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Chapter Text

Quinlan had barely returned from a long – far too long – undercover mission that he was already on the move. He had read the reports and attended every briefing in the world for this new mission, he knew why the Order had rushed him back, pushing back their own deadlines as much as possible to give him a chance to finish and he understood, he really did.

The situation was far too serious for them to choose a novice or for him to play the offended party, and what's more, credit where it's due, they did let him finish his mission.

At the moment he was trying to take all the positive aspects of the world because... yeah, his situation was pretty fucked up.

He had vaguely heard about a new situation, an army and an impending war while he had been investigating undercover, but honestly, he had not really cared. When you were a criminal, wars were sometimes nothing more than an opportunity, and anyway he had never imagined it could get this bad. They had consular Jedi particularly versed in the subtle art of diplomacy and peace negotiation like Obi-Wan, Quinlan was not concerned.

Had he known he was going to be so intimately involved, he might have listened a bit more of the rumours. A clone army of several hundred thousand over-trained soldiers and warships of the kind you could not really ignore... And it would have been really useful for him to know the ins and outs of all this before the High Council asked him to go and play the role of glorified hostage to these clones and husband and adviser to their leader.

Force, the leader of an army, it smelt like a violent, threatening, tyrannical dictator.

He had accepted the mission though, well, he had accepted the idea in principle and would give a definitive answer once he had heard the details of the mission parameters, but deep down he already knew he was going to say yes.

He was not the best at advising and negotiating but if it was necessary to send an experienced Shadow who could cope with the unknown, he was their man.

As soon as he emerged from his bathroom clean and dry and had put on some clothes, Quinlan went out and joined Master Gallia, Master Yoda and Master Windu to discuss the mission.

"You must have a lot of questions, we'll answer them as best we can."

It was an understatement, but Quinlan took a moment to organise his thoughts.

"How long is this mission supposed to last and what are the exact terms of the contract I'll have to observe?"

"We expect that this mission could last more than a year. The goal of the clones, in addition to being recognised and accepted as equals, seems to be to integrate into the society by establishing several colonies on friendly planets. They seem to be in the early stages of putting together a plan to make this goal their future and clearly need all the expert advice they can get."

"Hence the role of the advisor-spouse."

"Exactly."

"Why ‘spouse’ though? Why didn't they ask for a more traditional advisor from the Jedi? They could hold them hostage in the same way and threaten the Order with reprisals."

"We don't know," Master Windu admitted, his eyes frank and serious. "All we can say is that they insisted that this person marry their leader, and that the Jedi have to be a human male or near-human under the age of forty."

That might sound like a lot of choice, but the options were very narrow with those kinds of conditions. Apart from the fact that he was a competent and experienced Shadow, Quinlan realised that they had not even had much choice with these conditions. Did anyone even fit into these three categories?

"Will someone else be able to take this mission if I refuse?"

"To be perfectly clear with you, it would be... tricky, if we wanted to send a profile like yours."

Quinlan hummed to show that he was still paying attention.

"What about... you know, physical affection, sex? Is he going to want that sort of thing, their leader? By the way, what's his name and what is he like?"

"Knowing that, we don't," Master Yoda replied with a subtly annoyed and worried air that did nothing to allay Quinlan's growing concerns.

"All right," he agreed, because he was not exactly surprised that the details of the expected activities in the bedroom had not been spelled out. "What about his name?"

"We don't know his name either," Master Gallia murmured. "All we know is that it's called ‘Alor’, or at least we assume so because they've used the phrase ‘our Alor’ several times, but we can't even guarantee that."

"They are extremely secretive and paranoid," Master Windu continued. "The only people we spoke to, and always from a distance, were Fox and Wolffe."

"Probably pseudonyms, or military rank titles associated with animals," Quinlan understood immediately. "Okay then. Okay, so the plan would be for me to accompany them wherever they take me, blend in, gain their trust, help them negotiate a mutually beneficial peace and alliance treaty with the Republic and investigate where they're coming from, am I right?"

"Yes, in principle that's the idea. But there's more."

"I'm listening."

"They... how do I explain this?"

"They want a Jedi who, for lack of a better term, doesn't do any ‘Jedi stuff’."

"That means no access to the Force and no lightsabers. They were very paranoid when we met the emissary nicknamed Wolffe for a single face-to-face meeting. We had to leave our weapons outside and they searched us, no doubt they'll search you too before you leave the Temple with them."

No Force... so no psychometry. Hng, it would be so much more complicated to gather information. In a way it would be classic, old-fashioned infiltration.

"We don't know how they're going to behave with you, we honestly have no idea," Master Gallia repeated, and Quinlan understood that she was saying it so that he would understand what he was getting into if he accepted.

They did not know how they were going to welcome him and treat him, which meant they were afraid things would take a turn for the worse... and he would be absolutely defenceless if that happened.

Quinlan thanked Siri's Master with a grateful nod and leaned back in his seat, calmly considering the situation.

They had a gigantic army here that needed to be brought to the negotiating table, after all they wanted treaties, not declarations of war. If they were of good will, Quinlan's skills should be enough to get the job done, if not... well, he would find help in the Jedi who would be taking part in the negotiations, because the very principle of negotiation was to discuss with the opposing party, so he would probably get away with it.

Marriage... marriage was not great, he wasn't thrilled at the idea of marrying a man for a mission when he could not even marry someone for love but hey, that was life. He just hoped the guy would not be too demanding sexually because ever since he had become a Knight and stopped having fun, the only times Quinlan had experienced a man's touch, he had not wanted it. He could probably force himself a bit, he knew how to play the game even under pressure... and even if things went badly, that would be something the Order needed to know.

They would absolutely need to know how they behaved both as individuals and as a group to be sure they did not have other, more dangerous objectives against the Republic. As far as the investigation was concerned, it was probably the most worrying fact, but paradoxically not the most urgent, the urgency was to keep them happy long enough for real discussions to take place, so even if he did not gather much information quickly it would not be so bad. This kind of investigation was bound to take a long time, trust took time to establish, and he knew something about that.

Finally, he stood up and bowed to the three Councillors who were waiting for his answer.

He had already started missions with far more complicated beginnings than this one.

"I accept the mission. When do I have to depart?"

Chapter Text

As it turned out, he was asked to leave a week later, five days of anxiety and waiting while certain administrative details were sorted out.

Apparently his position as heir – only heir in fact – of the Sheyf of Kiffu had intrigued the clones and they seemed to take it as a mark of respect that the Order would provide a Jedi with such a prestigious background but they asked for a little more information about him before deeming him suitable.

In three days, it was good, he had been deemed worthy of this ‘Alor’ and the message had been sent that they would be there on the morning of the fifth day to take him away.

Since he did not know how long he would be away he went to see his friends who were present at the Temple, Obi-Wan was away with Anakin, having crazy adventures, but he got to see Aayla before she left on an escort mission and he spent the next day with Agen and his kid, this Padawan was really impressive for a fourteen-year-old boy but with someone as demanding and passionate as his Master it was nothing surprising.

He had all his vaccinations renewed and got a whole bunch of new ones, and pretty soon the big day was here and Quinlan was running out of time so he made sure to leave his things in order and dressed in as many layers as possible and went out, leaving his lightsaber in plain sight on one of the pieces of furniture in his living room.

He could not take anything too ‘Jedi’ with him, and clearly they would not want him to be armed so his lightsaber had to stay and since he was not actually allowed to bring anything – the message they had received by hologram had after all said ‘The Jedi will find everything necessary for his comfort on site’. This clearly meant that they did not want him to bring anything with him, they were not stupid. The only thing he allowed himself to bring was his com, they had not explicitly said he would be cut off from all contact so he intended to bring it along. That and so many layers of tunics of all lengths that he would be able to dress exactly as he wanted without them being able to do anything to stop him. He had also put on three pairs of trousers, hence the particularly baggy one above, and he had done the same with absolutely everything, even the gloves.

If he was not allowed any luggage, he was going to carry everything he could with him.

About an hour before his scheduled departure time, he appeared before the High Council for a final meeting. All the High Councillors were present and they tried to give him some advice, but in the end all they could really give him was their best wishes for his mission to be a success.

From there, in the twenty minutes or so they had left, Quinlan was given a pair of bracelets. Thick, made of a bronze-like material, they were refined works of art but when Quinlan put them on, he suddenly felt blind. How such small objects could blind him to energy and the Force, he did not pretend to understand, but he was in awe. The creation was despicable but the genius of inventors deserved to be celebrated.

The sensation was strange, terribly unsettling, and even after several minutes Quinlan was not quite stable on his feet.

It was... how to explain such a thing?

The Force was a sixth sense that had always been particularly present to him, and to be separated from it was as if everything lacked depth. He saw things, but it was as if a film was being projected before his eyes, as if it had no consistency. Sounds seemed off and smells had a synthetic feel.

"How do you feel?"

"As if I were separated from the world, in a bubble of distorted perception," Quinlan answered Master Windu, almost collapsing on top of him at the first step he took, the Jedi Master closing his arms around him, looking at Master Che with a thinly veiled concern.

"Are you sure he'll be all right? "

"You know exactly why he won't be fine," the Twi'lek retorted sharply. "All he has to do is take them off."

He could take them off of course, they were bracelets, but he would not, Master Windu immediately pointing out why to the scowling woman.

"They wanted a Jedi who didn't use ‘Jedi magic’, it would protect him from their distrust and anger."

The Force was inside them at a molecular level, they could not ignore it unless an outside force forced them to.

"Look at him, he can barely stand!"

Quinlan let the two Jedi argue over his fate and practised walking straight across the room despite his new loss of balance. It was like looking at the world through distorting glasses, if he focused and ignored what his eyes told him once he was moving, he found it was doable.

"I'm ready."

"He's not ready."

"I'm as ready as I can be," he corrected himself, "and it's time. If that's all, I'll be going."

"I'll come with you," Master Windu said with a final, annoyed glance at his colleague, who crossed her arms with a confident, defiant look that made Quinlan smile once the door was closed.

"Master Che has lost none of her zeal."

"Don't even talk about it! And several of my colleagues want to put her in charge of the Halls... she'll be even more intractable."

"I doubt that not being head of the Medical Corps will stop her from speaking her mind."

The Jedi Master hummed as they entered the lifts until they reached a landing platform where Master Gallia, Master Kcaj and Master Rancisis, the most diplomatic High Councillors who had had the most dealings with the clones to try and settle things peacefully, were waiting for them.

"You haven't told anyone about this mission, have you?"

"No one," he promised calmly.

The clones had not yet approached the Republic, only the Jedi, and their own negotiations were a preparation for going to the Senate, so there was a special stake in secrecy as well as success.

"I will do whatever I have to do to succeed, you can trust me."

Peace or war, this was now very much on his shoulders, although not exclusively. He could not fail, he would not allow himself to.

"You have our full confidence, Master Vos," Master Windu replied with certainty, the two Jedi turning together towards the ship as it descended into the atmosphere of Coruscant to land at the end of the runway for him. "May the Force be with you."

"And with you all."

The door opened and clones in full armour painted with patterns of different colours and styles descended from the access ramp. These men and the other clones on board looked at them from under their impassive helmets and made no move. It was up to him to join them.

He tried to move forward without faltering, hiding his unsteady balance and the anxiety inherent in the threatening, perilous and unknown situation towards which he was advancing without feeling it beforehand in the Force.

He stopped in front of the nearest guy. Helmets lowered along with the stares of the men inside as they stared him up and down.

If he was not cut off from the Force, Quinlan would not be intimidated... but he was, because he was aware that unlike as usual he would not be able to get away with it because he could not rely on his normal abilities from now on.

He would have to make sure he was pleasant to make it work for him.

"Quinlan Vos?"

"It's me."

They actually did checked on him to make sure he was not carrying anything metallic - they left him his com - before pointing out the ship, which in fact looked more like a military troop transport shuttle with its very obviously hard and uncomfortable seats.

Quinlan turned one last time before entering and bowed respectfully.

Come what may.

Chapter Text

The door closed with a firm, definitive slam that seemed to reflect his situation in a very ironic way.

He glanced around and, confirming that there was nothing incredible about this ship, settled into one of the farthest seats and crossed his arms, looking at no one.

He had already seen the pictures of the helmets they all had, all the same apart from a few variations, but it was strange to be there with them, to hear such similar voices and to know that the faces under the helmets were the same. Quinlan had seen the face of a clone before as he prepared for the mission, but knowing something and experiencing it were two different things.

Around him, the helmets were removed and the voices rose without the typical vocoder of these helmets and Quinlan forced himself not to react as he met the eyes of some of them, remaining a silent observer.

Identical faces and bodies, identical voices, identical suits of armour... even with the different patterns on their breastplates and forearms, Quinlan could barely identify them, so without them... kriff, he doubted he could even distinguish his future husband from his hundreds of thousands of doppelgangers without the armour.

They relaxed and started talking after a few minutes, so Quinlan assumed they had already left the atmosphere of Coruscant, but it was really just a guess like any other because he did not understand a thing. But then... really: nothing. He did not even recognise a word, what language was that?

Fortunately, his frowning face did not seem to shock or offend them, so he did not force himself to smile or try to make conversation and focused on himself.

Being there but not feeling things with the Force... it was so strange and unpleasant, he felt as if he had to breathe through a dull anxiety that clutched his chest and grabbed at his gut. The air seemed to be struggling to get into his lungs, so he closed his eyes and tried to meditate.

Of course, he could not feel the Force at all, but that did not mean he could not regulate his breathing and relax his body and his thoughts.

And to think more precisely about the attitude he was going to adopt, he had carefully avoided thinking about it too precisely so as not to spoil his last days of freedom and vacation but now he did not really have a choice, did he?

Quinlan carefully sorted through the information he had about clones and sadly deduced that he would have to be everything he was not: yielding, compliant and docile. Passive. Invisible. Tolerant.

Quinlan chuckled under his breath. Unyielding, uncompromising and stubborn, he sold himself so well, did not he? That said, he had friends and was an effective Jedi despite his assertive temperament, he had people who liked him for his qualities and did not see his faults as the worst. Unfortunately, these people were usually the ones who got on well with shady or eccentric people, very different from politicians with refined and polished manners. Here they were soldiers and this would be their leader.

He should have listened more carefully to Obi-Wan when he told him about his encounters with important people, perhaps he could have learned some useful manners.

His gaze flicked back to his right, the clones were still talking, sitting perfectly straight even when they did not have to.

This kind of discipline... if he was disappointing, how were they going to react? It was perhaps a little sad, but Quinlan was used to seeing the worst that life had to offer given his job. He rarely smiled or laughed because he did not think there was much to be happy about.

Quinlan would have to adapt and bend his ways a lot to be at the "acceptable" level, he was more than likely the very opposite of what a warlord brought up in a certain traditional military way might want to welcome.

Finally, having neither the Force nor his weapon with him would surely make things easier for him. If he was truly defenceless, he would not be tempted to fight back if they were aggressive, and fear and pain were great motivators to adapt and fit the mould.

He did not have many illusions after being accepted following a background check: either his husband liked having someone tough to deal with with his brutal soldier ways, or he did not know Quinlan's background and expected a "good" Jedi, and would make sure Quinlan assumed his role and held his own. Either way, the Jedi knew what to expect as restrictions and punishments, life had taught him the cruelty of the world, there was nothing they could do to him that would surprise him.

Put aside the times he had been captured by particularly sadistic enemies, Quinlan was at least grateful to his tumultuous youth and Tholme's tolerance for the experience he had gained in romantic and sexual situations. Shylar for love and civilians for sex when he gave up love for duty. It was unlikely things would go wrong from the start, even though it was a possibility, but at least he knew what to do with a man, he could not even imagine how he would feel if he was a virgin and naive man on his way to an unexpected marriage with a complete stranger.

It was easier to be at peace when you had knowledge on your side.

He looked around once more and, although they were still talking, the clones in his escort were obviously keeping an eye on him. They still had not tried to bring him into the conversation so Quinlan tried to make himself more comfortable – he could not – and sighed very softly through his nose.

He would have to be careful with them, with all of them in fact. Since they were clones, they probably shared a brotherly instinct. His husband loved any of his brothers much more than he could ever love Quinlan, especially as the Jedi was only there because his husband was making a deal with the Order for his own safety. He would always put their word above his own. He could not alienate them, so he had to be helpful and useful.

Quinlan had felt a little disturbed to realise that he did not even know where he was going, but he at least assumed it would be outside the borders of the Republic. He had been outside the Republic before, it was obvious enough for a Shadow to explore off the beaten track to discover Sith remnants and purify them. Still, he wondered where he was going. Then he stopped wondering when he realised that it did not matter: wherever he was going, it would be exactly where he was supposed to be.

He slowly fell asleep from boredom at some point, pulling his cape tighter around him. The slow, steady hum of the engines was perfect for lulling him to sleep, and he was finally able to truly ignore his unwanted company and seek refuge in a dreamless sleep.

As a dream – nightmare – slowly began to form around him, As a dream - nightmare - slowly began to take shape around him, leaving him tiny in a world that was way too large for him, with lifeless bodies lay motionless on the ground in front of him and a scream stuck in his throat, he was suddenly shaken and startled, blindly slapping the hand on him, his right hand immediately going for his belt. Why had not the Force warned him? Why...

His eyes really understood what they were seeing the moment his hand found nothing but emptiness and he recoiled in his seat, looking up at the white and red decorated armour and the cautious face of one of the clones. This one was bald and had a small tattoo around his temple. The guy also stepped back.

"We've arrived."

Damn...

He nodded and stood up, stumbling on his feet but nevertheless backing away by instinct to avoid being touched when the other reached out towards him, and the clone finally withdrew his hand and headed for the door. After a few seconds' hesitation, he followed and joined the men... his brothers-in-law? What did they mean to him, these men who literally had his husband's DNA?

They all looked at him with looks ranging from impassive to wary to downright hostile and Quinlan realised that this was the wrong question to ask himself as unreadable helmets covered their faces.

The real question was: what did he mean to them?

Chapter Text

With a metallic hiss, the door opened and they were finally able to descend.

A blast of icy air almost made him stumble, it was so cold, he had never imagined that they would be living on an ice planet of all places. The immediate environment was dark and gloomy in the night, the only light was the one of the night sky reflecting off the ice and snow, otherwise everything was left in the dark. Paths were marked on the ground in fluorescent green paint, but these were probably more to indicate landing strips for ships than to guide people on foot.

The overall view was incredibly dull and bleak, there was no sign of life in this inhospitable environment wherever he looked, the only thing he could make out further on was the silhouette of a building. There did not seem to be any other buildings around, not a town at least.

Quinlan hoped this was their destination and that they would not be spending too much time outside in this weather. Without the Force, he would not be able to regulate his body temperature and it would be a real shame to get frostbite on the first day.

The bald guy pushed him to get out and Quinlan took the hint, pulled his hood over his head and followed them, leaving his doubts behind.

The snow crunched beneath his feet and the air formed a clear mist where he breathed. He was led towards the building in a silence that almost made him want to laugh hysterically: it seemed more as if they were taking him to the scaffold than to his promise.

A mocking smile appeared on his face, but he soon adjusted his expression as they approached a door and were allowed inside.

Grey walls, a concrete floor and oh, what was that? A grey concrete ceiling.

Depressing.

And did they have nothing but red tunics outside the armour or black suits underneath? Because that was all he could see from where he was. At least he could see variations in the tattoos and hair colours on some of the heads, which was always a bonus for his colour-seeking eyes.

Suddenly, two clones appeared before him in matching blood-red armour, helmets under their arms, and looked him up-and-down in identical eye movements as he shook the snow from his cloak.

"Thank you, Stone. I'm Fox, this is Thire," the man on the right introduced them.

"Quinlan Vos," the Jedi replied with a bow of his head, meeting the clone's appraising gaze with an even look.

He had said Fox, had not he? So, he was one of those who had negotiated this situation, he was one of the men trusted by this "Alor" he was to marry.

They all looked at each other in silence, Quinlan had no problem with silence, and finally it was one of them who cracked first.

"It's late, I'll show you to your room."

He nodded and hurried after the man who seemed determined to leave without delay, greeting his escort with a final nod as politeness could not be too much here, noticing as he did so that no one was accompanying them.

Definitely an important guy with a high rank, he had the tone and attitude of someone who knew he would be obeyed.

The clone walked at a perfect military pace, his rhythm giving Quinlan a headache for the Jedi, although he had got used to the bracelets, still had a bit of trouble coordinating his movements with what he was seeing. So he walked quickly to keep up with the other man who did not slow down once, seemingly lost in his own thoughts when he was not glancing at him discreetly from time to time.

Quinlan could see the curiosity and interest in his eyes, probably the attraction of novelty, but from what he could tell it did not seem to be an expression of desire. That was good, having someone who was not one of them was probably going to make the guys here who were gay take an interest in him if only because he was the only foreigner, he would have to be careful with his attitude.

Friendly but not too friendly.

He quickly forgot where he was, too many sprawling corridors, too many intersection, it was as if the clone was deliberately trying to lose him – that could not be ruled out.

Finally, they stopped in front of a door similar to all the others in the corridor, there was absolutely nothing to distinguish it, not even a sign or a coloured sticker, not even numbers, nothing at all. Wonderful.

"This room is yours, for your personal use, you can use it as you wish."

Quinlan nodded and entered the room, observing the layout of the furniture curiously. There was no window, but otherwise everything seemed normal and even rather pleasant; the main room was large enough to contain a double bed, a bench against one wall and a space with a desk for working.

"This door, it's...?" He asked, noticing a door.

He had travelled enough to know that some influential couples liked to have two separate bedrooms but linked to each other by a door, a kind of secret passage, so that no one knew when they were meeting.

"This is your private bathroom," the clone replied immediately from the doorway, hesitantly entering the room when he saw that Quinlan was doing nothing but moving slowly through space. "Here's the key card for the room," he continued, placing the card next to a box on the desk. "Is this... is this to your taste?"

"It's bigger than my individual quarters in the Temple," Quinlan replied diplomatically, making good use of the sound advice of Obi-Wan and his own Master.

Refraining from lying, because there was nothing like being honest to make you look honest, but also answering the question subtly to avoid having to say things that would cause offence.

Namely, that he would prefer to be at home and for them to sit down around a table without going through the terribly incomprehensible marriage process.

"What's that?" He asked, pointing to the box.

"A meal, according to the guys you slept for most of the journey and so didn't eat anything at lunchtime, I had it brought in just before the time you were expected to arrive so it should still be warm."

"Oh, well, thank you."

That was thoughtful.

"Kih'parjai, uh, no problem."

When Quinlan returned from his observations of the bathroom, the clone was still there and then, seeming to notice that he was standing in the middle of his room, he stood up awkwardly and pointed to the door.

"I'll be going now, good night."

"Thank you, good night."

The clone at the door went out silently, well... as silently as a man in armour could hope to be, his boots clacking on the floor as if every movement was a reflection of a strong and determined personality. Amusingly, despite his own assertive and somewhat domineering personality, Quinlan knew he had the steps of a nimble dancer whatever his shoes. It was a peculiarity of the Jedi.

The door closed behind the clone and Quinlan took several deep breaths to calm himself and continued to explore, a mocking chuckle escaping him as he opened the cupboard to find it empty.

Fortunately he had brought some clothes with him, and at least they  had stocked the bathroom otherwise it would be really annoying. He quickly stripped off all his superfluous layers and slammed the cupboard door, moving to the desk to observe the food, which he opened with a curious hum.

Sandwich... at least it seemed to be more or less normal, he felt like he recognised all the ingredients.

In case there were any microphones or cameras in the room – and the Force knew that if he were them he would not have left a stranger from a group of space wizards with magic swords unattended – he acted quite bored and followed his usual routine before going to bed.

He had tried to avoid looking at or even thinking about that bed because it made him think about the upcoming wedding and what two spouses were supposed to do in a bed, after all he was here now, so it would not be long... but he needed to sleep, he should not be thinking about that. And fear doesn't prevent danger.

Everything was settled, all he had to do was wait for his husband to come and claim him, after all there was no reason to let things drag on.

He had heard that the wedding vows they were about to take would be traditional vows from a culture recognised by the Republic, although the clones refused to say which one. A simple phrase said in private that fitted in quite well with the Kiffar conception of marriage: papers were unnecessary, what was was, period.

He waited and waited, but nothing and no-one came.

Out of habit, he searched the Force for his Master and Aayla, looking for a light in the back of his mind.

Only silence answered him.

He missed the Force.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door woke him with a start and Quinlan leapt to his feet, a strangled scream stuck in his throat. He groped the walls at random before remembering where he was and why he could not feel anything through the Force.

He bumped into a wall and switched on the light, briefly blinded by the aggressive light, panting for breath, and jumped again at the firm, loud knock on his door.

What on earth? Why knock when there was an audible alert available on the control panel of the door? And what time was it? Quinlan retrieved his com, rubbing his eyes before frowning at the object.

Was it broken? He was a light sleeper and did not sleep much in general, it was a habit he had picked up during his missions, he could not have slept ten hours, it just was not possible.

The Jedi struggled out of the covers and straightened his tunic and trousers as he approached the door, which he opened using the card Fox had left him the day before.

A clone in one of those stupid red tunics was waiting for him at the door with an impassive face that broke into an amused grin when he saw from his face and crumpled clothes that Quinlan was not just being coy but was asleep.

"Did we get a sleepyhead?"

"I don't usually sleep this much."

This seemed to soothe the guy, who was hardly friendly before his answer.

"Yes, it's been a long journey and I imagine the stress of not knowing where we are hasn't helped."

Well, at least one of them had a sensible understanding of the situation.

"If you need me I'll be up on time."

"Don't worry, we'll let you know."

Quinlan looked at him in silence, he did not know what to say so he did not say anything.

"I'm Thire by the way, we met quickly yesterday when you arrived, remember?"

Of course he remembered, he was not stupid. And he had only met two clones who had given him their names.

Was he trying to insult him?

"Yes," he finally answered. "You were with Fox."

The other smiled broadly, looking rather relieved, so Quinlan assumed he had not really been trying to be offensive even though he had been.

"Yes, that's right, did you have a good night?"

A good night... no. Unfortunately he no longer had the Force to keep out the darker parts of his past and keep them sealed beneath the surface, so all his fears and all his past experiences came flooding back.

If he had been in the Temple, the serene energy of his comrades would have influenced his sleep without him even thinking about it because the Jedi were empaths, emotional sponges. Even if he had just removed the bracelets, he would at least have been able to soak up the vital energy of the people around him. Here it was just... nothing.

A void, a lack, an absence.

"The bed's very comfortable," he finally replied.

Force, he hated being diplomatic, if only Tholme were here. Tholme had admitted to him that he was so used to hearing him grumble or be impertinent at every turn that he had missed it when he had become a Knight. Tholme would never blame him for being himself.

Fortunately, the clone seemed happy to hear his answer and checked his com.

"That's great! I've come to take you to breakfast, do you want to go in these clothes?"

"These are the clothes I slept in, could I just have a minute-"

"I'll let you get changed then," Thire said as he stepped back, "I'll wait for you."

Quinlan shrugged and closed the door again since the other man had no intention of coming in, then he changed into something more covering than baggy trousers and a sleeveless tunic – this was, after all, an ice planet – and got dressed after splashing some cold water on his face to wake himself up.

Terribly effective for waking up a man but also terribly effective for making a Kiffar grumpy, Kiffu had a temperate weather and temperature, his body was made for milder climates. What a pity he was not a Pantoran, that would have been much nicer.

The thought of his size in the pale blue of the Pantoran made him smile – they were a rather lanky population for the most part – and he put on his boots after recovering his com to avoid anyone touching it before leaving.

The clone was just finishing putting his hair back into a neat bun when he joined him and nodded approvingly at his new outfit – not exactly difficult, anything usually looked more dignified and elegant than pyjamas – before leading him through the corridors, which were still as identical under the white light as they had been the night before under the dim light of the building's nightlights.

He followed his rather friendly escort, who checked from time to time that he was following him, clearly proving that it was two rooms, two atmospheres between him and Fox, even though he had no illusions: Thire, like all the others, was going to be watching his every move.

"It's easy to get lost here, so I'll come and get you and take you to the mess."

"Thank you," he replied, even though his jaw clenched in response to the tension as he squinted at the clone.

He had thought that he would be put to work in some way as soon as he arrived or that he would at least be free to move around without any particular restrictions in some parts of this place but he seemed to have misunderstood. Thire had clearly implied that he would be confined to his room outside of meals and times when his presence would be required... it was going to be complicated to gather useful information for his investigation under these conditions, not to mention gaining the trust of some of them.

He looked up from the ground when he collided head-on with Thire, who caught him with a chuckle.

"Ahah, sorry, I should have warned you. Here we are!"

Quinlan looked up from the floor and examined the room the guy had led him into. It was a huge room, so big that it looked more like a hangar of the Temple than a refectory. The walls, floors and ceilings were still the same despairing grey colour and every empty space was optimised and occupied by tables and benches. The Jedi was not even seated yet and he felt almost claustrophobic, yet he was not afraid of small spaces. A succession of eight rows of tables stretched the length of the room, each bench barely wide enough for a single person to walk between the backs of the people sitting on them.

As he looked around the room, his eyes began to fall on the seated occupants who were watching him intently as he followed Thire into the crowd. Dozens, no, hundreds of identical faces were watching him.

It was a sight... not just unusual, it was honestly frightening, even for him.

Nice or not, because he knew they were all men with their own personalities and their own presence in the Force, it was just the truth. It was unnatural.

Nature loved diversity, it yearned for it, they proved it themselves by trying to distinguish themselves but despite all their efforts, despite all their will to express themselves individually, nothing could change the fact that there was none of it here.

Their bodies were interchangeable, they were clones, that was what they were, before they were even human, they could never escape it.

From now on, now that he could see them all, Quinlan would never again be able to see that face and think "human" or "man", the first word that would come to mind would be this one, no matter how clinical and dehumanising it might be. Clones.

Where it was only slightly uncomfortable with twins or triplets who were a little too similar, here it was a mixture of grotesque and absurd and Quinlan could not get over it and he did not like it because there was more at stake than the fact that they looked too much alike, after all Quinlan had already been to a gathering of Wookies and had found it maddeningly difficult to tell the physical difference between the people present, no, what was at stake here was far more serious.

They were clones, so they had been created and trained in a specific way. By whom and why?

What war were they destined to fight, what enemy were they supposed to defeat?

Who was behind it all?

There were so many unanswered questions, and Quinlan had the feeling that he was only just beginning to really understand what he had got himself into.

Chapter Text

"Hey, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" He answered Thire without even looking at him, imitating him as he grabbed a tray and some cutlery, delighted to have kept his gloves on. "Hmm?"

The clone who had been watching him closely looked away and Quinlan did not change his expression or look away, continuing to watch him. It was none of his business if they were uncomfortable but did not say so, and at least his gaze still seemed sufficient to put pressure on a stranger who was nonetheless in a position of superiority.

It did not matter, it was not important... He was curious though. Did they all feel the same in the Force? From experience, he would say no, after all he had met twins before, but he had not had access to the Force to find out when he had met them. He should have asked that when he was still at the Temple.

Then he noticed the expression on his escort's face and realised his mistake: he was supposed to be liked, not feared or hated.

Oops.

"Excuse me," he finally sighed as he turned away from the room to look a little more closely at the different choices of drinks. "I'm not a pleasant companion in the morning until I've eaten."

"Ah, right... don't worry, I know lots of others like that," the other finally replied, looking slightly less tense before chuckling to himself. "Fox is the same, no, he's worse. Forcing him to get up when he's in a bad mood is a recipe for an explosive day."

"If I wasn't trying to be polite, you'd say exactly the same thing about me."

"Oh, because that's your version of polite? Thire asked innocently, blinking in a naive way that drew a surprised chuckle from him."

"Asshole," he sighted, jostling the guy and taking his cup of coffee from his tray to get away from the line towards the coffee machines or juice presses. "So, where do we sit?" He continued with an arrogant smile. "Hey, you the slow lazybones, I'm talking to you."

"You and I are going to get along just fine," Thire declared with a tone full of delighted certainty.

"Yeah, I think my guide was very well chosen," he replied, concentrating on himself to avoid focusing on what was right in front of him.

No matter how he looked, he could not see the differences, just the commonalities.

There was too much of them, it was overwhelming. Too much armour, too many colours, too many patterns, and yet everywhere Quinlan could see the basic face of Fox, who had no facial tattoos and fairly short hair. Long hair was the only truly rare physical feature as far as he could see, out of dozens and dozens of faces he had looked at quickly, he had only seen one other than Thire with hair longer than the bottom of the ear. He saw a bit of everything, eccentric haircuts, eccentric hair colours and even no hair at all. Stubble of beard, goatee and full beard. Tattoos too, from the simplest to the most elaborate.

"OK, come here," the other said as he walked past him, pointing to another queue starting further on. "What, you thought we didn't eat anything in the morning? We're not pagans."

That remained to be seen, Quinlan sincerely began to question the clone's sanity when he received a portion of shapeless porridge which, he already knew, would be as disgusting as it looked.

At least Thire avoided touching him when they pulled away and he nearly put his hand on his shoulder for guidance. Quinlan was rather relieved about that, he preferred not to be touched when he was this tense, he might do something he would regret. Even among the Jedi, touching had been complicated for him since... well, since his missions had started to go wrong almost systematically. Back then, he would come back wounded almost every time, if he was lucky in the flesh, if not... well, he still periodically felt the phantom touch of their hands on him.

Aayla and Tholme were the only ones he could tolerate being around even when he was tense and nervous, the only ones he did not instinctively react to as a threat, probably because deep down he saw them as an extension of himself. And they protected him.

Here, now, he had no one but himself to protect him. And right now, that meant not making waves, so he did not make any comments, whether about the food, the waiter's wide eyes or the soldiers' not at all discreet elbowing of their neighbours when they spotted the figure who had no business being there.

He felt like sighing though: the elbows protected by plastoids on other pieces of armour sounded so good in the room that he could point out these clones with almost absolute precision without effort. They would have made terrible Shadows.

He hesitated as he slowly approached the tables, his tray clutched so tightly in his hands that his fingers must have been pale from lack of blood. He did not think he had ever been watched by so many people at once in his life, it was... it was intimidating.

"Erm... We'll go and eat with them, they're calm." Thire decided as he nodded towards a group of guys in colourful armour but with an admittedly calmer than average demeanour.

That did not mean they were really "calm", let's be clear. Anyone could be gentler than Quinlan, Aayla for example was gentler than him, but that absolutely not meant she was that gentle.

Being a little more controlled than the others meant nothing when groups at the very back of the room were fighting, using trays to hit each other. Or throwing them as a boomerang.

"Thire," the clone nearest and in front of them as they approached saluted between mouthfuls with a wave of his hand towards him. "Hi."

"Hi."

"Guys, this is Quinlan Vos, Jedi... What's the term again? Sorry, they told me but I forgot."

"Jedi Master."

"What are the different ranks?"

"Master and Knight, Masters have more experience or skills."

In theory they should also have trained a Padawan up to Knighthood but it was not always like that. Some Jedi did not take Padawans for decades, so if they were competent and worthy of the title, they became Masters, there was no universal rule, the proof being that Agen was already a Master when Tan was only fourteen and his first Padawan.

"That's interesting. I'm Cody."

"Pleased to meet you," he said as he hesitantly sat down in front of him, with Thire taking a seat on his right. "To meet you all... is that a wolf on your helmet?" He then asked, noticing the stylised but still recognisable pattern.

The table laughed merrily, and the clone in grey seemed torn between annoyance and amusement. He finally chose amusement, which reassured the Jedi.

"Yes," he said. "My name is Wolffe."

Wolffe. Another relative of his future husband, then. Quinlan made sure not to react to the name, but the clone smiled as if he knew what he had in mind.

"Yeah, I know, the first people to choose names for themselves often chose weird things or ordinary objects because we liked them or sometimes even just the way they sounded, the younger ones almost all have natborn names."

"Natborn?"

"People like you, born in the normal way, with a family," another explained. "I'm Thorn, Fox's second-in-command for... pretty much everything really."

"Oh, I see, do you prick?" Quinlan replied immediately with a smirk.

"Let's just say that pretty flowers often have thorns," the clone replied with a mocking eyebrow move that made him smile more confidently. "Shall we go around the table and let everyone introduce themselves? On my right is Bly, on my left is Cody, in front of me is Wolffe and next to him is Monnk. That's spelt with two N's."

"Oh, so Monnk isn't a real monk?"

"Hilarious," the clone replied further, but his tone was light-hearted so he should not have been annoyed.

Well... at least they had a sense of humour.

After a brief polite greeting, they all dug into their plates, a heavy silence falling over the table. Quinlan forced himself to eat everything on his plate, he had never been one to be picky, he knew from experience that someone somewhere would dream of eating something like this so he was not going to waste it.

Unfortunately, in the silence punctuated by the movement of the dishes, he could not help noticing that despite their warm welcome, these clones were staring at him between mouthfuls, in fact they seemed unable to take their eyes off him for more than a few seconds at a time.

He felt like a freak, or an exotic animal in a zoo... no, now he remembered why he felt so uncomfortable.

So many eyes focused on him reminded him of a slave auction.

He felt small and weak without the Force and alone in unknown and potentially enemy territory. Vulnerable.

Force, he wanted them to stop looking at him like that.

Chapter Text

Quinlan kept his eyes on his "food", but really, what kind of food was that and what had they put in it as basic ingredients?

"Wow, you eat that plain?" Thorn watched in an almost impressed tone, drawing everyone's attention to the strange bland porridge.

"Why, how on earth am I supposed to eat it any other way?"

"Like a Mando'ad, with lots of chillies," Bly declared with mischievous eyes, grabbing a small glass bottle and tossing it to him. "Try it with this."

Quinlan barely caught it and suspected a trap when everyone tried to hide a smile. He understood better when he breathed in the smell to gauge what was in the sauce inside the jar.

"So... how many chillies and spices are mixed in there?" he drawled.

"A lot," Cody finally admitted when no one answered. "Only try it if you know how to handle spices, it's extremely hot."

He then said something in a scolding tone in the same language as the clones who had brought him here – wherever "here" was, by the way – when disappointed protests rose around him. They had clearly wanted to play a prank on him and, although he did not really like unpleasant surprises, Quinlan could accept this kind of prank. It was not dangerous.

"Er... just to be sure, you don't have any food allergies, do you?" Cody continued.

"None that I'm aware of, " Quinlan confirmed with a reassuring smile before dropping some of the mixture onto his soup plate. "And thanks for that, I'm used to eating all kinds of food so I'm used to eating strong things."

"Nothing compares to Tiingilar."

Quinlan stopped dead in his tracks before taking his first bite of the new mixture.

Had he heard correctly? Wolffe had said "Tiingilar"? Like... that Mandalorian dish that was so outrageously spicy that it made your mouth burn and the food lost all its taste the food lost all its own flavour because it was so completely covered by the sauce?

On his return from his mission to Mandalore, where he had almost left the Order for a girl when he was about eighteen, Obi-Wan had been nostalgic for certain things connected with that planet and its culture, and Quinlan had managed to find a Mandalorian restaurant to take him to dinner to please him. He had only eaten the hellish stew once and that had been enough... but was that it?

The Jedi glanced warily at his food before opening his mouth. The extremes to which a man could resort to for his investigation, seriously...

The burn on his tongue brought back old memories. More than ten years but his taste buds had never forgotten.

That was it. That's exactly what it was. The blistering spices of Mandalorian Tiingilar. Besides, now that he thought about it for a minute, "Mando'ad" clearly meant "Mandalorian"... but that did not make any sense.

Mandalore was in the Outer Rim but it was still a planet of the Republic and Quinlan knew from Obi-Wan that his ex-girlfriend was a staunchly pacifist woman. And they had absolutely no means of implementing a cloning programme on such a large scale, even if they wanted to.

It just did not make sense.

It did not make any sense but it was a clue, his very first one, so he was going to keep it at the back of his mind and watch.

He kept his expression impassive and perfectly calm as he swallowed bite after bite under the watchful and dumbfounded gazes of the small group who seemed to be finding it hard to look away. Quinlan could no longer feel his tongue but their wide eyes and the fact that they were all leaning over to watch with their eyes gave him a great deal of personal pride so he made sure he ate it all.

"Not that bad," he declared as he set down his cutlery, finishing with the coffee, watching as Bly went to put his tray in the tray holders obviously here for that purpose and waved to them before leaving.

When he had finished, he imitated Bly before returning to Thire with uncertainty: he would be incapable of finding his room on his own.

Luckily, getting him back to his room did not seem to be in his immediate plans.

"Would you like to have a look around?"

"That would be nice, yes."

Any authorised exploration would be appreciated, he would just prefer them to take him to his future husband – or husband, he could not remember whether he was already considered married or not, he had not worked out the details himself of what the Order had signed with the clones on the subject.

Whatever, he would take what he was given, this "Alor" might not even be here and that did not matter, Quinlan knew patience.

The Shadow walked away without giving a second thought to the glances he attracted. Yes, he usually worked in spheres where he was not so interesting or so closely scrutinised, but he knew how to act confidently. Not that it was a game, he was a rather self-assured person, but he knew how to add a detached and disinterested air to it.

To a certain extent, although he had to submit to new norms and an unknown culture, Quinlan benefited from a certain amount of diplomatic protection and cultural excuse, he had leeway for his behaviour and intended to use it. He represented the Order and all the Jedi, and if there was one thing he knew, even though his negotiations had always been on a small scale and involved more criminals than noble people, it was that he could not appear weak.

No one would negotiate with people weaker than themselves, a negotiation was always the survival of the fittest, and if the clones had started with the Jedi it was because they feared them and wanted to make them their allies. That was also why they had specified that they wanted a Jedi who did not use his skills among them.

They feared them, they feared him, and his whole job would be to establish a delicate balance. Through him, he had to make the Jedi friends and allies, partners respected for their strength without it seeming threatening.

Cody had joined them and was speaking with Thire in their language and Quinlan tried to study the words or syntactic structure more closely but it did not remind him of anything he knew. He had never been to a planet where the native spoke the language.

Cody checked his com and they turned to him.

"Is it all right with you if we go to a training room? You know, just to see what you're made of?"

Soldiers, all the same.

Quinlan did not answer but smiled blandly. To see what he was made of? It was quite simple: without the Force, he was worthless, so if they were hoping for a good fighter, they would be disappointed. This would be all the more certain as they were genetically enhanced fighters, created to be faster, stronger, tougher and more enduring, as the clones had boasted to the High Council.

Without the Force, Quinlan was just an ordinary Kiffar. No, worse than that, because the bracelets made him a bit ill and therefore weaker than he should be if he were an ordinary civilian. He felt a bit pathetic, in fact.

"I'll take you any time," he finally said with a wink that made them both laugh. "Lead the way."

He was clear: this was a first test.

He had to be up to his job.

Chapter Text

They had weapons on them, Quinlan noticed at one point. No heavy weapons, of course, but they all had blasters at the very least, even those in ‘civilian’ clothing – and here the term civilian was meant with all his sarcasm.

The Jedi realised with amusement that, although he was a Jedi, it was unlikely that they had the same kind of training in mind as he did. The art of lightsaber and fencing was a noble art of combat that had been lost in most cultures outside of the most traditional ones, these people seemed to aim for efficiency and probably used firearms more than bladed weapons.

As a Shadow, Quinlan had a variety of skills and was a decent shot, it was something of a requirement to go undercover in environments where no one could know who you were... but he obviously would not have the level of a trained soldier.

As long as they did not expect him to fight for them, everything should be fine... wait a minute.

Quinlan thought quickly about what he knew and what was expected of him, then about Thire's wish to evaluate his level and skills: surely they were not expecting him to fight for them, were they?

The Jedi were not soldiers.

... Were they aware of that, though? Maybe they were not exactly aware of the extent to which the Ruusan Reform had separated the Jedi from any form of military organisation. In their eyes, they were great fighters, formidable adversaries and clearly feared sorcerers... which meant that if they appeared weak, it might affect their view of the Order, once again, it would be a delicate matter of finding a balance between appearing competent and non-threatening.

In any case, if they felt that by marrying their Alor he was becoming one of them then it was possible that they would expect him to do as they did and fight for them. He would have to wait and see.

Lost in his thoughts, Quinlan actually missed the halt of his two guides and was in fact called by Thire who was waving to him.

"Vos!"

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. And you can call me Quinlan," he suggested, knowing from experience that some informality would be to his advantage here.

"Okay, Quinlan. Ah, there they are."

Thire followed Cody to the right of the large dojo-like room and Quinlan chose to follow him after checking the room and the approximate number of people present and their position.

Thire was greeted by cheers and many eyes fell on Quinlan as he reached his level and hovered silently behind his shoulder. Their gazes were scrutinising but Quinlan made sure to be just as indiscreet and visible in his own glances. It would be stupid to feel uncomfortable about being watched when it would be his daily lot for at least a few weeks without reacting.

In his experience, there was nothing more effective in making someone understand that they were being rude than to give them a taste of their own medicine. And if they could not see the problem, at least he would have released his frustration and would not have been a completely silent victim.

After several flat, unblinking blank stares, most seemed to understand and at least started to look at him more discreetly.

"Guys, this is Quinlan Vos. Quinlan, this is Bacara, Gree, Grey and Neyo. And Fox, of course."

Thire had luckily for him pointed to them with a careless wave of his hand so Quinlan knew he had introduced them from left to right.

Bacara had nothing distinctive if you looked at his face or his hair, his helmet could be used to identify him but only if he was in his armour. Gree, on the other hand, had a truly atrocious haircut, Quinlan would try to remember it. Apart from that, Grey was normal, although he had a fairly visible facial scar which, like Cody's, would probably be useful to identify him, and Neyo had a vertical tattoo under one eye. Fox was the only one of the group to wear red, so he could use that to identify his armour.

He was very careful not to think about the fact that dozens of clones could have scars, hair or beards of any length or colour or tattoos, because it was complicated enough as it was.

It was only the first day, he would have to be patient with himself even though he was not used to it.

When one of them spoke, it was not to say anything he had expected:

"Comfortably settled?" Fox asked.

"Yes, thank you."

"What do you think of it?"

What did he think... of what? The training rooms? His room? The building? The planet? The wedding? His situation of being a glorified hostage?

Remember, Quinlan: an inoffensive answer that beats around the bush without ever lying.

"I thought I'd find a firing range," he finally admitted.

"We have those too, but we have to be good at everything."

"That's always preferable, yes," he nodded as he watched two clones engage in hand-to-hand combat and fall to the ground without a clear winner being determined.

"Do you practise martial arts?"

"In a way, " he replied without answering, his attention firmly drawn to the dummy weapons used for training. "Do you also practise fencing? "

He had not expected it.

"Yeah," Grey replied casually, reaching for one of the swords and throwing another one at him. "But not many people use them regularly."

He moved the sword and was surprised by its overall weight. It was not excessively heavy, most people tended to think metal swords were heavy, but one-handed swords rarely exceeded three kilos and two-handed swords weighed an average of five kilos... but they were still heavier than his lightsaber, which had no mass apart from the hilt. Strangely, this training weapon was almost as light as his usual weapon, the blade looking like a plastic that was light as a feather.

"Your people are used to these weapons, aren't they? Your opinion?"

"Your grip is terrible, you wouldn't survive."

"Hmm?"

Quinlan took it upon himself to prove his words and attacked the guy with a powerful vertical downward attack from Djem So that disarmed him and, in a fluid horizontal move that he stopped just short of his neck, demonstrated his skills.

"Here you go. You haven't really had any training with this type of weapon, have you?"

"Not all of us, and certainly not at your level," Thire answered behind him and Quinlan saw the clone take one of the weapons behind him out of the corner of his eye.

He kept him in the corner of his vision and, just because he could, blocked the quiet blow from the clone who was clearly hoping to surprise him and had not put any force into his movement so as not to hurt him.

The Jedi Master looked over his shoulder with a genuinely amused smile when he saw the guy's bewildered and bemused expression.

"Oh please," he teased gently. "You're going to have to put a bit more willpower into it."

And less armour, but he would let him figure that out for himself.

"If that's what you want..."

Quinlan parried the disarmament attempts without too much effort. It was... really funny actually. He could not remember a time when he had been a beginner, even when he had taken Aayla on to train her she had already had a decent level and knew the basics, her Shien was good even though they had refined and sharpened her skills together. So that was what it looked like, not knowing how to fight with a sword or a saber.

"And if you really tried to beat me, could you do it easily?"

Quinlan did not even respond with his words, using a Makashi disarming move to get past Thire's weak, clumsy guard and the fake weapon clattered loudly to the ground.

"Wow. You make it look so easy."

"I have thirty years of training to my name, I sure hope it's easy."

"How old are you again?" Cody asked, but Quinlan noticed that Fox had opened his mouth, probably also to ask as he looked at him curiously.

"I'm thirty-five, soon to be thirty-six... what about you all?"

"Twenty-two," Fox replied.

Which meant that, since the clones were created around the same time, his husband had to be between twenty and twenty-four at the most.

... not a child then, but he probably would not be the only one inexperienced in this relationship.

The weapon was picked up, not by Thire but by Fox, who made sure he had his attention before taking a position of defence that spoke of experience and practice.

"Do you want to demonstrate against someone who actually knows how to use these weapons?"

Now that was interesting.

Chapter Text

"Against who? You?" He teased the clone in a relaxed tone before remembering where he was and who he was with.

They had seemed relatively relaxed so far, a little more than he had expected, but there was still an obvious tension and they were clearly ready to react considering how they looked at him. Discretion is the better part of valour.

Fox raised an eyebrow and his mouth curved into an amused expression. He did not look offended.

"Yeah, me. Is there any reason why I shouldn't take a chance?"

"You might want to change your outfit, that is, if you're as skilled as your adequate grip suggests."

"Should I take off the armour for you?"

It sounded... definitely lewd, but Quinlan would not be shocked for so little.

"You can take off anything you like," he offered in exactly the same tone.

The clone smiled and began to remove his armour.

"I'll keep my blacks, I hope I don't disappoint you," he teased and Quinlan pushed his hair back with a falsely arrogant look he had mastered well.

"Oh, don't worry about me, I have a vivid imagination."

He stepped back a little and began to warm up and really go through some motions to get used to the feel of the handle in his hand.

He maintained strict control over his inhales and exhales, it was a slightly stressful situation but compared to the dozens of life-or-death situations he had faced over the years it was nothing. It was only training, and although he no longer had the Force to anticipate his opponent's movements Quinlan was still a man who had been a real fencer for as long as he could remember.

He was a good fighter, there was no reason why he should fail pathetically now that he had begun to get used to the effect of the bracelets on his perception of his environment.

On top of that, it was easier for him to fight than to do katas, he had clearly lost none of his brute strength and reflexes and that was what it was all about here, more than balance and surgical precision.

Now all he had to do was show what he could do and not disappoint Thire, for the Jedi Master was well aware that everything he did would come back to his husband through his "guide/guard" Thire.

They finally faced each other and formally greeted each other. They were almost the same height, Quinlan was actually only a few centimetres taller than the clones, so they had the same reach. Fox held his weapon firmly and clearly knew how to handle it, so Quinlan reminded himself not to be arrogant. The Jedi were not the only swordsmen in the galaxy. Even if he was not better than him, he could still surprise him and without the Force, a second of inattention could be enough to overwhelm him.

There were two choices open up to him as Fox prepared to go on the offensive to test his defences: he could either play it safe and take the blows, or throw everything you have into it. He would do both, he decided as he stepped back and blocked blows with fluid Soresu dodging manoeuvres. He would stay on Forms I and III long enough to evaluate the strength and speed of the moves, then strike back.

He let Fox get close and found his movements even better than expected. His blows were swift and powerful but lacked precision and finesse, which was logical for a soldier who did most of his work with firearms. From time to time he counter-attacked to keep him on his toes – it worked very well – but took a moment to test the waters before starting to feel less tense.

Almost in spite of himself, he began to get into the rhythm, to enter the dance, and alternated his parries and counters with superfluous but elegant movements, and the clone's own blows gradually became less aggressive and more calculated.

Quinlan was well aware of this as a Jedi who: 1 had been a Padawan and 2 had trained a Padawan: combat was not just a confrontation between two people, it was a dance, a communication, and for those who took it to the next level, a dialogue.

In a two-person dance, the partners respond to each other and often communicate through a look, a movement or a breath.

You could learn a lot about a Jedi by observing their fighting style.

Fox's style was classic but effective, with a few bursts of attempted domination by brute force, somewhere between the basic Shii Cho and the offensive Djem So.

After a while of talking to each other and answering back with strong blows that Quinlan restrained himself from delivering too quickly or too hard on his own, he realised that despite what he had thought at first, he was not finding this "duel" unpleasant – on the contrary, he felt strangely in sync with the clone.

Unfortunately, someone in their audience interrupted their peace and provoked Fox in a mocking tone which took him out of their unspoken state of mind of exchange in an instant and brought him back to his initial competitive spirit.

Quinlan resumed his initial position with defensive movements, confident that he could hold on when the clone did something unexpected: he pounced on him. Like... dropping his weapon, to tackle him to the ground.

Quinlan would admit to letting out a confused sound as he was knocked to the ground by a body only slightly lighter than his own, but he did not let it get to him and managed to dislodge Fox before he had time to get a hit.

The Jedi Master thought quickly as he rose to his feet. Martial arts... he was not bad at this style of fighting, no friend of Agen could be, but he very rarely needed to come to fist fights because he had the Force. Which he did not have here.

The best thing here would be for him to lose, he realised. He had not been dominated in his reserved area but it would be better if they thought he was weak and unable to defend himself against them than the other way round. They would let more information through if they felt safe.

Decision taken, Quinlan made sure that his whole body, all his facial expressions and even his looks gave the impression that he was uncomfortable when Fox resumed the fight until he caught him and knocked him to the ground a second time, quickly retrieving one of their dummy weapons to point the blade at his face with a smirk.

"It seems to be a defeat."

"It seems so," Quinlan nodded willy-nilly.

Anger and bitterness exploded in his chest and he clenched his fists to channel his anger into something.

If he had had the Force, he could have wiped out this fight even without his lightsaber...

That's enough, Quinlan, this isn't an ego contest, it's a mission, keep it professional.

He did not like losing, but he had to be a good loser and he would be.

"Not bad."

The clone, unaware of what he had in mind, smiled and held out a hand that made him instinctively recoil. He had not anticipated it. It would be a real pain, not having the Force to warn him of movements around him.

"Are all the Jedi at your level?"

Alarms began to sound in his head.

"I'm not so much a day-to-day fighter," he replied, accepting the hand to stand up, "more of an explorer."

"Explorer?"

"I travel a lot."

Well... He travelled a lot.

"Others are much better than me in combat."

"If others are better, why did they send you?"

"There's more to life than being a good fighter," Quinlan replied, his tone flat. "And after all, there aren't that many human or near-human men of the required age who were available at this time, not to mention that many of them have students who've disqualified them to avoid slowing down their learning. I guess you know what I mean."

"Ahhh…yes, sorry about that," Fox mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "We're just... used to humans for obvious reasons, and we preferred a relatively small age difference."

"You don't have to justify your choices," Quinlan replied with a shrug before turning to Thire. "So, O Guide, where do we go from here?"

The clone looked thoughtful.

"I know, let's get some fresh air, it was dark when you arrived."

With a bit of luck, he would find visual clues as to where he was, a man could dream.

"I'm on your heels."

Chapter Text

It had been complicated for Fox, this business of marrying a Jedi. They had hesitated a great deal, but in the end they had put a lot of thought into the matter and had determined that Jango's almost mocking suggestion when they had locked him up was not necessarily the stupidest suggestion he could have made.

After all, the Jedi had designed them according to their own will, their own standards, so a wedding was just another way of expressing to their creators that although they had been created by them, they were now free and wanted to be treated as equals. And that they still wanted to work together.

Of course, the Jedi they had met or with whom he or Wolffe had been in contact had been very tense and wily, but they had just lost control of an army they thought they had under control, that would infuriate anyone. They had at least seemed open to peace treaties and agreements between themselves and the clones, and understood the need for everyone to access as peacefully as possible what they each needed for their populations.

Their greatest strength was their numerical superiority, but the Jedi were still terrifying space wizards, and Jango had said enough about them over the years to create a frightened respect in them. Oh sure, he had never spoken badly of his indirect employers or their owners, never directly anyway, and never to clones, always to trainers... but with so many clones around it was rare for him to speak to trainers in complete privacy. When you added to that the fact that he had taught Mando'a to Commanders and Commandos to help them in battle and that they had spread their knowledge to as many clones as possible because it would obviously benefit them one day in battle, the clones had thousands of attentive ears listening at the doors and repeating all the rumours and all the juicy information.

For the same numbers, the Jedi would slaughter them, the outcome of the battle was not uncertain but inevitable. Fox did not attach much value to what an asshole like Jango could say or even think about them but he knew he was competent and experienced, he knew how to gauge danger. If he said the Jedi were dangerous, then they were, and Fox had not escaped a fateful fate with his brothers to be careless with their safety: they would be careful about everything.

They conducted as many of their meetings and discussions as possible from a distance, always communicating from different locations to cover their tracks, and their only physical meeting between Wolffe representing him and flesh-and-blood Jedi took place under heavy guard.

Since the Jedi did not seem to be particularly opposed to an alliance marriage between their people, Fox deduced that Jango had been onto something there and they had decided to go for it. It had been strange for him to establish objective criteria as if the people in front of him were a things in a list from which he could pick anyone like in a catalogue, but in the end he had to, so Fox had ended up formulating something beyond the simple ‘not a woman’ which was basically his only criterion. It would be cruel to marry someone he was not attracted to.

Close human and relatively close in age because he knew that Jedi came from all species, so hundred-year-old Jedi could still be considered young but Fox preferred someone younger, they would be more adaptable and also and also more adventurous, it would probably be better to adapt to living with them. That and he would have to survive in the same environments as them, it would be very unwise to send a species too different from the clones without knowing how they lived.

Bly had joked and then nearly choked on his own water when he imagined Fox married to a Wookie. Bacara could see him with a Zabrak because he secretly watched Zabrak fighters in martial arts tournaments on the holonet even though he thought no one knew about it – they all did. Cody had said quietly that if it was a Mon Calamari or Nautolan it might be feasible – they did after all have swimming pools – but his attempts to bring their discussion back to seriousness had been destroyed by a sarcastic Wolffe who had simply pointed out that one of the Jedi negotiators for this alliance was an old snake man. From there, the jokes continued and everyone imagined him with a non-human more exotic and strange than the last, and for them who saw so few non-humans it was quite an easy task.

When they got a long-awaited reply from the Order, Fox thought it was again to ask them for more time to find someone and had not even looked, so it was Wolffe who had found out first.

He had a potential fiancé, a Jedi called Quinlan Vos. There were not many details, very few in fact, just a few things about meeting the criteria, a noble background and a willingness to come immediately. He had wanted to know more – everything – but the Jedi had replied with the equivalent of a curt ‘Nu draar’, which he had finally accepted because their reasons, while bothering them, were perfectly valid: there was no reason for them to divulge the personal details of one of their members if nothing happened in the end.

They simply checked that it was a real person and not a false identity created to deceive them and agreed. After all, they had no interest in being difficult here.

Within a few days it was a huge commotion to prepare a slightly improved room for him and very quickly his betrothed was there. He had received a message when they picked him up successfully and another when they were approaching so that he could come and greet him himself, for which he was grateful. It was not the only thing he was grateful for.

He was a tall, rough-looking handsome man, or so he assumed? He was taller than them and his skin was also a little darker than theirs, almost accentuated by his bright gold tattoo and dark hair that was longer than what he had ever seen on a man. He was muscular too, even the cape could not hide his broad shoulders and his fighter's body. He also looked tired and irritable but Fox did not react to that, it was not surprising given the secrecy of their location and the journey that had taken all day.

A thought occurred to him as he escorted him to his bedroom: did he know?

They did not know if he knew and for some obvious reason he did not want to ask the question, whether the answer was yes or no would be problematic. They assumed he knew – after all, it was hard to think how the Jedi could hope to lead an army if their members were not even aware of what was awaiting them – but in the end it was just an assumption. His Alpha-class clone size was not enough to be certain.

Fox honestly did not know what to make of his husband yet, he was just a random Jedi, maybe just a bit quieter than he would have expected from a guy brought up to negotiate and be nice to heads of state and that sort of thing, but hey...

In any case, it was clear that the other was not interested in him, only in keeping the peace. Fox could be happy with that, he did not have much hope of finding true love, just having someone by his side. With a bit of time and hard work, they could at least become friends.

An initial disgust and contempt was also expected. No one would want to marry a slave they previously owned.

The next day, Fox was exhausted when someone came to drag him out of bed to get some breakfast and go out for a bit. He had spent half the night reading mission reports to distract himself from the Jedi's arrival and had fallen asleep at his desk again after asking Thire to look after Quinlan so they could provide for anything he might need. He would get to know Quinlan and everything would be fine. Everything would be fine, everything was already starting to improve for them, he just had to take care of things in the meantime.

Bursting with energy and eager to finally hit someone instead of reading or writing papers, Fox tracked down some brothers to shoot and was later invited by Bacara to spar using their fists.

Before he even had time to work out what was going on, Thire was there with Quinlan and smiling mockingly at him... but Fox still had a great time.

When the apparent coldness of the façade gave way to a dry humour, Fox found that he liked what he perceived of the Jedi, and their fight... Manda, he felt like he had trained with him all his life, it was so nice to find a good match. Especially because he had won, although he wondered if he would have won with a lightsaber, his weapon probably being in his room as he did not have it at his waist. He was curious how its handling differed.

Then Quinlan had an unexpected reaction when Fox tried to help him up and all his previous thoughts were suddenly superfluous and secondary: he backed away.

He was afraid of him.

Fox had not thought he would be scared of him, he had not even considered it, how could he have been so stupid? They were an high-performing army and he was the leader, of course he would be intimidating to him, he would be intimidating to anyone.

That's normal, he tried to reassure himself. They expected the beginning to be awkward and hesitant and that an army of clones would scare him. A military leader husband would probably be terrifying to many natborns, so a fragile Jedi raised on high moral ideals of peace and wizard religion would logically be worried about a guy who clearly outmatched him in combat and could kill him. That would scare anyone... and logically, it was not the most attractive thing in a husband.

Well, with the exception of the Mandalorians, only among them were warrior abilities and sheer menace considered attractive. His husband was a Jedi, he was going to have to fit in their ways.

He would adjust too, he thought as he watched the Jedi follow Thire at a promise to go outside for a bit.

He would adjust too.

Chapter Text

Quinlan had not been outside long, just long enough to get some fresh air and check that in daylight he could not see anything more specific than in the middle of the night.

There was nothing special about the landscape or the sky, and he had no further indication of where he was.

"Don't venture far away if you're going out alone," Thire warned him. "There are carnivores out here, the big, hairy, aggressive kind you don't want to meet."

"I killed a Rancor when I was fourteen," Quinlan muttered distractedly before turning back, not really frightened by a wild animal.

It was not animals that worried him most.

By the time he was inside, shivering and cold, it was already lunch time so Thire took him to get something to eat before taking him back to his room.

Quinlan sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, wondering what he should do. Was he sitting quietly in his room until dinner? Was he trying to find out about his fiancé, who had not yet arrived? Was he exploring?

After a while, he decided to explore. If anything went wrong, he would declare that he had misunderstood the instructions, apologise and all would be forgiven until the next time he misbehaved.

To begin with, Quinlan conducted a few tests. The corridors here did not seem to be too crowded, or else everyone was elsewhere, so he took advantage of being alone to count the number of doors in his corridor and then, once that was done, he began to do the same with the nearest corridors.

He had to turn back several times and take refuge in his room to avoid being spotted, but was pleased with his ability to sneak around and be discreet even without the Force to assist him in detecting the approach of other people, he could still hear footsteps very well and gauge the location of the people behind the footsteps with astonishing accuracy.

Then, at a certain point, far enough away from his room that he knew it would be complicated to get out unnoticed if clones came from two different places, Quinlan found something he knew would be of great use to him: a sort of room for socialising. Of course, they would need some sort of communal space to meet up in other than the sports halls or the giant dining room, which Quinlan still suspected might be a converted spaceship hangar.

And luckily, the door leading to it was permanently open, allowing the sound to travel splendidly to him even though he had to admit that he could not understand anything because of the language barrier and also because they were all clones: he did not know who was talking to who.

Still, it was a potentially useful hubbub, so Quinlan settled himself against a wall, ready to move at any moment but still alert for anything of interest to him.

He would know if someone was going to come out of the room by the movement of their shadows, so all he had to do was to keep paying constant attention to it.

For a moment nothing stood out from the gibberish of these clones until a sentence stood out and caught his attention.

"Say it in Basic if you don't have it."

Interesting, even some of them were not perfect bilinguals with their own language.

"They were so beautiful, and the way he moved... do you think he'd teach us?"

"I doubt it," someone said with a laugh, while another replied more calmly, looking thoughtful:

"It was beautiful but not necessarily... how can I put this, it wasn't as impressive as I'd imagined. He was gentle with him, he probably didn't really see him as an opponent worthy of real effort."

"At least he's hot-blooded."

"And he's nice to look at, I'd forgotten how old he was, I was expecting a really old guy."

"Mesh'la veriduur," one of them said in a casual tone, immediately approved by another.

"Lek, mesh'la jetii."

Jetii sounded too much like "Jedi" for Quinlan to have any doubt: they were talking about him.

Now... what did "mesh'la" mean?

"Is there a difference between riduur and veriduur?" A clone asked, sounding younger than the rest of his discussion group if his frustrated tone, linguistic incomprehension and, above all, impatience in the middle of an older crowd were anything to go by.

"Riduur, you know it, don't you?"

"Yeah, the partner, the official spouse. What, veriduur means fiancé?"

"Well, not exactly. More like... lover?"

"A lover, yes."

"Or a slut."

"Bacara!"

"What? That's what he is, if you want you can say ‘concubine’ but the result is the same: his Order sent him to influence negotiations and soften our leader's stance on the Jedi. He's a slut," the clone repeated insistently. "I mean, you can tell at first glance, he's already all flirty, you saw it yourself! Jedi aren't supposed to get married, the only reason he's here is because he's comfortable with sex, so excuse me for being suspicious that he's trying to win my vod's affections in bed so he can manipulate him better afterwards."

"You're too paranoid-"

"You're not paranoid enough, Bacara is right."

"Of course, you can count on Neyo to defend this kind of-"

"If you've got a problem with me, just say it, be a man-"

"Stop it, both of you-"

In the midst of the argument and the heated atmosphere, Quinlan smiled bitterly: he was right. Quinlan had not come here out of the goodness of his heart and he had his own agenda which he was going to achieve no matter how, and if that meant the sex he expected to have once he was the other half of a married couple, then so be it.

Keeping their leader satisfied would be a priority for him, sex was not something that would take up a lot of his time or effort, so he did intend to use it whenever the other came asking for it.

A guy in his future husband's situation would probably appreciate having someone take care of him, and he knew he would take advantage of it if he had to.

... yeah, that was really the most unpleasant part of his job, infiltrations and covers had to be maintained at all costs, it was a demanding job.

The fact that he had not had time to recover from his previous infiltration was probably the hardest thing for him at the moment.

"What happens between them is none of our business, the main thing for us is that he seems nice. It's a thing arranged to facilitate exchanges, once he's rested he seems to be willing, that's what's matters most."

"Think what you want, guys, I'm under no illusions and you should beware too."

Quinlan slipped away discreetly when they started speaking again in their language, he had already taken enough risks... but it had been instructive.

Not everyone wanted him here, he would need to be careful.

Chapter Text

He was still meditative when Thire arrived with two lads in tow, and Quinlan held back a reaction as he identified them with annoyance. Bacara and Neyo.

Great!

"Hey there, time to eat if you're hungry."

"I'm almost always hungry," he replied with a smirk. "Let me get my cape and I'll be right there."

"Your cape? What's that for?"

"To look my best," he retorted curtly, looking Bacara up and down with obvious judgement. "Not that you seem to care what you look like though."

The hostile duo looked at him with controlled surprise as Thire sneered and walked away, dragging him along with him.

"Don't listen to them, they're not important. Well, not too much," he clarified when one of the two said something in their direction without making any particular attempt to catch up with them.

"You won't have a problem laughing at their expense?"

"No, don't worry about me, and these guys aren't really my friends anyway."

"They're not?"

"They're not the worst, and they're brothers," Thire shrugged, "we're just not close. We tolerate each other because we run in the same circles, since I'm one of their brother's right-hand."

Interesting! They had very different tempers, different groups... and maybe even different internal political factions.

That would be another thing to consider, Quinlan really was not an expert on political situations but on this one he was going to make an effort.

Thanks, you little prick, he mused, glancing over his shoulder at Bacara. You've broadened my horizons.

"Hoping for your sake that their brother will defend you, even against them."

"Fox loves me, I'm really safe."

This Fox seemed really well placed, he would try to be careful about his interactions with him, it would seem that he would be a formidable ally for future negotiations.

He gave Thire a tense smile as he entered the crowded dining room, where hundreds of clones were eating with gusto.

Once again, he had the impression that everyone was looking at him... and it probably was not just an impression.

"I've got a bit of a headache, do you think I could take my tray and eat in my room?" He asked Thire in a whisper as soon as he saw Bacara and Neyo find a lively table and start talking to the group.

Wolffe and… Fox, if he remembered his red helmet correctly, saw him and waved. Maybe they had been part of the conversation he had witnessed... and if they did not know, they would soon be in the know. He preferred not to be there while Bacara and Neyo's opinion was discussed again, this time involving more people.

"Yeah, sure, go and get something to eat, I'll tell the others not to wait."

Quinlan nodded and made his way through the various queues, smiling reassuringly when Fox looked at him before nodding worriedly.

Several times he heard a word that reinforced his decision to move away from the crowd: husband. Riduur. Which immediately brought him to the unflattering term that was already circulating about him: veriduur. Slut.

His hands clenched and unclenched on his tray at a slow pace as voices rose and, them being clones, all the words blended together until he felt he could only hear one.

Slut.

He hated that word... he had heard it far too often.

When he was a teenager, he still remembered the complaints the adults had made to his Master about his overly adventurous and pleasure-seeker behaviour. Of course, they had never said it like that, but they did not need to, his age mates had taken care of that. Slut.

He had never really understood it, but he knew it was because Tholme had never lectured him on the subject apart from reminding him from time to time that getting older did not make condoms or consent any less relevant. He was not happy with the sexual abstinence required by the Jedi Order... so what? He was a hormonal teenager who liked to flirt with the forbidden, so as long as he only fucked people who wanted him to and did not get attached, why did it matter? At the time he preferred sex to deep, slow, boring meditation, but he was still a serious Padawan who had been made a Knight fairly quickly, his occupations at this pivotal time in life should have been understood and not immediately criticised.

He had made sure Aayla understood that when he had trained her, liking sex was not a big deal, even for a Jedi. Even if he no longer found much interest in it himself because of his own experiences.

"Slut."

Quinlan gasped, looking to the side, was he dreaming or...?

They were almost all staring at him but that did not mean it was not his own mind playing tricks on him.

The minutes seemed endless.

That despicable word... the sooner he got back to his room, the better. The last time he had heard it, their hands were all over him, he was barely conscious because of all the drugs his metabolism could not purify and his body felt disgusting, both inside and out.

The word was associated with dirtiness, fear and pain, so he almost snatched his plate out of the hands of the man serving him.

Get out, he had to get out.

He was in the process of leaving the room without waiting for Thire to come outside when he heard it:

"He looks rather handsome, Fox is lucky."

"Anything for our Alor," another laughed, not suspecting for a second that his apparently trivial words had made his blood run cold.

Fox.

Alor.

Alor meant the Chief.

What...? Quinlan forced himself to turn his head towards the table from which Thire was not about to return, caught up in a conversation with another guy in red armour and Fox.

When they said Fox, did they mean this Fox?

If it was him, then it was very impersonal... but on the other hand, if it was him that would explain a few things: he had welcomed him himself, escorted him to his room so they could be alone and he was still here today to confront him and see if he was worthy of a man of his position.

Yes, the more he thought about it, the more it made sense... except for this: why had not he told him yet? Even if he had been kind enough to let him eat and rest yesterday, he could have come to see him today to exchange his people's wedding vows, after all, he was the one who had asked for it, that was why Quinlan had come.

Or... was he on probation? If he did not fit the criteria, would they ask for another Jedi? If that was the case, he would do his best to meet whatever expectations were placed on him, he was not the type to give up so quickly on a mission, even if the start was not brilliant.

He promised himself he would be careful now: he would have to check whether it was really Fox he had come to marry, because if it was not him, then he would have to find out who it was before doing anything.

When Thire reached him to guide him through the grey labyrinth, he missed the calculating look Quinlan had for him.

Chapter Text

"Would you like to come in for a minute?"

Thire, who had not eaten and was awaited, glanced towards the mess before nodding.

"Yeah, sure. Do you need anything?"

"I was just wondering when exactly we were going to exchange our wedding vows," he explained, leaning against the desk after placing his tray on it. "Nobody told me."

"Er... I don't know, Fox didn't tell you?"

Him again. All right, these morons had made him break out in a cold sweat and triggered a trauma, but at least it looked like they had been useful.

"Nothing, it's just... a bit uncomfortable, you know?"

He had let a little emotion show in his voice, and he did not need the Force to notice that Thire had detected it because he straightened slightly and nodded.

He was observant and perceptive, Quinlan could use that.

"Look, he's a bit overwhelmed at the moment and you've only just arrived, I'm sure things will settle down very quickly, he has no interest in dragging things out either, we need all the help we can get with these negotiations."

"All right, thank you."

Once again demonstrating his understanding of the situation, Thire took his leave when he massagd his temples in the hope of easing his headache. Right, then. Fox would be his husband? All right, everything was fine, he could do it.

It was suddenly a lot more real, but it was all right.

It was not as if he saw this marriage as binding him forever, Kiffar marriages did not work like that and the Order had been careful not to trap him for too long in this situation. It was an alliance of convenience. It was not something that was meant to be eternal, for both sides.

Quinlan continued to think about it as he ate. Fox clearly was not the worst, it could have been Bacara... and then it would have been really distressing because he would not trust he would be treated with respect before it even started.

Fox was not pleasant, but he was not aggressive either. He was polite and considerate too, as much as he looked like he could be. And at least he did not have Gree's haircut, which was a considerable advantage if he was going to have to pretend to want to initiate or welcome any physical contact between them.

The only problem now was whether there was more than one Fox.

All in good time.

He would look into this matter tomorrow.

Once he had finished his meal, Quinlan left the tray where it was – he would bring it back the next day – and headed for the bathroom for a hot shower.

It had not been the worst day but he had tired very quickly and had not exactly liked the unsettling feeling of not being welcome when he was so vulnerable. Of course, if he had to run for his life he would take off the Force blockers and run, but if he was going to freeze to death in the snow with no chance of being rescued, he would prefer things to be at least cordial. Their attitude was too ambiguous, he did not know what to expect or what the limits were.

"Just how big are the boilers in this building?" He wondered when the water quickly heated up to the temperature he wanted.

At least they seemed to be people who were focused on efficiency and refusing to waste resources, which was good: people who were actually trying to solve problems always managed to do so in one way or another... which meant they were people you could compromise with.

Unfortunately, the soap was not up to the heat of the water and Quinlan was already dreading using the shampoo they provided, he already knew it would be terrible for his hair. The smell was strange and really nothing special, although he supposed that was not that important.

He had been through worse things than washing with bland smelling soap. Not being able to wash, for example. Yeah, a smell was annoying but it was not such a hindrance, right?

From the shower, Quinlan was still facing the mirror above the washbasin and the Jedi looked at himself with weary curiosity. Why did they think he was a man of easy virtue without even knowing him? What was it about his appearance that made them think that?

Perhaps his long hair? Some human cultures associated it with femininity, making men inferior and available for prostitution or passive sex with other men when they had it... But this was not universal. In many other cultures, a man's hair would be sacred, or its length would be considered a sign of wealth and status, or even simply an attractive aesthetic trait.

His qukiffu? Same thing, it would not make any sense, especially as they too had tattoos.

As for the rest, he considered himself to have pretty average-looking face, maybe juste more scowling than average, and they were soldiers, his muscles could not be something they found unpleasant.

He just did not understand, it made no sense to him.

You know why, it's written all over your face.

"It's not real," he said aloud to reassure himself that nothing was in his mouth to stop him screaming. "You're not here."

We're always here, pretty boy, and we always will be.

Sometimes Quinlan felt as if his psychometry was deliberately working against him, so much so that he felt as if he could still feel their bodies against his just like that, when he was normally supposed to be touching something for the images to start appearing.

After several increasingly desperate minutes spent putting his own hands wherever he could feel them in order to reclaim his body and try to push away the memories that were rushing in and threatening to overwhelm him, Quinlan got out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel before curling up in the corner of the room.

He could not move.

They were there but they also were not, there was nothing he could do but wait.

Tomorrow would be a better day.

Chapter Text

Quinlan had woken up exactly where he had fallen asleep, or rather passed out: in his bathroom.

For a moment he was confused and groggy, not remembering where he was, why he could not feel anything in the Force and why he had woken up. Then, of course, he remembered. Bathroom and panic attack, blocking bracelets and a new mission, noise at the door... the door?

"Hi there!"

"What's that?" He asked with the aggression of an exhausted man as he opened the door, looking tiredly at the guy in front of him.

Bald. Tattoo on his temple. Hmm... did he know him?

"My name's Stone, I'm here to pick you up for going to the mess."

"Quinlan. Is Thire all right?" He asked suspiciously.

"Yep, he's just got a massive hangover, he should really stop trying to be the last one standing but eh, the vod'ike will never learn."

Quinlan nodded with a tiny smile at that, assuming to the red armour that they were close enough.

"I'll get dressed and I'll be there."

"I'll wait for you. Not that I've got anything else to do."

Simple and pragmatic, Quinlan liked him already.

He got dressed and took his tray with him, resisting with all his might the instinct to pick up the knife so he would at least have a weapon to defend himself.

"Ocular migraine," he clarified to Stone when he raised a puzzled eyebrow at seeing him wrapped in his cape, his hood over his head.

"Is it serious? We've got medication if you want."

"It should pass on its own, thank you."

He followed the clone as blindly as he could down the corridors, trying to rest his eyes under the relative cover of the brown cloth.

The clones were eating rather quietly for such a large room and such a large troop, but it was still too much for him at the moment, they were making too much noise and it was making his headache worse.

Luckily they went to a table of two near the doors and not in the middle of the crowd, Stone did not seem to want to socialise or even waste time chatting considering he ate with appetite without even talking to him, looking at his datapad intently.

It was fucking relaxing.

Already used to things, he set his tray down when he had finished and walked over to the table to stop momentarily.

Stone was no longer there.

Stone was not sitting in his place and he was not putting his tray down... where was he?

There was not even anyone with armour resembling his in the whole area! He... what, he had really just left quietly and without telling him? Was this a test?

He resumed his walk towards the exit at a confident pace so that no one would ask questions, his eyebrows furrowed where no one could see them, determined not to let himself be thrown off balance: he would back alone.

He walked with determination and counted the corridors, the corners and the "to the left" and "to the right" and what had to happen happened: he got lost. Let it not be said that he was not stubborn though: he insisted. After about fifteen minutes, however, he realised the obvious: he was completely lost and clearly no longer even in a residential area of the building.

He was on his own.

He turned back once he had found the hangars and found a staircase to climb back up and poked around until a door opened and miracle, maybe the Force was still with him a little because Quinlan stumbled across some sort of replica of a nap room in the Temple Crèche.

"Force, this is where the colour had gone!" He exclaimed with a nervous laugh at the sight of colourful carpets and cushions scattered around the room around small child-sized plastic tables and, against one wall, mattresses stacked with blankets and pillows on shelves.

Did they have children here? He had never seen any, he had not even known these clones had kids.

Wait a second.

Fuck.

They had children? Where did these kids come from? Did they have wives here? Or had they stolen children?

Being curious, the Jedi walked around the room, looking at the wall covered in drawings, opening the cupboards to find materials for children's crafts before finally deciding that this place would be as good as any other if he did not find his way back.

He did not exactly feel like shouting in the corridors until someone came round the corner and heard him, and he had even less energy to explain why he was here.

He had a headache: here it was quiet. He wanted to be alone: here he was alone. He wanted to rest: here there were mattresses.

"Doomed for doomed." He sighed as he moved several mattresses to make himself a cosy little nest with several blankets and lots of pillows.

He lay back comfortably and sighed with pleasure as the warmth of his body combined with the general warmth of the air and the feeling of a calm cocoon began to warm the sheets and blankets.

After the night he had had, it did not take Quinlan long to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Quinlan growled at the hand that shook his shoulder with an insistence that continued even as he slapped the annoying hand away.

"Hng."

"Hey, wake up!"

"Aayla, for the sake of the Force, let me sleep."

He realised the moment he said it that there was something wrong: Aayla had hands bigger than that. She had not woken him up in years, too.

"My name is Omega, not Aayla," a high-pitched girl's voice said.

Quinlan reluctantly opened his eyes when he was shaken again and met the serious gaze of a child looking at him quizzically.

"… What?"

"You're sleeping on the toddler beds."

" What's wrong with that?"

"We have real adult beds a few rooms down the corridor."

"So what? There are beds here too, they're made for sleeping."

"So, the ori'vode won't be happy if you're here, this is a room for the ikaade."

The unknown word sobered him up and woke him up more effectively than anything else. He was up in seconds, surprising the child – a clone, Quinlan realised, taking full measure of the child who could not be more than twelve.

She was a girl, he could see it, at least ten, and blonde, but she had exactly the same eyes as the adult clones, the same skin tone and even their noses looked similar.

"My name is Quin. How old are you?"

"I'm eleven, nearly twelve, I'm everyone's big sister here."

"Big sister?"

The girl did not seemed to find his amusement hilarious but simply shrugged.

"It's the accelerated ageing thing, and they don't take me seriously either, you know? But I love your hair, it's so pretty!"

"Thank you," he replied immediately, still dumbfounded as he moved out of his makeshift bed, careful not to frighten her even though she seemed very confident even with a stranger as imposing as him.

Accelerated ageing? For her to be theoretically everyone's big sister, she would have to be... older than even the adults? So what, they were physically twice their real age? How old was Fox exactly?

Was Quinlan about to marry a child?

He would rather freeze to death in the snow.

"And the older ones, how old are they?"

"The very first ones are almost twelve too, I can't wait to finally be their size, but it's so long for me!"

"Enjoy your youth," Quinlan advised distractedly. "It's easier to sneak in when you're small."

The baby clone nodded enthusiastically and smiled happily at him, continuing to talk, looking happy to be chatting to someone.

Maybe there were not many clones like her who aged normally, maybe there were not many girls either, maybe she was a failure at whatever had been done in their production and was lonely because of it, he had nothing to lose by being a bit nice and distracting her.

"Do you want to help me look after a group?"

"A group?"

"The children, we help look after the children."

"You're a child. And there's no need to play the age card with me, kid, I'm a real adult."

"The others too," she laughs, shrugging her shoulders. "You just have to watch them so they don't swallow anything dangerous, that sort of thing. You could tell us about some of the places you've been, it's the first time they'll see a stranger."

But not you, Quinlan astutely observed. You've seen non-clones before.

"Okay, I'll help you if you want."

"Great! I'll come back with them, you stay here, don't move!"

The Jedi Master laughed softly when she insisted several times that he should not move, clearly she did not want to be left alone again, and waited until she returned with a children walking behind her with a moderately confident step.

"I've got a guest! His name is Quin! Come in and sit down!"

The Kiffar noticed their curious and intrigued looks as well as their caution as they sat around the tables. It was... incredibly cute. They looked like normal children apart from the obvious fact that they were all exactly the same.

Also... Okay, he would probably call this girl a "baby clone" just for the joke but these were real younglings. What were they, three years old? So, in all probability, about a year and a half?

What did children that age even do?

"Here are the pencils."

Omega handed out sheets of paper and pencils or markers and very quickly the children forgot about him and tried to draw according to the models laid out on the tables and Quinlan grabbed a sheet with a model to colour when he received a packet after Omega had selected a Wookie for herself, immediately starting to colour.

"We're going to stay until it's time for the others to go to bed."

"I'll do that. Not in the mouth," he said to one of the kids, throwing an eraser at him as he brought the tip of a felt-tip pen to his mouth. "You can bite the cap," he added when all the children around him looked at him.

After going through the drawings and finding neither a long-haired human man nor a Neti woman, Quinlan chose the thin Twi'lek woman fortunately decently dressed – otherwise he would have had to go and shout at the first adult clone he saw, really, he wouldn't have had a choice – and grabbed the rare shade of blue that matched his Padawan's skin colour.

"You are doing brown eyes?" Omega asked as he quickly added the finishing touch.

"Yes, why, don't you like it?"

"I don't know, I don't think it's very aesthetic, it doesn't stand out."

Quinlan chuckled and refused to answer when the girl asked him what was so funny. He would tell the young woman as soon as possible. For her, who was always sexualised, hearing that she was "not very aesthetic" would probably be a first.

It was much later, long after Quinlan was hungry for his day with nothing but breakfast and then had ignored it enough for his body to forget he was hungry, long after he had helped several children make very ugly but pleasing doodles and long after one of them had fallen asleep in his arms that the door opened on an adult clone dressed in casual red clothes similar to the children's blue outfits who stopped dead in his tracks when he saw him.

Yeah, he thought as the man reached for the blaster gun at his waist, that was to be expected.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, he had not been shot on the spot or even threatened. The guy barely stopped himself, Quinlan could tell that much, but it was still a lot of self-control. If he had been in his place, if he had found a stranger with children, he would have shot first and asked questions later.

Eventually.

"Quinlan Vos?"

"That's me."

"We've been looking for you everywhere for several hours," the other announced. "Fox was worried."

Again Fox, it was one more stone to support his hypothesis that Fox was indeed his fiancé. The boss. The boss who must not have liked him very much.

"I was there," he answered simply.

From what was he worried about, that he would try to escape as soon as their backs were turned? It was not as if he could survive alone on a planet where there was nothing but cold and snow, with no weapons, no food, no clothes and no shelter, but he forced himself not to say all that or what he thought about it and settled for a haughty eyebrow raise.

Eventually the guy straightened up when he seemed to realise Quinlan was not being aggressive and the Jedi felt like a tired old Master Yoda in front of an arrogant youngster when the clone seemed to regard him as no threat. Hmm... not very good instincts, Quinlan was a threat, just not at the moment.

"Come on, they'll want to see you."

The Jedi Master smiled reassuringly at the children, who relaxed to see that there would be no argument, and stood up: it was best to obey for the time being.

"Have a good evening, kids."

"Bye!" They all said in unison, which was very strange to see and hear, but he ignored it in favour of grabbing the sheet of paper held out by the blonde girl.

"Your drawing. Come back whenever you like."

"I don't know if I will, but it was nice, thanks Omega."

She smiled and waved until he left. Quinlan then tried to remember the way but really, this building must really have been made to be a maze, it could not be any other way. He could not go back there voluntarily unless he got lost again and was lucky.

Finally, he was led to a room where several clones were waiting, seemingly arguing and close to coming to blows.

"Gar Jetii!"

"May bahnah?" Fox – at least he thought it was Fox through the red helmet – asked, approaching immediately. "Vay gar kooyee?"

Quinlan looked at them all, quietly confused as to why he was almost being shouted at in a language he had never claimed to be able to speak, but the clone who had escorted him in answered for him.

"Ti ade."

"Teeon jor?" Was the question someone else then asked again in his direction and Quinlan looked at the guy hoping he would answer for him again but no, they were all looking at him.

Did he really have to spell it out?

"What's the matter?"

"Mey vain? "

Calm down, Quinlan, stay calm.

"I said, what's the matter? I don't understand this language you're speaking, what's the problem?"

Fox looked at him with a total lack of reaction for a few seconds before seeming to calm down completely on his own and translating in an incredibly calmer and softer tone:

"That means ‘why?’ We asked where you were, and Rhys replied ‘with the children’. What were you doing there?"

He doubted that talking about Stone's vanishing at breakfast would do much good, so he did not mention it, just as he would not say that he did not dare ask for directions as that would show a lack of trust, and saying that he was lost would not necessarily be to his advantage, as it would indicate a lack of supervision... hmm...

The least dangerous option was paradoxically the one that made him look suspicious, how ironic.

"I was exploring... sorry, I didn't mean to disturb."

"You... that's alright, you were no trouble, we were just worried about you disappearing like that. Serves us right for panicking, you're an adult, we shouldn't react like that. Come on, I'll take you home."

... what, that was it?

Quinlan had expected to be reprimanded and perhaps even pushed around a little once he was out of sight, but nothing happened. Fox remained perfectly silent and sullen, stopped outside his room and did not insist on coming in.

Was it really him, his future husband? Perhaps he had misunderstood? Or perhaps there were other clones named Fox? It was possible to have duplicates among so many clones who had to choose a name for themselves, was not it?

When he turned to ask him, Quinlan realised he was alone, Fox had already left.

Hng.

Quiet and quick, this blighter.

Someone had entered in his absence, he noticed immediately, but he actually smiled slightly at the generous attention that made his stomach happy in advance.

Food.

The Jedi Master devoured the snack in a few hungry bites and took an extremely quick shower before going to bed.

He had had the impression that all he had done today was sleep but hey, it had been instructive even though he had hardly spoken to anyone and had opened his mouth even less to take part in conversations.

The blonde girl had given him a lot to think about, as had the presence of the children, and even more, their existence.

Everything here was important, even if he did not yet know how.

Twelve years maximum, those behind the order for an army of cloned men had started preparing for a war around twelve years ago. They wanted men, but they had also made at least one woman, and she was not ageing at the same rate as them, so the cloning techniques were not necessarily perfectly achieved. And there were children, which suggested a continuous production of clones over several years to fuel a conflict over several years.

That said, since they had emancipated themselves from their creators, it was interesting to note that they had also taken the children and were trying to offer them what they had not had for themselves. It was quite remarkable when you looked at the details: they did not decorate anything and lived contentedly in the dreariest, most depressing environment Quinlan had ever seen outside of mental hospitals, but for the children everything was arranged as comfortably as possible. They were cared for and protected... and they did children's things.

The kind of thing that a production created for war would never have known.

For most of them, the paint on their armour must have been the most personality and creativity they had ever created.

With his mind taken in a whirl of wild thoughts and suppositions, Quinlan took some time to sort out his thoughts before letting sleep claim him.

He was looking forward to his first report.

Chapter Text

"So... I heard you did well with the kids yesterday."

"Who told you that?"

"Hound. He looks after the Massifs and Omega loves animals so she told him about you because apparently all she's talked about since last night is you."

Quinlan smiled slightly at Thire who was staring at him, making ridiculous eyebrow movements just to get him to react.

"An energetic and curious girl, that one."

"I've rarely heard such an accurate description of her, it's... we're having a bit of trouble with her, she wasn't brought up like us, it's good that you've been nice to her, we appreciate it."

"It's not that complicated, you know? Just talk to her normally."

"We're not exactly normal, we don't know how to do things the way you're used to."

"One of the funny things about cultures," he explained as he walked slowly down the queue to eat his bland breakfast, "is that even if you don't understand other people's, when you live among them you immediately realise how little you understand them and how you probably will never really close that gap."

"So reassuring," someone mumbled before being knocked into silence.

"I doubt you're trying to tell me it's hopeless."

"Because it's not," he scoffed, looking at him over his shoulder. "If she hasn't grown up in your culture and among the clones and is making an effort to adapt to living with you, then she already knows better than you think how different you are. She knows it's complicated, she's far from stupid, so just talk to her the way you'd like to be talked to and be honest. Honesty always pays off and children respect those who admit their mistakes when they make them. Make the most of the fact that she's still trying, soon she'll stop making the first move if no one meets her halfway in her attempts to communicate."

"... Are you sure you weren't looking after the children in your Temple?"

Quinlan burst out laughing at this one, because him, a Master for the Crèche?

"I think it's the only career in the whole Order that I would have been discouraged from pursuing if I'd chosen it."

"But you're really good at it. Even the really young ones."

"Just because you're really good at something doesn't mean you want to do it, it doesn't necessarily make you feel like your life's purpose."

"What is your life's purpose then?"

"Davijaan," Thire said with a warning in his tone.

"Yeah, hi, I'm Davijaan, Commander and Fox's close friend, the whole nine yards. So, what kind of work gives meaning to your life as a Jedi?"

Quinlan thought of several ways of phrasing it - all the first ideas were eliminated because the word "investigation" was in them, then others because of "undercover" – and answered after shaking his drink, looking passively at the guy sitting in front of him.

"I purge the Dark Side from this world to purify it."

Could it get any more like the voodoo of space lunatics than this? Perhaps, but it would be very difficult, and Quinlan gave everything he had to keep a sabacc face so as not to react to the incredulous and mystified looks of the clones around him who were staring at him as if he was mad.

"What about you? What gives your life meaning?"

"I'm mostly a pilot these days and that suits me just fine. Just to be sure, you're not planning to purify the world by purging it of... us, are you?"

The sip of the shake went the wrong way.

"Hell, no! Damn... the Jedi respect all forms of life, we're careful to spare even animals if we can, we're not into... fucking genocide!"

"Good news. Any particular reason why your morning conversation is at this point when I've come to breakfast?" Someone asked from behind Quinlan before murmuring more quietly and pointing to the empty seat next to him: "Can I sit here?"

"Be my guest. "

"Davijaan being Davijaan," Thire replied, "I told you not to leave him hanging around with 17."

What was 17, a droid?

"The problem is that we don't have many people to leave him with and the list keeps getting shorter."

"Oh fuck off Fox, we're allowed to talk to him too."

"Talk to him about his hobbies and favourite colour, yes, questions that deserve ‘we're not into genocides’ as an answer, no."

"Anyway, have fun with your exorcist boyfriend."

"Exorcist?" Fox repeated towards Quinlan, who would have preferred to be forgotten.

"Well, sort of. When the Force is involved."

"Can we ask you a few questions about the Jedi?"

"Well, I'm a Jedi, try me, we'll see if I have any answers."

A tray was slammed down on the table with force and someone in a tunic sat down hurriedly next to Thire, looking at him with bright eyes.

"Hey, hello, it's Bly, we've met."

"Yes, Bly, hello...?"

"I couldn't help overhearing and I've got a bet ongoing that I'd really like to win"

"I'm gonna win!"

"Ne'johaa, Cody! So, as I was saying... there are rumours that the Jedi can read our minds, is it true?"

He carefully pretended not to see how absolutely everyone who could hear was silent and attentive to his answer.

It was a very delicate situation... why the hell him and not Obi-Wan again?

"It's not that simple, telepathy isn't inherent in being a Jedi, some species are naturally inclined to telepathy, Jedi use it under very rare conditions but prefer to avoid it for the most part, that kind of gift is never fun."

"What do you mean? I mean, it's so useful."

"With the Jedi, when you have a gift, it's something that's inside you. It's you. You are the gift. That means you can't turn it off," he added when Bly did not seem to understand his point." Imagine what it would be like to live every second of your life with the thoughts of the people around you, hundreds of thousands of them, mumbled in your head in a cacophonous jumble."

"It sounds... horrible. Does that mean that you, for example, are not in people's heads?"

Honesty, a complete lie or parsimony in the information revealed?

In any case, he immediately decided not to talk about his psychometry and not to touch anything without gloves if he could avoid it even with the safety of gloves. He could handle touching objects with his skin, but it was the hands that were the worst. He did not even want to try, bracelets or no bracelets.

"We don't do things like that. We protect ourselves from the unprotected minds of civilians, we don't try to eavesdrop. Of course, sometimes things happen, but we try to avoid them."

"How accurate is that?" Fox asked.

"If you were hoping to eat your spicy concoction from last time, I'd feel your hunger as if it was my own. If you wanted to kill someone, I'd feel the murderous impulse without knowing exactly who you wanted to kill. This only works with very strong emotions because it has to overwhelm our defences, and the older we are, the more developed our mental shields are."

"Did you hear that, Cody?"

"Yes, I did! And I was right."

Bly lost his smile and sighed, leaving with a defeated "thank you".

"Cody's a lucky bastard with good instincts," Thire muttered.

"Tell me about it," Fox sighed. "They're really going to drive me mad."

"Don't be so dramatic."

"You're one of those people who'll turn my hair grey before I'm thirty, Davijaan."

The conversation moved on to safer topics and Quinlan watched the interactions with a secret smile, finding that he was already less disturbed by the "cloned" aspect of the clones.

There was still a world where he could accomplish this mission, it was not such a bad start, he just had to be patient.

Chapter Text

"Hey, Quinlan!"

The Jedi slowed behind Thire who muttered an "I told you so" and raised an eyebrow at the blonde girl who rushed towards him, stopping in front of him and almost bouncing there, looking anxious.

"Hey, Omega," he greeted more calmly before bowing like a Jedi just for show. "Good to see you again. What are you doing here where there's nothing but depressing adults?"

"The guys didn't believe me when I said I'd met you!" She said, turning to a clone boy who had followed her. "Jax is supposed to tell the others that it's true now."

"Where has the respect for elders gone?" He pretended to complain in disappointment.

His face hidden from the boy by his hair, Quinlan winked at the girl before walking towards the clone who backed away cautiously until he was up against a wall, properly intimidated.

"Do I look real enough for you now?"

The boy nodded frantically before running away the second Quinlan waved.

"Get out of my sight. How sad, are they always like this?"

"Like this?" Omega repeated without understanding.

"Don't believing what you're saying."

The girl's face made a complicated expression before she shrugged.

"Always, but they all do it so I'm used to it."

"It's a horrible habit to have," Quinlan sighed. "Hit them, that way they will learn a few things about life."

"I don't know how to fight."

"I'll show you how to throw a punch when I've got time then."

"Getting angry and punching people won't make much difference," she admitted, crossing her arms. "Here, your word is only worth something when you're a skilled fighter, I've never done a combat simulation in my life."

Quinlan turned to Thire, trying to say without a word "this is your chance" but the clone remained silent, looking at the girl with big empty eyes before looking at him with an obvious cry for help.

For his part, Quinlan obviously already had a plan, as it would mean 1 – not staying in his room, 2 – exploring more and 3 – being able to get more information from the talkative child. He knew how to adapt and take advantage of the opportunities that came his way.

Thank you, social incompetence, you are so useful sometimes.

"Did one of those trigger-happy teach you how to shoot?"

"Nope!"

"Perfect match then, let's find a shooting range."

Luckily, his guide had no objections and motioned for him to follow.

"Are you going to teach me? For real? Brilliant! Why a perfect match though?"

"You've never learned to shoot, I've never taught anyone to shoot, it's going to be great fun."

He had not been the one to teach Aayla to shoot, that had been Tholme who had taken advantage of having his Great Padawan with him during the few weeks of Quinlan's infiltration to teach her something useful. He had been so frustrated at not being able to teach her. When he had learned that Aayla had inadvertently knocked Tholme out with a stun shot, a little less so, but he at least wished he had been there. To see it.

And record it.

"Are you sure you've got time for that?" Omega asked, running after him to walk beside him, looking worried. "Don't you have more important things to do?"

"Not yet, and I'm bored to death, you'd be doing me a favour, really. By the way, do you know him?"

"I don't think I know him."

"It's Thire. Thire, it's Omega."

The two clones greeted each other and Quinlan stared at Thire with that blank, unblinking stare that would make anyone wiggle in their seat until the other looked towards Omega and hesitantly muttered a:

"So, you've never had a gun in hands before?"

... It was despairing. And hopeless. If Fox was the same, it was going to be a terribly uncomfortable marriage.

Quinlan watched the awkward discussion until at last they reached a shooting range and picked out a few weapons once he had worked out which were for training and which were loaded with live ammunition, especially the lethal kind. Stuns were not as much of a problem.

"Someone who might be particularly unpleasant here?"

"I can think of a few who have a reputation for not being very friendly."

"Okay, then avoid shooting them."

"If I'm going to shoot someone, shouldn't it be them?" The girl asked, detailing her reasoning when he motioned for her to continue. "Shooting bad guys and threats, that sort of thing?"

"I like you," Quinlan decreed irrevocably at that moment. "Now let's get started, shall we?"

"Yes!"

"Right, then. The gun is loaded, here's how you remove the clip and put in a new one."

"Got it."

"Then you aim and shoot, it's very simple, and as it's for training it just projects a coloured ball, not real ammunition, no-one will get hurt."

"Alright. So what do I do, try and hit the centre of a target?"

"A target? Come on kid... why aim at a motionless drawing when you've got a myriad of moving targets all around you?"

"Eh?"

"The enemies never stand still," Quinlan finished his lesson, smiling broadly at Thire before firing at his chestplate before he had time to react. "The one who hits the most guys with a single clip wins!"

"Eh? Quinlan, wait!"

But the Jedi was already further away.

"I've already got three!" He shouted towards where he could still see blond hair sticking out of a storage crate. "Five!"

"Can I shoot the ones you've already shot at?"

Quinlan discovered at that moment that he could actually become even more appreciative.

"Yeah, go ahead."

A shot was finally fired at a group of clones, passing between the three guys but hitting another in the leg at the other end of the room.

"It was totally deliberate!" A small voice declared haughtily before letting out an impressed sound as Quinlan fired at the same clone who gasped with confusion at the stain on his chest.

"What are you waiting for, an invitation to keep firing?" He scoffed before crouching reflexively before he knew what he had seen but the splash that hit the wall behind him was more than enough of a wordless explanation.

Quinlan laughed as Thire squinted at him, training weapon in hand and pointed at him.

He had his culprit.

"You, I intend to win this bet."

"You weren't supposed to participate!" Quinlan exclaimed, throwing himself to the ground to avoid the other paintballs.

"I've been participating ever since you decided to make me your first victim! Come here now!"

"Never!"

By the time Fox arrived, the room's original occupants were covered in paint splatters of different colours, and in the end there could be no winner because there was a limited number of colours in the paintballs in the clips, and several other clones had used his or Omega's colour, skewing the results.

"What happened?" The clone asked, looking distraught.

Quinlan looked around, the surfaces and people in disarray, and replied with the only valid answer:

"I won."

Chapter Text

Quinlan did not know if it had anything to do with covering various guys in paint, but he had been invited to a party and had immediately accepted. He finally realised that it had nothing to do with his day when it was Bly who came to bring him along and entrust him with his "ante". It was casino night.

They were having a fucking casino night for entertainment.

... all right.

Quinlan was going to walk out of here rich.

(He was going to fleece them).

Because he still was not comfortable being the centre of attention, Quinlan first followed Bly into the great hall to a table and sat down with him for a few rounds of a card game whose name he had totally forgotten but not the rules and, more importantly, how to count cards.

It would be easy... as long as he was patient and bided his time. They were watching him very carefully because he was the newcomer, the foreigner, the Jedi, they were all going to be careful while they tried to assess his abilities as a player. So, he made sure he was really average without being a loser either for three games to give them a sense of security, then he took the offensive. He won the next five games, unable to suppress a small smile at the frustrated looks on his opponents' faces as they stared at him in increasing disbelief at seeing him turn around a bad situation even with average cards.

He had always had a good strategic mind, but they were no longer tough enough opponents to interest him, and it was time to go and find a bigger fish.

He left the table with a smirk, pushing his hair back with a dramatic, haughty movement that made the losers grumble even more, and wandered between the gaming areas, stopping next to a table where a poor fellow was waiting alone to be joined beside others who were playing chess peacefully but at a good distance from him.

"So... Cody? How's the evening going?"

It was better to remain uncertain, perhaps some of the other guys had that strange curved scar around their eye and an orange helmet with geometric designs.

"That's me, and I'm doing well, quiet evening."

"And what are you waiting a challenger for?" He asked, looking at the surprisingly switched-off holographic game module.

At that moment, the clone looked up from his datapad and contemplated it with slight boredom.

"Chess. Do you want to play?" He offered, in a tone that told Quinlan he was expecting a negative answer.

"Cody loves chess," someone said at one of the other tables of clones playing their own chess games. "The problem is that now he's so good that hardly anyone dares to play against him, only the most determined insist. Or Wolffe. But Wolffe is better."

"Sinker, when I feel like hearing your comments, I'll ask for them."

"Wolffe is still the best."

"Tsk."

"What did you expect, Cody? They called themselves the Wolfpack."

"Lock, same as Sinker."

"Hmm?"

Quinlan smiled and put a hand on the table, easily attracting the clone's attention.

"I'm ready to play, but I doubt I'll be a satisfactory opponent, I could spoil your fun."

"I'd rather have a flawed opponent than no opponent at all," Cody declared as a philosophy of life as he got up to lead him to his seat, as if he was about to change his mind.

It was kind of cute, so much personality and passion for such a trivial thing... that was the funny part of hobbies.

It was also funny that Cody's first thought at the phrase "I doubt I'll be a satisfactory opponent" was that he sucked....

Oh no, Cody, I could spoil the fun for you... by winning.

And he was winning, of course, by also luring Cody into a false sense of security by giving the impression from the first few moves that he needed a lot of time and was paranoid, using his face to subtly – really, subtly, subtlety was the key of all his work – pretend to be surprised by the opponent's tactics, so Cody did not question Quinlan for lasting longer than other opponents : he thought it was luck, that Quinlan did not know what he was doing.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

Then he stretched with a delighted smile. He was going to win.

"My rook takes your knight."

"My queen takes your rook, and check."

Quinlan moved his king.

Cody reacted as expected and repeated:

"Check."

They continued like this for several moves and finally, when Cody moved a knight to check his king, Quinlan's queen had direct access to Cody's king and it was his turn. He looked impassively at Cody and made his move, moving his queen to grab the trapped king and shake the piece in the air as he announced in a neutral tone:

"Checkmate, I've won."

The phrase was common, but clearly not coming from anyone other than Cody, who was looking at him with wide eyes. All around them, exclamations of astonishment erupted.

"Wow!"

"I can't believe it!"

"He's won against Cody!"

"It's amazing, I've never seen him lose before. "

"Cody must be disappointed. "

"I'm thrilled!" Cody exclaimed to whoever had said that before shaking his hand enthusiastically. "Bravo, and at last a challenge! Since how many moves have you been planning this attack?"

Quinlan smiled teasingly as he bowed:

"A lot."

"Come on, I'll buy you a drink or two to celebrate."

Quinlan stopped counting on the fifth drink and stumbled back through the corridors, confused and suspecting poisoning or even drugs before laughing to himself as he hit a wall: alcohol. He had never been drunk in his life, Jedi only drank alcohol for the taste of it as they destroyed the intoxicating aspect. Astonishingly, he was unable to walk straight.

He hated the feeling of losing control over his body, why did civilians do this on a daily basis? It was stupid, dangerous and pointless.

Before he completely tripped over his own feet, a hand grabbed his bicep and pulled him to his feet before stabilising him.

"What's that?" He asked, squinting at the clone.

"Do you know where you're going?"

Honestly, no, so he answered exactly that.

"Nope."

"I knew it," the other sighed with perceptible amusement. "I'll take you back. And how many drinks have you had altogether?"

"I've no idea. Seven? And don't you have anything better to do?"

"Unfortunately, I always have something important to do, but they insist more than I do that I take real breaks, apparently drinking coffee non-stop isn't enough to distract a man from a leader's work."

"How stupid of them." Quinlan huffed indignantly, leaning on this guy who seemed very smart to him. "I mean, is there any problem that can't be solved by a coffee pot?"

"That's exactly what I think," the other replied with a smirk that Quinlan returned until his brain started working and a horrible doubt crossed his mind. "You're Fox, aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. Over here."

Quinlan leaned on him and let himself be led, one arm on his fiancé's shoulders who supported his weight without saying a word as he relied more and more on him and waited with the patience of a saint for him to open his door to bring him to his bed where Quinlan let himself fall, dragging the other with him and, in fact, on top of him.

Hmm... this guy, was not him…?

"Hey, we're supposed to be a couple aren't we?" He asked, his foggy mind focusing on that thought now that he had the guy covering him.

"Er... yeah, that's right."

With the Kiffars, when you lived together, you were already a couple... So Fox was his husband, huh?

Quinlan had to take care of his husband.

"You should drink less coffee and take stimulant patches," he mumbled, with T'ra's advice in mind. "Better for your health."

"Alright. I'll let you sleep now."

"’kay."

"... Quinlan?"

"Hmm?"

"You've got to let me go."

Quinlan grunted and resisted when the other tried to pull away.

"Quinlan, you have to sleep, you're tired."

Sleep, tired... it was true that he was tired.

"Yeah, good idea," he mumbled, pulling the other closer to kiss him firmly. "Good night."

He was fast asleep before he even heard Fox reply.

Chapter Text

Fox was pleased that Thire had managed to help the Jedi feel at ease among them... but perhaps he would prefer him to be slightly less at ease.

Their paintballing in a room totally unfitted to it gave the impression that they had left the tiny clones to play unsupervised.

And also, Thire was not going to shut up.

"I won, Vod, I swear! He lied!"

"He's a space wizard who uses magic, he's got better things to do than boast about victories that belong to others."

His brother and friend choked on his saliva and tried to argue but Fox was already far away, trying to settle the argument between two Captains who were debating whether or not they should go and rescue some Twi'lek kidnapped by Hutts slavers. Lock said it was not safe, Keeli said they should go anyway. The arguments were good on both sides.

"Ponds isn't far from your position, wait for him, he'll choose."

Lock sighed, Keeli waved a victory sign and Fox ignored them both. Deep down he made his choice the moment he decided to send Ponds, because Ponds was going to decide to save these poor people, but they needed people like him. Good people.

He went on to authorise or refuse his brothers' movements, validate supply missions in wild space – which was absolutely not wild and unexplored, he still did not understand why it was called that just because it was not part of the Republic – and before he even had time to think about it, he was sitting in the middle of a sofa area sipping beers and trying not to be too obvious in his discomfort.

What a rip-off, being the one in charge, he was exhausted and did not have a minute to himself.

Oh, and even when he did have five minutes to spare... he had no idea what to do with his Jedi who walked past them following Bly, looking around with a discreet amused smile.

He had no idea how an arranged marriage to stabilise an alliance was supposed to work, hell, he was not even sure how a couple really worked, he should not have done this... but on the other hand, how could he make sure everything went well if he did not do what everyone else was doing? According to Jango, it was common practice to do things this way, it was the only solution they could come up with at the time, given that their knowledge of negotiation was extremely poor. Still was today, in fact.

He was just curious to see how he would handle things. Did the Jedi even know about games? Did they play? Were space monks even allowed to entertain themselves?

He soon had his answer and paid little attention to the conversations going on around him but without him. He was... sexy, it was uncanny how sexy he was. Look at that, those secretly mischievous eyes, that smirk and that fake calm.

He was incredibly attractive right now, even more so than when they had sparred.

It was probably because Fox liked those who sought victory, but he liked those who got it even more, and the arrogant look of a little shit that shone in his eyes at Cody's invitation prompted him to switch places with Stone – who he still had not forgiven for having FORGOTTEN Quinlan on the one day he was asked to look after him and caused this whole debacle when the Jedi got lost due to his inattention – to get a better view of the game.

Wolffe followed his gaze and laughed with him as he saw their obsessive brother beaming with joy, resting his head on his shoulder to get a better look. At one point, the clone hummed in admiration against his neck.

"He's really good."

"I didn't expect him to hold out this long," Fox admitted with amusement, quickly interrupted by his brother.

"No, not Cody, your Jedi. He's gonna win. He looks interesting, a worthy challenge."

Fox looked at his brother, but he was serious. Wolffe thought he would have trouble against Quinlan? He was one of their best tacticians, probably the best, able to anticipate his opponent's movements and manipulate situations, he was not the type to give random compliments.

Hmm... interesting, he had not expected so much from a magical swordsman but hey, he was pleasantly surprised.

He shook his head as he watched Cody drag him away for a drink and forgot all about him while he dealt with the bastards who would never leave him alone if he was too admiring of someone he had sworn up and down he was going to marry purely for the strategic advantages without any embarrassing feelings involved.

Then he had to stand up to the general injunction to "get his man" when Quinlan went off on his own because they knew he was going to lose himself again and nobody wanted that to happen again.

Really, Fox was glad that Cody liked Quinlan and helped him share relaxed, happy moments with them all... but not when it ended with a drunken Jedi stumbling down the corridors.

He would ask Cody what he was thinking but unfortunately Cody was not always thinking, sometimes, very selectively, he would deliberately turned off his brain just to piss him off.

Or maybe it was his version of being a wingman, in which case it was even worse and he was going to ask Thorn to get him the worst jobs in the world in revenge because he wanted to get to know his fiancé, not just lift him off the floor to his bedroom.

A fiancé who, proving what he had supposed even if the man had not wanted to admit it, had in fact got lost until he found the children and had not found them by exploring, it was obvious now, he still was not used to their deliberately indistinguishable corridors to confuse any enemies.

That would come, just not today.

At least he had learned that he liked coffee? That was useful, he could ask him to drink some with him. It would be a romantic date then, right?

It would be, once he got up off that bed and out of the strong, muscular arms that held him against a broad, muscular chest and that thick, muscular leg bent over him and-

Fuck, he was getting hard in his trousers.

"Quinlan, you need to sleep, you're tired."

Fortunately, the drunk man seemed to hear, understand and approve of his words.

"Yeah, good idea."

Then he did the most surprising thing in the world.

He kissed Fox.

He kissed his lips.

The clone barely heard the good night and barely heard himself stammer the same words back as he almost ran out of the room.

Fox then threw himself into bed and pressed his pillow on his face, bewildered by the acceleration of his own heart and the warming of his cheeks.

He did not know why he felt like that.

Well, no, he kind of knew why...

It was his first kiss.

Chapter Text

Quinlan woke up with a headache worthy of his first attempt at purifying an old Sith artefact and clumsily got to his feet, almost groping for the bathroom just to press his face against a cool surface before replacing the life-saving tiles with a wet facecloth that was downright divine.

Was he ill? He knew he had had too much to drink yesterday but it could not be that bad, could it? It could not be that painful and uncomfortable to be drunk!

If he was to expect to feel as weak, tired and nauseous again as he had when he had first cut himself off forcibly from the Force, Quinlan already knew that he was not going to drink anything containing alcohol for the rest of his stay, no matter how long it might be and how many years it might last.

And this fucking headache...

Wait a minute, wait a minute.

Cody! Quinlan was going to kill him, one day, no matter when exactly, he was going to make him pay. The bastard had had no trouble with drinking one drink after another and obviously the Jedi, unaware of what was about to happen to his body, had been hit full force by his first intoxication ever.

Back to bed...

Quinlan sat up, frowning as he looked around his room. Something was wrong, but he could not work out what.

He sat up, preferring not to lie down straight away so as not to court disaster and risk vomiting, and once again felt uneasy for some reason. Something was different, but without his psychometry he could not understand what it was. He felt blind.

He felt blind... but he was not!

"Think, Quinlan, think," he mumbled as he stood up and walked around the room.

He had learned to investigate without relying on his psychometry because sometimes it was not that useful, he was competent, he just lacked practice.

First, the visual: had anything moved, was there anything, even a single thing, out of place?

Ten minutes later, the answer was no, nothing had moved, the only things slightly out of place were his clothes, he had fallen asleep fully dressed on his bed and had not even taken off his boots.

Secondly, the sound: anything unusual?

Well, no, at least that part was quick.

Then the smell: anything suspicious?

He went round the room and found himself lying on the bed again, his nose on the sheets and on his clothes. There was an odour. Something that was not his own body odour, the smell of the shampoo he had been given or the smell of washing powder.

Why was there an unfamiliar smell on his clothes? Quinlan thought about it but could not find it, so he rolled onto his back and yawned deeply. Had he done something last night?

Suddenly, like a revelation, a moment perceived as a dream or a vision passed through him. Him Him, in that exact position, and Fox on top of him.

They were in each other's arms, their limbs intertwined.

And they were kissing.

"Oh fuck," he swore as he straightened up, desperately clutching the no-longer-cool facecloth in his hand, struggling to believe it.

He had brought Fox back here last night. When he had been drunk. Had they…?

He did not know, it was a total blackout.

He wished that the fact that he was clean meant something, but they could easily have had action elsewhere, he could have cleaned himself up and come back here to sleep, his clean clothes were proof of nothing.

He was going to have to investigate with the utmost caution and subtlety to find out what had happened and limit the damage. But before that...

"Shower."

And if he washed twice, it was his own business.

"Hey, you're starting to remember the corridors, bravo!" Someone exclaimed with amusement when he arrived at the canteen for lunch.

"Hng."

"Hmm... hangover?"

"Yeah."

"Thire's like you, grumpy and with headaches, you should go and eat with him."

Quinlan looked at the lone clone at the indicated table and did exactly that. Not a word was exchanged until a third man joined them.

"Are you going to talk?" Thire finally asked with a sight.

"Why wouldn't I?" The other clone replied.

"Hmm... not today, Fox, someone will tell me about your marital woes another day."

And Thire was gone. And Fox was suddenly tense. And Quinlan was extremely curious.

"Did something happen last night?"

The clone looked away uncomfortably and Quinlan felt his skin crawl: he did not like this reaction at all, did they really...?

He would like to think he would not do it drunk, sleep with a guy he hardly knew and in an environment where he was never really safe... but he had done it before, even without being forced to, he just was not really frightened by the danger as long as he got his adrenaline fix. And if Fox had not been aggressive he might even have reacted well to advances, who knows, he had never been drunk. In any case, he had not experienced anything violent, he had checked, he did not even have a single scratch or bruise.

"That's fine."

That's fine... what kind of answer was that? Now he was having even more questions.

"Did I do something?" He insisted in a low voice.

This time the clone looked at him more intensely.

"Don't you remember?"

"Not really, not after the third drink, which makes me think..."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me when I can kill Cody."

"I think I won't need him after the next couple of months," the clone joked back. "And you haven't done anything weird, don't worry about that."

Quinlan resisted the urge to shake the guy to make him spill the beans more quickly: he wanted all the details and also incidentally to know if he had humiliated himself, was it really too much to ask?

"How did I get home?"

"I brought you back, you were surprisingly coherent and stable on your legs but not enough to find your way back or walk on your own."

He had taken him back. To his room. Bloody hell.

"And... did we...?"

"You kissed me. You were really very drunk, I don't blame you."

"... is that all?"

"What do you mean ‘is that all’?! That's more than enough!"

"What, was that your first kiss?"

His tone was mocking, he felt too relieved that nothing really intimate had taken place to be observing, listening or empathising, but he was quickly called to order.

"Yes, it was, so what? You're the one who-"

"I'm sorry," Quinlan interrupted him softly, ashamed at the very thought of what it must have felt like for him to have someone so close and forcibly kissing him.

He would not wish it on anyone, the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability was terrible, the confirmed lack of choice was hell to overcome. He did not want to presume that for him a first kiss was something important, it was not for everyone, but the imposition of this kind of act was disturbing whatever the situation. And a drunk man could react badly very quickly.

"I know unpleasant it can be when this sort of thing happens to you, I've never been drunk so I didn't know I could do something like this but... it's my fault. If you want to contact the Order to ask for someone else I'd understand."

He would have every right to feel attacked and unsafe with him, it was an unfortunate incident but sometimes you just had to accept the consequences of your own errors.

"Don't be so dramatic," the clone sighed, rolling his eyes. "You were a gigantic clingy mess, you wouldn't let me go, and you kissed me good night. Like I said, nothing horrible, and I knew you weren't thinking straight. Can we just pretend it didn't happen?"

Quinlan shrugged and continued eating without saying anything.

Acting like nothing had happened, even when it was disturbing from both a personal and professional point of view? Yeah, no worries, he could do it. He even had experience of it.