Sorry for the long wait. I decided to change the title of the story because the old one just didn't seem to fit anymore. The new one comes from a song by Trading Yesterday with the same title. I suggest listening to it; it's pretty good. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

I d not own Star Wars.

Shades awoke with an instant knowledge that something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, or where the feeling came from, but something was wrong. Maybe a smell that wasn't quite right, a sound that was out of place, a shadow that moved a little too quickly, or a gentle gust of air that made his skin prickle. He didn't know what, but something wasn't right.

Shades cracked an eye open, just enough to see through his lashes. The room wasn't entirely dark; light filtered in through the partially tinted windows from the base outside and glowed dully from the reflective strips that lined the walkway between the bunks. The sound of sleeping men filled the room, grunts and snores interspersed with indistinct mumbles, and, under it all, the quiet hum of the AC unit. Then something moved and Shades turned his head sharply in its direction, his eyes snapping open.

But it was only Wiley making his quiet way back to his bunk. Whatever business he'd had to take care of had taken a long time; the glowing chrono above his bunk read 0256. Each of Wiley's steps dragged on the carpet, as though he carried something heavy on his back. He looked weary and footsore, worn out, and yet he seemed to be walking straighter for some reason.

Shades propped himself up on his elbows as the other clone came level with his bunk and raised questioning eyebrows. "Well, what kept you out so late? Did Captain Poul keep you up scrubbing floors?" When no response was forthcoming, Shades smirked. "Was it a girl?" he asked slyly.

Wiley's back stiffened slightly and he turned to face the sergeant. His face was blanketed in the room's darkness, and his eyes swam with shadows, all accept for two small pinpricks of light at their centers.

"No." His voice was horse and slightly raspy. "I was…talking to someone."

Shades sat up fully now, curious. "Really? Who?"

But Wiley only shook his head, taking a step back. His entire body was swallowed by the shadows cast by his bunk. Shades could only make out the points of light still reflected in his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

A black figure materialized out of nowhere, dark, bulky, and totally silent. Strong hands grasped Shades, preventing him from fighting back. An armored forearm dung into his throat, cutting off his air and silencing him. A T-shaped visor loomed close in his blurring vision, its blue glow highlighting the familiar features of the armor. Shades stared in wide-eyed shock at the clone that was pinning him bodily to his bunk.

He didn't understand. What was happening? This can't be right. There must be some mistake. What's going on?

The black ops commando pressed a hypo to his neck, injecting him with something. Shades fought against the pull of narcotic induced sleep, but it was too strong. The drug was already taking control of his body, shutting him down from the inside out. The last thing he saw was that dark, emotionless helmet hovering over him, and, in the background, Wiley, his eyes reflecting an odd mixture of remorse and triumph.

What's happening?

Then darkness descended, and reality fell away.

Everything came back slowly. He was aware of a sensation like static electricity running across his skin. His eyes felt dry and gritty, and his nose itched. But when he tried to move his hand to scratch it, nothing happened. Shades furrowed his brow in confusion and tried again, yanking harder. It was only after several seconds of fruitless effort that he realized that both his arms were stretched out above his head. Then he realized that he wasn't lying down, but floating in an upright position. Finally, he forced his eyes opened.

Shades hung in a column of glowing blue energy, shackles attached to his wrists and ankles holding his suspended. Besides his prison, the only other thing in the room was an uncomfortable looking metal chair. The walls were bare of adornment. Every surface had a complete absence of dust. The lights lit the room with an industrial harshness, and the walls and floor absorbed it greedily, giving back only a sullen gleam. This room was a shrine to coldhearted efficiency.

Shades shook his head, trying to clear it of the last lingering effects of the drugs. If he was going to get out of here, he had to be able to think strait.

But his mind was reeling with confusion, a hurricane of questions pounding the insides of his skull.

What's happening? Why am I here? Was I arrested for treason? What did I do? Why wasn't I shot? Are they going to question me?

But no matter how urgent or important those questions were, another though crashed its way through to the front of his mind, howling with anger and disbelief.

A clone did this. A commando, not a trooper, but I still thought we were brothers. How could he do this to me? And what does Wiley have to do with it?

I don't understand.

No answers came to him. Shades hung there for what felt like hours, unable to do anything but think.

The door slid open silently, and a clone wearing armor with a lieutenant's markings on it. He just stood in front of Shades and stared, ignoring the chair.

Shades's brow furrowed in confusion. There was something familiar about the man, but he was sure that he didn't know any of the lieutenants in the 501st. then the man reached up and pulled off his helmet. Shades stared in disbelief and confusion at Wiley's face.

Wait, Wiley's not a lieutenant. When did he get promoted? Why is he here? What's going on?

Shades was getting tired of not having any answers.

Wiley settled down in the chair and rested his chin in his hands, contemplating his words before speaking. Shades waited, body tense.

"Lord Vader wants to know where they are."

Okay…that wasn't what he'd been expecting at all. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

Wiley sneered at him. "Don't play games with me, Shades. Lord Vader knows that you have information that he wants. You might as well spare yourself unnecessary pain and tell me what he wants to know. Where are they?"

Shades was truly dumbfounded. He couldn't make heads or tails of what Wiley was saying, and the other clone's superior attitude was really starting to bug him.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he snapped, not bothering to reign in his frustration.

The sneer slid off Wiley's face to be replaced by a scowl. "Stop playing stupid," he barked, his body straitening from its relaxed position in the chair. "We know you're a Force-user sympathizer. You knew Fib was one and you didn't report it. You're a traitor to the Empire. You know where the rouge Jedi are, don't you? I bet you helped them escape. You betrayed your brothers and Lord Vader's trust. So, where are they?"

Shades's mind spun. There were Jedi who'd escaped the purge? How? Where were they? What were the going to do, overthrow the Empire?

Wait…how does he know about Fib?

Shades stared at Wiley in growing understanding and alarm. He was there when Fib healed Noble. He saw him use the Force. And now Shades was imprisoned for treason and Wiley was a lieutenant. As everything began to come together in the sergeant's mind, something cold oozed down his spine and settled in his stomach.

"Where's Fib?"

Wiley's eyes flickered, and he looked away for an instant. Shades could see betrayal, regret, and satisfaction all mixed up inside the other clone, forming a knot so dense that no light could get through. When Wiley looked back at him, however, only grim resolve and a perverse pride remained.

"I did the right thing. I reported him to Lord Vader. He was apprehended last night at the same time as you." His eyes dulled slightly. "I wish…I wish you didn't have to get involved in this. I like you; you're a good man. But I had no choice. I did my duty. I proved to Lord Vader that I'm loyal, and he rewarded me." Wiley's fingers traced over the new markings on his armor. "I'm not ashamed."

Cold knotted in Shades's stomach. He felt sick. What was loyalty worth, really? Wiley had sold out his brother for a pat on the head from Vader. He'd utterly destroyed the foundation that every clone's life was built on: total trust in your brothers.

"What about Noble?" Shades asked quietly.

Wiley's eyes darkened, and he lowered his chin almost threateningly. "He's not involved in this. He doesn't know anything, so Lord Vader won't pay him any mind."

He glared at Shades, suddenly fierce. "I didn't do this for myself, you know. I did it because it was the right thing to do, but I also did it for him. Now Lord Vader will never doubt my resolve, and he won't even think about questioning my friends' loyalty. And now that I have actual rank, I can really do something for him instead of watching all these incompetent mongrel officers make decisions that could get him killed. I can take care of him now." Wiley nodded to himself absently, like he was convincing himself, not Shades.

Shades just shook his head. No matter what Wiley said, he couldn't comprehend what thoughts the man's twisted mind had come up with in order to rationalize his betrayal of two of his brothers. If Noble ever found out about this, he would be devastated. It would break him, the knowledge of what Wiley was willing to do to keep him safe.

And yet, Shades couldn't find it in himself to hate Wiley for what he'd done. All he could feel was horrified pity. In the end, this was Vader's doing. Vader, the Emperor, and the Empire; all were responsible for creating a world that drove one brother to betray another out of patriotism and fear. They were to blame.

But what about Fib? What had happened to him?

"What are they doing with Fib?"

Wiley hesitated, some of his resolve crumbling as his shoulders drooped. Then he straightened his back, and, as Shades watched, he killed the last vestiges of guilt and uncertainty inside himself and hardened his heart.

"He was executed for treason."

Shades's entire body jerked as though he'd been electrified. He stiffened in his restraints and glared daggers at the other clone. "You're lying. I don't believe you. It's not true!"

Wiley regarded him stonily. "Lord Vader told me himself. He was put down by lethal injection two hours ago. Force-users are too dangerous to be kept alive; it's the Empire's policy to kill them as soon as they're captured."

"No…you're wrong…"

Shades couldn't even hear his own voice over the quiet buzz of the containment field. Words and phrases ran through his head, spinning in a dizzying whirl.

Executed for treason… put down… lethal injection… two hours ago… too dangerous to be kept alive… Lord Vader told me himself…

No… no…

There was an inferno inside of him, burning him alive. His vision had become a crimson smear, leaving everything blotted and distorted. His bones had burst into flames and were crumbling, turning into ash. He was dying… he was dying… Fib was gone.

Shades was finished.

He hung limply in the containment field, not noticing when Wiley left the room and two magna guards entered to take him away. When they released the containment field, he crashed to the ground, not bothering to break his fall. The droids hauled him up between them and carried him out of the room and into a lift that began to descend. They went down… down… down.

Shades didn't care anymore. He was finished.

They exited the lift and entered a huge room with level upon level of cells. The place was filled with piteous cries and moans of beings caught in an endless nightmare that they would never wake from. This underground compound had been constructed specifically to hold the enemies of the Empire.

Most of the cells were full.

The magna guards climbed up seven levels before stopping outside one cell. The walls were made of cold, bare metal, while the floor and ceiling were made of grating so that the prisoner inside could see into the cells above and below him. A hazy orange force field blocked the entrance, but it fizzled out when one of the droids entered the access code. They threw Shades inside and the shield sprang back to life.

Shades's face scraped across the rough grating, but he didn't react, not even when the sharp metal tore the skin of his cheek and blood spilled out. His eyes wandered slowly around the room, seeing everything… taking in nothing.

He didn't care what happened anymore. Fib was gone, and he wanted to die.

But he wouldn't get his wish. The Empire still thought he knew where the last surviving Jedi were. They'd keep him alive until they'd gotten the answers they wanted from him. But he didn't have any answers.

Shades's eyes fluttered closed in despair.

Something touched him, poking at him through the grate work, poking his injured cheek. Shades shifted his face away. The poking persisted, became a sharp prodding. Shades growled quietly in frustration. Why wouldn't the idiot beneath him leave him alone?

"Bug off," he muttered.

"Bug off yourself," snapped a familiar voice. "Get up, you idiot. Are you alright?"

Shades's eyes opened slowly. He stared down at a bright shock of red hair framing a worried face that stared up at him through the grate.

That's it, he thought. I've lost my mind. Gone insane with grief. Now I'm hallucinating.

The face beneath him crumpled into a scowl. "I am not a hallucination." Then the finger that had been poking him dug viciously into the gash in his cheek.

Red hot pain flared and Shades bolted upright, yowling in protest. He slapped a hand to his cheek and felt his own slick blood cover his fingers. The man beneath him flinched in empathy.

"Sorry."

Shades stared at him, the pain in his cheek forgotten as he finally registered what he was seeing. Fib was shirtless, dressed only in his long gray sleep pants. There were bruises on his biceps and chest and one on his cheek. His eyes were tired and a little too bright, and there was a strange metal collar fastened tightly around his neck.

"You're alive."

Fib scowled. "Of course I'm alive. I think I'd know if I was dead, being a medic and all."

"But Wiley said—"

"Wiley lied."

"But he said that Vader told him—"

"Then Vader lied to him. Honestly, Shades, think for a second. What reason in the galaxy would Vader have to tell Wiley the truth? He probably told him I was dead to keep him from sticking his nose into it."

What Fib was saying made sense, but Shades's beleaguered brain just couldn't keep up. Suddenly it was all too much: the grief at losing Fib; the overwhelming relief that he was really alive; the anger at Wiley's betrayal; the bewilderment at the whole situation.

Shades's exhausted body crumpled in on itself, and he pressed himself flat against the grate. He shoved his fingers as far as they would go through the holes, not caring that the metal scratched them. Beneath him, Fib stretched up to meet him. He had to stand on his toes and strain a little, but his fingers found the grate and, after a moment of fumbling, touched Shades's.

The sergeant didn't feel the familiar warmth of Force healing taking away his physical pain and mending his cheek. He realized distantly that the collar the medic was wearing must suppress the Force somehow. All he could feel was the ordinary warmth of Fib's fingers.

But it was enough. It would always be enough. As long as he had this, he could continue to live, no matter what happened to him. It was all he needed.

A random memory came to him then. He and Edi had been talking. He couldn't remember what had started the conversation, but it had somehow come around to the subject of attachment.

"It's not love that the Jedi fear," Edi had said. "Not precisely. It's attachment; selfish love, if you will. When your need for someone or something is so great that you put it before everything else. When you refuse to let them go, even when it's their time. That is what Jedi fear leads to the Dark Side."

So this is attachment, Shades thought. This is what Jedi fear? The need to be something greater than just yourself? Well, I wonder if I'm turning to the Dark Side.

He laughed a little to himself. As though it mattered. He was already in too deep. He'd invested too much of himself in Fib to simply withdraw to a safe, detached distance. It was too late for him to go back.

Besides, he didn't want to.

Please review.

mad'ika