Okay guys, sorry this took so long to put up. Wow I wonder if any of you actually remember this story (cough). Anyways, I've been working on school work and this other story with some original characters of mine (and EtheralShadow) and two chapters are up on fictionpress if anyone cares. :D Anywho, here ya go with this particular segment. I'll be working on the next one when I get a chance. :)

Thank you all for your reviews also. I was reading thorugh them and thought 'huh, I should finish this story.' And so now I will finish the story cause you all make me so happy and now I glomp you (uber glomp) :D:D:D:D

Disclaimers: Jak 2 characters belong to Naughty Dog and I don't claim them in any way, shape or form.

Jak gasped as he hit the floor with a thud, the breath leaving his lungs as his chest contracted with pain. He groaned and sat up, a thin hand tracing along his aching jaw. The guards were walking away, laughing about something or other, and leaving Jak alone in the dank cell. His throat constricted as he wrapped his arms around himself, his thin gauzy shirt not really retaining any heat. It was cold and wet and dark and scary. And he was alone. The image of Erol's face flashed through his mind again and again, the slack jaw, the thin lips frowning at him as he was pushed ungracefully by. Jak growled and walked up to the door, his body quivering slightly as he reached out and wrapped his hands around the bars of his cell.

"Hello," A soft hissing voice drifted through the still air.

Jak turned quickly, pressing his back against the bars his hands had been wrapped around, his eyes flicking madly around his dark cell, trying to find the source of the words.

"Over here, you."

Turning, Jak swallowed another lump as his eyes landed on a person who was very white. Upon further inspection he noted that the speaker also wore a priests garb. "Are you a priest?" He asked, suddenly wondering what someone who spoke for the Precursors could've done to be thrown in here. Certainly detaining a priest would anger them.

"Yes, I am. And you are a... peasant?" The priest asked, their soft voice sounding very feminine and yet they didn't look female. Jak narrowed his eyes at this oddity and stepped closer.

"I like to think of myself as an artist..." He trailed off, questions jumbling in his head at a furious rate that frightened even himself. The events of earlier in the morning had caused an upset in him and now he was feeling the anger, the backlash of being detained unfairly. "Why are you here?" He asked, his voice much gruffer than he had meant for it to be, but the being in the other cell just shrugged it off and crossed their arms over their flat chest.

"I spoke ill of his highness." The word rolled of the priests tongue as if acrid to taste. Jak tilted his head to the side, examining the other. "And why are you here?"

"I'm here for murder." It burned him, scalded his pride and set his blood to boil. "Unfairly prosecuted for the death of a friend." He spat on the ground, his eyes flicking down the way the guards had left.

"I see." And no more was said. The priest turned and walked away, sitting on the ground and facing the wall, their small hands resting on their crossed legs. Jak stood and watched him for a little before turning and resting on the sparse bunk that was provided in his meager surroundings. Sleep was the farthest thing from his mind, but angry thoughts and brutal daydreams were not.

Jak didn't notice the time slipping by, mostly from lack of windows, but when the guards came and gave them a meal of watery porridge, his stomach reminded him of how long he had been detained.

"Excuse me, what time is it?" He asked as he took the small clay bowl from the guards hand.

"Its after noon."

"I figured as much," Jak growled back, the guard staring at him with a dull, stupid gaze, "what is the hour?"

The guard huffed and turned away, his boots thumping on the earthen floor as he disappeared from Jak's line of sight. Jak clenched his teeth, grinding them together as he stared down at the bowl of soup. Infuriated and wounded, he sat down on his bunk and drank the concoction, gagging a bit as it slid down his throat. The priest sat on the floor, sipping their own lunch, wide brown eyes staring at Jak through the bars.

"What?" Jak asked, feeling very much like an animal on display.

"You intrigue me."

Jak blinked a couple times and stared back, his bowl resting against his lower lip. "What?" He repeated, his voice dull and it resounded around the small dungeon.

"I said, you intrigue me."

"I heard you the first time," Jak snarled, "I was asking what that means."

The priests face didn't respond in any way to the angry words hurled through the bars, their mouth a set line and brown eyes wide and unblinking. "I see." They turned back to their porridge, not answering Jak in any way.

"What does that mean to me!" Jak asked again, voice raising in hysterics, his porridge set on the bunk as he flung himself for the bars, his hands wrapping around them tightly. "Why do you not answer me!" He tried to shake the bars, only succeeding in making himself jerk rapidly back and forth.

"The Precursors told me of someone like you." That was the supplied answer, and after a few seconds of nothing more, Jak growled and shoved his hand through the bars, his fingers just barely brushing the priests shirt as he reached for the other. The priest once more turned and looked at him, expression blank.

Tears pricked Jak's eyes and he bit his lip as he stared back. He felt confused and angry and alone. "I don't understand." His voice quavered and his body trembled as he sagged against the bars, his arm falling back to his side.

"A prophesy."

"Stop speaking in riddles I do not know!"

"I am not speaking in riddles. You are destined to fulfill a prophesy."

"What prophesy?"

"One will come to bring down the tyranny that veils the land. His heart will sear through the masks and his hands will tear apart the tyrants. This is what the Precursors have ordained." The priest stared at Jak, their brown eyes looked dead and Jak shivered involuntarily.

"I don't understand..." He whispered, slinking away from the bars and shrinking from the gaze. He turned and placed his half full bowl on the ground and curled up on the bunk. Sleep quickly consumed his mind and no dreams graced his over taxed mind.

"You know him don't you." Torn looked at Erol across the table as they waited for their food. Erol jerked back to reality, his mind having drifted far away, as the words sunk in.

"Know who?"

"The man that was put in jail today."

"There were lots of men put in jail today, Torn." Erol crossed his arms over his chest, knowing exactly who Torn was talking about, but not wishing to speak of it.

"You know who I mean. The one with the yellow hair... The pretty one." Torn's gruff voice was soft as he leaned on the wooden tabletop towards Erol.

"Please, Torn. I told you already, I don't know him, stop asking me."

Torn's face screwed up into one of malcontent and he crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Then how do you know they got the wrong guy?" One brown eyebrow rose, the pink lips turning down at the corners.

Erol sighed and placed his arms on the table, his forehead resting on them as he shifted on his seating pillow. "Drop it." He growled, his voice muffled by the table top.

"No."

"Torn, you stubborn ass," Erol's head shot up and he glared at the other, which only received a smirk in return. Erol groaned and his head fell back down, the headache that had steadily grown during the day thumped against his temples painfully. The image of Jak's hurt and confused face burned on the backs of his eyelids. Erol groaned again and sat up as the waiter came over with their food.

"I am stubborn, but I'm rarely an ass." Torn shot back, his face twisted into one of indignation and mock hurt. When the waiter left, Erol shifted uncomfortably under Torn's scrutinizing gaze.

"What?" He asked, his voice filled with a little more scorn than he'd intended, but it worked at getting Torn to shrug it off and get about eating his food.

As they left the small restaurant, Erol felt his feet drag on the brick streets. The sun setting to the east cast a bright glow about the yellow earthen brick and buildings, creating a ironically beautiful and serene setting. But inside Erol's mind was anything but beauty and serenity. He barely heard Torn's voice over the clamoring of thoughts that jumbled in his head.

"-rol? Erol? Hey Erol!"

A large hand swept across his head and Erol jerked back, instinctively jumping into an attack stance. He blinked a few times as Torn stood in front of him, arms across his chest, a frown on his face as he tapped his foot.

"Knock it off." Torn stepped forward and grabbed Erol's shirt, pulling his straight. "What's gotten into you?" His frown deepened and Erol grunted as the other man tugged on his shirt a bit.

"I... I'm sorry... I think I'm going to go home and go to bed..." Erol turned and started to walk away, his head hung and chin resting on his chest as he shuffled along the street and towards his home. He almost didn't hear the soft plod of boots behind him, and he looked back, blinking as he saw Torn following him, his face still set into its angry look, his arms still latched across his chest. Erol paused and turned full around, his arms coming to cross over his own chest. "What are you doing?" He asked, his voice soft and exasperated.

"I'm coming with you." Torn's mask of anger flickered briefly into one of pain, but it was quickly covered up and Erol doubted that he even saw it.

"Why?"

"Because, I need to make sure that you're going to be alright. I can't just let my best friend go home alone when he's this upset about something." Torn's face once more scrunched up. "Of course, not that he's told me what he's upset about."

"Are you angry?" Erol asked softly, truly concerned if his friend was angry with him or not.

"Of course I'm angry! You haven't talked to me at all today, I've been holding a conversation with a mute shell, not my friend."

Erol blinked and sighed as Torn's voice drifted off. "I'm sorry..." He nibbled his lip a bit and then nodded. "Alright, but I don't have any alcohol this time."

The frown on Torn's face quickly turned into a grin and Erol smiled softly as Torn's hand unlatched from his side and fell onto Erol's shoulder. "That's alright, I'll just get drunk off your beauty." The grin on Torn's face lit up ten fold and Erol couldn't help but snicker along with him.

"Yes and we'll have a raunchy party all night."

"Now you're talking like my Erol." The hand on his shoulder slapped down again and Erol smiled at his friend as they moved on through the nearly empty streets and towards his apartment.

Jak gasped as his eyes flew open, his mind still wheeling from a nightmare. The details quickly became fuzzy and those fuzzy memories dissolved away into just a foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he laid there staring at the ceiling, Jak contemplated ways to convince the king that he was innocent. Surely after he told his alibi and Erol backed him up they would know that he wasn't guilty.

But what if Erol wasn't there at his trial? Surely he must be, he was a top guard. And as one with such a high rank, he had to be at all major trials. Or did he?

And what if Erol didn't back him up? What if Erol didn't speak at the trial but stood still, not saying anything, staring ahead at nothing like he did while guarding the damnable gate? Jak felt a shiver run through his body as he imagined the others face, uncaring, unyielding to his protesting cries as they drug him off to the head block. Just as he had when Jak had been drug in to the dungeons. Sure the other had protested, but it had been a small protest and obviously hadn't worked. The frown on Jak's face etched deeply into his features and he growled as his hand wrapped around the edge of the bunk.

"What is your name?" The priests voice came softly through the bars and Jak jumped as he heard it, totally unaware that the other was awake.

"Don't you sleep?"

"Yes."

"Then why aren't you sleeping?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

Jak growled and laid back down with a thud, dust poofing up from the stretched cloth of the bunk. He didn't answer either of the questions that the other had asked and when no more were inquired he figured the priest had indeed gone back to sleep. Or whatever it was that he did.

Erol sighed as he sat down onto his pillows, his hands on the ground behind him as he leaned back to prop him up. He watched as Torn kicked off his boots at the door and then the other guard came and sat down next to him, leaning against the wall and staring at Erol. Erol looked over and for a moment the two stared at each other.

"What?" Erol asked, breaking the silence.

"Nothing..."

"Then what are you staring at?"

"You." Torn said, his voice sounding wistful and not Torn-ish at all.

"I know that, but why." Erol ground out, his own voice on the verge of anger. He hated being played with.

"Because I can. And because I'm worried about you." Torn answered, very matter of factly.

Erol's eyes narrowed and he huffed as he got onto his knees and removed his shirt. "Well stop it," he grunted as the clothing slipped over his head and ruffled his hair, "you're making me nervous."

Torn chuckled softly and Erol threw the shirt off to the side, flopping back down onto the pillows, laying on them with a weary expression on his face. He almost forgot that Torn was there as his eyes closed and sleep fogged his mind, but he was soon reminded as the other spoke, jerking him back from the precipice.

"Hey Erol..."

"Mm?"

Torn didn't say anything more, Erol could feel him moving on the pillows beside him, hear the rustling of clothing as the other stripped off his own shirt and Erol kept his eyes shut ass he felt the warmth of the others body beside him as he laid down.

"Torn... if I asked you to... would you help me with anything?"

Torn's soft chuckle filled the small room again and Erol sighed as his friend shifted beside him. "I suppose it depends on what it is."

"Help a prisoner escape." Erol's whispered, as if the very idea were a blasphemy against the Precursors themselves.

"What?" Torn asked, his voice flat and unamused. Erol opened his eyes and turned his head a bit to look at the man curled up on his side next to him. Torn's own eyes stared back, slowly blinking at him.

"I was just wondering."

"You've been acting really weird all day Erol, and now you wonder things like that. I have to wonder myself where your brain has gone to." The slight hint of exasperation on Torn's gruff voice was enough to have Erol turn his head away and stare at the ceiling, the light of the small oil lamp making shadows dance and flicker on it.

Once more neither said anything, both just laying there. Torn staring at Erol, Erol staring at the ceiling. As Torn cleared his throat and sat up, Erol blinked and stared up at the other, his profile grim.

"Erol... I..."

Erol raised one eyebrow, waiting for Torn to continue. But when he didn't, Erol got up on his elbows. "What?"

Torn looked at him. His face didn't betray anything he thought and Erol shuddered softly, wondering what was going on inside that head.

"What is it Torn?"

Torn shook his head and glanced away briefly before looking back. His lips pressed together shortly and then, before Erol even knew what was going on, they were pressed against his own lips.

Dum dum dum! What on earth will Erol do? Make out session? Groping? Oooo, the possibilities are endless. And what on earth is Jak going to do? His cell mate is odd and he doesn't like the food. Oh well, life sucks. :D

Give me ideas as to what you want them to do, and maybe, just maybe, I'll write about it. ;) Lurve ya all.