A/N: Late in Jak X.
Sig watched them with barely concealed worry.
Pacing.
Distracted.
They needed to dial it in. Now.
Or they'd lose.
Daxter already ached; the reality of size meant he'd die first. Jak looked healthy, but what would his best friend's death do besides devastate?
Glimpsing careworn goggles, he strolled out into muggy Kras.
Much better. Less tense.
The duo sat still, the picture of typical racers. Their gaze lingered over the ocean.
"Don't worry. They're fine."
"How're you so sure?" Sig glanced at his sister--a spectator because she'd raced here years ago, now disqualified.
"He's still. Fluid...like water. He's already won."