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Dogma has always been…different.
Tup had known this from the day the long neck introduced the other clone to the squad after Nova’s death. He had been smaller than regulations, thinner, and looking fiercely spooked to death when guided to stand amongst his new squad but it wasn’t his skittish nature that had any of their attention. No, that belonged to the other’s hair shaved off revealing the surgical scars on each side of his head (it’s only later once they are old enough that an older clone in the facility fills them in, that the marks were leftovers from a case of reconditioning, a wider known solution to ‘problem’ clones) and the scarred half across his face, more jagged as it cuts its way down narrowing avoiding his eye. But by then some sense of manners had been beaten into them by their older clone trainer to know better than to ask about the scar's origins. So instead their curiosity was buried deep to wait for the new clone himself to tell the story once they gained his trust.
Tup doesn’t think Dogma ever told them how he got the scars on his face.
It was back then something so fresh and new that it still was healing despite the bacta regularly applied to the marks. It’s this thought that commonly comes to Tup when he worries for the other when nerves are pressed and in moments like these where the whole squad was itching to find their missing vod. If Dogma hasn’t come to trust them by now enough to tell them the scars' origins, then does he trust them enough to talk about anything else happening to him? The worries come slowly as Tup paces around their squad’s designated space in the barracks, unease rolling about like the ocean waves outside surely were doing now.
He was late.
Dogma was late .
A glance at the clocks showed their designated Rest was approaching fast, and soon final checks would be done to make sure no cadet was missing from their pods. Dogma always made sure to be first back for checks, happily parking himself in his pod while he chatted with the squad about their lessons from the day or kept quizzing them on regulations (much to their ire) with excuses it was to keep them all fresh on the rules.
Tup would do anything to hear the nagging voice of his vod telling him how his hair was nearing regulation length and to cut it down already before trouble came about.
A glance down one way then another, but no clones lingering there held the familiar scars he desperately looked for now.
Dogma was late .
“It’ll be fine, Tup.” Leaning down to stare at his batchmate, Turbo looked as sure as Tup felt. “He will turn up. Dogma is never late.”
“Yeah, I am sure he will slide in with minutes to spare!” Slots elbowed Times for that comment, and both began exchanging blows with harsh whisper yells that Tup ignored as he peaked down both ways again with no sight of their missing vod.
“He will show up, Tup.” Vex pats his shoulder and guides Tup away from his endless tracking, pulling out an old deck for sabacc. “Come on, let’s pass the time and rob Turbo of his ration stash again.”
“I can hear you, kriffer!”
Being a squad for so long meant they each knew the others inside out, from their favorite food to favorite trainer to the best way to distract a worry vod, and soon Tup’s mind slowly faded on worrying about Dogma. He trusted his batch to know what is right and wrong. They were right, they always were so they had to be right about this too. Dogma would turn up, he had to.
-
He's always been a bit different from the other vod’e.
Not to say that difference was bad amongst millions wearing the same voice, body, and well, everything. Where being a copy was the norm and everyone struggled for self, a little self-expression was valued as Beskar is to Mandalorians.
But his own self, the part that made him unique in a way amongst others, was too different he learned.
Too rigged, too polite, too by the books and following orders down to the last mark. All these things he believed he had to be if he wanted to be the perfect soldier and do what he was made for.
He was different from the others, but in a bad way that didn't get envied by onlookers when he passed by, not like how CC ranks or alphas were. No, this way was one where it left him alone; outcast to edges of squad drills, where his only friend had been another outcast (though Dogma would never give Tup up for anything), where trust is freely given to others was not offered in turn to him unless ordered.
It's this difference that led to many nights of envy, of loneliness, and dread where he could not help but eye the piles of vods that grew around the barracks to keep warmth as he lay by himself on his pod. The separation of himself and them was striking to where eventually Dogma simply gave up trying to become one and rather simply be himself. (Tup always said that if they truly loved him, they would accept him as he was, not how they wanted him to be. Dogma truly thinks Tup has too much faith in the world after that.)
Even with everything including cold nights and isolation thought only to come from solo training, Dogma still loved every one of his vod. Even his tormentors who messed his organization up, teased him about his name, and all the other horrible things he struggled to put out of his head. Despite it all, Dogma knew he loved too much and wanted, no, needed to prove his loyalty to his brothers once and for all.
He had to show them and finally earn his spot amongst his squad like Tup always said he had.
Which made sneaking out to see the alpha clone who ran the illegal inking surprisingly easy.
The alpha was skeptical upon seeing the design, asking if he was sure when told and stubborn as Prime had been himself, Dogma reassured it was what he wanted. A head was shaken, and they guided him to lay down in the pod bed, telling the younger clone that if he needed to that there was no shame in tapping out to stop or take breaks. The look sent his way only firmed Dogma up inside as he nodded the go-ahead as the machine switched on loudly buzzing. The pain that followed was excruciating and was full of breaks eventually forced by the alpha to let the young trooper be able to breathe once they realized Dogma was refusing to give himself the breathing room, and by the end, Dogma was lightheaded as he was forced to lay down until the other was sure he won't pass out in a hall when he finally made his way back to the barracks.
A mirror shard ends up in his hands passed by the alpha clone and he tilts to get a good look at his new ink, despite the pain that came from moving muscles, he smiled in delight that the alpha mimicked back down. With a pat on his shoulder with praise of having more nerves of steel than most arcs they have done prior, Ink let him go with time to get back.
He had been so proud to show his mark off, his stake of loyalty to his squad, to show he was one of them that he beelined back to the barracks with time to barely spare before roll call.
Turning into their designated area, Dogma let the emotionless mask slip that he constructed for Kamonians and let a small smile seep out as he called out to them.
Dogma will never quite forget their reactions, not even Tup's.
He walked in barely before their scheduled rest time when the entire squad would be around and that was just as Dogma had wanted it to be, that this moment would become a fond squad memory to be talked about down the road.
They all were sitting on the floor, an illegal game of sabacc in the making when one looked up past a squad mate, gaze landing directly on Dogma.
"Wayii!" Was exclaimed before everyone was turned around, eyes blinking, and Dogma fought to keep his smile, though shy, on. He knew it would be a shock to them, this having never been something he ever thought of doing until today by chance.
A leap of faith into the Vod’e one could say.
"Hey, guys."
"Dogma?" Tup is up by his side first. Hands ghosting over his face, not touching the obviously irritated skin, and looking worried as he looked closer with a serious frown on his face.
That...that wasn't the expression Dogma had hoped for if he was honest. He expected more happiness, more glee, some laughs, and good-natured shoulder smacks.
"Who did this to you?" Tup's question felt like a blow to the stomach.
"What-? No-" There had to be a misunderstanding; this was his decision. Couldn’t they see that?
"Don't cover up for anyone, Dogma, this is too far!" Tup wouldn’t listen.
Behind him, several heads nod in agreement, and Dogma’s heart drops as more words are spoken.
"Tup has a point. No way you would do this of your free will, we know you like orders and everyone knows how the long necks feel about tattoos."
Dogma felt himself spiraling, knees weak and unable to speak as Tup worked himself into anger few knew personally. The others guided them both to a pod to sit on together as they not so quietly whispered about what the letter ‘V’ could have meant, what bastard forced Dogma to get the tattoo, and what had been the aim when they marked their fifth.
"Vorpan? Others always talked about how 'green' he was with no regulations."
"Maybe he was told it was 've'vut' but instead aimed for 'vheh?'? There was that group who called him dirt under their shoes before-"
"Ver'mircit? Hostage to his own self dogma?"
"Vaar or varr'ika? Dogma's growth always was slow-"
"A mocking vutyc or verd'ika?"
"Vhett?"
That one had Dogma not hearing the rest, hand coming up to touch sore skin uncaring of the pain flaring under his harsh grip.
Was...was that how people really saw him? Is this how they see him when they look at him every day?
Not vod, not Dogma, just...that?
"I swear we will find the kriffers who did this, Dogma-" Tup vehemently promises, and Dogma pulls away, curling on his bed with his back to them. The others mistake his tears for humiliation instead of sadness and heartbreak as they console their vod before having to scatter to their own pods when the Kaminoan doing roll checks came walking into the hall.
"Wer'cuy." He speaks, voice barely even as he slaps the controls to shut his pod, to get away from them. "Wer'cuy."
It didn't matter anymore, the moment was ruined and for Dogma, his once pride was now a source of permanent humiliation inked on skin that he forever would have to wear.
-
The battle of Umbara changed many things in his life.
Well, many clones lives in reality.
The view of jedi now tipped from permanent hero worship to uncontained unease after General Kr- that jedi. Many lost someone in this campaign and Tup was no different than them. Where once stood a proud squad of five now stood one amongst the 501st, this campaign having finally stolen his last vod away from him so cruelly that he wasn’t sure he would ever fully trust a jedi again.
Dogma was gone.
Taking a shot, they all wished they could have taken but the other now lost to a bureaucratic system bullshit despite having stopped a monster from taking any more lives. Inside, Tup knew he wouldn’t be able to ever forgive Commander Rex truly for not taking the shot, that he knew General Skywalker would have moved planets to keep one of his favorite clones safe from being taken away, and killing the other jedi would have not changed it one bit.
Dogma hadn’t even been on the General’s radar before Umabra.
And now he wouldn’t be on anyone's anymore-
Whines escaped him as Tup bit down onto his forearm, eyes clenched down tight as he rode out the wave of agony his heart went through.
No, he had to not think like that. Not accepting that his vod was gone already, that there were other alternatives waiting for Dogma beyond- beyond that .
He just wished of all places the 501st and 212th had been sent to after Umbara directly wasn’t the place all clones feared coming back to after any deployment.
Kamino.
The others had been too gentle with him after the campaign. Treating him like he was like the other clone’s from Umbara who found themselves as sole survivors (Dogma was alive ) and hovered like they expected him to shatter like glass any second now with the slightest breeze.
Tup found himself quickly angered by the pity sent his way, how others tried stepping in to get close and offered to help untangle his hair when they saw how bad it had gotten over time, but he barely held back snarls their way. That job didn’t belong to them, it wasn’t theirs and he would only allow one person to ever do that, vocally making sure all in the barrack-room knew this. Desperately Tup had fled the room after that, not being able to take Fives look when Tup had glanced at his right where Dogma had always stayed as if expecting his vod to pipe up in agreement then start untangling his hair for him right then to prove a point.
It’s leaving the room, that the realization hits him that he would never get to feel his vod’s hands in his hair untangling knots again.
Which left him to now, wandering aimlessly with barely held back tears as he traveled the barracks with the intent of finding his group’s old spot in hopes of finding the secretly carved names they all left behind before deployment. He just needs to see them, see the echoes of his team, of Dogma, left behind.
Instead, Tup found himself spotting a familiar figure across a hall, and for a moment, he felt like a cadet again at the sight of the rarely seen on Kamino alpha clone, Ink. In a flash, that horrid ‘V’ tattoo was in his mind, a mystery unsolved and forever would have been until he spotted the very clone who had inked it on Dogma so long ago. He didn’t hesitate to walk right up to the larger clone, anger brewing under his skin.
“Sir.” His clone watcher didn’t raise a fool without manners, even when he felt like the other clone was an enemy to him at the moment.
The rare alpha medic stopped walking, turning to look around and then glance down at him as he stared him in the eyes.
“Yes, soldier?”
“I-please, I need to know. A few years ago when I was a recently ex-cadet, my squad mate got a tattoo from you.”
The other grimaced.
“You’ll need to be clearer about that, vod. I get a lot of clones crawling out of crevices asking for ink when I’m on Kamino daily, things blur after a while you must understand.”
“It was a face tattoo, a larger one.”
“Better. That narrowed it down a lot but I still need details.”
“It was a ‘V’-“
And the medic lights up before Tup, showing he knew EXACTLY who the other was talking about now.
“The tiny bold cadet! Yes, I remember him quite well.”
“He graduated from cadets by that point like me, he was just smaller than normal.” Tup instantly defends like it was the old days when everyone always thought Dogma was a cadet who sneaked into their training sessions.
“Of course, I remember him! Not every day a small vod like that comes up wanting a mark so big. Usually, it’s the troopers about to deploy or those sent back in recovery from war who ask for intricate things like those types of designs.” Ink glanced down in fondness only to drop his smile at the other trooper who held not an ounce of pride towards his vod like Ink would have held if he was in the other’s spot.
Instead, the frown tightened as shoulders tensed and hands cracked from where they gripped in fists.
“Sir, those who came with him- do you remember who they were? Dogma-“And finally Ink had a name for the little cadet who never left his memory. “-he would never, just- they had to have forced him into getting that tattoo.”
And like that, the more the other spoke, the more Ink’s confusion grew until he couldn’t let it go on anymore.
Holding up his hand, the older alpha cut the rant off mid-word.
“Forced? Soldier, I think you are confused. Dogma came to me alone wanting that tattoo.” When Tup opened his mouth, Ink tsked and kept bulldozing his way through. “No one came with him, and I can assure you, he was not forced or tricked into wanting to get that marking. He was excited and proud to have it done like I was to ink it when he requested it. Once I got him out of his shell and talking, he would not stop chatting about how he wanted it for his squad.”
“For-“ Tup blinds, a new kind of dread taking hold of him. “For us?”
Ink hummed in fond memories.
“Mmhm, yes. Kept on telling me how he wanted it to show his faith to the squad, his brothers. Said how it was meant to show he was still one of them at the end of the day and always from then on out carrying a piece of his squad mates with him.” That work of the tattoo Ink was proud of. The kid had been so intense on helping with the ideas once he knew the basics of what he had wanted the shape to be of and how Ink himself eventually came up with the idea of the special part of the marking inside the letter. “Did you ever get a close look? The kid was so shy about me getting close, but I hope he got over that by now.”
“…Close look?”
“Yes, at the pieces forming the ‘v’. If moved around, the bits would spell out his squad’s names.”
Tup was silent as he stared with wide eyes and his breathing deepened as his body began to shake as the last thing he wanted to ask finally slipped out.
“I-Please, Ink. What, what did the ‘V’ stand for?”
“Why his brothers in arms that was his squad, his Vod’e.”