Hello, dearies! S'me again, darling old weirdo that I am! potters about in small circles Well, after months and months of total neglect and just goddamn LAZINESS, I emerge with a fic, Cold Sweat! (this was originally going to be called Orange Lightning, but there's already a story called that on . Plus, it's unimaginitive XD) There will be both yaoi and het in this, supposing I get reasonably far with this, but this won't by any means be an overly "oh my, they're, like, in love so here come 20 chapters of epic fluff" fic. And no, there will be NO graphic bang scenes. Sorry fans ;)

Please read and review. Flames are, if not exactly 'welcome', authorized w. Oh yeah, and sorry, some of the dialogues from the actual game are almost certainly 'off'. I lent my game to one of my friends and so haven't been able to check the scenes on the scene player. Sorry!

DISCLAIMER: ooh, joy. Yet again I have the honour of proclaiming to the world exactly what I do NOT own. Fun huh?

Jak and Dax video game series, charras etc: © to Naughty Dog, and… um, that's it.

cold sweat

-chapter one: orange lightning-

daxter

It was raining again. It hardly ever stops in Haven city. The grey sky matched the dank streets and rotting houses, dripping concrete blocks as far as the eye could see; hoary-grey reeking alleys, filled with sour filth and muck from the overflowing sewers down in the city's bowels. The barren streets and alleys were deserted and lifeless, forgotten zoomers quietly rusting as the rain drove down with purpose. Even the Krimzon Guard had moved out, clanking ominously towards the round, hunchbacked building squatting by itself in a corner of the metallic expanse, taking their crackling buzz with them.

He walked over to one of the forsaken zoomers, idly bleeding oil as its metal frame slowly decayed, his feet splashing against the puddles on the concrete and metal. Jak's blonde hair was matted and greasy with rain, sticking to his skin, and to me as I leaned anxiously against the side of his head, twisting my gloved hand through some of the long green-golden locks for safety. My feet automatically adjusted themselves on the cold metal of his shoulder plate, which was as slippery as ice and just as cold. My body shivered involuntarily against the freezing bites of the bullets of water that had left my fur sodden. I got into a crouching position, ready for the lurching speed of the zoomer's acceleration. Jak strode over to it and swung a leg over it, adjusting his position on the leather seat. The owner had been careless and kinda stupid; the key was still in the ignition, and it was a matter of seconds before his questing fingers found it. The lurch and rush of the zoomer was a twist of the metallic key away, but Jak hesitated. Leaning round past the curtain of hair, I caught a profile glance of him, his green eyebrows knotting together as he frowned in thought, eyes moving slightly from side to side. I heaved a mental sigh. Chiche kebab, it's brain-bending time again, fans! Probably askin' himself which way to turn the key.

"Uh… Buddy?" I ventured, tapping my fist on his head. "What's up, man?"

Jak remained in silence for a few seconds before raising his head. "Nothing," he waved his hand in an attempt at casual, but failed terribly. I always know exactly what he's thinking. He was preoccupied about the upcoming race, I was sure of it. Sheesh, I didn't blame him. The racers are just straight brutal. It's absolute suicide, competing with such desperate loonies. I mean to say, is your idea of a fun sport the kind where you have to try not to kill each other so as to earn some free Eco handout and a visit to the Baron? If so, then I have two words for ya: Bloody Stupid.

"Whaaat, are ya worried you can't work your mojo-speedy-magic on the zoomer this time round?" I asked, giving him the Daxter Slow Smirk as he looked round at me, and I knew I had hit the bulls eye. His eyes were anxious, he was nervy, and his hands trembled by themselves. Even his eyebrows looked worried, wet and weary as the rain spattered on him. Jeez, the guy was a wreck. What he needed was a coffee. Good, strong coffee…

"Kinda," he growled softly, eyes on the ground, hands clasping the handlebars till the knuckles went white, fatigue riddling his every line. He had hardly slept at all last night. "Dax, I'm really freaked out by this. What if I can't do it? What if I…" his voice trailed off, and the rain filled the silence.

Oh dear. Time for an ego-boost, methinks.

"Well, listen up, Jakkie-boy," I drawled, prodding him in the neck, kicking into morale support mode, "I'm sure you got more than enough MP points to satisfy the Moxie Gods. I have total faith in you, so even if you do screw this all up and get us smashed into glutinous jelly-ick, I'll be inclined to believe that you were completely innocent and that my amazing charisma distracted you or something." I grinned my trademark grin as his worried lips cracked into a smile. "I'd just PREFER to end the race in our current plane, not the celestial one, savvy?" I concluded, adding a cocked eyebrow to my facial façade. That one works every time, baby.

"Wow, Dax, that made me feel so much better," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, not able to keep his amused smile from creeping across his face as he revved the engine of the stolen zoomer.

Ya know what? It DID cheer the big dope up. My amazing acting skills (hey, I was as jittery as hell about the mass carnage that lay in wait) and my bizarre second sight had triumphed again; it was just the thing he needed, as I had known. Beware the mental ottsel, kids. HE CAN READ YOUR MINDS.

A sudden second later, we were plunging through the streets, heading towards the stadium, rain driving into our faces and eyes like small lasers, little bullets falling from the clouds above the still-life of a rotting city.

Hmm, okay. Mebbe we need ta straighten a few details out round about now, hm? Well, uh, where to start?

Okay…

Hey there, peeps. I'm called Daxter, as I'm sure you've noticed. Also known as Dax, Daxxie, Big D, Orange Lightning and That Pesky Talking Sand-Rat to those who know me. I'm by way of being the only Ottsel in Haven city of the speaka-da-language persuasion. And I'm also best ever buddy of the one and only Jak, the under-appreciated hero of this era in a hostile city of suffering and control. And, heh, he hasn't had the happiest of adolescent experiences. His life makes normal teenage angst seem like a field trip.

Y'see, sometimes Jak… well… BECOMES somebody else. It's to do with this Dark Eco stuff that that bastard Baron Praxis pumped into him. The stuff which turned me into an Ottsel (please, don't ask). Jak was experimented upon for two years. A bit like going to the Dentist's every day for eight seasons. Only with Gothic architecture, the generic looming kind; tormenting screams, heart rending in their desolation; appropriate flashes of lightning punctuating the night at convenient moments and evil maniacal laughter ringing out while Diabolical Dentist from Hell set about planning to cruelly destroy anything and everything that got in his way to ruling Haven, the City of Puppets, and plunging the world into impenetrable darkness and eternal night FOR EVER!

…Okay, okay. Not a damn bit like going to the dentist's. But ya get my drift, i.e. not fun.

Anyway, the important thing is that I've been here for Jak for EVER. There was hardly a moment back home when he wasn't being attacked/sworn at/annoyed outta his skull by cute lil' me; in good ways, natch. And yet, even in that dull, uneventful time, Jak needed me. Not jus' the translating stuff he hadda do in his mute phase. And believe me, he needs me in this hellhole. Sheesh, who doesn't need someone friendly here? There's more pressure (of all kinds) here than right down at the bottom of the Mariana Trench and the closest thing you'll get to a 'wotcher!' is a quickly gabbled 'h-h-hello… dontshootme..' from civilians or a brusque 'piss off, slimeball… orilllshootya' from the oh-so-community-minded KG.

O'course, this thing doesn't go one way; I don't just tag along with Jak because he requires my presence. I'm not a little orange martyr, wasting days of my life with him just because he needs me. I … have to be with him too. Seriously, the world through the eyes of a cowering ottsel is a pretty scary place. It's just not safe to go without him; without his boomstick, which is like another highly dangerous limb to him. And, o' course, he's a really great guy. The very best guy I know, in fact. Well, we ARE best friends, after all.

After maybe ten minutes of terrifying (for me) and exhilarating (for Jak) easy riding (said Jak) or dicing with death on the bloody doom-machine (Um, guess who?), we emerged from the winding alleys and into a great exposed square, concrete and cement darkened by the innumerable spatterings of rain. The amassed ranks of dirty-grey clouds let little to no light filter through them, veiling us from the sun. Even the verdant trees looked ugly, gloomy, withered in the shade. Jak brought the zoomer riding close to a long, winding line of even more of the bloody vehicles. Well, this race was the favourite 'pastime' of the citizens; guess that's why so many turned up. Sheesh, these guys must have practically invented the Genius Idea of SM. Jak had turned off the engine, withdrawing the stolen key and placed it in his breast pocket by the time I managed to stop shaking and trembling. Did I mention I HATE those fast, little zoomers? Gimme a big sturdy car anytime.

"Dax, watcha waiting for? We gotta go and get ready." Jak swung himself off the zoomer, feet slapping against the puddles and waited, fiddling with his glove strap as I managed to unclamp my arms from the side of the zoomer. I jumped off the zoomer and onto the back of his shirt and, using the folds and straps of his tunic as pawholds, scrambled up his back. Swinging myself up onto the slippery iron of the shoulder plate, I sparked off another, kinda soulless, grin. "Well, pardner, let's mosey on dahn to that there garahge! Howdy!"

"Dax?" Jak shot a glance up at me as he started striding towards the racecourse, one jade eyebrow raised.

"Yessss?" I said, already knowing what he was gonna say next. It was a kind of routine.

"Shut up."

I straightened up and leaned on his head pretending to look deeply offended. "Whatever ya say, man" I murmured, barely concealing a haughty sniff. Then neither of us spoke as he walked purposefully towards the stadium. It was vast. Sure it was squat, but in a huge, threatening way, like an immense crouching dragon, a dragon with petrol for blood and exhaust fumes for breath, with a shell of metal and a heart of darkness. I slowly realised how nervous I was, as every step Jak took brought us closer to the giant building. It was weird, a kind of flash flood of fear and despair, washing inside my chest, only being dammed up until now by optimism and witty remarks. I wanted to stop Jak from walking towards it, I couldn't explain why, but… then again, I've always been the coward. Yep, no matter how hunky and manly the Daxternator is, he still feels nauseous at the sight and smell of blood or the slightest hint of danger. And… I REALLY didn't want to go in there, but it was the only way for Jak to get back at the Baron. I know how important this is for him. SO, here we go! No turning back now.

As Jak climbed up the steps I calmed down a little. We were going to see Keira. Keira can be a great girl when it comes to morale support. She truly believes that where there's a will, there's a way. Depressing, I know, to be close friends with someone so helplessly deluded, but I kinda envy her for that unblemished innocence she's always possessed. Sometimes I wish I had half the things she does; a social life would be nice, and a perfectly normal body devoid of excess fur would be borderline heaven on toast (though admittedly, being a GUY in a girl's body wouldn't be much fun, heh).

But this, ah, obviously wasn't to be the best of reunions, for who else was in there, among the zoomer parts and oil cans, flirting with little Miss Priss than another racer! Jak froze and jerked to a halt so quickly I was jolted off his shoulder and fell to the ground with a soft 'thump'. It was so unexpected that I hadn't even had time to cry out. It was like thinking there's one more step than there is, a moment of sickening surprise that seems to last for ages.

Only, with this experience, there wasn't any surge of relief as I found the floor.

And that's never happened before. Jak's always been careful when he walks. But now…. that sight must've jarred pretty hard for him to forget about me like that. A little pain throbbed through my body as I levered myself onto one elbow, rubbing my front. Mental note: hold onto shoulder plate tighter to avoid comical yet painful belly flops.

Jak's always been the… possessive type, y'see. He was obviously pretty pissed at seeing that lowlifebeing fawned over by girlfriend Keira Baby, especially when said girlfriend was directing a different team to likewise-said lowlife. Jak's also very competitive. Well, he has to be in this race; he's got to win in order to get to the Baron, also to actually, like, survive! You can't afford to give those other crackpots a chance out there. There not gonna go easy anyone else, so there's no point in you doing it. At least, that's what JAK says. I, uh, don't quite agree with that mentality myself. I can't help thinking about how they're, like, human. Just ordinary guys and girls. They're not like the KG, entering for the joy of a killing spree; they're doing this 'cos it's their only chance to stay alive. A year's supply of eco must be really luxurious for them to venture out on this suicide mission.

I, uh, missed half of what happened with the racer, what with being sprawled on the floor in a semi-comatose fashion. By the time I had managed to lever myself up, flop back down again, try once more and (finally) succeed in sitting up, he'd left. I was glad of that. Jak woulda freaked out and not been able to concentrate throughout the whole race. He's weird like that.

"Ow!" I said, rubbing my stinging chest. "Couldja possibly stop a little more abruptly, Jak? I don't think that one surprised enou-" I ground to a stop, mid-witticism, at the expression on Jak's face. It was completely frozen, grotesquely rigid, stiff and hideous with fear and hate; like he had had a stroke or something. Totally paralysed. Incapacitated by shock.

"B-buddy?" He didn't hear me. Me, of all peeps! Daxter, the voice of reason, or, as some people could see it, insanity. It didn't matter what I said. He didn't hear me.

That racer must've hurt him reeeeeal bad. I was considering dashing out and 'helping' that guy contract rabies with a few short, sharp shocks. In fact, I was already baring my fangs and getting up, ready to sprint off to the door when Keira's babyish, sickly-sweet-as-honey voice floated into my and Jak's ears like a string of big, fluffy, adorable pink butterflies, each one of them laden with the nectar of admiration and the fairy-dust of innocence.

"Wow, Erol's the best racer I've ever seen!"

I winced at the name. Erol, the KG Leader. Jak's tormentor.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID butterflies.

Jak stepped forward towards her, eyes on the floor, trying to control his searing rage. His hand clamped onto the table. Keira had bent over to pick up a some random wrench or nut or bolt or whatever she tended to pick up during delicate conversations such as this one. I backed slowly away on my knees, shocked eyes looking up at Jak as his irises were tinged with the slightest shadow of ugly darkness.

"He's…" Jak managed, rasping slightly, restraining himself, "…not what you think…" Keira stood up suddenly and whirled around, glaring at Jak with girlish anger, pretty sapphire eyes burning.

"Oh, and I suppose YOU'RE a good judge of character? Look at you!" Jak took a step back, eyes widening at this unexpected rage. "People say you get angry and… change! Besides," she continued, turning away from Jak and folding her arms, resting on one leg and raising an eyebrow in contempt, "the Jak I knew wouldn't be working for a guy like Krew!"

He turned away, looking down at the ground, guilt riddling his sad face. It was true, y'know. Sandover Jak wouldn't of dreamed of touching Krew or the Hip Hog with a 30 foot long bargepole, let alone work for the fat bugger, and Haven Jak knew it. But then again… we've all changed immensely in a few, comparitively short years. So many different things have happened, so many possibilities winking out of existence… sometimes it's hard to cotemplate the massiveness of… well, everything.

Heheh, that's pretty deep for an orange rat, y'know.

During this lover's-spat-borderline-riot I was trying to hide myself under the table. I always get scared whenever Jak looks like he's about to be taken over. But, when Keira started talking about his dark side, I just flipped. Mentally, that is; because it's not Jak who changes, it's the shadows that take him into their power. It's not like it's his choice to morph into that, that thing. IT'S NOT HIS FAULT. I felt like jumping up and screaming that sentence into Keira's dumb face. I felt like emphasizing every little point I made with a hammerblow to the back of her head. Call me excessive but I hate it when people say that kind of thing, when they get the wrong end of the stick when the right end is kicking them in the teeth, when they're so goddamn blind. Don't get me wrong, I'm not overprotective of him, it's just that, well, Jak and me have lots in common. We both had, ah, our own little dark eco escapades (different degrees, o'course; Jak was given it in a series of short, sharp shocks, whilst I was treated to the whole caboodle at once, eheh), and – sometimes – even our friends seem to forget we're human cos've what we've become.

Ahh, it's the way of the world, innit?

Jak slumped slightly, speaking wearily as if he was explaining something for the hundredth time. "I need Krew's connections to fight the Baron. Without them I'd be-" Keira snorted derisively, transferring her weight from one leg to the other, and looking at Jak with an expression that said 'that only proves my point further'. I had to admit, much as she was annoying me at the moment, as irritatingly petulant as she was being, Keira was right. Jak seemed to be prepared to do anything to hurt the Baron. He'd never shown such malice in Sandover.

But Jak had had enough. He slammed his fist down on the table, making the objects and tools rattle and spill across its surface; he snapped his head up and glared with such intensity at Keira that she flinched backwards, eyes widening in shock.

"You know what? You do things your way, and I'll do things mine." The exhausted tone had evaporated completely, to be replaced by a painful acidic quality that seemed to corrode the air. He straightened up, aloof and dark, still staring at Keira, who was now hunched against the wall, edging away from her boyfriend-gone-berserk. Needless to say, I had thrown my dignity to the winds and gripped the table leg in a full-fledged panic. I couldn't tear my eyes away from them, sinister Jak standing so high compared to Keira, cowering against the wall. Time seemed to slow down, and I realised I was waiting for something. Keira was too. The whole world seemed to be waiting to hear and see what Jak would say next, what would be the outcome of the argument gone so badly wrong.

Jak cracked his lips open and took a deep breath. He was shaking slightly, with suppressed rage or fear, I couldn't tell. He turned violently on his heel, and walked out of the garage, pausing only to speak, in a voice as quiet as a whisper that somehow still managed to echo.

"Just don't come crying to me when the walls fall down."

And as he turned around, his glare caught me like a dark searchlight. I felt like I was being inspected, my defensive walls of flesh and fibre and tissue rendered useless against the cold searching stare of Dark Jak, skulking beneath the surface of my best friend and peering into my soul.

It was only about a minute later that we, that's me and K, realised that… he wasn't coming back.

He wasn't going to race.

I wasn't sure what shook me more; the fact that he wasn't going to try to win the race, or that he'd left without me. I felt indignant, (A) because he'd dragged me out of bed just so he could go off and sulk like a kid because he'd got into a fight with his girl, and (B) because he'd stomped off leaving me here to commit suicide with a, a spanner for all he knew. I finally managed to remove my hands from the table leg, but I was still shaking hard.

"I… I did it again…" Her voice sounded so weak and pathetic that it made me wince. I turned to her. She had slumped against the wall, her arms hanging limply at her sides, her head lolling back and touching the wall, her face looking upwards at the ceiling. The harsh, bright halogen of the garage lights illuminated the unshed tears lurking behind her lids and shone on her crystalline eyes and seemed to make them glow light blue. Her made-up lips were drawn in a melancholy crimson smile, lifeless and gloomy despite its vivid bloom of colour.

"I seem to have a spe-special talent in making him m-mad, don't I?" she stammered, lifting her arms to scrape the tears from her face as they rolled down her cheeks gracefully and fell silently to the floor. She tried to laugh lightly, but it came out wrong, mingling a sob and a hiccup together.

I've always had this thing about Keira. Sure, she's not my type, but… I've always wanted to impress her, to make her happy. I think I probably did fancy her to begin with but we were just too good friends for that. Plus she was head over heels for hero boy.

Hey, I'm digressing here.

"Keira?" she looked down as she heard me. "You… you okay?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine." She gave her eyes one last scrub and smiled, pretty despite her running mascara and the stains of tears running down her face, shiny in the lamplight. "I've got no idea what we're going to do about the race though. I don't have a sub or anything, so-" Suddenly she stopped, as if an idea had just struck her. Then she beamed like she'd just been told she'd inherited a billion orbs, all the time looking at me with a weird glow in her abnormally large eyes.

Okay, it's generally a good idea to run away when she gets that gleam in her eyes. She's undoubtedly going to tell you what a wonderful idea she's just had and it usually ends up being wonderful for HER all right, but kinda uncomfortable for the rest of the universe at large.

"I've got it, Daxxie!" she said, beaming like a manic two-year old with a one-year supply of chocolate. "YOU could race for the team!"

Okay… wild. I don't know WHAT kind of hallucinogenic drugs mech-chick's been popping recently, but they seem to have made her fantasise that my body is the correct proportions for a human-sized racing zoomers. Not to mention the illusion that I actually know how to drive it.

Before I could open my mouth to object, she was off, skipping merrily like an extremely feeble-minded lamb between her tools, doing something incomprehensible with a spanner, whipping out measuring tapes, bolts, more spanners, something that looked like an electronic can opener/chainsaw hybrid, and all the while prattling away about acceleration and drift and other stuff I knew nothing about.

Me? I was terrified. I didn't want to go there alone, with all those vicious experts in fast-paced massacre. Not because I didn't know how the tricks of zooming, but because I couldn't bring myself to actually participate in an event in which I might be forced to kill someone in order to survive. No-one would be there to protect me, to give me an ego-boost, to flatter me and swear at the drivers as they nearly sent me careering into a wall in their wake, to whoop with elation as I tore up the tarmac on the last stretch of the final lap, to scream with me if I one and to console me if I lost. I felt completely isolated from humanity as Keira, oblivious, started to check my goggles for scratches and dents.

I wanted Jak to be with me. Feeble, I know, but, heh, you know.

Force of habit.

cold sweat, chapter one.End