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“Ugh,” Fives huffed, dropping his gear unceremoniously onto the floor. His backpack fell next to his cot, with his kama, helmet, and set of winged pauldrons following soon after.
After a long sigh, his back hit the cot’s mattress with the same heaviness. Fives spread his arms wide over his head as he stared at the ceiling.
The only other person in the ARC barracks- the place where Fives had just trudged into, covered in dust and exhausted- didn’t even look up from his datapad. Normally, between four to six ARCs would be stationed on one base ship for the legion at a time, so it wasn’t unusual to find the room deserted. However, this time Fives wanted someone to talk to.
Fives sighed again, louder and more exaggerated. If it had been Echo in the room with him, his brother would have put his datapad down and fixed him with a glare- if Echo hadn’t been on the mission with him. The other 501st-assigned ARC troopers were Fives’ friends, and everything, but they weren’t his twin.
Giving up at no response, Fives drew himself up to seated and began to take off the pieces of armor he could reach, beginning with his smothered boots and hand gauntlets. The ARC trooper on the other bed perpendicular to him finally grunted in acknowledgement that he had entered the barracks.
“Rough op?” the clone asked, wholly disinterested. Marlin, his name emphasized by the blocky sword-nosed fish design he had painted on his chestplate.
Fives took off his leg armor and scraped caked mud out from the seams of the inner padding. “Yeah, always is,” he replied, his voice also disinterested. Marlin wasn’t much of a talker among the ARC troopers currently on board the Venator. Other ARCs such as Rebus or Thresher usually held more of the same energy as Fives whenever they wanted to talk… wherever those two were now. “Anyone else back yet?” Fives prompted.
Marlin let out a short breath, turning off his datapad as he stood. He was still in full kit, kicking open his personal footlocker to throw the device inside. “Yeah, Rebus and Atoll just left on a mission. Emergency. Surprised they didn’t run past you,” Marlin answered in monotone, closing the trunk and going over to the main set of lockers attached to the wall. “Don’t know where the others are, somewhere around.” Like Fives, Marlin unstrapped his blue-striped kama and winged pauldrons to set them in their places within his locker.
Fives hummed. “Anything happen while I was gone?” he tried to joke, lifting his head with a brief smile as he set more of his armor on the floor.
As soon as Marlin placed his belt and ammo pouches into his locker, he shrugged. “Nothing much,” he said in the same bored inflection. Marlin closed the locker and walked toward the barracks’ entrance, which passed Fives along the way. “Same old waiting,” Marlin continued, giving an exasperated hmph as he thought about it himself.
“Ah, yeah, yeah,” Fives grunted, knowing the end of the exchange was imminent. “You goin’ to the mess?” He twisted around to catch Marlin nodding at the door controls.
“Yeah,” was all the other ARC responded with, before pressing the button and stepping out.
Fives blew out another sigh, returning to picking off his cuirass. Holding it out in front of him, he plodded over to his own wall locker, which was very conveniently the farthest away from his designated cot.
“Just right here.” Fives stalled upon hearing Marlin’s droning voice through the other side of the barracks’ door. He was talking to someone- maybe it was Thresher coming back in and Fives would have a real backboard for storytelling.
He took slow steps while straining his ears to listen, hoping to discern who the other speaker was after hearing a more chipper-sounding voice respond. The door reopened just as Fives was caught in the middle of the room, swinging his cuirass by his side.
“Fives, these two say they know you,” Marlin announced, his face remaining impassive as he herded a pair of rank-and-file clones forward. “They’re looking for Rebus.”
Fives stopped completely to face them, smiling once he recognized them. “Oh hey, Tup, Dogma- how’ve you been?”
“Hi, Fives!” Tup greeted, his easy stance matching the relaxed way his hair brushed against his shoulders. He wore only his lower kit and a single vambrace over his undersuit like Dogma, who evidently did not have the same laid-back attitude as he straightened into parade rest.
“I assume you can handle it,” Marlin concluded, patting Dogma’s shoulder while also pushing the stiff trooper forward at the same time, so he stumbled closer to Tup. The ARC hung back at the door before giving Fives a short wave and swinging around the corner down the hall. “I’ll be at the mess.”
Dogma froze where Marlin pushed him, looking very uncomfortable as Fives sauntered over to his locker and threw the cuirass inside. He didn’t answer Fives’ polite throwaway question like Tup had, nor speak up as the ARC trooper returned to his cot.
“Did you just come back from a mission?” Tup asked while Dogma was silent. He watched eagerly as Fives stacked his smaller armor pieces into his arms for a larger load to carry to the wall locker. Fives knew he’d have to clean all of it later, but he had enough waiting time to put it off for now.
He kept smiling, the question reminding him of how much Tup dreamed about becoming an ARC trooper himself. Tup and Dogma’s platoon had been recruited into the legion with nine others straight from Kamino only a few months ago, so they were teetering the edge between shiny rookies and earning their paint. The two already had tattoos, which Fives usually saw from older troopers after a longer period of time. Everything keeps getting pushed back more and more, a stray thought made his mouth twitch and he momentarily avoiding looking at the two so they wouldn’t see him frown. He wondered what Echo would have said about it.
“What gave me away, the dust or the bags under my eyes?” Fives said with his chin downward, pretending to be busy balancing his armor.
Fives’ joke temporarily swayed his thoughts from lingering too long on the topic of war back to his brothers, as it made Tup laugh. Dogma, however, only dropped his shoulders from his rigid posture, still grimacing with the same intensity.
“We’re sorry sir, we can come back later,” Dogma muttered, turning away before Tup caught his elbow.
“Dogma, Marlin said Fives can help,” Tup told his brother, shaking his head, which scattered his loose hair around his face. Dogma regarded Tup’s gentle smile and set his jaw, looking to the side.
Fives hesitated with the pile in his arms, blinking over it at the two. He didn’t know Dogma very well, just from the fact that Dogma didn’t seek him out to talk whenever they were stationed on the same ship like Tup or other shinies or his other friends would, but he knew Dogma was close by just by Tup’s presence alone. Tup referred to Dogma constantly in bytes of information Fives had to consolidate into a full image from the short interactions they’d had, since whenever he did see Dogma, the younger clone always kept his distance with a sour look on his face. Rex told him a similar, though more technical description of Dogma, in that he was a loyal rule-follower but a good soldier, sometimes hard to get along with because of his strict by-the-book nature.
Between his two sources of information, Fives thought he had a pretty solid picture of Tup’s squadmate, though the tattoo still eluded him. It wasn’t too unusual to see a strict trooper like Dogma get a tattoo. Fives had just assumed it was a memorial of some kind, as so many designs of that size were- if they weren’t Jesse, of course.
“What d’you need help with?” Fives posed, drawing their attention.
Dogma flicked his eyes up from the jumble of dusty plastoid to the ARC’s face, and the ‘5’ tattoo on his temple. He gave a weak gesture to his own face, and the pale, mottled ink there. “We were told ARC trooper Rebus can redo tattoos,” Dogma explained, with Tup nodding next to his brother and lightly touching their shoulders together.
The proposition made Fives’ smile split into a grin. “You want a touch-up for that?” he asked, taking a second look at Dogma’s face tattoo. It was shaped vaguely like a V, or a chevron, or a triangle, Fives never figured it out. What he could see of it now told him it was done for cheap and most likely on a time limit, though his unintentional eye contact made Dogma shift his own gaze off to the side again.
“We don’t want to bother you, sir,” Dogma mumbled, and his consistent use of the formal title spoke to the origins of his name- and further illustrated the ARC’s image of him. Fives snorted.
“It takes a lot to bother me, Dogma, asking for help isn’t even on that list,” he said, putting his armor pieces into his locker while the two younger clones strung along behind him. Fives could feel the renewal of Dogma’s intense stare while he individually placed the pieces onto their respective shelves.
“See? It’ll be fine,” Tup stage-whispered to his brother when Fives’ back was turned, trying and failing to be discreet.
“He isn’t ARC trooper Rebus, Tup,” Dogma stage-whispered back.
“Sorry to say this, but you’re gonna have to wait at least a week for Rebus,” Fives spun to add his own stage-whispering, making the two brothers immediately stop their ‘hushed’ conversation. Fives patted both their shoulders at once before he shrugged, walking to his cot to pick up his dusty kama, beginning to shake it out beside him.
Behind Fives, Dogma cringed. “Don’t-” he spoke automatically before cutting himself off as if remembering Fives was still his superior officer and he shouldn’t critique so freely.
Fives spoke to Dogma and Tup over his shoulder. “He went on an op, couldn’t have been more than an hour ago,” he resumed his previous point, completely oblivious to the fact dust clouds were flaking onto his bed sheet.
Dogma gathered himself together to clear his throat, giving a single nod. “Then we’ll leave, come on, Tup,” Dogma said, making Tup once again grab his arm with more words of insistence thrown between them. They were both stubborn enough to not raise their voices higher than a hiss, and Fives chuckled.
He folded his kama with a practiced ease and reached for his connected pauldrons. The wings clacked together as he set the strap over the kama he draped onto his arm. “No, but he might be back within the next rotation, don’t really know until I read the report,” Fives interrupted, picking up the last piece of his armor set, his helmet, and setting it on his free fist like it was a hat rack. He used his thumb to spin his helmet around and point the Rishi eel at Dogma while he carried it. “Bu-ut,” his interruption swung up to the tone of an offer, “I can tattoo something for ya instead.”
Dogma went still, touching one of the tops of the triangle-V-chevron jutting into his forehead before punching his hand down to his side. Tup’s eyes lit up as he followed Fives’ final journey to the wall locker.
“You know how to do tattoos?” Tup questioned. Dogma only stared.
“Is that a surprise to you?” Fives teased, tapping the ‘5’ on his temple to bring their focus to it after he carefully replaced his last three items.
“Are you saying you did that yourself, sir?” Dogma blurted. His eyes were wide with disbelief.
Fives wiped his hands on his pants to remove any lingering dust before closing his locker and grinning. “Yep, with a lot of time and not a lot of patience. My first assignment off Kamino was an outpost that didn’t see much action.” Now with his cot clear, Fives stopped in front of his younger brothers and crossed his arms, waiting for a final decision. “It gave me a lot of time to read about and practice how to do ‘em, and I think I did pre-tty well for my first attempt, don’t you think?” He angled his face to show off the ‘5’ as he brushed over it with the pad of his index finger. “Though I did eventually get it redone, it happens.”
Tup unconsciously rubbed his thumb under his eye, where his teardrop tattoo resided. “Mine’s already fading too,” he lamented, moving his hand away. “I thought they were supposed to last longer.”
“They are,” Dogma interjected gruffly. “Anyone could see the ink was so watered down, there was hardly any pigment in it,” he said, causing his brother to wince noticeably.
“I know, I should have insisted, but I was just too excited.” Despite his regret, Tup couldn’t talk through his joy with a straight face. “And it’s not that bad.”
Dogma gave Tup a glare as he whipped his finger in a sharp circle at his own V-shaped tattoo. “This is bad.”
Tup made a few helpless sounds as he tried to sputter objections, all the while Fives watched with his eyebrows raised. “I can help you both if you have the time,” he suggested to the bickering troopers, “It’s up to you.”
Tup let out a sheepish breath as he turned from Dogma. “I wish we could, but I have to go take Dogma’s inventory shift in-” he checked the chrono in his vambrace- “seventeen minutes.” By then his smile had flipped down. “Mine’s right after that.”
Dogma shook his head. “I can retake my shift. You can get your touch-up done in less than ten minutes, I’ll wait for mine,” he instructed. Tup glowered at him.
“You’ve been putting it off for the past two weeks. Come on, I don’t want you to complain about it anymore,” he chastised.
“I’m not putting it off,” Dogma crossed his arms and there was his signature furrowed brow, “There are other tasks that are more important than my cosmetic appearance choices, Tup, like training.”
Tup’s lip twitched as he listened to an obviously repeated sentiment. He took a breath just before Fives stepped in between them.
“Hey, hey, okay, forget the whole thing, I can just let you know when Rebus gets back if you want to head to your barracks, it’s not a big deal,” he said.
“No, sir,” Dogma grumbled, surprising the ARC trooper with his answer. “I’ll do it, I’ll go first.”
Tup brightened. “Yes!” he cheered, which was still low in volume to match the soft tap of his fist against his brother’s shoulder. “You sure you don’t want me to stay then?”
“Tup, no, if you don’t take my shift-”
“Your entire spotless record will be ruined, I know,” Tup recited, his smile back. “I got you covered, don’t worry about it.”
“Then don’t be late,” Dogma told his brother, though his tone was lighter than it had been since he was pushed inside the ARC barracks. Tup jumped, checking his chrono again.
“If it’s in room RRA-18 or higher, you better run,” Fives joked to his younger brother, scaring him into a hasty goodbye.
“Okay, you sure you don’t want-” Tup started again as he glanced at Dogma. Dogma didn’t even have to say anything for Tup to get the message and cut off his sentence. Tup nodded as he began his speedy path toward the door. “Right, I’ll try to be back in- in two hours, if I can- right.”
“Run, Tup, run!” Fives called after him, chuckling as he heard Tup’s boots squeak before the ARC barracks door even closed. He walked backwards to the cots, specifically to one that was not his own.
Dogma shuffled his feet, adjusting the pouches on his belt as he stood, before raising his head slowly once he saw Fives open the footlocker to the second bunk and start rummaging around its contents.
“Sir?”
“You can sit over there, Dogma, just one second,” Fives directed, heaving out the device that took up half the available space in the trunk.
Fives had learned early on there was only one ‘official’ tattoo machine in the 501st Legion. It was Rebus’ custom to lend the machine out to those he taught for several weeks at a time for practice. All other times it stayed with him in the ARC barracks, where it was guarded like it was actually worth some credits and didn’t look like a malformed carburetor. Surely Rebus wouldn’t mind Fives using it while he was gone on a mission, especially if it was to help out a near-shiny.
Fives blinked at the little etched symbols Rebus had used to mark the tattoo machine as his possession in the event someone wouldn’t return it- a single eye, two stylized ocean waves, and an Aurebesh letter usk. I see you.
“Okay, Dogma,” Fives happily ignored the cautionary rebus puzzle to grab the ink canister holder next. He brought both halves of the machine over to his cot, where Dogma was busily sweeping the sheets off with his palm. “Tell me exactly what you need done.”
Dogma jolted when Fives set everything onto the floor by his feet. “Oh, it’s just the design,” Dogma said, reluctantly tracing the V-shape tattoo cutting across his face. “It needs to be retraced…” He was subsequently interrupted by a horrible screeching sound and stopped to look up.
“What, no, keep going,” Fives twirled his hand in a ‘go on’ motion while he continued to push Marlin’s cot over to Dogma.
Dogma’s eyebrows gradually furrowed with every centimeter Fives shoved the cot closer. “I said it was a bad idea that we had to go down a hundred levels to the tattoo parlor, but no one listened to me, and now all our tattoos are fading,” Dogma’s tone rose in annoyance on certain words as he talked, no longer staring at Fives. “Tup, Ringo, Oz, me,” Dogma listed on his fingers as he subconsciously took steps back while Fives pushed Marlin’s cot to where he had just stood, “So, Hardcase recommended we talk to ARC trooper Rebus for a touch-up. Also, by the way, a tattoo machine is not in line with standard regulations for allowed devices, but effects permitted for ARC troopers can be-”
“Alright, ready,” Fives declared once he made the two cots parallel. “And I get it. A lot of brothers have come here for the same reason, it’s an easy fix. You should have gotten your tattoo with one of us in the first place,” Fives said, and Dogma balled his hands into fists, dropping them.
“I didn’t-” Dogma gritted his teeth, giving up on his sentence as he looked down. He almost flinched when Fives’ hand found his shoulder.
“You’ve heard about the trader stories,” Fives said knowingly, “Well lucky for you, shiny’s first tattoo or touch-up is free, according to popular sentiment,” Fives spread his arms wide, “No need to bribe me with credits or alcohol- not like there’s any contraband on this ship anyway, right?” He winked to dare the younger clone to say anything about it, teasing in good faith.
Dogma looked desperately ready to start protesting, but kept silent, leaving an extended amount of time where nothing was said.
“Alright.” Fives swiveled on his heel to pick up the tattoo machine and ink canisters to set them on Marlin’s cot, plopping down right beside them.
“I didn’t think anyone would’ve believed me if I asked,” Dogma finished his thought after all. Dogma avoided Fives’ eyes, sneering to himself. “Adding tattoos to one’s appearance is not against any conduct regulations, despite what you might think.”
Fives nodded, humming. “Yeah… no, I remember that’s true,” he acquiesced, trying not to think about how Echo revealed the same thing to him ages ago on the Rishi moon. Sighing, Fives gestured for Dogma to sit across from him. The younger clone did so, keeping his hands in his lap with his back straight. Fives noticed his apprehension and willed the memories away. “Hey, there’s no need to be worried. I’ve done plenty of face tattoos before. In fact, that was also my second one done, for my squadmate.”
Well, so much for trying not to think about his brothers.
Dogma bristled, but seemed curious at the same time. “Your squadmate, sir?” he stumbled warily, forcing his shoulders level.
“Uh-huh,” Fives bobbed his head down and up with each syllable, “He got two of them, actually, exactly the same on each cheek.” He leaned back on the cot to pick through the ink colors. Taking out standard black, he kept it in his hands just to hold something. “They were rotary cannons, since he wanted to be a heavy gunner. I drew them first on flimsi before inking it straight on his face,” Fives tapped the lid of the bottle against his thumb. “His started fading almost immediately too. We did not have this stuff in our outpost.” He lifted the container to refer to it, smiling ruefully.
Dogma kicked his feet once as a nervous reaction, not knowing how to answer besides nodding. “…I just want mine to look sharp again,” he reiterated.
“Gotcha,” Fives confirmed, replacing the black and sifting through the other colors. “That’s more of a dark brown, isn’t it?” he muttered faintly, taking three in his hand and holding them up to Dogma’s grimacing face, comparing the attached color swatches with the more solid parts of the tattoo.
“Yes, sir,” Dogma said, following Fives’ choice of ink as he set it aside. “What… other tattoos have you done?” he asked, his curiosity winning out.
“I don’t know- at least three,” Fives quipped. “Too many to count.”
“Oh… right,” Dogma mumbled. Fives let him think, moving the ink holder to the floor and preparing the tattoo machine.
“You want numbing cream for that?” Fives offered Dogma while he checked the machine’s charge. Dogma must have nodded before realizing the ARC didn’t see him and verbally responded with a confirmation.
Dogma dug his boots into the floor while he waited. Fives got up and brought over some towels and bottles from a combination of places, stealing from a multitude of other lockers. Dogma bit his tongue to prevent himself from reminding Fives about how it was against regulations- along with common decency- to use other troopers’ things without asking but didn’t want to annoy him. Fives was already extending his time to help Dogma, so Dogma wanted to exchange the favor by creating the least amount of conflict.
Swinging his legs onto the cot, Dogma set his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. Regardless of his desire to not talk, the situation still baffled him. Even if Fives somehow wasn’t lying about knowing how to apply tattoos and wasn’t going to ruin the design on purpose just to laugh at him, Dogma wasn’t the usual tattoo recipient. “Is… that all, sir?” Dogma turned his head towards Fives, who had sat back down.
“What do you mean?” Fives asked, giving Dogma an odd look.
“You haven’t- asked about why I have my tattoo,” Dogma moved his shoulders in a sad excuse for a shrug while lying down. “Usually, everyone wants to ask questions about it. They think that I lost a bet, or was put up to it, or I didn’t want it, but I do,” he raised his chin in some semblance of confidence. “It’s not something I didn’t choose, but everyone else thinks otherwise.”
“Well… why you have your tattoo is your business, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s up to you too,” Fives considered, mentally checking a win when the younger clone slumped in relief. “A lot of brothers probably just think it’s cool- I sure do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, come on, the only people who get giant designs like that on their faces are either really cool or really stupid, and you’re not Jesse, so you fall into the ‘cool’ category.”
Dogma looked at him unimpressed. “I know you’re just trying to make me feel better.”
Fives raised his eyebrows. “Is it working?”
“No.”
Fives had to laugh. Dogma sounded so deadpan it was almost like Marlin hadn’t even left the barracks. “It’ll be alright, brother,” Fives reassured, trying to sound trustworthy. “You said you know Hardcase? Rebus taught him what he also taught me after I got to the 501st, I won’t mess it up.” Dogma perked up at the mention of his friend’s name in relation to tattooing, before scoffing once.
“Just get it over with then,” he said, lowering his head back. Deciding that was better than nothing, Fives whistled, putting on his gloves and grabbing the manual razor.
“Okay,” Fives started once he got everything he needed. Using Marlin’s cot as his bench, he leaned over to his younger brother. “I’m gonna get your eyebrows first, just hang on a sec.”
Dogma sighed to the ceiling, trying to keep from sneering. He had forgotten about that part.
The ARC trooper sterilized the V-shaped area of Dogma’s face, after which it was time for the razor. Dogma shut his eyes when Fives asked, as his eyebrows were moved for Fives to shave the tops and bottoms of them.
“You’re not gonna look stupid,” Fives barely spoke, completely concentrated like Dogma didn’t look stupid already.
Fives wiped Dogma’s eyebrows and sterilized the area again before applying the numbing cream. Dogma didn’t move during the entire procedure, as Fives continued to whistle and poke at his own personal datapad once done. They had to wait for a few minutes for the numbing agent to take effect, which normally would be cause for silence, but Fives seemed determined to drag Dogma into a conversation against his will.
“So, how’s the 501st been treating you?”
“Fine,” Dogma sighed, keeping his face immovable. He had to keep reminding himself that he had done this process already on Coruscant, when he had been deathly afraid that even breathing would cause the razor or tattoo gun to slip and poke his eye out. It had been a reasonable fear, in his opinion, sitting in a chair that was falling apart at the seams in an unmarked parlor that was held up by a single post in the center of the room. Dogma could remember the smell of smoke that had clouded his nostrils for weeks afterward.
“That’s good,” Fives said, giving his own surface-level response. “You decide on a helmet design yet?”
“The same as my tattoo.”
“Ah,” Fives wasn’t really paying attention as he swiped through files on his datapad, “Awesome.”
Dogma scowled. What good was it trying to engage him if Fives himself didn’t want to be bothered?
Fives’ datapad beeped as its timer went off, and Fives quickly silenced it and set it aside. “Alright, ready to go?” he immediately followed up with, his smile beginning to grate on Dogma’s nerves.
“Yes, sir.”
“Great,” Fives said, picking up the tattoo gun after putting on a new pair of gloves. “I’ll just do this section first so you can tell me if you like the color or not,” Fives scooted his bench even closer so his legs dug into his cot’s frame, leaning above Dogma’s face to tap the left point of the V-shape.
“Okay,” Dogma mumbled, prepping himself for the pain that came with the needle.
It did nothing. He had to force himself to lie still as Fives inked in the precise lines of the corner. When the ARC trooper leaned back and allowed Dogma to grasp at a mirror he offered, Dogma winced.
Fives’ neutral expression flopped into a frown. “Don’t like it?” he asked, already reviewing the color stash before Dogma could answer.
“No, sir, I do, that’s what I wanted before.” Flicking his eyes to the darkened triangle, Dogma even felt a little impatient to see the rest of the sweeping loops and lines become outlined out of the faded mess they were now. “Can you see all the lines?” Dogma caught Fives mid-motion. “If you can’t, I have the design here too.”
Dogma opened one of the wider pouches on his belt to take out a meticulously folded, tiny piece of flimsiplast, which he passed to Fives.
Fives raised an eyebrow, taking it and unfolding it. With each fold, the paper grew in size until it became the standard-issue that Fives had occasionally seen Kix and other medics tote around for official document records.
“Impressive,” Fives remarked, about the folding job and also about the equally meticulous design on the flimsi. He flipped it over briefly to see if there was something on the back before reading the perfectly aligned notes to the side of the magnified V-shape, especially the ‘DO NOT CHANGE!’ in all capital, underlined Aurebesh. “Did you draw this on a misprint of an inventory confirmation form?”
Dogma’s eyes narrowed. “It would have been thrown out anyway, I was perfectly allowed to use it.”
“Hey, I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, just on brand,” Fives chuckled, setting the flimsi on his other side so he could refer back to it if needed.
Dogma grumbled, “Not like I had anything else.” He put the handheld mirror down and sat back.
Fives took that as Dogma’s allowance for him to continue, so he turned on the tattoo machine to finish the first triangle of the V-shape. Slowly, the loops and lines filling in the point of Dogma’s tattoo were inked back into clarity. Dogma cringed as the tattoo gun approached his thinned right eyebrow.
“I’m going to need you to not do that, brother,” Fives’ face met him, moving the machine away.
Dogma bit back a retort based on lingering pain. It must have distorted his brows further because Fives sighed, leaning back for a break. Wordlessly, Dogma sat up and looked at the progress in the mirror. Expecting the worst, he was mildly surprised to see that Fives had been following the outline of the tattoo exactly.
“By the look on your face I’m guessing I did it right?” Fives’ voice was hesitant, but warm.
“You’re just following the paper,” Dogma huffed. Fives returned the tattoo gun to his eyebrow, and this time Dogma didn’t squirm.
After several minutes, Fives spoke again with more substance, “Alright, nice, halfway done now brother.” The words came with an encouraging pat on the shoulder as Dogma exhaled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“I’m not a cadet, sir,” Dogma snapped instinctively, sitting up.
“I know. I just know it hurts, too,” Fives said, backing off. “And before you ask, I do have other tattoos besides this,” again pointing to the ‘5,’ Fives switched the tattoo gun to his left hand to draw a circle with his finger onto his left deltoid. “Circle. Rotary cannon. Three names,” he described the design’s aspects so Dogma could picture it. Fives then pointed to the right side of his chest. “Handprint, fourth name. All solid black. You can probably guess who they’re for.” Dogma’s expression faltered. Losing an ARC trooper was news that never fully left the rounds of conversation, even if it happened when Tup and Dogma were still on Kamino. “I’ll get more when I need to,” Fives continued, and Dogma was reminded of it with the ARC’s use of ‘when’ rather than ‘if.’
He nodded, staring downward while Fives resumed his checks. “Tup is my last squadmate,” Dogma admitted voluntarily, feeling the urge to not let the ARC’s last point be met with silence or a one-word response. “He got his tattoo to remember our squad.”
Fives stalled. “Oh yeah?” Fives had seen a handful of other clones over the years have similar designs to the teardrop under Tup’s right eye, all with similar origins.
“I got mine to remember them too,” Dogma murmured. “The lines in between, if you want to know, it’s supposed to be a star map. We… were all hoping that once we were deployed, we’d eventually see the rest of the galaxy, but our squadmates never had the chance.” His index finger traced over the lines of bare skin between the faded ink on the left side of his face without touching them. By the way Dogma knew when to stop and curve his path showed Fives how he’d memorized the pattern already.
“Hm.” Fives considered the V-shape in a new light. It was a memorial, just as he suspected, but hearing it aloud made his heart twist. “That’s… a really awesome idea.”
Dogma’s ears reddened. “They deserved the best design I could come up with, being that Tup and I are still here while they now march on,” he clarified, trying to stave off his embarrassment. That wasn’t the reaction he expected from the explanation.
“Even though they’re not with you anymore, they’re still a part of you,” Fives understood, his voice solemn. The ARC trooper touched his knuckles against his chest where he said the handprint tattoo was.
“Mhm,” was all Dogma could muster.
After another beat of silence, Fives shifted. “Ready to start again?” he prompted with an intake of air, collecting himself. Dogma nodded.
More shapes and points were carefully traced with new ink, but when the tattoo gun touched his nose, Dogma flinched. Fives waited to see if he would move further. “You know,” Fives began a new topic, “You’re much better at this than my squadmate was, and his tattoo didn’t even reach this high.” He pointed with his knuckle at Dogma’s eyes while grasping the machine. “I can tell you about him, if you want,” Fives offered, desperate to talk about something. Dogma hesitated, cracking open one eye. Eventually he relented, nodding, and Fives was off.
The ARC trooper narrated his entire journey from Tipoca City to the Rishi moon for his younger brother while he filled in the shapes on Dogma’s nose. He talked about 99 and Domino Squad, and how their victory over their final test gave them the confidence they needed for the toughest battles of the Clone Wars, only to be stationed less than a day’s hyperspace journey away from Kamino.
“Hevy hated it there. Every second,” Fives recounted. “All he wanted to do was go off-world and shoot lines of clankers with his rotary cannon.” Fives chuckled, finishing the bottom point of the V-shape and sitting back to emphasize. “Man, he couldn’t draw for all the stars in the galaxy, but he wanted those tattoos. Even if we had to use a stylus and Rishi eel ink that was batch-shipped to us from the planet. Hevy always said how much of a waste it was, and that he could just go outside and catch an eel himself if he wanted ink.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe,” Dogma gave his first line of commentary during Fives’ story.
“It definitely wasn’t, Echo kept reminding us of that too, but we were shinies fresh off of graduation, we thought we could do anything.”
Dogma only blinked, staying quiet as the rest of the space below his eye was lined over. Fives continued to talk about random anecdotes and funny circumstances that had happened during his and his squad’s time at the listening outpost, and Dogma quickly made the connection that the names under Fives’ rotary cannon tattoo were for Hevy, Cutup, and Droidbait. They had to have died there, on the Rishi moon, without ever knowing the battles they were trained for.
“I’m sorry about them, Fives,” Dogma had to whisper, as the tattoo gun was close to his eyelid and he didn’t want it to be yanked down in surprise. Fives miraculously heard him over the buzzing of the needle, and he nodded once.
“For you too, brother.”
Dogma let Fives stop and move away for a break before he sat up again. Reaching for the mirror as he had done several times before, Fives shut off the machine to crack his knuckles and take off his gloves.
“That’s really intricate, no wonder you wanted it cheap,” Fives said, catching Dogma’s reflected eye contact in the mirror. “What made you choose that shape, any special meaning?” Fives asked nonchalantly.
Dogma let the mirror fall to his lap. He wrenched his mouth to show he was debating saying anything at all. “Well, yes-” Dogma gave up- “but it doesn’t really matter. I was assigned as the fifth member of my squad during our training. It was the best shape that suited the design.”
Fives was silent. “Oh,” he said after a while. Oh, it was a five. Like how they wrote it in indexes, rather than for designations. “That’s… I was too,” he blurted.
“I know,” Dogma muttered, his voice suddenly sounding lifeless. He set his back against the cot, looking up at the ceiling.
Fives was completely thrown off. Dogma put so much thought into this tattoo, how could anyone say he’d only gotten it after losing a bet?
The ARC trooper grabbed Dogma’s flimsi paper to take another look. “Have you designed other tattoos before?” he spoke up, now that any sort of image he had left of the younger clone was blown out of the water. The design was too detailed to be a one-off, the V-shape had to have gone through multiple iterations.
Dogma refused to look at him. “No, sir,” he said, back to impassiveness.
Deciding that if Dogma didn’t want to push it further yet, Fives wasn’t going to either. He picked up the tattoo gun. The next part of the tattoo would be in between Dogma’s nose and his eye, which was the worst spot to reach.
“I won’t… report you for being off-task or anything like that if you had, I’m just wondering,” Fives quirked another smile, trying to discourage Dogma from creating a barrier by defaulting to rank-based titles. “I’d like to see them.”
Dogma moved his chin to the right to dodge him. “I haven’t, sir,” Dogma repeated, though his persistent avoidance confirmed he wasn’t telling the whole truth.
“…Okay,” Fives shrugged, and it was a reluctant return to Dogma’s left eyebrow.
Carefully, the tiny spots of ink materialized, and the area was finished to Fives’ satisfaction in a shorter amount of time he originally predicted. By then, Fives was onto recalling the successful mission he had just traveled back from. The infiltration of the Separatist base went well, and everything had gone smoothly up until he had to leave, where he got caught in the moon’s famous sand bogs that were hardly discernable from the moon’s desert landscape.
“It was like quicksand,” Fives chuckled at his own expense, barely able to keep an even tone throughout the whole story. “It was a good thing nobody was following me, otherwise they would’ve seen me losing a fight against some mud. Hah, you should’ve heard Rex when I got back- ‘What happened this time?’- I can never catch a break.”
Dogma kept his eyes shut. It was getting more difficult with Fives’ snickering.
Fives got to the first triangle above Dogma’s eyebrow and paused his storytelling, looking back and forth from Dogma’s flimsi reference to make sure he was seeing the pattern right. Despite the foundation already being visible, on this side the exact geometry of the tattoo was distorted.
“I have designed other tattoos before,” Dogma said, catching his direct eye contact.
“Hm?” Fives made a confused sound as he pulled back, “Wait, I thought you said-”
“Not for me… for other people,” Dogma crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down. “Theoretically.”
“Theoretically?” Fives thought it would be a great opportunity to grab the mirror before Dogma could reach for it on instinct, which he then did.
“Other theoretical people.”
“Okay, you’re losing me.” Fives handed him the mirror which Dogma took evenly. The younger clone stared at his reflection before going on.
“What I said before wasn’t true.” Dogma moved his face around to judge every angle of the tattoo. He sighed, facing Fives. “I mean, designing tattoos is- it’s enjoyable, interesting. I do like thinking of things to make. Tup thinks I should show Hardcase, but I just-” He stopped, right as Fives was on the edge of his seat. This was intriguing, Fives would’ve never expected Dogma to have a real hobby outside of filing and sorting inventory forms. Which, he guessed, was also why Dogma stopped talking.
“Do you have any others with you?” Fives asked, fluttering the flimsiplast in his hand. “You can see some of mine, if I have any here, hang on.” He looked around for his datapad, grabbing it and turning it on to the holo storage. Dogma, wide-eyed, didn’t react until Fives shoved it in front of him. “I usually take pictures of them so I can reuse the flimsi,” Fives introduced, swiping through a set of holos of various subjects, all defined by the same stylized minimalism that decorated the ARC trooper’s helmet.
“I do that too,” Dogma said quietly. “I haven’t drawn a lot of them.” He reached to take the datapad and swipe through it himself. Fives didn’t seem to have a favorite subject, sketching both organic and nonorganic shapes equally. Of those organic, a majority were of fierce creatures Dogma had seen in galactic history books, such as nexu and shriek-hawks.
“Ah, doesn’t matter. I’m sure they’re great, show ‘em to me next time you’re around,” Fives grinned. “You know, only if you want to,” he amended, taking the datapad back after Dogma was finished.
Dogma nodded, bashfully crossing his arms in an attempt to rebuild his rigid persona. It couldn’t hide almost-smile twitching up his mouth. “Okay,” he mumbled curtly.
“That a maybe?” Fives picked up the tattoo gun again and pointed with it, goading him.
“Maybe.”
“Right,” Fives laughed, “Let’s finish up, then.” Fives kept his jovial attitude as he returned to the final portion of the V-shape. He had outwardly exhausted all he had wanted to say and started to hum to fill the silence.
Dogma shut his eyes, content. After some time, between the buzzing of the machine and Fives’ humming, the contact lifted from his face as Fives leaned away.
“Okay, Dogma,” Fives said, and the younger clone’s eyes opened toward him. “You’re good to go.”
Dogma stared, skeptical. It was over? He was handed the mirror, which confirmed it. The area around the V-shape was slightly red, but Dogma knew it would fade in a few days. What mattered was that the ink was sharp and precise, exactly how he had wanted it from the beginning. Not a single line strayed from the template.
“Ah-ah, don’t touch it,” Fives guided Dogma’s hand down from drifting close to the design. The ARC trooper unwrapped several bacta strips from his stash. “If you like it, I have to put these on first.”
Dogma nodded. A true smile grew across his face, almost startling Fives with its ability to make him look like a completely different person. “I do, thank you, Fives.”
Fives smiled, especially at the sound of his name rather than the polite address of sir. He rested his hand on Dogma’s shoulder briefly before shucking off his gloves and putting on a new pair. With quick gestures, Dogma turned his face so Fives could apply the bacta patches. Fives made sure to keep free of Dogma’s eyes, which Dogma was grateful for.
“Okay… now you do look kind of stupid,” Fives said flatly, peering at the entire covering to make sure no ink was left exposed. Dogma rolled his eyes.
“Thanks again.”
“You’re welcome,” Fives chirped, beginning to gather his effects. He paused to hand Dogma back his flimsi, tapping on the corner of it. “You tell Oz and Ringo to come here next to get theirs redone. I’ll do it right now, I’ve missed this.” Dogma snorted, keeping still even though he was now free to move. The bacta patches on his face were crinkly, encouraging him not to raise his eyebrows.
“I’ll tell them,” Dogma said. “They would really appreciate it.”
“I’m sure.” Fives got up, cracking his neck. “You got anywhere else to go now, brother? I’m pretty hungry, I think I’ll head to the mess hall.”
Dogma blinked, unused to being invited to places by anyone besides Tup. “Uh, most likely, sir. I do need to spend time completing my ordnance count forms for next week, though,” he said, also stretching his neck and feeling more relaxed.
Fives checked the chrono in his datapad. “Next week? Ah, come on,” he teased, seeing that enough time had passed for Tup’s shift to be close to ending. “Go comm Tup and tell him to meet up with us. You deserve a break.”
Fives expected Dogma to protest. Instead, Dogma hummed, finding the very bottom of the bandage over his nose with his fingertips. “Yes, sir.”
“Hey-” Fives spun, pointing at him. “Just call me Fives,” he reiterated his own name to drill into Dogma’s head. “Also not ordering you anywhere. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”
Dogma lowered his hand, nodding. “No, that sounds good. I’ll go tell Tup.” He folded his flimsi with sharp motions back into the tiny square it had been presented as, before tucking it into the pouch on his belt. Afterward, he seemed to stall, as if not knowing what to say next.
Fives dropped his hand on his shoulder, almost knocking him over. “If you ever need help with your tattoo again, just swing by. You won’t need to trade anything- though… seeing what you’ve made would be better than any nonexistent contraband.” Fives smirked, shaking him. Dogma made somewhat of a chuckle, shrugging once Fives let go.
“Don’t discredit yourself, Fives- sir- I already know the Venator just received three crates’ worth of Corellian rum two rotations ago,” he said. “Though fortunately whoever ordered the shipment had all the correct handling permits.”
Fives laughed in disbelief, and a fondness warmed his chest. He hadn’t expected Dogma to make a joke. If it even was a joke, but by the surety in Dogma’s motions as he opened another one of his belt pouches and pulled out another piece of flimsi, Fives safely assumed it was.
“I do have this too.” Dogma pushed the paper at the ARC trooper, which was another inventory form. This one, however, had the design process of the V-shape scratched all over it, both sides, even interspersed between the glitched words of the report error. Tiny thumbnails and cross-outs, different shapes for the tattoo, as well as a perfect square on the clean side to show how the entire design would look when not cut out by another shape, or by eyebrows and a nose.
Each line in the tattoo was marked by little notes, describing where in the star map planets were located in relation to the multitude of hyperspace lanes, all abstracted within the art piece. Fives spotted lines pointing to dots labeled “Kamino” and “Coruscant” in neat handwriting.
Dogma seemed nervous, twisting his hand over his other fist. “I know it’s not something different, but that’s how I-” he nodded to the flimsi- “decided on it.”
Fives brushed his thumb over the three names and CT numbers Dogma had written in the bottom left corner, right beside where Dogma started to experiment with different ways to write the digit five.
“I think I like this one the best,” Fives announced, cheekily flicking the paper straight to show his brother before pointing to the Aurebesh five Dogma had eliminated.
Dogma’s face made it worth it.
“Of course you do,” Dogma said, and the combination of his tone and ‘I’m tired of you’ glare reminded Fives so much of Echo that he automatically punched Dogma’s shoulder in jest.
“Hah, oh man, this is great,” Fives chortled, giving Dogma back his flimsi. “Now I’m really curious, do you have other tattoos?”
“No, sir,” Dogma responded, rubbing his shoulder before folding the paper up and into his belt pouch. “Not yet.”
“Starting with the big one first, I see- the face,” Fives grinned. “Now don’t ruin my work, Rebus would kill me.”
Dogma cracked another half-smile before it was hastily smothered. “I won’t, sir.”
Fives shooed him out of the barracks before he could offer to help with putting everything away. “Go save me a spot, I’ll be there in a few minutes,” he said as Dogma waited by the door controls. Dogma frowned, but complied, opening the barracks door just as it was opened on the other side. He was instantly face-to-face with ARC trooper Marlin.
“Sir!” Dogma straightened as Marlin walked into the room.
“Fives,” Marlin went straight to the point after a quick survey of the state of the barracks, “Is that my cot? If you got ink on my cot-”
“Go, Dogma, I’ll be right there,” Fives called over Marlin’s shoulder before the other ARC could reach out and deck him.
Dogma nodded. “Sir, yes, sir,” he deadpanned, and it was almost funnier than his actual joke.
Fives laughed as the younger clone left the room, before throwing up his hands to preview his fellow ARC of an upcoming apology. It ended with him having to move everything he had been using onto his own sheets- which did get ink-stained- and push Marlin’s cot back to its rightful place. Marlin watched with his arms crossed, but Fives didn’t complain. After everything had been set up again for lounging, Fives took one look at the tattoo machine, ink canisters, and towels decorating his own cot like graffiti, and then at the door.
“Worth a shot,” he said to himself, picking up the machine and starting to stack everything else on top of it in his arms. It was decently lighter than his armor, and it took him no problem to ledge his chin on the top of the balanced ink canister holder.
Whistling, Fives left with his bounty for the mess hall. Marlin didn’t even look up.