A/n: Heeey everyone. This chapter has been edited as of 12/18/2007. Because it was previously crap. I'm going to also attack the two chapters after this because they are also crap! Hopefully that wont be too horribly long in coming. However, now that I've said it, it probably will. DAMMIT.

Anyways, love you all for reading my story, even when the first bits sucked major. You seriously rock.

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Prologue: Asleep

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It was another one of those rainy, rotten days in Haven City. The unexpected mix of rainy and rotten that had you leaving for work in the morning expecting sun and not a shower, and when it gave you a shower, you were just flat out screwed.

Keira hated those kind of days.

And why wouldn't she? Growing up on a sunny little peninsula paradise spoiled her as a child. She was used to fresh sea air and clear skies in every direction, not…smog and rain and bleck in every direction.

Not even a good day in Haven could hold a candle to the worst day in Sandover.

Then again, her sour mood might have something to do with her not having a raincoat on when the shower hit. She'd been stuck in the middle of traffic in a sporty little half jacket issued by the Stadium and thinking nothing of it. And then promptly got drenched.

So yeah, not a happy camper. You'd think an advanced city such as this would have weather reports or something. But no, Baron Praxis didn't care enough to give them that luxury. It did make her want to invent something for the occasion, though. Not like she'd find the time, nor have the drive to work on it, if she did some how find a open slot in her schedule. She felt too rotten to put her heart into anything lately, and rain? Really didn't help.This was just adding to her foul mood, and that had a good week's head start on the crappy driving conditions.

Well, an upside on the storm, even if she was reluctant to admit it, was how it cleared the streets. A trip that used to be an hour back and forth from her shop to the Slums had been shortened considerably thanks to the lack of other drivers. Not many liked risking their Zoomers in this weather. A wet environment could do any number of things to their mechanics and few had the credits to spare for repairs these days.

Not that Keira had to worry about that. If her baby broke—because she just had to take her favorite ride out on the worst day possible—it'd be no trouble fixing her up. C'mon, she was a mechanic.

Still, hate for the rain.

She was just one of the unlucky ones who couldn't get off the road when crap like this hit. She had somewhere to be and couldn't get out of going.

She didn't really want to get out of going, actually…

As Keira drove, she kept chancing glances at the package in her lap, stuck as securely as she could make it between her knees. It was dangerous to do—taking her eyes off the road when visibility was at its worse—and she knew that. Even if there were less Zoomers on her route, it was no excuse.

Still, she wanted the package safe. She had nowhere else to put it, what with her driving off the second her daddy had delivered it, and if she wasn't careful, it could slip and fall and be crushed or smashed or lost or any number of things. It'd just make her day if it did, too. Completely. Everything else was wrong, why not just top off the list?

But no, it was fine. Right where it was last time she checked. And it'd stay there, even if keeping her legs together like this made driving a little harder. She would. Not. Drop it. No way.

Getting where she needed to be took an eternity. An eternity of rain pelting on her from the front and attention shifting from the road to the package and back and forth. By the time she'd gotten to her destination, her mood had gone from bad, past worse and into something else completely. Horrible, maybe. Around there abouts.

Didn't stop her from feeling paranoid, though. She never did like coming here for that reason. Every time she approached the ugly graffiti covered wall, she worried she'd do something wrong and somehow alert the Guard.

Keira gave a quick, nervous glance over her shoulder as she turned into the dead-end alley. She'd planned on driving to the end and parking out of sight as usual. It scared her out of her wits to see her usual spot already filled and by a Hellcat Cruiser no less.

Ah, but there was that Torn guy, propped up against the hood like he owned the thing. The real owner had to be a friendly, then.

That only meant one thing; the Princess had beaten her here.

…so what comes after horrible?

Grumbling to herself, Keira reluctantly set her sputtering Zoomer next to the Hellcat and hopped off, bundle in hand. Torn didn't acknowledge her presence and she returned the favor in kind. If she wasn't already aware of how much of a people person the guy wasn't, she would've expected the lack of welcome was thanks to the way she practically stalked over to the Underground's fake-wall entrance.

What could she say? She was a 'heart-on-your-sleeve' kind of girl.

The hallway between the outside and the HQ was thankfully dry. Here the mechanic paused to wring out her jacket, which made a rather large puddle on the stairwell, and make an attempt at taming the mess the elements had made out of her hair. It was a useless endeavor without a brush or a hair dryer, yet she tried for the sake of trying.

And for the sake of prolonging her entrance…

"Nice do," was her greeting when she finally managed to move her feet down the last few steps. Oooh, she could just smack him for that smirk.

"Not now, Dax," she hissed, and gave her hair another useless shake. Daxter didn't seem to care about the warning in her tone, because the next thing she knew, he'd bounded off the bed and onto her shoulder. She stepped back, steadying herself as the new weight opened his big trap.

"Jeez, someone's cranky," he stated plainly, drawing out the last word in a sing-songy tone that made her want to grind her teeth. "Bet y'woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, right? Not enough beauty sleep, sweetie?"

"And that's where you stop," she downright ordered. She swatted at him and he dropped to the bottom bunk near-by with a pout. "I meant it, I'm not in the mood."

"No one's in the mood," the animal muttered and crossed his arms. Then the beady eyes that had previously been trained to the floor scooped up and fixed themselves on the bundle Keira held. A lithe, furry arm jumped up, Daxter pointing at the package accusingly. "Whazzat?" he asked as the mechanic moved to hide the bundle of paper behind her back. "Izzat fer me? Why y'hiding it? Give it here!" He opened his arms wide to receive what he so quickly assumed was his.

"It's not yours!" she hissed, and the Ottsel dropped his arms in disappointment. Once she'd given him a look for such a selfish assumption, the bi-haired girl pulled the parcel back out and undid the twine holding the paper in place. She unwrapped the paper carefully, then held its revealed contents out for Daxter to see.

Three long stemmed, blue flowers sat, contrasting brightly against their dull, off white packaging. "These are for Jak."

Daxter gave an impressed whistle for her gift. "'m sure he'd like 'em, too," he commented, "but I dunno if he'll get t'see 'em, yah know." There was a vague gesture with his right paw, then, "Pollution 'n all."

"I'll keep them watered," she assured the animal quietly. Then she continued on her way past the last cot, fully intending to—

Ah hell.

Keira felt her face contorting into something not exactly lady like.

Ashelin, daughter of the Baron, sat squatted against the last bottom buck of the left row, asleep. Her hands were intertwined with Jak's, the current occupant of the bed. A green-eco drip was connected haphazardly into the anti-hero's arm. He looked the same as he had for the past week and a half, minus the new addition with her head in his lap and her fingers intertwined with his.

That's supposedto be my…

Keira tried to ignore the jealous twang the stupid image of them together sent through her because, really? It shouldn't have existed. It wasn't like she and Jak were even a couple or anything…

Now.

Feh, let the Baron's little brat have him. It wasn't like Jak was…hers.

Keira turned away and began looking for something suitable to put her flowers in.

Now, Keira was in no means a neat freak. Her father? Yes. Her? No. Very no. But even she, accustom to messes of all sizes, could tell this place was in need of some serious spring cleaning. But after a few minutes of searching, she located a cup and, once she'd emptied the obviously old contents into the furnace, set to refilling it carefully from the crude pipe running down the wall. Then she turned back around with every intention of leaving it on the table near the back of the room.

Only Ashelin was looking right at her.

Keira gave a start, nearly dropping her impromptu vase. When she was sure her butterfingers really did have a hold on it, she removed one hand to press at her chest, patting her racing heart. The Baron's daughter didn't seem to notice.

"Did you grow those?" Ashelin asked, sleep still in her eyes and voice. She didn't seem to care that Keira could quite plainly see how tired she was, which in turn made Keira wonder exactly how little the older woman thought of her. The red-head just rubbed at her eyes with the hand that had been grasping tightly to Jak's.

"No," Keira replied, feeling strangely guilty that she hadn't. "My daddy does the plant thing. I do…the inventing thing." She shifted awkwardly and drifted her focus off Ashelin to one of the more blatant anti-Praxis posters hanging around them. "You know…" and she drifted off, not knowing quite what she dared to say. When no reply came, she looked back only to meet the back of the KG's head. Apparently a sleeping Jak was too engrossing to continue their forced conversation. Not that Keira particularly cared. She didn't like Ashelin, and presumably vice versa.

Maybe.

Anyways, it was still rude. Asking a question then ignoring the answer. She opened her mouth to say as much, face beginning to flush, but by then the would-be Baroness was already on her feet and heading for the door. She gave Keira a back handed wave and then a glance over the shoulder before the second door slid shut.

Keira hissed out her breath through her teeth, hands in fists at her sides. "What…what a bitch," she whispered. The moment she'd said it, Daxter—now on the far top bunk—started giggling like mad and rolling around on his back. She grimaced. He had better hearing now, didn't he…?

Her eyes fell on their own to Jak's bunk and suddenly she didn't care anymore. She felt too tired to care. She had just enough strength to walk over and claim Ashelin's now vacant spot before her knees practically gave way at his bedside.

And there he was, her childhood sweetheart, covered in old bandages and a thin, faded green blanket. His tan arm was exposed and tucked tightly to his side, palm resting face down on his chest where Praxis' daughter had left it. Keira glanced up, noticing that the GE drip the Underground had lifted from the local hospital, the one now nicely fastened into the strangely scarred vein on the inside of Jak's arm, was already in need of changing. Hell, it should have already been changed. What kind of place were they running here, if this was how they treated a fallen comrade?

…but wait, they were the Underground. And with his outlaw status, there was no way Jak would get any treatment at normal hospitals.

It wasn't fair…

Keira's attention instantly snapped back to her friend as he sighed in his sleep. Even then, his expression didn't change. Still all stern features and hard lines under the mess of matted yellow-green hair. There was a blood stained bandage around his forehead, but the red had turned brown, so she didn't especially worry. Every few moments, his eyes would move behind his eyelids, green eyelashes fluttering for the briefest instant. Even if she knew if—when he opened those eyes next, they'd be just as dark as they had the last time they'd met hers, still…

The mechanic could remember a time when those same eyes could light up an entire room—an entire village. Just like there was a time when the lips he now kept locked in a tight, stern line could crack into the most uplifting smile.

Keira wet her bottom lip before tucking it behind her teeth. Her hand found his and she gave it a light squeeze. "Even when you're asleep, you have to look so serious," she said quietly. Tears began pricking her eyes—she knew they'd come eventually, what took you?—as she pushed some of the sweat soaked hair away from his eyelids with her free hand. "Why do you act like this? What happened to you?" Now she was staining his sheets, but she didn't care. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the back of his limp hand. "It's…not my fault is it? 'Cursors, I-I didn't even get to apologize." Gently, she pulled back, regarding Jak's neutral face with tear-filled eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and brought his hand up a second time to kiss it in silent prayer. "I'm sorry…

"Please wake up…"

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Ashelin exited the Underground and into a light sprinkle. The storm had called it quits for the moment, but from the looks of the horizon, she'd need to hurry home if she didn't want to catch it's second wind. But, instead of moving on, Ashe leaned against the entrance wall and took in a few deep breaths of the cool, post-rain air.

She hadn't counted on falling asleep. She hadn't counted on Keira, either…

"How're you holding up, Ashe?"

A soft thud announced Torn's presence beside her. The red-head could feel his concerned gaze on the side of her face. She sighed.

"I'm worried…" she admitted in a slow, calculated tone. "Worried he won't wake up. Worried we'll lose this battle without him…" She held one wrist and worked her gloved fingers in and out of a fist slowly. "Worried we'll…" Drifting off, Ashelin shook her head. "I don't know."

"He's just another soldier, Ashe'." That was probably meant as an attempt at distancing her. It only succeeded in making Torn sound jealous. She smirked a little—only he could make jealousy so cute.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "Isn't that the same attitude that drove you out of the 'Guard?" He winced, and her smirk grew further. The droplets falling down became heavier.

"You should get some sleep," he announced suddenly. Her reply was to walk away, fully intent on getting into her cruiser and head home to the palace where she could unleash a few cartridges on a turret gun or two. Just as she had hopped up into her seat, Torn called again, "He'll be fine."

Ashelin merely looked at him for a second, then regarded him coolly, Baron's Daughter plastered in big letters right over her face. "He better." Then the engine picked up and up she flew, until she'd left the slums behind.

The tattooed man left heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall, skinny arms crossed near his waist.