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Room and Board	By : sillyneko345 Category: +G through L > Jak & Daxter Views: 25355 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the game this story is based on (Jak & Daxter) nor do I make any money from writing it.

Chapter List
- 1-Ch. 1
- 2-Ch. 2
- 3-Ch. 3
- 4-Ch. 4
- 5-Ch. 5
- 6-Ch. 6
- 7-Ch. 7
- 8-Ch. 8
- 9-Ch. 9
- 10-Ch. 10
- 11-Ch. 11
- 12-Ch. 12
- 13-Ch. 13
- 14-Ch. 14
- 15-Ch. 15
- 16-Ch. 16
- 17-Ch. 17
- 18-Ch. 18
- 19-Ch. 19
- 20-Ch. 20
- 21-Ch. 21
- 22-Ch. 22
- 23-Ch. 23
- 24-Ch. 24
- 25-Ch. 25
- 26-Ch. 26
- 27-Ch. 27
- 28-Ch. 28
- 29-Ch. 29
- 30-Ch. 30
- 31-Ch. 31
- 32-Ch. 32
- 33-Ch. 33
- 34-Ch. 34
- 35-Ch. 35
- 36-ch. 36
- 37-ch. 37
- 21
- 22
- 23
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Grimreaperchibi: There’s some toughness hidden in there. Somewhere. He’s just about done being a weenie, even if he doesn’t realize it yet. No Razer poking required.
Donalgraeme: Yep, you called it. I’m glad you liked the warm ‘n fuzzies. Don’t worry, there will be sneaking around the fam aplenty.
Nanoboy: Had to give Keira her witty dialogue, right? I’m thinking the story’s getting plenty long enough.
Ruciefie: Thank you for telling me how you feel in a mature and respectful way. I appreciate that. This story has been ongoing for several years and has changed a lot in that time. I made the conscious choice quite a while ago to stop making those kinds of jokes. I’ve now gone back and erased the ones that were already there entirely. There won’t be any more.
MariMeeko: You should definitely look up the song, it’s a good one! I was planning to write a couple more one shots of Tess and Keira, and may still. I love the girls, even though I don’t write very much of them. Daxter’s relationship with the family will be… interesting. As will his trip up De Nile.
Derpywolfz: Thanks for reading : ) I’m glad you’re enjoying it so far.
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Characters: Belong to Naughty Dog, Inc.
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Daxter loitered in bed on the first morning of winter break.
He woke pressed up against Jak. Force of habit and the need to seek heat kept him there even with plenty of room to spread out in the quarterback’s bed. Jak slept on behind him, one arm thrown around his smaller bedmate’s waist. His soft, even breaths brushed the back of Daxter’s ear with their warmth.
The redhead couldn’t suppress a smile. He wriggled lower in the blankets and Jak’s hold until the comforter completely covered the top of his head. Content inside his warm cocoon, he was more than happy to stay right where he was until Jak woke up.
Man, I totally do not miss the days of panickin’ when I woke up next ta this lug, he thought in sleepy amusement. Panicking was so overrated, especially first thing in the morning.
The bedroom door creaked gently.
Daxter’s ear twitched under the blanket. Didn’t Jak shut that last night…? He listened, but the sound didn’t come again. Huh. Must’a been the dog. I’ll get used ta the dog sooner or later, I guess—
Bedsprings shrieked as the world degenerated to chaos around him.
Daxter reflexively gripped the comforter as he felt himself falling off the bed. He hit the floor with a muffled thump and a yelp that was largely drowned out by Jak’s incoherent bellows from above. Squirming and flailing under the tangle of blankets, Daxter was finally able to pull them off and look up.
He wasn’t sure what he had expected to see, but Jak’s dad had not been it. And the man in question, who happened to have the quarterback caught securely in a professional-looking headlock and was giving him the noogie of the century, was definitely Jak’s father. The same face Daxter remembered from the family portrait Jak had once shown him suddenly caught sight of him and stared back in surprise. Older, more careworn, but indisputably the same man.
The redhead swallowed hard, ears falling to meet the blanket draped around his shoulders. “Uh… hi?”
Amused perplexity slowly overtook the shock on the other man’s face. “Hello, yourself. And who might you be?”
“He’s my roommate, you inconsiderate asshole!” Jak roared, head still trapped under an arm so muscled it looked as though it could subdue bears.
Recognition dawned. “Ah, so you’re Daxter.” One huge hand released Jak to extend in greeting. “I’m Damas.”
Daxter shook the proffered hand politely from his spot on the floor. For all Damas looked like he could crush cars like the Incredible Hulk, his grip was surprisingly gentle. Gentler than Keira’s had been the night before. “Yeah, that’s me. Nice ta meet ya.”
Throughout their exchange of morning pleasantries Jak struggled in the one-armed grip, feet braced against the headboard for leverage as he fought to get loose. The arm that held him didn’t budge. “Okay, you can let go now!”
Daxter bit his lip against the snickers that threatened.
Completely ignoring his son, Damas kept his attention on the redhead. “Sorry for the rude awakening, Daxter. I didn’t realize Jak had company. I promise my next ambush won’t include civilian casualties.” Finally, he deigned to release his hold.
Jak was set free. He struggled upright with a muffled curse, hair tangled and cheeks red, more ruffled than Daxter had ever seen him off the gridiron.
Damas slapped him on the back. “You know I’m very proud of your football skills, Jak. I’m just awfully glad you didn’t have your heart set on becoming a wrestler instead.”
This time Daxter couldn’t hold back the peal of laughter.
Jak glared, ears laid back to their extreme. “Gee, Dad, thanks. I missed you, too. So nice to see you after months of nothing but phone calls and video chats. Now leave.”
“Now, now, son. Mind your manners.” Damas chuckled indulgently and stood up with a stretch, the bed frame creaking as he did. “Speaking of manners, though—why didn’t you tell me your roommate was going to be visiting? And why didn’t you offer him the guest room?”
“We didn’t know until yesterday!” the green-blonde protested indignantly. “And I didn’t offer him the guest room because I knew you were coming and you use the guest room.”
Daxter experienced a sudden flare of unease. Jak had said that Damas was military. Did that translate to hyper-masculine? Was he going to think that his son sharing a bed with another guy wasn’t acceptable, even if (for a change) they had only been sleeping? Sure Jak was over eighteen and could technically do whatever he wanted, but starting an interfamily feud was something the redhead wanted no part of.
“I can sleep on the couch,” he said quickly. “Or the floor. It’s no big deal, I don’t mind.”
Damas flicked his ears dismissively. “Wherever you’re comfortable, son. Just making sure you feel welcome. And that you can actually sleep next to Jak. Sharing a bed with him can be less than a walk in the park. Believe me, I know.”
“Accidentally kick someone out of bed at one hotel during one family vacation one time and they never let you forget it,” Jak grumbled. He swung his legs out of bed. “So, when did you get in?”
“Just a while ago. It was worth it to drive through the night.”
Daxter glanced at the clock on Jak’s beside table. It blinked a cheerful 7:56 AM.
“Well, men, the day’s wasting,” Damas announced. “Rise and shine, get dressed, and report to the kitchen for debriefing.”
Jak looked less than amused.
“I also made coffee?”
Coffee, as it turned out, was an acceptable motivator.
Damas retreated to the downstairs, leaving Jak and Daxter to straighten the mangled bedclothes and stagger into clothes of their own.
“Sorry about that,” Jak muttered as he pulled a shirt out of the closet. “Me and Dad like to mess with each other. I seriously don’t think he had any idea you were there or he wouldn’t have done that.”
“S’cool. He was just havin’ fun.” The redhead searched for his socks, finding them a moment later with a surge of triumph. There were perks to keeping the thieving weasel sequestered in another room. “Yer dad seems pretty chill for a military dude. I didn’t expect that.”
The quarterback chuckled. “Apparently he used to be a real terror back in the day. But yeah, he’s a lot more Zen about things now. That’s why he voluntarily stopped rising in the ranks when he hit Master Sergeant—any higher and the bureaucracy would make him go Rambo.”
“Rambo, or Hulk? He’s as big as yer coach!” Daxter glanced at his friend slyly, seriously lacking the willpower to resist making a crack. “So, I gotta ask. What the heck happened with the genetics there, sweet petite?”
Jak gaped indignantly. “Says the guy I could bench press!”
When all Daxter did was laugh, the green-blonde gave him a shove. A small one. It was instantly returned, and the light in Jak’s eyes as he backed the snickering redhead toward the bed said that tickle tackles were imminent… before the bang of a kitchen cabinet slamming echoed up from downstairs.
Jak sighed. “I guess we better get down there and help Dad find something to eat. Uncle’s been gone a couple weeks, so he probably didn’t leave any food in the house that isn’t frozen or freeze-dried.”
“Oooh. I call dibs on the reconstituted mashed potatoes.”
As he trailed Jak down the stairs, Daxter tried to be practical. Of course they couldn’t roughhouse whenever they felt like it when Jak’s dad, and soon to be his uncle, too, was in the house. Their roughhousing turned to making out more often than not these days, and they couldn’t afford to act too suspicious. That didn’t mean he couldn’t pout a little at not being able to plant a good morning hickey on his attractively tousled roommate, though.
Maybe keepin’ my hands ta myself’s gonna be harder than I figured, he thought uneasily. What a difference a good night’s sleep and waking up feeling a hundred times more secure than he had the day before could make to the libido.
The smell of warm coffee greeted them when they reached the kitchen. So did Keira’s happy morning chatter.
“…and next semester I finally get to take my first high performance class! I can’t wait to work on some real racing engines. Not that I don’t have a pretty good grasp of those already, but if I have to change one more set of brakes for one more ungrateful staff member I’m gonna go nuts!”
From the table where he was working through a mug of coffee, Damas chuckled. “Are you still planning on opening your own shop when you graduate?”
“Absolutely.” Keira pulled a carton of eggs out of the bag she held, adding to the growing pile of groceries on the counter where milk, oranges, and bacon had already accumulated. “I’ve been dreaming about the Hagai High Performance Machine and Body Shop since eighth grade and now the only thing standing between me and it is a major in automotive tech and a minor in business management. How hard can it be?” Bag empty, she looked up and caught sight of the boys. “There you are. I’ll make the eggs if you make the waffles, Jak. And we need to go to the store later. I raided the fridge for this milk and Daddy hasn’t noticed yet.”
“Living on the edge as usual, aren’t we?” Jak deadpanned, pulling a waffle iron out of a cupboard. “Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee maker, Dax,” he said over his shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”
Daxter did. He filled a mug, added the requisite overflow of creamer, and prudently got out of the way. A moment later he found himself occupying the chair across from Damas.
As usual, when confronted with someone new and slightly unnerving, he went with the approach that tested the situation by poking it with a stick: he struck up a conversation. “Sheesh, talk about service! I should crash here on short notice more often if breakfasts are always this good.”
“Indeed.” Damas smiled, folding the newspaper he had begun to leaf through. “So, Daxter, what area of study are you majoring in?”
He shrugged uncomfortably. Any answer he gave after hearing Keira’s long-term goals wasn’t going to be impressive. “Meh, not quite sure yet. I’m not good at much.”
“Everyone’s good at something, son.”
“Well, let’s see; I’m good at running my mouth, running my mental mouth on paper, and running in general, usually away from scary things that want to injure me,” he said, ticking each off on his fingers. “And my boss says I’m learnin’ how ta make a mean Stromboli. So right now, my big goal is just ta survive Freshman year.”
“Of course. One step at a time,” Damas agreed seriously. His rather unique moustache, however, was framing a small smile.
“So, what about you, yer Master Sergeantlyness?” Daxter laced his fingers together and propped his chin on them, smiling coyly. “What’re your plans fer the future?” Somehow it felt alright to joke with the older man a little. Damas seemed to exude an aura of calm acceptance that put the normally jittery redhead more at ease the longer they talked.
Damas rolled his mug in his hands. “My plans? My plans. Hmm. Well, to tell the truth…” He seemed to consider for a moment. “I suppose there’s no harm in sharing it now. At the moment, my plans involve making preparations to retire from active duty."
Jak looked up from the waffle mix he was stirring, eyes wide. “Whoa, seriously?”
Keira looked like she had been told the sky was no longer blue when Damas nodded. “Wow. I can’t believe it. You’ve been in the service since…”
“Since before you two were born. And I’m getting entirely too old for active duty.”
“You’re not even fifty, Dad,” Jak pointed out. He deftly plated a waffle and set it in front of Damas.
“That’s why I’d like to get out now before age has a chance to catch up with me. Mmm, that looks good. Just keep those coming, if you would.” Damas filled every waffle pocket with butter and syrup, his precision surgical. “I’d like to get a civilian contract. See if I can’t do some good in veterans’ services. Then I can get a permanent post and stop hopping all over the country. Do things like take a weekend off to see my son graduate without having to request leave months in advance that I can’t even guarantee will be approved.”
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m sure you can get any position you want.” Jak’s ears went up hopefully. “Do you think you’ll be out by this summer? Could we go on vacation?”
His father nodded. “I’d like that. My goal is to be out by the Fourth. I may take the whole summer off if I can get away with it.”
Jak grinned. “That would be so cool.”
Daxter smiled too, despite himself. He had known Damas for less than an hour, but the older man seemed pretty okay. This new development made Damas happy. And even more importantly, it made Jak happy. Happy best friend was definitely a good thing.
Breakfast was ready soon enough, and demolished just as quickly by four hungry mouths.
Daxter sighed contentedly as he carried his dishes to the sink. A delicious breakfast he didn’t have to wait in line for and no class to rush off to. Breaks were awesome. He flipped on the water tap and glanced up, out the window over the sink.
“Whoa! Hey, Jak, look—it’s snowin’!”
“Really?” Jak appeared at his side, peering out with him. “Wow, it’s coming down pretty hard.”
“Supposedly we could get up to eight inches,” Damas said from the table. “That’s what made me decide to drive straight through.”
“That’s great!” Keira said happily. “I was hoping we’d get a chance to take the snowmobiles out over break. I didn’t soup them up so they could sit in the barn all winter.”
Daxter shook his head. “Snowmobiles? Seriously?”
“Well, sure. It’s flat as a pancake out here. The fields are perfect for it. Besides, all the farmers know us.”
“Best. Christmas. Break. Ever!” Daxter grinned, turning back to the sink. Huge, round eyes stared unblinkingly back at him through the window. “Holy shit!” he squawked, fumbling a plate in his haste to get away. “Jak, am I goin’ absolutely crazy here or is there a giant bird lookin’ in yer kitchen window?!”
Jak looked up from clearing the table, butter bowl in one hand and syrup bottle in the other, and scoffed. “Of course you’re not crazy. That’s an ostrich.”
Warily, Dax sized up the bird blinking at him through the glass. “… and, this is normal ta you, isn’t it. Why am I not surprised by this?”
Keira snickered. “Don’t worry, Daxter. That’s just Flut-Flut. He belongs to Mrs. Perch from down the road. She kind of has a thing for birds. All kinds of birds.” The poultry in question leaned forward and pecked gently at the windowpane. “Aww, look. He likes you.”
“Open the window, Dax,” Jak said.
Very slowly and gingerly, the redhead unlocked the window and slid it open. Flut-Flut’s head shoved inside immediately. Daxter prudently ducked. “Hey, watch it!”
Jak made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Here you go, Flut-Flut. Here, boy.” He grabbed a cold waffle off the plate of remainders and threw it across the kitchen like a gluten-filled Frisbee.
The ostrich’s bony head shot forward like a spring-loaded booby trap, snagging the waffle out of the air. It was gone in two quick swallows.
“Don’t feed the ostrich from the table, son.” Damas casually turned a page of his newspaper, eyes never leaving the fine print.
Daxter stared, awestruck.
“I guess I should probably take him back to Mrs. Perch,” Jak decided. He put the butter and syrup in the fridge and shut the door resolutely. “If we’re going to get that much snow, he should be in the barn.”
“Are you kidding? Of course she put him in the barn. He’s just an escape artist.” Keira put her dishes in the sink next to Daxter’s and gently shoved the ostrich’s head back out the window. “Hey, why don’t we go with you to take him home? We can show Daxter around.”
“Sounds good. You want to come, Dad?” Jak asked.
“No, you kids have fun. I think I’m going to get a nap in before your uncle gets home. I’m sure we’ll all be hearing about Belize in excruciating detail before the night’s over.”
And that was how Daxter found himself gearing up for ostrich wrangling, pulling on his jacket at the hall closet with Jak while Keira grabbed her outerwear from the foyer.
Jak eyed the jacket with a frown. “Let me find something a little heavier for you to wear. We’ll be out there for a while.” Before the redhead could protest, he was digging deeper into the closet. “Kimono… toga… good god, Uncle, why do you even own a grass skirt… okay, here we go. Try this.”
The coat he placed in Daxter’s hands was thick and downy. The bright blue fabric turned to cream and brown leather at the wrists and waist. An embroidered breast patch read Sentinel High Athletic Department.
The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “This feels expensive.”
“It was my high school winter athletics coat,” Jak said, rolling his eyes. “I got it sophomore year when I joined the football team, but by junior year my shoulders were so wide I couldn’t wear it anymore. Try it on.”
Daxter slid it on. The weight of the thickly insulated coat was warm and heavy on his shoulders. “S’pretty nice,” he admitted, sneaking a peek at himself in the hallway mirror.
“It looks good on you. Not everybody can pull off the Sentinel Sharks look.” Jak’s hands came up automatically to turn down the collar, then stilled on Daxter’s shoulders. “… I think you should keep it.”
His stomach did the signature dance move it seemed to bust out whenever Jak did something particularly awesome. “Really?”
“Yeah. I’d rather you have it than it hang in the closet with Uncle’s questionable souvenir ethnic apparel forever.”
Daxter smoothed his hands down the zipper, cheeks and ears warming. “Thanks, big guy.” He chanced a quick glance up through his lashes.
Jak glanced down.
Their eyes met.
The quarterback gave an awkward half shrug. His smile was almost shy.
On a sudden impulse, Daxter moved a quick step closer. Damas was still in the kitchen. Keira was still in the foyer. Surely one quick hug of thanks wouldn’t hurt anything? He went up on tiptoe, leaning toward Jak—
A giggle from down the hall made both their heads jerk up in unison.
“Boyfrieeeeends,” Keira whispered loudly, gloved hands cupped around her mouth. “So adorable.”
Daxter stumbled backwards, pulling the collar of his new coat back up, but couldn’t quite cover the now very obvious blush raging over his face.
Jak angled his ears back with a scowl and cleared his throat pointedly. “Alright, let’s go put birdie in the barn. Got the leash?”
“Right here,” she said, holding up a well-worn leash and collar.
“… that’s not fer the dog, is it,” Daxter guessed.
Croc wagged up at him, panting happily in anticipation of the imminent adventure.
Keira shrugged as they stepped out into the falling snow. “Flut-Flut thinks he’s a dog anyway. It all works out.”
Daxter rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Jak, I’m frankly astounded you don’t have a lasso with that overgrown turkey’s name on it. It’s scary how easily I can imagine you ridin’ that thing.”
“I did ride him when I was younger,” the quarterback said brightly, accepting the leash from Keira as the ostrich pranced around the side of the house. “I don’t think the ER techs ever really believed me when I told them I broke my arm falling off the neighbor lady’s pet ostrich. Coming from an eleven-year-old I guess that would be pretty unbelievable, though.”
“Everything about you is unbelievable,” Daxter grinned. Then he was pointing frantically as Flut-Flut began to head for the edge of the yard. “Hey, hey, the giant drumsticks are makin’ a break for it!”
They began to pick their way slowly toward the ostrich, who was giving them the obvious side-eye and sidling further away the closer they came.
“Speaking of drumsticks, Jak—you’re inviting Daddy and me to Christmas Eve dinner, right?” Keira asked.
“Yeah, just like every year. Why?”
“Because you owe me. You didn’t come home for Thanksgiving and I had to eat vegan tofurkey with my dad. Do you know what vegan tofurkey tastes like? No, you don’t, because your legal guardian is a normal person who eats normal human food.”
Jak snickered. “Maybe we can get a turducken and make up for your meat deficiency. That’s festive, right?”
Daxter snorted before he could stop himself. “Oh, yeah, definitely. ‘Cause nothin’ says ‘happy holidays!’ like stuffing one dead bird up another dead bird’s ass.”
At Jak and Keira’s sudden burst of laughter, Flut-Flut took off at a dead run.
“Fan out!” Jak yelled, leaping into motion. “Dax, go left; Keira, go right! Chase him toward the barn.”
A second later, three teens and a wildly barking dog were sprinting after a wayward ostrich, the gathering snow muffling their pounding footfalls on the hard ground. Whooping with laughter, Daxter fell into formation alongside his friends. For one shining moment, it seemed as if his place had always been there.
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To be continued.
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