It took Kix longer than he wanted to admit for him to remember where he was upon waking. Somedays, he expected to still be greeted by the faces of his brothers, the organized chaos of the barracks and the cheerful laugh of Jesse from the bed above him. The sobering realization that all of that had been stolen from him in the blink of an eye hit harder on mornings like this, when his brain was sluggish and his will was sapped dry.

Some days were better than others. Yesterday had been a bad one– that's probably what led to the series of events that resulted in Reveth's warm body being pressed against his now, her lower half covered by his thin bed sheet and her upper half bared for the whole galaxy to see. Or at least, for anyone else who entered his room.

He didn't regret finding a bit of solace in her touch every now and then. What they both wanted was strictly physical. Beyond that, they still functioned as friends and normal crewmates, something Kix was thankful for.

No, what he did regret was the spice. Alcohol did nothing for him with his enhanced metabolism, and his desperation, he'd taken to keeping a stash of synthetic drugs on hand. The stuff was strong enough to take a clone like him down.

He wasn't proud of it, but well… there was no one left to be disappointed by his actions anyways. Sometimes the haze made the pain a bit further out of reach, and when coupled with the distraction Reveth provided, it was enough in the moment.

It was the aftermath that brought it all back and threatened to drown him again. But that's what his life was anyways, yeah? A clone out of time, with no war to fight, no brothers to protect, no Republic to die for.

Sure he had reasons to live for: his Captain, who'd risked his life to save Kix. His crew, who welcomed him and gave him a new home. Reveth, who was there to share his darkest moods. The high. Spite, to show the galaxy that it hadn't beaten him yet.

If he could convince the world he wasn't beaten down yet, he could still convince himself.

But not today. Today, he'd let his grief consume him a bit more.

There was always tomorrow to try again.