From Where We Stand
Chapter 4: Recollection
Post-Stasis!Kix x f!OC
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Chapter Rating: M
Word Count: about 5.7k
Warnings: language, memory loss, mentions of alcohol consumption, angst (clone feels, tbh)
Chapter Summary: Bits and pieces of Kix's memory start coming back to him, and even though he has many questions that have yet to be answered, he decides to put his focus on other things - on someone in particular.
Note: as always, thank you to the darling @rowansparrow for beta reading! This chapter is in Kix's POV. #feels
This isn’t right.
He’s never seen him this… frantic before.
He’s cornered - should he be worried? Maybe not for himself, rather, his brother who is approaching him cautiously, unlike anything he’s ever witnessed in the famously headstrong trooper.
It is worrisome. Something isn’t right. Something is very, very wrong.
Is it the virus he’s supposedly infected with?
Wait… framed? Danger - us, the Jedi. All of us.
Ouch. He’s grabbing him by the shoulders - trying to explain. All the way to the top? Conspiracy?
Kix wants to help - that’s what he does.
He can help him. He will.
“Thanks, Kix. I appreciate it.” The shaken-up trooper reaches for Kix’s arm - tapping away at the buttons of his vambrace. “Here. Here are the coordinates.” Several, short beeps followed by a longer confirmation beep signals that the location had successfully been inputted into Kix’s comm and had been sent off to their captain. He can’t guarantee that Rex will bring the General; he made sure to tell him that.
He did his part - for now - but Kix knows in his heart that he could do more.
He can help him. He will.
Kix watches as his scared, anxious, almost unrecognizable brother secures a piece of his disguise atop his newly-shaven head - hiding the signature tattoo inked above his temple. He’s hiding in plain sight, risking it all just to get his story out there. This has to be important.
As he walks away and without so much as a glance over his shoulder, he concludes, “Just make sure he meets me there.”
Kix turns to watch him leave, finally finding the words to say after the trooper had exited to the main area of the lively club as the door to the ‘fresher whisks closed behind him.
“Right. Good luck, Fives.”
<<<>>>
“He’s gone.”
Rex stands before Kix, his head hung low, bucket at his hip. His captain’s expression says it all, but at the same time, doesn’t say enough. Kix is able to translate grief because he’s known him for a long time, but aside from that, Rex remains as collected as a CO does when in the presence of another. Hiding the real pain; Kix has seen it before - not just with the physically injured, but with those who suffer with emotional turmoil as well.
They’re not droids. They’re men.
Did Fives make it to Rex? Did Rex witness what happened - or - is Rex what happened?
No. No, Rex wouldn’t have. Couldn’t have.
“You were the last one to speak with him,” Rex continues - his voice forcibly remaining steady. “What happened?” He’s digging - comparing the encounters.
So he did make it to Fives.
“He must have been waiting to get either Jesse or me alone, because he followed me into the empty ‘fresher at 79’s,” Kix answers honestly - also keeping his voice as steady as possible. “He mentioned something about a conspiracy - going all the way to the top - how he was being framed.” Kix pauses - his eyes holding with Rex’s in the thick silence. Searching.
“How… did he seem?” Rex asks - stepping closer.
“Frantic, sir. Scared, even. I - I didn’t know what to make of it. He asked me for help, to get into contact with you and General Skywalker. He was adamant about speaking with you two, alone.” Kix pauses again, pinching his brows together and looking down at his boots, then meets Rex’s eyes once again. “He inputted and sent the coordinates himself, Rex.”
“You’re not in trouble, Kix,” Rex assures with a gentle smile. Kix can’t help but sigh in relief, though in all reality he knew he wasn’t in any kind of trouble. Not with his captain, anyway.
Rex looks around the barracks and steps even closer - noting the few troopers who are cleaning their weapons at the far side - his chin hovering just over Kix’s shoulder. “I’ve filed a grievance report,” he says quietly. “I’m coming to you because I don’t think Fives was... wrong. At least not completely.”
Kix blinks - brows raising. “Sir?”
“He’d spoken of the same things when he had the General and me trapped in a ray shield. He… he just wanted to be heard. Did he mention anything about ‘chips’ to you, Kix?”
Trapped in a ray shield? Chips?
“I don’t recall, sir. I don’t think so, no.”
Rex hums, and notices the new confusion growing in the medic’s expression. “Inhibitor chips,” he begins to explain. “The Kaminoans implanted organic chips into our genetic code, our heads, when we were embryos. Tubies. Supposedly, Tup’s malfunctioned, which caused what happened on Ringo Vinda… to happen.” A beat. “Fives had removed his on Kamino, before the incident with the Supreme Chancellor.”
<<<>>>
Kix all but shoots awake in the dark room - only the dimly lit lanterns hanging just outside illuminates the sheer curtains hanging over the interior of the window. The thin but firm mattress barely gives to his weight as he shifts to sit all the way up. It’s quiet, more so than it was as he was falling asleep just hours before, and he figures it must be early in the morning with the sounds of native, desert creatures chirping softly in the distance that can be heard through the thin walls of the room. Pushing himself to sit up against the wall at the head of the bed, Kix sighs - scrubbing his hands over his face and letting his eyes adjust to his surroundings. The canvas sack of armor still sits on the chair that’s positioned in the corner of the room, hanging wide open from when he’d deposited the remaining pieces into it after stripping for the night, and exposing the familiar red insignia that’s painted on his left shoulder bell.
His duty. Or - it was.
The dream - or was it a memory? Both? Kix pulls the sheet from his waist and lets the stale air hit his bare legs - the heated skin of his thighs and abdomen. His eyes burn a hole through the armor peeking from the sack, and the sight of the blue buttons on his vambrace laying just underneath the pauldron hits him with a realization: it was a memory - my dream.
Kix knows he’s too late. He knows he’s decades too late, and from the little information he’s gathered so far from listening in on Ahri and her crew speaking of the matter, his brothers are long gone. Ahri and the Twi’lek - Reveth - hadn’t even been born when Kix last spoke to Fives.
Fives.
Kix was there, as one of the last people to speak with him. Fives died shortly after that, that much he can remember now.
What happened after that?
“What happened to me?” Kix mutters to himself - tearing his eyes from the heap of disassembled armor. He swings his legs around to the side of the bed and glues his heels to the ground, staring at his toes as they wiggle against the cool, smooth sandstone. He’s instantly reminded of his first attempt at standing in the desert - the humor that came with the pirate’s words of warning.
“You can’t just use your legs after they’ve been asleep for five decades.”
His lips curl up at the corner. Ahri.
There’s something about her that is drawing Kix in, as if her gravitational pull is far too strong for him to escape unscathed. He can’t say he minds it, though. She’s tough. Kind. Full of sarcasm. Beautiful… no, don’t go there. Going through some shit that Kix can relate to. Easy to talk to. Striking…
Kix shuts his eyes and shakes his head - scolding himself. “Di’kut.”
She’s tough, he reiterates in his head. Tough enough to handle that relentless creep at the bar by herself - far from accepting Kix’s assistance when things sounded as if they were heading south. She can handle it - ‘it’ being anything, apparently. Kix isn’t used to that with women, or with any civilian for that matter. It’s all so new to him - not ‘needing’ to help - to be told to stand down. He isn’t sure where he stands in this future, but he’d be damned if he doesn’t act if someone appears to need assistance.
Even if he gets chewed out by a gorgeous, fierce, redheaded pirate after the fact. Just as he had yesterday evening.
He’d been sitting at the bar, Rev seated a little too close to him. The Twi had been sipping her drink and tinkering with something at the elbow of her cybernetic arm, not making much conversation of note after Kix had shot down her advance upon taking her seat at the stool beside him - sliding him one of the two drinks she had in hand. “Wanna get out of here?” she’d muttered while bringing the lip of the glass to her red lips. Kix had blinked at her a few times, pretty quickly realizing that she hadn’t been joking. Rev had been making a blend of subtle and not-so-subtle passes at the trooper since he and Ahri had walked back into the cantina - actually, since he’d woken up in the damn desert.
The band had since resumed playing their lively tunes after the small scene Ahri had caused. The redhead had been quick to recover after their talk outside, standing right to her feet and nodding at him in thanks for lending his ear - his thoughts. He’d followed her back inside, and she went straight to a booth in the corner; he’d assumed that was her go-to spot. Quiggold had brought her a drink and left her be after handing it to her, and Kix figured she could use a moment alone. So, he’d stepped over to the bar - taking a seat at one of the empty stools. Rev had joined him moments later, and with the offering of a glass of much-needed liquor came the punctuation of all advances made in a single rotation.
“Sorry,” Kix had responded after staring at her for a moment - frozen in thought. “I, uh, I think I just need some time to adjust… first.”
She’d chuckled - speaking an amused ‘suit yourself’.
They’d sat in silence after that, and Kix couldn’t help but discreetly glance over his shoulder towards the direction of the booth Ahri was sitting in. She wasn’t alone, now. Someone had joined her, and by her not-so-relaxed body language and the little sliver of her face that Kix could make out, she wasn’t enjoying the male Twi’s company - her fingers presumably anxiously tapping at her glass.
“Fuck off,” she’d spat - clipped, feigning confidence but Kix knew what state her mind was currently in from their conversation twenty minutes prior. Kix had tried to separate the bustling tune thumping throughout the place from the guy’s irritating voice, and was able to catch little fragments of his arrogance.
“C’mon, baby. I haven’t been with a human for a long time. You look like you’re in need of a little fun, am I right?”
Kix had nearly turned all the way around in his seat upon hearing that - his eyes narrowed in their direction. Ahri had slid out of her seat and stepped around to the asshole’s side of the booth - hands on her hips and glaring down at him.
“I’m not interested. Now fuck off, you blue cock sucker.”
Kix had chuckled internally at that, but kept his focus on the man who’d been getting visibly more and more impatient and angry that his advances were getting passed on. He’d watched as Ahri turned to walk away when the Twi’lek grabbed her upper arm - yanking her back towards him. She’d nearly fallen into the seat on top of him.
“Hey-.”
Kix had reacted before taking a moment to think.
“She said she’s not interested,” Kix had forcefully reminded him - instantly standing at her side. “Now fuck off.”
Luckily, the guy hadn’t been in the fighting mood. But Ahri wasn't exactly pleased with Kix for stepping in.
Sighing and shaking his head at that memory, his focus now shifts to the folded pile of clothes that lay on a different chair, one that sits turned towards the other. Civilian clothing. A basic tunic, basic pants. Items of similar look had been worn by the trooper only a small handful of times, mostly when he was on shore leave. Those rare times. Kix stands up now, dragging his feet towards the large standing mirror that leans against the shared wall of the tiny ‘fresher. Through the spidering cracks and layer of dust and sand coating the reflective material does Kix take a moment to notice his attire - or lack thereof. In only his gray, GAR-issued briefs, he scans himself toe to head - letting his eyes rove over the parts of his body that he rarely sees.
Kix can’t help but smirk - smoothing his large hands over his toned pecs and defined abdomen. All these years later and I still got it, he thinks with a pleased look on his face. But more importantly, he notices how he’s unscathed, somehow. No bruises, scratches, nor abrasions. Strange, considering the state of which he was found trapped onboard a Seppie ship. He turns to check his backside - chin pointed down against his shoulder. No physical harm is detected on his nearly naked body. He drops his hands to his sides. No clues.
How did I get on that ship?
The rising Ponemah sun - the start of another day in this future - reaches Kix’s feet from where it’s pouring onto the floor from underneath the curtains. Skipping over the thought of taking another shower after having taken one last night just to slip on the same pair of underwear, he moves towards the folded clothes and slides the shirt over his head, and steps into the pants.
I need answers.
But what questions do I ask? What could this pirate crew even tell me after all this time?
Stepping back over to the mirror, he sighs - cocking his head to the left. The man that stares back - the person standing tall in the reflection - may look like Kix, but he doesn’t feel like himself. Not really. His head aches - attempting to grasp at the shards of his memories that are too sharp to put back where they belong without cutting himself. Fixating on his frozen reflection, Kix thinks back to what felt like yesterday for him, how he was a medic in the Grand Army of the Republic, serving primarily in the Five Hundred and First Legion under Captain Rex - one of his closest friends - his brother. He recalls the good times - the sharing of juicy tidbits with Jesse, the drinking and laughing with the rest of Torrent at 79’s. The bad times - the very, very difficult times - also come to him just as easy; Kix could never suppress the memories of what happened on Umbara - the betrayal, confusion, stress, and despair he and the rest of the boys were feeling during and after that brutal campaign.
The most recent and newly discovered memory - Fives coming to him in desperation and the subsequent news of his death - haunts Kix. It’s too incomplete for comfort; the tragedy is missing important details; he can feel it in his bones. The fallen ARC has something to do with what happened to the amnesia-ridden medic, and he needs to figure out how.
Kix can’t do it alone.
Running his fingers through his thick hair, he shakes his head. “Who am I now?”
A cluster of short, hesitant knocks against the other side of the door pulls Kix from his existential haze. He straightens his back, making sure he is in fact wearing the clothes he believed he’d put on. Looking to the covered window, the sunlight stretches further up the curtains and coats the entire floor below with its glow.
Damn. How long have I been standing here staring at myself?
“Hey,” he hears a familiar voice call from the corridor, slightly muffled by the door in between. “Are you, uh, hungry? I brought over some-”
The voice is interrupted when Kix pushes the button, the door sliding open and making the loose hairs hanging over Ahri’s forehead bounce briefly.
“-breakfast,” she finishes - eyes slightly widened. She forces a smile and extends her hand - a native-looking, brightly colored, spiky desert fruit and a triangular, vacuum sealed half pack of polystarch bunched in her palm. Kix eyes the sustenance before flickering his gaze up to hers. Exhaustion - he sees it in and sinking underneath her normally bright eyes. He can nearly feel the conflict going on inside of her from where she stands just a few feet away from him. A lot has happened since they’d found him, he knows that, but wants to try to help ease her mind. Helping others is what Kix does.
She’s watching him as he observes her and the meal, looking down at her boots almost as if she feels guiltyabout the selection. Embarrassed, perhaps.
Why?
“Thank you, Ahri.” Kix reaches to grab the items from her palm with a grateful smile stretching on his lips, his fingers unintentionally brushing over hers in the transaction. “This is perfect, thank you very much.” She returns his smile with her version of one - dropping her hands to her sides. Instead of either party retreating to their respective rooms, they both stand there for a few moments longer. He continues to smile at her, and he can tell she’s trying not to look him right in the eyes.
“Well then.” Ahri smacks her arms against her thighs. Kix can’t take his eyes off of her - grinning like a fool at her demeanor. “I’ll leave you to it. Come find us when you’re ready.” She spins on her heels and starts to head down the dingy, ill-lit corridor but pauses before turning the corner. With her head turning back to look his way from over her shoulder, she calls: “We have a lot to discuss.”
She vanishes around the corner and it’s then Kix looks down at the food resting in his hands. It’s been… fifty years since he’d last eaten anything? A few days? He isn’t sure how this ‘waking up in the future’ thing works. Regardless of the timeline, Kix’s stomach starts to groan as he’s thinking about it. Heading back into his room and shutting the door, he makes his way towards the tiny, high-top table stationed near the small closet. The fruit is unlike anything he’s ever seen: palm sized and ovular in shape, bright pink with flat, emerald green ‘spikes’ protruding from the rough skin of it and curling at the ends. It’s set down on the tabletop, rolling an inch or two from the unevenly balanced and wobbly table.
How in the hells do I eat this thing?
<<<>>>
Kix walks down the hall in the same outfit he’d worn the day prior, the same pieces of plastoid secured in the same places above the stolen clothing. He supposes that he really has no need to wear bits of his armor while omitting some of the more crucial - albeit, bulky and heavy - pieces of his kit, but it feels routine. Familiar, unlike the clothing draped over his body that the crew had stolen for him yesterday. Truthfully, the outfit they’d plucked from the clothesline for him fits him quite well, and is actually pretty comfortable for the weather conditions of this desert planet. Although he would have been fine in his full kit, he’d agreed then just as he agrees now that he’d stick out like a sore thumb amongst the people of this town if he were to strut around donned in plastoid. Times are different now; he feels it, even if he doesn’t know why.
She’d called me a… ‘storm’ trooper? The kriff does that mean?
Adding that to my growing list of questions.
His stomach no longer cries at him, though the portion-sized bread and small fruit didn’t do quite enough to satiate his hunger. The vibrant desert fruit was pretty much completely mush by the time Kix got around to eating it - the pink skin and greenery peeled clean off, revealing a moist, white interior. He’d poked at it and tore bits and pieces of it apart before bringing it up to his lips, and to his surprise, it was quite delicious - unlike any fruit he’d ever eaten. Still, Kix doesn’t think that he had utilized all the edible parts of the fruit, but he’ll try again next time. He has a feeling that there will be more than enough opportunities to get it right.
His boots knock against the sandstone floor as he rounds the corner, the corridor opening up to a little seating area. Ahri and the others are sitting around, sipping caff from clay mugs and watching the screen on Quiggold’s ‘pad. Rev looks up, her expression quickly turning mischievous and eyes honing in on Kix as he slowly approaches the group - avoiding the Twi’s gaze.
“How’d you sleep, pretty boy?” Rev asks with a grin.
Lifting his brows at her immediate blatancy, Kix looks to Rev and gestures to the ‘pad they’re all focused on. “Good. Not long, but I don’t think my body exactly needs much more of it right now,” he answers plainly. “What’s going on?”
“Researching transport that’ll get us back to the wreckage we found you in,” Ahri informs - her eyes not leaving the ‘pad. “He could still be there, alive. He’s survived worse.”
He? Oh. Captain Ithano, if I recall correctly. The man who’d sacrificed himself for Ahri, the crew, and… me.
“Don’t you guys have a ship?” Kix asks. All pairs of eyes are now on the trooper, and Ahri throws a “duh” look and a slow nod his way. He backtracks - recalling that on-foot journey through the scalding, coarse sand. “M’sorry, but I don’t remember getting back into town on anything resembling a ship.”
“We cannot fly the Martinet over the Sea of Sand,” Quiggold replies. “It is not a safe zone for flying ships of its size.”
“We’ll need another sail barge. That’s what we’re lookin’ for.” Ahri grabs the ‘pad from Quiggold’s hands and shifts from the arm of the chair down into the seat. The three others look to Kix with nearly the same expression, and the trooper is able to read it all too well.
They don’t believe their captain is still alive, or at least, they don’t believe this idea is a good one. They’re doing this for her.
Ahri is lost in the device in her hands and the information displayed on the screen - her tanned, lightly freckled face splashed in the soft glow of the ‘pad. Her fine brows pinch together in concentration as her finger drags slowly across the screen.
“She’s been going on all morning about how he should’ve been back by now,” Rev murmurs to Kix - purposefully leaning in close. “She is right, though. The Captain has made it out of far worse before, so there is some hope that he could return to town.”
“Ahri had suggested going back to the wreckage, that maybe we would find Captain Ithano trapped inside,” Quiggold adds, though not as quietly as Rev. “I had countered with the suggestion of keeping the crew here for another couple of weeks to wait it out. I have to think of what is best for the crew. It is my duty.” The wise Gabdorin finishes with a nod and walks off towards the egress just around another corner. Squeaky shrugs and follows their first-mate - or, Captain, now, perhaps - as he ducks under the low thresholds. Rev stays put, though. Moments later she’s tugging on Kix’s arm and leading him the opposite way, just out of Ahri’s earshot. Not that Ahri is paying any attention to the rest of the world right then - too lost in her thoughts. Doused with a determination that is concocted from anger and sorrow.
“I’m worried about her.” The Twi is much more serious now - her tone making that known. “She hasn’t been herself since… you know.” Kix nods, looking back over his shoulder at the redhead. Biting the inside of his cheek, he can only imagine what she’s thinking about right now. “It doesn’t take long to find a sail barge around here, normally. A lot of them are shut up for repairs since that destructive storm came through not too long ago. She’s been adamant about going back, but, there’s just no way. Maybe… she’d listen to you. If you were to talk some sense into her, I mean.” A beat - her tone mildly accusing. “Something tells me that you know exactly how she’s feeling.”
Damn.
Turquoise eyes pin his honey ones down in the silence - Kix’s lips pressing themselves into a thin line. He sighs - a nonverbal accord - then backs away from Rev and returns towards where Ahri is slouched in the chair with the device held close to her face. He softly clears his throat - tentatively - to be greeted with that fiery look in her eyes that has since watered down by something else of which he is familiar. She flashes him a weak smile as she sets down the ‘pad on the little clay side table - bringing her legs up and crossing them in front of her on the seat.
“Can we talk, Ahri?”
What he wants to know is how he ended up in the future. He wants to know what happened after Fives had died, after Rex had met him in the barracks to deliver the awful news the morning after. He wants to know why he was frozen onboard the ship of a Seppie - of Count Dooku - of a Sith. He wants to know it all, but Kix, once again, pushes that desire for answers back behind the part of him that wants to help his new friend.
Or at least he thinks they’re friends.
She lifts a single brow - studying him closely as he kneels down in front of her. His hands falling against his thighs, Kix rummages through his mind to find the right way to approach this. This, being how he’s supposed to talk this woman out of wanting to risk her life to find a man who is more than likely dead.
She clicks her tongue - cocking her head to the side. “What’s goin’ on, Kix? What did they say to you, hm?”
“Rev said she’s worried about you,” he answers honestly and probably a little too quickly. Her eyes widen at that, then she’s silently standing up and pacing towards the egress - slipping right past where Kix is kneeling on the ground. He sighs as the door whisks shut. When he turns towards where Rev was standing, he finds that she is no longer there. It’s just him in this little seating area, alone and mentally cursing himself for kicking it off that way.
Osik.
Go after her, di’kut.
Kix stands and bolts out the door, looking around the alleyway that the egress had opened up to. A couple of passersby holding canvas bags of fruits and bread from the nearby market meander towards the opening at the other end of the alleyway, and as his eyes follow them down, they land on Ahri. She’s leaned back against the stone wall, her arms crossed across her chest and right boot kicked over the left one. Her face is tilted down, staring at the sand depressed around where she’s planted.
“Ahri.”
His voice was too quiet, too soft and careful when it fell from his lips, but she heard. Kix walks in her direction, and is relieved when she makes no attempt at putting more space between the two of them. With his hands folded behind his back, he pauses at her side - her eyes returning to her boots.
“You said so yourself that Captain Ithano had made it out of far worse situations.” Silence is his response, but he continues on - softer now. “I know how you’re feeling, Ahri. I know that the need to help in any way you can is eating you from the inside out.”
Kix watches her with pinched brows - the way her head moves in an almost unnoticeable nod.
“He’s alive,” she whispers - looking up at him. “I know he is.”
“Maybe you’re right, but think about what Quiggold suggested,” Kix implores. “You have to consider what’s best for your broth- crew.” He catches himself - clearing his throat. “Your crew.”
“Maybe you’re right,” she echoes. “But tell me, Kix.” Standing up straight, Ahri turns to fully face him. “Wouldn't you have done anything you could to save one of your fellow troopers if they were in trouble? If you knew you could have done something, even if it seemed too risky?”
Unwittingly, her words hit Kix like a speeder.
Fives.
I helped Fives.
How?
I helped him get in contact with Rex and the General, I know this already.
No, there’s more. It’s deeper than that. I knew I could help, even after Fives was gone.
But how?
What was Fives going on about? ‘Chips’? Rex had mentioned chips. In our heads - in the heads of all clones.
Chips.
Wait. Ahri had mentioned chips, too.
Organic chips.
No, I’d mentioned chips when they’d found me. Ahri only repeated what I’d said. Why did I mention ‘chips’?
“Kix?”
That’s me… I’m Kix. CT-6116. Kix. Clone medic. Five Hundred and First Legion.
“Kix?”
“Chips.”
“Kix?”
Blinking rapidly, Kix’s vision fades into focus on Ahri’s expression - her eyes wide and brows scrunched in concern. She’s close to him - analyzing his face.
“Hm?”
“Hey, are you okay? You... zoned out or... something just then.” Noticing her own hands on his shoulders, she slides them down his biceps before dropping them to her sides.
“M’fine,” he says - rubbing at his temples - the thick hair growing along his hairline that he’s still getting used to. “It’s just… never mind. Like I said, I’m fine.”
“No.”
He shakes his head - confusion lacing his features. “No?”
She sighs. “C’mon.”
Grasping his wrist, Ahri leads him through the alley and out into the open - market stalls of various species of venders and their goods bordering the narrow path between residential structures. Neutral colored canopies and tarps hang overhead, stretching from the roofs of one structure to the next, casting shade upon the merchandise and the sentients shopping around. Vendors call out to shoppers and to other vendors, laughing and arguing and everything in between. It really is a nice day for a desert planet; the red sun is not as devastating as it must usually be. Nearing the end of the market, an Aleena shouts in Basic at Kix about her unique and rare jewelry and gems for sale - how such a pretty young woman deserves the finest desert jewels credits can buy as she winks and gestures towards the redhead practically holding Kix’s hand.
She isn’t wrong.
Kix holds up his free hand and respectfully declines with a shake of his head. Ahri scoffs at the merchant when she takes notice of the Aleena’s hassling and tugs Kix along a little quicker.
It’s about a minute into walking when she drops his arm from her hold, though he still strides beside her, silently questioning where her head is at, and where they’re going. Kix’s mind feels fuzzy, aching and incomplete; if that feeling were to be described, he wouldn't know how to in detail. The strangeness that’s rattling in his skull is foreign to him. Unknown. Never before experienced by himself nor any of his brothers that he’d treated. Or at least, not that he can recall.
After several minutes, the pair comes up on a small hanger that’s enclosed on three sides by surrounding sand dunes. Crooked pillars constructed of chipped sandstone frame the entrance; a sign with a faded, indiscernible scribbling is etched into the wood, marking the designation of the hangar. A few ships to the left appear to be under repair - pit droids hopping around and working in and out of the parked vessels. Crates opened with random parts haphazardly thrown around litter that section of sand. Junked speeders and barges that had been stripped for parts sit at the far side, and on the other end of the dingy hangar, several ships are parked that must be the vessels of those who are visiting the area. That’s the direction Ahri leads Kix in.
They pass the first couple of docked ships, but then she’s stopping in front of a ship unlike one that Kix had ever seen. His brows raise as he appraises the large shuttle.
“This is your ship?”
“The Meson Martinet,” Ahri answers - rolling her eyes. “It’s not my ship, but, yeah.” Starting towards the rear of the ship, she looks back over her shoulder and calls to Kix, who is planted in place, unable to move for some reason.
“You comin’?”
He takes a few steps forward before pausing again. This ship is nothing like a Jedi cruiser, nothing like a gunship, nothing like a medical frigate. It’s the ship of pirates, though that isn’t why his legs are refusing to carry him the rest of the way. This is all so new. Different. Unfamiliar - boarding a ship that does not belong to the Republic and is not piloted by Republic pilots.
Clankers, and a lot of them. Surrounding me. Blasters aimed directly at me, but not firing.
Why didn’t they kill me?
A ship - a small Separatist transport piloted by clankers. Nothing but clankers.
I was on that ship. On route to somewhere.
Somewhere not good.
Ahri extends a hand. “Hey, it’s alright,” she assures - pulling him out of his haze once again with her soft voice. He’s no longer standing; his knees are digging into the sand. “I told you we have a lot to discuss, and we still do.”
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