Shout-out to Guild of Scribes for the prompt!

He isn't on Coruscant all that much. Actually, strike that. He isn't on Coruscant's surface levels all that much. They make him uncomfortable and so he avoids stepping foot up top if at all possible. Down hundreds of levels deeper is where he feels almost at home and he's not sure what that says about him. It is there that the planet's thieves, murderers, drug-dealers, bounty hunters, and worse dwell and do business, and it is there that he often spends his time.

Undercover, of course. Because he's not actually the villainous type, but he wears it very well. Too well, some might say (most might say). Not that he cares what others think about him; he's simply doing his job to the best of his abilities and if that makes them feel uneasy towards him then so be it. Quinlan Vos will not be influenced by mere opinions.

Nevertheless, the disapproving looks he receives from those that know something about him (or think they do) are definitely enough to irritate him. So as he strides through the Temple's well-lit and extremely clean corridors, he does nothing to hide his scowl. He hopes his time here will only be a matter of hours before he and Obi-wan depart. He'd been anything but pleased when he'd received word that the Council had requested his expertise specifically. Force knows that there are at least a few others that share his skill-set, though perhaps not quite to his level. Even so…

Quinlan glares at a Jedi that openly frowns at him as they approach each other. "Bugger off," he spits when they pass. The Jedi looks suitably offended, but Quinlan storms past, not bothering with a second glance. He turns one last corner, surveys the name plaques on the nearest doors and knocks briefly on the one that bears Kenobi's name. After a couple of seconds, he raises his fist to impatiently knock a second time, but the door opens before he can do so.

Obi-wan needs only one glance to see that he is in a terrible mood. "Vos," he greets, expression flat. "You're looking as cheerful as ever."

He glares and shoves his way inside. "You can bugger off too," he mutters.

"Charmed."

Quinlan stops short when he sees a lanky young man sprawled on the sofa reading a printout. "Who are you?"

The young man lowers the flimsi with a scowl and Obi-wan sighs. "Quinlan Vos, this is my former padawan, Anakin Skywalker. Anakin, Quinlan. Please try to refrain from killing each other."

Quinlan grunts in Anakin's direction and then turns towards Obi-wan. "So. Ziro. What do we have so far?"

Obi-wan opens his mouth to reply, but Anakin speaks first. "Where did they dig you up from? Some slummy lower-level ghetto? Judging from the way you look and feel it's no wonder they keep you at a distance."

"Anakin –"

Quinlan cuts his old friend off with a raised hand. "Yes, actually, which is why I look this way. I also happen to prefer this look, so you can bugger off too," he growls.

The kid glares back before raising the flimsi again. "Tooska chai mani…" he mutters.

"Watch your manners, boy," Quinlan mutters back. The kid looks surprised that he had understood and he shoots him a dark smirk before glancing around. His eyes come to rest on a pile of reports stacked neatly on the kitchen counter. He looks at Obi-wan while stepping towards it. The Jedi master looks annoyed. "Are these the reports?"

Obi-wan nods. "On the bottom, yes."

He slides the top half off and freezes. It's odd this time; he sees nothing, but he feels it very clearly. Force, he can almost smell it. Sort of. It's bitter and sharp and it bites. He visibly flinches and draws his hand back as if stung.

Obi-wan notices and his expression changes immediately. "Vos? What's wrong?"

He swallows and continues to stare at the pages he'd touched. This scent is much stronger than the traces he's come across before. The short list of names he's catalogued comes to the forefront of his mind as do the faces that match. They are the dangerous ones, the smart ones, the schemers. The ones that he's never been able to pin evidence to. The ones that always get away with things. There has always been a distinct edge to those ones. Something different than the average criminal.

Something dark.

"Where did you get these ones?" he asks, pointing yet careful not to touch.

Obi-wan's expression is schooled into a serious frown and he's quick to answer. "Those are Senate notes that Anakin is going over for the Chancellor…"

"Palpatine?"

"Yeah," Anakin grunts from his position. "I just came from his office."

Quinlan turns towards the kid and extends a hand, gesturing. "Can I have that one?"

Anakin hesitates, but one glance at Obi-wan's expression has him handing it over. "What's going on?"

"I felt something…" he begins and then grits his teeth when he has the page in his hand. "You got this directly from the Chancellor?"

"Yes." The man is visibly confused.

Obi-wan takes a step closer. "Quinlan… what do you see?"

He turns his eyes on Kenobi. "Nothing. But I feel something very clearly and it's definitely not good." When the other Jedi remain silent, he takes a seat on the table's surface, a few inches to the right of the disheveled stack of flimsi. Turning towards Skywalker, he skewers the boy with a firm look and continues. "You said I felt like someone from the lower levels. Explain."

Still obviously confused, the young Jedi sits up and holds Quinlan's gaze. "Dirty. You feel dirty, like your signature is sort of, I don't know… murky? Shady?"

Quinlan nods. "Right. That makes sense. I spend most of my time interacting with those that live in the slums of society. Not all of them are bad people, but many of them are and I tend to come away somewhat stained most of the time, but I also won't blame all of it on them. I've got my own issues too. I'm a little messed up." Here he grins, genuinely amused by his own private joke. "Slightly off, you might say, but I guess that's a good thing. Maybe it's why I'm so good at what I do…"

"Quin," Obi-wan interrupts with a pointed look. "The Chancellor?"

He shakes his head, still eyeing the Skywalker lad with curiosity. "Yes, that man is rotten, but I'll get to that. You on the other hand," he says, pointing a calloused finger at Anakin, "need some help."

Anakin looks simultaneously insulted and worried. "What?"

When Quinlan finally looks at his childhood friend, he finds that the man is not remotely surprised and looks very, very tired. Drained. "And you know it," he finishes, directing the words at Obi-wan. "I swear," he mutters, standing once more and lightly brushing his fingers against the treacherous pages. A cold chill snakes up his spine and he grits his teeth. "You Temple-dwellers need to open your eyes a little more and you need to think, blast it. You cannot ignore this," he states, eyeing the two. Sometimes he thinks his fellow Jedi are clueless idiots. Sighing, he moves towards the door.

"What are you talking about?" the boy snaps. "You can't just leave. The Chancellor's a good man; he's done nothing wrong and he's helping me out, so you can't just –"

Whirling, Quinlan silences the boy with a single, steely-eyed glare. "You carry a darkness with you, Skywalker. A very heavy darkness. One that affects the mind and the heart. Trust me when I tell you that I can tell the difference between a common criminal and the not-so-common. Palpatine falls into the latter group and he's begun to poison you. Wake. Up." He stops himself, because if he continues then he'll say things that no Jedi should be heard saying. Not even him.

"Quin." Obi-wan's voice is quiet. Resigned, but firm now. Unyielding. "What are you going to do?"

He eyes the other man. "I'm going to find Mace and Yoda and deal with this. And you –" He stops himself again, but this time it's because Obi-wan looks suddenly amused. Still bone-weary and resigned, but somehow amused.

"Bossing me around again, Vos?" he quips. "Bad habit, but I admit it comes in useful at times. I'll stay here and deal with…" he trails off, smiling sadly as he gestures between himself and Anakin. "… this."

Satisfied, Quinlan leaves. He's never been one to linger long when something needs doing.

As he marches back through the maze of hallways, lifts, and stairwells, he forgets entirely about Ziro. The hutt is only a common criminal. Mild filth. Quinlan Vos has a much larger and more challenging quarry in mind.

***oo***

He has a reputation as a peerless tracker due to his unique ability to see, feel, and smell (his term for it) things simply through touch. It's why they called him away from his other missions in order to track Ziro. Save some time, because why not when they have a man who can do the job quicker than the rest? Pairing him with Kenobi had been a choice born from lack of trust; if the man had been able to keep Skywalker under control, then surely he can keep Vos on a leash as well.

They expect the two to be successful.

What they don't expect is for Vos to barge into an informal Council meeting, demand an audience with Mace and Yoda alone, and then bring the war to a screeching halt with four words:

"I found your Sith."