Dogma had been worried about his first day in the Guard, but it was actually nice. After they checked on the drunk tank, Fox showed him the prisons. Apparently there were frequent protests and riots at the prisons, and they always needed to be on alert. Fox warned him that it wasn't uncommon for senators or Jedi to come to the prison, because they felt entitled to their own investigation. For many senators, this involved trying to bribe the guards to get the people under their thumb back on the streets.
The Jedi had slightly more noble motivations. Sometimes they made deals with the Separatists to exchange prisoners. Sometimes they agreed to release somebody in exchange for information, or resources. Fox didn't like releasing any prisoners, but they weren't the ones in charge of running things. They were just civil servants.
Still, Fox insisted that if someone came by when he was watching the prisons, he should call Fox or another commander before going through with anything. Dogma was fine with that. The Jedi and senators were their superiors, but they didn't have jurisdiction over the prison. Besides, Fox said that they always ended up releasing prisoners when it was demanded of them, even if it was against his better judgement. They still did what they were told, they were just following protocols in the process. There was nothing wrong with that.
Dogma took in all the information he received, making a mental note of the priorities that Fox established. He didn't like the thought of breaking any rule, but Fox made it clear that if they did have conflicting orders, one would always trump the other. That would make it a little easier when he had his choices laid out before him, and he wouldn't have to stress about making the right choice in the moment.
They eventually returned to the barracks. Despite how understaffed the Guard were, their personal spaces were far more crowded than Dogma had seen for the clones. Even on Kamino they'd had more room than this. All of the guards were crowded into one room to sleep. There weren't enough bunks for all of them, so Dogma was shown the bunk assignments and schedules. There were three or four guards to each bunk, and when the others had a shift, that was your chance to sleep.
Dogma understood it, and he thought it was a smart solution to a problem that shouldn't even exist, but he hated the thought of sharing his bunk with someone else. Back on Kamino, and even with the 501st, his bunk had been his space. It was someplace comfortable and safe that he could count on to wait for him after an especially long day at work. The Guard didn't have that luxury. It was just a place to sleep for them.
Dogma knew he shouldn't complain. The Guard clearly didn't have a lot of the privileges that the GAR had granted to them. It would take him time to adjust to these changes, but he knew he could do it. He wasn't any more entitled to the comforts of the GAR than the rest of the Guard were.
Dogma tried really hard to keep his discomfort with the situation to himself. Unfortunately, he wasn't wearing his helmet when he got this news, and nobody could read the face of a clone better than other clones.
"Is something wrong?" Fox asked. He wasn't asking in a critical, challenging way. He sounded genuinely concerned, and almost soft. Dogma felt a little bad. Fox had already fallen behind on his work, just to show Dogma around. He was supposed to be doing paperwork right now, and instead Fox was laying out the supplies to help Dogma paint his armor. The commander was already doing so much for him. He shouldn't be concerned on top of that.
"I'm fine." Dogma said stiffly.
"That's not what I asked." Fox gave him a stern, but oddly soft look. "We can't accommodate everybody as much as we would like to, but we do what we can." Dogma didn't say anything. He just looked towards his assigned bunk, where a brother was fast asleep, and he would be for a few more hours until his shift started and it was Dogma's turn to sleep.
Fox stared at him for a moment. "Do you care about painting your armor personally?"
Dogma blinked, trying to figure out where this question was coming from. "No, Sir." The whole appeal to painting armor was they could individualize it. Dogma already knew that the Coruscant Guard, excluding the Commanders, were expected to have their paint in the same pattern. Considering the senators' habit of trying to get the clones alone, it made sense. It was dangerous for clones to be singled out on Coruscant. They shouldn't make it any easier for their harassers.
If Dogma couldn't design his own pattern, he was not emotionally attached to the idea of painting his armor. He would be happy to do it, but he wouldn't be devastated if he couldn't.
"Stone can do this pattern in his sleep." Fox said. "Why don't we leave him to it, and go talk in my office?"
Most clones would be anxious about being pulled aside to talk to the Commander, especially when it was for a reason they didn't understand. Some of the brothers would appreciate the chance to air their grievances in privacy. Dogma himself felt nothing like that. He was completely neutral about being called in to speak with Commander Fox.
He'd felt the same way on Kamino. If his superiors wanted something from him, then it was his duty to provide it. They were in charge for a reason. He was just a soldier.
Dogma nodded and followed Fox. The Commander's office was small. Dogma had seen closets that were more spacious. There was a small desk, a mountain of datapads, and a flat pillow on the floor that made Dogma think that Fox slept in here fairly regularly. Whether it was because the small room was a relief from the shared barracks, or because he exhausted himself so much during work that he just conked out in the middle of it, Dogma couldn't say for sure.
Fox leaned against his desk and faced Dogma, looking extremely at ease, and not at all like he was about to give a lecture. "What is said in here doesn't leave this room. This is just between you and me, vod'ika. So, what's wrong?"
His tone was very patient, even more so than Kix when he was trying to convince a stubborn brother to accept medical treatment. Dogma still felt ashamed, but he'd been asked a direct question, multiple times, and he couldn't refuse to answer. It didn't matter if Fox thought he was entitled or selfish, or if Dogma got in trouble. A question was a kindly worded order, and Dogma followed orders.
He was a good soldier, after all.
"I've always seen my bunk as a bit of a safe space, Sir." Dogma said stiffly. He was as to the point as he would be with any other question. Soldiers couldn't afford to be sheepish and embarrassed. "I understand that it's a childish and privileged view, and I'll get over it. I just ask that you grant me a little time to adjust."
There was a look of frustration in Fox' eyes, and Dogma wondered if he had been too presumptuous to ask for some leniency. He'd still deal with the sleeping situation, because he didn't have a choice. All Dogma wanted was forgiveness for acting like a little cadet.
Fox sighed. "We're asked to thrive off of scraps. Trust me, I know that these aren't ideal living situations. Nobody should be subjected to these conditions. It's not selfish to want more. I want you guys to want more, because you deserve it."
Dogma frowned. He was complaining about something unreasonable, but he wasn't being scolded for it. Fox was beyond understanding and sympathetic. Dogma didn't know how to deal with this.
"I can't do anything about the bunk situation." Fox said. "This is the best we can do right now."
There it was. Fox was being gentle about it, which was more than Dogma deserved, but he was still letting him down. It made Dogma feel like a child, to want something that he knew he couldn't have, and to still get upset when he was told no. He should be better than this.
"I understand, Sir." Dogma said. Fox looked at him.
"However," Fox said insistently, and that made Dogma pause. There shouldn't be a 'however' about this. There never was. "That doesn't mean we can't give you a new safe haven. Tell me what kind of thing you have in mind, and I'll see what I can do."
Dogma didn't let himself get his hopes up. He just did as he was told. "It was a place that was just mine." Dogma said. That was the simplest way to explain all of his possessive feelings about his bunk. "I felt safe, and untouchable. I know it's just a bunk, and is nothing more than a place to sleep, but-" Dogma ducked his head. "It felt like more."
"I get it." Fox gestured around his office. "This place is smaller than most 'freshers, but it's mine. I can't ignore the world in here, but I can at least pretend to close myself off from it."
Fox looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I know most brothers don't like to even think about working when they're off shift, but I have the feeling you're not like that."
"I like relaxing." Dogma said slowly. "But when I'm stressed, I can't. I've tried. Doing something productive actually does help me relax." It didn't have to be the most useful thing in the world. Dogma's mind just calmed down if he felt like he was needed. Brushing Tup's hair usually did the job. He'd also found that he could just sit and listen to Hardcase ramble when his thoughts were too jumbled to keep them in.
Fox smiled. "I'm the same way. Thorn has to practically threaten to stun me with a blaster to get me to stop working. He refuses to believe me when I say that I can't rest when I have paperwork to do. Because by the time I wake up, it'll be time for my next shift, and then I'll have even more paperwork."
Fox stepped away from the desk and started pacing the small room. "If you need some space, and want some additional work to do to relax, I think I have a solution. We have a small storage room where we keep our spare armor pieces. It's cramped, but I'm sure we can find a pillow or something to make it a little more comfortable. And if you want work to do, well, the armor pieces always need to be cleaned."
Dogma's throat tightened. Fox hadn't scolded him for being selfish. He'd just provided a compromise that Dogma was more than happy with. He could have privacy, as well as work he needed to do whenever he wanted to. He wouldn't have to subject himself to mockery and unwanted concern every time he asked for some extra work to do.
Captain Rex hadn't understood Dogma's need to work. He'd just told him to get some rest, and that he didn't need to prove himself. Dogma hadn't been able to figure out how to explain to the captain why he needed the work. Fox understood though, and he felt the same way. It was the most reassuring thing that Dogma had heard in a long time.
"I would appreciate that, Sir." Dogma said. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."
"I don't mind it." Fox said, and he certainly sounded like he meant it. "You're one of my men. You're my responsibility. Giving you a closet to hide away in is literally the least I can do."
Fox was quiet for a long moment before he sighed. "Look, I worry about the Guard all the time. I know you won't want me to worry about you, but the best thing you can do to ease my concern is by talking to me if you have a problem. That way, instead of wasting time trying to figure out what's wrong, I can focus on fixing the problem."
This could easily come off as a lecture, but Dogma didn't feel like he was in trouble. Fox' tone remained gentle, and it didn't come off as patronizing. He was just concerned, and wanted to work most efficiently. Dogma understood the feeling well. That was often his motivation behind reporting his brothers when they stepped out of line.
"I'll keep that in mind, Commander." Dogma said. He couldn't make any promises, but he could try. Fox seemed to understand. He gave him an appreciative smile and nodded.
"There's one more thing I've been wanting to ask you about." Fox said carefully. Dogma had the feeling that he wouldn't like the topic of discussion. "I know I said we'd talk about it tomorrow, but if it's okay with you, I'd like to talk to you about what you want to be called."
"I don't know." Dogma sighed. "I-I have a name, and I really like it. It feels right. But I've gotten used to my brothers saying my name with contempt, and frustration. The only one who never said my name and made it sound like an insult was my vod. I know it won't be the same way in the Guard, but I can't help but be nervous."
"I thought it would be something like that." Fox said. "I can understand wanting to start over completely. The way that our brothers used your name against you is terrible. Maybe this isn't what you want to hear, and I completely understand if you don't think you can do it, but if you ask me, letting them decide how you feel about your name just gives them more power over you. If you like your name, I think that's all that matters."
Logically, Dogma knew this, but it was hard to push away his illogical fears. "I'll try to keep that in mind, but for now I just need a little more time."
"Take all the time you need, vod'ika." Fox said. "In the meantime, what should we call you? We're dehumanized enough without calling each other by our numbers."
Dogma actually had thought about this a little bit, but the only other name he felt comfortable with felt silly. "Can you just continue calling me vod'ika?" It was odd to hear the familiar term, but it also made him feel accepted for the first time.
Fox looked surprised, but he smiled fondly, looking pleased and almost proud. Dogma didn't know what he had done so right. "We can do that." Fox opened the door, gesturing for Dogma to leave. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, and I think you'll do some exceptional work with the Guard. But right now I have some paperwork to do, and I think you need to get to know your brothers."
"Of course, Sir." Dogma nodded.
"Don't forget, that closet is yours to do with as you please." Fox said. "And my door is always open." Dogma nodded again in acknowledgement and appreciation. He went into the halls and made his way back towards the sleeping quarters. There were a number of brothers there joining Commander Stone in armor painting. Most of them were just touching up the spots on their armor where the paint had chipped off. There was one moody trooper who was painting white over the orange on his armor.
Dogma hadn't considered that he wasn't the only new transfer who would be sent in. Clearly this new guard wasn't as comfortable with the switch as he was. Dogma felt like he should say something, but he wouldn't know what, and he felt like anything he said would just frustrate his brother more. So Dogma kept his mouth shut and just went to Stone's side
"I can take over." Dogma said, though he didn't know if that was necessary. It looked like his armor was already completed.
"I'm done." Stone set aside the paintbrush. "It should be dry by your first shift tomorrow. You'll be patrolling the streets with Commander Thorn. I hope you have thick skin. Some civilians don't take too kindly to clone troopers."
"I can handle it." Dogma said. He didn't like being insulted, but it was a lot easier to cope with when the insults were coming from strangers who didn't truly know him.
Stone nodded, and then he started supervising the painting of the other new Guard, making sure he didn't stray from the required design. Dogma sat in front of his own armor, just taking in the new look. He heard brothers come and go. There was some very light joking, a fair amount of crying from overworked brothers, and a lot of whispered stories about what they'd done that day. Dogma just heard bits and pieces of it all, but it didn't sound like anybody had what could be called a good day, and that was the norm for them.
And starting tomorrow, it would be for him too.
The hours passed. When the noise became too much for him, he went to his closet, not to really spend any significant time there, but just to get a feel for it. Fox was right. It was crowded, and there were some dirty armor pieces that had fallen on the floor. But there was room on the floor to sit, and it was just for him, so he didn't complain.
After looking at the closet, Dogma went into the kitchens. The Guards didn't have a proper mess hall. The clones just ate wherever they found space. When Dogma first entered the kitchens, he didn't know where to begin. They didn't have rations here the way they did in the GAR, but it wasn't fresh food either. According to the Guards that watched the kitchens, most of their food was stuff that charities and soup kitchens could spare. Fox had tried to get food packs like the GAR got, but because of budget cuts, they were told that it wasn't something the Republic could afford.
It wasn't surprising to hear that the civilians who barely made a living themselves were more giving than the senators who lived lavishly.
The Guards in charge of the kitchen walked him through their process. It was their job to ration out the food for the Guard, making sure there was enough for everybody, prioritizing those who had just gotten off a long shift, or who would be going on an escort mission soon. As this was Dogma's first day, his rations were small. He got a somewhat bruised fruit, a bit of sludge that none of them really knew what it was, except that it had nutrients in it.
The food wouldn't be filling, but Dogma couldn't blame the kitchen Guard. They seemed nice, and they really did feel bad. One of them even promised to set aside one of the better tasting protein bars when he came back for breakfast before patrolling in the morning. It wasn't their fault that the Guard were even more underfunded than they were understaffed, which was saying something.
Dogma ate as he walked back through the barracks. It didn't taste good, but he'd had worse. Food had never been something that he enjoyed. It was just something necessary that he needed to function. The fruit, though not the freshest, was a nice change from the dry rations he had in the GAR.
It wasn't too late by this point, but Dogma's bunk was free, and he had to wake up early to give the brother that came after him the chance to get as much time as he needed to sleep. The sleeping quarters were still full of quiet noise and casual conversation, but Dogma didn't think that would change no matter how late it got. He could sleep with this level of noise, and even the lights wouldn't bother him. He'd lived on Kamino, and if he could sleep in that bright environment, he could sleep here.
Dogma laid down on his bunk, curling up on it. He wasn't particularly tired, but he'd learned how to get sleep when he could, rather than just when he needed it. He soon started to doze, but as he started to reach a state near sleep he started to wonder if Tup was enjoying his time off. And that's when he started to feel homesick.
He had left without a proper goodbye. He knew that Tup would miss him, and leaving him without a word felt horrible. A part of Dogma desperately wanted to run into Tup on his patrol tomorrow, but at the same time he really hoped he didn't. Tup would probably be with Fives and the others, and the thought of seeing anybody else in the 501st made him feel ill.
Dogma thought that Tup would be genuinely happy for him. That he would see that this was a good place for him. But he didn't know if he could stand to hear any innocent taunts about how quickly he was acclimating to the Guard.
He didn't really want to see anybody in the 501st, but at the same time, he kinda missed them. He missed Tup crawling into his bed with him, just for some extra warmth in the night. He missed Hardcase easing him out of his comfort zone without bullying him about it.
Dogma missed the late nights when he couldn't sleep, when he and Jesse would go to the medbay to talk to Kix for a little bit, helping him as he filled out some paperwork. He missed the times when Captain Rex would take some time out of his busy schedule to help Dogma practice his shooting.
He missed Fives, who, for all his teasing, had stood up for Dogma more than once when someone not from Torrent would pick on him. There was one time where Fives had started a brawl in the showers, and he'd gotten in big trouble for it. When Dogma had said he shouldn't have done that. That he wasn't worth getting in trouble for, Fives had just given him a bloody smile.
"You're my little brother." Fives had said. "That makes it worth it."
There had been a lot of little moments when Dogma had felt genuinely cared for but those times had been overshadowed by the times when he felt like he was barely tolerated by their group. That they only kept him around because they didn't have a choice.
A part of Dogma genuinely missed his brothers and the 501st, but mostly he missed the opportunity he'd never had to really be one of them. And he was afraid that the Guard wouldn't be any different. That today had just been a lot of good moments, but soon the novelty would wear off and the Guard would realize just how horribly needy and annoying he was.
Dogma felt the strong desire to call Kix. The medic had told him he could call and talk to him about anything. Kix had always been a good listener, and he was always more than happy to provide a second opinion. Dogma was about to get out of bed and get his communicator from his armor, but he stopped himself.
What would he even say to Kix? That the Guard was better than the 501st could ever be? That he wanted to go home to Torrent Company? That he wanted the others to stop by the barracks before their leave was up, just to say hi?
Dogma didn't even know what he wanted. It wouldn't be fair to burden Kix with his useless ramblings. It would just make the medic feel bad, because they would both know that there was nothing he could do about it.
Dogma sighed and curled up tighter on the bed. He still felt lonely, and scared, and that was a feeling he had hoped would go away once he started. Maybe when he actually got to work, these feelings would go away. At the very least, maybe he would at least be tired enough to not have the energy to think about it.
Dogma tried to push his worries to the back of his mind, but that just made them stronger. He laid in his bunk for more than an hour, not sleeping, but not quite awake. Eventually, mercifully, he fell asleep.