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Love is War	By : grimreaperchibi Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 4213 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Jak & Daxter, nor the places, people, or objects within. I make no money writing this. Additional disclaimer within.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
A/N: First things first, thank you to everyone who reviewed my other story. You've reaffirmed why I want to do this. I'm also pretty sure I've shot myself in the foot and will never be able to produce something as nice again. I'm gonna try anyway. So if you see me limping around, you'll know what happened.
I may be committing a cardinal sin by using music lyrics and such for the vehicle of this storyline, but it's what inspired this whole thing in the first place. I encourage you to listen as we go. Which means I get an...
Additional Disclaimer: The lyrics used within are part of the fair use clause of copyright law and remain the property of the individual artists and recording companies to which they belong. Any misconstruing/mistyping of the lyrics is strictly the fault of the author. All lyrics are used here only for setting ambience.
Don’t ask why Daxter’s not an ottsel, I don’t know. This timeline assumes that it’s been between two to three weeks since escaping the Fortress and that Torn stuffs your ass in a hole after moving all the compromised Underground agents. Here we go!
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Chapter 1 – Number Two (009 Sound System)
With a grunt, Jak slammed his shoulder into the door. It finally gave, groaning in protest as it was forced open another few inches. Just enough to let two renegades slip through before it was shoved closed once more. The snap of the deadbolt had an air of finality.
“Home sweet hole,” Daxter sighed, flickering on his lighter and holding it up so that they could both see. The room was ridiculously small, barely large enough to hold a sleeping pallet, a hot plate, and a sink that doubled as the water supply for the tiny closet of a bathroom. “No windows, no lights...” He fiddled with the taps until a gurgling stream of brown water hiccupped from the facet. “…and the water’s nasty. How long did Tattooed Wonder say we gotta stay here?”
“Until our stunt with the Baron blows over,” Jak replied, back pressed against the door as he eyed the room warily.
Daxter snorted. “He can kiss my formerly fuzzy orange ass if he thinks we’re spendin’ more than the night,” he groused, checking through everything as he talked, making sure there were no nasty surprises waiting for the light to go out. “I mean, we’ve been doin’ his garbage work for how long? We’re practically carryin’ his Precursor-damned rebellion, an’ this was the best he could come up with? I’ve seen prison cells with more space an’ better accommodations.” He paused in his self-appointed task, as if suddenly realizing what exactly he’d said. He looked over to Jak. “You okay, buddy?”
Jak nodded, but he wasn’t really. He felt trapped and more than slightly claustrophobic. The errant comment about prison cells had struck a little too close for comfort. Most of the time, enclosed spaces weren’t a problem. It was in and out to pick up a mission brief, maybe grab a drink if they were at the Hip Hog, and never with enough time on hand to think about where the walls were and whether or not they were moving. Even in the relatively close quarters of the sewers, his focus had been on what he was doing and not getting attacked from behind. Now, all those bad memories he’d barely managed to bury under anger and constant movement were starting to rise again. He was seriously starting to consider taking his chances sleeping out on the street despite the increased Krimzon Guard presence when slightly cold hands clapped around his face. His eyes were forced to meet the extraordinarily clear blue eyes of his best friend, instantly grounding him to the present.
“S’okay, Jak,” Daxter said softly. “I’m right here with ya. We can leave anytime you want.”
For a long second, the world simply stopped. There was no room, no Guard, no darkness that threatened to overtake everything else. Only the two of them existed and the only moment that mattered was right now. From there, the world came back in small, manageable bits. This wasn’t confinement; it was safety. No lights to give away their position. No way for peering eyes to see them. The heavy door that took a small army to break down was there to protect them while they rested and recouped. He wasn’t alone, his company wasn’t going to hurt him, and he could go when he wished. The mantra slowly repeated—he was safe, he wasn’t alone, he could leave when he wanted—until the constriction in his chest eased. Jak sighed, relaxing back against the door.
He must have still looked uncertain because suddenly Daxter was hugging him, holding on tightly as if Jak would disappear the moment he was let go of. He returned the embrace as strongly as he dared, trying to give as much reassurance as he received. Sometimes it was still a shock that they were together again, that the horror was actually behind him and not still waiting to continue when he woke the next time. Running this errand for Krew or that mission for Torn had kept their attention focused on what was directly in front of them. It kept two years of hell from being much more than a lingering nightmare in the back of their minds, not forgotten…but somehow no longer as frightening.
Now there was more than ample time to think about it all. How close he’d been to letting that last part of him die, letting the Dark Eco consume him the way he’d watched it consume all the others. How he still toed that line of insanity, succumbing ever so slowly to the anger that only seemed to go deeper every day. He was learning quickly what the stressors were, what things triggered that savage other in his brain to surface and how to control it. Everyone thought he just went feral, a wild animal acting on instinct alone, and in a way, that was true. While he was very much aware of what he was doing in the Dark periods, he could barely exercise any control over the outcome, which wasn’t much better than being completely out of control. The powers inherent in Dark Eco simply overwhelmed all else, rushing out in a single, violent explosion, like a dam under too much pressure. Each time there was a release, it became just that much easier for the walls to break again. The wellspring became deeper, the effects more pronounced, making each step towards control a step towards the line that separated that which was “Jak” from the destructive force of nature he now carried in his blood.
Which then lead to the most terrifying thought of all…what was going to happen to Daxter the day he couldn’t come back after crossing that line?
His morbid thoughts of what-if were interrupted when Daxter abruptly pulled away and started to pull off the impressive amount of equipment he carried everywhere. There was a reason home was where Daxter was—his best friend packed it with him. Food, ammunition, medical supplies, money, clothes, a blanket…name it and it was probably stuffed into a hip pouch, pocket, or the bag the redhead hauled around. So it came as no real surprise when an old fashioned candle appeared out of somewhere and turned a cup into a makeshift candleholder. The dim light quickly brightened, filling the room with an almost homey yellow glow.
Source of light now secure, Daxter hurried through the rest of his room check. Then, without preamble, everything else he was carrying was dumped onto the floor. Pockets were emptied, the bag and pouches turned inside out. He sat in the middle of his mess, hands automatically starting to sort out all the items. “C’mon,” he said as he worked. “It’ll be just like that time we got trapped in that cave durin’ a storm. Only a helluva lot drier. Helluva lot warmer, too.”
Jak wasn’t really sure which time or cave his friend was referring to; being stuck in a cave waiting for a particularly intense storm to pass had been a twice yearly event growing up. In the summer, the rains came from the mountains via thick gray clouds that dropped water in random patterns and places. Hot mornings would lead to afternoon downpours, where the unwary could go from dry to drenched in minutes, finding cover just time to no longer need it. Winter storms gathered out over the ocean, heralded by black clouds spanning the whole horizon and harsh winds. Those squalls could last days with few let-ups in between, the dark of night barely discernable from the dark of day. It was virtually inevitable, getting caught in the soaking rain when you were two young, cocky, high-energy boys who didn’t have the sense to stay in where it was warm and dry. They had had “cave adventures” all the time.
The connection with something familiar helped Jak ease away from the door. Most of the things were sorted by now and Daxter was starting to parcel out dinner. “Pull up a piece of floor, buddy. I got a kau fruit with our names on it here somewhere…” That caught Jak’s interest immediately; he’d always had a particular fondness for the waxy skinned, star shaped fruit that grew in the trees of the nearby jungle. How had Dax found one here? It was eventually found hiding in plain sight, earning a scowl from Daxter as he twirled his knife in the other hand. Quick, efficient cuts peeled the inedible parts away, revealing the soft yellow interior. He offered the treat to Jak before starting to hack into another piece of fruit, a melon of some sort about the size of a fist. Then there was a can of reconstituted something from a scavenged Ration crate and some of the flat bread made of hard grains, both made a bit more edible by the flowers Daxter had picked during their trip to the Mountain Temple. Even split between two, it wasn’t much, but it did help reinforce the whole camped out in a cave scenario they were playing off of.
Except the way Daxter handled that pocket knife of his. That was something he never could have attempted back home without hurting himself rather seriously. The knife itself wasn’t as impressive as the one Torn had flipped around when they first met, but after seeing the way his friend could handle his made Jak think the Underground’s tactician was compensating for something. It also highlighted how much Daxter had changed, going from a gangly youth with almost zero coordination to a young man with jaw dropping amounts of manual dexterity. He was still barely as tall as Jak, still built like a stick, and a skinny stick at that. Same untamable golden-red hair, buck teeth, clear blue eyes and bumptious personality. Still had the same cold hands and feet. But he was also harder, sharper, more likely to take a stand and get in someone’s face when he didn’t like the direction of the conversation. He’d perfected the art of the five finger discount and hiding in plain sight. He could dash fearlessly into crowds without ever touching a single person, vaulting off walls, bounding over obstacles, and rebounding from falls that should at least sprain something.
Daxter had become quieter, too, though only Jak could tell. There was still that steady stream of empty words to fill in the lingering silences, to take away the uncomfortable edge too little sleep and too much stress created. But the times when the words did mean something were fewer. He seemed less willing to share, even though he offered just about everything to Jak first. The complaints were still there, yet never about the important things like pain, fatigue, or hunger.
At first, Jak had put it off as a side effect of their time spent separated. Two years was a long time and the experience had changed them both on a fundamental level. They weren’t the boys they’d been before. Now that they were settling into each other again, though, he wasn’t sure it was so simple. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like it was all an act of nonchalance, like Daxter was trying to uphold something that no longer existed between them. Maybe he—
Jak bit his tongue, effectively distracting himself from his current thought process. It didn’t matter what he thought. For the time being, Daxter was beside him and that little piece of normalcy was doing wonders for the thousands of little bleeding wounds tape and gauze couldn’t touch. He could worry about losing that last lifeline when it came to that. There were enough bad things happening in his life right now that he didn’t need to go looking for more. Besides, even if it was all a shadow play between them now, at least Daxter cared enough to play along. That had to be worth something, right?
Dinner passed in companionable silence, the peppery bite of the flowers and sticky sweet tang of the kau fruit going a long way in making the rest of the food palatable. The melon wasn’t too bad, either, even if it was a little under ripe. Once they and the meal were cleaned up, Daxter began his nesting routine. Sometimes annoying, though mostly amusing, Jak watched his friend fuss over the bedding, the paranoia driving the action evident and understood. Shelter found on the street was perilous at best. The only way to stay alive long enough to meet the next dreary sunrise was to stay constantly vigilant, even when sleeping. Daxter had developed a complete schedule around bedding down. It had taken a bit to get used to sleeping next to one another since it had been a while since they’d shared personal space with anyone, but the cold nights Haven saw demanded they share body heat. They had learned each other’s sleeping patterns and made the best of it…which included letting Daxter take as long as he needed to settle down before Jak found that cozy spot beside him.
In the end, the makeshift bed was doubled over and moved into another corner. Everything they owned was repacked and set aside, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice. There was another search for unwanted roommates before Daxter wiggled into his chosen spot. More fussing with all his equipment. More arranging of the bedding. Finally, he drew the ratty blanket around his shoulders and held open the cocoon he’d constructed, his signal to Jak that he was done ordering the universe and ready to be joined. Careful not to disturb the design too much, he crawled into the offered spot. They settled in, shoulder to shoulder, not really tired but left with nothing else to really do.
There was something soothing about watching the candle flame gently flicker, feeling the body next to his warm and relax into him. It felt good, better than Jak remembered almost anything else feeling. It was almost enough to make him wish he could forget about the outside world all together. Even if his brain was trying too hard to make sense of everything he’d ignored in favor of what was right in front of him, the simplicity of the night was something he wanted to keep, something he couldn’t find anymore. But he couldn’t stop now. Not when he’d seen that look of terror on the Baron’s face the moment he’d realized Jak was an actual threat; that it was going to take significantly more than boasting and sheer arrogance to make the problem go away. The whole city was great about looking the other way when it came to the more unsavory elements of life there. Even if his sought after revenge came to naught, he wanted this place to see him, to acknowledge who and what he was and how he came to be that way.
“Don’t think ‘bout it,” Daxter mumbled, as if knowing where his thoughts were going. “Whatever it is, don’t worry ‘bout it right now. Nothin’s worth the time or trouble.”
You’re worth the time and trouble, Jak wanted to say. The words got caught in his throat, though, choking him slightly. He wasn’t sure why he needed to say them, or even where they’d come from, but he could not give them the weight of voice. After a few frustrating minutes of arguing with himself, he gave up. Leaning forward a bit, he blew out the candle, returning the room to utter darkness. He settled back against the wall and stared into the emptiness, willing his mind to be just as blank. Maybe if he could just get some real sleep, it wouldn’t all be so confusing anymore.
Yeah. Right.

***

Jak wasn’t certain how long it had been since he’d fallen asleep, but waking was instantaneous and complete. He held completely still, momentarily disoriented in the absolute black, and became aware of several things almost at once. The first thing he was able to discern was that sometime during the night, both he and Daxter had tipped over. Now he was lying on his back with his friend almost completely draped over the top of him, hopelessly tangled in the blanket. On the heels of that was the realization that Daxter’s breathing was off, feathery and light instead of soft and steady. Which lead to the third and probably most important thing to notice: the subtle way Daxter’s hips were shifting against his and the effect said movement was having on both of them.
For a minute, what was happening didn’t really process. It was a little awkward, to be sure… although not all that unpleasant. The weight on top of him was warm and oddly reassuring, the breathy noises as arousing as the rubbing. Even with the lack of sight, Jak could easily imagine the flush-stained skin to go with the fine trembling he could feel. The way each gasp and sigh would part lips swollen from kissing as hot breath brushed across his throat. How it would feel to have the hand currently clutching and kneading on his chest to do the same in his hair, or down his back as he—
Great Precursor Gods, what the hell was wrong with him tonight? Give him a little free time alone and his thoughts decided to dash off in any damn direction they wanted. In one night, he’d run the full gambit, from depression and fear to self-loathing and lust. Wonderful. He felt like beating his head into a wall, if only so that the ensuing headache ensured he couldn’t think anymore. It only got him in trouble. And people wondered why he suffered from target fixation.
He was just getting ready to wake Daxter when the completely unexpected happened: the other moaned his name. Jak froze. Had his friend really just…? No. No way in hell. He was hearing things now. He dismissed the thought with a vengeance. At least, until Daxter did it again, this time with a rougher roll of his hips. Then it was all a little harder to deny.
There was a part of him that suggested just going with it, which the rest of him struck down almost immediately. That was taking advantage of something between them that he wasn’t willing to jeopardize for anything. That meant ending this before it reached the inevitable, embarrassing, sticky conclusion it was heading for. Bracing himself as best he could, Jak clamped his arms down as best he could around the other. It was like taking a blow from the Scatter Gun directly to the diaphragm. Daxter exploded awake, already fighting off the perceived threat. Jak grunted and held on tighter, applying strength he normally kept in check. There was a gasp of pain before Daxter went limp. Jak eased up, but didn’t let go, waiting for his friend’s brain to catch up with the rest of him…and for his breath to come back.
Finally, a tiny whisper. “…Jak?”
“Yeah,” was the best he could manage.
There was a long sigh of relief. “Damn it, Jak, what the hell’s wrong with…” Daxter’s voice trailed off as his body stiffened again, apparently finally taking note of the obvious erection he was pressing into Jak’s thigh. He remained unmoving through several deliberate sounding breaths and a rather anxious swallow. “Sorry,” he said in a carefully neutral tone. There was another controlled breath, this one ending with a slight shiver and a mumbled curse. “I—I’ll just… I’ll go.”
Go? Wait…that meant Daxter was going to leave him? Here? Alone? Unreasonable panic spiked hard through Jak’s system. He immediately clutched the other to him, unwilling to let Daxter even try to move. Even the sharp yelp of pain wasn’t enough to get him to loosen his grip. He didn’t want Daxter to leave. Damn everything else! He didn’t want to be alone again and he most definitely didn’t want to be alone in the dark. He was supposed to be safe now, but safe only meant something because Daxter was there to prove its subsistence. He’d held on for two years for a voice he’d almost convinced himself had never existed in the first place. To lose it all again…he wasn’t that strong. He couldn’t—
“—leggo, leggo, please, Jak, buddy, stop, yer breakin’ my arm, leggo, please, leggo—”
The pleading finally penetrated the fear-rushed thoughts. His grip immediately relaxed, though he still couldn’t bring himself to let go completely. Daxter whined in distress, struggling to free himself. Gently, Jak helped untangle the mess of blanket and limbs they’d made. It was of little wonder he hadn’t managed to break Daxter’s arm, the way it was twisted up behind him. There was a loud sigh of relief when said arm finally came free. He immediately sat up, leaving a cold, empty feeling everywhere they’d be touching. It was uncomfortably close to being left, so Jak sat up as well, hesitantly feeling through the dark, half afraid he would find nothing and highly embarrassed for acting like a child a third his age. Didn’t change the fact he felt much better when a trembling hand latched onto his, however.
“’M sorry,” Daxter said, voice tired and stressed.
“For what? I hurt you.”
“Only ‘cuz I gave ya a heart attack. I woulda busted someone’s nose, wakin’ with someone gettin’ off on me like that. A bruised arm’s more than fair. Wasn’t nothin’ I didn’t deserve.”
Jak frowned at the self-depreciating tone. How could Daxter possibly think he was at fault? Okay, so maybe he’d been the one who started it, acting out some erotic dream and using Jak as an unintentional partner. But the last time Jak checked, they were both guys and that sort of dreaming was supposed to be completely normal. They were constantly within arm’s reach of each other, slept together in a space most people would consider weird even for known lovers, and shared damn near everything else. Something like this was bound to happen sooner than later and he was kind of surprised it hadn’t been sooner. Besides, it wasn’t like he thrown Daxter off, yelled and screamed and carried on, making it some huge issue. To the contrary, he was actually kinda flattered it was his name that had been spoken. He hadn’t even said a word yet about the whole mess…unless Daxter was apologizing for something else…
“Hey, buddy?” He sounded nervous. “I kinda can’t see yer face right now. So feel free to speak up any time you want—”
“Do you hate me?” Jak blurted out.
The stunned silence was palpable. “What the hell kinda stupid question is that?! Just ‘cuz I asked ya to talk to me doesn’t mean you get to say whatever the hell comes to mind. I’d slug ya one if I could see yer dense, blond head. Sure, Jak. Sprung ya from a torture chamber an’ followed yer crazy ass all over the damn city because I wanna murder you before anyone else gets the chance. Makes perfect sense.”
“Even after getting you turned into an ottsel?”
There was another pause. “…I admit I was pissed off at you for that. Well, beyond pissed, but I don’t think there’s an adjective strong enough out there to describe how I felt. But I never hated ya. Even when it looked like I wasn’t gonna get turned back, I didn’t hate you.”
“And now?”
“Is there a point to this?” Daxter whined petulantly. “’Cuz if there is, I’d like to skip to that part of the conversation.”
“Just answer.”
“No. I don’t hate you,” he said with great patience. “ Not then. Not now.”
“So what makes you think I hate you? That you deserve to be hurt by me?” Silence was his answer. He could sense Daxter curling into himself, pulling away mentally like he always did when the conversation started going deeper. Putting it all together was like a slap to the face; Daxter really did think he deserved it, had maybe even been waiting for it. Jak tightened his hold on the hand in his, annoyed and confused. “Seriously? You gave me my life back and you really think I give a damn about some dream you were having?”
“No, what I think ya give a damn about is that I’m the one who took yer smile away!” Daxter hissed back. It was hard to tell what surprised Jak more, the words or the tone of absolute anguish. “That I’m the reason you can’t sleep for more than a few hours without havin’ some horrible nightmare! That there’s a snarly, fanged version of yerself that likes to rip limbs from sockets! Two months as an ottsel is nothin’ compared to two years as a science experiment, an’ don’t you dare tell me otherwise!”
“That isn’t your fault!”
“The hell it isn’t!” The hand still in Jak’s was shaking hard and he wondered if the tears in Daxter’s voice were mirrored on his face. “My only friend in the entire fuckin’ world worked his ass off to help me when I needed it an’ I left him the moment shit got weird. I ran away an’ left him to die when he woulda done anythin’ to save me, an’ done it in half the time ‘cuz that’s the kinda great guy he is. I might not’ve inserted the needle, pressed the button, or marked failure on a piece a paper, but I did nothin’, an’ that’s a million times worse. I crawled into a bottle an’ just let it happen when I shoulda been there, doin’ somethin’ to protect the guy who made eveythin’ worth it. Ain’t much to love ‘bout someone like that…”
Jak felt his heart twist. This was why Daxter had been so distant. Because he couldn’t let himself get any closer, afraid of the time when what he was trying so hard to keep alive between them would turn on him. This had to be torture for him, constantly beside the source of pain but unable to move away from it, unable to protect himself from the what-ifs and should-haves because the cause was always right in front of him. That he stayed despite the uncertainty and dread, still tried to fulfill the part he thought he’d neglected even though it might only cause his ruin in the end…Jak had never loved someone more. He reached out, following his friend’s arm up until he reached Daxter’s face. His fingers swept through the wet streaks there before curling into soft hair. He pulled the other forward, thunking their foreheads together.
“You saved me,” he said softly, tightening his hold when Daxter tired to pull away. “I won’t lie—it hurt getting left behind like that. But as soon as they threw me into the program, I was so relieved you weren’t there. Watching what happened to everyone else…thinking one of them could have been you… That’s about half my nightmares right there, being so close, yet unable to help… It would have killed me faster than the Dark Eco they were injecting me with. Neither of us would be here right now if you hadn’t run away, Dax. Praxis would have destroyed us both, one way or another.
“But you weren’t there, and that was something they couldn’t take from me. I could put everything I didn’t want them to touch in you and know it was safe, that I was protecting it, and then it didn’t matter what they did to me. And maybe that’s completely fucked up, but it kept me going. It still does.
“You’re the only who came looking for me, the only one who still looks at me like a person instead of monster or the means to an end. You pulled me back from the edge of a very bad place and make me want to fight back against whatever they did to me. I can’t hate the person who did that for me. I can’t hate someone who still cracks jokes and tells stories and makes me feel normal. I can’t, so don’t ask me to.”
He could feel the last bit of resistance crumble. The sobs were quiet, but no less heart-wrenching and pitiful. Jak shifted, pulling his unresisting friend out of the corner he’d hidden in, bracing so that they were leaning into each other once again. He kept his arm around Daxter’s shoulders and let him cry. A couple of times, Jak thought to say more, only there was nothing else to say. Instead, he found himself touching, stroking the arm his hand rested against or absently rubbing his cheek against the other’s head. Once, he caught himself pressing a kiss to hair that still somehow smelled like the ocean.
…Was it wrong to never want to move?
Eventually, the sobs turned to hiccups, and then to sniffles before ceasing all together. Hesitant arms slowly slid around Jak’s chest as Daxter settled into a more comfortable position. Since he didn’t seem inclined to move anytime soon, Jak settled himself and continued touching. In return, Daxter nuzzled his shoulder.
“Sorry,” his friend mumbled after a little bit. “Think I ruined yer shirt.” Jak shrugged: he’d been covered in worse. What did he care about a little snot after traipsing through a sewer? “An’ thanks… I still don’t get it, but I’m glad yer not just puttin’ up with me.”
“Yeah, right. I don’t have the patience to just ‘put up’ with anything anymore.”
“Well, ya haven’t smacked me an’ my smart mouth inta the middle of next week yet, so yer patience is better than you think.”
“It’s called restraint. You should learn it.”
“An’ miss a chance to be a pain in Torn’s tattooed ass? As if. Smug bastard deserves everythin’ he’s got comin’.” Jak snorted, but couldn’t deny the twitch of a smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Hey! You smiled! That wasn’t even that funny!”
“Can’t prove it,” he responded, feeling good-naturedly belligerent for some reason. It was like all the worries and problems that had started the night off so badly were suddenly gone, or at the very least no longer so overwhelming. Once again, the world had constricted back to just the two of them and this time, there was nothing more to take in. He could see Daxter scowling at him so well in his mind that his eyes saw it, too. If anything, the lack of sight only reinforced how little anything else mattered right then. They were together, they were safe, and, most importantly, they still had that connection between them that made them more than best friends. Nothing else seemed important compared to that. He grinned again as Daxter started poking at him, pushing and demanding he acknowledge something they both already knew, but wanting the validation of being right. It was like they were thirteen again, arguing about some minor trinket. They argued for a bit, pushing and pulling at one another in a way they hadn’t for far too long before settling back down. Then something strange happened.
Jak looked into the surrounding darkness and he saw himself staring back. Darker, older, scarred, yes, but strong and proud and unashamed of whom and what he was. The odd thing was, he wasn’t afraid of what he saw. Even with the black horns curled up over alabaster hair, the dangerous glint of fangs peeking out from a renegade grin and the sharp, black nails that could rend all they touched, there was nothing fearful about him. The other him glanced slightly to the side. Jak followed the gaze and smiled when he recognized the fiery head resting against the shoulder, asleep for all intents and purposes. Hands designed for combat gently carded through golden red hair, earning a murmur of contentment. He blinked and the image was gone, replaced once more with Daxter staring at him curiously. He brushed off all the questions that came next, content to simply hold and enjoy the company.
Because for the first time in a long time, the dark held nothing more.
***
And you know you can love, baby, if we’re to fight

‘Til dawn, when the world takes you back from the path

And we’re shattered, but this is what it’s coming to.

As you push into drive at the risk of your life

On the streets of the night where your love comes to town

Oh, it’s lonely, but you can be in love, too.
~Number Two – 009 Sound System~
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To be continued.
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Love is War