments to lessen the tremors- and the pain- but until you know for sure, all I can give you is time.

"As for the payment? Don't bother worrying about it. I'm sure I could convince Fett to cover the expenses if you'd like me to."

Owing Fett is a more unsettling notion, really, but they both know that that isn't his issue here; Tuk is asking to replace his arm, and money is Cobb's least concern. This right here, this is why part of him was glad that Taanti and Jo spoke on his behalf for it the first time. It's almost an impossible decision.

His arm is a faulty piece of machinery, like half a dozen parts on his speeder are. But the thing is, there's no going back if he accepts Tuk's offer. One and done, and he'll never be the same. Is it worth it? An arm is no small part of a man. Even just his shoulder, a whole chunk of him is already metal.

But, to the contrary, is it worth it to keep the arm, to drive himself into the ground as the shoulder between it and the rest of him continues to eat away at his bodily systems?

In the end, Cobb doesn't make a decision. He just sits there and lets Tuk make small adjustments to the shoulder's mechanisms, letting the modifier do what he can to lessen the spasms and agony that the thing brings him. He chases the idea of losing his arm in circles, and it makes him restless; he thinks he's about ready to get a move on, to visit the palace and head home. There's much to think about. Much to consider.

Tuk finishes his work no more than an hour after Cobb arrived, years of practice making him more than a little efficient in his field. He helps him up, and sets to organizing his tools again. Cobb is silent as he puts himself together, dressing to leave.

"You said it was an EMP, right?" Tuk asks him on his way out, to which he nods curtly in response. There's a concerning, thoughtful note to his voice. "You been feelin' any chest pain since?"

That makes him pause.

It makes him think about the way his heart's been flighty off and on since that night. About the way that the sharp sting of an undetectable blade will sometimes pierce him straight to the core and leave him groping for purchase on the nearest object while he stops to press his palm to the center of his chest.

And then he's angry, suddenly, and he forces his next words through gritted teeth. "That ain't why I'm here."

Tuk knows. It's slipping through the steely mask of indifference over his eyes. But still, he tries once more anyway, because a man has to have a backbone to live on a planet like Tatooine. "I'm no expert, but I'd go see a real doctor, make sure it isn't serious."

"I appreciate the concern." But I didn't ask for your advice.

He leaves without another word.

.

When he returns to Freetown the following evening, his arm still trembles beneath the weight of his blaster.

[19:43] CV: You remember when you came to visit that one time, before Bane came through? I told you about the Pykes I chased out?

[19:44] DD: I remember.

[19:44] DD: That was some time ago.

[19:44] CV: Yeah, it was.

[19:45] CV: After I shot three of them down, I told the last one to leave me the chest of spice they had with them. He told me it was worth more than Freetown.

[19:45] CV: You know what I said?

[19:46] DD: What did you say?

[19:48] CV: "Well, then maybe I'll retire."

[19:57] CV: I'm getting too old for this, Mando. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep it up.

[20:01] DD: Do you want me to find someone to help you?

.

Cobb already has the perfect person for the job: a scarred orange Twi'lek with aim as impeccable as Jo's.

At his doorstep two mornings later, he holds himself tall and shakes the firm hand of Issa-Or with what he hopes is some semblance of a smile on his face. "Glad you could make it."

A/N: I'm aware that the mod-parlor is actually in Mos Eisley, but I didn't actually realize it fully until I started writing it into the chapter. So, for the sake of this fic series- let's just say it's in Mos Espa. Or that Tuk has two nearly-identical shops.