The mark was like a black flower, blossoming over Daxter's cheekbone. Red welled from the centre, he gently touched it, scarcely wincing.
He felt the presence in the doorway, watching him with what would be guilt ridden blue eyes. "I know. You're sorry." He dabbed the face washer on the spot again.
"Dax, I..."
"Don't. Please." Daxter sighed and laid aside the wet cloth. "I'm not angry."
Jak moved into the bathroom, laying his hand on Daxter's hip. The red head didn't flinch, just stared into the mirror. "I can't thank you enough. I don't deserve you."
He pushed his finger to the full lips. "Don't say that. You know I hate it when you say that. You deserve the world, Jak." He leant back into Jak's body. "I'd give you anything."
Jak smiled and nuzzled Daxter gently. "You're too sweet, Dax. I don't meant to. You know that, don't you?"
"Of course I do." He gently ruffled the pale hair. "Go to bed. I'll just finish up here."
The blonde nodded and left, half closing the door behind him. Daxter watched him leave in the mirror, sinking slightly when he was alone.
He knew he didn't mean to. He never did. The guilt, the regret, the out and out pain he saw in those blue eyes whenever Jak came back to himself and saw the damage he'd done, he knew that Jak didn't mean to hurt him.
He pulled off his shirt and dropped it in the hamper, followed by the rest of his clothing, piece by piece. A moment's debate and he stepped into the shower, turning the faucet for a quick blast of water to wash off the last of the gritty feeling that always clung to him after this happened.
He stepped out again and shook of the worst of the water, drying himself off with a towel. Wrapping it around his waist, he stepped out into the main room, smiling faintly when he saw Jak lying bed, stretched out and watching him with hooded eyes.
He looked down, clutching the towel to his thin waist, then up again, his gaze lingering. He almost hated the way Jak looked at times, all broad shoulders and chest and strong arms and legs. He loved the way he looked so much, even now, despite the changes that wouldn't go away.
"Why are you staring, Dax?"
"I like staring at you. There's certainly worse things to be looking at, hm? I could go stare at Torn, but his face makes me feel sick." He dropped the towel and crawled up the bed, flopping down between Jak's sprawled legs. The blankets were cool under him, but he ignored it, resting his chin on the hard stomach. "I suppose, if staring at you is out of the question, I just might have to resort to Torn, though I'd be thinking of you." He winked for added effect.
It worked. Jak grinned back and hauled Daxter up further to hug him, rubbing a hand through the unruly red hair. "You're a nut, Dax. What would I do without you?"
Daxter grinned and wriggled until he managed to get under the covers, still cuddled against Jak's chest. "Hmm.... go mad? Drink more?" He rested his head under Jak's.
The blonde chuckled and leant far enough to flick off the light. "Go to sleep, Dax." A soft kiss to his forehead and he felt the chest beneath him slowly fall into a shallow, steady pattern. He stayed still, listening to the soft breathing.
"Jak?" He whispered.
No response.
He relaxed a bit more, felt his body unknot a fraction. Jak had been defused. For now. Still, he could hope this time would different.
Maybe it was the last time.
He froze as Jak shifted slightly, and he heard the distinctive sound of the pillow tearing as one long horn punctured the fabric.
The threat was over nearly the same instant as Jak sunk back into the pillows, tightening his arms around Daxter briefly before letting go.
He shifted a little to get comfortable, but did not try to move the heavy arms around his frail form. He had once. He'd tried to get up to get water and the next thing he knew, he had claws sunk in his skin, trying to keep him in the bed. He'd screamed and Jak had woken up, ready to kill the threat.
He had spent a week making it up, but Daxter had never tried to leave the bed during the night again.
Just in case.
He rolled onto his back, still lying on Jak's stocky frame. Jak's hands twitched, he picked one up and held it, gently stroking the knuckles, hoping he would settle again.
He wasn't looking forward to morning. In the morning, he would go to the bar, smile at Tess, assure her that the bruise was from a random thug. She wouldn't believe him but she would say nothing, just watch with sad eyes as she got ready for business.
Later, when people were leaving, late in the night, and Jak would walk in, her gaze would turn hateful, flicking between them, between taloned hands and blackened cheek before looking into his eyes.
He'd gotten good at reading unspoken words. "How can you let him? Why do you let him? Why do you cover for this monster?"
Only one person had ever said the word to his face. Monster. Like somehow, Jak stopped being a person when Praxis did those things to him. Like he was the guilty person, not the victim. As though somehow, the rage was his own fault.
He froze again. Jak was sensitive to agitation when he was asleep, like the predator in him was watching over his mate, even asleep. He forced relaxation and the hand loosened again.
Daxter wasn't a naturally violent person. He'd learnt to survive in Haven City, but he shied from actual violence whenever possible. The day that Jak staggered back to them, screaming and wailing, desperately trying to pull the horns from his head, Daxter had been violent.
He still remembered it as though it were yesterday, not the two years it had been. Finally getting Jak to sleep in a bed, sneaking downstairs to talk to the others about what could have happened.
The marks were a sign or something deeper happening in Jak's brain, something that couldn't be undone. Vin mumbled somethnig about psyche acceptance and owning the anger. Ashelin said that the changes showed the inherent violence Jak was prone to.
Then, Torn had called Jak a monster.
Daxter barely remembered the moment his fist had connected with Torn's nose. He remembered screaming at him, oblivious to the blood running down the other's face, before he retreated from the room, back to where Jak was.
Jak was sitting up in the bed, staring at the door as Daxter walked in. He wasn't crying, Jak never cried, but he looked so broken, sitting there, hiding his hands under the sheets.
Like he was ashamed of himself.
He had jumped onto the bed, wrapping him arms around Jak's body, pulling his head down to rest on one thin shoulder. Reassuring, trying to comfort, feeling like the world was ending because Jak was clinging onto him and shivering with repressed sobs.
And then, that awful moment. "They're going to make me leave, aren't they, Dax? They're leaving. Please don't go with them."
"Never." He had gently stroked one horn, trying to tell Jak that he wasn't scared of them, wasn't scared of him. "I promise. I won't ever leave you."
He rolled over onto his stomach again and snuggled into the body under him; the man made a soft, contented noise, deep in his chest.
It wasn't because of the promise, though. He didn't stay because he would never break his word. Sure, he'd break his word. It was what that promise represented.
It was because he loved him.
He loved Jak more than he loved life, more than anything in the world. And, all the bruises, the scratches, the moments of watching, knowing when Dark Jak emerged, even though you could no longer see it, all that was worth it.
Because Jak loved him too.