Chapter Text
Quinlan Vos, Master of the Shadows, learns of the fall of the Jedi Order and the rise of the Empire too late to do anything to help, too deeply buried undercover as he is. He’s on Kashyyyk, doing research into the Sith, trying to find the identity of the Dark Lord pulling the strings of the War, when Darth Sidious makes a move. As a Shadow, Quinlan keeps his bonds carefully silenced and blocked off, but even he has to notice as the lights of the people he grew up with are snuffed out one by one within seconds of each other.
He realizes too late that the Sith won.
He barely hears his men behind him, too busy searching desperately through his bonds, trying to grasp them before they slip from his grasp, but more and more blink out of existence, leaving Quinlan feeling the echo of their pain, their betrayal, and their fear. It sends him to his knees, and it’s the only thing that saves his life as blaster bolts fly where his head had been moments before.
Quinlan Vos survives the destruction of the Jedi Order through sheer dumb luck.
Later, after he’s killed the squadron of clones with him and has hidden himself away in Palsaang, Quinlan will learn what happened. The Sith Lord had been under their noses the entire time, Chancellor Palpatine had declared the Jedi enemies of the Republic, and named himself Emperor. The Jedi Temple had been raided, those within butchered like animals, no matter their age, by the clone troopers that they had bled and died beside, the few survivors having scattered to the winds, fleeing the hunters sent after them.
Eventually, Khaleen finds him, a baby in her arms; Korto, his son. The three of them stay together for a time, for Korto’s sake more than anything else. But eventually, Khaleen says goodbye, heading towards Coruscant to gather information and never comes back, leaving Quinlan to raise his son on his own. Unfortunately, Korto ends up just as stubborn and ill tempered as his father, and Quinlan suddenly realizes why he drove Obi-Wan and all their friends mad.
In time, Quinlan manages to work his way through the tangled broken mess of the bonds in his mind, trying to find anyone he can - if any of his closest friends had survived, they’d gone so deeply underground that they’d even blocked off their bonds. He gets occasional flashes from Obi-Wan, enough to tell him that she survived if the massive bounty on her head hadn’t already, and, to his great relief, he manages to track down the master-padawan bond he shares with Aayla. They have monthly check ins over scrambled comms, and the next fourteen years drag by, Quinlan keeps an ear to the ground and an eye on his surroundings.
When rumours reach him of the Rebellion, Quinlan dismisses it at first - why should he endanger his son to leap back into a War? But then he hears about a Jedi Master making their way into the fold, a High General of the Grand Army of the Republic; the High Generals had only ever been members of the Council, and the only known council member to have survived was Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Quinlan feels hope burning in his chest like a fire that grows as more and more rumours reach his ear until finally, he has confirmation - the Negotiator had returned to fight for the Republic.
Within days of learning the news, Quinlan has packed his belongings, bought a small craft, and passed the news onto Aayla. Korto is a little difficult to get moving, but the boy’s curiosity wins out and soon the Vos Clan is star bound. Finding the Rebellion, however, is the hard part, but Quinlan was trained as a Shadow by the best, and within a month of learning of his childhood friend’s return, his small shuttle is docking aboard an Alliance flagship, and Quinlan finds himself arguing with a dock worker like old times.
“I’m Jedi Master Quinlan Vos.” He draws himself to his full height, glaring down at the human male asking for identification, unclipping his saber but not igniting it. “I don’t give a frip about the safety of the Alliance, I’m here for Kenobi.”
“Vos.” He stiffens at the voice, immediately placing himself between Korto and the new arrival, green lightsaber snapping to life, prepared to cut down the clone trooper if needed. The man steps back, hands held up as the lightsaber is levelled towards his chest, eyes open and honest. The clone staring at him is familiar in the same way all the soldiers were, but this is one that Quinlan knows . He’s wearing white plating similar to those he had when he had first met him, painted with gold, a stylized sunburst on his chest instead of helmet that is nowhere in sight; long graying hair tied off his face and a thin beard on his jaw, a pair of goggles on top of his head, and an aged face with more scars than he had in the past. But his most recognizable mark is the hooked scar tracing his left eye.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut you down, clone.”
“I can’t exactly stop you if you decide that that’s what you’ll do.” One eyebrow rises in the same way the man’s general would. “Though I don’t think Obi-Wan would be happy with you.”
“She’d get over it.” Quinlan growls, but he knows deep down that it isn’t the truth; he’d seen the way his crèchemate would look at the man during the war - the same way she had once looked at Siri, and that Duchess of hers - like he’d hung the stars just for her. As good as Kenobi had been at hiding things, Quinlan had been better at weaseling them out of her, and she had been head over heels, stupidly in love with her commander.
Commander Cody stares back at him, cool as can be, “We never would have done it willingly, sir.” He says slowly, “There’s a chip, a few words and everything that made us human was stolen from us.” The clone grimaces, pained, as one hand absently scratches at one of the new scars - it’s a nasty one for sure, cutting across his temple from where it vanished into his hair and down to the bridge of his nose. “Good soldiers follow orders. We never had a choice.”
The Kiffar’s saber wavers, dropping from the clone’s chest as he talks, remembering the words that had been running through his own mens’ heads when they had tried to kill him - when he had killed them. Flowers, Tapp, Seven, Skip, Will - he had killed them, quickly and efficiently separating their heads from their shoulders, and he had hated them, hated them for what they symbolized, hated that they could turn on him without hesitation despite the fact that they had fought and bled together in a war none of them had asked for. He had killed them, and never spared them a thought afterwards.
They had been good men, good soldiers.
Good soldiers follow orders .
“Kriff!” Quinlan curses, deactivating his saber and spinning to punch the side of his shuttle, Korto squeaking in surprise at the outburst and scuttling away. “Skrogging druk!”
“Dad?” Korto says in shock, and Quinlan freezes, taking a quick gasp of breath to try to calm himself down.
Almost fifteen years of hating the wrong people.
“Sorry, kiddo.” The Kiffar Jedi says, voice faintly strained, and he turns to look at his son. The boy had retreated to the side, hand resting on his own lightsaber as he looked between Quinlan and the clone - Cody. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
Korto scoffs, tossing his own dark dreadlocks over his shoulder as he studies him with equally dark eyes. “I wasn’t scared.” He says, dashing a thumb across the yellow tattoo that marked him as a Vos Clansman cockily. “I'm a Vos, we don't get scared. Just surprised, is all.”
“Quin!” A voice calls from across the hanger, and Quinlan straightens, not fully willing to fight off the grin that grew on his lips.
He turns, arms opening on instinct as a familiar body plows into him with the same force as she had done when they were children. They had stopped greeting each other in such a way when they had become padawans, her too determined to be the perfect padawan, and him holding it against her, but it didn’t matter anymore. Now, they were just two survivors reuniting after too long apart, and their bond reopens with an explosion of emotion the moment her skin meets his.
“Hey there, Kenobi.” He murmurs into her white-gold hair, wrapping strong arms around her slight frame. “Happy to see little old me?”
“Shut up, Vos.” Obi-Wan laughs, nose pressed uncomfortably against his chest and her clutched in the back of his tabard in the same way she had done when they were children and she had had a bad dream. “You arrogant troglodyte - it’s good to see you.”
“Good to see you too, little sister.”