Characters are products of Naughty Dog.

Afeenaninganing, I hope the fainting didn't cause you physical or psychical harm!

Jaklover123, I hope you've got rid of the bad images!

Thanks for the reviews! Means a lot for me (I seem to refrain myself…)

Da: "It's shorter than the previous one."

Lucius: "Isn't is just great? You have more time for other things."

Da: "Hmm… Yeah, like for hair straighteners."

Lucius: "Oh, you're going straight from some points."

Da: "I admit."

Sipuli: "Very funny. Not."

maestro: "Be quiet, the story is soon online!"

3. From The Evening & 'Til The Morning

It was 2 o'clock.

The most depressing time of the night. Too many hours from the evening. Too many hours 'til the morning.

He didn't know what time it was. There was no clock nor a window in Torn's bathroom, but he surely felt like 2 o'clock.

Too many hours of staying awake. Too many hours 'til you should and could fake that you slept well.

Too many hours of listening to Light and Dark.

Too many hours of thinking.

Torn was breathing heavily. Jak was shuddering under a shower. He wished to turn it on, and let the boiling hot water drops wash away his insecurity and fear.

"You'd just burn your skin", Light cut in.

The rain banged at the window pane.

It had started to rain in the afternoon. They reached the Naughty Ottsel by the skin of their teeth, before the mist-like rainfall turned into a killer torrent. Daxter had arrived a bit later, almost entirely dry thanks to Rayn's giant umbrella.

The Haven was rebuilding and reinventing itself faster than Jak had ever thought. New buildings looked nice. New shops were found everywhere, and the Bazaar was flourishing. No-one had touched the water slums, though.

"It's because of the History and Nostalgia Committee", Torn had said and rolled his eyes, "the slums can be redecorated and revamped from the inside, but the facades must be left as they are."

They had talked about Haven, politics and people. Onin and Pecker (the latter one didn't quite qualify into the people caste…) were at the Precursor Temple, escorted by Jinx. Jak told Torn about Spargus, how he had wanted to have a referendum there, but how Ashelin, disappointed by Alorah, had contradicted.

Jak knew he was the heir of the both cities, and because of that, all the surroundings, too. But Jak didn't want to be the one holding the sceptre.

People talked about it in noble and fine words; how Mar knew the citizens deserved a chance to lead their cities, how the autarchy was old-fashioned and how he didn't consider himself stable enough to rule the beautiful cities full of beautiful persons.

The truth was that he was avoiding responsibility.

…And he felt guilty for it.

"You should", Light snapped, "you are born to be the heir who connects the cities. And what are you doing? You've chosen a new leader in Haven, and want to choose a new leader in Spargus. They are becoming more and more separated."

"And who exactly cares?" Dark snapped at the angel.

"You care about nothing which hasn't got glandular organs or a reason to be killed."

"And what's exactly wrong with that?"

"About everything."

"Be quiet, please", Jak whispered, his voice barely loud enough to be heard.

"You know that's not gonna help you", Dark laughed, "you think we'd be quiet for you?"

Jak knew they wouldn't. Light used to be silent and he hadn't cared of having him in his head, but like out of sudden the angelic creature had started being about as bad as Dark. Light didn't talk trash, like his acheronian fellow, but Jak didn't value his recommendations and dry humour as high as the silence.

Silence. Simple silence.

"Dream on, greenyweeny", Dark insulted.

"I surmise", Light began, "that without us in your head, you would feel even more lonely than you do now."

Us. Light had started talking about them as us. Not just me and Dark. Now it was us and he-who-carried-us. Jak found that frightening.

But there was one thing that didn't just fright him. It froze him, it made him sweat like a Krimzon Guard on a sunny day. It made his knees soften and his temples sharpen.

It was Keira.

Keira and his dad.

Keira and his dad were a tidal wave of fear washing over his sinful green-blonde head.

"It won't be that bad", Light said, "the pain will end after a time being."

"You know something", Jak whispered. They had gone through this hours before, too. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I'm not a news service nor a press agency", Light snapped, "I'm not in your head to tell you what has happened, if you don't care enough to find out."

"Or don't dare enough", Dark added mischievously.

It wasn't Keira or Samos that rose Jak's hair up. It wasn't them as persons. In the end it was Jak who scared himself. How would they thing about him nowadays? Hadn't he been just like a boy who thanks for the care and love, thanks for feeding, thanks for money, and now, bye, let's not see again. What had he done to compensate the fact, that Samos had given up his youth to nurse thee young heir?

"Don't feel guilty", Dark said, "honestly, Keira's got nothing compared to Ashelin."

"Shut up."

"Ashelin's deadly, fatally sexy, beautiful, woah, she's a woman! Think about the paring: the heir and the ex-ruler's daughter!" Dark preached, "Keira then… Well, she's a mechanic. She's a poor bitter bitch –"

"Fuck you", Jak whispered his head on his knees, "fucking fucking fuck you."

"Beautiful", Light said dryly, "your vocabulary amazes me once again. You really should read -"

"Literature", Jak thought. It wasn't the first time Light had brought the case up.

"Yes, literature!"

"And porn mags!"

"Literature", Light repeated and pushed Dark aside, "literature!"

"I might be mute, but I'm not a yakow", Jak mindroared, "shove the literature up in your shiny arse!"

"Well", Light continued in the dry tone, "I really could do it, but you really don't want to turn back with The Lord of the Ping-Pong Balls stuffed into your behind, don't you?"

Jak didn't mind to answer. He was just thinking of the girl who he once had considered as an even better friend than Daxter.

Then she had changed.

Because he had changed. But why didn't she understand that he hadn't chosen to be changed?

Jak felt a fire in the inner corners of his eyes. He clenched his fists and tried to fight back the tears. The lump in his throat slowly melted. Jak didn't cry. He just didn't. He was the hero. Heroes didn't cry for –

"Poor bitter mechanic bitches?"

- anything.

"Did you know", Light asked, "that when you're angry or wretched, your body produces toxic hormones that are usually let out via tears? Holding back the toxins gives Dark more playground to play on."

Jak thought about the one he had used to be. The jet-hair boy. He realised that he had actually hated violence, way back then.

…And now he had killed almost as much of civilians as enemies, and had cheered in Ottsel's fighting club. The fighting had been raw, but fair. Dark had pleaded to get into the ring, but Jak was wise enough to keep himself away. Light hadn't liked the show at all, grumbling all the time.

Jak twirled a cluster of his green hair in his fingers. It was more like a tomentum, he thought. His hair wasn't in its best condition now. Keira had always cared about the hair of hers, and always complained about Jak having his hair jetting out of his head…

Jak remembered his hair. He had thought it was just so cool, and had secretly back-combed it to make it look even more bigger. Daxter had been so envious about it, and once Keira had confessed that it was really good looking. It was just so tangled and rasta-like from the inside, that it could have never been combed…

So it was shaved.

So that the Baron could attach wires into his head.

But it grew back. Jak didn't remember anymore how he had got it dyed blonde. He knew he should have, but he didn't. Getting his hair dyed blonde in Baron's jail just seemed too absurd to happen, but it really had…

Then Jak had kept it long for a long time, until he was once almost killed as it blocked his sight while fighting a Metal Head. He found scissors and sheared it a little. He guessed he'd always remember the scream Keira had squeezed out. Daxter had hid behind a curtain, and Jak had wondered if all the citizens on that side of the city knew just how stupid, ugly, moronic and dull his new hair was. He had been stubborn and refused to let a hairdresser (or Keira) neaten it. And then, later, he had cut it off almost completely, making Jinx pay him thirty orbs. Keira didn't say a thing about it this time, she had avoided talking to Jak nearly entirely.

Jak supposed he knew why.

"Yeah yeah, but Ashelin's –" Dark snapped, "what was the word again? Gendooral organs?"

"Glandural", Light helped him.

"Yep. Ashelin's glandural organs –"

Jak didn't register they talking to him or fighting against each other. He was too busy thinking about his hair. He realised how vain it was, and sighed, letting Light cut in: "Twirling your hair is a sign of mental insecurity."

Jak didn't want to be insecure. He was the hero. He felt proud of it. Who shouldn't have! He had saved the world three times, and he truly was proud of it. And that made him feel ashamed. And that made him feel stupid.

And that made him feel insecure.

And that made him feel bad.

And that hurt.

And the fact that something so stupid was hurting him hurt even more, and the fact that the hurt –

"Quite a perplexed creature you are, I must say", Light said, "how about going to talk to someone who qualifies as a psychologist?"

"Yeah", Dark laughed, "you might even find little voices from your head."

Jak closed his eyes. He wanted the voices off his head! Not just the tenebrous one, the incandescent one, too!

No you don't.

It wasn't Dark or Light. It was himself. He had a conscience. It was hard to believe, but he had one. Its voice usually drowned into the ocean caused by Light and Dark, but sometimes, in silent moments, it rose its head and blamed Jak for all its weight.

Must be admitted that it was bantamweight, but it managed to thrust a small needle into Jak's guts.

Jak knew he didn't want the monsters out of his head. He owed them. They were a part of him. And even if he got them away, the damage was already done.

And the greatest damage of all wasn't done by the eco-creatures. It was done by Jak, and only Jak alone.

Suddenly Jak couldn't hold back anymore. His throat uttered a sharp and short cry and he buried his head against his legs. He tried his best to hold back the sobs and other inarticulate sounds but didn't succeed very well. Dark was raging in his head, not really understanding that his tantrum only made Jak weep more, and Light was attacking against Dark; he understood neither. The battle in his head made it feel heavy and caused him a headache, and the sobs grew louder. The tears ran down his cheeks, tasting salty if they walked astray onto his lips. Jak felt ashamed. He was the hero! Not a cry baby! He wasn´t supposed to weep! Boys don't cry – No! - men don't cry! He was an adult man, Mar - damn it! He was the Mar!

"Jak?" an uncertain voice asked from the door. Torn had never felt comfortable with people showing heavy lachrymose. He had cried himself sometimes, but when he cried the tears just ran down his face. He was fine with people who shed tears like that, and although he had never thought about Jak weeping, he was sure that it would have been a more Jak-like way to do it instead of sobbing on his bathroom's corner curled up as a ball. But, Jak had really never showed any emotions, and when he did, he always surprised Torn. The boy was a lot more beautiful person than what he let the others see, and this had nothing to do with Light Jak.

"Sorry", the sobbing ball managed to whisper, "please, go back sleeping." Now he felt ashamed even more. Torn was there. Jak didn't feel just ashamed: he felt wholly humiliated, childish, poor fish and selfish. Who was he to cry when the city was doing fine? Who was he to wake Torn up with a sobbing over stupid reasons? He just wished for the tears to stop and for Torn to go away – and that made him feel selfish even more.

Torn was thinking, looking at the shuddering faery, who looked smaller than Daxter. He wondered if Jak cried frequently. And was it always like this? He knew that now when he had got into the scene, he should do something. His first idea was to call for Daxter… His second idea was to open the shower (don't ask why!)… He didn't like the two first thoughts. His third idea was to hug him. He thought it was probably a thing he should do, usually people hugged other people for comfort, didn't they? The situation just was too strange, Torn was a logical faery! He wanted a point A with a path to point B, or at least a wall soft enough to be driven through. But his point A and point B didn't contain he in his underwear on the sill of his bathroom hugging hysterically crying Jak under a shower.

"Please, go away", Jak sobbed, but it sounded more like an antonym.

Torn walked to him, rose him up, and closed him into his arms. Jak wrapped his arms around him, laying his head against Torn's shoulder and neck.

"Ev'rything fill be fine", Torn whispered, feeling that he had to say something, "just wait and see. Ev'rything will turn out fine."

Jak uttered a high voice and Torn felt a few teardrops already running down his back.

Although Torn didn't know why the green-haired boy was crying, he promised himself that whatever the reason was, he'd do everything he could to make everything fall in place.

Da: "I have a tear in my eye!"

Sipuli: "Sorry.." (Sipuli is translated as "onion")

Da: "No, it wasn't you."

Lucius: "My fur?"

Da: "No, you neither."

maestro: "What then?"

Da: "The chapter!"

maestro: "What? That? Well, after the chapter two, anything would be better. Yet still…"

Sipuli: "Blaah blaah. We want some reviews don't we?"

Lucius: "Yes we do! You love us, don't cha?"