Having a conversation with a friend + weeks of wondering = this fic.

Hope you like it.


Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

Of course it was. In hindsight, everything made sense. You could see the bigger picture. Hindsight didn't allow for you not knowing things, not being able to piece the clues together. It didn't allow for mistakes.

And Dogma had made plenty.

But all that was in hindsight, wasn't it?

He shifted in his hard bunk, folding his arms behind his head, looking up at the blank ceiling of his Republic Custody holding cell. He laughed to himself grimly. As least he didn't have to share the cell with anyone. It was his cramped square of Republic property, but his.

Temporarily, at least. He was a clone. And clones didn't own anything.

Least of all their own lives.

If someone had asked him how he felt at this moment in time, he would have said that it didn't matter what he felt. Because feeling didn't change things. He would always be trapped here. Trapped thinking the same thoughts over and over again, reliving the events on Umbara in his nightmares every night.

Sometimes he woke up still half dreaming, and could believe he was back in the barracks with Tup and Jesse and the 501st. Those were the worst days. The days he found himself punching and screaming at the wall, knuckles bleeding, eyes streaming. Those nights he only slept because he couldn't stand up any more.

It was no use wishing he could go back and do it all again. In his dreams, he replayed that day – had it been day or night? The darkness of Umbara took away all sense of time, all grasp of reality. It made the whole experience seem like a distant hallucination. Or maybe that was his wishful thinking. His inability to believe that he could ever be so stupid.

It was, he knew now, stupid. He shouldn't have been so…so blindly trusting of a doctrine that had used him for its own vapid expenditure. And he had played the part they wanted him to so well. He had completely depended on what he had been brought up to believe, paying no heed to his wiser brothers and their wary caution of being so reliant.

The difference between them and him, he realised now, was that they had made themselves independent, individuals. By letting himself believe he was the one who knew better, he had lost himself, and become what the dogma said he had to be.

The only comfort he had now was that at least the others hadn't listened to him after all.

He hadn't shot Krell for the relief of the others, as a step towards them forgiving him. He had done it because the anger, the betrayal building up inside him, had made it almost impossible to breathe. The sound of the voice that had dictated his moves so cleverly through the war had spoken to him, pulling him back into the person he didn't want to be any more. So he had broken the voice. Shattered it, shooting it in the heart. He had lost all his control, his careful, calculated control.

And now, for once in his life, he felt free.

Even in his tiny cell, in Republic property, surrounded by people who didn't know any better. The chains of dogma were released.

And so Dogma closed his eyes, and prepared to fall into the nightmares again, the never-ending circle of pain and regret and acceptance, of hindsight.

Because hindsight was all he had left.


Sorry it's so short. Like, minature short :P Guess it's a drabble. Or a drabblet.

Because we need to know what happened to Dogma! Review for his sake. I always thought it was interesting how he got arrested for doing the right thing…

Saw TPM in 3D today! Loved it. :)