In the aftermath of the events at the factory, Trala and Zart decide to stick with him. And so, Cobb leads them through the streets, to his motel room, and sees to it that each of them gets patched up; he's far from the only man to be wounded in that fight, even if he's one of those who got it the worst. Once his side's been stuffed with bacta and stitched up, they head back out- and he sees to it that they get the first proper meal of their lives; they've long since earned it, after all.
Cobb doesn't feel quite well enough to eat much himself, but he provides good company and conversation as the others eat their fill. He finally gives Zart his full name, too, as the reason he's kept it hidden has been taken care of. Zerem has finally been taken care of.
It's over, two simple words that keep repeating in his head, turning over and over and over again. It doesn't even feel real. Bray, Jeree, Cliff and Lera, his parents- all of his people have been avenged. What he started those twenty-ish years ago, he's finished it at long last. It's over. It's over. It's over.
It's over.
He thinks of Zart's people, now under the leadership of Arik, who's given his promise to lead those who wish to remain among their own to a safe haven. Arik, who had promised to do right by them for his cousin, who had promised that they would meet again. It reminds Cobb of how Bray had left him on the edges of Mos Espa, and he hopes that when the cousins meet again, it plays out nothing like how things had for them. And with Zerem gone, he's sure there's nothing to worry about. Happy endings at last.
Womp rats might not have wings, as he'd told Din, but free-falling sure does feel an awful lot like flying. He's a man on top of the world. A tired man on top of the world, one that's more than happy to settle down for one last night in the motel before he leaves Corellia behind.
He's about out already when he remembers to shoot his friend a message for a ride; public transportation would be risky, he knows, after the stunt he's just pulled. Sooner or later, the factory and all of the bodies inside will be found, and the authorities will start looking for someone to lock up for it.
[18:39] CV: You know where Corellia is?
[18:43] DD: Yes.
[18:43] DD: Why?
[18:43] CV: I have a few things there that need transportation to Tatooine. Was wondering if you could lend a hand?
[18:45] DD: I'll need to rent a bigger ship. There's not much room on the starfighter.
[18:45] CV: No rush, partner. Take your time.
They spend much of the next day resting and talking. He feels light, and talking feels easy in comparison to all the work he's been doing in recent weeks. But eventually, the conversation turns years back in time, and Trala's recounting the events surrounding his parents' deaths, of her subsequent transfer to Corellia. Cobb, in turn, tells her about the decades between then and his first slave revolution. He tells them about Freetown. About the Red Key Raiders, the Mining Guild, the krayt dragon. About the Pykes, Cad Bane, and his shoulder. About Jabba's death and the gracious new daimyo, Boba Fett. And, of course, about Din Djarin.
"Now, Tatooine's nowhere near safe, never will be, but I'm willin' to bet it's better than it's been in centuries. Fett knows what he's doin'," he concludes. "There ain't a better man who'd dare sit on that throne."
"And if anyone were to come after us?"
Cobb huffs a laugh. "He'd do anythin' for Freetown- an' for you, by extension. I don't reckon anyone will come after us, but if they do…he's got our backs."
"Good." Trala finally smiles, and nothing could hide the decades of weariness on her face.
The conversation falls away for a while after that. Cobb quietly packs his medical supplies and other meager belongings until Zart speaks up and asks what Tatooine was like before Boba Fett rose to power. He helps Trala fill him in on that, and it's not long before his communicator pings with a message from Din:
The Mandalorian's just come out of hyperspace above the planet.
Cobb sends back an affirmative, and tells the others. "I want'a show you both somethin', first, b'fore we leave. It'll be worth it, promise."
.
That, of course, is how they end up down by the slipways- by the ocean. He knows it's something they've never seen before, something they'll- something that he will- never again have the chance to see once they leave for Tatooine.
Corellia's single sun is already sinking low on the horizon, bleeding color out into the fading blue of the daytime sky. The radiance of it lights up the dark city behind them, makes it look golden- an ironic deception, really. Cobb's come to know better about the place; he's faced the evils that hide within its darkest corners.
But all the same, sinful city or not, the sea that stretches forever and ever rolls in gentle waves, lapping up at the sand the same way it had the last time Cobb was here. It's down at the shoreline that Trala and Zart stand, taking in this new experience with the same awe and admiration that a people might show their reigning monarch. Some part of Cobb is still marveling at it himself: there's a certain beauty in the unfamiliar.
He watches them from afar, a small smile occasionally playing across his lips at a particularly cheerful sound, from where he sits on the side of the last pier.
For the two of them, this is likely the happiest moment of their lives- the first of which they don't have to worry about anything; the first of which they don't have to worry about being too slow, the first of which they don't have to worry about going hungry, the first of which they don't have any expectations sitting heavily on their shoulders. They've earned this, and he's pleased that he's aided them to this moment. Soon, they will leave Corellia behind and return to the dry wastelands of Tatooine- but for now, they can revel in the simple pleasure of the ocean's embrace.
As Cobb sits on the worn gangway, his tired eyes drink in the sight before him. The soft orange hues dance upon the small waves in that reflective way that could never be reciprocated on the sands of his homeworld. The salty breeze kisses his weathered face, carrying with it the faint scent of freedom-
Pure, unstifled freedom. It's going to take him a long time to accept that it's finally, kriffing finally real.
The afternoon draws on long, and Cobb thinks that it might be the best one of his life, too.
Eventually, of course, the sun begins to melt into the horizon, and the golden-orange bleeds into red, the edges of the red purple, and the afternoon is at its end. His weary gaze lifts to Trala and Zart, their silhouettes illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. It won't be much longer before Din finally figures out where on this galaxy-forsaken planet they are. Cobb probably should have been less vague in his messages, but- where's the fun in that?
Nonetheless. Din is a Mandalorian; he'll find them, no matter how vague the coordinates.
Cobb Vanth built Freetown with his own two hands, and it's time to get back. Marshal or not, he's needed there. And he needs to be there. It's his home, after all, and it always will be.
.
The final glorious rays of light are receding into the horizon when Din finds them. It's the heavy footfalls of the armor that tips Cobb off to his arrival, preparing him for the suddenness of the Mandalorian's voice:
"Vanth?" Din inquires, modulated voice more cautious than surprised.
Cobb half-turns to glance up at him in response, good arm grabbing at his side with a wince. "Hey there, Mando. Glad you could make it."
"What are you doing offworld?"
"Had a few scores to settle." He shrugs.
Din stares at him, silent for a moment, and Cobb can feel the skepticism radiating off of him. "Did you win?"
"Wouldn't be here if I didn't," he tells him, his voice more serious than the near-grin on his face. It's true; if he'd failed, he'd either be dead or a slave again. Some deep part of him shudders at the thought, but it doesn't breach the ease of mind he's reached. Everything's over, and it ended well.
The Mandalorian pauses, taking a moment to study him from head to toe, to take in the bandages that peek through the holes of Cobb's bloodied outfit. "Are you alright?" he asks.
"Oh," he says, "I'm good. Hurts like hell, but I can still walk."
The helmet tilts. "What did you do?"
Cobb shrugs again. "Led a slave revolt, killed the bastard in charge, made a few connections along the way." He finishes with a gesture toward where Zart and Trala have waded into the water, the pair having yet to notice his companion's arrival.
"Are you…feeling any better?" Din wonders aloud, following his gaze out toward the shoreline.
He doesn't answer.
"They say that Tatooine was covered in water once. A long time ago. This right here?"Cobb nods out at the infinite blue waves. "It's a once in a lifetime experience for someone like me. It must be nice, bein' able to travel like you do, seein' all sorts of places, meetin' all kinds of folk. I get why it keeps you away as long as it does. You ever been here?"
The Mandalorian is quiet for a moment, debating whether to entertain his train of thought- wondering whether he's still sound in mind, Cobb knows. "No. I prefer to stick to the Outer Rim."
"Cities an' politics. I ain't fond of 'em, either," he scoffs. "Hell of a galaxy we live in."
Din's silence voices his agreement, and Cobb joins him in withholding conversation. He focuses back on the scene before him, of Zart and Trala and the ocean, because they will leave before darkness truly sets upon the planet and they might as well enjoy the peace while it's there- Tatooine is far from peaceful, as violence has proven to him again and again. Every time he'd thought Freetown safe for good, some man in a hat with a gun would show up to try to shoot him down.
Darkness looms on the horizon, both literally and figuratively. Cobb knows that they cannot linger here for long. Tatooine, his home, may be a harsh and unforgiving desert, but it's a familiar kind of harshness.
"How'd you find me?" he finally asks, breaking the comfortable silence. "This is a big city, partner."
The Mandalorian stews on the question briefly, his helmeted head tilting in contemplation. "You prefer quiet places," he muses quietly, his voice a low rumble. "I doubted that you would have been in the heart of the city."
Cobb manages a tired, bitter-tinged chuckle. "Well, it ain't no secret, that's for sure. You know me well, Din, better'an most. Lucky thing you've always been on my side."
"Not always," Din reminds him, and the picture of their first meeting comes to him for the first time in quite a while. The Mandalorian had nearly shot him that day- would have, if the krayt dragon hadn't intervened. Maybe Fate has always been on Cobb's side; maybe he was meant to get here, to tear down Brarkesh Zerem's slaving operation.
But, Fate or not, he'd done it, and here they are. Two unlikely friends on an unfamiliar planet, staring at the ocean with a city at their backs.
"That doesn't count," he decides.
It's quiet again after that, for a few minutes. The waves keep moving, climbing further up the spit of sand wedged between it and the gangways. Trala and Zart move a bit closer to shore upon realizing it, and Cobb catches them looking over at him and Din- catches them realizing that their time upon this vile planet is nearly up. They don't approach yet; they know that Cobb will call them over when he's ready.
He takes a deep breath, letting the salted sea air fill his lungs. Might as well, before he's inhaling dust with every waking moment. He wasn't lying, when he'd told the story- Tatooine was once an ocean world itself. How different his life would've been if it still was. There's something peaceful about the sea.
Not peaceful enough, clearly, he reminds himself. Because this planet is also home to an enslaved folk like his own. Perhaps things wouldn't have been that different on a wet Tatooine after all. There's something to be said about appearances being deceptive of reality.
"Mando?" Cobb implores. "Thank you, for bein' here."
And all Din Djarin says is, "Your people are worried about you. I...I guess I was, too."
I can look after myself, he wants to say. But the way he has to shiver to mask the spasm of his bad arm says otherwise, so he keeps his words to himself and basks in the moment of sitting beside a friend who'd passed by many worlds to find him. Cobb never will be sure what exactly it is he'd done to earn Din Djarin's loyalty, but he knows that he's a lucky man to have it.
Eventually, silver beskar shifts to turn in his direction, and a hand reaches down to him, outstretched, a silent answer to his unspoken protest: You don't have to.
Cobb thinks of Jo and Tenn and Ann, and meets the eyes behind the visor as his hand clasps his friend's.
It's time to go home.