I do not own Star Wars.

The war was over.

On every occupied planet, the Separatists' droid army had been shut down. The leaders of the Confederation of Independent Systems were dead. Grievous was dead. The Jedi traitors were dead.

The war was over.

The Republic itself had become a casualty of the war. In its place now stood the first Galactic Empire, and at its head stood Emperor Palpatine. Things changed with frightening efficiency, as though everyone had known this would happen and had simply been waiting. New security laws were enacted for the people's own good. Beings were encouraged to keep tabs on their family and neighbors and to report any possibly treacherous behavior to the authorities. Even names were changed: the Grand Army of the Republic became the Imperial Army, clone troopers were Stormtroopers, Galactic City had become Imperial City, and Coruscant itself was now Imperial Center.

The army had been recalled. All across the galaxy, legions and companies, battalions and units, all had left their bases unoccupied and their battles unfought and returned to the new Imperial capital to be reorganized and reassigned.

The war was over. The Jedi were dead and the Separatists had surrendered. They had won.

Then why thought Shades, do I feel like we lost?

He sat quietly on his new bunk and looked around the unfamiliar barracks, watching the movements of clones whose names he didn't know. The atmosphere was subdued. No one was speaking above a whisper, and everyone was trying not to make unnecessary noise. It was nothing like his bunkroom on the Starlight had been. Shades had shared it with seven other brothers, and they'd all been close—and rambunctious. Banter and pillow fights had been regular occurrences, even the occasional practical joke. Shades had known each man's distinct breathing pattern and had been lulled to sleep by them countless times. There was nothing familiar about this bunkroom, neither the men nor their behavior. Maybe they were simply reacting to the atmosphere of uncertainty and unease that had engulfed the whole army. Or maybe they were always like this in the 501st.

Like the rest of the army, Renegade Company had been recalled to Coruscant. Imperial City, not Coruscant anymore. The journey had been made in eerie silence. No one had talked unless absolutely necessary. Captain Thorn had stood on the bridge, directing the crew with steely glances and hard silence. Gone was the stern but kind man that had acted as older brother to the company and served as an anchoring force in the roughest weather. He'd died on the final day of the war, at the same time that he'd put his blaster to Edi's chin—Shades's mind threw up barriers between itself and the memory of what he and Fib had found when they'd returned to the camp. Even the slightest glimpse of those memories was enough to have him on his knees, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach as he choked on sobs.

Fib had spent the entire trip secluded in medbay, and after the first six hours, Shades had joined him. He understood perfectly why the medic couldn't stand to be near anyone; if Shades could plainly feel the betrayal and anguish that had swallowed the entire ship, it had to be ten times worse for Fib, who could feel others' pain as though it was his own. Shades was quickly coming to the conclusion that nothing good could come of being Force-sensitive, especially now.

He'd found some solace in his brother's presence, a distraction from the pain, even though they'd barely said a word to each other. The nights had been the worst. After the first night, Shades had taken his pillow and blanket and retreated to the medbay. He'd been quite happy to sleep on the floor of Fib's small room adjoining the medbay, but he'd ended up in the bed with his brother, huddling close for comfort. Shades wasn't a cuddly sort of person, and neither was Fib, but they'd both needed the closeness.

Things were a little better, but not much. Shades had woken up countless times from nightmares full of blood and screams. Other times, Fib had woken him with his own nightmares. Shades would regain consciousness hearing a familiar voice calling, and for a moment he'd think it was Edi. Then he'd recognize Fib's voice, he'd remember everything, and the world would break around him yet again.

Fib's nightmares didn't seem to be the same as Shades's. He didn't dream about what happened on Beta Gabriel. Instead, he moaned and twisted in his sleep, calling out names in a whispery, desperate voice. Some names Shades recognized: Kenobi, Mace Windu, Secura, Yoda; and others he didn't know: Rube Dune, Zaran Sparr, Etain. At one point, Shades distinctly heard Fib sob, "General Skywalker, why did you do this?"

The only thing Shades could do was to try to comfort his brother. He'd wrapped himself around the other man and held him tightly, praying that it would all just end.

Everything had changed when they'd reached Coruscant. Renegade Company had been disbanded, the clones reassigned to different legions. Shades himself had been assigned to Quasar Company in the 501st. He didn't know where any of his brothers had been sent. He suspected he'd never see any of them again.

Shades pulled his feet up onto the bed and wrapped his arms around them, holding his knees to his chest. He winced and shifted as his new armor pinched uncomfortably. He'd been given a new set of white armor when he'd been assigned his bunk. Shades didn't like the new phase IV armor. It pinched in strange places and rubbed uncomfortably against his thighs and lower back. The helmet smelled different from his old one. There were no smells associated with a man who lived inside it almost twenty-four/seven. The helmet smelled new and fresh. It smelled dead.

And he could swear the thing was staring at him. Shades glanced at the helmet that sat next to him on his bunk, then reached out and turned it so that the visor faced the wall.

"Creepy, isn't it?"

Shades glanced up at the clone on the bunk across from him. The top half of his bodysuit was hanging loosely around his waist and he was still wearing his leg armor. His hair was a standard buzz cut, save for the yellow stripe down the center. He gave Shades a lopsided smile and leaned across the space between their bunks, hand extended.

"Name's Wiley."

Shades paused, then accepted the gesture, clasping his brother's forearm just below the elbow. "Shades."

"So, Shades," said Wiley, settling back on his bunk. "You're new to the glorious five-oh-first. Where you from?"

The question was simple, the answer was simple, but the emotions and memories that were tied in with it were anything but. Shades's throat tightened and his eyes burned. He was suddenly swamped with a grief so overwhelming that he actually felt his heart stutter in his chest. He wanted to scream and cry and beat his fists bloody against the wall. But he couldn't, not here, not with these men. They may have had his face, but they were strangers. They hadn't known Edi, they hadn't loved her, and they had no right to see him cry for her, even if she was a traitor and didn't deserve tears. These men were clones, but they weren't his brothers.

Shades coughed harshly to clear his throat before answering. "I was in Renegade Company."

Wiley nodded thoughtfully before glancing at the chrono on the wall. He cursed quietly and started yanking on his bodysuit and attaching his plates. "Better suit up, Shades. Don't want to miss the briefing."

"What briefing?"

"The briefing being given by his Imperial Majesty himself, Lord Vader. They're doing some shuffling in the five-oh-first command structure and Lord Vader wants to brief the legion personally. Gotta hand it to the guy, he sure knows how to boost morale. Leading by example, and all that."

Shades grabbed his helmet and stood up, waiting for the other clone to finish dressing. He'd heard of this Lord Vader, but he'd never seen the man in person. Assuming he was a man. Anything could be under that helmet. It bothered Shades, imagining what might be under there. He wished he could see. To most people, it would seem strange that a clone would be uncomfortable seeing a helmet and not the face behind it. But Shades always knew what was behind his brothers' helmets. There were small variations in hair color and scaring, but in the end, it was all the same, familiar face. With Vader… who knew.

Shades and Wiley left the bunkroom together. They dawned their helmets and were instantly lost in a sea of identical white armor.

The briefing room was enormous. It would have to be to accommodate a legion of 5,000 men. There were rows of folding chairs bolted to the floor and a raised platform at the front. Shades followed Wiley down to the second row of seats. "You're going to want a good view," the other clone explained. All the seats were soon filled. They'd only been waiting for two minutes before Lord Vader entered the room.

There was one snap of armor as every man sprang to attention. Being so close to the front, Shades had an excellent view of the man. His first impression was of a huge dark figure that filled half the room. Vader was tall, at least a good head taller than any clone. A long black cloak billowed from his shoulders as he paced to the center of the stage. He turned to face his audience, and Shades finally got a full front view. The helmet was intimidating in person, with a sleek black dome like a human skull; large, bulbous black eyes that resembled those of some cave-dwelling fish; and a square, bulky jaw that reminded Shades of a predator's mouth crammed full of spiny teeth. Each breath that pumped out of his chest filled the room, rattling like the breath of a dying man. When he finally spoke, it was in a deep voice, a voice that demanded that all take notice and obey. "At ease. Be seated."

Shades sat in unison with the rest of the men. Vader didn't waste time on pleasantries or psych games. He launched right into what he had to say. He spoke plainly and directly and right to his men. He didn't talk down to them because they were clones. And there was so much certainty behind every word as he spoke about the Jedi's betrayal that, for a second, Shades began to believe that everything had turned out for the best. Then his new armor gave him a sharp pinch, and the spell was broken.

Anger crashed down on him. He could go for hours without thinking of the Jedi's betrayal, then it would hit him and the world would end all over again. How could they do that to us? We died for them and they were just using us, like everyone else. And yet, when he thought of Edi, denial roared up in him so strongly that it left him dizzy. He couldn't believe that Edi had known about it; there was no way that she could have been in on the plan. She'd simply been caught in the crossfire, yet another innocent victim in the Jedi's high-minded attempt to save the galaxy. That had to be it. She couldn't have betrayed them. She couldn't have…

Vader was wrapping up his motivational speech with an injunction to watch everyone, because Force-users could be anyone and anywhere, and it was their duty as Imperial Stormtroopers to report any suspected Force-user immediately. Apparently, the fate of the galaxy depended on it.

Now that Shades was listening to what Vader was saying instead of how he was saying it, it all sounded like a load of osik, at least the part about Force-users being a threat to galactic security. Fib was a Force-user, and he had no interest in overthrowing the Empire. He glanced over at Wiley to see what he thought of it all. It was obvious by the man's body language—perched on the edge of the seat, hands clasping knees, chin tilted up—that the other clone was hanging on Vader's every word.

The speech had started quickly and was over quickly. Vader had already swept off the stage before Shades had realized that they'd been dismissed. Once Lord Vader had left the room, the clones began filing toward the exit, though there was no sense of urgency to the movement. Many even took off their helmets.

"That was really something, wasn't it?" sighed Wiley as he slid off his helmet. "Lord Vader really knows what he's talking about."

"I guess," Shades mumbled. He wasn't in the mood for talking.

Wiley continued on, oblivious. "I mean, those Jedi got what was coming to them. They betrayed the Republic and the Chancellor's trust. That's just unforgivable. And did you hear the part about 'bringing the hammer of Imperial justice down on their scheming heads'? Brilliant, just brilliant. Lord Vader's got the right idea. Get rid of all the Force-users so that normal people can live in peace. I can tell you, I'm behind him one hundred percent." He reached into the crowd and snagged another clone that was walking by himself. His head was shaved clean and he wore a quiet, thoughtful expression on his face. "Wha'd you think, Noble?"

Noble considered before answering, his left hand fingering his chin lightly. "He had some valid points," he said slowly. "But I feel that he was missing some crucial evidence that could have given him a stronger foundation for his argument."

"Whatever," said Wiley, smacking his brother playfully but sharply on the head. He leaned over to Shades and said in a loud whisper designed to be overheard, "Ignore Noble. He doesn't know what he's talking about more than half the time. I think the Kaminoans spiked his growth vat with something that kept enough oxygen from getting to his brain."

Shades raised his eyebrows. He'd thought Noble had made a good point.

"Anyway," said Wiley in a normal voice, "Noble, this is Shades, formerly of Renegade Company. He's in Quasar, like us."

Noble nodded solemnly to Shades, but didn't say anything.

Wiley tossed an arm over Shades's shoulders. "Don't mind him, he doesn't talk much." Shades's jaw twitched in annoyance. He didn't know what right this man thought he had to treat him as though they were friends. Wiley continued rambling, oblivious to Shades's dour mood. "You know, you're not the first newbie we've got. 'bout six others arrived 'round same time you did, all vets. They're doin' a major shakeup in the army."

Shades stopped listening after that. He let his eyes roam ahead, idly scanning over different hairstyles and white helmets. Then his eye caught something, and his body reacted before his mind could register what was going on. He'd ducked out from under Wiley's arm and was shoving his way through the crowd before he'd even realized what he'd seen: a flash of red.

It can't be. No way in haran that he'd end up here with me. No kriffing way.

There were cries of protest from the clones he'd shoved aside, but Shades didn't care. He felt like he was forcing his way upstream, fighting against a strong current that was determined to keep him from his goal. He stretched out his arm, straining to reach. Almost there, almost there…

His grasping fingers closed on an armored shoulder, and he yanked, spinning the guy around. He saw an indignant face, black eyebrows drawn together in a scowl over warm brown eyes that widened in shock when they saw him. Bright red hair fell into the man's eyes.

"Shades?" he whispered in a quiet, disbelieving voice.

For an instant, he couldn't speak. That face, that familiar, beautiful, loved face carried so many memories with it that for a second, he was choked with grief all over again. Then a familiar hand touched the side of his face, gently cupping his cheek, and all the aches from exhaustion and tenderness where his armor had rubbed dissolved away. With the physical pain went the heartache, at least enough that he could find his voice.

"Hey, Fib."

This really will be my last post for a while. College starts Sunday. Please review.

mad'ika