A/N: I keep watching the cutscenes over and over, to study the characters, but everyone is still hard to write. :(
~ Three ~
What time is it?
Green optics struggled to focus on the little silver clock atop her bedside table. Her sight bleary, it took several seconds for the digits to become legible. Nine? Was that morning or evening? The curtains were drawn, making it difficult to tell, so she sat up and clambered off the bed, heading for the window and drawing the drapes.
Stars faintly twinkled in the pitch black sky and the moon had reached its waxing gibbous phase. Time had flown; already a fortnight had passed since Taryn's moving into Jak's place, and she had quickly settled into a routine. Tonight, she had slept well into the evening – the result of working into the early hours, but the extra money had been worth it.
Pushing the curtains back across the window, she headed to the chest of drawers, hunting for something more suitable to wear than makeshift pyjamas. She found some charcoal work boots, black jeans and a short-sleeved red shirt, then wandered across the hall and into the bathroom.
Taking a good look at herself in the mirror, she cringed. Her skin was paler than usual, although her cheeks were flushed. Splashing her face with cold water and drying it with a towel appeared to give a healthier glow. Her cobalt hair was a shambles, so she grabbed her brush and tugged it through tangled locks, gritting her teeth at one particularly large knot. Once it was free, she let out a relieved puff and left, trotting downstairs and entering the kitchen.
The house had been strangely quiet when Taryn stirred, but it was only now, after awakening properly, that she realised nobody was around. In a way, it was a pleasing feeling to be allowed to relax and listen to the absence, but also a tad barren, especially without the Ottsel's cheery – albeit loud – voice or Jak's smooth baritone filling the room. At least there a portable radio sat on the table. Trotting over to it, she pressed the 'on' button, but nothing happened. Her eyes narrowed. Typical.
"Maybe the power pack's dead," she muttered to herself, tugging the back open and checking the power gauge. It was completely drained. She fixed the back on and decided to go on a hunt for another power pack, yet the kitchen-lounge was in utter disarray, making such a thing near-impossible. Grunting at her bad luck, it was decided to be worth her time cleaning the area up.
She began with the kitchen – dishes, cups and cutlery piled up in the sink, pens and paper scattered all over the counters and half the table, and the bin filled to capacity. Giving a shrug, she first chose to deal with the sink, but couldn't locate any washing-up liquid; trying to find some swallowed an entire ten minutes. At high speed, she travelled around the room, clearing up as she went and hoping that, in the course of it all, she would locate the washing-up liquid and a power pack for the radio. Fortunately, the former was in a cupboard…right next to the cereal, of all things. It was pulled out and planted in a more sensible place, next to the sink.
Once the kitchen was orderly, the living room was next – beginning with the couch. The seats and cushions were askew, so Taryn quickly straightened them; in the process, she found a remote in the sofa, which didn't appear to belong to any device. Placing it on the arm of the couch, the rubbish was all collected in a bin bag accidentally found. Only…she wasn't sure where to put it, where it would be out of the way.
That was when she considered the door in the hallway, next to the entrance. Sauntering along and noticing it was unlocked, she trundled down the stairs and entered the basement. It took a second to find the light switch and her surroundings were illuminated by a barrage of spotlights fixed into the ceiling. Green eyes widened at what lay before her.
It was an enormous workshop. Where Taryn stood was full of vague objects covered in dust sheets, and shelves to the left and right covered in various books, racing trophies and bits and pieces of Precursor artefacts – several things were blatantly bizarre. On the floor sat a number of toolboxes. The hindmost portion of the basement had been converted into a garage. Three small steps, bordered by railings, led down to a circular parking spot. The door at the far end was currently closed.
Breaking herself from the fascinated trance, Taryn recalled the bin bag hanging from her hand and the reason she was down here in the first place. Spotting a dustbin in the corner of the room, she raced over and crammed the rubbish inside. Chores now done, a relieved breath left her lips and she decided to take a break. Against a little wooden desk, which was surprisingly clear, sat a wheelie chair. She sauntered over and planted herself on it, leaning back and closing her eyes, resting them for just for a moment…
It was decided that Torn's poker face was impossible to read. After attempting numerous times to decipher whether the brunette held good or bad cards, Jak chose wisely to give up and just focus on his own hand. He inwardly sighed – luck was keeping its distance tonight. He had already lost a lot of money; Torn and Jinx, on the other hand, were holding their own. Daxter soared ahead. It was a shame Pecker had other plans tonight, because of his enthusiasm about fleecing his rival of money usually taught the Ottsel a lesson – unfortunately, that did not always end in the Monkaw's favour, due to Orange Lightning's 'knack' for playing.
"Are ya sure yer not cheatin'?" After losing his three deuces, Jinx had become concerned; apparently, if he had swindled anyone, it would have been alright.
"I don't have to. I am a natural," Daxter replied, haughtily pressing his hand to his furry chest to exemplify his own brilliance. "You just suck."
The pyrotechnician did not appear convinced, but would have let it drop, had it not been a joy to antagonise the orange sidekick. "Prove it."
Affronted, the Ottsel year old pointed a digit. "How about you turn out your pockets? Since yer so keen on the idea of cheatin'?"
A verbal fight began, which Jak attempted to stop, but that failed terribly. Fortunately, Torn's voice rose about everyone else's, immediately silencing the group. "Just play and stop acting like a bunch of girls."
"Hey, uh, does that include Jak?" Daxter cheekily enquired. Said male narrowed his blue eyes, shaking his head and ignoring such asinine remarks, instead shuffling the pack of cards and dealing again. The game continued in such silence, save for ambient noises, until a large grin spread over Jinx's face. He had teased half of the dynamic duo – now it was the other's turn.
"How's havin' Bloo around workin' for ya, Blondie?"
The teen froze, keeping his gaze set upon his cards and hoping his face was devoid of any emotion giving away that he hadn't wanted such a question asked. No matter how he answered it, the pyrotechnician would somehow twist it and turn its meaning into something indecent.
"Things are fine," the blue-eyed male replied.
"She's good company," the Ottsel piped in. "When she's around, of course."
"Well, if she's good company, I'm surprised at ya," Jinx retorted. "Ya left the poor girl all alone and you're here playin' poker. She coulda joined, ya know." He leant back in his chair and gave a victorious grin at the flash of annoyance in Jak's optics.
"Don't tip my chair, Jinx," Torn commanded.
"Or what?"
"Or I'll turn you into a human card dispenser."
Said blonde did as he was told, more than mildly worried that the ex-KG would follow through with the threat; yet, that still wasn't enough for the former to stop grinning like a pumpkin.
"So, Keira's almost ready to channel Eco?" Torn casually remarked, taking another card from the pile.
"Yeah." Jak gave a look of thanks for the subject change. Well, discussing his ex-girlfriend wasn't ideal, but it was a start. At least he could keep the subject business-orientated. "That device in the Sewers was an Eco detector. It needs recalibrating, but it'll work out what type of channeller Keira is. Samos is talking about sending Dax and me out for more artefacts. Keira hates the wait, so she's distracting herself with preparing the Stadium for its big opening."
"Ol' Green Stuff has kept us busy; we've been doing nothin' but workin' for the past month," Orange Lightning said. "We need one good night out." He didn't attempt to hide the mischievous gleam in his eye and added, "Should get you down the Red Light District, Jak."
Said blonde sighed. Not this again. First Jinx, now Daxter – Jak couldn't take both of their commentaries on his romantic life. Unable to concentrate and getting nowhere in the poker game, he slapped his cards onto the table and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I fold."
"Touchy," the pyromaniac quipped. "Not gettin' enough?"
"I didn't mean it like that."
"Sure ya didn't."
"Been a long day for ya, buddy?" the Ottsel enquired, patting his best friend on the shoulder. The blonde-green male's eyes darted over to Daxter's glove and noticed something square and white poking out of it. At high speed, Jak snatched the object and gazed at it, keeping grabbing paws at bay.
It was an ace.
"You were cheating!" the blue-eyed human snapped, glowering. Torn and Jinx grumbled and threw down their cards. No wonder their luck had been bad.
"You wouldn't dare cheat with Pecker around," Torn retorted. "Next time, we're getting him in and your ass is going to the cleaners."
Daxter shrank in size, as everyone took back their stolen money. In a way, however, Jak was relieved things had ended that way. His optics checked the clock and he realised it wasn't far off midnight. Standing up and tugging his leather jacket from the back of the chair, he slung it on and pocketed his meagre winnings.
"Where you off to, sport?" Jinx asked, casually striking a match and lighting up a fresh cigar.
"Home," the eighteen year old said simply.
"Oh, really?" The older blonde raised an eyebrow.
"What? It's getting late." Jak attempted to make his expression appear oblivious to the hidden meaning behind that query, but failed.
Fortunately, Jinx dropped it. "Try 'n' get Tarry to come with ya next time. It'll make things more interestin'."
"Hell no! Not after last time!" Torn interjected, knowing the pyrotechnician's mind too well. Last time had involved the pretence of a straightforward game of poker, and most of the girls had agreed to join in. Then Jinx had revealed it was, in fact, strip poker. He ran for his life, after that, frightened by the wrath of half a dozen women. What worried the ex-Krimzon Guard was that Taryn had not heard about that particular session, which meant she would naively play. Jak hoped she would say yes to a proper game; her humour was perfect for deflecting the pyromaniac.
"See ya!" Daxter waved frantically. Torn gave a farewell nod, then concentrated on the game again. Jak left the place and ambled towards the Sand Shark. Starting the engine, the vehicle shot off, leaving a little plume of exhaust behind it.
When he returned home, he could head up the basement and finish an intricate gadget he was halfway through making, without the Ottsel's interference, for once. Then the blonde recalled that Taryn was still at home. Would she be a distraction, too?
The roar of an engine and opening of the garage door startled the blue-haired teen awake. Rearranging her mind to make sense of the situation, she quickly realised Jak had returned. She swung the wheelie chair around, facing the garage door and awaiting the surprise he would surely wear on his face – hopefully pleased with her efforts.
The Sand Shark pulled into the garage and the blonde male clambered out of the vehicle. At the sight of Taryn waiting for him, his eyebrows rose in surprise. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
She appeared bewildered by his insistence. "The basement door was unlocked, and…" Was he angry with her? "Am I not allowed here? Because I can just go back upstairs-"
"No," he interrupted, his expression still puzzled. "You're allowed in here. I'm just surprised to see you. I've had a long day." He let out a chuckle. "Thought you'd still be fast asleep. You looked so tired this morning."
For a split second, she wondered if he'd watched her sleep, but a dim memory made her realise that she had passed Jak on the way in and given him a sleepy "good morning", before hitting the hay. She sniggered at the memory. "I woke up at nine. Nobody was around." She shrugged. "So…what plans did you have for the rest of the night?"
Looking at the green-eyed girl who stood before him, Jak realised he wasn't going to be able to concentrate on any work tonight. He scratched the gadget off his mental checklist and moved it to tomorrow. "Nothing, really." Turning his attention away from her, he remembered the bags in the passenger seat and trotted off to get them.
Out of curiosity, she followed and watched his movements. "What have you got there?"
"Food. Hungry?"
As if answering the question, Taryn's stomach rumbled. She placed a hand on it and looked a tad apologetic. "Heh. I suppose I am."
She assisted him with carrying the bags upstairs, to the kitchen/lounge; much to Jak's astonishment, the room was clean and tidy, with everything sensibly placed.
"You did all this?" he enquired. When he looked at her, she smiled and he could tell that it was what had occupied her evening. "It was nice of you. Thanks." 'Nice' didn't seem a good enough word, but anything else might have been inappropriate.
"I, uh, did it as thanks," she admitted.
"You don't owe me anything."
"Then think of it as gift, Mr. Ungrateful." She poked her tongue out.
Responding with a shake of the head, he placed the bags down onto the counter and pulled out several containers of food. She grabbed a couple of plates, knives and forks and together they arranged who was eating what. The pair carried it to the living room and planted themselves on the sofa. He looked around for a moment, before locating the television remote behind him on a side table and turning the set on.
Observing where Jak had found the remote, she said, "I was looking for that. It was in the laundry basket."
Even he appeared bewildered by that statement. "I didn't put it there," he quickly excused himself, but realised that sounded very guilty. "Why were you looking in the laundry basket, anyway?"
"I was tidying for you. The remote I found in the couch didn't belong to the TV. I also found washing-up liquid next to the cereal. It wasn't a treasure hunt that got out of hand, was it?"
"No. I'm not a little kid, anymore."
"Oh, yes, you are," she joshed.
He rolled his eyes, but his tenor turned serious. "I've been teased all night. I expected it from Dax and Jinx, but not from you."
Her face turned mock-ashamed, which made him laugh. She swirled the food around her fork, but still didn't take a bite; it was too hot. Noticing how quiet it was in the house and aware Daxter had not accompanied the blonde home, she wondered what the former was up to tonight. "Where's Fuzzball?"
"He's with Tess tonight, so it's just us," Jak explained. Lifting a forkful of food towards his mouth, he saw Taryn's expression out of the corner of his eye. She appeared very mischievous, but he couldn't work out what about. Putting his cutlery down, he looked directly at the blue-haired adolescent. "What's funny?"
"There was a large, weird shapeless thing in the basement, covered by tarpaulin. It was really hard to resist peeking."
"Taryn…tell me you didn't."
"Calm down; I left it alone. Just…please tell me it's not a breakfast machine for Daxter. It's the kind of thing I'd imagine he'd bribe you to make."
"What? No." Jak had a mental image of using such an invention to make breakfast, and all the things that could possibly go wrong. The Ottsel, of course, would adore it – that, and not even considering one in the first place, were precisely why the blonde had not gone there. His cerulean irises then lit up in surprise, as he registered her other remark. "What do you mean, 'bribe'?"
"The loudmouth gave you a gun mod, in exchange for letting him ride on your shoulder."
"Oh, that. It was worth it."
"Heh. Daxter was right."
"Huh? About what?"
"You're a big kid."
"He said that?" His eyes narrowed slightly and she realised she had managed to get Orange Lightning in trouble – not that the latter didn't deserve it. Agreeing with the Ottsel, however, might not have been the best course of action. Instead of replying, Taryn focused on the television screen – the programme was a news story on the Mar Memorial Stadium's reopening – and she immediately regretted doing so. A part of her felt uneasy about the races being restarted, but she pushed it aside. There was no need to think about that now.
Sadly, Jak was oblivious to her disquiet. "Have you raced in the Stadium?"
"Yeah, but it's been a while," she replied, forcing herself to relax against the sofa cushion a little more. "I'm out of practice…don't know if I'd be able to race like I used to."
"I'm sure Keira would let you do practice runs on the track."
"Yeah, I know." Knowing he was trying to be helpful made Taryn unsure whether to explain herself or not. Just stop thinking about it! her mind screamed. Eager to change the subject, she turned her head to face Jak, and saw he was leaning against the sofa, eyes closed. Biting her lip, she dared to lean forward and placed her hand on his thigh. At the mere contact, he simultaneously jumped and his eyes snapped open, confusion painted on his face.
It took a moment for her to register that she was still holding his leg; she quickly snatched her hand back and turned back to her unfinished food. "You were falling asleep," she said quickly.
"Oh, was I? Guess I should get some shut-eye." He rubbed both eyes with a thumb and forefinger, then straightened up.
"Look, I…" she began, unsure what to say next. "…it was nice to talk."
"Uh, yeah." Jak swallowed, feeling a tad uncomfortable about the sentiment and decided to distract himself with collecting dishes. Taryn, however, was having none of that; she playfully batted his hands away and did it instead. Left with nothing else to do, he stood up and stretched, which pulled his white t-shirt up a little and revealed a sliver of tanned stomach. The blue bombshell watched from the corner of her eye, but had to force herself to look away after a few of seconds – the last thing she wanted was him suspicious about her feelings for him – and went about putting the dishes and cutlery in the sink and empty boxes in the bin. With her back to him, he wouldn't be able to observe the dark pink cascading across her cheeks or silent berating she was currently giving herself for reacting that way. Don't go there. If she repeated that mantra enough times, it might force the foolish, hormonal thoughts out of her psyche.
Oblivious – or, at least, acting that way – Jak mentally shrugged at her behaviour, considered it a "woman thing", and trundled upstairs, calling "goodnight, Taryn" on the way up.
Daydreaming, her response was momentarily delayed. "Goodnight, Jak."
Hearing him reach the top of the stairs and the closing of his bedroom door, Taryn let out the breath she was holding and hung her head. A low groan left her vocal chords and she staggered back to the sofa, exhaustedly launching herself onto it. Green optics studied the television screen and, with a scowl, her thumb hit a button and changed the channel.
So much for not thinking about things she didn't want to…