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Kix excuses himself when his hands start shaking. He walks in brisk strides over to the supply tent, careful not to make eye contact with anyone lest they stop and talk to him. The sound of the raging battle booms in the distance and in Kix’s head.
In his defense, he does make a genuine effort of searching the crates for more bacta and fresh gauze. But his knuckles turn white around the lid in his hands and he drops it. Kix slides to the ground between the boxes.
He can fight a thousand clankers but he can’t fight the tears from coming. He’s angry, and he feels like a failure because the other medics didn’t have to use an excuse to go and hide in the supply tent, and he should be out there, helping his brothers, but he can’t. Kriffing. Move.
So, he sits squeezed between the medical supplies he said he was going to get and cries. There is blood on his armor and none of it is his. He tries to wipe it off but all that does is get his hands bloody as well. He wants to scream, but he must not draw attention to himself. All he can do is pull his knees up and open his mouth into the small space, letting out a soundless cry.
“You all right there, Kix?”
Kix’s head snaps up. Fives is leaning over the stack of crates, looking worried. Fives found him. Oh, no. Dear Force, not Fives. Anyone else Kix could argue with, let his anger out that way, but Fives knows. Fives will understand.
“Do I look all right?” Kix huffs and rubs his palms over his eyes. He didn’t mean to sound so gruff but he really doesn’t want Fives’ sympathy right now.
Fives inclines his head. “You’ve looked better.” He slips around the crates and sits down next to Kix.
“Don’t you have things to do?” Kix says, scolding, but a sob he can’t quite contain tears the end of the question away.
“I am doing something,” Fives says matter-of-factly and studies Kix’s puffy face. “What’s going on?”
Kix scoffs, “A war?”
“Ah, yes, I noticed that,” Fives mocks and prods Kix’s arm. “I meant with you.”
Kix heaves a shuddering sigh. Yeah, what is going on with him? This came on so suddenly he wasn’t even sure he would make it all the way back here before somebody had to pluck him off the floor.
“I lost another one today,” Kix mumbles. It’s not the whole truth. That’s just the clone brother that came across his table in the last hour. The one that broke him. Kix doesn’t even know his name. He tries to rub the blood from his fingers but without water or disinfectant he’s only making red, sticky flakes.
Fives hums in understanding but says nothing. For someone who barely shuts up Fives knows strangely well when to stay quiet. It’s something Kix likes about him.
Maybe that’s why Kix goes on, “Losing too many.” He wipes his nose with his hand and snorts. “What for?”
Fives elbows him in the side, giving him a lopsided grin. “For the Republic. Didn’t they teach you anything?”
Despite himself, Kix laughs. Of course, they taught him that. That’s all they ever hear, all the time. A necessary sacrifice for a better future - and it made sense. In the beginning. Kix was supposed to make sure that as many of his brothers as possible made it off the battlefield. Only to die on another. He doesn’t know how many he needs to save to make it make sense again. A future is no good if no one gets to see it.
“You know,” Kix says quietly, resting his head against the crates at his back, “sometimes I think about leaving. Does that make me a bad brother?”
Fives shakes his head. “I think it would be worse if you didn’t.” When Kix gives him a confused look, he shrugs. “Means you’ve stopped caring.”
“Don’t know if that’s a good thing,” Kix argues. “Did you know that the Kaminoans taught us to view every clone trooper we treat as nothing but a set of organs, nerves, and muscle responses? Like a puppet.” He makes a motion like he’s stitching up a wound. “Mend, patch, a shot of antibiotics, and off you go. If you can’t save them in a minute, don’t spend an hour.”
Fives wrinkles his nose. “That’s not very… medicinal.”
Kix waves his hand dismissively and grunts, “A droid could do it.”
“A droid would have shot me,” Fives responds. His gaze drifts off and Kix knows exactly where to: Umbara. Perhaps that’s the one that pushed Kix over the brink. He tries not to think about that campaign, but it creeps up on him sometimes at night. He definitely remembers it every time he sees Fives or Jesse, which is, unfortunately, very often. Sometimes it takes a moment for Kix to realize that they’re not ghosts that he sees over the barrel of his blaster and he has to blink a couple of times to make the image go away. He didn’t shoot. Of course he didn’t - that wouldn’t have made any sense.
“Look,” Fives, who is very much alive because of him, insists, “kriff the Republic and kriff the Seppies. And everything that comes after. We’re here now. And you’re doing a good job. You make sure that there’s a few more of us than there would be if you weren’t here.”
Kix makes a face and points out, “I’m sitting behind a bunch of crates, crying.”
“Yeah, but you’re done now.” Fives gets up and holds out his hand. “Time to save some more brothers. I need at least three for my weekly sabacc game.”
Kix accepts Fives’ helping hand and scrambles back onto his feet, frowning. “You have a weekly sabacc game?”
“No. But I’m thinking about starting one.” He slaps Kix’s shoulder and grins. “So, keep that in mind.”