Disclaimer: Naughty Dog is the company that made the Jak and Daxter games and the characters associated. I just make the fics. ;D

After being so many places so often, Jak could pick out specific things he liked about each location. Haven was, first and foremost, "home" to him and his friends. Although previously held in a state of turmoil, it was beginning to recover, and he was glad to see its citizens looking happier each day. The Precursor Temple, though quiet, held several secrets, reminding him for the first time in years how much he had loved discovery and reading because knowledge was precious. And the memories of Kras City, although not all of them good ones, still made a chill run up his spine when he thought of the adrenaline rush from all the races.

Out of all those places though, there was special section of his heart reserved for Spargus.

Maybe it was because his father had been king here, his family's legacy drawing him to the city his father had erected with his own two hands. That was the only thing that made sense at first glance, considering it was such a desolate and harsh place, and the storms were terrible. But, he had to admit, this was also a place with beauty. It was right next to the ocean, which reminded him of home – er, his old home – and the evening yielded some pretty amazing sunsets.

He sighed, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge of the small cliff he was sitting on. A few weeks ago, there had been a funeral for Damas. The Wastelanders had helped to retrieve the body of the fallen king, and had given him a warrior's funeral by way of pyre. After that, his ashes had been scattered on the wind at sea, per Sig's suggestion.

"The man did always hate to stay in one place all the time," Sig said with a smirk. The sadness in the warrior's eyes as he said this though, had not gone unseen by the hero.

Now Jak was sitting here on the edge of the sea, thinking about the father he hadn't known for longer than a few months. Although there was technically a grave for Damas in a graveyard on the outskirts of Spargus, sitting with all the other valiant warriors, he felt that visiting the ocean was more justified than paying his respects to a gravestone closed inside a yard. The wide open space and the sky in view felt more respectful of the warrior's resting spirit.

As he sat there, he tried to imagine what it might have been like had he been able to stay with his father all his life. Maybe his father would have taken him to the beach, finding the time to teach him how to swim or fish (a.k.a. beat the crap out of the giant fish that swam here). He looked at the shore a few feet below him, imagining a small version of himself running happily, his father following with a smile on his face. He sighed, quickly looking away and up at the horizon.

Lots of things had happened to them both, and no amount of reminiscing was going to bring his father back. But sometimes, he couldn't help but think about how things might have been. He remembered talking with Keira about it, asking her if what he felt was supposed to be natural.

She leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful look on her face.

"You know...I used to think that I shouldn't dwell on the past too much when my mother died," she said. "I thought that it would keep hurting too much if I thought about what might have happened had she been alive. But after a while, I realized there was no shame in remembering or missing my mom. And you start to realize that even though the person you loved passed away and can't be there with you in person, it doesn't mean they don't know what happens to you." She chuckled a little to herself. "I remember I used to stay up at night sometimes, pretending that she was sitting beside me as I told her about my day, and how I missed her so much. It was the only thing I could think of doing so it wouldn't hurt so bad, and I truly believed that she heard me at the time."

Jak studied his girlfriend, sifting through her bittersweet expression. "...You still think she heard you?" he asked gently.

Keira turned from the window nearby and looked at him. "...I know she did," she said with a smile.

He'd never really heard her talk about her mother before. It still hurt sometimes, she explained. But she told him that although it hurt, it never kept hurting as much as it did in the beginning. Eventually the sadness melted away to leave behind what memories had been shared.

Honestly, he hadn't shared many memories with Damas. What is 2 or 3 months compared to what could have been a lifetime? All he had in his grasp were the conversations they had shared, a few looks of pride, a few exchanged grins or congratulations.

He sighed again. It was all he had, but it would have to do. He turned his head from side to side, checking if there was anyone around. He was on one of the cliffs attached to the turret, so no one would be able to hear him unless they came for target practice, and technically there was no need for that.

With some hesitation, he cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Uh...hey, it's me, Jak." The cries of a few gulls and a soft ocean breeze were the only things to answer him. "Keira made it sound so easy," he thought a little ruefully. But he went on. "...Things are pretty peaceful in Spargus right now," he said haltingly. "No Marauders knocking at the doors. They've been too scared to try screwing around with Sig as king."

He could imagine Damas sitting nearby, resting his elbows on his knees, hunched forward and looking at the horizon with a smirk. He could imagine him saying something like, "Well of course they wouldn't cause trouble! Having Sig on the throne is like having another me on the throne."

Jak smiled a little at that, a chuckle almost escaping his throat. "Yeah, it is almost like having another you on the throne. ...Almost. You're gone now."

Damas would probably look at him for a moment. "Well yes. I am dead."

Jak smirked. "You seemed the kind to take death lightly."

"So do you, if I'm correct. We seem to share the same trait."

"We were kind of alike in that, weren't we?"

Silence. The sun blazed in its full glory in front of him, and he closed his eyes for a moment to catch the warmth. "...Sig mentioned that you spent a lot of your free time on the beach."

"When things got too tiring, I would come down here to relax. Does wonders for clearing your head."

"He also mentioned that you liked fishing. Though not of the normal kind."

"What, you think the king of Spargus would be content to sit and wait for a fish to come to him? Why wait when you can swim after 'em yourself? They're large enough to take on as a challenge."

Jak actually chuckled this time. "Back when I was growing up in Sandover, the place I was taken to through time, there were fish almost twice my size that would chase you around in the water. I'd know; me and Dax would get into all sorts of trouble, trying not to get eaten by them. Looks like they found their way here somehow, even after so much time passing."

"So that's where they came from. Never thought my own son would contend with that type of predator at such a young age."

"There's a lot you don't know about me," he said, mildly teasing, a little bit of hurt somehow finding its way into his voice against his will.

"Such as?"

Jak brought himself back to reality for a moment. He felt a little foolish, and wondered if his father would ever actually ask him such a question. Maybe he would have, because hadn't known anything about his own son.

He leaned his back against the rock behind him, staring at the clouds painted with oranges and reds. "...For starters, I used to be a mute."

He could just imagine his father's shock. "...You? A MUTE?"

"Hard to believe, huh?"

"That would probably be because I didn't get the chance to teach you how to say much."

Jak focused his gaze on his feet now, trying not to think about how Damas might look while saying this. He had always wondered about why he never really talked while growing up, and he knew that part of it had to do with being separated from his father. Though not an emotional sort of man, he imagined Damas would probably have a look of regret. He turned his head away a little. "It's not your fault," he said quickly. "I was taken away when I was just a kid after all, so of course I couldn't learn from you. Eventually I learned. I just...chose not to use words."

Maybe at this part, neither of them would know what to say. He shook his head a bit. "Anyway, what's happened has happened. And I can talk now."

He didn't want to think about the possibility that his father would have most likely apologized.

"...I'm sorry."

He clutched the ground underneath his fingers, casting aside the thought. But he mumbled a small "it's okay" in response.

After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. "You know, when I first met you, you were actually a little infuriating," Jak said with a slight grin.

"Come again?"

"All those missions and fighting. I thought you were a pain in the -" He stopped, his mouth quirking into a smile. He wondered if his father would ever berate him for using bad language.

"Watch your mouth."

"What, I can't curse even if you did?" he teased.

"Did you ever hear me curse?"

Jak sat up a moment, indignantly looking at the imaginary Damas near him. "I'm sure you cursed."

"I'm sure I didn't."

"I'm sure you did."

"Have it your way," Damas would likely say with a smile, unwilling to argue.

Jak looked up at the sky now, the sun having almost completely set. He blinked a few times, eyeing the stars peeking out from behind the sunset's colors. "...Dad?"

"Yes?"

"What did you do when things started to crumble around you? How did you manage to carry on, even when the whole world seemed against you?"

He imagined that Damas would recline and look at the sky, memories swirling in his eyes. "Carried on much like you did, I suppose. Sometimes the only thing left to do was keep going until I caught glimpse of light in the chaos. Often times it felt like I was alone. But that never lasted."

His eyebrows knitted together a little, his silence enough for the imaginary conversation to continue.

He imagined Damas grinning. "You should know the answer to this. No human being stays alone all his life. You know the whole 'no man is an island' thing? It's nonsense. Men can be islands. In fact, some of them were meant to be islands."

"How?" Jak asked, a bit incredulous.

"Islands look like they're by themselves, but any fool with a brain knows that islands are just extensions of a large piece of land, the links hidden by a vast body of water. So although it seemed like I was alone, there were always those pieces of land hanging onto me from a distance. I had friends, like you do now. Sig was a very good friend, and I had a few others, as well as a wife and you, my son. Those were the things that kept me anchored and kept me walking forward, staying in one place to protect who came my way. Floating aimlessly was never my style."

Jak closed his eyes in partially amusement to hide his slight amazement at such a quote. "Wow, that's probably the deepest thing you'd say. Never heard you say anything like this in public."

"And let's keep it that way."

"You're afraid of damaging your pride even now?"

"Even a dead man has his pride."

"Hmph. Fair enough."

Silence again. Jak looked up, and the stars twinkled above his head in the increasingly dark navy sky.

"...Mar?"

"Yeah?"

"If I could be there, I would."

Jak didn't know why, but a small lump formed in his throat. He almost laughed at himself as he refused to let the tears prickling in his eyes fall. What was he even doing anyway? He was talking to a dead man who couldn't talk back, much less do anything. It was just him and his imagination playing games. But there was still a sort of conviction in his heart that told him those words hadn't been just his imagination.

"I know you would be," Jak said back, almost whispering as he bent his head down.

"I'm proud of you, Mar."

He could imagine his father giving his shoulder a small clap, a smile on his face. He could almost feel the warmth of a hand on his shoulder.

His stomach clenched as he made an effort to smile, one stubborn tear falling before he looked up at the sky to drain the rest back.

"...Thanks. Proud of you too," he said, barely managing to suppress the waver in his voice.

He realized that it was late now, and Daxter and Sig were probably wondering where he was. Slowly, he stood on his feet, dusting off the sand on his pants.

"I should get going. Dax is probably wondering where I went. We have to head back to Haven in the morning."

"I see. Well then, have a safe journey."

Jak nodded. He started making his way to the small stone bridge that led to land, but he stopped. "I'll come here as often as I can," he said, turning around a bit.

He imagined Damas turning to look at him over his shoulder. "You're welcome to it, but remember. Even if I'm not alive, it doesn't mean I don't know what happens. No matter where you are, I will always be watching over you."

Jak blinked a few times in surprise, then smiled. "...I'll remember that. But I'll still come. I like the view from here."

"So do I, Mar. So do I."

Then he turned back around and walked back toward the palace, doing his best not to look back. Keira had been right about this. It did hurt, having to acknowledge that Damas was gone. But maybe he really did see what was happening on Earth. Maybe he really was watching over him.

Jak smiled as he wiped away another tear before pulling his scarf over his face against the wind. That wasn't such a bad thought.

A/N: I swear, when Damas died in Jak 3 I was so sad. I seriously got this close to crying manly tears of sadness. It really sucked, Jak's father being right in front of him and dying in his arms right as he found out about this whole mess.

The concept for this is sad, yes, but I felt like it would be interesting to write. I wrote this (this is the part where you smack me) when I remembered a brief scene from the movie "Elizabethtown". The guy in the movie has an urn of his father's ashes, and he'd never really had a close relationship with his father while he was older. He takes his father's ashes in his car and drives off to who-knows-where, but on the way he starts "talking" to his father. There's no dialogue; it's just covered up by music, but you see this guy go from happy to sad to angry, making up for the times he'd lost. You can really take this either way, reading it as either Damas truly responding back unbeknownst to Jak, or Jak just talking into thin air. If you discount the first option, the dialogue will appear to be Jak just reminiscing on things. ...Mostly?

Yeah yeah, silliness and all, but I don't think Jak would just leave everything where it fell without thinking about the father he had without knowing it.

Anyway, that was my idea. Smack this thing around if you want; Precursors know it needs some hefty critiquing. This is yet another story where my impaired judgment due to lack of sleep is telling me "post meeee". Have at it. Oh, and I'm sorry about the length. I know it's long, and I will try my best to make it shorter if I can.

Thank you for reading, even if you didn't like it in the end. Have a great day/night, and good luck with finals if you have them!